Chapter 6: Blackmoor
Boom! Boom! The sound reverberated throughout the palace. Mortar and tiles fell in various places, men and women forming a bucket brigade fought valiantly to douse the fires blazing within the fortress; the stables, though empty were in fames. There was another blaze burning in the armory and a third in the buttery. To the untrained eye it would seem pandemonium reigned but in actuality the people were performing a well orchestrated dance of survival and life. Those not fighting the flames scurried through the banquet hall with buckets of water and bundles of rags and strips of cloth to aid the wounded or the dying. Others carried water to the soldiers on the wall, still more brought them pails of scrap metal and quivers of arrows to use against the enemy. .
"The south wall is falling! Fall back! Fall back!" A mans scream called out above the din. The death cries of men and boys could be heard answering the sound of blaster fire and whoosh of flying arrows.
"Drop the bloody pitch! Burn them all." King Jordain screamed in fury. His head throbbing, blood and sweat dripping from his brow into his eyes. His temple stung from an arrow wound received in the first volley over the wall. His arms were numb as once again he struggled to lift his bow, firing another flaming arrow into the sea of enemy troops below.
His defense was failing. He'd known it would be thus since first stepping out onto the ramparts, gazing over the vast horde army painting the landscape outside the castle walls. His kingdom had fallen days before. It took seven days for Onyx's army to take Blackmoor, four of them were spent conquering his capital city, Thoroon but conquer it she had. The fires from his prize city illuminated the night two evenings past, shaming the stars with the brilliant flames, a fiery prelude to her arrival at his castle gates.
Well, she would have his kingdom, she would have his city and she would have him but she would not have his son or the one thousand horses Blackmoor's royal stables bred. His son would carry those to the rebellion. Even now the steeds and half his garrison were positioned in a valley just south of the kingdom, ready for the flight to Mystacor.
"Some of our own men are down there!" One of his soldiers yelled back at him. King Jordain Dusk of Blackmoor closed his eyes, fighting back weariness, hopelessness and pity. Some of these men had grown old along side him, he'd known them for years, now she was forcing him to order their deaths. He prayed their end would be swift.
"They're dead anyway, pour the pitch, do it now before we lose another wall!" Anguished cries pelted his ears along with the hiss and spat of electrical noise made by destroyed robots. He fired another arrow, managing to wound one of the black clad figures encircling the general.
"Ha! I hope you die slow you miserable bastard!" A crimson bolt of light just missing him as he ducked behind a crenellation in the walls, was his only answer to the vindictive taunt. He was breathing hard, peering around him he saw his soldiers sending down a torrent of arrows, some alive with fire others tipped in venom kept especially for war. His squires, Lloyd and Alexander were busy pouring a vat of boiling sand over the wall and onto their enemies.
He reached toward his brow, wiping the sweat and blood aside with a small green kerchief, a remnant of his dead queen and the woman he had loved all his life and loved still now, ten years after her passing. He fancied that even today, so many years later a hint of her floral scent yet remained in the fabric.
He stood again, loosing a volley of three arrows with such speed as to be defied by reason before ducking behind the wall. Another blast aimed at his head exploded across the masonry near his ear, fragments of rock sprayed off the edge, dusting his face. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, waiting for the fine mist to dissipate.
Through the haze of blood and smoke, above the din of death and destruction, a voice like pure light burst through the darkness of battle and opening his eyes, he beheld his son racing toward him. Even in the midst of his kingdoms ruination the king could not help but smile in pride at his heir. Adonai Dusk, the prince of Blackmoor and his son cut a bold and dashing figure- racing among the soldiers and their squires, deftly avoiding the fire raining down over the walls.
"Father!" He called, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "We must go. To stay would be useless. Onyx has won the day here."
"No. I'm not leaving, my son. I will not abandon my city and my people to this demon." The king's voice was a low, snarling growl as he continued, "I will meet her face to face and show her what freedom really means to us." Adonai grabbed his father by the shoulder, his emerald eyes wide in disbelief.
