Days Of Light And Shadow (59 page)

Chapter Ninety Three.

There was little warning. Even less than that. But with the city unguarded, the watch disbanded, the enemy could walk in unnoticed. And they did.

But they didn’t truly walk. Whatever was left of their minds no longer told them quite how to do that. How to lift their feet fully. They shambled instead, lurching from side to side, almost stumbling, but not quite. Skin like leather pulled tight over bones and sinew, eyes of purest black, and the remains of whatever clothing they had once worn still clinging to them, they rushed into Leafshade at pace. And every so often as they crossed the fields, they let out a sound. Something between a screech and a snarl, but never something that should have come out of a man’s throat.

At first no one knew what to make of them, and those who saw them approaching simply stood and stared as they emerged from the tree line. But as they came closer and what remained of their faces could be seen more clearly, a few realised what they were. They knew why they were there, and ran. But not everyone understood, and the creatures were upon the closest before they realised the danger.

The elves who weren’t quick enough on their feet soon went down in a screaming heap of bodies, of torn flesh and sprayed blood, the creatures leaping on them and bringing them down with their fingers and teeth. While they no longer were able to walk properly, they still remembered how to bite and claw and leap. How to rip apart a victim.

After a dozen workers in the fields went down, the remaining elves finally started screaming and ran for their lives. Madness ruled after that. Blind panic and hysteria, propelled by savagery. The creatures - ever more of them appearing from the distant trees - charged across the fields, through the streets, and leapt on anyone they could find. There was no one to stop them.

The army was gone. So many were dead, lost in the war, and the rest of the watchmen had been disbanded as part of the price of peace with Irothia. The rangers were on patrol. All they had left were the city guards, and they were never an army. There simply weren’t enough of them either, and though they tried, they were quickly overrun.

After that there were only civilians left. Civilians who’d never picked up a weapon in anger in their lives. Left to defend themselves against the horde.

A few grabbed swords and bows, but they weren’t trained. They brought down a few of the enemy, but when their weapons failed to kill them, they were brought down in turn. Arrows they discovered to their cost, seemed to have no effect on the abominations, and many of the creatures roamed the city freely unaffected by the entire quivers of arrows that stuck out of their bodies. And as for swords, a soldier might have done better, but most of those wielding them weren’t soldiers. They cut and hacked and slashed at the creatures, but nothing short of decapitation seemed to be able to stop them.

At least that brought others time to run with their lives, and run they did. They ran screaming through the city, all thought of decorum forgotten.

As they ran, they roused Terwyn from his sleep.

He slept a lot these days. The elders said it was something to do with the poison they had been given, and that it would take time to rid it completely from their flesh. But he knew the truth. It was shame. He could not face the people of the city. He could not face his family. He could not even face the memories of what he had done. Sleep was easier, even if it came with nightmares. Terrible nightmares that could turn a man’s hair white overnight. That had turned his hair white. They had turned that of the others white as well. Their colours were gone, and they were old before their time.

But even he couldn’t sleep through the screaming, and when he reached the front door to his family home and saw the people running, he suddenly wasn’t tired. Not any more.

“What’s happening?”, he yelled it at the nearest citizen as she ran past screaming, and got nothing from her. But the man behind her managed to scream a single terrified word.

“Abominations.” It was all he said as he ran past, and all that he needed to. Terwyn understood him perfectly.

“Y’aris!” It was him, his army, his new army now that his watchmen had failed him, and Terwyn wanted to scream with rage as he realised the black blood had now turned on his own people. But he didn’t have time. There was time only for one thing, and as he grabbed the family sword from the wall where it had hung untouched in years, and a hunting bow, he let out the scream that he should have never forgotten. A scream that had once meant something decent.

“To the watch!” It had been their cry, that of the Royal Watch, and though the Watch was no more, though the watchmen had become true monsters before their victims had sent them home in disgrace, it was still their cry. He only hoped some of the others heard it and remembered.

