by Brian Murray
Before the three hundred and twenty-two marching axe-wielders, a company of five hundred Caynians waited for them, motionless, emotionless.
***
Gan-Goran waited in the cave for the men to return to their bodies. They had been gone for two weeks and he continued to fret. He did not know what the men faced in the realm of Yallaz’oom, but he continued to feed them and tended to any wounds that had appeared when their spiritual form was injured. He had been treating Thade for a slight fever, unsure why his body was not getting better. He had been using all of the herbs and healing powers known to him, but the fever would not break. Happily, it did not get any worse, but still he worried. The old magic-master closed his eyes and let his spirit flow from his body. He instantly returned to his body and stared out of the cave. An immense evil edged very close.
He rose and stretched his back, which cracked noisily, and he swore aloud. He looked at the men who all had grown beards, and smiled at them. He was about to leave to relieve himself when he noticed a blood stain on Rayth’s tunic. The old man rushed to Rayth’s side and opened the man’s top. He saw a cut on the man’s shoulder and started to treat the wound, ignoring his aching bladder.
***
Rayth cursed loudly. He had stumbled down a couple of steps in the darkness and cut his shoulder on a sharp, jutting stone. Zane reached up to the older man but Rayth slapped away the younger man’s hand, his eyes glowing with hate. “I don’t need your help.”
Zane did not know why he suddenly grew angry, but snapped back at the older man. “Then bleed to death, you old fool.”
“Old fool,” hissed Rayth, drawing his battle-axe. “I’m not old. I could still whip your hide.”
Zane smiled an evil smile, for the first time a straight smile, and stepped back. “Bring it on, old man,” he said with a sneer. Zane felt a yank at the back of his tunic. He was dragged back and thrown away from Rayth just as Rayth’s axe sliced the air where Zane had been standing. Dax stepped in close to Rayth with one of his shorter battleaxes pressed against the man’s throat.
“You dare threaten me, Dax,” hissed Rayth coldly, his mouth turned down in a menacing snarl.
“Rayth, I am your friend and Zane will be your son-in-law. You are Rayth, father of Aurillia. You are my friend. It’s this place that’s making you angry. It’s not you, Rayth. Fight through the rage and relax. Fight it!” Dax watched the anger vanish from the former axe-wielder’s eyes.
“I am sorry, Dax,” mumbled the innkeeper, rubbing his bloody shoulder, blinking rapidly.
Dax lowered his axe and turned to face Zane. His voice remained calm. “Zane, your hate is not in your heart—look into your heart.”
Zane visibly and audibly sighed. “Sorry, Rayth.”
“I’m sorry, son,” replied the innkeeper.
“Now let’s move and get out of this place. How’s your shoulder, Rayth?” said Dax.
“It will not stop me, it’s only a scratch.”
“Good, let’s move.”
The five friends moved through the endless maze within the palace, constantly going downwards. The air felt clammy and thick with moisture, so much so that the ground and walls felt greasy. The torches hanging on the walls glistened against the black mucus that oozed down. The men moved through winding corridors, descended slippery spiral staircases, heading for the bowels of the palace. The humidity and the temperature within the corridors rose the farther down they travelled down. The men quickened their pace, knowing they neared the end of their quest.
***
Outside the palace, Captain Jamie and his axe-wielders slowly marched forward towards the waiting Caynians. At about hundred paces from the enemy he called a halt and waited. Either side of him his men’s faces were set, showing determination. They all faced forward, gazing upon the Caynians with distain. Not one of the axe-wielders moved or said a word. Then the Caynians started to march forward and Captain Jamie felt the ground beneath him tremble. For some reason, the captain of the axe-wielders smiled.
“Come on you big, ugly whoresons. Come and taste Rhaurien steel.”
The Caynians were now fifty paces away, still walking slowly towards the axe-wielders.
Captain Jamie raised his axe and bellowed, “RHAURNS!”
With a roar, he and the other axe-wielders charged forward into the ranks of the Caynians.
