The Spirit of Revenge (14 page)

They were trapped in a pit with no hope of escape. An army of unimaginable number marched upon them, seeking to crush any hope remaining to the outnumbered and beleaguered soldiers. An endless tide of blood would soon befall them.

Charun was not ready for such a sudden and fierce invasion. They were ready to fall.

She had pushed aside the reality of the war when she was safe in the halls of Ethebriel.

Yet now the garnishments of war fell before her, revealing the truth of it all and stealing away her naivety.

Charun shared the same fate as Kaanos. The Arzecs of Abaddon now pushed relentlessly through the countryside, slaughtering and burning everything in sight. Thousands lay dead in the grave of innocence.

She had heard the sighs of Ethebriel as he received yet another letter from Verin, writing that yet another village had fallen, that more souls were extinguished, that more blood was being spilt. She heard his sorrow and saw his misery, but until now, she had never understood it.

The gravity of their situation finally set in, that the armies of Andred were descending upon them, seeking to snuff out the final resistance of the feeble South.

A soldier’s voice broke Adriel’s thoughts. “That statue embodies all that Charun has ever been,” he said as he gestured towards the grieving statue before the Great Hall. “Our country has fought many long and bloody battles. It represents the blood we have spilt and the tears we have shed…are we to die today, are we to fall now after all these years of fighting? We are a proud people; the dogs of Andred will not destroy us. We will seek our revenge on Abaddon for all he has done to us.”

“Speak for yourself…” a nearby soldier muttered.

T
he soldiers of Charun had been at work for countless hours, struggling against time and fate to prepare for the inevitable. They now filled the first floor of the stronghold, awaiting the end.

The Warriors stood behind the last line of soldiers on the second floor. They donned the last of their armor and strapped on their weapons, a sinking feeling in their hearts as they armed for battle.

“I feel…” Aaron muttered, “I feel as if fate has sealed us to this path…this path of destruction that we have chased for so many years. We will surely meet our end if we continue like this.” He glanced over at Cain. “We were destined to war, destined for bloodshed…this path will only destroy us.”

Cain looked at his friend and replied strongly, “Our way is war and we are destined to follow it. The same Arzecs that took everything from us now marches for Abraxas to take the only thing we have left, our lives. And we will give them that. We will fight for revenge, for every spilt drop of our families’ blood and every ash of Andaurel.”

“Can we continue this though?” Aaron replied, “If we follow this path of revenge, it will lead only to ruin. Will it continue to fester in our hearts until we turn like animals, seeking blood to sate our urges? When the blood dries and there is none left to spill…what then will we fight for?” The group fell silent, unable to give an answer.

Grim faced and heavy hearted, the Warriors left each other’s company and went to their separate regiments. Only Adriel and Cain remained, gazing out over the fortress before them.

Cain could not heed the sobering words of his friend now; he had to fight for the injustice against his wife and child. He must fight to avenge their deaths and appease his thirst for revenge at whatever cost. He shook his head, struggling to stave off the thoughts that swirled within.

He looked to Adriel who still remained at his side. “What happened earlier between you and Verin?” He asked her. Adriel looked at him and sighed deeply.

“Verin is my uncle…I told you Ethebriel was my father so I could gain your trust…and save myself from your incessant inquiry.” She glanced at him with a slight smirk.

“Before you ask, Verin was my mother’s brother, and I have had to deal with the hardships of my relation to him. He is a pathetic excuse for a man. He believes himself to be superior to anything that draws breath, especially those of his own blood as he showed earlier today…”

Cain looked at the girl with new understanding. “Even kings are human,” he said after a moment, “but he is your uncle, you cannot hate him forever.” He fell silent and looked out over the sea of heads to the setting sun beyond.

“Watch me. You don’t know him like I do; if you did then you would think the same.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Very well,” Adriel replied, accepting the offer. “I grew up in the village of Alara, near Charun’s eastern border with Atuan.

‘My mother loved me dearly and never failed to sacrifice for me.

