Chapter 8
Darkest Hour
The messenger's proclamation hung heavily in the air for a few seconds. Then, all at once, the camp erupted into a flurry of action. Some of the humans began panicking, running for their tents, either for their scant belongings or their weapons, while others began pleading for direction about what they were supposed to do. The centurions tried to yell over the din, to restore some semblance of order, but their efforts were futile. Suddenly, a piercing whistle screeched above the noise, and the frantic activity ebbed as everyone turned to stare at the Paravant, who brought her fingers away from her mouth.
"If what we were told is true, this camp is no longer secure," she announced. "We'll need to return to our main camp. Gera, Valen – have everyone gather their belongings and form up. We'll start marching as soon as the tents have been dismantled. Quickly!"
The grey-haired woman Atkynd had seen drilling the humans immediately set about barking orders, demanding that some begin stripping the tents, while a large, scarred man beside her shouted for his warriors to gather their weapons and form ranks. Atkynd stared silently, amazed at how quickly order had been restored. He glanced over at the Paravant, in time to see her exhale slowly with relief. Then she caught Atkynd's eye and smiled grimly at him.
"I'm afraid that we won't be able to escort you to Veyond," she stated. Despite how dire the situation had just become, Atkynd let out a wry chuckle.
"I can see that," he agreed, folding his arms and gazing towards the treeline where the messenger had emerged from. "I suppose I should depart immediately-."
"Towards Veyond?" the Paravant asked. When Atkynd nodded, she shook her head. "Don't be a fool," she said bluntly, her dismissive tone surprising Atkynd. "If you ride towards the city now, the Ayleids will catch you in the swamp, and they will mistake you for an escaped slave and kill you. Even if by some miracle you make it past their lines, I suspect that the Ayleids in Veyond have orders to kill any humans that approach the city under the pretense of them being escaped slaves. Your chance to leave Cyrod vanished when our scouts were discovered."
Dread pooled in Atkynd's stomach, and he swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he realized she was right. "Then what options do I have?" he asked slowly.
"Flee with us," the Paravant replied. Atkynd visibly hesitated at that suggestion, whereupon she explained, "Even if you decide not to accompany us to our camp, at the very least you might find refuge in the swamp for a few days. Perhaps by then the Ayleids will be less inclined to attack humans approaching their city and you can attempt to leave then. If you elect to remain in this fort or to seek out the Ayleids, however, you will be slain."
Atkynd considered her suggestion, then sighed. Of course he couldn't survive in the swamp for days, especially without Tari's help. He had no choice but to join them in their retreat. "Which direction are we fleeing?" he asked.
"East," the Paravant replied shortly. "Simply follow us. Stay at the edges of the formation, but keep within sight, if you would – you won't be able to maintain the same pace as the warriors, so it's better for you to stay a short distance away, so you don't disrupt our movement. You'll find your horse near the edge of the camp. If you could, please also take some of our supplies – a beast of burden like your horse is a rare luxury for us."
"Certainly. Emero can carry a few tents without trouble," Atkynd agreed. The Paravant nodded, then turned and began shouting orders at the other humans. Atkynd glanced down, expecting to see Tari still standing near his elbow, but she had disappeared. He glanced around for a few moments until he saw her already running towards where Emero was tied to a low wooden post. She undid the knot holding him to the stump, then quickly led him by the reins towards Atkynd. The horse followed her at a trot, shaking his head and snorting at the tension hanging in the air.
"I know. I'm not pleased about this either," Atkynd said in a low voice to Emero as he took the reins from Tari with a nod of thanks. He briefly patted the horse's neck, then turned to Tari, who had already put her hands on Emero's neck. Before he could help her climb on, however, a voice addressed them from his left.
"You don't want to mount him," the feminine voice informed him. "If we're going to be walking through the swamp, you'll want to stay on foot and lead him instead. Especially if you're using him to carry tents. Even if he doesn't sink into the mud from all the additional weight, he'll throw you if he stumbles, which is very likely given the terrain."
"…Fair point," Atkynd admitted. He turned to thank the voice for their suggestion, but the woman had already melted back into the shadows. Shaking his head, he turned to look down at Tari with a slight, wry smile as he quipped, "At least we can spend a bit more time together, as you wished."
"Fleeing for our lives – yet again – was not how I wished to spend it," Tari replied grimly. Atkynd let out a short, humorless laugh, then looked back towards the camp to see how much work was left to be done.
To his surprise, all the tents had been dismantled in just a few short minutes. Some of the humans carried bundles of sticks on their backs, while others had rolls of leather, or copper pots wrapped up in crude leather sacks. Atkynd shook his head in amazement. He wondered if the Ayleids realized how their insistence on efficiency in their slaves had backfired. If these humans could apply the same discipline to warfare that they did to mundane tasks, they might indeed be a frighteningly effective force. One of the humans approached him, carrying four bundles of tents and long strips of leather. Atkynd nodded and helped him tie the tents to Emero, who thankfully remained still while they worked.
"Centurions, are all your warriors present?" the Paravant called, just as they finished securing the tents. When both centurions signaled an affirmative, she turned her attention to the men and women assembled before her. "We must move as quickly as possible. Stay in formation – the swamp is difficult enough to traverse in broad daylight. If you're lost at night, we'll never find you. Scouts!" she added. About a dozen men and women carrying bows stepped out of line and assembled before her. "You eight shall lead the way through the swamp," she added, pointing to a group of them. "You five, stay in the rear and watch for Ayleid scouts. If they draw close, it'll be your task to pursue and slay them before they return to their masters. Centurions? Begin marching."
