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Prelude: Messenger of the Night
He peered into the darkness ahead. Nothing.
They had been sent out to look for something. What, he didn't even know. This was their fourth day out in the wild, and wild it was. Almost every night they were attacked by strange, giant lizards. And every day they skulked from one hill to another, always searching.
He stared harder; he thought he had heard something a moment ago. Maybe the four days were starting to get at him. They seemed to get at everyone else. More than once he had caught his comrades giving him evil looks from behind his back, the comrades he used to call friends. Oh well, he'd have to deal with them if they ever made a move. Right now he had more important business to look after.
He was Broc Silvering, commander of the Pnyx Combat Forces. He had been suddenly ordered, by Lindus himself, to gather his men and plunge into the forests South. It had all been rather strange.
* * * * * * * *
One night the men were sparring in their practice room, when a message came through that a stranger on horseback was approaching the gates. They had rushed out and taken their positions, wondering who in the world would come in at this hour. They had forgotten their questions when the rider came into view.
The rider had been fully cloaked, not an inch of flesh showing. An eerie light had seemed to linger behind the dim shadow as he rode. "Who are you that comes in the dead of night to the gates of noble Pnyx?" Broc had yelled. The rider had pulled up short.
"The nobility of Pnyx has yet to be seen," a sinister voice had floated out from under the cowl. "As for my name," the voice had faded in a trickle of cold laughter, and those who had heard it were stricken with a sense of dread.
Only Broc had stood undaunted, "What is your business here?"
The shadow had not moved.
"I ask again, what is your business? You shall not enter until I know!"
"I don't wish to enter. Yet if I did, I don't think you could withstand me," had come the reply. A short pause had occurred, followed by, "I am a messenger, come with tidings. Tell your precious Lindus that he will has two choices. Either surrender to us the Third, for we know he knows where it is, or all shall be lost. Do you understand, fool? Say just that!"
Broc had then given the signal for the archers to fire. No one would threaten his Lord. None had, and the horse, rider, and his laughter had faded in a swirl of motes of light.
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Lindus had trembled in his seat when Broc delivered the news. He had sat and stared at the wall, face drawn.
"What is going on, Master?" Broc had asked after a few seconds, "Do you know this messenger? Who is he?"
Lindus had nodded and slowly shifted his head to meet the commander, and the look in the mage's eyes had sent shivers down Broc's back. "Death," was all he had said.
Chapter One: Bloody Hills
Broc snapped out of the memory in an instant. There! There was definitely a subtle movement, not even twenty yards away. A shadow seemed to pass over his heart, and he, the man selected by Lindus to lead the Pnyx troops, knew sudden fear.
His hands were moist with sweat, and his legs wouldn't stop trembling. He knew in his heart that they couldn't win this fight, that the only hope was to die quickly. But he wouldn't give up that easily.
Yelling out to the rest of camp, he pounded his way back to the cluster of tents. What was the good of silence when your every move was watched? The Pnyx Combat Forces sprang awake and drew their weapons. A good idea, for suddenly they were assailed on all sides by wildly flailing undead.
Broc wasted no time. "Shieldbearers form an outer ring. Spearmen behind. Those with bows get up into the trees; make sure they have to burn you out." He yelled above the sharp clang of sword hitting sword, the dull thud of spears hitting shields, and the cries of the dying. He ran to the front of the lines, his sword and shield, engraved with ancient runes, in his hands.
Lower thrust, block, right slash, backhand, block. One undead down, many more to go. "How many more?" Broc asked himself. His troops were doing well, much better than the demon spawn, but the shapes looming in the darkness ahead never seemed to end.
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The defenders were slowly being pushed back, step by step, and when they reached the middle chaos would erupt. There was only one hope left. "Everyone to me. To me, to me. Our only chance is breaking though. Korinth!" Broc looked at his second in command, "Lead us westward, out to the sea. I and any others willing will bring up the rear. In the case that I don't make it, choose among yourselves your new leader."
Korinth, nodded and set off, rallying the men behind him. They punctured into the surrounding throng of foes, hacking left and right. Broc stood with four others, looking at the rest with a sense of satisfaction. They would make it out alive. Then, a bright red light flashed into the sky to the east, and the bellowing of demons floated through the woods. Broc knew despair.
"Come back. Come back," he and the others screamed, but it was no good. Watched the fire pouring out of the demons mouths as the men of the Pnyx Combat Forces were hunted down and consumed. Broc stared as one grabbed Korinth's neck in its huge hand and, as the man struggled in vain, squeezed his head off, before drinking the blood pouring out of the gapping neck.
Fighting back tears, Broc tore his gaze from the grizzly scene and gathered the remaining four men. Slashing at the hands of the undead groping at them from all sides, they pushed back deeper into the woods, eastward. Broc knew that their time was running out, the demons were finishing up. "Stand behind me," he told the others, a dagger whistling by his head. He raised his shield, lowered his head, and charged straight forward.
Blows bounced off the shield, and once Broc felt a stinging sword bite at his prone back, but the undead couldn't withstand the Commander's fury. Broc's spirits soared as he peeked around his shield and saw the last of the undead standing before them. They were almost out! Glancing behind at his men, he winked. Right before watching a dagger protrude from the trailing man's throat, and a spear being thrust into the stomach of the woman directly behind him. Throwing away all caution, he threw down his sword, caught the falling soldier as she fell, and slung her over one soldier. Using his shield, he managed to struggle past the last of the undead. Muscles straining, Broc whipped around, and threw his shield at the following undead. But where was his other soldier? As he was turning back, he caught sight of a human leg being thrown into the air. He gagged, and gloried the forest floor with vomit. That might slow the undead down a little, he smiled meekly, and set off as fast as he could.
* * * * * * * *
He ran for only a few minutes before the ex-commander stopped to check on the woman. Hopefully a few minutes would be enough. There was blood all down down his back, but whether it was his or hers, he couldn't tell. She was gasping for breath as he set her down, and Broc knew she would soon die. "I have failed all of you, I couldn't save a one. I was ill chosen," he lamented to the world. The woman's eyes flickered open slowly, and she smiled up at him. "You didn't fail. You were the best leader ever, to have gotten us this far." She shuddered one last time, and never moved again.
Broc, empty inside, miles away from the nearest human settlement, all friends lost. What had he done to deserve this fate? He fell asleep in the branches of a tree, half hoping to never wake up.
(to be continued)
[This message has been edited by moderator (edited 11-12-2001).]
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