"Surely you jest?" He cried loudly, in order to be heard above the noise. King Jordain shook his head.
"I've never been more serious in my life boy. Rand and Nathaniel are waiting at the back gates. They will take you to the rebellion, you will be protected by half my garrison. Take the horses and troops and ride for Mystacor."
"No! Father I won't leave you. If you stay, then I will remain at your side." Jordain's eyes flashed with fury and panic and he ripped his sons hand from his shoulder, pushing him back in anger.
"Don't you defy me!" He hissed angrily, white spittle flying from his mouth. "You will take the horses and be gone! I will not have my steeds fall into the hands of the horde beast masters and made into monsters such as what she rides! And you- you must be free to reclaim our kingdom from that hell-bitch!"
"But Blackmoor needs its king!" Adonai yelled back in defiance, his eyes flashing wildly. Jordains eyes shimmered and tears held back until now welled up and fell over his weathered cheeks, beating a path of warmth into his snowy beard. Removing his crowned helm he clasped his sons head to his heart, speaking softly into his ebony hair.
"Blackmoor has a king. The finest king she has ever known." It was more than he could bare to release him but release him he did, "I love you son." He whispered, then, shoving him back Jordain returned the helm to his brow. "Now begone! I've a battle to lose." Adonai gazed in horror not at his father but at his king as understanding washed over him. He was serious. As king, he meant what he said about staying. As his father he meant what he said about his going. Knowing further argument would be useless he burned the image of his father into his minds eye as if keeping a mental picture fresh in his memory would somehow ensure they would meet again before the war was over. Turning he left his father and king to his fate.
Minutes later a chilling crackling sound was heard above the noise of war and the earth shifted beneath his feet. Jordain struggled to maintain his balance.
"Fall back!" His Man-at-arms cried out, "To the inner courtyard! The wall is falling! The wall is falling!" The entire wall beneath him began undulating as the horde sappers completed their job. King Jordain leapt off the wall to the scaffolding beneath it, then leaping off the wooden platform he flew to the ground of the inner courtyard. Dropping into a full body roll he leapt, agilely, to his feet. There weren't many of them left; about fifty men joined him where he stood, forming a circle in the courtyard, their last defensive gesture. Dying screams and squeals peeled over the grim horror of the day like some kind of ghastly music and their was a loud whoosh and roar as the wall crumbled to the ground, a cloud of white dust billowing upward and over the courtyard. Jordain covered his face, breathing through the cloth of his ocher shirt but some of the dust seeped through and into his throat; he began choking as did many of his men.
Horde forces quickly swarmed into the courtyard and over the inner bailey. They were everywhere as they shot their stunners at servants and soldiers running to meet them at the crumbled wall.
"Fall back! Fall back, damn you!" Jordain cried, before being overcome by another bout of coughing. "There's nothing more you can do here!" He wheezed, "save yourselves!" Too many of his people were too loyal. They ran towards the enemy teeming in and fell to their stun blasts or on the points of their swords. Then, like carrion feeders come to gloat and feast on the carnage, a band of dark clad figures walked slowly through the pearly mist. Each of the thirteen messengers of death were armed with twin green prodders. Jordain had eyes only for one of them. Onyx, the handmaiden of Death. He drew his sword. As did his men.
"Surrender." Her wintry voice commanded. A hush seemingly fell over the courtyard.
"Never!" He spat, grimly.
"Yield to me now and mercy will be extended. Fight me, and death will be the gift you bring to your people." She smiled mockingly through her dark face shield. He could envision her eyes beneath the mask she wore, dancing with mirth as she held before him the promise of torment to his people. His sword arm faltered, lowering slightly as his mind raced, searching for an alternative to surrender; one which would not bring harm to his people.
"Drop your weapon and kneel." She commanded imperiously. His gaze lowering, he turned his ashen face to his comrades. They were all watching him, seeking for some silent command as to his will. They would follow him to their deaths, he knew but so many were dead already.
