EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (278 page)

The short man said nothing as he rushed over to the lone horse they had with them, covered with sacks of gear. He grabbed the looking glass from one of the sacks and quickly marched back to his original spot. He extended the looking glass and stared off into the distance as he swept from left to right. Suddenly, his left leg began to tremble. He stopped his sweep, concentrating on one spot. His heel bounced up and down off the ground rapidly. Then, all in one movement, he collapsed the looking glass and ran back to the horse. “Go,” was all he said in an extremely tight voice as he launched himself onto the horse and began to turn it around.
 

“Go where? What are you talking about?” said the tall man as he grabbed at the reins of the horse to try to slow him down.
 

The short fellow slapped his hands away and urged the horse to run. It was a stubborn packhorse and didn’t really want to move, yet alone run, but the man dug his heels deep into the horse’s sides several times until it finally got the message.
 

“What is wrong with him? Where is he going?” asked one of the other men.

The remaining four patrolmen frantically looked around in all directions, each with weapons drawn. They couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t make any of them feel better. Their comrade clearly saw something that made him take off in a near panic. He had also taken the looking glass, so they couldn’t use it to see what the potential threat might be.
 

The winds were getting even stronger as the impending storm drew nearer.

The tall man jerked upright, telling everyone to be quiet. Even with the winds picking up, he could hear something. “You guys hear that?” he asked.

Everyone stopped and listened to the wind, weapons at the ready. A few moments passed before the other man said, “What is that chirping sound?”

The man on the horse rode as fast as he could towards the town, smacking the animal’s side repeatedly to get every bit of speed out of the lazy beast. The guilt gnawed at his insides like a rabid beast trying to free itself from his stomach. He had fled for his life and left his fellow militia out there to die. It had been a decision made in haste when his survival instincts took over, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The only way to make up for his cowardice now was to warn the town as fast as he could. He could see the town clearly now. He pulled a funnel-shaped golden horn from the side of the horse. Continuing to ride as fast as he could, he began blowing the horn loudly in long, smooth bursts.

The guard could now hear the chirping sound behind him off in the distance, but getting closer. The town was still too far off, and he knew he would never make it. If he could just warn them, he could atone for his betrayal! The guard at the front gate looked out lazily at the open road as he waited for his shift to end. There were a few folk walking the streets behind him, but no one was going in or out. The coming storm had a lot to do with that. He heard the sound of a faint horn blowing from somewhere as he lethargically turned this way and that to see where it was coming from. He figured some child was playing with a toy he had won during the festival.

The horn was heard once more, only louder, and clearly coming from the other direction. Now the guard was taking this seriously. He looked hard off into the distance to see where it was coming from. Shielding his eyes from the dust-filled wind, he could see a horseman off in the distance, approaching fast as some sort of black cloud followed right on his heels. The last blast of the horn was unmistakable.
We are under attack
?

The sentry scampered up a nearby ladder to the huge golden warning bell that was only to be rung during a raid or other similar emergencies. He took one last look over the wall, just in time to see the man on the horse get consumed by the living black cloud, ripped to pieces in seconds.
By the gods
!

The soldier could not believe his eyes. But that man had spent his last moments trying to warn the town. Life and death could be decided by mere seconds, and if one extra child could be saved due to the early warning... The soldier rang the large bell with all his might. Eric and Aena were almost to the house when they heard the loud clanging echoing through the town.

“What is th—”

Aena never finished her sentence. Eric grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her down the street, almost making her fall several times.

Men exploded through their front doors, tying makeshift leather harnesses containing swords and daggers around their waists as wives clung to their shoulders begging them not to go.
 

When the Eric got to his house, he flung the door open and heaved his companion through. “Wait here!” he said after pushing her roughly into a chair and running up the stairs. He bolted into his room and grabbed his sword leaning in the corner of the room. He shouted one last time for Aena to not leave the house as he raced down the stairs and out into the street. He knew what that bell meant, and intended to deal with whatever was threatening his town...and his friends. The town’s militia filled the streets, some with swords drawn, while others had long bows with arrows notched and ready.

Eric followed their gaze towards the nightmarish spectacle. Black, leathery, winged creatures swooped down from the sky. Some were actually running towards the men, holding clubs and other crude weapons. The militia, who had their bows ready, let loose a spray of arrows towards a group of creatures remained hovering in the air. One appeared to sprout arrows from every inch of its body. It fell to the ground, oozing black liquid from the wounds. Others took hits as well, but were still very much in the fight. They landed in the street and kept on running towards the soldiers, all the while pulling arrows from their bodies.
 

An echoing hiss filled the air as the bowmen all drew swords at the same time, charging ahead to meet the attackers. Eric was right with them at first, before pulling ahead of the militia. From there everything happened fast, yet seemed to take an eternity.
 

The two sides collided in a frenzy of violence. Swords clashed against claws as equal amounts of red and black began to stain the street.

Eric concentrated on his breathing, his forms, and his state of mind. His conscious mind floated in nothingness as his sword danced the forms perfectly, slicing through black flesh as if it were water. His sword deviated from its deadly pattern by inches now and again just to deflect a claw or snapping tail, then continued its frighteningly efficient path of death. It all looked like one smooth continuous movement, a relentless tornado made of steel. His sword strikes slashed with the speed of a viper, but through his eyes everyone else seemed to be moving in slow motion.
 