Then he ran directly at the people running in his direction, knowing that the enemy was behind them. And that he finally had a true enemy to face.

It didn’t take long to reach them, they had advanced so far into the city. He found the first, gnawing and slashing with its claw like fingers at a man on the ground who was trying desperately to get away. Terwyn screamed with rage at the sight.

It was an easy kill, the thing didn’t even notice him as it desperately tried to rip the man’s throat out with its teeth. A single slice of the blade had its head rolling away free, and the thing was dead, its victim already trying to roll the lifeless body off him.

“Run!” But he didn’t have time to see if the elf could, as he spotted the next abomination coming his way in that peculiar trot. Instead he had to duck and weave and dodge as the thing struck at him, slicing it constantly with the tip of the sword, but not really doing it any harm. Then in a fortunate side step, he managed to take off its arm when it sailed past, and he felt a moment of pure relief as he believed the battle was over.

But then the creature leapt at him again unbothered by the missing arm. The move caught him flat footed, he hadn’t expected it, and the abomination managed to get an arm around his middle. Worse than that he could feel its head in the small of his back and knew that it was trying to bite him. Even with an arm missing and limited purchase the thing was trying to bite him.

A quick slice at its good arm, soon had it on the ground, as with no working arms it simply couldn’t hold itself up on him, and he stepped out of its embrace, and struck his sword deep into the back of its head.

After that, there were more to kill. So many more, so thick on the ground that they seemed to fill the open areas from one end to the other, and he had to be fast. He was.

Something deep within him began running wild as he set to work. A rage burned out of control and he screamed at the horde as he advanced on them. He screamed and slashed left and right with his blade like a wild man. For once there was no pain, no guilt or shame. There was no more gaping blackness within his soul. There was only the fight as he focused all his energy on the enemy before him. There was only the blinding, hot blooded fury coursing through him as he planned their destruction, and nothing else mattered.

Like a berserker he waded into their midst, and he took them apart. Slice by slice, piece by piece, he dismembered them, and when they still kept moving he dismembered them some more. His blade was invisible with its speed, it cut through flesh and bone as though it was air, and somehow it never missed. And though the things tore at him, he didn’t feel it. All he knew was violence. Savage, glorious violence.

He wasn’t alone. He didn’t look, he didn’t care about anything else but the next abomination, but he heard others raging beside him and it was a good sound. A wolf pack on the hunt.

The battle raged higher and higher, and the body parts of the abominations flew past him in all directions, but he never thought about losing. He never considered dying. Those ideas simply weren’t within him. And neither was tiredness. All there was was the enemy - these foul abominations - and they had to die. He cut and slashed at them, he hacked them to pieces, and step by step, screaming every step of the way, he took the battle back to them. Step by step, killing by killing he and his comrades began taking back the city.

Time passed and he barely noticed it. All he knew was the enemy before him, and the ferocious aching hunger within him to kill them all. The same need the others of the watch knew. They stood by him, standing tall, and bit by bit the abominations were slaughtered and cast aside. And if one got through and wounded any of them, the watchmen didn’t care. They just fought back harder.

At some point he smelled smoke and knew that the city was burning, although he didn’t know why. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter why the people had stopped screaming either. All that mattered was destroying these foul creatures, and he quickly forgot about everything else.

Then, in one unexpected moment after dropping an enemy, he looked for the next enemy and couldn’t find it.

Shocked he looked all around, hunting desperately for the next shuffling monster, but he couldn’t see any more. Where were they? He knew the terrifying thought that they were behind them, attacking the others, but no matter how many times he spun around he couldn’t see them anywhere. All he could see were bodies. So many bodies.

They littered the ground all around. Bodies and body parts. Like leaves in Autumn they covered the ground, almost completely hiding the grass and stone.

For the longest time Terwyn stood there, staring. Trying to find the enemy, and finding nothing. The others were the same. All of them searching and finding nothing. All of them confused. With black blood dripping from their weapons, from their clothes, and the smell of death all around, they stood there like statues, wondering what to do.