No. He would not have even one more person die for him. If they were to die this day, he would will that they have a clear understanding of why they died. He would not have them die for him, because of him; but for themselves, because they chose life and joy and not merely endurance. If people lost their lives this day it would be because they chose death with freedom in their hearts and on their lips rather than enslavement to the Horde. He lowered his sword. His men followed suit.
"Now, kneel, slave." His fist tightened on the end of his sword and he shook his head, hate alive in his eyes as he gazed on the merciless form of the Horde's Commanding General.
"I will never kneel to you. I am the king of Blackmoor. You are nothing but scum. I will not kneel." The woman raised the emerald flamed prodders threateningly, crouching back on her heel, her voice ringing out in fury over the courtyard.
"You will kneel or you will die where you stand, dog!" He smiled widely, raising his blade, pointing the tip toward her chest.
"I would rather die a free man, than live my life as a slave to your master. Crawl back to your lord, bitch, I am no cur to be brought to heel. I will not be made a slave. Nor will I watch my people suffer such a fate. I will not make the choice for them but for myself- I choose to die free." And so saying he turned his blade toward his chest and fell upon it. His men, Onyx, the Black Guard, all stared in stunned disbelief at the king who fought them with such valiance. His body flopping over, his eyes gazed triumphant at his enemy, blood leaking out the corner of his mouth.
"If this… is the price I must pay… to be free, so be it. I pay… gladly…" Then his eyes grew gray with the twilight of deaths cold embrace; and still Onyx did not move. A cry of anguish rolled down from the countryside to be taken up and echoed in the courtyard. The kings men sprang into action, swords drawn, murder in their eyes, they went for the Black Guard.
Her Guard surrounded her, understanding their leader was helpless at the moment, lost in the throes of some dark obsession. Not a blade got through their protective ring. Not a sword got near enough to touch her as she knelt at the side of the fallen king. Many members of the Horde including some of her guard believed their Lady was Death's woman. They believed she could only be with her love, the lord of the dead, moments after the death of some noble enemy. They had seen it happen before. She would remove her mask kissing the cold dead lips of the fallen, her tears would bathe their face. She would then wipe smooth their frozen dead features with her long golden locks and stand again, a new fire kindled in her black heart and they would advance on a new town, find new victims and create more conquests. For her need was theirs and they new she must be sated.
Far and away on a hilltop outside the city Prince Adonai saw his fathers final act in the name of freedom through a telescope. A hoarse cry of anguish was ripped from his throat and carried on the wind into the courtyard of his fathers kingdom. Throwing the tool to the ground in terrified rage and despair, he began running down the hillside, heedless to the calls of his men, needing only to reach his fathers side. His two sub- commanders, Rand and Nathaniel chased after him, wrestling him to the ground, and he fought them. How he fought them. Howling his pain to the uncaring sky.
"My King!" They called, over and over. They would not strike him, though they were now bleeding and bruised from blows he inflicted upon them, trying to escape their custody. Finally, as some semblance of sanity returned, he fell to his knees and wept. Wept like a child for he knew it was true. He was king now and his father lay dead. He was king of a fallen kingdom for Blackmoor belonged to the Horde and its bitch. How long they sat there on the grassy knoll he did not know. He only knew he wept until he was dry and he sobbed until he was hoarse and when he was finally silent his soul continued to mourn. Eventually his men were able to assist him atop his horse and they rode to Mystacor as if the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels.
They never looked back.
Unknown to them, every man and woman left in the kings palace fought to the death when they could and to unconsciousness when a stun gun robbed them of their choice. None would be taken alive or conscious. It was a night of mourning for the forces of good and an evening of shame for the forces of evil. As they rode toward Mystacor hatred such as he'd never known rose up in Adonai's heart and he vowed his fathers death would be avenged and his kingdom reclaimed and someday Onyx would fall upon his blade.
