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 Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:37 am
This is a work in progress. I'm about half way through but so far, apart from very supportive friends and family, had no critism, well, constructive critism anyway. I will be quite a long book (so far i've managed 107 A4 pages with a size 12 font) so bare with me when I transfer the story from A to B.
I have to edit it to make it readable for all of you, and I admit it takes me ages. Don't know why but that's how it is.
I'm going to post the first 5 Chapters. If you guys like it or I get some constructive critism to store in my head I'll get started on transfering the next 5 Chapters and so on and so forth.
ENJOY!
P.S: The title is momentary. As of yet, I'm not 100% sure what it will be called. Any suggestions tell me in your feedback. Thanks.
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:40 am
Prologue
The rain pounded down upon the forest, a relentless drumming that seemed to echo in the otherwise silent air. No birds sang in the trees, and the insects, which further down the worn path had filled the air with their buzzing, seemed to disappear a few metres away from the clearing ahead. They were getting close.
Captain Hal Soren of the Riftwatch breathed on his hands to keep them warm beneath his gauntlets, and examined the footprint in front of him. The imprint was fresh, only a few minutes old, and he smiled. Whatever had made this was not human, he was sure- no man had feet with six toes, each one ending in a two-inch claw. The footprint faintly smouldered, as if the foot which had created it had been on fire. Knowing what he was up against, Soren suspected that it had been.
Looking up, Soren drew his longsword, motioning for the two men behind him to do the same. The clearing was the perfect place for an ambush. But he would not be the victim. Taking a step into the rain-sodden clearing, he waited.
A few seconds later, their first assailant burst from the treeline on the right, closely followed by at least two dozen others. As Soren suspected, it was not human. The creature had the body of a reddish-skinned man, its flesh hardened and covered in cracks, from which leaked a burning liquid, like congealed lamp oil. The head was not even remotely human, a shapeless lump between its grossly overgrown shoulder-blades, occupied by a huge, twisting crater in which four rows of teeth span madly. A demon. A denizen of the Rift.
Soren raised a small crossbow, pulling the trigger and shooting the foul creature in the heart. As he had suspected, the demons had come at them from the side. Now, it was time for the ambush.
When the demons were only a few metres away, a large man threw himself out of a tree beside them, landing in their midst and lashing out with a huge hammer. Surprised and confused, some of the demons veered away, but were met by a similar attack from the other side, this time by a smaller man wielding a long, heavy sabre. The rest of the group scattered, some charging forward on to the blades of Soren and the men beside him, others back-tracking quickly. Soren cursed. If any demons escaped, they would cause more chaos elsewhere. Raising his blade, he charged into the fray, intent on the retreating demons.
Soren’s problem was solved quickly. As soon as the first running demon reached the treeline, a great howl rose up from around the clearing. In an instant, that demon was slain, beheaded by a slashing dark blade that seemed to have come from nowhere. The demons behind it were the next to fall- three large grey shapes leaped out from the trees, dragging one of them to the floor, while the other was impaled upon the whirling blade.
A small figure emerged from the shadows, unmistakeably a human teenager, wielding a long dark sword with the skill of a trained soldier. A demon dived at him- in a second, it fell to the floor, cleaved in two. Three more were claimed by the grey shapes beside the boy.
Soren ducked beneath a clumsy axe blow, putting his sword through the demon who had dealt it. In a few moments, it was over. No demon had been left alive, and five black-armoured men stood alone in the clearing. The boy and the grey shapes had vanished, into the darkness of the rain-soaked forest.
“Everyone all right?” Soren asked the men around him, wiping blood off his helm.
“I could use a hand,” groaned a faint voice from behind him. The small man with the sabre knelt there, cradling his left arm, “Quite literally.” Soren laughed, hauling him up and glancing at the wound on the man’s arm. It wasn’t very deep, but the man had lost a lot of blood. Soren beckoned for the nearest man to tend to it.
“You did well for your first ambush, Isath,” he grinned, “Don’t worry if you got hurt. I nearly lost a leg on my first time. You’re doing well.”
“Thanks, Hal.” Isath smiled. Soren nodded at him, and strode off towards the forest.
“Where are you off to?” called Isath. Soren turned around.
“To find our little friend.”
Soren had only been looking for five minutes before he found the boy, or to be more exact, the boy found him. A twig snapped behind him as he ducked underneath a branch, and he instinctively span around. There was no-one there. Grunting and turning back, Captain Soren found the long, dark blade of the boy’s sword at his throat.
“Who are you?” It was a demand, not a question. At first glance, the boy looked about eighteen years old, covered in mud and leaves, dressed in a worn, hardened leather cuirass and tattered cloth breeches. The sword pressed against Soren’s throat harder, and the demand was repeated. Soren spoke.
“My name is Captain Soren of the Riftwatch. I tha-”
“What are you doing here?” The boy cut him off with another question.
“Me and my fellows came here to put an end to the demonic threat in this area. It is strange that the demons came this far north, but we have ended their taint once and for all.” This was true. Demons could not usually survive for long away from the Riftlands, but they could cause havoc anyway. Two hamlets already burned from the sadistic attention of this particular group.
“So you are a friend, not a threat,” The boy lowered his sword, “I am sorry. But I did not know who you were, or what you wanted.”
“Don’t you have a family to go back to? How old are you, anyway?” Soren inquired. The boy’s face fell.
“Fifteen. I’m fifteen years old.” Soren gasped. The boy did not look a day under eighteen. Frowning, the boy continued.
“I have no family to go back to. Not after what happened. No, don’t make me go back!” Soren put a hand on his shoulder.
“You fought well today, boy. About as well as any trained Riftwatch member. You say you have nothing to go back to- why not join up? You’d have to start off in the city guard, but someone with your skill ought to be in the Riftwatch within two years. What do you say?”
The boy seemed to think for a moment, then gave a half-hearted nod.
“Perhaps.”
“Well,” continued Soren, “Think about it. I take it you know where Carnul is?” The boy looked puzzled, and Soren sighed.
“The big city?” he prompted, “About fifteen miles south? Past the Jawpeak mountains?” A look of recognition entered the boy’s face, and Soren grinned.
“This should get you along if you want to go,” he pressed a few gold coins into the stunned boy’s hand, “If not, just use it however you wish. If you decide to go to Carnul, just go to any city guardsman and tell him Captain Soren sent you. Good luck.” Walking away from the boy, who was still in a state of shock, Soren turned round again.
“By the way, I’m fed up with calling you “boy”. What’s your name?”
The boy looked up for a moment, still shocked, then spoke.
“Fardan. Fardan El’sare.”
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:42 am
Ten years later
Part 1- Pursuit
Chapter 1- An awakening
A boy, no more than twelve years old, lies in a bed. The dark wooden shutters on the window slowly creak inwards, revealing the blackened silhouettes of the trees beyond. A shadow-shrouded shape emerges from outside. A mouth opens, exposing sharp canine fangs, glinting in the light of the full moon....
