by BJ Hanlon
“The city will die if we let them in,” the old man shouted.
Edin pictured Arianne and felt a surge of energy run through him. With it, came hate and anger.
Because of these demons, Arianne had died. He closed his eyes and felt for the energy surrounding him. He felt the presences of the men and demons, they were bright and dark spots, space with few stars twinkling out beneath the blackness.
Slowly, he summoned what he could, as much as he could from the air, the sea, and the people. Edin let it fill him and push him into a sort of euphoria.
Edin blinked and raised his hands. He felt the ethereal knives rising in his fingers.
Icicles flew out of the old man’s hands. Pillars of stone thrust up from the ground. Edin spotted one dematian fly far into the sky like he’d been shot from a catapult.
Edin whipped out his hand. Like a single sheet of pure white light, the blades slashed through the front lines of the dematians, then the second and the third. They kept going. Not stopping as the knives cut paths through the flood.
A rock thrust up shattering the wooden walls and crumbling the northwest corner of the keep’s defenses. A pit opened and many dematians, alive and dead, fell in.
Another brain wrecking screech sent Edin to the ground. He blanked out but his body seemed to recover from it quicker.
The flood became a trickle as dematians continued coming at them. They came in formation with weapons in their hands trampling over their own dead and dying that littered the grounds.
Edin pushed himself to his feet. These were the soldiers. He stepped forward to meet the line.
The dematians attacked with their horsehead knives in near unison. But they weren’t as fast as him. Edin dodged and slashed at the monsters. He lopped hands, heads, and limbs from their bodies.
“Back!” someone yelled over the din of battle.
Edin summoned a culrian, then dashed into a large group of them breaking up their formation. The light from the shield seemed to almost blind them. Then he burst into an open space behind them. Edin turned quickly and began cutting, thrusting and slashing. It went on for a long time but weariness never came over him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Edin spotted one with the white slash across his chest and a pair of swords. The dematian was moving at the old man who was throwing icicles at the beast. Somehow, the beast was parrying them with ease.
Edin’s heart raced. He took two steps and leapt. He felt the wind flowing through the ground and pushed himself higher and further. The old man looked up with a wild, fearful look.
The dematian followed his eyes, but it was too late. Edin plunged his sword into the top of the demon’s skull and rode the body to the ground like a sled.
Around them, it was quiet but for a few moans. Somewhere to the south he heard more fighting. How many had gotten in there?
“The keep,” the old man croaked, he looked slow and ragged. Then his eyes widened as he looked past Edin. He pushed Edin to the side as a large projectile pierced the man’s chest. His eyes bulged and his face went slack.
Edin turned and saw a single dematian to the west. It was wearing some sort of a black circlet on his head like a crown and had a necklace with something that looked like skulls and a bone breastplate. Dematian King?
He lifted something into the air. Something that seemed to glow.
“Down,” Edin said. He flung Dorset around the side of the wall and dove after him as a thick pulse of energy thumped through his body.
Edin felt weakened and he dropped. Above him, he heard the cracking of stone blocks. The keep was coming down and he couldn’t move. Edin blinked but saw only the blurry shapes of the city street. Wagons, cottages, and shops burnt and broken. He felt more thumping on the ground and knew more dematians were on their way.
They held them off but it didn’t matter. There were hundreds, maybe thousands and he couldn’t do anything.
The chattering cries came from the south. He heard men screaming and running before them. Edin felt dead. He probably looked dead.
Edin saw the fleeing defenders from the southern gates. They ran weaponless, some of them shedding their armor as if doing that would make the dematians not attack. A group of dematians came from behind. Fifty or more.
He tried to move his limbs, to help, but they felt frozen. Dematians were bursting from the streets as the defenders yelled for help, “don’t leave us out here…” he heard one cry out, but then he heard the gates rumbling closed.
Edin looked up and saw the defenders crash against the wall and began to pile up. Twenty men at least, left weaponless and in the open to be slaughtered by the demons.