‘My father was a nobleman but used his power and wealth in all the wrong ways. He was a drunkard and a gambler. He spent his days drinking away his sanity and his nights by beating my mother and I.

‘The years passed and my father eventually fell victim to his vices and took his own life. However, his wealth went to Verin, for the snake seized the money from under us and used it to furnish his many palaces. We lived in poverty for months with little food, for who would provide for a helpless widow and her daughter?

‘Driven by need, we went to Verin and pleaded for mercy. Instead of mercy, we received a miracle. We met his friend, Ethebriel. He was the miracle we were searching for. He ignored our plight and fell in love with my mother for who she was. He provided for us and loved me like the father I never had. He eventually proposed to my mother and I had never been happier than to move to Dun Ara and start a new life.

‘It was too good to be true. My mother fell ill a year after their marriage…and eventually it claimed her life. Ethebriel and I were heartbroken from the loss, but I think that common ground between us only drew us closer. Ethebriel was the father I never had.

I lived with him in Dun Ara for a few years, where he and a man named Armeth taught me all I know. They even made me this bow,” she gestured to the ivory longbow at her back.

She fell silent and left Cain to contemplate her words. The light of day slowly dwindled. Night veiled the sky at last. Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, blotting out the stars.

“I’m sorry for all that,” Cain said after a while. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s in the past…speaking of the bastard, where is he anyways?”

The two looked around for a moment and locked eyes. “Come on,” Adriel gestured. She led him across the second floor, passing the barracks and armory.

They descended the steps to the Great Hall and approached its doors. “I’m sure he’s in here,” she muttered as she pushed the doors open with a loud creak. They walked into the hall that now glowed with the light of several torches.

Verin stood alone at the far end of the hall with his back to the door. The two approached him and eyed what was occupying his attention.

A mural extended from one corner of the wall and stretched across until it ended halfway to the opposing corner. Adriel and Cain had failed to notice it in the daylight but now it glowed brilliant in the torchlight.

The painting was of two clashing armies as if frozen in time and captured in all their glory. Spears and swords were plunged through screaming soldiers, lips frozen in silent suffering, blood pouring from their wounds and falling about their feet.

White light encircled the battle and varying shades of black clawed at the shins of the soldiers below. Verin stood at the end, detailing the face of a soldier.

“Two clashing armies,” Verin murmured, his back still to them. “Both former brothers-in-arms until a great treason split their ties. Countrymen killing countrymen, brother killing brother. All of this bloodshed is the result of betrayal, treason of the highest degree. It will be a new reign among the people, a new reign of Tarsha…”

The torchlight cast dark seams across his face as he turned and smirked at them. He swirled his brush in a cluster of white paint and began dabbing it onto the wall, lining it up with the white already on the mural.

With a keen artist’s hand, he extended the white farther across the wall, inching his way toward completion.

“I have been working on this painting for several months. I have seen the things that are to come, and it is a grim and hopeless future. War will plague Tarsha eternal, purging all the world until but death remains. One will rise among many, one who holds the hearts of men and knows this world beyond any. He will destroy Abaddon and bring about the Iscara Turganoth. The future of humanity grows ever the bleaker…and I will paint its story on these walls before it is too late.”

Cain raised a brow, intrigued by this. “What are you talking about?”

The King could not respond however, his portend ending abruptly as Adriel stepped forward and screamed at her uncle. “Our country is about to throw itself into the most important battle it has yet to fight! We must win this fight if we are to survive! If we lose, then our country will fall to Abaddon’s genocide and Kaanos will only follow! Yet here you are, painting in cowardice behind the backs of greater men! You’re a disgrace!”

Verin’s hand fell from the mural and he turned to glare at his niece, hand raised to strike her.

Suddenly the blaring of a distant horn split the air, redirecting his attention. They fell silent and listened for the noise. The horn blared again, a deep and rasping note that resounded in the walls of the crater.

“They’re here,” Verin whispered. He bolted from the Great Hall, threw the doors open, and sprinted across the platform.