Fardan El’sare sat bolt upright in bed, his adult body drenched in cold sweat. Groaning, the big man hauled himself out. The dreams were coming to him again, worse than before. They always came close to the full moon. He instinctively brought his dark brown eyes around to meet the scar on his wrist. A bite, no more than a scratch, but it had done what was intended. Fardan began to get dressed. In the tall mirror that hung on the wall of his sleeping quarters, he could see quite clearly the amulet that pressed against his throat. A sign of his curse, unable to remove it. Reviled, cast out of his village for what he had become.... Once dressed, he began to haul on the sallet helm and layered breastplate that were standard issue for the Riftwatch. They were made of black steel, a substance found only where the Rift was near. Next, he began to inspect his weapons. A light crossbow hung on the wall, a strange weapon that had a magazine for bolts mounted above the stock. Fardan had a look, unclipped the magazine and made sure it was full of bolts. Then, he drew his sword, Moonfang, a long hand-and-a-half sword with the name carved into the handle and strange runes inscribed onto the dark metal of the razor-sharp blade. Fardan had long suspected that there was some enchantment upon the thing, as it was always sharp and seemed to glow as it sliced through demon flesh and armour with ease. Even now, he could not quite understand how he had found the sword, all those years ago. Running with the pack, needing a weapon. A black blade, lying in the pack’s den. The boy had taken it, kept it... Fardan shook his head, unsettling the short, brown hair sprouting from it, attempting to drive the dreams from his head. These were not ordinary dreams.
They were visions of his childhood.
* * * * *
Fifteen miles away, the Rift shimmered above a ruined city. It was not immediately noticeable to the naked eye, but a careful observer would notice a displacing of the air, almost like heat rising off a surface, and a slight patch of darkness, as the light was sucked away. No one quite knew how the Rift had appeared. It was said by some that a great demonic creature had torn into this world, rending the fabric of reality apart and laying waste to the city and the lands around it, reducing them to a harsh desert where nothing would ever grow and madness and mutation awaited those that lingered too long nearby. Another darker, but possible theory was that the ancient sorcerers of the aeons-old city had meddled in powers too great to control, tearing the barrier between the dimensions in a single, almost apocalyptic explosion.
However it had been created, the Rift was well known as a place of peril, a great planar hole where demons and entities that were the stuff of nightmares poured through and ran amok. In fact, only a few demons ever came out at a time, but this was enough to stop anyone from even considering going near. Except for a few. A group of warriors whose duty was to protect the world from the creatures within the Rift.
The Riftwatch.
The Riftwatch was strangely organised compared to most other fighting forces, which was not really surprising, as it was by far superior to those, in both skill and fame. A small army created and trained solely for the purpose of destroying demons, the Riftwatch took only the best- either from a local army such as the Carnul Guard, or sometimes wandering warriors from far distant lands. These were issued with the best equipment, although unlike other armies, they did not always issue weapons. Members were encouraged to use the weapon they were most skilled with, whether the standard issue weapon of the army they were part of, a personal weapon or something they had a natural talent with.
The Riftwatch was organised into several garrisons, each split up into three squads of five men. The squads consisted of a senior officer, a Sergeant and three Corporals- promotion to Corporal was the normal procedure after a recruit had passed the three years of Riftwatch training. Each garrison spent most of their time in one of the ten watchtowers surrounding the outskirts of the Inner Riftlands, the area fifteen miles away from the Rift itself, where its influence was strongest.
This was a depressing place, where the sun was barely able to poke itself through the masses of swirling clouds that loomed over the hills, forests and moors that the Riftwatch had to patrol over each day. Dawn was usually only visible by the lightening of the black clouds. Each squad in each garrison had a different patrol route, and their job was to trudge along it each day, in the pouring rain, the only respite from the dreariness being the quite common skirmish with a warband of demons, in which each squad member had to fight, kill and risk their lives in battle.
It was one hell of a job.
* * * * *
Fardan opened the door of his room and began to walk down the winding stairway that led from his room to the first floor landing, where the many stairways of this particular watchtower joined before leading down to the main floor of the building. This was where Fardan was heading. The watchtower could be very confusing at times, huge as it was. It was the home of three squads of the Riftwatch. Fardan led one of the squads, as, being a lieutenant, he shared the second highest rank in the watchtower. The highest ranking officer, leading another squad, was Captain Isath, who also effectively ruled the watchtower. The third squad was led by Keria.
Keria. Fardan didn’t quite understand his feelings for her. He respected her, of course, as she was a great warrior in her own way and already shared the second highest rank in the garrison, being a lieutenant like Fardan. But there was something else..... a tiny spark of something, something that made him turn his head to look at her on patrol and made him shy to speak to her. She had a strange, almost exotic beauty about her, and wielded the foreign scimitar she carried in her belt with immense, perhaps unearthly skill- you could never tell the difference with some members of the Riftwatch. Look at me, Fardan thought, they let me in, even with my un-naturalness.
Fardan knew that this was not quite true. None of the Riftwatch knew his secret, at least, not as far as he knew. He doubted that he would have been allowed into a city, let alone the Riftwatch, if they did. Most people did not tolerate those who were different from them, especially in the way that Fardan was.
Lost in his thoughts, Fardan forgot to look where he was going and strode headlong into someone. He blushed deeply as he untangled himself and realised that it was Keria.
“S..s.. sorry!” he stammered as he hauled her upright, “I wasn’t…”
“Watching where you were going?” Lieutenant Keria smiled at him in an affectionate way, resulting in more embarrassed blushing.
“Um… yes.” Fardan muttered, then realised that Keria was also in full armour. She noticed what he was looking at and frowned.
“Early patrol.” she explained, “That blasted Captain Isath wanted two squads out today, on separate paths. All part of his new effectiveness plan for the Watch.” Fardan rolled his eyes and groaned aloud. He was well accustomed to Isath’s ‘effectiveness plans.’
“More like his latest scheme to steal the tower’s salted beef supply!” he muttered. Keria burst out laughing and gave him a playful shove. Fardan staggered back three feet. Keria might have been shorter than him- her head, even with it’s long, light brown, almost blonde hair, only came up to his neck- but she was very strong.
Fardan shakily regained his footing and began to walk down the main flight of stairs with her, swapping jokes and stories as they went. Someday, thought Fardan, as Keria began to recite one of her famous long-winded jokes, I will get to know her better. Someday soon.
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:48 am
Chapter 2- Just another day
“It is nearly ready, master. All we now need is a sacrifice”
“Good. Find a suitable minion for your spells.”
“I… I cannot, master. For the ritual to work, one of a strong will must be sacrificed.”
“You have foreseen this person?”
“Indeed I have, master.”
“Go then. Find this strong-willed one of which you speak. The ritual must be completed.”
“Thy will be done.”
Fardan sat down at one of the tables in the main hall of the watchtower and looked down at the meal on the plate in front of him. It was a standard Riftwatch ration, decoratively spread around a plate. The meal- if you could call it that- consisted of two small slices of salted beef, an apple, three slices of incredibly strong cheese and a cold, solitary carrot. It may be all dressed up, Fardan thought, but it’s still the same old thing we have for every meal of the day. Every day.