Suddenly a horn sounded. A blaring baritone of a ram’s horn. The dematians skittered to a stop in the muddy ground.
Toward their back line, he heard the cries of human voices. Many of them. Arrows began to lash out and from the west, he saw a man in a thick cloak roar forward with a giant sword in his hands. The sun lanced off the ginger hair as he slashed through. Next to him, was Yechill and the straggler Ocop.
Ocop, the Nocitoe tribesman slashed through dematians with such speed it was as if he were five men. Berka held his own, slashing torsos in two and hacking up bodies like it was a day at the butcher shop.
More arrows soared out from the walls and suddenly, the unarmed soldiers who’d be trapped began to find weapons. They pulled out long knives and daggers and slowly, the dematian attack was dwindled to nothing.
Edin tried to smile as the fighting died down. But he couldn’t. He laid there shivering, his face in the mixture of blood, snow, and mud.
He was flipped over a while later and saw Yechill standing above him. There was a grin on his face. Dorset was sitting off to the right, he could hear him speaking to someone in the Foci language.
Everything was calm for that moment.
“Move out of the way savages!” someone shouted. There was a rumble through the few people who stood around as the gorilla-man pushed through and stood over Edin and Dorset.
The baron and weary looking soldiers appeared. They used their swords to press back the Foci Dun Bornu who had surrounded Edin and Dorset.
The face of Baron Tolson was a mask of horror and anger. He spat on Edin’s boot. “Master Por Fen, these are the two magi who we have captured. They destroyed our lands and let the dematians into our sleepy village. We demand their immediate execution.”
“I’ll snap their necks,” the gorilla said taking a step forward.
Berka drew his sword as the man advanced at Dorset. Berka swung around and with a clean swipe, the gorilla’s head fell from his shoulders.
Berka turned and leveled the sword at the baron. The soldiers surrounding the baron seemed confused and not sure what to do. Berka moved between him and the two injured magi. “I believe you were the ones who did not heed his warning.”
“You would dare draw your blade against nobility.”
“Baron Foolson, I am a Por Fen, we take no lip from the likes of you.”
“A Por Fen with these savages…”
Berka flared red. He swiped his blade and slashed a long cut through the baron’s cloak.
The Baron stumbled back, his hands reaching for the cut. His eyes were wide, as he stared at the bloody tip of Berka’s sword. “Archers!” he shrieked. A moment later, the soldiers tried drawing. But two of the Foci were already on them and Edin, thrust a weak hand into the air.
An ethereal dome appeared above and around them.
“By the look of it. These two killed more than the rest of your men combined,” Berka said. “And if I were you, I’d offer them keys to the city.”
“I’d prefer whiskey and a warm bed,” Edin said straining to keep the culrian up. He was blanking again and his words were fading.
“I know you would,” Berka said.
The baron huffed, he crossed his arms, stomped his feet and then sighed. “They killed my healer.”
Berka growled.
“Weapons down,
make rooms for the magi.”
“In the keep,” Berka said. “And offer the Foci your hospitality.”
The baron turned redder, and stomped his feet like a petulant child. “No!” Berka pressed the blade in the man’s chest. “I offer it,” the Baron said, his voice reluctant and pained.
Edin lowered the culrian shield and nearly collapsed. Yechill kept him from dropping.
Edin and Dorset were given a room, more of a glorified closet on the second floor of the keep where small cots sat covered with threadbare rags. Beside the cots were a washbasin and a chamber pot but nothing else.
At least, it offered warmth and a semblance of security to guard against the baron’s soldiers if not the dematian king. That had to be him and he held the stick. A staff of some kind. Edin remembered glimpsing it.
Edin slept for nearly a day, possibly more. He took his whiskey in a glass and didn’t leave the room. The last time he’d drank it he woke up to Yechill shaking him. He hoped it wouldn’t be the case this time.
