פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ

Chapter Nineteen: The Fog of Dreams

The shadows stalked Stef Reimos. Wherever he turned, he could see a blur of motion at the edge of his eyes. But, when he turned to look, he only saw murky mist. The shadows taunted him with shrieking voices with words almost recognizable but alien in meanings. Fingers of cold touched him, scratching at him with banshee cries. Stef felt trapped in a vortex of murky haze; every direction was the same, like an impenetrable prison wall. And the shadows followed.

Stef drew his sword and turned to face the shadow creature. It was a figure of swirling black smoke, and it did not run this time. A shadow sword appeared in its hand, and Stef thought he detected a sneer on the faceless visage.

Stef struck forth and was parried aside by the ethereal blade. The two combatants fought forward and back, swords colliding in silence. Back and forth. The shadow man knew all of Stef's moves, blocking all of his advances. Stef had a difficult time following the movement of the assailant, whose edges blurred into the background.

And as they fought, the mist shrieked in Stef's ears, tendrils of dread curling around his skin. Unseen eyes watched and waited, unseen hands grabbing at him. Stef recoiled from the grasping wisps of shadows, his sword swinging frantically. The shadow man kept advancing, the fog around him becoming solid, trapping Stef in an opaque prison. Stef felt like he was strangling, the fog choking his lungs. He clawed at the walls of his prison, his sword cutting harmlessly through the air.

He spun around in a desperate lunge, his sword cutting through his opponent armor and helmet effortlessly. The head of the shadow man fell, its body dissipating into the mist. Stef glanced down at the decapitated head, whose features began to appear, and shift like hot wax to a face so familiar. It was Tayren. The figure's eyes locked on his and grabbed his tunic with bloodied hands.

"Burn it, Stef." Tayren grunted, his hands warding off Stef's blow.

Stef sat up, shaking his head clear of drowsiness. His head was stained with sweat, and his clothes stuck wetly to his skin. The last vestige of the nightmare slowly faded away, but it left a bitter taste behind.

"Bad dream?" Tayren seemed to sneer in the colorless light. He offered a hand and helped pull Stef up.

"Yeah. Yeah, you could say that." Stef stretched his cramped muscles. His legs and arms were sore, and his hands felt numb from lost circulation.

"I'm surprised you actually slept last night." Tayren grunted, picking up Stef's crumpled cloak and tossing it to him, "Most of the camp was up. Night terrors, phantasms, what have you. I was up all night, and I was ready to kill you for being able to sleep half the time, ya bastard."

"Well, I was always a deep sleeper." Stef glanced at the black circles under Tayren's eyes, "But I didn't get much rest anyway. So what was your dream?"

Tayren eyed Stef, "Dreams be a man's own business."

Stef shrugged it off and glanced around to see his squad doing final checks on their equipment, "So are we moving off?"

Tayren glanced at the sun high in the sky, "Yeah, orders just came around. The siege begins. You get three guesses at what we drew, and the first two guesses don't count."

"Light, damn the generals! Front lines?"

"Your favorite." Tayren scrubbed at his unkempt hair and gave a toothy but halfhearted grin.

Stef cursed but accepted his accursed fate, "Alright, get the squad going. The earlier we get in position, the earlier we can resume duty as honorable meat shield."

With that, the men of Stef's squad finished decamping and moved towards the waiting lip of Thakan'dar. Messengers and mounted soldiers raced around, delivering last-minute notices, jostling Stef and earning his curses. One of those notices found his hand, which he tossed away after a brief glance.

"Alright, looks like Zephyr Hawk's taking the middle of three vans. We are that bloody spearhead, my friends. The first in the foray, the first out dead," Stef bellowed, "Any men with a problem with that, petition the new shiny commander of ours and see how that works out."

Stef found a spot in the middle van and found he was afforded a considerable view of the valley of Thakan'dar arrayed before. To his estimation, it was about three leagues long: three leagues of blind combat, the worst kind. Visibility and communications will be at a minimum, placing the Band at a horrible disadvantage. Another Getty's Tomb, with half the visibility and double the danger.

