3 bar menu

Vol.4, Ch.5, P.1

 

“Wardens! We’ve got civilians ’ere! Pray see ’em in! Quick!”

“Hensen! Someone, send word to Hens—”

“No use, that! The gates be taken! Hensen has no force to offer! We’re corner’d!”

Screams and shouts, tumbling together like birds trapped in a storm. Doubt and anxiety were in them, a fear for some nearing end. In my hand was Mia’s own; how she tremoured, as though whipped and slapped by each voice that met her ears. Yet holding her firm was all the comfort I could give.

This fortress, this Balasthea—it was a place nestled in allied territory. But by some way had the realmer army appeared and let themselves in. Little I knew of warcraft, but that this betrayed all expectation was clear even to me; the panick on the defenders’ faces was convincement enough.

“…Eva…” said Mia. Up to me she looked. Her eyes were quivering. Tears had started in them. And there I perceived that she was seeing not the chaos here and now, but the one we both suffered moons ago. When our home was assailed. When we were robbed of all we knew.

…Nay, not all. Remaining to me was one last treasure yet. A preciousness I must protect. Clutching strong my sister’s little hand, I mustered such spirit as I could, and heeding a warden’s directions, whisked her off into the keep.

With us were many others. Their cries, their stampeding feet, all of them blared down the wooden halls. Wading through the press, I came up to a window anear, peered out…

…and gasped.

Yonder at the gates, behind the panicking masses, were clustered many, many Men. Their armour shone in a white sea. Their blades were as fangs of hungry beasts. Their number spanned wide; no escape could I see. Not even this keep was safe any longer. But no choice was left us; to flee upwards was our only course.

“This way!” I urged Mia. Seeing her nod, I took my sister and ran, following the desperate crowd to the second floor.

Yes, I knew. Ascending the keep—such was no escape. Awaiting us upstairs was but a dead end. Yet to stay here meant death sooner and more certain still. Should there be hid up there some chance, some way to save dear little Mia, my one and only family alive, then I must needs seek it and grope for it and catch it, if even with one hand, with one finger.

And so I did. With Mia in tow, through the second storey we flew, and winding up the crowded stairs, broke into the third and final floor. Along the way did I hesitate. It was yet safe to jump down from the second storey windows, if ever to that it came. Yet the increasing racket of swords told me, coerced me otherwise; running from it, from all the Men, was the only thing I could think to do. And running, ever did we rush into the maze-like place.

There, amidst the yelling and the crying, we came upon files of defenders scrambling every which way. We civilians were not to be suffered here so deep in the keep, but too many as we were and too desperate the situation that none of the braves dared bar our way. No; weapons in hand, they instead all coursed against the crowd and descended to the lower floors.

Now were we at our doom. Looking about, I found horror and dread writ on all the others’ faces. But what I could not find were the Mennish civilians, if even just one; all that had fled here were of my folk.

A matter of course, mayhaps. Not wanton would the knights threaten or kill their own race. Still, of them I wondered, and as I did, swift came the answer: from outside, there rang many shouts, angry and hoarse. Taking Mia to a window again, I looked out and discovered a scene unfolding at the gates.

There below was gathered a crowd of Mennish civilians. Helming them was a Man standing defiant against the ranks of knights, pressing from them answers of his own.

“Ye dare endanger yer own kind!?” he yelled. “It ain’t just Nafílim ‘ere! Us Men, too, work in ‘ese walls, if yer blind! Many!”

“Hmph! High words for willing slaves to the devils!” a knight barked back. “Stand aside, we said! And no ‘danger’ will come upon you!”

The crowd riled. “Bugger off!” the Man cried. “This ‘ere be a place fer civil barter, not swords an’ battle! Get ye gone!”

“Hah! ‘Civil’, indeed! We’ve seen the ‘swords’ watching from the walls! The fiends defending this befouled fort!” another knight retorted. “Why ‘barter’ what you ought take? Why ‘bargain’ with them aught more than the cheap death they deserve!? You’re all but a bootlicking lot! Forgetful of your faith! Loving money more than the Mother that gave you your living breath!”

“Wot’s that…!? Say it ‘gain, ye nithin’ knight!”

That Man. Once before had I seen him. Discussing matters of hauling goods he was, at the tables with another of my folk.