The dark figures of the scouts fanned out around the formation, then struck pieces of flint and pyrite over thick, dry pieces of wood wrapped in cloth. Their torches sprang to life, illuminating the scouts' grim, weary faces, before they took their positions around the two platoons. The centurions began pounding long staves into the mud, and a deep thudding filled the air, setting a rhythm for the men to march to. Then, without a visible signal, the centurions set off at a jog. Their formations followed behind, trying to keep pace with the pounding of the staves on the soggy earth. Atkynd tugged Emero's reins, pulling the horse behind him, while on the other side Tari kept one small hand on his flank. Moments later, they left the campground behind and dove once more into the dark, sodden swamp.
Almost immediately upon leaving the campground, Atkynd felt his boots splashing in shallow puddles of black, silty water. Behind him, he heard Emero let out a snort of irritation, and he chuckled grimly as he patted the horse's nose.
"I agree," he muttered to the beast. "But while this swamp is horrid, the alternative is far less appealing. Bear with it."
"At least you have boots," whispered a voice to his right. Atkynd jumped, startled, and he whipped his head around to see a scout grinning up at him. In the flickering torchlight, he could just make out a youthful face with tanned skin, bright green eyes, and short black hair that didn't pass their ears. They were dressed in a ragged brown chiton pinned on both shoulders. Atkynd at first mistook them for a male, given their boyish appearance, but upon closer inspection, he noticed faint but distinctly feminine curves to her chest and hips. She was about a head taller than Tari, though she still didn't even come up to Atkynd's neck. A short, wooden self-bow was slung over her shoulder, and she wore a leather quiver filled with a dozen arrows at her hip.
"I'd almost rather go barefoot in this," Atkynd replied in a low voice once he had regained his composure. "If we walk through a puddle more than ankle-deep, my boots get filled with water, which is quite uncomfortable."
"I wouldn't know," the girl replied with a shrug.
Atkynd frowned lightly, narrowing his eyes. "Forgive me, but your voice sounds familiar…."
"We've encountered each other before," the girl replied quietly. "My name is Pasare. I'm… the one who shot you earlier."
"Ah. That would explain it," Atkynd remarked drily. The young woman grimaced sheepishly as she caught the note of annoyance in his tone.
"My apologies for attacking you," she murmured. "Only mer ride horses and cast magic. We simply assumed-"
"That I was a slave owner, and that you were liberating a fellow slave," Atkynd finished. "The Paravant suggested as much." The young woman nodded remorsefully, and when he saw her contrition, he sighed, then added, "Your confusion was understandable and your intentions admirable. And I recall that you were the voice of reason in that situation. So, thank you at least for not killing me on the spot."
"Of course! I'll be happy to not kill you again sometime," the girl replied cheerfully. To his chagrin, Atkynd found himself chuckling ruefully. Tari glanced at the two of them from under the horse, shooting them both a glare.
"Quiet!" she hissed to them softly. Atkynd and Pasare both nodded in reply, trading chastised looks as they focused on keeping up the quick march.
Atkynd was soon grateful that he had taken Pasare's advice not to mount Emero. Thanks to the nearby light of her torch, he could just make out the grasping, twisted branches of the black trees above them. If he'd been riding, his arms and face would have been torn to shreds, if he wasn't knocked from the horse's back altogether. He found himself crouching a bit as he continued to lead Emero through the swamp.
After several minutes of walking, he was breathing heavily. They weren't quite running through the swamp, but they were setting a much quicker pace than he was used to, and the deep mud was making travel even more difficult. On the other side of the horse, he noticed Tari likewise struggling to keep up. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Pasare, and he realized that she seemed relatively unaffected. Likewise, the human warriors were maintaining their pace with no visible signs of fatigue. Even more impressively, despite the difficult, uneven terrain, they were managing to hold their formation. He was beginning to understand what the Paravant had meant by being unable to match the warriors' pace – he had thought she meant he would soon outstrip them, not that he would be struggling to keep up.
"You all… are… remarkable," Atkynd panted a few minutes later to Pasare. She shot him a worried look as she noticed his heavy breathing, but seemed to realize a moment later that there wasn't anything either of them could do about it, and that he intended to soldier on despite his fatigue. Instead, she decided to address his comment.
"It's been like this since the Paravant met General Morihaus, apparently," Pasare replied, nodding towards the hooded figure of the Paravant at the head of the formation. "When they first escaped from Sancre Tor, they were always moving, so many of the former slaves developed remarkable stamina, and it served them well, especially when they were forced to retreat from Ayleid patrols. Thus, General Morihaus insisted that we continue to run every day, even after we had made semi-permanent camps. After all, if the Ayleids did find us, we'd probably be better served retreating than fighting. Sound advice, it would seem," she added with a wry grin.
Atkynd could only nod in response. Swallowing, he tried to catch his breath before asking softly, "Still, would it not be faster to travel in a looser formation?"
"And risk losing people in the swamp?" Pasare pointed out. "I'm keeping within sight of you at the Paravant's request so that you don't get lost, but we can't shepherd everyone. Nor would it be wise to provide everyone with a torch, as the Ayleids would quickly find us – the less light, the better. You'd also be surprised how much faster some of the otherwise slower warriors move when they're forced to keep pace with the others. Those of us on the edges have it harder."
"Another of Morihaus' suggestions?" Atkynd asked.
"Indeed," she grinned. Then she held a finger to her lips. Atkynd nodded, though he regretted not being able to speak with her more. Oddly, the conversation had steadied his breathing somewhat, allowing him to catch a second wind. He peered past Emero's flank to check Tari, but the girl was doggedly keeping pace with the horse, seeming determined to push through her own fatigue. Atkynd smiled to himself with silent approval as he took a deep breath and led Emero around a cluster of sharp green ferns that had been illuminated by Pasare's torch.