Even so, he thought, gazing down at the pitiful amount of food on his plate, the sooner I eat it, the sooner I can get out on patrol. With Keria. This last thought made him strangely happy, and he began to eat his meal quickly in anticipation. Only one thing was on his mind as he shovelled the salted beef down his throat. A certain female lieutenant in the Riftwatch.
* * * * *
A few minutes later, Fardan stood before his squad in the courtyard of the watchtower. They were a motley bunch, four men of varying sizes and equipment, but Fardan knew otherwise. These men were the finest that the cities of the north had to offer. They had proven themselves worthy of the Riftwatch a dozen times over.
There was Karath Heanes, a massive man who stood well over the height of Fardan, and Fardan was tall. Karath wasn’t just tall though, he was also immensely broad, and it was all muscle. Fardan imagined that Karath could probably push his way through a solid stone wall. Not that there’s much difference between the two, Fardan thought to himself. Sergeant Heanes was not as bright as most people, but possessed a kind of brute stubbornness that lesser men lacked, and his bravery was unmatched in battle. Karath carried a huge, single handed mace in his belt, which, Fardan guessed, powered by his enormous muscles, could probably smash a fortress gate apart. Over his back was slung a shield that was as broad as Fardan and nearly as tall- a veritable wall of black steel that was nearly impossible to penetrate. Fardan himself had seen swords and axes snap like twigs as they hit it.
Then there were the twins, Dranos and Juran, identical in almost every way. Around the same height as Fardan, they both carried a short sword and a dirk each, as well as an impressive selection of knives between them. Fardan had seen them use their weapons before- the two brothers formed a whirlwind of flashing blades in battle, and often an unwary foe had taken a carefully thrown knife in the throat after venturing too close. When on patrol, however, they were by far the most talkative of the squad. Between them, the twins had an almost endless roster of stories to tell, humorous quips to make, or, if they were in a good mood, classic drinking songs to sing. Fardan groaned at the thought, but was still pleased to have them with him. The added protection and company of the brothers was well worth the price of having to listen to them bawl out songs about ale.
Finally, there was Corporal Horas. Gaunt and extremely grim-looking, he was the squad’s ranged weapon specialist. Horas was a crack shot with any sort of crossbow, and had long been a valuable addition to the Riftwatch. A razor sharp, slightly curved blade hung at his side, and Fardan knew that he could use it. The Corporal was also one of the best mages in the watchtower, a true master of the spark of magical energy that lurked inside all human beings. However, there was something about him that made Fardan think that perhaps he too had something to hide from the rest of them. Perhaps it was the way that he almost never spoke, and when he did, used as few words as possible. Occasionally, Fardan would awaken at night to find Horas gazing into the glowing embers of the campfire, lost in some deep thought or memory. No emotion was ever visible on his face, except perhaps a glimmer of something like immense sadness or shame in the depths of his dark eyes. In battle, Horas fought with what seemed to be barely contained fury, and a strange ferocity unmatched by any others in the squad.
Fardan looked them up and down a few times, then began to speak.
“All right. You know the drill. Today’s patrol route’s along the south-east path- not much to see there except trees, as usual. Get your armour and weapons ready for patrol. I want you all back here within ten minutes. Squad dismissed.”
“Yes, sir!” Karath grinned as he said it.
“Short and sweet, just how I like it.” muttered Dranos. Both brothers stifled a giggle.
Horas merely nodded.
As the four men walked inside to retrieve their equipment, Fardan watched the squad parallel to his get dismissed by Keria. She caught his eye and grinned at him. Fardan blushed deeply for the third time that day, but managed a friendly smile. He nearly had a heart attack as she walked over to him. She stopped next to him, frowning at the clouds above.
“Looks like rain,” she grumbled, “Trust our luck to be out on a double patrol when it’s pouring down.” Fardan nodded.
“You reckon we’ll get any contact today?” he asked, referring to the frequent clashes with demons that often happened on a patrol. Usually Fardan came across raiding parties of twenty to thirty demons, but very rarely small armies came through, intent on destruction. In Fardan’s first year on a watchtower posting, three garrisons, including theirs, had to pull back to Carnul, the city nearest to the Rift and the only one in the Riftlands, as a huge invasion force of demons besieged them. Fardan was not anxious to see it happen again. Keria frowned again.
“It’s strange,” she muttered, “We haven’t had a contact for two weeks.
Neither has the Captain, and from what I’ve heard, you haven’t either. I’m not sure, but I have a bad feeling about it. The little gits are probably planning something.” Fardan nodded again.
Keria gave a weak smile and pulled out her crossbow, checking the magazine, then sat down and drew her thin scimitar, sharpening it on a rock. She inspected the edge and grimaced.
“I’m going to have to make a visit to the city on my next leave,” she held up her blade, revealing a few notches on the edge, “It’s over a year since this thing got its edge repaired. I don’t know… you’d think the enchantments would prevent damage, but no, they just make it sharper and lighter.” Fardan glanced at the sword and noticed the faintly glowing runes carved into it. Then, he made his mistake.
“I’ll go with you if you want,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Fardan swore silently. He hadn’t meant to say that. Keria looked up, her face pleasantly surprised. After a moment’s silence, she stood up and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Yes,” she whispered, and smiled, “Yes, I’d like that.”
The conversation was quickly interrupted by clanking, voices and a loud wolf-whistle from one of the twins, signalling that Fardan’s squad had returned. Keria smiled and strode back to where her squad were waiting. Fardan turned towards his squad as the men formed a rough line in front of him. He grinned. No mockery from the twins was going to ruin his good mood now.
“Well then, lads,” he shouted in his best parade ground voice, “Not much to see today, so just keep your heads down and hope we don’t get a contact, because it’s going to be a long day! All set? Let’s get going!”
As they strode underneath the black steel portcullis and turned away onto the south-east path, Fardan was sure that Keria winked at him.
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:49 am
Chapter 3- Ambush!
“The trap has been prepared, master. Soon we shall have our sacrifice.”
“Then let us hope that the prey takes the bait.”
“It is as you say.”
The first that Fardan knew of the ambush in the forest clearing was a terrified cry of “Get down!” from one of the twins, then a huge pressure on him as Karath bore him to the ground. A moment later, a small fireball flashed through the air, exploding with a low boom and a burst of orange light in the precise spot where he had been standing before. Rolling to one side through the pouring early autumn rain, Fardan could see Corporal Horas on his feet, firing his crossbow with one hand at something at the other end of the clearing as he raced for cover. The twins were on the floor, pressing themselves flat against the grass, the black steel of their breastplates seeming to absorb the light around them rather than reflect it. Fumbling at his belt for a second, Fardan drew his crossbow, then unsheathed Moonfang from his belt. The strange runes along the dark metal blade glowed faintly as he threw himself behind a boulder, preparing for an assault. Two more fireballs flashed overhead, then there was an uneasy silence. It lasted about three seconds before an almighty roar came from the far end of the clearing and a war party of demons burst out of the mass of trees.