Boom! Boom! The sound reverberated throughout the palace. Mortar and tiles fell in various places, men and women forming a bucket brigade fought valiantly to douse the fires blazing within the fortress; the stables, though empty were in fames. There was another blaze burning in the armory and a third in the buttery. To the untrained eye it would seem pandemonium reigned but in actuality the people were performing a well orchestrated dance of survival and life. Those not fighting the flames scurried through the banquet hall with buckets of water and bundles of rags and strips of cloth to aid the wounded or the dying. Others carried water to the soldiers on the wall, still more brought them pails of scrap metal and quivers of arrows to use against the enemy. .
"The south wall is falling! Fall back! Fall back!" A mans scream called out above the din. The death cries of men and boys could be heard answering the sound of blaster fire and whoosh of flying arrows.
"Drop the bloody pitch! Burn them all." King Jordain screamed in fury. His head throbbing, blood and sweat dripping from his brow into his eyes. His temple stung from an arrow wound received in the first volley over the wall. His arms were numb as once again he struggled to lift his bow, firing another flaming arrow into the sea of enemy troops below.
His defense was failing. He'd known it would be thus since first stepping out onto the ramparts, gazing over the vast horde army painting the landscape outside the castle walls. His kingdom had fallen days before. It took seven days for Onyx's army to take Blackmoor, four of them were spent conquering his capital city, Thoroon but conquer it she had. The fires from his prize city illuminated the night two evenings past, shaming the stars with the brilliant flames, a fiery prelude to her arrival at his castle gates.
Well, she would have his kingdom, she would have his city and she would have him but she would not have his son or the one thousand horses Blackmoor's royal stables bred. His son would carry those to the rebellion. Even now the steeds and half his garrison were positioned in a valley just south of the kingdom, ready for the flight to Mystacor.
"Some of our own men are down there!" One of his soldiers yelled back at him. King Jordain Dusk of Blackmoor closed his eyes, fighting back weariness, hopelessness and pity. Some of these men had grown old along side him, he'd known them for years, now she was forcing him to order their deaths. He prayed their end would be swift.
"They're dead anyway, pour the pitch, do it now before we lose another wall!" Anguished cries pelted his ears along with the hiss and spat of electrical noise made by destroyed robots. He fired another arrow, managing to wound one of the black clad figures encircling the general.
"Ha! I hope you die slow you miserable bastard!" A crimson bolt of light just missing him as he ducked behind a crenellation in the walls, was his only answer to the vindictive taunt. He was breathing hard, peering around him he saw his soldiers sending down a torrent of arrows, some alive with fire others tipped in venom kept especially for war. His squires, Lloyd and Alexander were busy pouring a vat of boiling sand over the wall and onto their enemies.
He reached toward his brow, wiping the sweat and blood aside with a small green kerchief, a remnant of his dead queen and the woman he had loved all his life and loved still now, ten years after her passing. He fancied that even today, so many years later a hint of her floral scent yet remained in the fabric.
He stood again, loosing a volley of three arrows with such speed as to be defied by reason before ducking behind the wall. Another blast aimed at his head exploded across the masonry near his ear, fragments of rock sprayed off the edge, dusting his face. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, waiting for the fine mist to dissipate.
Through the haze of blood and smoke, above the din of death and destruction, a voice like pure light burst through the darkness of battle and opening his eyes, he beheld his son racing toward him. Even in the midst of his kingdoms ruination the king could not help but smile in pride at his heir. Adonai Dusk, the prince of Blackmoor and his son cut a bold and dashing figure- racing among the soldiers and their squires, deftly avoiding the fire raining down over the walls.
"Father!" He called, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "We must go. To stay would be useless. Onyx has won the day here."
"No. I'm not leaving, my son. I will not abandon my city and my people to this demon." The king's voice was a low, snarling growl as he continued, "I will meet her face to face and show her what freedom really means to us." Adonai grabbed his father by the shoulder, his emerald eyes wide in disbelief.