“Is it over?” Terwyn didn’t know who asked. But no matter who asked he was suddenly sure he was right.  The battle had ended, the enemy was defeated.

“For the moment.”

The battle might be over but he was sure the war was just beginning. The true war, not the lie they had all just fought. The players were coming out. The Mother and the Reaver if what the elders has said was right. This wasn’t the last battle he would see, and maybe not even the last battle Leafshade would see. But there were things to do before then.

He looked around at those who had fallen. The people of Leafshade, the civilians not the soldiers. They had been torn apart by the savage creatures. So many of them dead. They would all have to be gathered by their families and loved ones, and buried. And the abominations too, their remains would have to be disposed of. Next would come the weeping and the prayers, the recriminations and the rebuilding.

As the raging heat of the battle slowly left him and the pain of his life returned Terwyn knew that the battle was ended but the misery had only just begun. For all of them. And it was a bitter understanding to realise that he had no idea where his family were. His parents, his brother and sister. They could be anywhere. Or they could be dead. He had no way of knowing. And the same fear and horror he knew was being shared by so many others.

“We should change, wash out the blood, and help,” Terwyn said to the others. He wasn’t their captain any more. They weren’t his soldiers. And none of them had anyone left who could truly give them orders. But they did as he said.

It was the only thing to do.

Chapter Ninety Four.

Y’aris walked out to the courtyard just outside his new chambers a little nervously. This after all was an important day for him as he began his quest to restore the pride of his people. The first of many.

But things were going well for him thus far. Even better than he had hoped for. His new deal with the Reaver and his priests was being honoured. Leafshade had been destroyed and the demon was feeding well, almost bloated from the souls his abominations had brought him, so he was happy. And because of that he was happy to indulge his servant’s wishes. The priests, even the high priest Crassis who hated him body and soul, were at his disposal.

In accord with his status as the Reaver’s favourite, he had been given some fine quarters. An entire building across the grounds at the back of the temple, where he had enough room to house his small but growing army of watchmen, and several dozen rooms for himself. They were old of course, the temple and its surrounds had stood for a thousand years, and the stone had weathered and slowly turned green over that time as the moss and lichen had made it a home. But they were still warm and dry, and with the plunder his soldiers were bringing back from the traders they’d been raiding, they were becoming quite comfortable.

Best of all there was even enough gold available for him to hire a few professionals to take care of those people who had caused him some annoyance over the years. Especially one dirt poor utra lord who had refused to die in screaming agony when he should have. He would not be so lucky the second time around. The Brotherhood of the Asp would see to that.

It was an odd thing to reflect on, but in all the years that he had been in Leafshade, first working his way up the ranks to become  the high commander, and then when he’d finally achieved that rank serving the royal brat, he had never been well respected. But here, among the demon ridden, he was almost a king. Maybe being cast out of Leafshade had been a good thing. Not that the people of Leafshade knew it. Or had known it before the stupid high priest had sent in his army of abominations. Now they knew nothing.

And best of all, the battle had been hard fought. He had not witnessed it of course. That would have been dangerous. But the reports from those of his watchmen who had been there, and who still walked as men, said the city had put up a strong fight. Many abominations had been killed, maybe most of them, and though their numbers had of course been swelled by the fallen, the demon’s army had not grown much. That worked in his favour since their failure was seen by the master as the priests’ failure. They had led them after all. And led them badly.

Crassis was steaming with barely suppressed rage, but none of that helped when his star was waning and Y’aris’ star was rising with the master. The high priest was actually fortunate to have merely been pushed aside. A few more such battles and he would have found himself one of the abominations. Or their dinner.

And now best of all, his own soldiers, the remains of his watchmen, had returned from the city with his prize. The women who would become the mothers of the new elven race.

