Beyond the Edge of Dawn (33 page)

“Cowards!” Moncrieff shouted. “Face me, and die like men!”

“Not much incentive to fight.”

The last three guards fell. Blood ran in small streams under Moncrieff’s heels. He gripped his sword tighter, fully expecting to be riddled with arrows. A slender figure emerged from the night, and he instantly knew it was Pharanx Gorg.

The mercenary commander bowed elegantly. “I’ve come for your head and to end this.”

Moncrieff snorted a laugh. “You’ll find that tougher than you think, unless you plan on using your cowards to finish me off.”

“No. I’ve already sent them off. This is just you and me.”

“Your mistake,” Moncrieff said.

He charged. Steel clashed with sparks. He was the older of the pair, more experienced. Moncrieff carved downward slashes from left and right before dropping back. Sword poised in high guard, he awaited the inevitable counter.

Pharanx barely raised his sword in time to block Moncrieff’s assault. Vibrations echoed down his arms. He smiled grimly, momentarily letting arrogance show. He knew he was faster, stronger, and better than the old man. Pharanx wanted to get inside his head. It began by stealing confidence. The mercenary recognized that killing Moncrieff was the only way to give his meager force half a chance.

Soldiers began to ring in around them.

“Do not interfere!” Moncrieff ordered. “This is my fight. Let us be.”

Pharanx accepted that he wasn’t going to leave alive. All he could hope for was victory in this duel.
Funny, I never figured I’d die by suicide
. He lunged. Golden sparks showered his gloved hands.
Slack. Parry. Hack
. They spun and whirled. Bodies twisted in the dance of death. Breathing became heavy. Muscles ached from the sheer strain. Soldiers cheered their general with each move.

Moncrieff landed the first telling blow. Pharanx stumbled after blocking a brutal riposte. Moncrieff saw the opening and twisted out. His blade ripped across the top of a thigh. The Fist groaned, hot blood washing down his leg. He lashed out in reply, tapping the cutting blade away. Men roared approval. Pharanx Gorg felt the balance shift. Empty defeat became a very real possibility.

Moncrieff sensed victory. The blood running down his sword was bright in the light of a hundred torches. The very sight pushed him harder. He fought with reckless abandon, knowing the moment he slowed, Pharanx would rip him apart. Moncrieff hefted his sword and charged back into the fight for kingdom and glory.

Pain lanced through Pharanx’s thigh. His window of opportunity was closing. In a daring move, he feigned letting the pain take control. Through the sweat dripping down his brow, he saw the bloodlust dominating Moncrieff’s mind. Pharanx flexed, dropping to a knee. The deception worked. Moncrieff bore down on him.

The Fist used every ounce of will not to move in the face of the almost blinding attack. His opponent made a crucial mistake, however. The fury of his attack left him exposed. Pharanx stabbed up, taking Moncrieff at the base of the throat. Dark blood sprayed over both men. Moncrieff let out a gurgled cry and the blade punched through the spine and then out the back of his neck. His sword dropped. A stunned silence fell over the makeshift arena. Pharanx twisted his blade before ripping it out the side. Aradain’s greatest general fell, dead before he hit the ground.

Struggling to his feet, Pharanx looked around. More than a hundred soldiers surrounded him. He offered a wry smile, fingers flexing on his sword.

“Come on, then, you bastards,” he snarled.

The ring closed. Swords rose, and Pharanx Gorg fell.

“They’re coming over the wall!”

Barum snapped his head around to the sound of the voice. Enemy soldiers were trickling over the ramparts, slowly swallowing the defenders. The night assault had taken the Fist by surprise. Aradainian soldiers swarmed up ladders. Arrows whizzed everywhere as the Fist struggled to rally.

Barum looked across the battleground with the aid of the pale moonlight and despaired. Hundreds of enemy soldiers were attacking. Moncrieff had sent his entire host. That could only mean Pharanx had failed. Barum watched the last flames from the catapults rage. It was a small condolence. The bombardments might be finished, but at the cost of the Fist leader. Barum knew once the others learned they were leaderless, the defense would crumble. He had to act before all was lost.

“Geblin!”

The Gnome jerked his blade from the ribcage of a fallen foe and hobbled over. “This is hopeless. We’ve lost too many men. The enemy is fighting hard for the gates. Barum, if they get the gates open….”

He let it drop; no point in stating the obvious.

“It’s worse,” Barum said. “The eclipse has begun.”

“Damnation. Do you think the others have succeeded?”

“I don’t know.

Geblin nodded in grim understanding. There was nothing for it. “Then we defend the gates for as long as possible and hope for the best.”

“I’ll rally from here. Help the others. I think Pharanx is dead. We must hold. Kill enough, and the rest will break,” Barum said.

