The Spirit of Revenge (25 page)

He could help end this war and put an end to Abaddon’s genocide, but his own self-interest was nothing more than a hindrance to their cause. He could not continue like this, he knew he had to change. He knew Eileen would not want to see him like this.

He looked at each of his friends in turn. All of them were changing somehow, into pitiless offspring of war. They were no longer the carefree friends of his youth. They were now killers without regret, living only to appease the spirit of revenge that burned eternal.

And he was the worst of them. He knew where his feet were walking, but his soul was taking a much different path. He knew not where it was going; only that it stumbled every step of the way.

He looked at Adriel; the only one he felt had remained the same through their ordeals.

She glanced over at him, sensing his gaze. She locked eyes with him for a moment and smiled. He struggled to return her grin, but quickly dropped his gaze to the ground.

His sword lay limp in his hand and he gazed once more into its glowing depths. He sighed and stabbed it into the ground before standing up and walking over to Adriel.

“You seem troubled,” she said as he sat down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

Cain looked at her and turned away, staring out over the glistening field of snow. “I feel too much, and can’t make sense of a single thought. I long to do what is right, but I cannot…”

Adriel rested a small hand on his shoulder. “It is better to feel than to have your heart turned cold.”

A gust of wind blew through their camp, bringing with it the first breath of a looming storm.

“Too late for that,” he jested as the wind whipped around them. Adriel let out a gasp and dove at his chest for warmth. The wind died after a moment and she pulled away from him, laughing lightly.

The Warriors slept little through the night’s bitter tempest and now rose to a brilliant scene.

Every inch of earth was covered in snow, every tree, limb, and rock. The early morning sun cast the snow in a vibrant light, flooding the world beneath a sea of ivory.

Their fire had long since died during the night and was now buried in a grave of snow.

They were ravenous and exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to stay where they were. Yet they knew they had to carry on. They packed their equipment and left behind their makeshift camp, trudging through the blankets of snow.

“Ilross is another day’s walk from here,” Malecai informed the group as they tore a path through the forest. The air was calm, not a breath of wind on its lips. It was deathly cold and lifeless, not a whisper of a heartbeat other than their own, nor the songs of birds to grace their ears.

The snow ended and they stumbled out into a barren field. The area was covered with frozen grass and filled with stumps of felled trees. Many of the larger stumps had iron axes imbedded in them as if left there for future use.

“A logging camp,” Malecai said as he knelt to pick up a rusted chain. “We must be close to a village.”

He stood up and dropped the chain in the snow. He rushed towards the tree line and the Warriors followed suit.

The shadows of the forests once again engulfed them. A narrow path extended from the field and weaved its way through the trees before trailing off into the depths of the pines.

Malecai beckoned the others to follow as he stepped into the trail. He led them down the path that was deeply scarred from the wheels of wagons.

The cart path led them through the trees and wound its way deeper into the forest. The Warriors followed the path and soon it led them to the edge of a cliff that overlooked a wooded valley below. The trail continued into the northeast, hugging closely to the cliff’s edge.

Nearly a hundred buildings were clustered closely together in the gorge. They were all fashioned of timber, skillfully built even atop the jagged terrain.

As the travelers continued along the top of the valley, the remainder of the gorge rolled into view. Suddenly, a foul stench reached them and they peered into the edge of the village.

They noticed bodies scattered and mangled in the snow, barely visible through the thick trees. The Warriors quickly pulled out their weapons at the sight of this and ran to the edge of the cliff.

Malecai knelt down and scanned the trees. “Something is not right,” he muttered. He bolted from the group and ran along the path, the others following close behind. They eventually reached a large hill and slid down it.

As they reached the bottom, an overbearing stench welcomed them. The Warriors raised their weapons and charged into the valley entrance.

They came under the shadow of massive rock walls that loomed above a long band of trees and snow that stretched out into the dark maw beyond. However, what they saw beyond the trees was far beyond comprehension.

Bodies littered the valley floor in the tens of thousands, stretching along the entire length of the gorge. Corpses were strewn along every inch of available space, piled on top of each other for several yards. Blood drenched the snow beneath them, forming a stagnant sea of scarlet. The overwhelming reek of death filled the air for miles and seemed as if to sap the very life from the earth.

The Warriors cautiously approached the mountain of dead, weapons held at the ready. They stepped into the trees and weaved their way deeper into the valley. They passed several piles of bodies consumed by fire. Billows of smoke rose into the treetops, filling the air with the reek of burning flesh.

They then heard the voices of men. They came around a pile of bodies and saw a score of soldiers ahead of them. They pulled several carts piled high with bodies. Two men overturned a cart and several others began throwing the bodies onto the mountain of deceased.

The men heard the crunching of the Warriors’ boots in the snow and drew their swords. “Who’s there?” The man in the middle shouted into the trees. The Warriors stepped into the clearing, weapons raised.

One of the soldiers charged towards them and threw his spear at Malecai. Malecai stepped to the side and grabbed the spear from the air. He spun it and tossed it in his hand before lobbing it back at its owner. The spear’s shaft crashed into the man’s face, breaking the weapon in half with a resounding crack. The man was thrown off his feet and fell to the snow, bleeding from his skull.

Malecai stepped forward. “We are the Warriors, lower your weapons.”

The soldiers’ eyes lit up with surprise and they immediately set their weapons down in the snow. They began whispering among themselves, pointing at the Warriors and eyeing them curiously.

“My apologies, Warriors,” the middle soldier said, “We didn’t know who you were.” The Warriors sheathed their weapons and crossed the clearing.