The two forces clashed.
***
Inside the palace, the men made their way through the dark, dank corridors until they started to hear a noise in front of them. The men halted and Dax peered around the next corner. About twenty paces away was a huge door guarded by two Caynians. Dax looked at the door that seemed to be made from iron but had a blue hue covering it. Magic, he thought. But his first problem was the two guards. He turned and looked at his companions. Using hand gestures, he told the men that there were two guards around the corner and they were to wait here and be ready. Dax disappeared around the bend and hollered at the top of his voice. He came running back round the corner, skidded to a stop, turned, and waited.
The two Caynians came rushing around the corner and the five friends cut them down in a heartbeat, using the benefit of surprise.
The five men walked around the corner and approached the huge iron door. They halted. Somehow, they knew their goal waited on the other side of the door. Rayth walked up to the door. He reached out to push it open. He touched the blue glowing hue. The former axe-wielder flew back through the air and landed heavily some ten paces away.
The others rushed to where Rayth had landed. With a groan, the older warrior sat up, rubbing his head. “Damn, I shall not do that again,” he moaned.
“What is it?” asked Thade, staring at the door.
“I think it is some kind of magic,” said the innkeeper, gingerly rising to his feet.
“Oh, great, we travel all this way and the damn doorway is protected by magic. We’re not magic-masters . . . How do we get in there?” asked Zane dejectedly.
“Let me think,” snapped Dax, fighting desperately to remain calm, as building rage tried to gain control of him. He wanted to explode with anger, but kept telling himself to stay calm—stay calm.
“We do not have much time, my friend,” whispered Tanas, his urgency evident in his tone.
“What? Why not?”
“I can hear men or beasts coming down the corridors towards us.”
Dax cursed, walked back to the iron door, and looked at it carefully. He studied the door for several moments, then turned to Zane. “I think you can open the door,” he announced.
Zane looked at the older warrior puzzled. “Why me?” he asked, pointing to himself.
“We know you are one of the Children of the Light. You must be able to enter the room beyond to recover your soul.”
“I’m not sure . . . ” started Zane.
“Give it a try, boy. I will catch you,” said Rayth, with a wry smile.
The others also heard the sounds of running footsteps farther along the corridor.
Zane slowly approached the door and held out a shaking hand.
“Everyone be ready to enter when the door opens,” advised Dax watching Zane, licking his lips nervously.
Zane closed his eyes and reached forward, ready for the shock from the magic. Nothing happened. He felt the cold iron door and looked around at Dax and the others’ stunned faces. What he could not see was that his whole body began to glow, the same blue as the door. He used his weight and pushed the door. Slowly, the door started to move, the hinges groaning in protest. The door opened wide enough for the men to enter. They did so just as the chasing Caynians turned the final corner. Hurriedly, Zane entered and pushed the door closed with a loud clang.
***
Outside the palace, many axe-wielders were killed by the Caynians, but the veterans held their own. Only the sheer number of the massive warriors started to push the men back. Captain Jamie was covered in the Caynians’ blood and like his men, felt himself being pushed backwa
rds. One step after the other, he moved backwards. He was proud of his men, for they killed at least one of the Caynians for every couple of axe-wielders who fell. With all the might the Caynians had, they could not beat the courage of the axe-wielders they faced. Still, either side of Jamie, his axe-wielders continued to fall.
***
Inside the palace, the five companions faced another long, gloomy and musty corridor with flickering torches bracketed high on the walls. Each side of the corridor, between the torches, were solid black iron doors with dull brass handles. The men looked at each other, then back down the corridor. Each man could feel himself being pulled towards one of the doors. The men slowly walked down the corridor, stopping at different doors.
Zane looked up and down the corridor at his friends, then took a deep breath. He reached forward and touched the door’s cold brass handle. He swallowed, then turned the handle and opened the door. Brilliant white light bathed Zane. Instantly, the King of the Rhaurns disappeared and the door closed with a loud thud.