"Surely you jest?" He cried loudly, in order to be heard above the noise. King Jordain shook his head.
"I've never been more serious in my life boy. Rand and Nathaniel are waiting at the back gates. They will take you to the rebellion, you will be protected by half my garrison. Take the horses and troops and ride for Mystacor."
"No! Father I won't leave you. If you stay, then I will remain at your side." Jordain's eyes flashed with fury and panic and he ripped his sons hand from his shoulder, pushing him back in anger.
"Don't you defy me!" He hissed angrily, white spittle flying from his mouth. "You will take the horses and be gone! I will not have my steeds fall into the hands of the horde beast masters and made into monsters such as what she rides! And you- you must be free to reclaim our kingdom from that hell-bitch!"
"But Blackmoor needs its king!" Adonai yelled back in defiance, his eyes flashing wildly. Jordains eyes shimmered and tears held back until now welled up and fell over his weathered cheeks, beating a path of warmth into his snowy beard. Removing his crowned helm he clasped his sons head to his heart, speaking softly into his ebony hair.
"Blackmoor has a king. The finest king she has ever known." It was more than he could bare to release him but release him he did, "I love you son." He whispered, then, shoving him back Jordain returned the helm to his brow. "Now begone! I've a battle to lose." Adonai gazed in horror not at his father but at his king as understanding washed over him. He was serious. As king, he meant what he said about staying. As his father he meant what he said about his going. Knowing further argument would be useless he burned the image of his father into his minds eye as if keeping a mental picture fresh in his memory would somehow ensure they would meet again before the war was over. Turning he left his father and king to his fate.
Minutes later a chilling crackling sound was heard above the noise of war and the earth shifted beneath his feet. Jordain struggled to maintain his balance.
"Fall back!" His Man-at-arms cried out, "To the inner courtyard! The wall is falling! The wall is falling!" The entire wall beneath him began undulating as the horde sappers completed their job. King Jordain leapt off the wall to the scaffolding beneath it, then leaping off the wooden platform he flew to the ground of the inner courtyard. Dropping into a full body roll he leapt, agilely, to his feet. There weren't many of them left; about fifty men joined him where he stood, forming a circle in the courtyard, their last defensive gesture. Dying screams and squeals peeled over the grim horror of the day like some kind of ghastly music and their was a loud whoosh and roar as the wall crumbled to the ground, a cloud of white dust billowing upward and over the courtyard. Jordain covered his face, breathing through the cloth of his ocher shirt but some of the dust seeped through and into his throat; he began choking as did many of his men.
Horde forces quickly swarmed into the courtyard and over the inner bailey. They were everywhere as they shot their stunners at servants and soldiers running to meet them at the crumbled wall.
"Fall back! Fall back, damn you!" Jordain cried, before being overcome by another bout of coughing. "There's nothing more you can do here!" He wheezed, "save yourselves!" Too many of his people were too loyal. They ran towards the enemy teeming in and fell to their stun blasts or on the points of their swords. Then, like carrion feeders come to gloat and feast on the carnage, a band of dark clad figures walked slowly through the pearly mist. Each of the thirteen messengers of death were armed with twin green prodders. Jordain had eyes only for one of them. Onyx, the handmaiden of Death. He drew his sword. As did his men.
"Surrender." Her wintry voice commanded. A hush seemingly fell over the courtyard.
"Never!" He spat, grimly.
"Yield to me now and mercy will be extended. Fight me, and death will be the gift you bring to your people." She smiled mockingly through her dark face shield. He could envision her eyes beneath the mask she wore, dancing with mirth as she held before him the promise of torment to his people. His sword arm faltered, lowering slightly as his mind raced, searching for an alternative to surrender; one which would not bring harm to his people.
"Drop your weapon and kneel." She commanded imperiously. His gaze lowering, he turned his ashen face to his comrades. They were all watching him, seeking for some silent command as to his will. They would follow him to their deaths, he knew but so many were dead already.