The silence lingered for several more minutes, almost lulling Atkynd into a sense of complacency as he focused on keeping the retreating humans in sight, rather than on his growing weariness. Thus, he was caught by surprise at the sudden cry of one of the humans. A dark figure near the center of the back row suddenly pitched forward, whimpering in pain. In the dim light, Atkynd could just make out an arrow sticking out of his shoulder blade. He felt his heart stop, and he stumbled for half a step before catching himself on Emero's back, while to his left, he heard Tari smack her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Two figures paused at the back of the formation and hoisted the fallen warrior's arms over their shoulders, dragging him along with them. Simultaneously, the Paravant whipped her head around and hissed, "Scouts! Find where that came from."
Pasare waved her torch around, plunging Atkynd, Tari, and Emero into darkness. Before he could say anything, she slipped into the darkness, as did four other scouts. Atkynd stifled a gasp as their guide stole away, and he unconsciously nudged Emero a bit closer to the larger formation to their left. Fortunately, two of the torchbearers near the front of the formation kept their lights lit, giving Atkynd a target to follow, though he was careful not to stray too close to the labored grunting and breathing of the cluster of warriors.
For a few minutes, there were no sounds other than the steady splashing of feet through the mud and the rustling of nigh-invisible branches and leaves as they shuffled through them. Then he heard the twangs of bowstrings and the hissing of arrows in the distance, followed by sharp cries of pain. A moment later he heard the start of a ram's horn being blown, but the resounding note was silenced after a split second. Atkynd listened intently for any further signs of their pursuers, but the sounds of the skirmish had ended as quickly as they had begun. Suddenly, Pasare's torch once again sprang to life near Atkynd, startling him, and he quickly muffled a cry. She grinned cheekily at his reaction, though Atkynd noticed that her lower half was covered in black dirt that hadn't been there when she departed, and that her short black hair was now a wild tangle drenched with grime and sweat, undermining her almost cocky reappearance. Questions flitted through his mind, but he quickly dismissed them all and remained silent – if the Ayleids were that close, he didn't want to alert them with his pointless curiosity.
The minutes slowly trickled by as the trek through the swamp continued without any apparent end in sight. Although it seemed as though the Ayleids had broken off their pursuit, Atkynd remained tense and wary. He assumed that the moment that he relaxed again, the elves would somehow swoop in out of the darkness and ambush them. Pasare seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as she no longer attempted to make conversation with him, instead focusing her attention on the black swamp around them, glancing about warily for any sign of their pursuers.
It was Tari who finally broke the silence of their small group when she asked several minutes later, "How much further is it to the camp?"
"…I'm unsure," Pasare admitted softly, still peering warily through the gloom of the swamp, a deep frown on her face. "The path back to the main camp relies upon several landmarks that I assume the Paravant is following, but I'd need to be at the front of the formation to know which ones we've passed already. I can hardly see anything right now, and I don't have a reliable way to tell you how much time has passed, so I don't even know where we are, nevermind how much further it is until we reach the camp." After a moment's thought, she added, "However, we've been travelling for quite a while, so I assume we're close."
Pasare's vague response only served to make Atkynd more anxious. If the Paravant was relying on landmarks, how would she be able to see them, considering how dark it was? What if they missed one? Would they be lost in the swamp? Would they be hunted down by the Ayleids pursuing them, or would the dangers of the marshlands take their lives instead? Atkynd swallowed hard, then ruthlessly suppressed those thoughts. It was too late for him to worry about that now. The only thing he could do was put his trust in the rebel leader he'd been forced to follow.
Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long for his growing concern to be assuaged. At first, he mistook the mote of light in the trees for a distant, low-hanging star that had managed to break through the looming cloud cover above them. He quickly realized, however, that what he was looking at was a glowing campfire situated on a hill far above them. The warm, inviting light grew larger and brighter as they approached it, and he could hear sighs of relief from the humans in the formation to his left, confirming that the camp they were looking for was just in front of them. His relief, however, was cruelly shattered only moments later.
From somewhere behind him – perhaps several hundred yards, though he couldn't be sure – a hunting horn resounded through the swamp. It was answered by another horn that sounded even more distant, and then another beyond that. The booming horns froze Atkynd's blood. He hadn't thought they had lost their pursuers entirely, but he hadn't realized just how close they were. The mer would be upon them in mere minutes, he realized, as cold dread settled over him like a blanket.
"Quickly!" the Paravant shouted. "Up the hill and into the camp!" The centurions echoed the order, and the warriors broke into a full run. Atkynd caught sight of Pasare motioning for them to do the same. He traded glances with Tari on the other side of Emero. She seemed pale, but she gave him a brief nod. Atkynd took a deep breath, suppressing his fatigue and willing his body to grant him one final burst of energy, and then he gripped Emero's reins and urged the horse into a canter as he began running through the thick, watery muck.
Sludge splashed around them as they charged through the woods. Atkynd held his free hand over his face to ward off any low-hanging branches, but fortunately, most of them seemed to have been cleared from around the fort. He charged through the shallow puddles until his feet found a steep incline of semi-dry earth. He almost slipped on the unexpected slope, but he managed to retain his balance, and he began clambering up it as quickly as he could. Halfway up, he stopped short as he nearly impaled himself on a spike of wood jutting out from the soil, and he nervously skirted it while leading Emero around it before he resumed climbing.
At the top of the hill was a crude wooden fort. Palisades had been erected in a square, with high watchtowers manned by human archers, who peered down at them warily before shouting at their companions to open the gates. The Paravant stopped at the entrance and ushered the warriors inside, yelling at them to hurry.