And it wasn’t. He had to get up a few times to relieve himself and the echo of his stream in the brass tub was quite loud.
Edin woke with a start. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but something poked at him. A part of him said he needed to go to that cliff top tower and he needed to leave as soon as possible.
A feeling of panic began to come over him as Edin leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the stone wall across from him. There were clean clothes, a long jerkin, a tunic, and a pair of trousers. His white cloak hung and it seemed cleaned and pressed.
Dorset was gone.
Edin found Yechill outside the door, he was lying on the cold stone floor with his fur cloak wrapped around his body and using his arm for a pillow. His body creaked and flared with pain as he bent over and shook Yechill.
The warrior pushed up quickly and his hand flew to his dagger. Then he met Edin’s eyes and relaxed.
“Good morning,” Edin said.
“Morning,” Yechill replied, though it was broken and it sounded like ‘Guude Moring.’
“Dorset?”
“Hospital,” but it was again broken common tongue.
Yechill stood and waved for Edin to follow. They went through the austere castle down a flight of stairs, across an open courtyard with arrow-wielding guards staring down at them with suspicion. Then up an outdoor staircase that wound around a circular tower to a closed door. Yechill stood next to it and put his hand on his knife hilt.
Edin knocked and went it. The room was quiet and smelled of potent herbs that Edin couldn’t identify but they stung his eyes. There were men all over the room on small cots, on bedrolls, and even one on a large windowsill who was both shivering and glistening with sweat.
They had the look of soldiers and hard men.
One spotted him and made a ‘woop’ sound. Others, the ones who could, did the same. Edin had no idea what it meant. He spotted Dorset seated on a small stool, with his head in his hands.
“Have you slept?” Edin said approaching.
“Some,” his friend said without looking up. “They’re evacuating.” He sighed and finally did meet Edin’s eyes. “Few of these men can travel and I can’t heal them all.”
“Where are they going?”
“South to Glustown.”
“That’s stupid, the dematians have already taken the city and with the injured…”
Dorset shrugged. “They can’t stay here; they can’t get out by sea. There is no other option for them.”
“I have to finish the journey,” Edin said. “I have to make it to the fjord.”
Dorset nodded but looked away. “I’ll have to go with them, Edin,” he whispered.
Edin nearly objected, then he saw Henny out of the corner of his eye. The farmhand was in a bed to the right. He was awake and alert but his stomach seemed much larger than before beneath the blankets. Bandages, Edin assumed.
“Hi buddy,” Edin said making his way over. “How are you doing?”
“Good,” he croaked. His forehead was glossy, his eyes red, and his skin was a light shade of gray. “I’ll still come with you.”
Edin shook his head. “No, you need to rest.”
“He’s healed me three times… I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so,” Edin said.
“You have to let me come. I’m okay.” Henny began to get up, a grimace ran over his face and he was turning the color of an apple.
Edin gently pushed him back down. “You’ve done more than enough.”
Henny looked up, a pained and confused look on his face. Tears began to well in his eyes. “I’m sorry about Arianne…”
Edin tried to smile but knew it looked forced. “Me too.” Edin turned back toward Dorset. “You know if you make it to another town, they’ll…” Edin drew a finger across his throat.
Dorset nodded.
Edin grabbed his hand and helped him up. He gave his roommate a thick hug and patted him on the back.
“You can help heal can’t you?”
He looked at the dying men around him. Edin nodded though he really wasn’t up for it. He needed all of his energy and resources to find this tower but he couldn’t put all of this healing on Dorset’s back.
He began with a man on his left, a trio of deep scratches ran from his abdomen to near his armpit. He concentrated on the power word and held his hands over him. Edin felt the warmth in his fingers as the healing energy poured into the man.
After a minute or two, the man blinked and looked up to him. It was the guard captain. “Thanks…” he muttered.
Edin worked on and off for about two hours when the hospital door opened. He’d helped heal five men, one who was near death was now hanging on.