Cain and Adriel looked at each other a moment and drew their weapons. They ran after him and came to the front of the fortress. Verin pranced up the steps beside the gate and Cain and Adriel followed suit.

The fortress was utterly silent. Every soldier’s eyes were locked on the outer rim of the crater. The distant horn blew again, this time much closer. Then from over the crater’s edge, poured forth the Arzecs.

A black and crimson tide crawled over the crater’s rim like a river of blood and converged at the foot of the cliff face. A never-ending flood of soldiers continued to cascade into the crater until a solid mass of twenty thousand Arzecs marched upon Abraxas, soon filling the entire basin.

“Men of Charun!” Verin cried out over the roar of the approaching army.

“Abaddon has oppressed us for far too long! He has held us in the cruel chains of war for four hundred years, darkening our lands with his shadow! We must fight back and end this cycle of death and destruction! The fortunes of us all rest upon your shoulders, for on this night, you are the makers of fate!”

His screams faded in the silent fortress, trampled beneath the roar of the enemy’s approach. He looked to each of his soldiers, standing solemn before the death awaiting.

“Draw your weapons men!” Verin ordered.

The soldiers drew their weapons, but remained silent and unmoved by their king’s inspiring words. Despair and loss filled every man’s heart, each unwilling to face their certain demise.

“For freedom!” Verin shouted as he thrust his sword in the air. His soldiers remained quiet and many let out a halfhearted scream.

Verin looked over the fortress of despairing men, the roar of the enemy getting louder with every passing moment.

“For death!” Every soldier raised their weapons to the sky at this and bellowed in the face of their ruin.

The mass of Arzecs raised their weapons in response. Their cries boomed in the crater, rattling in the chests of their enemies. With a final note of their war horns, the Arzecs broke formation and charged frenetic towards the stronghold.

The archers along the causeways drew their arrows at a signal from their king and aimed their broad heads into the oncoming tide.

“To the glorious death!” Verin screamed as a wave of arrows shot past. The volley rained down into the Arzecs, instantly felling hundreds. The Arzecs continued undeterred, trampling over their fallen comrades. A second volley shot down, soon followed by a third. Hundreds of Arzecs fell with every barrage until they raised their own bows and fired back in retaliation.

A massive cloud of arrows rose in the air and arced gracefully over the fortress. The defending soldiers raised their round shields above their heads as the arrows crashed down upon them.

The ringing of thousands of arrows filled their ears as the ineffectual projectiles deflected off their shields. Men fell from the causeways above as several met their mark, their bodies falling into the groups of soldiers below with dying screams.

The Arzecs reached the gorge that stretched across the front of the fortress and the narrow bridge forced them to a stop.

Arrows poured down from the walls, shooting into the front line of Arzecs. Bodies dropped like stones, toppling into the depths of the gorge below and engulfed instantly in blackness.

Their front ranks split to reveal several long ladders. Hundreds of Arzecs carried them toward the gorge and tossed them over the gap. They began to climb onto their makeshift bridges and inched their way across the gorge.

The archers on the walls loosed a constant stream of arrows into the crossing soldiers, bodies tumbling into the depthless maw of the gorge. Their cries echoed in the chasm, at last stifled against the rocks below.

Despite a fierce opposition, their front lines managed to cross the chasm. They fired their horned bows into the fortress, dropping archers from the walls and smashing their bodies against the shale rock. More and more Arzecs managed to make the perilous journey across the gorge, their endless ranks gradually gaining ground.

On the other side of the chasm, several Arzecs brought forth mighty ballistae. The Arzecs rolled them to the edge of the gorge and loaded long metal spears into them. Then with tremendous force, the projectiles rocketed into the fortress.

The iron javelins exploded through the ranks of archers along the walls, ripping bodies in half and sending showers of blood into the men below. Several spears skewered scores of men at a time and embedded their bodies into the walls behind the causeway with a spray of blood and entrails.