Each soldier was covered head to foot in steel-scaled armor. Swords were belted to their sides and lances were strapped to their backs.

The man in the middle stepped away from the others. He removed the cowl tied around his mouth and bared a toothy smile.

He appeared older than the others, scarce under forty years of age. Hair the color of rotted hay fell around his sweaty brow. A large beard masked his chiseled face. Gray hazel eyes looked them over searchingly.

Flexible steel and leather armor of decorative green and gold adorned his stout frame.

He wore an exceedingly long, leather fauld that fell from his waist to his ankles and steel greaves that protected his legs. On his back was strapped a long spear, nearly nine feet in length, with three sharp blades on one end and a long spike on the other.

Two short swords were sheathed in decorative gold scabbards on his back. They were each several hands long, both identical in appearance. Their blades were fashioned of well-forged steel, the hilts of wrapped silver and the handles of gold-flecked leather.

“I am Isroc Braygon, son of General Hallus and a captain in the Grand Erias Army,” the man said as he stopped before them. He held out his right hand where his third finger was missing. The Warriors gave their names and shook his hand in turn. “So travelers, what brings you to the beautiful town of Mordicon?”

“We are passing through,” Malecai replied as he returned the man’s inquisitive stare.

“Then it is a shame you have to see this,” the man named Isroc said. He gestured toward the mountain of corpses beside them.

“What is all this?” Cain asked.

Isroc sighed and lowered his head. “It is the people of Erias. Ever since Abaddon dispensed his full forces into our country, they have been attacking our villages night and day. The people can do little to defend themselves, and this…is the result.”

“Can you not defend them?”

“Alas,” Isroc replied, “We try, but the armies of Andred are spread vast over Erias, and as a result our military is spread too thin. It’s almost as if the Andreds are only after killing the innocent, not in fighting a war.” He turned to his men and gestured at the now empty carts. “Take the last load; we’ll be done after this.”

He knelt down beside the unconscious man as the others disappeared through the trees with their carts. “Damn, he’s out cold.”

Malecai knelt down beside them and pulled a roll of bandages from his cloak. Together, the two men managed to wake the man and bind his wound. “Get your sorry ass out of my sight, Alec,” he chided the man. Alec glared at Malecai and hobbled off after the other soldiers. Eventually they returned with full carts.

“We need to get out of here,” Isroc said to them. “They’re going to light the fires soon.”

They began to walk alongside the mountain of bodies, passing thousands upon thousands of deceased.

Men, women, children and infants were haphazardly thrown together to form the towering heap. Blood and pus gushed from every gap, pouring over the bloated dead. Maggots covered their rotting skin and vultures gorged themselves on the remains.

Lurid eyes stared at them lifelessly and fetid hands reached for them, lips calling despairingly, silently. Tiny hands of infants still grabbed longingly for their mothers, but love they would never find. It was everything the Warriors could do to hold back their tears.

“This village, Mordicon, was my home, where I grew up as a child,” Isroc began. “My father, Hallus, had founded it many years ago, but when he became the General of the Erias Cavalry he left it in my stead. Shortly after, a battalion of Andreds attacked Mordicon and destroyed it. Everyone was killed, except for me. I was too young then, and in my naivety, I fled my own village and doomed my people to their demise. Mordicon has been abandoned ever since, but I had to return last week to finish this morbid task.”

“That’s awful,” Adriel managed to mutter through abated tears.

“Is it?” Isroc retorted, “Or do I deserve this for my sin of cowardice. I may be a captain of men now, but it does not erase my past.”

They came to a small path that snaked its way to the top of the valley. They left the bodies behind and eventually reached the crest of the valley wall.

“Why are you doing this?” Silas asked the man.

“The King needs the people to cling to what little hope they have left if we are to push through this war. The number of our dead grows every day, and we need to hide them from the civilians. If they knew how many were really dying, they would be disheartened…and if that happens, then the enemy has won the war.”

Adriel glanced at him questioningly. “The King orders you and your men to keep the truth from Erias’s people? That’s sick…”

“I don’t agree with it either. However, I follow my orders as a soldier. War is no game, we do what we can do win. The King knows this, and if lying to his people will keep their hope alive, then so be it.”

The group fell silent at this, contemplating Isroc’s words. The skies above began to roar, echoes of thunder reverberating through the mountains. The sky began to darken for several minutes and slowly rain began to fall over the area. The storm grew in power and began drenching the forests, ice and sleet falling around them.

Then, a faint glow appeared in the valley below. Isroc’s men appeared through the trees and stood beside the group. The glow began to flicker and flames leapt up around the bodies. The fires slowly consumed the corpses and black smoke began to rise into the skies. The stench of cooking flesh and boiling pus reached their noses.

The fires grew in size until they bound across the entire valley, setting every tree and building aflame. A sea of black smoke rose into the sky, rivers of embers ascending the foul winds. Flames roared and crackled in the dying valley, consuming Erias’s fallen and the remains of what was once Mordicon.

Isroc bowed his head and choked back a tear. “Damn the Andreds, damn Abaddon. Such suffering he has brought upon us. And for what? Humanity does not deserve such a fate as this…”

N
ight brought with it an expected cold. Snow swirled in the air and a fierce wind tore through the forests. The stench of burning flesh and smoke filled the soldiers’ campsite as the distant inferno still burned strong. Isroc’s men huddled around a large fire for warmth. The Warriors sat with Isroc away from the men, heartily devouring pounds of freshly cooked veal the soldiers had provided.