“There you are,” Berka said marching to him. He wore a fur tunic and his greatsword hung in a sheath on his back. Next to him was Yechill. “I need to speak to you.”
Edin wiped sweat from his brow and followed the Por Fen Adept. Outside, they headed through corridor after corridor until they came to a small study lit by sconces. Behind a desk, there was a clear view of the icy bay and dark blue ocean beyond it.
Bent over a map spread out on a table was the baron, a few men Edin hadn’t seen before and Aniama and Suuli.
“He’s here,” Berka said and the door slammed behind him.
Edin’s hackles rose but then he saw Berka was as calm as ever.
“Good, the abom… I mean we are planning our retreat,” the baron said. “As a man with the key to our city, it will be your duty to protect us.”
Edin shifted slightly and looked at Berka. His former friend’s face was hard to read. “You already know I cannot.”
The baron scowled. “You believe your task is more important than the lives of my people!” His voice grew louder and he slammed his fist on the table causing it to rattle. “There are dematians everywhere according to these… men.” He waved a hand toward the two Foci. “You wonder why you’re hated? You’re evil monsters! We have women and children who will die if we do not safely take them south!”
“I cannot. I must search for the Ocaricson Fjord. It is my duty…” Edin said as calmly as he could. “However, Dorset will go with you. He’s a strong terestio and a better healer than I will ever be.”
“The Foci Dun Bornu are joining as well,” Aniama said. “Our warriors are strong and brave or have you forgotten?”
“And I,” Berka added. He turned to Edin. “I’m sorry, El and her grandparents are still in the village. I promised to protect them.”
Edin nodded.
“Sav… tribesmen, a single mage, and a Por Fen Adept. We have maybe twenty soldiers fit enough to fight and more than three hundred citizens… many injured.”
The door creaked open and from behind Edin came a voice that said, “Baron, we have ore carts and we have livestock to pull it.”
Edin saw the guard captain on a crutch with another soldier next to him. “We have dog sleds and can send runners ahead for aid.
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“If only Heckatin was alive, blasted dematians…”
“You didn’t listen to him, my lord,” the captain said. “He told you that; he believed they were telling the truth.”
“Don’t you think I know that now, Nover!” The baron’s voice grew louder.
“Of course, sir,” the captain replied lowering his head.
There was a long silence and the baron whispered something to one of the old men. Then he turned back and said “I need a drink.”
The man he’d spoken to wore servant’s garb and made his way toward the corner of the room. He stopped at a glass decanter and pulled off the top before pouring into many separate tankards.
On a silver tray, the man began serving each of them. The liquor was syrupy and thick with a hint of berry. It was something he’d never tasted but it warmed Edin.
“My ancestors will never forgive me for abandoning the keep,” Baron Tolson said, his voice low and void of the anger and fear.
“You will save your people,” Suuli said in the common tongue. “And I will mine.”
The baron nodded and leaned over the map. “Magus, come here,” he said leaning over the map.
Edin walked stiffly around the table to stand next to the baron.
The man pointed toward the fjords at the top of the map. The fjords were really just huge lakes and rivers connected to the sea between mountains and bluffs. The coast was white, the water blue. The land shrugged and thrusted into the sea beginning just north of Coldwater and then east for a hundred leagues.
“None of these places have names. Or at least names that have been remembered. This was mapped thousands of years ago,” Baron Tolson said. “Except this one.” He pointed to a fat bulging peninsula that jutted out further south than the rest. If it were a finger, it would’ve been bent over at the first knuckle. “This is the Ocaricson Fjord.”
Edin spent a moment staring at it but it was too vague. There was a small triangle at the edge of the point but nothing else.
“None who have ventured there in thousand years have returned, going alone is a death sentence.” He sighed. “Nover, whatever he requests… give it to him.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, the rest of you, begin assembling the wagons and oxen. Each person may bring only one bag of food and we’ll need weapons for everyone.”