…

…Yes. I understood well that his mind was not in protecting us. Not in open, at the least. Still, some gratitude I felt for him and all his fellows. Headstrong they were, and debateful even when so met with hundreds of knights in arms. Such foolhardiness bought us time, little but all the more precious. And so, thanking them in my heart, I left the window and took Mia away quick.

“Room, closet… anywhere to hide?” I wondered, desperate and aloud, searching every which way as further and further into the keep we ran. It was then that Mia tugged at my hand.

“…Sister…” said she, pointing her finger to the side, “…look…”

At where she pointed was one of many rooms, set with a table laden with papers and maps. Yet doorless it was, an evil place for hiding. Puzzled, I thought to debate it, till…

“…fire…” said Mia, “…we can set fire to this place…”

“Fire?” I gasped. My eyes then fixed upon a collection of lights in that room—candles they were, still shining over the papers. Into place it all fell: candles for fire, papers for tinder… and an entire keep of timber to receive it all.

But… why? From what ill might wanton fire spare us?

“…there’s nowhere left to go…” said Mia, “…not anymore…”

Darkness fell upon my heart. “…Nay, Mia!” I cried, and bending low, held my sister at the shoulders. “Have hope! Hope in me! Hope in…!”

But even as I objected, Mia shook her head soft. When it seemed to me that she had lost all will to live, deep in her trembling eyes did I perceive the opposite.

“…I have hope,” answered Mia, looking back unsteady yet strong, “…but… if there’s no way left… nowhere to run… then we should…”

“…Make one?” my lips said for me. “For ourselves…?”

Mia nodded. “…burn the keep… confuse the knights…” she explained, “…they’re the only ones who should trouble about it…”

 

♰

 

“Sir! Smoke and flame! From the keep!”

“…What?”

The assault had been going apace. North and south, east and west—the gates were secured, the whole of the stronghold surrounded. But amidst such progress came a twist none could expect. And pointing to it was Hannes, his eyes reflecting fire.

Fire—that now swirled up from the keep in plumes of ember and smoke.

The fault of a misdirected spell, perhaps? Lamps, knocked over in the bedlam? Or…

…the work of some rascal? One not to be taken lightly, if so. Sharp and ordered as we were, none ought escape our grasp. But introduce a bit of chaos… Yes, “rascal”, indeed—and a desperate one, at that, no doubt, as only upon so cornered a beast dawns such evil inspiration. Perhaps the dunling defenders had found themselves some mastermind? A hand that could set the board in full motion when we had scarce made our opening move? Nay—one who thought to burn the very board itself? And with it, all the civilian pawns yet in play?

Fascinating. A lofty sacrifice for but one chance at a turnaround. Or, might there be more method to this madness? That I could not discount. Then was it but a stepping stone all along, this chaos? A means to some greater end further down the line? Some purpose scrying our own and bending all its will against us?

“Hannes,” I called, whilst eyeing the high flames. “Might you suppose this done to plan? A crow amongst the foe-flock, perceiving our designs—and torching the nest to spite them?”

“A crow?” said my junior. “Sir, this ‘nest’ ought’ve long lost its lustre in the foe’s eyes. Why keep here such a ‘crow’ when its cunning better avails elsewhere?”

Capture the stronghold, and in the same stroke, sunder out the Nafílim horde—such was our strategy. Only a small value might the devils hold this place, but not so to us: were it to crumble unto ashes, our strategy, our purposes could very well go with it.

Hannes spoke a well point. Why let such wit rot in so redundant a post as this? Much less allow its defenders to lay torches unto their very charge? But what, then, did that leave us? Chance? Accident? Nay… only a fool would defer to the fates. Mere negligence—coincidence—this was not. A wild card had been played; our hand must answer.

“No… I hear the crow cackling,” concluded I, and turning away, ordered my junior, “Hannes, send word to the leaders: rally the men, douse the fires! At once!”

“Sir!”

Saluting, Hannes quickly obliged.

Balasthea—shielded by ramparts of solid stone, it had endured a hell’s worth of battles. Yet a fire set to its oaken keep would be as an ailment to undo the surest warrior. Thus with our designs at stake, overmastering the defenders and extinguishing the flames were now our top priorities.

“Knight Lieutenant!” cried a voice. “There’s stern resistance anear the keep! Pray lend us your strength!”

