The Spirit of Revenge (2 page)

Two hundred and fifty soldiers, fully clad in the garb of war, quietly waited by the crude spear walls that had been hastily thrown together to make a meager defense for the north section of the town.

The rasp of sharpening steel rang out in the crisp dusk air. The last of the sun’s light dipped beneath the horizon and dark tendrils of twilight began their conquest of the skies.

Tension filled the air and permeated all around them. Silence enveloped the town of Andaurel, a shroud of ambiguity burying men among their thoughts.

Cain sat among the front ranks of the militia, leaning wearily against the palisade walls. A man weaved his way through the soldiers and stopped before Cain.

“There you are,” the man said with a grin. He wore tattered black clothes over his spindly frame. Deep emerald eyes smiled at him from behind a curtain of sable hair. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry, Aaron. I’ve been with Eileen.”

The man named Aaron sheathed his saber in its scabbard before sitting down beside his friend. “I’ve been your friend for many years; I can tell when something’s bothering you.”

Cain smiled despite himself. “When the Arzecs killed my parents, I vowed to avenge their deaths. I have been fighting Abaddon’s Arzecs for fifteen years now, and it seems so fruitless. Eileen wants me to quite fighting and leave it to others. But fighting is all I’ve ever known.”

“Ah, women,” a gruff voice said from beside them. They turned and saw two men standing near them. One was nearly a head taller than any other and extremely bulky, not all of which was muscle.

His hair was relentlessly shaven and polished steel armor covered nearly every inch of the vast canvas of his flesh.

The second man was shaven as well and adorned in a steel cuirass and fauld.

“Good to see you again, Joshua,” Cain nodded to the taller man, “and you as well, Silas.”

Joshua and Silas sat down beside them. “How is she?” Joshua asked.

“I don’t know,” Cain replied, “I haven’t seen her in six months, and now that I have, I have to be here fighting…yet again.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Silas said. “You’ll get out of this scrap alive and end up happily ever after like all those other bullshit stories.”

Cain laughed, “Thanks…but that’s not what’s really bothering me. This war has been going on for four hundred years against the same man, Abaddon. How has one man managed to bring war to all the countries of Tarsha, let alone live for four centuries…it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Aye,” Joshua replied as he fingered his scraggly beard, “we’ve all heard the stories. They say humanity was blessed, loved and nurtured by their creator. But they grew corrupt and wicked, blinded by their arrogance.” He paused for effect, clearly having recited this speech in his head prior.

“They began to worship themselves and turned their back on their god. In his anger, he gave them Abaddon, as punishment for their transgressions.

‘In exchange for limitless power and immortality, Abaddon has since followed the will of the Forgotten who seeks to eradicate all of his errant creations.”

Silas snorted, “That’s nothing more than legend.”

Joshua nodded, “Probably so, but I believe the stories. They make more sense than anything I can think of.”

“How can you possibly believe that?” Silas inquired. Joshua merely shrugged and returned his gaze to the fields before them.

“All we have are legends,” Aaron said, “not yet a single fact. We are muddled in the middle. But we will know the truth soon enough, before we see an end to it all.”

“If we live to see an end,” Silas retorted.

Cain shook his head. “Either way, I still want to know why the Arzecs we’ve been tracking all these weeks turned from their path of attack on Dun Ara to Andaurel. They had our capital in their sights, yet they chose to attack Andaurel, why?”

“Who knows?” Silas shrugged. “Our home is nothing but a small, isolated trade town. It’s an easy target for the Arzecs. Their whole mindset in these four centuries of war has been nothing but kill as many of us as possible. Maybe they’re just here for a bit of fun…”

Aaron rolled his saber slowly in his hand and dragged the tip through the sand. “But the Arzecs attacked Andaurel twenty two years ago remember?”

They knew this all too well. Their parents were killed in the attack, and as children, they were forced to evacuate before the enemy razed the city. And now, over twenty years later, they lay in wait to defend their home against Abaddon’s forces, just as their fathers had done on that fateful day. A cold weight sunk in their hearts at this thought.