He was aware of everything: where everyone was around him, of the creatures backing away from him and trying to move on to easier prey as he cut them down in succession before they could even turn away. In his heightened awareness he knew long before looking that a quarter of the militia had fallen, and still more of those things were landing around them.
What kind of nightmare is this? Where did these things come from?
There was no time to distract the mind with logic.

He tried to block out all the flaws of the conscious
mind, those that could not begin to contemplate what was happening here. His reaction time was all that counted right now.
 

Rushing down the street, it was hard to determine who could still be helped. Bodies lay everywhere. Some were militia who had given their lives to defend those they loved, and others mere children whose lives had ended before they ever began.
 

Lord Pike’s body lay in the street, a sword stained with black close to his open hand. The man was no soldier, but he was no coward either. He had chosen to fight rather than hide.

Eric had to concentrate on keeping his anger in check. He wanted to send as many of these demons into the afterlife as he could, but he had to stay under control. Despite what people thought, emotions had no place in combat. He heard screams all around him, but one nearby caught his attention. A little girl was screaming in terror, clinging to her obviously dead mother as one of those black demons bore down on her.

Eric didn’t hesitate a second, which was a second too long. He ran as fast as he could to try to intercept the creature, but knew he couldn’t make it in time. He cocked his arm back to throw his sword and hoped by some miracle he could slay the beast from this distance before it got the girl.

The miracle came in a different form: Jacob flew from nowhere to cut off the creature’s path. The demon’s tail snapped wildly at Jacob as his staff twirled around him, easily chipping the invading blows and sending them off course. He parried once, twice, three times, then exploded into an offensive barrage of varied strikes. Jacob hit the creature’s knees three consecutive times, more as a diversion for the single high shot that landed on the side of its cheek.

The creature howled as it stumbled to the ground.

Jacob pounced before the thing could even begin to look up, driving the end of his staff hard into devil’s throat, crushing its windpipe. It made a sickly gurgle as air seeped from its lifeless body. By the time Eric had closed the distance, the battle was already over and the little girl was nowhere to be seen. No doubt she had run off when she had the chance, leaving her dead mother.

Even with the distraction of death all around him, Eric could not help but think about that young girl. Her whole life had just changed in a flash. How many children had lost their families today? How many years would pass by before this black day was forgotten?
What is going on
? Eric and Jacob pressed their backs together, breathing heavily as they watched the chaos erupt in every direction.

Folk were being dragged down the street, screaming for help that would never arrive. Women, children; it didn’t seem to matter. No bias was shown as to who would die next.

It seemed the demise of their victims was still not enough. The demons gruesomely tore them to shreds, as if to continue the amusement long after their prey were dead. Perhaps it was the joy of the means and not the end itself.

Neither one of the friends could speak a word as they stood there, backs pressed against one another, ready to strike anything that came near.
 

Impossibly, a strong hand grabbed Eric’s shoulder and spun him around. There stood the only man that could have gotten that close undetected.

“Come on, let’s go!” Eric’s father yelled as he pulled him roughly down the street. He held Eric by the collar in a vice-like grip, as if he had no intention to ever let go, knowing full well that Eric would give his own life to save others, and that was not an option. Every time Eric even glanced at one of the many confrontations taking place throughout the streets, his father shook him violently, as if to say “
Don’t even think about it!”

 
Upon arriving at their house, he flung open the door and heaved Eric to the floor, but the younger man jumped back up and turned angrily towards his father.

“What are you doing? Our friends and neighbors are dying. They need our help!” Eric cried.
 

Slam
! An open backhand smashed across his face, sending him back to the ground.
 

Aena rushed down to Eric’s side to comfort him. She put her hand to his burning cheek as it began to swell.

Henry’s eyes were smoldering fire. “Stupid boy!” he yelled while pointing a finger threateningly close to his son’s forehead. “You don’t understand. You are more important than you realize! And you are out there risking your life to save a few—” His voice trailed off as he began pacing back and forth with both hands clenching the top of his head.
 

“By the gods, what you talking about?” Eric exclaimed as he sprung back to his feet. Henry said nothing, just darted from the room and into his bedroom. Rustling could be heard; it sounded like furniture was being dragged from one spot to another. He marched back into the room holding a small black box. Trembling fingers fumbled around the latch before finally opening it, and a jewel-encrusted necklace fell to the floor. The necklace was a gold chain with a large gold hoop attached to it. The circle contained a sizable green emerald in the shape of an eye. Red and yellow jewels surrounded the green eye as it sparkled. It looked as though it would fetch enough money to buy a town. Eric had never seen anything like it. “Here, take it,” Eric’s father said as shaking hands clumsily tried to fasten it around his son’s neck.

Eric had no idea what was happening here. The only thing he was now sure of was that his father
knew
this attack had been coming. He had been preparing for it! His head spun like a top as he tried desperately to find some kind of logic in this madness.
 

Henry grabbed Eric by the collar once again and dragged him over to the fireplace. He started pushing on the bricks, his hand moving in a predetermined pattern. Upon hearing a light clicking sound, he pushed on the side, until the whole fireplace slid over with a grinding sound, revealing a stone pathway.