The squad acted quickly. The demon at the head of the group, an almost human looking creature with red skin and a horned skull instead of a head, took a crossbow bolt between the eyes, testimony to Horas’ deadly skill. A second passed, then another bolt flew with a thud into the next demon’s throat. Fardan aimed his own crossbow and fired, and was satisfied to see a rat- like creature go down, a bolt embedded up to the feathers in its chest. A new bolt dropped into place from the magazine and he pulled back the lever that drew the string as a flurry of crossbow bolts flew from the rest of his squad’s hiding places. Fardan fired again, then clipped the crossbow back into its strap. The enemy were too close.
A feral bellow from behind signalled Karath’s charge, as he hurtled out of the cloud of steam created by the fireball against the rain. The huge man sprinted past Fardan’s hiding place, shield raised to deflect any of the incoming arrows or sling bullets that were now pouring from the advancing demons. Fardan followed suit, screaming out a war-cry of his own as he raced towards the imminent melee. Behind him, he could hear Dranos and Juran doing the same. There was no sign of Corporal Horas, but Fardan knew that he would be picking off any flanking creatures before making a charge himself. Ahead of him, Fardan saw a moment’s hesitation in Karath’s relentless advance, but the reason was soon revealed when something flew from his outstretched hand, smashing into one of the demonic beasts with the force of a battering ram, sending the creature sprawling into its fellows. A risked glance revealed a short-handled hatchet buried in the demon’s skull. Letting out another fearsome cry, Fardan closed the final few metres to the enemy. In mere moments he was fighting for his life.
* * * * *
Keria held up a hand to silence her squad’s calm chatter. Instantly they were on the alert, weapons ready. For a few moments, there was no sound, just tense silence. Keria broke it with an uneasy laugh.
“Sorry, false alarm. I thought I heard….”
She was cut off by the sound of a screamed battle-cry coming from the east of her patrol route. As if at some unspoken signal, all of her squad began to sprint towards the line of trees where the bellowing had come from. Keria whipped out her thin scimitar, raising it as she ran.
A barbed arrow whipped past her ear, glancing off the side of her helmet. Similar arrows rained down on the squad. “Into the trees!” she yelled, heading for the nearest cover, “Quickly!”
It was only when the demonic shapes began to drop from the foliage on to her squad that she realised that they had walked straight into a trap.
* * * * *
Fardan ducked under an axe blow from a demon, which would have removed his head had he not acted quickly enough. Twisting his body around, he caught the axe again in mid-strike and forced it back. The demon snarled into his face as it attempted to bring its hand to his throat. Fardan snarled back, and head-butted it in the face, the impact of his helmet smashing the demon’s nose in a shower of blood. The creature reeled back, and Fardan took the opportunity to put a stop-thrust through its heart. Black blood oozed out as the demon fell, a slightly shocked expression on its face. Fardan turned as a sword was thrust at his back, but the black steel breastplate held true, the blade glancing off it as if it was made of paper. He lunged at the attacker, driving his own blade through its groin, then slashing upwards, nearly cleaving the demon in two. Laughing insanely, he spun to face a new enemy, sword in hand. Ripping them apart, enjoying the looks of fear on their faces. An uncontrollable lust for blood, the primal urge to gorge himself on the flesh of his enemies. The fierce joy of the kill….
Fardan was vaguely aware that he was losing control, succumbing to the wolf blood within him. Frantically, he attempted to quell it. If he totally lost control, then surely he would unknowingly attempt to harm his friends. A sudden, sharp pain in his shoulder brought him quickly back to reality. In control of himself once more, he brought Moonfang around in a wide arc, severing the shaft of the spear that had pierced his shoulder guard, and the head of the creature that held it, in one blow.
Without warning, something smashed into Fardan with almost bone-breaking force. Rolling to one side and impaling a demon that lunged at him with a short sword, he realised that it was the corpse of a huge demon, at least half again as tall as a human. Its head had been smashed open by some massive impact, and its skull had completely caved in. Over the heads of the battling demons, Fardan could see Karath Heanes, swinging his heavy mace with the ease of a grown man holding a twig.
Fardan attempted to roll to his feet, but before he could, a clawed foot descended on his breastplate and pressed down, forcing him to the floor. He frantically tried to push himself up, but the demon was much stronger than him. Fardan looked upwards, but soon wished that he hadn’t. A terrifying face leered down at him, part beast, part man, with reddish skin, a foul, twisted smile on it. Laughing with horrific delight, it raised a huge, double-handed sword above its head. Fardan knew he was as good as dead.
Suddenly, the sword in the creature’s hands seemed to glow red-hot, and it let out a terrible howl of agony and dropped the weapon. A harsh cry in a strange language rang out above the din of battle, and the demon’s head was suddenly enveloped by white and gold flames. A hideous screech echoed in Fardan’s ears, before it was cut off as the flames glowed brighter. Slowly, they died away, leaving the creature’s head a burned, shapeless mass of cracked flesh. The body, still moving in a horrific parody of life, lurched backwards. A crossbow bolt thudded through its chest, and it finally fell and was still. A figure emerged from the mist swirling around the battle. It reached out with its hand, and Fardan felt himself being hauled upright. His eyes met the grim face of Corporal Horas. Fardan gave a grin.
“Thanks.”
Grabbing his sword from the floor, Fardan stood back to back with Horas, facing the mass of demonic warriors advancing on them from all around. Corporal Horas drew his long, curved, single-bladed sword out and brandished it at the advancing demons. Suddenly, the creatures halted, as a massive beast, twice the height of a man and over twice as broad, strode to the front of the group, looming over the lesser soldiers.
Desperately, Fardan looked around for some avenue of escape. There was none. Demonic screams from the far sides of the mist-shrouded clearing told him that the rest of the squad were busy as well. The huge demon stepped forward, rain evaporating instantly when it touched its reddish skin, the occasional blue flame flaring from its bull-like snout. Chuckling evilly, it growled something in some other-worldly tongue, and pointed in the direction of the two men of the Riftwatch.
Fardan was surprised by a cold, grating laugh from Horas. The Corporal had a humourless smile on his face, and was staring intently into the burning eyes of the demon. Still staring, he snarled back a reply in the foul language, the words sounding doubly terrifying in his cold, strange accent. The demon stared, then an evil look of recognition crossed its terrible features. It grinned savagely and made a gleeful reply, again in the warped language. The smile vanished from Horas’s face, instantly replaced with a look of pure fury.
“Stand back,” he muttered to Fardan, “This one is mine!”
* * * * *
Coughing blood, Lieutenant Keria Jesian rolled into the thick undergrowth of the forest. A single glance behind her told her all the bad news that she needed. Her squad were dead, every last one of them, their blood flowing from their fresh wounds to soak into the wet leaves below. Keria herself had a huge gash across her breastplate, from which a steady trickle of blood leaked out. Pressing herself against the ground, she forced herself to keep her breathing to a minimum. If the demons found her now, she was as good as dead. Even now, Keria could see them stalking between the trees, inhuman faces staring around. Looking for me, she thought, where the hell is Fardan? Suddenly, the idea came to her. Fumbling at her belt, she drew one of the emergency flares that Isath had briefed every squad leader how to use. They were small things, about the size of a dagger, and apparently held some kind of alchemical mixture that reacted to fire. Trembling, she waited for the right moment.