Horns began to signal, which Stef at first thought to be the starting signal. Before he signaled his men forward though, he noticed mounted horsemen approaching.

They were considerably armored, but were generally arrayed like the light cavalry. However, what was most surprising was that they were the generals, save for the Thunderlord. As they approached the front of the vans, they split up, each spreading among the front of the foot soldiers. Right before Stef, the gaunt figure of Drogan Trystan glanced down at his Legion along with the striking face of Lawe Cathon.

"We will be riding with you this day." Cathon spoke simply, "At the front lines. In the time of Arad when Jara'Copan came under siege, stood the Seven Gatekeepers of the Seven Gates of the Seven Hills. Now, in the time of Aemon, this is our gate, and we will lead you through."

There was a brief silence before the soldiers erupted in cheers. Even cynical Stef was taken aback. Maybe the generals ain't half bad.

Cathon raised a hand to quiet the Band. When silence fell again, Cathon raised his sword and pointed at Shayol Ghul, "That is our destination. We cross through Thakan'dar. That path is Bekkar, our Field of Blood. Tonight we will burn the Black Bastion down."

With that, he spun his horse and trotted forth down towards the valley. Four generals followed, and their trot kicked into a gallop. The Band roared with a battle cry and trailed their leaders, a mass of red pouring down into Thakan'dar, melting into the veil of fog.

Stef shouted as he raced down the incline, his gladius raised. He stepped into the shroud of Thakan'dar and stumbled. The fog was a choking blanket whose touch was cold, as cold as death could be imagined. It was a suffocating shield that threatened the sanity of any who entered. It was the fog of his nightmare.

He froze for a second, before the sight of the red-cloaked back of General Trystan caught his eyes. The fog almost seemed to be retreating away from the vicinity of the general, giving almost an aura of clarity around Trystan and his horse. With the general as Stef's only land-mark, he had no choice but to trail the blurred colors of the general. The other soldiers followed accordingly, spurred on by their commanders' lead.

Through the haze they slogged silently, discipline keeping fear at bay. Just as Stef was beginning to wonder about the lack of resistance, the muffled haunting drumbeats of the Trollocs began to permeate sporadically through Thakan'dar.

The muted sound of clashing steel was Stef's first warning. He almost crashed into a Trolloc in the fog, but recovered first and gutted the shadowspawn with a fast draw. The battle of Bekkar was on.

In the low visibility, squads stuck together hacking away at periodic resistance, and followed behind the generals leading the way. To Stef, it seemed all so surreal. The Black Miasma did much in strangling any sound and one could only see the bare snatches of movement in the thick fog, giving it a substance of fantasy. It was like his nightmare, except this threatened his very life, and the denizens of this place was corporeal flesh and rending steel.

Zephyr Hawk Legion blew through the first wave of Shadowspawn like an avenging tempest. General Trystan never faltered in his drive and the Legion kept pace with him. This spearhead led the way for the other legions, which tore through any survivors, cold blades flashing through hot blood.

Stef grew almost complacent, his attacks became mechanical. Slice, thrust. Slice, thrust. Slice, thrust. His eyes drew to its usual tunnel vision, and he allowed his body to take command.

A dark shape rose high through the fog in the distance. A big shape. It rose sinuously to a towering height and more serpentine figures swelled up beside it.

General Trystan slowed, his horse struggled and rearing uncontrollably, and the men crawling to a halt beside.

Stef approached cautiously, his swords raised at the ready. A brief eddy in the fog gave the Band of Red Hand a brief murky view of their new foe. They were massive worm-like creatures towering high up in the sky, breaking even through the roof of the fog. Stef thought he could see the gleam of beady eyes and a shimmering something that looked too much like teeth. Down its side were rows of spikes, attached with chains that spilled down the side to the hands of a multitude of straining Trollocs. The handlers yanked and pulled at the chains, striving to keep the huge beasts in control. A force of chain and one of the creatures struck down at the advancing Band with its massive coils. Soldiers dived away as the creature's hide slammed down. Those who could not get out of their way were crushed under the massive bulk. Brief curving motions showed arrows showering the bulk, but they disappeared into the skin, doing no visible damage. More of those creatures began to strike, pounding heavily at the Band.