Atkynd's lungs burned as he followed the formation into the fort, though he paused at the door to allow the warriors to enter first. Pasare unstrung her bow and nocked an arrow, as did the other scouts that had been following at the rear of the formation. She glanced at Atkynd, noticing his hesitation, and she shouted, "Get inside!" At her command, he nodded, and he and Tari guided Emero into the fort just behind the rest of the warriors. Once they were in, the scouts and the Paravant followed, and the humans guarding the gates pulled them shut, barring them with a heavy wooden beam.
Once the gates were closed, Atkynd collapsed on the soft, muddy ground, panting. He stared up at the sky, his vision hazy as he listened to his heart pounding in his ears and struggled to catch his breath. After several long moments, he pushed himself into a sitting position and coughed up a mouthful of phlegm, which he spat on the ground. It was then that he noticed a young man wearing a cloth skirt holding a waterskin out to him. He took it with a grateful nod and swallowed several mouthfuls, before handing it back. Atkynd then took a deep breath, then grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, taking stock of his surroundings while staggering over to untie the bundles strapped to Emero's back.
The interior of the fort was comprised of several leather tents, arrayed in circles around low campfires, much like they had been in the advance camp. Wooden palisades about twenty feet high loomed over the campsite, with stairs leading up to rough platforms that allowed the humans to patrol the walls and peer out over them. Heavy doors had been built into opposite sides of the fort, with four human guards standing before each one, all armed with wooden spears and shields.
The incoming platoons had been brought to a halt by their centurions, and they had apparently been ordered to rest and catch their breath. Waterskins were being passed around, and the dirty, sweaty warriors were explaining the situation to those that had been guarding the fort. The Paravant had gathered four humans around her – two of which Atkynd recognized as the centurions that had been leading the formation across the swamp. They were speaking in low voices, and each had a grim expression on their face. Atkynd watched them for a few moments, then noticed a shadow falling over him.
"Are you unharmed?" a familiar voice asked. He looked up to see Tari beside him, wearing a look of concern. He managed to smile weakly at her as he finished untying the tents from Emero, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground, and then he brushed himself off, grimacing at the mud on his hands.
"I'm exhausted, but uninjured," he replied, still gasping slightly for air. "I suppose we've spent too much time riding, lately, and not enough time walking."
"Indeed," Tari agreed ruefully. She looked away from him, her eyes raking over the campsite. "But at least now we can rest for a bit."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Atkynd said grimly. She tilted her head at him, and he added, "Those horns were rather close. We may only have minutes until-"
"Hail to the camp!" a voice shouted, interrupting Atkynd. He and Tari traded looks, then both turned hurried to the stairs before the other warriors could. They scrambled up the steps and came to a halt at the top of the palisades, both peering down over the side. Once Atkynd caught sight of the speaker, his breath caught in his chest.
A trio of Ayleids dressed in resplendent bronze armor sat astride horses at the bottom of the hill. Atkynd could just barely see that they wore feathers and magical beads in their hair beneath ornate helmet-crowns, indicating their status as kings. Behind them, Atkynd saw hundreds, if not thousands of Ayleid warriors clad in bronze armor standing in a loose formation. Most carried a glowing white stone for illumination, and even from this distance, Atkynd could make out the cruel sneers on their faces. They seemed to be laughing and jeering to each other, pointing up at the slaves' fortification with derisive expressions.
Immediately, the human archers drew their bows and aimed them at the three figures on the horses, but they paused when the Paravant shouted, "Hold!" They paused as she ascended the stairs, her hands folded behind her back, and her soldiers moved out of the way to let her pass. To Atkynd's surprise, she stopped beside him, then leaned over the walls and glared down at the three figures below.
One of them wrapped in a white cloak began laughing upon seeing her, and he asked, "Is that her?"
"I wouldn't know," an Ayelid with a green cloak admitted, frowning. "After all, I've never seen her before, even though I've had dealings with her. But I assume that one is their leader. Am I right, girl?" he added, turning his attention back up to the Paravant.
"The King of Arpenia, I presume?" the Paravant asked coldly.
"The very same," he replied smugly.
"Traitorous, oath-breaking bastard! How dare you show your face?!" the Paravant snapped, spitting the words. The Ayleids chuckled, trading amused looks.
"Quite a temper on that one," the white-cloaked Ayleid remarked.
"Indeed. Girl, I don't recall ever swearing any oaths of loyalty with you," the King of Arpenia responded, still chuckling. "I merely provided you with supplies."
"A brilliant tactic, by the by," the other Ayleid clad in a bloodred cloak remarked.
"Hardly. One must simply understand the nature of animals," the King of Arpenia replied, sneering up at the slaves. "If you provide rats with a bit of food, eventually you can coax them out of their holes."
Atkynd saw rage flash across the faces of several of the archers, and immediately their bows were once again trained on the King of Arpenia. The Paravant held her hand up, and they reluctantly lowered their weapons, whereupon she turned to Atkynd. "I need your counsel," she said in a low voice. "Is there a way for us to resolve this situation peacefully?"
Atkynd chewed on the inside of his cheek as his eyes slid past the trio of kings to the rows of soldiers behind them. "I don't believe so," he replied quietly. "They're not interested in negotiating. They're only here to taunt you." When he caught her frown, however, he shrugged slightly. "You can ask them what their demands are, but don't expect a civil response."
The Paravant considered his response, then turned her gaze back towards the trio of kings. "State your business," she called down to them.
"Our business?" the white-cloaked Ayleid echoed, chortling. "Our business is seeing to the return of our property. You will surrender yourselves immediately."
"Under what terms?" the Paravant pressed, scowling.
The kings once again traded sardonic expressions, seeming utterly amused by her attempts at negotiation. "What say you, my friend?" the King of Arpenia asked in a tone that emphasized that he was humoring her. "They have your troops. You said they've even been within sight of the walls of Veyond. How would you respond to their incursions?"