Each man reached forward, turned the handle, and opened their door. Each man was bathed in light before disappearing inside. Then each door clanged closed. When the last door slammed closed and the corridor was empty, all of the torches on the wall extinguished themselves, plunging the hallway into total harrowing darkness and total silence.
CHAPTER 22
Dalf stood near the western gate, watching in awe as the black beasts gathered on the other side of the moat. Never in his life nor in his worst nightmares had he seen beasts like the ones approaching the white city. They had started to arrive a couple of hours earlier, then lined up and waited. Thousands upon thousands of beasts arrived, creating a smudge of black on the hills surrounding Kal-Pharina as far as the eye could see.
Night descended and clouds filled the sky, blocking out the moon. Torches had been lit along the mound and the defenders waited for the beasts to attack. But they did not. The Chosen had arrived for the second time during the early evening and glanced at the enemy. Dalf remembered his emperor’s face—devoid of emotion as he watched the creatures arrive. After about an hour the Chosen had left without saying a word to anyone. Again, Dalf looked into the night to where the beasts waited. They did not make camp nor light campfires. All he could see was a black ocean of rippling yellow, orange, and red eyes. Then, in the dead of night, the baying started.
The sound haunted Dalf, who involuntarily shivered. His shift had finished and other men from his clan came to relieve his team. Before he left the mound, Dalf glanced back at the sea of eyes. He walked down the steps of the mound as the volume of the howling increased. Dalf paused. Still the beasts did not attack. He made his way to the temporary barracks close to the mound.
Dalf arrived at the barracks and sat down at one of the long tables. When the queue had shortened, he shuffled up to the serving counter and received a bowl of hot broth and gritty bread. Dalf took his food back to a table and sat down wearily. He started to spoon the spicy broth to his mouth and chewed on a piece of tough meat.
His mind drifted and he wondered where his father and the rest of the clan were. He knew it would be too late for them to get into the city, as the beasts now blocked their route. He hoped his father had taken the clan north or south and not tried to reach the white city. But something gnawed at his insides. Something did not feel right and he did not know what.
After finishing his meal, Dalf walked back to the mound and stared at the beasts. He looked beyond the beasts into the distance and prayed. He prayed for the safety of his clan—but he knew his words may fall on deaf ears. After standing for several minutes, the son of the Cross-swords clan chieftain wandered back to his barracks to sleep.
***
Admiral Rendel stood on the deck of the Gliding Falcon, looking up at the dark, mottled steel grey storm clouds filling the sky. The sea was an undulating mass of waves: white, choppy, and very angry. Rain lashed down in huge droplets, sometimes blowing in horizontally on a squalling wind. The wind howled and constantly gusted, driving the droplets onto the ships, as his fleet moved slowly along the southern coast. The admiral normally would have docked and sat out the storm, but he knew time was against him and he could not waste a minute.
Reedie pulled his waxed cloak around his thin shoulders and donned its hood as driving rain stung his skin like sharp needles. He turned to look back at his ship as a massive wave hit the side, causing it to lurch violently. Reedie gripped the rail while the ship righted itself, before pitching the other way. Seawater swept over the deck and the old seadog lost his footing. The old man grimly held onto the rail, feeling the muscles in his upper arm and shoulder pull. The escaping seawater tugged against his body, like a rapidly retreating tide wanting to pull him down to its watery depths, claiming another victim.
Grabbing the rail with his other hand, the admiral slowly rose to his feet and sighed. Using the rail as a guide, Reedie made his way slowly towards the wheel at the rear of the ship. He reached the ladder leading up to the wheel and started to climb the slippery wooden structure. Halfway up the ladder, another huge wave slammed into the ship and again it lurched onto its side. The admiral lost his footing and felt his hands start to slip. The ship pitched further over onto one side.
Lightning tore across the sky. Reedie desperately held onto the ladder, staring down into the swirling white seawater briefly illuminated by the cold white light. Just as his grip slipped, a rough hand grabbed his wrist.
Thunder clapped loudly drowned out by the howling wind.