"JUMARA!" Trystan shouted, "Cut it to pieces!"

"Not that simple, General." Stef grumbled to himself under his breath, then immediately leaped back as a massive coil slammed into the ground by him, shaking the earth. A strange whistling shrieked from somewhere in the fog, and Stef groaned to himself, wondering what other creature was about to be unleashed upon them.

A fast-moving dark shape curved through the air above Stef, and slammed into the ranks of the Jumara handlers.

"Good ol Thunder Lord." Stef muttered to himself. The path of the giant boulder had cleared a brief gap in the fog, showing the chaos in the Trolloc ranks. The boulder had buried around three squads of handlers, and severed many more chains. The Jumara had taken that opportunity to flex its body, and pulled away from its surviving slavers. It snapped the remnants of its chains, sending bodies flying through the air. Freed, it turned its attention to its tormentors, its coils slamming down upon the Trollocs amidst Band cheers.

"Follow my lead!" Stef shouted, "This is our window."

Stef and his squad raced forward, as the renegade Jumara howled and struck at the Trollocs who were attempting to loop chains around it. Stef ran at a crouch, hoping the fog would cover the relatively small movement of his squad. He approached the closest chained Jumara, his heart racing.

Stef's squad burst upon the handlers, swords dealing out death with the occupied Trollocs. The guards were quickly dispatched, and the humans began to work on the handlers. Some of the muscled handlers let loose their chains to draw weapons, but that worked to Stef's plan as well. The Jumara sensing its lax chains followed its struggling kin's lead, and pulled free.

Stef waved his men off, as the Jumara struggled free, its bulk dealing massive damage against the closest creatures. The chains still attached to its skin became deadly whips, which could easily crack bones and smash skulls.

A boulder slammed into another Jumara. The creature, fueled by pain and fury, shivered off its chains and captors, and raged against any mortals within range. The struggles of the Jumaras snapped the chains from their enslaved kin, and soon the Trolloc advance lines became a slaughterhouse of shadowspawn, as massive coils slammed back and forth, as nearly all the monsters were liberated. Unfortunately, this slaughterhouse was also centered over Stef's squad.

Stef signaled frantically to his men as the Jumaras' insane thrashing pummeled the ground all around the sergeant and his squad. With the fog obscuring everything to shadows, a shadowy blur was the only warning for a giant coil slamming down. Such a blur flashed above Stef's head, and he ducked for the ground. He felt the woosh of a large coil passing over his head, and felt the ground buckle underneath him as the bulk made contact with the earth, slamming his chin into the ground. He tasted blood in his mouth where he had bit his tongue, but he shook off the pain.

He broke silence, shouting, "BACK! BACK TO OUR LINES NOW!"

A roar boomed high over his head and black shadows descended on the sergeant. He scrambled to his feet and began to race in the general direction of the Band's line, then threw himself sideways as a black shadow appeared over him, and resolved into the flesh of a Jumara. It slammed into the earth, its fall pushing the fog away long enough for Stef to glimpse deep red gashes scoring its skin. The Trollocs were attempting to kill the out-of control Jumaras. The creature still had life in it, as it thrashed back and forth, its chains beating the ground like a drum.

Something hissed down at Stef, who instinctively raised his sword arm to shield his face. Pain racked through his left arm as something hard smashed into and coiled around his arm. Time seemed to slow down as Stef gazed at the black chain wrapped around his extended arm. Then the Jumara twitched away, the chain wrapped around his arm withdrew with powerful force.

Stef felt the sudden jerk as he was yanked forward by his trapped arm for a second. But only for a second. Then he felt terrible pain. Fires consumed his arm, eating away at his entire body, chewing through every nerve.

He screamed, but the fog swallowed his voice.

For an instant, he felt all the pain in the world, liberating him from his body. He felt the pain of all the orphans in Manetheren. The pain of all the widows. The pain of the dead and dying that littered the Band's journey from the Mountain Home to the Land's End. The total pain of his life and suffering. The total pain of the war.

He could suffer no longer. The fire ate all that it could consume.

He welcomed the darkness.

פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