Geblin nodded and slipped down the blood-slickened stairs as the first rays of sunlight crept into the night. Barum frowned, for the dawn was spoiled with an unclean taint. He cursed their foul fortunes. The oracle had never said what time of day the eclipse was supposed to be. They’d naturally assumed it would be late in the day; that it rode the dawn cast dread over his heart.

He prayed Kavan and the others were well about their task; otherwise…. Barum drew an arrow. There was little else he could do. The fate of Malweir was no longer in his hands. He’d done all he could to aid the quest, but now his part was drawing to a close. All he had left was the remnants of the Fist. He knew better than to think they’d survive.

The dawn grew dimmer. Bodies stacked around him. The ground grew soggy from blood and offal. The siege of Kalad Tol was almost at its resolve, and unless Kavan was successful, it would end badly.

Into the Ruins

Heartbeats sounded as thunder to Kavan as they crept into position near the cavern mouth. He felt as if this was his first campaign. Aphere and the others moved in single file behind him. Kavan seethed inside, building intensity in order to accomplish his task. Yet between Corso’s mischief and Pirneon’s abandonment, he felt insecure. Subterfuge wasn’t a trait amongst Gaimosians.

The day was dying, casting a pall over the slaughter fields. Very soon, the enemy would attempt to retake the field. Dag and the survivors would be hard pressed to survive the night. Added defenses and preparations greatly improved their chances of success along with giving Kavan much needed time.

“There,” he whispered, pointing to a shallow depression in the rock face.

Aphere slipped ahead, her lithe form nimbly climbing the handful of meters to where he pointed in a matter of seconds. The rest paused until she gave them the all clear. Mabane was helped up by Tym, the others following soon after.

The cavern mouth beckoned. Foul temptations leaked from the blackness, whispered promises of unbridled power, raw and wicked. He felt small.
Doom
, they whispered in a chorus of wails. Doom awaited the enemies of the dark gods. Doom to all the world. His mind clouded. The voices sought to gain control. His very soul felt threatened.

Kavan shook his head. A new voice, thin, entered his thoughts.
You shall not fall
. Kavan took heart.

“What was that?” Aphere asked, suspicion aroused by his queer actions.

“Later,” he replied.

Her eyes narrowed with mistrust. She’d felt those same temptations, though not as distinctly. A golden presence surrounded her, driving away the darkness. It was nothing explainable yet was utterly familiar. She was only discovering her newfound powers. Perhaps they kept her safe from the darkness. Whatever her protections, Kavan had none but his strength of character. She decided to watch him carefully. Pirneon’s betrayal stung enough to place a measure of mistrust deep in her core.

She pressed the issue, “I know what you felt just now.”

“I said later,” he shot back.

“No, Kavan. There is no later. Now is not the time for selfish pride. The allure of this place is strong. I’ve felt it since we first came here.” She laid a hand tenderly on his forearm. “You must remain wary. The dark gods seek to spoil our minds with empty promise. Stay strong.”

Golden light poured into his veins from her slightest touch. His faith and hope were restored. Kavan felt invigorated. The immense feeling of hope took him to the brink of tears. When at last she withdrew her hand, the warmth remained. He at last felt ready to take on the host of the enemy.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She smiled.

“What happens now?” Tym asked, having heard none of their conversation.

Kavan answered, “We wait.”

The sun continued to drop, letting the curtain of twilight advance over the horizon.

“They will come soon.”

Tym asked, “Will they pass us by?”

“Who can say? These beasts are cunning, almost as if they know the ways of men.” Kavan frowned at the last thought.

The enemy was savage, void of reason or emotion. Still, they betrayed an almost human intelligence. That made him uneasy. Kavan was already weary of fighting them. He longed for the open plain and massing armies.

Mabane watched the Gaimosians closely. His heart told him they were all going to die. No amount of well wishing or cheery thoughts of optimism would make a difference. He also knew when to keep his mouth shut. He’d foresworn any notion of survival the day he turned sober. The Gaimosians were self-destructive people. He now understood why their kingdom had been so easily destroyed.

Aphere said, “Relax. We stick to the plan, and all with be fine.”

She didn’t believe her own words. All of their efforts hung on their bet that Corso was their foe. Any moment, the sun would disappear and hordes of werebeasts would emerge. The odds that they would empty the caverns were slim at best. How many untold numbers would the small band be forced to fight through in order to achieve victory? She didn’t know.

Kavan sensed her doubts and leaned close. “Is your power going to help us like it did in the Uelg?”

“I don’t know, Kavan,” she hushed. “I have no idea how it works.”

“You may be our best shot at victory.”

She offered a weak smile. “Corso had best watch out.”

Kavan sighed. The board was set. All that remained was the opening move. His thoughts turned towards fighting Pirneon. All of his earlier doubts were gone. He felt Pirneon nearby, confirming his treachery. Shadows grew deeper. A noticeable chill dropped. Night had rushed upon them, almost as if it wanted the coming battle to take place. As the world teetered on the edge of destruction, Kavan wasn’t sure if it wanted to be saved. He sensed the sudden tremor in the ground. The time had come. Tomorrow, the eclipse would taint the sky, and, unless he and his companions won the night, all Malweir would be enslaved for eternity. The dark gods laughed from their icy tombs.