No. He would not have even one more person die for him. If they were to die this day, he would will that they have a clear understanding of why they died. He would not have them die for him, because of him; but for themselves, because they chose life and joy and not merely endurance. If people lost their lives this day it would be because they chose death with freedom in their hearts and on their lips rather than enslavement to the Horde. He lowered his sword. His men followed suit.
"Now, kneel, slave." His fist tightened on the end of his sword and he shook his head, hate alive in his eyes as he gazed on the merciless form of the Horde's Commanding General.
"I will never kneel to you. I am the king of Blackmoor. You are nothing but scum. I will not kneel." The woman raised the emerald flamed prodders threateningly, crouching back on her heel, her voice ringing out in fury over the courtyard.
"You will kneel or you will die where you stand, dog!" He smiled widely, raising his blade, pointing the tip toward her chest.
"I would rather die a free man, than live my life as a slave to your master. Crawl back to your lord, bitch, I am no cur to be brought to heel. I will not be made a slave. Nor will I watch my people suffer such a fate. I will not make the choice for them but for myself- I choose to die free." And so saying he turned his blade toward his chest and fell upon it. His men, Onyx, the Black Guard, all stared in stunned disbelief at the king who fought them with such valiance. His body flopping over, his eyes gazed triumphant at his enemy, blood leaking out the corner of his mouth.
"If this… is the price I must pay… to be free, so be it. I pay… gladly…" Then his eyes grew gray with the twilight of deaths cold embrace; and still Onyx did not move. A cry of anguish rolled down from the countryside to be taken up and echoed in the courtyard. The kings men sprang into action, swords drawn, murder in their eyes, they went for the Black Guard.
Her Guard surrounded her, understanding their leader was helpless at the moment, lost in the throes of some dark obsession. Not a blade got through their protective ring. Not a sword got near enough to touch her as she knelt at the side of the fallen king. Many members of the Horde including some of her guard believed their Lady was Death's woman. They believed she could only be with her love, the lord of the dead, moments after the death of some noble enemy. They had seen it happen before. She would remove her mask kissing the cold dead lips of the fallen, her tears would bathe their face. She would then wipe smooth their frozen dead features with her long golden locks and stand again, a new fire kindled in her black heart and they would advance on a new town, find new victims and create more conquests. For her need was theirs and they new she must be sated.
Far and away on a hilltop outside the city Prince Adonai saw his fathers final act in the name of freedom through a telescope. A hoarse cry of anguish was ripped from his throat and carried on the wind into the courtyard of his fathers kingdom. Throwing the tool to the ground in terrified rage and despair, he began running down the hillside, heedless to the calls of his men, needing only to reach his fathers side. His two sub- commanders, Rand and Nathaniel chased after him, wrestling him to the ground, and he fought them. How he fought them. Howling his pain to the uncaring sky.
"My King!" They called, over and over. They would not strike him, though they were now bleeding and bruised from blows he inflicted upon them, trying to escape their custody. Finally, as some semblance of sanity returned, he fell to his knees and wept. Wept like a child for he knew it was true. He was king now and his father lay dead. He was king of a fallen kingdom for Blackmoor belonged to the Horde and its bitch. How long they sat there on the grassy knoll he did not know. He only knew he wept until he was dry and he sobbed until he was hoarse and when he was finally silent his soul continued to mourn. Eventually his men were able to assist him atop his horse and they rode to Mystacor as if the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels.
They never looked back.
Unknown to them, every man and woman left in the kings palace fought to the death when they could and to unconsciousness when a stun gun robbed them of their choice. None would be taken alive or conscious. It was a night of mourning for the forces of good and an evening of shame for the forces of evil. As they rode toward Mystacor hatred such as he'd never known rose up in Adonai's heart and he vowed his fathers death would be avenged and his kingdom reclaimed and someday Onyx would fall upon his blade.