And there, I found haggard and asweat the captain of the assault. A sore sight—elite and accomplished though these knights of the 3rd were, they yet held no candle to my fellows in the 1st. Albeit I suppose there was no blaming the lot. Theirs was a strength of numbers, of cohesion, after all, to which Juholt had long served the lynchpin. But now with the last nail having been driven into his coffin…

“So be it,” I declared. “Make way!”

Like an arrow loosed from a bow, I darted forth. The crush of knights yielded a path, and there ahead, the fighting Nafílim were clear to see. Bringing my sword aloft, I began incanting at the top of my lungs as I bore down upon the enemy ranks.

“Annihilandō!!”

Flames bloomed with a lion’s roar, and there my blade was enwreathed in living heat. Wielding the fires, I brought them plunging down upon a Nafílim vanguard, who, taken by surprise, answered with a block of his spear haft.

And there he howled.

“Uwagh!?”

Our weapons clashed, but the spell-flames had not been checked; spilling forth from my blade, they engulfed my mark, lighting bright his heathen flesh. Screaming, he hurled himself to the ground, whilst from behind, three more spearfighters leapt in, their points stabbing with vengeance. A thricefold spear-charge; backing away here was a peril. So instead, I braced my legs and somersaulted—clear over the spears and deep into the enemy ranks.

Landing aknee, I twisted and swung my blade. Fires wheeled and lashed forth, igniting the devils and drowning out their wails. A moment, and down they all fell, leaving a hole in their formation.

“Now, men!” I thundered, and rising, pointed to our dumbstruck foes my firebrand. “Attack!!”

Upon command, the knights of the 3rd blared their voices and charged headlong at the defenders. A crash, and wider still grew the hole gouged out by my sword.

This was well. Bear for them the peril, and the herd will stir to action. And now with the hour-sand coursing against us, I must needs bear all that I could. Not that I grudged it; these men, these officers of the 3rd—they were all of them soon to be my subordinates. Thus to sow a bit of trust here would be to reap a fortune later.

“Splendid swordcraft, sir!” cried the knightly captain as he drew up beside me. “Let none doubt the strength of the 1st! Nor their Owlcrane lieutenant!”

“A mere trifle to the feats of the 3rd, I assure you,” said I to him. “But victory eludes us, good sir; there must needs be more heroics to behold.”

The captain laughed. “How now, sir, what trifle? With your swift sword to spur us, ‘tis already in hand, victory!”

My sword? Swift?

Where? When? I suppose a sloth might seem an eagle to this turtle-witted knight, if “swift” be his measure of my sword. Oh, the nerve of this fool, the nerve.

Nay, of all swords to be called “swift”, the first ought be…

…ought be…

“…”

There I saw it again—the battle for the Erbelde.

Through our ranks had assailed a gust-devil of a Nafíl. An attack of imperceptible agility… met by a sword of perfect technique. And brandishing it was whose hand but that ungraced’s. Weak and injured though was his flesh. Vain and fangless though was his sword. And yet… and yet…

…Nay.

This I will not accept.

Not him. Not his sword.

O fates, how I rue you. How I despise, how I abjure you all. For ever do you suffer him for your own amusement, imparting breath after breath into his heathen lungs that he might play for you another fool stunt. Snuff him, I say! The leper! The buffoon! Indeed, this world needs not what Yoná has spurned! Let all curses be his! Let ruin haunt his every waking hour!

Thunder pounded in my bosom. Storm winds raged in my guts. Such was the ire in me, a volcano blasting and smothering all good sense in some bid to usurp my very mind. Catching myself, I freed the hot air from my lungs.

“…Hhaa…”

An ill vice, this. Ever given to wrath, to erupting at the slightest prick—the tantruming child in me, too, I hated. Thus did I still it. The turbulent lake of emotion within: soothed. Its waters: cooled to a clear and perfect surface.

He who controls not the war within does neither the one without. Bolstered by the thought, I relaxed my brows before looking up at the keep. There I found the blaze spreading quick—more so than an accident should. The knights, too, were beginning to fret.

Yet not here will I shrink. Not afore mere flames.

Ever does lie in wait the unexpected. Ever does bar the way some hindrance. All fine and well—so long as the tree at trial’s end bears the fruits of one’s long labours. So long as they are all mine to wrest and savour.

Resolved anew, I stepped further still into the bowels of the battlefield.

 

─────────　♰　─────────