“This isn’t random,” Aaron continued, the first to recover from this sinking feeling. “There’s a reason the Arzecs are marching for Andaurel, I know it.”

“Well whatever their reason,” Silas replied, “I’m ready for the bastards.” He reached over his shoulder and pulled a long staff from the sling at his back. It was over six feet in length and four vicious blades curved out of either end. “My Sitar will show them what hatred can do.”

“And you’re not alone, my brother,” Joshua said as he picked up the massive double bladed axe he had set in the dirt.

The group soon fell quiet. Cain ran a hand through his auburn hair and lay back in the grass, gazing out over the starlit skies. Thin wisps of clouds floated across the starry heavens, mere silhouettes in the sky. The plains around them rippled like an ocean of gold beneath the glow of the full moon.

A nervous, pensive, look glazed over every soldier that lay in wait, awaiting that imminent black wave to pour over the hills. The hours dragged on as every second seemed a lifetime, every minute, an eternity.

Silas and Joshua sat playing cards beside the others, tossing coins into a pile, betting against each other to pass the time. Joshua cried out in elation as he threw down a hand of cards and dove for the pile of coins. Silas punched the ground and cursed at his defeat. Suddenly the coins chattered quietly.

Cain heard the noise and looked down at the pile. The small coins shook slightly and chattered again, then nothing. They then shook with abrupt force before tumbling from the pile one at a time.

Aaron turned to him with the same anxious look. “They’re here,” he muttered. Together, they jolted up and looked out to the north.

Through the darkness, a black line poured slowly over the hills. The coins at their feet scattered across the ground, a thousand thunderous footfalls jarring them apart.

“They’re here!” Cain shouted as he tore his sword from its sheath. The soldiers stumbled from their thoughts and jumped up to gaze out over the ramparts.

Grend tore his way through the soldiers and ran toward the front lines, stopping beside the spear walls at the sight of the advancing enemy.

He turned to face his men and paced a moment before stopping beside Cain’s company. “My fellow countrymen! We are abandoned by the very country we fight for! But do not despair! Do not dare let your wrathful flames be doused!” Grend thrust his sword in the air.

“Fight with me on this day of war! Fight for your families, fight for your homes, fight for your country! Show me what is worth fighting for; show me what’s to die for! Live for vengeance, die for honor, but on this night, let your swords ring and the blood flow. Bask in the blood of your enemies!”

The soldiers of Kaanos let out an ear-piercing scream, two hundred and fifty fists thrust defiantly into the air. They were ready for death.

“Bows at the ready!” Grend yelled over the fierce wind. A sharp rasp of wood followed his command, arrows notched and strings pulled taught. The archers aimed down their arrow shafts at the oncoming tide of Arzecs.

The Arzecs were but a mockery of life, an insult to the very word. They were of human figure with gray and blackened skin drawn taught over bone. Their eyes gleamed a brilliant gold and their mouths spread wide in a grin of amber fangs.

Black scaled armor covered their hulking frames. A crimson serpent adorned their blackened chest plates, the war crest of Abaddon. They bore large, hide-covered round shields in their left hands and cruelly forged scimitars or pikes in the other.

The soft orange glow of several hundred torches flickered among the masses; glaives piercing the night sky as they marched down the hill toward their virtually defenseless prey.

As they crept closer towards Andaurel, a sharp metallic ring pierced the air and resounded through the night. Soon the ringing turned to a deep drumming of metal as the Arzecs began pounding their swords against their shields.

“Keep your sights on the bastards!” Grend shouted over the fierce clamor of the enemy. The black tide of Arzecs crawled into range of the town, barely visible in the night.

“Steady!” Grend’s hand shot up in the air. “Fire!” His arm shot forward and arrows rushed past him in a massive volley of deadly projectiles.

The arrows arced over the gap, slicing through the darkness before descending upon the enemy. Arrows crashed down into their ranks in a thick rain of death as bodies fell from the formation, tumbling under the thundering masses.