Thirty five of them. All young and unmarried, pure of blood and from the oldest of high born families. His soldiers had scoured the city as the battle raged, hunting them out in their homes, dragging them away from the masses of refugees fleeing the city afterwards, and finally they had marched them to him. It had been an impatient two weeks for him as he’d waited for them to arrive. But finally they were here, and he studied them eagerly as they were held for him.

All were young and fit, that was important and he’d impressed it upon his soldiers before they’d left. There could be no sick mothers to bring forth sick babies. All were beautiful as well. But that was only to be expected when they were all of the most ancient and pure lineages. But above all, all of them showed the proud noble features of the true elves. They might have been raised in a sick realm, presided over by a corrupt leader with corrupt morals, and taught all sorts of immorality by their ignorant parents, but their lineage was faultless. With the right man to take command of them, they would make excellent mothers to his new people.

Of course they didn’t understand that yet. They were frightened and confused. Bound by coarse ropes because they didn’t yet know better than to try and run away. They were tired and hungry from their long march. And many showed the signs of violence on their bodies. Cuts and bruises mostly, a few black eyes, but nothing more serious. He had given strict instructions that they were not to be harmed any more than absolutely necessary.

The women were sobbing as he inspected them, something that annoyed Y’aris more than a little. Even with everything he had done, and everything he had yet to do, there was still something about a woman’s crying that could bother him. But he said nothing. He gave no sign of his discomfort as he walked up to the first of them.

“Who are you?” She was young was his first thought, almost too young. Barely at the age when she could birth a child. But at the same time her hair was a brilliant orange and her ears stuck out completely backwards, and he didn’t need her to tell him that she was of House Darrion. The signs were there for all to see.

“Talia.” She broke into more sobbing in front of him and he very nearly slapped her to make her stop. But he held himself back and eventually the tears stopped and she finished her introduction. “Talia of House Darrion.”

House Darrion. One of the largest of the high born houses, they had a dozen families within Leafshade and many more throughout the rest of the realm. They also had a history spanning back a thousand years or more, and they were proud of it. High born and pure of blood, she was a good choice he decided, to be a mother of the new elven people. And more than that the patriarch of the house, old Syrial had been a pain in his side for many years. In the Royal Chamber, in front of all the witnesses, he had not only opposed him, he had referred to him as a boy. So there would be some justice in this. A part of Y’aris actually hoped the ancient fool had survived the attack, just so he could learn of what his arrogance had cost. Before he died.

“And why are you crying Talia?” He managed a smile. He thought it might help though many had told him that he smiled like a spider. “You are safe here in the temple. You will not be harmed. I promise.”

His words didn’t stop her crying. But then she was young and had been abducted from the city as the master’s armies had sacked it. She had probably seen many people die gruesome deaths in front of her, maybe even her family, and the abominations were frightening. Maybe that was too much to expect of a simple girl. Fortunately he had an answer.

“Here, take a couple of sips of water. It will calm your nerves.” He handed her the flask of cursed water and watched as she did as he asked. One sip, two and then a third. The water worked its magic as it always did, and he watched as her eyes grew suddenly large in appreciation. He pulled the flask back from her before she could take a fourth though. He needed her thoughts to be his, not her body and soul to become his master’s.

“Now isn’t that better?” He spoke softly and knew as she turned to him that she heard every word. She would have even if he’d whispered. And she’d believe it too. The Reaver’s magic was potent.

“Come.” He wrapped an arm around her waist in a far too familiar fashion for polite society and heard the others draw their breath in surprise. “Dry your eyes and I will show you to your new quarters.”

With just a light touch of his hand on the small of her back he guided her towards the door leading further in to the temple complex, and she didn’t resist. She went willingly and even stopped crying. And why not? She had nothing to fear. She was to be one of the mothers of the new race. The mother of a prince. It was a position of honour .

By the time he had her at his bedchamber her eyes were no longer red and she was smiling as she understood the honour she was being given . That was as it should be.

“Come in girl, and let me tell you of why you were brought here. You are to become the mother of the reborn elven race.”

She walked in with a smile on her face, and he closed the door behind them.