The Gliding Falcon settled again and Reedie was hauled back to safety.
“I know you’ve been on land for a while sir, but that’s no excuse for losing your sea legs,” shouted the sailor who had saved his admiral.
“Just making sure you were awake,” replied Reedie, making light of the situation. He surprised himself that his voice was full of jollity. The admiral would never tell anyone but in that moment when he looked down at the raging sea he had felt terrified.
Reedie stayed at the wheel for several minutes, watching the horizon undulate up and down, as the Gliding Flacon was tossed about like a twig. The sea’s power always amazed him. One moment the Gliding Falcon rode a crest and he could see angry clouds, and the next heartbeat, the ship plunged into a trough and he could only see white, swirling hungry water, wanting to take the ship and its sailors to a watery grave. Feeling weary, Reedie decided to return to his cabin.
Once inside his cabin, he removed his sodden waxed cloak and sat down heavily with a sigh. Only now did his arm and shoulder start to ache. A sailor knocked on the door, then staggered into the cabin and placed a tray of food and some hot tisane on Reedie’s desk. Reedie reached forward with his right arm, but pulled back with a grunt as pain stabbed deep within his shoulder.
Using his left hand, he reached for his tisane and sipped the hot sweet liquid. As he replaced the mug on his desk, another huge wave crashed against the ship and it lurched badly. Everything not lashed down in the admiral’s cabin was thrown to one side. The admiral was no exception. Reedie slowly rose to his feet, when the ship began to roll back upright, rubbing his sore shoulder. Suddenly, another wave slammed against the ship, pushing the vessel further over.
From the deck, the alarm bell rang . . .
***
The five Wraith Hounds closed in on Thade’s home. Sensing that they were closing on their prey, they started to bay and growl. The sound was enough to chill the soul of even the toughest warrior. The beasts continued to lope towards their destination: their prey, their feast.
***
Aurillia stood at the front door of Thade’s home, gazing absently into the distance and enjoying the silent night, although not totally silent as animals moved in the undergrowth, insects clicked, and owls hooted. She had not slept a great deal over the last two weeks, not knowing what trials or dangers her men faced. Most nights she wept, falling in and out of a fitful slumber. Cara and Queen Larene all maintained a calm exterior, but
she knew each woman was as knotted up inside as she. The only exception, Princess Sasha, who seemed oblivious of the dangers and strutted about flirting with the soldiers as though nothing was wrong.
Earlier on during the night, Aurillia had taken food up to the cave and met Gan-Goran sitting outside. The old man looked ancient and Aurillia could tell he was tired beyond description. She sat with the old man for a while, but he did not say anything until he rose to return to the cave.
Turning, Gan-Goran patted Aurillia’s shoulder. “Be brave, my child, they will be back soon,” he said softly.
Aurillia had sat outside of the cave, wanting desperately to enter, but it was forbidden. So she sat outside in silence until the sun sank behind the western hills, bleeding red across the sky.
Now, she stood on the porch with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, staring out across the silent moonlit hills. Something caused her to shiver, though not cold. Tears filled her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. She said a silent pray to the Divine One for the safe return of all of the men, when the eerie baying started.
An axe-wielder passed the porch and Aurillia enquired, “What’s that?”
“I cannot call myself a woodsman, but that’s not a sound I’ve ever heard. I’ll get some details and report back shortly, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” replied Aurillia, wiping her eyes on her blanket.
Suddenly, the baying stopped. All was silent—utterly silent. In the distance, silhouetted against the low sitting moon, she thought she saw several shapes cresting the hill overlooking the house. She turned to call the soldier back but the shapes disappeared. Aurillia shrugged and returned to the warmth of the cabin. She was oblivious to the change. No night sounds—no animals or birds moved. Nothing, as though the darkness had swallowed all life.
***
Gan-Goran replenished the fire within the cave and looked again at the five travellers. Nothing had changed and so he strolled out into the night where he stretched his back. He heard a loud crack from his lower spine and swore as the pain surged down his legs.