The King of Veyond's expression turned thoughtful, his fingers idly playing with the hilt of his sword. "Well… while these slaves have been a nuisance, I also cannot be too angry with the actions of rebellious children," he said finally. "Therefore, if you surrender to us immediately, I'm willing to show mercy."
Atkynd stole a glance to his left and right, and to his mild amusement, he noticed that none of the slaves were reacting to his offer. A few moments later, however, he became aware of a commotion below them. He pulled away from the wall to look over the platform and back into the fort. A young man was struggling against the gate guards, trying desperately to get through.
"Let me go!" he shouted, his eyes wide with panic. "Master, I'm sorry! I… I never wanted to join this rebellion! They're mad! Please, have mercy!" He clawed desperately at the guards, struggling towards the gate. Then a voice rang out over his.
"Allow him through," the Paravant announced suddenly. Atkynd blinked at her, surprised by her decision, and he clearly wasn't the only one. Some of the other slaves murmured to each other, but she held up a hand, shooting the rest of her warband a look. "Anyone else who wishes to join him may do so as well. You're not my slaves. You're free to make your own decisions. Those of you who would stand with me, however, remain where you are."
The other humans traded cautious glances, but no one else took up her offer. The gate guards hesitated, then slowly unbarred the gate and opened it just enough for the young man to slip through. He squeezed through the gap just before the doors slammed shut behind him, then glanced around, shivering, as he realized that he was alone. Then he suddenly began laughing in a deranged fashion.
"Very well… clearly, I'm the only one with sense!" he cackled, though Atkynd thought he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself.
"Indeed you are," the King of Veyond said. "Come! Join us," he added, beckoning the slave with three fingers.
The slave hesitated, his wild grin fading, but when the Ayleid king pinned him with a glare, he scurried forward. The King of Veyond eyed him as he dropped to one knee, and he nodded with satisfaction. Then, without warning, he drew his sword and slashed the blade through the slave's neck, decapitating him in one swift stroke. The young man's body collapsed in the mud, blood pouring out of the stump of his neck, as the other humans gasped and shouted in shock and anger.
"This is the mercy I offer," the King of Veyond said coolly, idly wiping the blood from his bronze blade. "Those of you who surrender will be rewarded with a swift, painless death. Those of you that continue to defy us I shall enjoy torturing and dismembering before I finally deign to grant you death."
Atkynd's heart pounded as his eyes lingered on the bleeding corpse on the ground, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the palisade. He swallowed, then dared to glance at the humans on either side of him. He noticed that their faces had hardened into stony masks of resolve, their fury and outrage mixing with a stoic determination. If he hadn't been so terrified, he might have laughed. Rather than demoralize the humans, the king's rash action had galvanized them. It was easy to understand why – if their only options were death, they might as well fight. It was foolish, he mused, for the Ayleids to back them into a corner so completely that fighting to the death was preferable to surrender.
The Ayleid king in the red cloak also seemed to note the shift in their demeanor, as he let out a frustrated growl. "Enough of this farce!" he snapped, glaring at his compatriots.
"Now now, Glinferen," the King of Arpenia chided him. "We must follow proper protocol. After all, they claim to be 'free,' and we should treat them as such. If a battle is to be joined-"
"This will not be a battle. This will be a slaughter of diseased livestock, a culling before their illness of madness can spread to the rest of the herd," Glinferen snarled. "We cured such an illness once before with the Barsaebic Ayleids, and even then, it was nearly too late. I won't allow such bloodshed to engulf the land yet again."
"Oh? And how do you propose we resolve this?" the King of Veyond asked, also sneering.
Glinferen smirked, holding his hand out. Bright flames began dancing in the palm of his hand as he replied in a low voice, "When you know where the rats' hole is, the wisest thing to do is to burn them out."
Atkynd's eyes widened, and he suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were in a wooden fort. "We need to move! Now!" he shouted to the Paravant. Some of the other humans seemed to have come to the same conclusion and began backing away from the walls, though others held their ground.
"Hold your positions!" an older man that Atkynd recognized as one of the Paravant's centurions ordered them. "You have nothing to fear. Wood this thick won't burn easily, especially since these logs are soaked with swamp water. If it was that simple-!"
Before he could finish that sentence, King Glinferen rode forward and held both hands up, chanting under his breath. When he saw this, the King of Veyond's eyes widened, and he shouted, "Wait, you fool! We should surround-!" King Glinferen ignored his ally, however, and released his spell with a shout. A wave of fire erupted from his palms, washing over the tall logs. Atkynd had already been halfway down the ladder when the king unleashed the inferno on the fort, but even from that far back, he could feel the rippling heat wash over him. He immediately began sweating, both from the heat and fear, as he jumped off the ladder and dashed away from the walls.
Others weren't so lucky. A few of the archers had tried to loose their arrows, but they were a touch slow, and caught off-guard by the king's sudden approach. None of the arrows hit their mark, and a few were incinerated before they reached the ground. Atkynd winced as he heard the screams of those that hadn't pulled back from the wall in time. He watched in horror as a couple of the humans clutched their bodies as flickering flames licked their scant clothing. One young woman fell from the platform and landed heavily in the wet mud, where she writhed around in the dirt until the flames dissipated. She was left sobbing and clutching herself as angry scarlet burns blossomed on her skin.
Atkynd looked back up at the wall, and to his horror, he saw the wall of fire licking the top of the palisade. It began creeping slowly along the wood, threatening to engulf them in a blazing ring. His gaze traveled along the length of the walls, and fell on the rear gate. Every other slave seemed to come to the same conclusion, and they all immediately began running for the exit.