* * * * *
Fardan watched fearfully as Horas approached the demon, sword extended. The huge creature laughed, and gestured for the lesser creatures surrounding them to stay back. Now is not the time for chivalry, Fardan thought, seizing the opportunity and smashing his gauntleted fist directly into a demonic warrior’s mouth. As it reeled back, he put his sword through it and turned to face its comrades. With a roar of what seemed to be both anger and savage joy, the demons poured towards him, avoiding the duel between Horas and the massive beast. Fardan, with sudden clarity of thought, realised what he had to do. Raising his voice to his loudest, he bellowed across the clearing.
“Riftwatch! To me! To me!”
The horde of creatures paused in their tracks, alarmed by Fardan’s cry. The sudden lull in the fighting allowed him to snatch a glance at Horas. The Corporal was sweating and bleeding profusely, his single-edged sword locked with the demon leader’s huge, crude greatsword. As Fardan watched, Horas suddenly swung his blade the other way and ducked under the creature’s weapon as it was thrown off balance. A sweep underneath the shield the beast held opened up a huge rent in its belly, a disembowelling blow that would have killed any human. The demon, however, merely staggered back a few paces, then began to slash wildly at Horas.
Realising that he was going to get killed otherwise, Fardan let out another fearsome cry and charged at the creatures. Ahead of him, he could hear heavy footfalls and an answering shout, then demons screeching in fear. Good old Karath Heanes, he thought, running a demon through with his sword. Moonfang was definitely glowing now, a bright white light emanating from the runes that appeared to blind his enemies. A terrible keening sound rang out from behind him, and he turned to see the huge demon on its knees, Horas pushing his blade through its back. As the creature slumped forward, Horas withdrew his sword and swung it in an arc, decapitating the beast. As their leader fell, the demons seemed to panic. Some rushed past Fardan, making for the trees. These unlucky creatures found themselves facing Dranos and Juran, the twin’s flashing blades cutting down any demons attempting to get past them. In moments, it was over. Every demon in the clearing lay dead.
“Not the worst fight I’ve been in.” grunted Karath, rubbing blood and bits of pink stuff off his mace. Fardan shook his head, hiding a grin. Karath Heanes would probably say the same thing after a full-scale war.
“Not everyone’s as indestructible as you, Karath,” he joked, “It was quite a challenge for me. I think this posting’s softened me up- I had a hard time.”
“That’s what worries me,” came a strangely accented voice from behind them. Fardan was surprised to see that it was Horas.
“That group was larger than usual, and well organised, too,” he explained, “That leader knew what he was doing, even if it was a suicide mission. If you ask me, that warband’s purpose was to hold up somebody for a while. A diversion.”
“A diversion for what?” inquired Juran.
A low boom sounded from above the squad, accompanied by a flash that bathed them in red light. Fardan looked up to see the flare rising into the sky. A red flare. The sign for help.
“Keria!” he whispered.
As one, the squad began to sprint towards the flare.
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:50 am
Chapter 4- The hunt begins
“It is ready then?”
“The worm is in the water and the fish is unaware of the hook.”
“Good. Do not fail me in the catch.”
“I will not, master. Everything is prepared.”
Captain Isath hated lookout duty. It was just so boring, so dull, having to stand for hours on end in the draughty room at the peak of the watchtower, watching for anything interesting. Not that there is anything interesting about lookout duty, Isath thought gloomily. Feeling deep into the pocket of his tunic, he withdrew a handful of salted beef. As soon as my shift’s over, he thought, munching on the semi-edible meat, I’m going to buy a chair for this place. Nowhere for me to have a snooze.
The thought of the end of his shift brought his eyes to the small clockwork watch dangling from his neck, just above his beloved belly. It was a small thing, a circular brass device with two small hands to point the hours and the minutes. Picking it up, he realised that it had stopped.
Blasted things, he thought unhappily, they’ll never catch on. Better to learn how to do it from the sun. Isath brought his hand up to his eyes to look at the sun- just in time to see a rising red flame, trailing smoke as it exploded in mid-air.
Captain Isath, for all his flaws, was a good man, who thought of his comrades as much as he thought of himself. Putting his lips to the emergency horn, he blew a long, clear blast, then sprinted down the spiralling stairs, screaming the alarm. Below, he could hear his squad, the only people left in the building, rushing about, following the emergency procedures Isath had drilled into them himself. If he wasn’t so panicked, he would have been proud of them. By the time he had vaulted over the final flight of steps, his squad were out in the main hall, ready for instructions. Captain Isath wasted no time in giving them.
“Right. One of the other squads just fired a red flare. You know what that means. We need to head over towards the edge of the forest in the south- that’s where they fired it. Weapons ready? Then let’s go!” As the squad ran for the doors, Isath stopped his wife, Erdae.
“You need to stay here and look after the watchtower. If there’s any trouble here, I want a signal right away. Is that alright for you?” Erdae, a large woman with flaming red hair, put her hands on her hips.
“This is because I’m a woman, isn’t it!” She grumbled. Isath put a hand around her shoulders.
“Of course not! I’m choosing you because you’re the only one I can trust to keep this place in one piece!” he joked. His wife chuckled and gave him a playful shove out of the door. Saluting her mockingly, Isath ran out of the courtyard, heading after his squad.
He fervently hoped that he wasn’t too late.
* * * * *
Keria lay panting in the bed of leaves surrounding her, hoping that the demons prowling around the edge of the forest hadn’t seen where the flare had been fired from. Her scimitar lay in the mud a few metres away, and she cursed as a small beam of light from the quickly setting sun reflected off the stained blade, creating a veritable beacon to any demonic creature observant enough to notice it. Knowing that this could all too easily blow her cover, Keria reached out of the bushes towards her sword. A huge, smouldering hoof was placed on her arm, and an evil laugh sounded in her ear.
Keria screamed.
* * * * *
Fardan heard the scream as he dashed through the trees, and the piercing, terrified sound made him run all the faster.
“Move!” he hollered at the rest of his squad, who were lagging behind, evidently tiring. The thought that Keria was in danger had given him a sudden and unexpected surge of strength, and the branches and thorn bushes in his way did not bother him at all as he raced in the direction the flare and the scream had come from.
Sprinting another few metres, he came across a terrible scene of carnage. Around him lay the remnants of Keria’s squad, mangled corpses in bloodstained, smashed breastplates- all that remained of the group of warriors who had left the watchtower earlier that day. Gasping for breath, Fardan stopped. His eyes scanned the floor of the clearing.
“She’s not here,” he muttered, “Where is she?”
The others were not listening to him. They were busy wondering why Corporal Horas was aiming his crossbow through the trees. There was a short thud, followed by a bestial howl of pain.