“They’re coming,” Kavan said. “We move on my signal.”

Crouching, willing themselves to blend with the shadows, they waited as rock and dirt poured down around them. Dust choked the air. What started as a low growl deep in the bowels of the earth evolved into a terrible roar. Hundreds of werebeasts burst from the opening in a mass of gnashing teeth. The smell of rot spurred them on.

Kavan gave up trying to count after one hundred. More and more issued forth. Corso had sent his entire force against the last of the hunters. Kavan offered a fast prayer for Dag, hoping they’d both survive long enough to share a mug of ale. The thick smell of urine assaulted his nostrils. He didn’t need to look to know that the horror had already gotten to Mabane.

Sounds of battle filled the night sky, and still the enemy came on.

Screams followed cries of rage. Kavan held his team until well after the last of the werebeasts was gone. Now was not the time for carelessness. When he was finally satisfied, he slid down the rope and beckoned. Only the wind stirred in reply.

Hefting his sword, Kavan advanced into the gloom. The werebeast burst from the darkness with mouth open and arms extended. The attack was so sudden that Kavan couldn’t react. All he saw was long teeth glistening with saliva and blood. Aphere’s arrow took the beast in the mouth, punching through the back of the skull. Blood and brain matter sprayed against the rock face. Aphere dropped into position beside Kavan and reloaded. If this was any indication of what was to come, they were in for a long night.

“Fire!”

Dag’s command was all but drowned out over the roar of the enemy. Bloodthirsty werebeasts pushed and clawed their way towards the stone platform for the chance to kill again. Dozens died in the first volley. A second round dropped more. Then the werebeasts were upon the defenders. Man and beast fell. Blood flowed freely across the scarred rock, but the line held. Some men broke and ran, only to be run down almost immediately.

The fighting was brutal, furious. A hulking monstrosity with the mane of a lion climbed over the backs of others to attack Dag. The big man hefted a long wooden spear and stabbed. The blunt tip pierced through the beast’s wide chest and out the back. Gathering what strength it had left, the beast lunged. Dag clung to the spear, knowing he was dead if he let go.

The beast was strong, too strong for any mortal being. Impossibly long fingers dug deep into Dag’s shoulders. Pain exploded. The beast squeezed harder, intent on crushing the life from his victim. Dag finally abandoned the spear to wrap his own hands, meaty from decades of labor, around the beast’s throat. Both warriors stood locked in violent contest. Blackness crept into the corners of Dag’s vision. He was no match for the sheer volume of hatred driving him down to his knees. The pain was excruciating. Dag squeezed harder. Desperation sank in.

Lars appeared from nowhere, driving his sword across the werebeast’s hamstring. Dag dropped. Trapped on the spear, the werebeast could only bellow in frustration as both Dag and Lars stabbed it to death. Lars helped Dag up, careful not to mention the wince of pain in his lord’s face. No man liked to be reminded of weakness.

“Thank you, lad.”

Lars nodded and returned to the battle. Dag smiled fondly. He liked the boy, enough that he had misgivings about bringing him here to die. Frustrations pointless, he retrieved his spear and charged the snarling monster crawling over the lip of the platform. He stabbed with all of his remaining strength. The blade sliced neatly through the beast’s shoulders before shattering on the rock. The beast roar in agony, and Dag crushed his boot down through its skull.

A second bolted over the dead to tackle Dag. Dust roiled up around them from the force of collision. Man and beast grappled for the advantage. They punched and twisted, each trying to kill the other. Dag alternated blows against the exposed ribs until dark blood seeped through the diseased flesh. His knuckles were raw, sore. A bloody mess.

He’d never been in such a fight. The very limits of his strength were tested beyond measure. Dag’s blows fell with the ferocity of hammers. Hot saliva drooled onto his cheek, stinging flesh. He looked up into the nearing maw. Strips of flesh were stuck between the long fangs. Bone fragments caked the tongue, dropping with each breath.

The beast targeted Dag’s wounds. Claws dug into the holes already rent and ripped. Dag screamed from pain, hammering the beast harder. There was a sharp crack, and the beast reeled. One of the cheekbones was broken. Ivory shards ripped through the flesh. Dag’s blood boiled. He stepped up the attack. Strain and exertion were taxing him to the end. He was already at his limits. Dag gathered his strength for a final blow and was rewarded with the sickening crunch of the windpipe crushing.

Dag crawled away. The beast gasped, writhing on the ground in death throes. Dag slammed his dagger down to kill the beast. He nearly paused, finding recognition in the beast’s eyes; it was almost as if it was pleading for the end. The beast died with a satisfied look. Dag sheathed his dagger and retreated before the next beast could succeed where the others failed.