Atkynd started to follow them, but a terrified, bestial cry gave him pause. He suddenly realized that Emero was still tied to one of the posts near the wall. Swearing under his breath, he ran to the animal and grabbed his reins, holding his hand up. Thankfully, Emero's training kicked in, and he calmed down, though his brown eyes were wide with fear. Atkynd grit his teeth, trying to ignore the heat of the encroaching flames, as he hurriedly untied the horse. He then climbed on and snapped the reins. Emero took off at a run, rushing towards the exit. Thankfully, most of the humans had already made it out, so there wasn't much of a crowd for him to ride through.
Once he burst through the exit, he noticed Tari fidgeting anxiously near the gate, apparently waiting for him. Wordlessly, he brought Emero to a halt, then held his hand out to her. She grabbed his hand and jumped, letting him pull her onto Emero's back, whereupon he wheeled the horse around and started to ride away from the fort, following the stream of humans fleeing from the burning structure.
Out of the corner of his eye, Atkynd spotted shadows rushing towards them from either side. The dull, golden glint reflecting off the firelight indicated that they were armored Ayleid warriors, pressing in to surround the retreating humans. Thankfully, most of the former slaves had already slipped past the elves and were running into the jungle, where it would be much harder for the Ayleids to entrap them. Atkynd smiled grimly, silently grateful for Glinferen's rash attack on the fort before the army had time to encircle them. If they'd been surrounded, he doubted any of them would have survived.
As they rode past the Ayleids, Atkynd took a moment to still his breathing and concentrate, gathering magicka into his palm. A moment later, he released it, and a bright ball of light hovered above them, illuminating the area enough for him to feel confident riding Emero through the woods. He figured that there was little need for stealth at this point, as the Ayleids only had one direction to follow, and now that he and Tari were on horseback, they would be a large target anyways. He was willing to trade speed for secrecy.
Atkynd dug his heels into the horse's flanks, and Emero broke into a run, darting through the thick underbrush. Atkynd pressed himself flat to the horse's back, and he felt Tari cling tightly to him as they ducked beneath low-hanging branches. In only a couple of minutes, they had caught up with the front of the formation, where the Paravant was being escorted away by her centurions. When she caught sight of them, she nodded, seeming relieved that they had made it out.
"Where are we going?" Atkynd shouted to her over the rumbling of Emero's hoofbeats and the slaves splashing through the water.
"There's a glade not far from here that's sacred to Kyne," the Paravant called back. "General Morihaus told us that if we were ever attacked by the Ayleids and the fort was not enough to protect us, we should head there. He assured us that we would be safe once we arrived."
Atkynd frowned deeply, his fingers gripping Emero's reins even more tightly. "Are you certain?" he asked warily. "I'm sure he thought the fortress was safe as well-"
"I trust him," the Paravant said firmly. "He told me that Kyne would protect us there, far better than a mere fortified camp ever could."
Atkynd stared at her silently for a few moments, then turned his attention back to the dark swamp. He didn't place much stock in divine protection, but there was no point in dampening her spirits with his cynicism, so he kept his opinion to himself.
Shortly after they began their retreat, thunder began rumbling above them. Atkynd glanced up just in time for the first few droplets of rain to splatter against his forehead. He let out a despondent sigh as he muttered, "Of course. The last thing we need right now."
"No… this is the best thing that could happen," the Paravant corrected him. Atkynd winced – he hadn't meant for her to overhear him. "The Ayleids won't be able to follow us as easily in the rain, nor will they be able to burn the swamp if they decide that pursuing us on foot is no longer worth the effort." She smiled at him, almost smugly, as she added, "As I said, Kyne wishes to protect us."
Atkynd gazed at her out of the corner of his eye, then murmured, "I hope you're correct." He felt Tari squeeze his waist a bit more tightly, which he interpreted as partially comforting him and partially chiding him. Shaking his head, he tugged his cloak over his head and pressed himself more tightly to Emero's back.
Their travels through the swamp grew increasingly treacherous as they delved deeper into it. The rain and wind threatened to blow out the slaves' torches, but though the flames flickered, miraculously none of them died. The mud grew ever softer as they traveled, the rain turning it into a black sludge. They were forced to wade through black puddles of standing water that became even deeper as they fled east. Emero found himself almost halfway up to his chest at one point before he managed to tug himself free, shaking his mane irritably and spraying Atkynd and Tari with dirty water. Still, spurred on by the desperation of those around him, the horse didn't complain and continued to dutifully follow the flood of humans with minimal direction from Atkynd.
At last, they came to one final body of water that seemed to almost be a pond of muddy water. Atkynd grimaced as he watched the slaves before him reluctantly wade into the water. It coated some of them up to their necks in muck, but they trudged through the deep water until they finally reached the other side, pulling themselves up onto what seemed to be a solid patch of ground surrounded by trees. Atkynd reluctantly dismounted, then pulled off his tunic, cloak, and boots, stuffing them into Emero's saddlebags. As he stripped, he said to Tari, "Stay on Emero's back."
Tari nodded, eyeing the water warily. Atkynd suspected that she didn't know how to swim, and that the water was deep enough that it would be over her head. Thankfully, he figured it would only cover him up to his chest, though that didn't make it any less treacherous. With a sigh, he stepped into the murky water, pulling Emero behind him as he did. He shuddered with disgust as his bare feet sank into the soft mud, his toes occasionally kicking a small pebble or a loose leaf as he forded the water. Emero's hooves churned behind him, the horse struggling to keep his head above water, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Tari's legs were submerged up to her calves. For several long moments, Atkynd slowly tugged the horse behind him, encouraging him to keep moving, and for once, Emero didn't voice his complaints, obediently following his rider.