“Got him,” grunted Horas, “There’s someone you can ask.”
The demon was pinned to a large oak tree, the metal shaft of the crossbow bolt sticking through what was probably its shoulder and into the bottom of the trunk. Its many-jointed fingers ineffectually tugged at the bolt as Fardan and his squad advanced. Fardan drew his sword and placed it against the creature’s neck, attempting not to notice what was above it.
“All right, scum,” Fardan growled, “Why are you here and what have you done with Keria?”
Fardan knew that he was unlikely to get anything out of the demon at first, and he was not disappointed. The torrent of abuse coming from its inhuman mouth only ended when Horas, slowly and purposefully, placed a booted foot on its neck and pressed down. The demon, spluttering, flailed its arms (all three of them) and ceased its ranting.
“Now,” Fardan grinned at it, “I’ll ask you again. Are you going to talk or am I going to have to let my squad loose on you?” The creature looked around. Its gaze was met by cold, merciless glares from the men around it.
“All right,” it hissed, a look of fear passing across the goat-like face, “I’ll tell you what you want. It won’t do any of you any good anyway. We were given orders to find a human- a female, the leader of a group of men, and capture her. Only she was to remain alive, so we killed all others. We were to take the female back to the master. He has some…” the demon let out a cruel, rasping laugh, “…plans for her, in his little home.”
“Where is this?” Fardan had a terrible suspicion that he already knew.
“The rift.” hissed the creature gleefully.
“Thank you.” grunted Horas, bringing his foot down hard. There was a sickening crunch, and the demon lay still, an insane smile still on its hideous face. Looking round at the faces of his squad, Fardan knew that the situation was grim. The last two words the demon had spoken were enough to create a feeling of hopelessness among the small group of men. The corpses in the clearing didn’t do much for their spirits, either.
The faint sound of a twig snapping not far behind him made Fardan spin around.
“It’s Isath.” muttered Dranos, sitting on the ground and beginning to clean his short sword.
“Never was very good at sneaking about, him.” finished Juran. As the sound of rapid footsteps grew closer, Fardan could see that it was indeed the Captain and three other men, running with weapons drawn across the rotting mass of dead leaves that formed the forest floor. Fardan could see their faces in expressions of shock, sadness and finally anger as they noticed the dead squad. Isath ran up to him, shaking with barely contained rage.
“What happened here?” he growled, gesturing around the clearing. Fardan saluted him.
“Sir, this squad was attacked by a superior number of demons while we were busy with a diversionary force.”
“I can only see four of the Riftwatch here, Fardan. Where is the squad leader?”
“They…. they took her, Captain.” For the first time in the conversation, Fardan’s voice broke.
“Where did the scum take her?” hissed Isath.
“The Rift, Sir.”
Isath nodded gravely. Taking Fardan by the shoulder, he quietly led him to the other side of the clearing.
“Listen,” he whispered, “I know your secret.”
“You do?” Fardan’s voice was hoarse, as his mind conjured up thoughts and doubts. How does he know? How much has he seen?
“Yes, and I can tell that she returns the feeling.” Fardan was lost for words, before he realised that the Captain was talking about Keria. Isath carried on speaking.
“I’m not supposed to do this, but I’m going to go and find her. If we can rescue her before she gets to the Rift, then all is well. If not….” his voice trailed off as he noticed the look on Fardan’s face.
“I’m in,” muttered Fardan, “When do we go?”
“First, we bury our dead.”
* * * * *
Fardan sat by the fire, tears silently pouring down his face, carving lines in the dirt, as he watched Isath and the brothers place the dead men carefully in the large grave they had dug. He was not ashamed that he was weeping. Some of the men being buried had been friends of his, men he had known and liked ever since he had been taken in as a boy and trained to be a warrior. In his mind, he swore to make the demons responsible pay.
“Karath, if you would….” Even Captain Isath’s voice was shaking with emotion. Only Horas showed no sign of obvious sadness, but gazed into the campfire, the flamed reflected in his dark eyes. Karath Heanes, tears streaming from his eyes, picked up the large rock that Isath had discovered in the woods, and placed it over the newly filled grave. Isath drew a chisel from his belt with trembling hands, and began an inscription.
A sudden memory of the day’s battle ignited in Fardan’s mind, and he got up and walked over to Horas. The Corporal did not acknowledge him at all, but stayed still, staring at the dancing orange flames in front of him.
“Horas,” whispered Fardan, tapping him on the shoulder, “What happened today? In the clearing?” The grim man’s expressionless face turned to face him. Fardan continued.
“You knew that big demon, didn’t you?” Fardan pressed on, “You said something, in its own language.” A few seconds of silence passed, then Horas spoke.
“Yes,” he growled, with unexpected rage, “I knew that monster. I swore vengeance upon that same beast eight years ago. Yes, I knew it.”
Horas looked away, something like shame in his eyes, and his gaze fell upon the fire again. Fardan, deciding not to speak any more, walked away. Grimly, he began to check his equipment, watching for the first light of dawn to appear, a signal to begin the hunt for Keria.
I will find you, he thought, lying down on his bedroll, I swear it.
Behind him, Isath finished the inscription upon the rock. The names of the dead warriors were placed at the top of the rock, followed by a simple epitaph. These men were our friends and companions.
They fell in this place doing their duty to the last.
Though this message may fade in years to come,
It will always be fresh in our memories.
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:52 am
Chapter 5- Day trip to Hell
“All plans are in motion, and soon they will be complete.”
“And our planned victim?”
“The fly approaches the web.”
“Good. Ready the chamber. Soon we can begin.”
“Of course, master. First, however, I must bring the bait here.”
“Do so, then.”
Dawn broke, awakening Fardan from troubled dreams of his home, his family, his curse. As he did every morning, he felt his throat, desperately hoping that the amulet, the miniature wolf skull on a chain that was a symbol of his affliction, would disappear, that he would be cured. As always, it was still there, pulsing with a strange power. Fardan knew that he should know better. As far as he knew, there was no cure for those like him. Deep in thought and depression, he rolled off his bedroll, pulled on his clothes and armour, and joined the rest of the group for breakfast.
* * * * *
Keria groaned, her head throbbing as she woke up from a long, dreamless sleep. She was just aware that it was dawn, but strangely couldn’t remember how she had gone to sleep. Let’s see, she thought, I was in the bushes, I went for my sword, and… oh, hell. Knowing and dreading what she was about to see, she looked up. She was bound tightly, placed precariously next to a campfire. On the other side, a small group of demons sat, talking amongst themselves. As Keria watched, one of them raised its head, noticed her, and let out a braying laugh.
“Well, well, well,” the creature hissed, in a cold, strange voice that made Keria shiver, “Our little guest has woken up.” More grating, harsh laughter sounded from the group, and the first creature stood up, cracking its knuckles ominously.
“Best be quiet now, girlie,” growled the demon, “We don’t want your little friends turning up now, do we? We don’t want you to be late for his lordship.” Snarling at the taunting creature, Keria kicked out with her foot, catching the beast on the shin. It grunted, and stepped back, a terrifying look of fury on its face.