Shouts of death pierced the air as arrows ripped their uniform ranks asunder and sent scores of bodies falling under a relentless barrage. The squall of arrows died off and the Arzecs drew their bows in retaliation.

They raised their black horn bows into the skies, arrowheads glinting in the torchlight. A volley of arrows disgorged from the sea of Arzecs, a single black cloud descending over Andaurel.

“Shields!” Grend screamed over his shoulder to the defenders.

Cain ducked behind a wall of shields as the soldiers cried out in surprise and threw their shields up in defense. The clinking of arrows rang loudly in Cain’s ears as he knelt behind a soldier. At last, the clinking of the ineffectual arrows ceased and he stood up from behind his comrades.

The soldiers peered out from behind their shields as the ring of arrows died in the air, thousands of the deadly projectiles hanging limp from their shields like a thicket of thorns. Not a single man dead, Cain thought.

The roar of approaching Arzecs shook his thoughts and he tore his gaze over the ramparts to the enemy before them. The sea of Arzecs cascaded towards Andaurel, weapons raised in a bloodthirsty war cry.

“They’re going to hit the wall!” a soldier shouted.

“Brace yourselves!” Cain cried out.

The wave of Arzecs slammed into the weak wooden palisades like a great ocean’s swell. Timber flew in a shower of dust and earth as the walls barely withstood the powerful blow. The Arzecs concentrated all their power into a small area of the wall, tackling and battering down the timber ramparts with unrelenting might.

The palisades began cracking drastically as the violent battery continued, shards flying with every blow endured. They could not see their enemy, but the defenders knew what lay ahead.

Weapons at the ready!” Grend commanded over the din of Arzecs. The chime of drawn swords rang out as the defenders thrust their swords and spears before them. “Let us show them true vengeance!” The militia let out a fierce cry, their shouts barely heard over the roar of the enemy assault.

The palisades suddenly gave way with one final stroke in an explosion of timber and earth. Debris rained over the defenders and dust filled the air.

The hordes of Arzecs poured over the rubble and sprinted towards the steel-fisted bastion of soldiers before them.

The two factions collided and the roar of battle instantly filled the city, weapons ringing in a deafening clash as the front ranks of Arzecs were torn asunder by the defenders. Bodies hurled back into the Arzec lines, blood and entrails flying in a haze of death.

The stalemate dragged on as the two masses fought on with bloody retribution. Bodies fell like endless rain, cries of death and anguish filling the night air.

Cain charged forward from the defending soldiers, several men following close behind as they tore through the enemy ranks like an iron spearhead.

He swiftly dodged the first row of Arzecs and brought his sword down on one. Its head shot off in a fount of blood as another ran forward to take its place.

Cain ducked and blocked the thrust of its spear. He quickly pulled its wielder forward and threw the Arzec over his shoulder, sending it tumbling over him as it slammed into the ground. He spun his sword and thrust the blade downward, piercing the Arzec’s throat. It cried out in muffled pain, blood gushing about him as he wrenched the sword from its body. He raised the bloodied weapon to his side and charged head on into the sea of Arzecs.

He leapt into the air at an oncoming Arzec and thrust his sword forward, plunging it through the Arzec’s face. He landed beside the body and tossed his sword at a second. The blade ripped through the Arzec’s spine and dropped it to its knees.

Cain sprinted towards the body and evaded several sword strikes. He pulled his sword from its victim and ran toward an unsuspecting Arzec. He jumped toward it and bound off its shield, flipping over the Arzec. He sliced its head off as he spun over it, and landed to a knee behind the body as it collapsed in a torrent of blood.

He swung his sword at a wall of onrushing Arzecs, hewing their legs off. A final Arzec fell upon him, and he shot up from the ground and thrust his sword through the Arzec’s neck. The tip exploded out the top of the Arzec’s skull and with a violent pull on his sword, the blade ripped through the Arzec’s face. Its skull erupted in two with a blast of brain and blood that splattered over Cain.