By the halfway mark, the water was lapping against the lower part of Atkynd's shoulders, but it didn't rise any higher. He grunted as he continued pulling the horse behind him, his feet slipping on the soft bed of the pond, and he almost fell once or twice. Thankfully, the water buoyed him, keeping him from falling, and he almost began feeling optimistic as the opposite shore drew nearer. It was only when he realized that he was tugging fruitlessly that he turned around, and his eyes widened. Emero was sinking into the mud and panicking, his hooves churning along the bed. The beast let out a terrified whinny, and Atkynd grit his teeth and tugged harder, but to no avail. He dug his heels into the mud and yanked, but the horse continued to dip below the surface of the water. Tari's eyes widened as she froze stiff on the horse's back, clinging to it desperately, while Atkynd tried to rack his brain for a solution.
Then, four more hands grabbed the reins and pulled. Atkynd glanced left and right to see two brawny men had waded into the water beside him to help pull the horse out, grunting and straining as they tugged on the leather. Atkynd did the same, throwing all his weight behind his efforts as he pulled. For several long seconds, it seemed as though nothing was happening. Then, slowly, the horse began to move forward. Atkynd gasped and panted as he continued to pull, and the horse rose slowly, incrementally, from the water. Finally, he saw a brown bubble rise to the surface, and Emero abruptly began trotting forward again underwater. Atkynd pulled as hard as he could, climbing up the soft mud bank, as the slaves helped him up. When they were out of the water, the three collapsed as Emero trotted past them, shaking his mane, while Tari slid from his back.
"Thank… you…." Atkynd panted to the men. They nodded breathlessly, and after a few moments, they pulled themselves up. Atkynd did the same, and as he looked down at himself, he started laughing. He was wet, dirty, and cold, but at least Tari and Emero were safe. Plus, the rain was quickly rinsing his skin and pants, so he wouldn't have long to complain about that, he thought wryly.
As he caught his breath, Atkynd's eyes raked around the glade. He was surprised to see such a broad clearing in the otherwise dense woodland; the trees surrounding the circular area were so tightly spaced, Atkynd doubted that people could stand more than two or three across without running into a trunk. The only noticeable entrance into the glade was across the deep pond they had waded across to enter. The glade itself contained only a few tall trees, though unlike the twisted black shapes enclosing the area, these were tall, grey specimens capped with bright red and orange leaves. The ground was littered with fallen leaves, between which poked brilliant red and white flowers. Though the rain continued to pelt them through the opening in the canopy, there was an unusual stillness in the air that lent itself to a sort of serenity quite different from the dreary swamp that surrounded them.
"Centurions! Form up your men!" the Paravant shouted, her voice breaking the silence. The centurions immediately began shouting orders, gathering their platoons together, and the former slaves quickly responded to their commands. In less than a minute, four blocks of men had been assembled near the entrance of the grove. Each century formed five rows of roughly twenty men, though Atkynd, standing a bit behind the formation, noticed that a few of the lines were missing men. Clearly, not everyone had made through the swamp. The centurions turned towards the Paravant, silently inclining their heads towards her. The Paravant nodded back to them, then began grimly inspecting the ranks.
"Men of Cyrod!" she shouted, her voice echoing over the hammering of the rain and the whistling of the wind through the dark trees. "Our fortress has been destroyed. Of course, we've come to expect this from our enemy. That is what our masters do – they take everything from the races of men. They take us from our families. They take us from our birthplaces. And if given the chance, they take our lives. And why shouldn't they? We were their slaves. We owned nothing, and they were exercising their rights." Her expression hardened as she shouted even louder, "But we are no longer slaves! We are free men and women! And as free men and women, we make our own claims – to land, to property, to our lives. So, men and women of Cyrod… claim your land! Claim the patch of earth beneath your feet! That is your domain! Do not surrender it to these alien invaders who would claim your land! Your property! Your life! And show them that while they may have had rights over their slaves, they will never again take what belongs to the free men of Cyrod!"
The men let out a roar of approval, and Atkynd, standing a few feet behind the formation, stared at the Paravant, awestruck. The effect her words had on her men was astounding. They were facing down three armies. They had seen their fort obliterated in a wave of magical fire. They had been chased across the entire length of the Blackwood, and their backs were against a wall of trees. They had no right to hope for anything but a quick death at the hands of a far superior army, yet the morale of the men seemed unshaken – if anything, it seemed even higher than when they had seemed safe behind their walls.
The Paravant smiled to herself, but Atkynd saw that smile falter when her eyes turned back to the entrance to the glade. Pinpoints of cold white light began to appear through gaps in the trees, indicating the approach of the Ayleid army. The Paravant stared at the lights for a few moments, then sank to her knees amidst the leaves and flowers. She clasped her hands together, lowering her head, then looked up at the black, rumbling sky as raindrops splattered against her face.
"Divines above, hear me," the Paravant said, her voice softer, yet still audible over the storm. "I claim our new freedom as our birthright as the children of the missing god, Shezzar. I ask that you aid us in defending it. Kyne, as the wife of Shezzar, of Shor, I beseech you for your blessing, for you have more cause than any other to aid us, your children. It was you who called forth the first rain at his sundering, and now I ask the same for our former masters." Fury crept into her voice as she added, "I ask that you aid us in sundering them, that we might disperse them and drown them in the Topal. I ask that you send us your son Morihaus, mighty and snorting, gore-horned and winged. And I ask that when next he flies down… let him bring us righteous fury."
The Paravant lowered her hands, but she continued to stare up at the sky as the rain continued to drench her. She seemed almost lost in thought, gazing up at the roiling clouds with an unfocused look on her face. Then, abruptly, her eyes widened, and she began chuckling quietly to herself, as though she was laughing at a private joke. Atkynd stared at her, baffled by her behavior, until she pushed herself off the ground and turned towards them.
"Prepare yourselves," she said simply. "The enemy will arrive soon."