“You’ll pay for that!” hissed the creature, drawing a long, burning stick from the campfire.
* * * * *
Fardan’s group of warriors had only been walking for half an hour when Captain Isath gave the signal to stop. Walking over to Fardan, he pointed a finger at something in the distance.
“Look.” he grunted. Fardan stared dubiously in the direction of Isath’s finger. There was a shadow over towards the south, a faint column of something dark.
“Smoke,” he muttered, “They’re about three hours ahead of us. Good job we got up at dawn, or we wouldn’t stand a chance.” Isath nodded.
“That’s not all,” whispered the Captain, “Just listen. What can you hear?”
Raising a hand to silence the men around him, Fardan carefully listened. His face went pale.
“Screams.” Isath nodded again, even more grim than before.
“Demons have a reputation for torturing captives.” he muttered.
Fardan’s vision went red, as pure rage filled him. The wolf spirit took over. Howling, he drew his sword and began to sprint towards the plume of smoke. He had barely gone three metres when he collapsed in the sand, one of the twins hanging on to each of his legs. A huge weight almost flattened his back as Karath sat on him. Desperately, Fardan flailed his arms, attempting to dislodge his companions.
“I’ll kill them!” he screamed, almost blind with fury, “I’ll kill them all!”
A stern, grim face appeared in front of Fardan’s eyes.
“You will do no such thing,” Isath spoke quietly, but with authority, “At least, not until I tell you to. Calm down, Lieutenant.” A faint snarl passed over his face.
“Do not worry. The time will soon come to destroy those fiends.”
* * * * *
The Riftlands were a dangerous place at the best of times, but the twisted forests and hills that dominated most of the evil place were nothing compared to the desert that lay at its heart. The Anamari plain, named after the ruined city above which the Rift hung, was a dark, inhospitable place. There was no life of any kind, plant or animal, except for the foul creatures of the Rift and the rotting fungi that seemed to creep across the grey mix of sand and ash that made up the desert, and Fardan had no doubt that those too came from the same place as the demons. The sun was almost totally obscured by the black clouds of ash and dust that covered the sky. It was a terrible place, fraught with danger and peril.
Fardan spat, attempting to drive the acidic tang of the dust from his mouth, and covered his face with his gauntlet. They had been making good time across the plain, coming close to catching up with the demons, when the dust storm had started. Now, Fardan could not even see three metres ahead of him, never mind the creatures that had captured Keria. Shouts from around him told him where the rest of the Riftwatch were, and he made towards where Captain Isath was trudging along, bringing his foot down upon a slowly moving patch of fungi as he walked.
“Where are we, Captain?” he bellowed, the howling of the wind almost drowning out his voice. Isath turned to look at him, the sand bouncing off his breastplate and chainmail.
“I don’t know, Fardan!” he hollered back, “Maybe we should wait for the storm to go down and get our bearings!” Fardan, struggling against the wind, shook his head.
“What about the demons and Keria?” he shouted, cursing silently as the foul dusty substance blew into his mouth again, filling it with the acidic taste again.
“With all luck, they’ll be stuck as well!” the Captain replied, “We’ll never catch up with them if we don’t know where they are!”
Grimly, Fardan nodded at him and placed his bedroll on the ground, as Isath called the two squads to a halt. Next to him, Karath and the twins threw their bedrolls down next to him and collapsed on them, panting with exhaustion.
“Good job we stopped.” grunted Dranos as he lay flat upon the bedroll.
“We probably would have been split up,” explained Juran, “And who knows what could be out there?” Fardan smiled and placed his backpack over his face, protecting it from the swirling sand. The others in his squad did likewise. Suddenly, Fardan realised that not all of his squad were with him. Horas was not there.
* * * * *
The hooded man watched gleefully as the dust storm he had created covered the foolish group of warriors on the plain ahead of him. Even now, he suspected that the men would be lost for hours on end. Grinning, he finished the incantation that would keep the wind blowing at them, and gazed down as his kidnapping party began to enter the ruins. Turning to his bodyguard, he dismissed the burly demon with a wave of his hand.
A small, dark shape at the edge of the dust storm caught his eye, and he only just had time to duck as a steel-tipped crossbow bolt flew past his face, tearing a gash through his robe as it scored a shallow cut across his shoulder. Cursing quietly beneath his cowl, the man turned and ran through the archway behind him. It was time to report back to his temporary master.
* * * * *
Fardan discovered Horas after a few minutes of walking about through the storm. The Corporal was staring at a spot in the distance, a crossbow in his hands.
“Missed,” Horas muttered, a frown on his face, “He ducked. Too far off, anyway.” Fardan stared at him in disbelief.
“How the… how can you see through this storm?” he asked, still gaping. For the first time, Horas looked at him. Smiling briefly, he gestured for Fardan to come closer. Fardan did so, and was amazed to realise that the sand-filled wind had stopped hitting his face. Looking back, he could see that the dust storm ended about a metre behind him.
“What the- that isn’t right!” he exclaimed, putting a hand into the mass of blowing dust, “Horas, how the hell has this happened?” Horas smiled again and walked over to Fardan.
“Magic,” he explained, “Powerful as well. Some mage picked up half the desert with wind and blew it at us. That was who I was shooting at. He was on the battlements.” Horas pointed a finger at something behind Fardan. Looking behind him, Fardan gasped.
Before his stunned gaze lay a huge, grey stone wall, no more than three hundred metres away. The tops were crumbling, and the towers that loomed behind it were in ruins, pieces of rock falling even as he watched. A huge, rusted gate stood in a large hole in the wall, obviously the main city entrance. Through the ancient iron bars of the gate, Fardan could see the outline of a massive statue, a towering stone man raising a sword above his head triumphantly.
“Anamari,” breathed Fardan, “City of the Rift.” As this thought came to him, Fardan glanced upwards. All of his excitement at the sheer majesty of the city was extinguished in an instant, as he saw what was above the once-great city.
It hung around the central mass of towers, a group of looming buildings that pierced the sky like spears. At a first glance, it could have been merely a heat haze, or a trick of the light. However, as Fardan looked more closely, he could see a wide cloud of darkness, barely visible as it drew in the light around it. Looking at the edges of the darkness, Fardan could just about see a vortex of swirling tendrils of colour, inexplicably drawn into the darkness, forming a wide tornado of energy.
“The mage should not have been able to create that storm.” The strangely accented voice of Horas from behind him startled Fardan out of his trance. Glancing at him, Fardan raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“The Rift absorbs both light and magical energy,” the Corporal continued, “Anyone attempting to manipulate magical energy within a certain distance from the Rift has the very energy they are using drawn away from them, pulled into wherever that hole leads. That wizard should have had no power to cast that spell with…. unless….” Fardan spun round to face him.
“Unless what?”
“It is impossible…. how could he tap in to the power of the Rift itself?” Fardan gulped nervously.
“So what you’re saying is,” he asked, “This man would have to draw energy out of the rift itself to cast that spell?” Horas nodded grimly.