In response to her command, the men lowered their spears and raised their shields, then waited in silence as the rain soaked them. Atkynd shivered as he dropped his hand to his sword, his eyes darting from the ranks of men towards the lights glowing in the dark trees beyond. When the silence was finally broken, however, it wasn't by any of the men.
"Ah! There they are. Over yonder, through the trees," a voice echoed through the swamp over the pattering of the rain. "Well done, warriors! See, I knew we would find them shortly."
"Well, it's not as though they could run very far," another voice replied. "I wonder if they've realized that retreat is futile?"
"Oh, no, look!" the first voice responded. "It seems as though they're arrayed for battle! Or at least what they'd consider a battle."
The two voices chortled, their laughter resounding through the glade. Atkynd chewed the inside of his cheek as he listened to them. He suspected that the voices belonged to the Ayleid kings, and that they were using magic to project their words over the storm, to mock and demoralize the arrayed human defenders. Though, if they had any effect, the former slaves didn't show it.
"Do you think perhaps we should wait for Glinferen?" the first voice asked.
"No, no… allow him his sport. He seems determined to burn that little fort of theirs to the ground, and I see no reason to deny him his fun," the second voice replied. "Though I see little point."
"Perhaps he wishes to loot what little is there?" the first voice suggested. "If he wishes to lay claim to these animals' meager belongings, he's welcome to them. I, on the other hand, seek a different sort of sport."
"Indeed. Hunting is far more satisfying than burning a bit of wood," the second voice agreed.
"Hunting? My friend, you give these beasts too much credit," the first voice said. Atkynd could almost hear him sneering. "This will not be a hunt. It will be butchery."
"Hah! Too right! So, which of our forces should advance first?" the second voice asked. "I suggest that we-! Wait! What is th-?!" The voice suddenly began shouting in confusion.
"What? What is it?!" the first voice asked. The second voice didn't respond, instead devolving into panicked screams, the terrified sounds echoing through the clearing. Despite their orders to remain in place – which they obeyed – the humans began glancing at each other, frowning in confusion.
"Argh! Ahhh! Ah, no! Stop! You c-!" the second voice yelled. A metallic clanging rang through the valley, followed by a wet, sickening cracking that resounded three times before the sounds abruptly ceased.
"Where is it?! What's going on?!" the first voice demanded. Then, "Who in Oblivion are you…?! No! No, stay back!"
The second voice began chanting rapidly, and Atkynd could just make out magical flashes of brilliant blue light through one of the gaps in the trees. A moment later, a blinding white flash illuminated the area, and there was a short scream before another damp squelching sound echoed through the woods. The reverberations of the voices suddenly stopped altogether, replaced only by the sound of the fat raindrops splashing on the ground.
Beside him, Tari turned her face up towards Atkynd, an utterly perplexed look on her face. Atkynd caught her eye and shook his head, shrugging. He was as confused as she was. In the distance, the sounds picked up again. Metal rang against metal, followed by shouts and grunts of pain mixed with nauseating cracking sounds. Atkynd noticed a few of the men in the front row instinctively backing away half a step, only to be stopped by their comrades' shields. Still, most of the camp now wore looks of confusion, worry, or both… save for the Paravant, who stood beside her men with a slight, knowing smile dancing on her lips.
Moments later, Atkynd became aware of a new sound – a clanking of metal mixed with a soft jingling sound. It was faint at first, but grew steadily louder, and it quickly became apparent that it was approaching the centuries. Atkynd's heart began pounding more rapidly as he tried to peer through the sheets of rain, but he couldn't see past the entrance to the clearing. Then, all at once, a figure stepped into the circle of firelight illuminating the glade.
The newcomer seemed humanoid, but they were garbed in armor unlike anything Atkynd had ever seen before. Rather than the standard bronze or leather armor most warriors wore, this suit was forged of what Atkynd assumed to be polished silver. The gauntlets, greaves, and pauldrons were all solid pieces of metal, under which Atkynd could just make out an undercoat constructed of tiny chain links. The helmet was cylindrical with tiny, decorative wings on the temples, and it covered the warrior's entire head, rather than simply the crown and cheekbones, leaving Atkynd to wonder how the figure could see. Over the armor they wore a milk-white, sleeveless tunic edged with gold, with a blood-red diamond likewise framed by gold filament in the center of the chest. Though he must have waded through the muddy pond in front of the glade, his armor seemed immaculate, if wet, leaving Atkynd baffled as to how their armor remained clean. A heavy, diamond-shaped shield was slung over their back, and in their left hand they carried a heavy, silver mace, while in their right they grasped a shimmering silver sword. Both were coated in blood, with bits of the Ayleids' decorative feathers clinging to the sticky mess, and tangled beads wrapped around the head of the mace and blade of the sword.
The figure slowly raked its gaze along the ranks of men assembled before it, almost as though it was scanning them, and then abruptly it approached the Paravant at a steady, unhurried gait. The men tensed as he towered over her, while she calmly gazed up at him with that same soft, serene smile on her face. A long moment passed, and then the figure held up both his sword and mace for her to see.
"These were their eastern kings," the figure announced. "You need no longer suffer their prattling."
A/N: Some of you are probably aware that the end of this chapter is a scene from the Song of Pelinal, a book from Oblivion, and that it doesn't play out exactly how it was described, particularly with regards to the dialogue. I'm working under the assumption that the manuscripts containing the original Song were badly translated from either Ayleidoon or Old Cyrodiilic, which would explain the unusual dialogue. The original text wouldn't fit in this story, where the characters speak in an archaic but understandable manner. Thus, I wanted to write dialogue that sounds more natural (and in my estimation, more accurate with regards to what they would have actually said to each other), while retaining as much of the original content and meaning as possible.