“This all fits together,” Fardan muttered, brow knotted in thought, “Perhaps he could be allied with the demons? Could the demons give him power to do this, to slow us down?”
“Yes, it is possible… but who would ally with those creatures?” Horas looked even more grim that usual. Fardan shook his head.
“Someone desperate or insane,” he replied, “Or both. Come on, let’s get the others.”
* * * * *
The city looks even more ominous as you get closer, Fardan reflected to himself, as the band of men approached the gate. From where he was, he could now see the chained and caged corpses and humanoid skeletons dangling from the wall and towers. It was a grim sight indeed, a gruesome reminder of what now dwelled in the once-great city.
The men were on edge now. Fardan didn’t blame them. Isath had given the order to ready weapons only a few minutes before, and Fardan was somehow less afraid with his sword in his hand. He smiled slightly as Captain Isath gave an angered glare at Dranos and Juran, who were quietly humming a jaunty tune together. They stopped, looking down at the ground sheepishly. There was silence.
The silence was broken a second later, as a long arrow struck the man next to Isath, who fell to the floor with a cry of pain, attempting to yank out the cruel, barbed head from his side. Fardan was already diving behind a rock when he heard Isath curse loudly and saw him drag the wounded man out of the way. The other members of the group were running, spreading out to find cover from the hail of arrows that was now raining down upon them. Risking a glance over the rock, Fardan saw a line of demons, standing behind the battlements, using huge longbows to propel the deadly arrows at the scattered men below. Oh hell, he thought.
* * * * *
Captain Isath frantically checked the pulse of the wounded man next to him. It was Ferrick, a young member of the Riftwatch, his thin face pale with pain. He was alive, but one glance at the arrow told him that it was bad. Propelled by both the power of the longbows and the inhuman muscles behind it, it had punched straight through the chain shirt that protected Ferrick’s side. The young man’s breathing came in difficult, ragged gasps, and Isath realised with horror that the arrow had pierced Ferrick’s lung. If he wasn’t attended to soon, it was only a matter of time before he died. A matter of painful time. Isath, desperate to help his charge, roared out a command.
“Any trained medics, over here, now! The rest of you, open fire!”
* * * * *
Fardan heard the Captain’s desperate cry, and pulled back the small lever on his crossbow that drew back the string. Aiming at one of the hideous creatures on the battlements, he fired, and happily watched the demon fall over the wall, clawing frantically at the bolt in its chest. There was a faint click as a new bolt slid into place from the magazine, and Fardan pulled back the lever and fired again, this time taking another demonic beast through the shoulder. As he watched, the demon was punched completely off the battlements by another bolt. Fardan could tell that it had come from Karath Heanes. Karath was the only member of the Riftwatch who could pull the string on his crossbow back to the end of the stock, and the sheer power of his shots showed this.
“Medics! Here! NOW!” Isath’s second cry galvanised Fardan into action. He was one of the best medics in his squad, and Isath and Ferrick were only a few metres away. Standing up, Fardan lowered his head and ran, literally hurling himself behind the sand dune providing the Captain with shelter as the arrows rained down. A pointed shaft glanced off his helmet as he jumped, sending him sprawling across the sand and dust. Isath pulled him into cover, and he lay there, panting.
“It’s bad,” Isath explained, showing Fardan the wounded Ferrick, “The arrow pierced a lung. It’s barbed, too, so I can’t pull it out.” Fardan nodded, and slowly reached for that sliver of arcane power that lurked in all human beings. Finding it, he placed a hand carefully on Ferrick’s wound and concentrated.
A golden stream of fire poured out of his fingers, cleansing the wound of any possible infection. As his magic reached the arrow-head, Fardan cursed inwardly. It was indeed barbed, two points facing backwards to cause maximum tissue damage if it was pulled out. Concentrating even harder, Fardan sent out two tiny, red-hot spears of golden energy, shearing through the iron sides of the arrow-head as if it were butter. Carefully, Fardan tugged out the arrow, the head now smooth and easy to remove. However, the barbs were still inside the wound, so Fardan slowly pulled them out of it, a faint golden wire wrapping around them and dragging them out. Next was the damaged lung. The stream of fire covered the small hole, replicating the flesh around it, until the lung was whole again. Finally, he did the same to the entrance wound, quickly closing it up and halting the blood loss. A healthy, coloured tinge reappeared to Ferrick’s face, and his breathing became less difficult. Completely tired out from resisting the anti-magic effect of the Rift, Fardan collapsed from exhaustion.
Fardan awoke less than a minute later, to the unwelcome feeling of Captain Isath slapping him round the face. Groggily, he sat up, pushing aside the Captain, and noticed that Ferrick was on his feet, firing his crossbow around the dune at the enemies nearby. Fardan fumbled with his crossbow strap for a moment, then stood up behind the sand dune and poked his head out to have a look.
The demons were still lined up on the wall, although their numbers had been heavily diminished by the disciplined skill of the Riftwatch. Fardan found a target, a burly creature wearing a rough chainmail hauberk and aiming a huge bow at one of the men down below. Fardan’s first shot went wide, whizzing past the demon’s shoulder by a few inches. He tugged back the lever and pulled the trigger again.
There was a muffled twang, the sound of a tightly drawn string being released and impacting upon nothing at all. With horror, Fardan noticed for the first time that his magazine was empty. They only contained five bolts. The demon spun around, saw him, and raised its bow. Fardan knew that he didn’t have time to change his magazine. He also knew that he wouldn’t be able to jump out of the way of the arrow in time, although he still tensed for an attempt. As if time itself had slowed down to mock his end, he watched as the demon released the string….
And was thrown backwards, as a crossbow bolt smashed the arrow in half before it had even left the bow, and continued in its short yet eventful journey, smashing through the rusty mail and burying itself in the foul creature’s heart. Fardan pulled himself behind the dune again, glancing to one side to see who had saved him, and was surprised to see Horas wink at him from behind a nearby rock. Fardan shook his head. Two brushes with death in the same number of days, each time saved by Horas. He was losing his touch.
Pressing his back to the dune, Fardan drew a new magazine from his belt and slammed it into the slot on the top of his crossbow. On the other side of the dune, he could see Isath and Ferrick firing away at the demons on the wall. Fardan peeked out again and raised his crossbow, but before he could fire, a loud blaring of a horn distracted him. Staring amazedly, he watched as the demons seemed to retreat from the wall, vanishing in an instant. Cautiously, the two squads regrouped, the sound of confused muttering seeming to echo across the desolate landscape. Isath walked over to Fardan, eyebrows raised beneath his helmet.
“I don’t like this,” he declared, gazing at the wall behind a raised hand, “Why would they retreat? They could have beaten us. Any ideas?”
The faint echo of a female scream came from the direction of the city, followed by a flash of light from the Rift. Fardan moaned quietly.
“Because they managed to buy enough time for that.” he murmured.
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2007 7:53 am
Until I get feedback of some sort, I'll leave it at this. Happy reading!
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