The Willbreaker (Book 1) (30 page)

              Lord Cedric Reinhold grabbed the intricately wound silver necklace that attached to the small key underneath his shirt. He gripped the key and then reached for the sturdy metal lock that sealed the door to the cage in front of him. The man inside the cage crouched at the door, holding tight to the thick steel bars. His hands trembled uncontrollably, making it difficult to get the key in. After the second try, he took a deep breath.
C’mon Cedric.

              He glanced past the cage to see the two massive castle doors slamming shut.
At least that is done.
The courtyard had mostly cleared. A few soldiers ran around the perimeter doing this or that, but enough had been done to calm Cedric’s nerves.

              “C’mon, King!” Bram yelled. The Avatar of War tapped his foot rapidly in anticipation. Cedric inserted the small key into the lock. It went in smoothly.  As the key bottomed out in the lock, a deep horn, first one and then another in eerie unison, bellowed from outside to the west. From the east came the clicking of drums in rhythmic beat, sounding like the wings of a million flying grasshoppers.

             
It is time.
Cedric looked back from the gate to the lock and turned the key.

              Janga’s scream thundered across the courtyard. “Cedric, nooooooooooooo!”

Panic and distress flooded through Reinhold like a tsunami. He held the lock that caged the Avatar of War, and in one more second the Avatar would be free. All thoughts of the enemy vanished as he realized his actions. Janga stood shouting at him urgently.
Burn me! Only a madman would release the Avatar of War in his own castle!

              He jerked his hand away, but the slapping of the Bram’s hand around his wrist stopped him instantly. “No no no, King! Release me!” Cedric looked upon the Avatar in fear. Janga still shouted at him to stop, now running through the courtyard in full sprint towards him. “Now, King! Release me!” Cedric yanked his arm backwards, releasing a loud “clink!” The base of key sat in between his thumb and forefinger, the shaft broken within the lock. Bram sighed dramatically and fell back on his rear, head down, sadly disappointed. “So close,” he whispered to himself, “So close…”

              Janga’s hand hooked Reinhold’s shoulder and yanked him away from the cage as the two horns bellowed from outside once again. Cedric seemed caught up in the confusion. Janga grabbed both of his shoulders and turned him so they were face to face. Janga bore a large exhilarated smile.

              “Sire, it is help! Those units outside! Come! Look!” He grabbed the King’s arm and urged him towards the outer gate. A thousand thoughts raced through the King’s mind.
Could this really be true? Have I finally been dealt a winning hand? Have the Gods favored me this day? I must see it to believe it.

              As the King walked out past the guard wall, he got first glimpse of the approaching units; their numbers overwhelmed him. From the south, lined in tightly packed rows of units, came the armored Templars of the Highren’Dol, a hundred thousand strong. They wore beautifully elegant plate mail that looked like it should be setup for show, not for battle. Their azure-grey chest pieces rippled flawlessly into the spaulders, which from afar looked like two ovate leaves pressed together along the edges and rose along their peak. The girdles were overlayed strips of the same metal, meeting the plate leggings somewhere underneath, down to the polished metal boots. Their helmets appeared to have angelic wings where the ears should be, pointing upward and back. Only their eyes showed through the thin slit that went eye to eye and down from nose to chin. On the right shoulder of each Templar lay their massive polearms, a long gracefully curved blade resting on the top of the shafts.

              The Highren’Dol had a pact of allegiance with the Kings of Old, but never before had they acted in time of war. Even during the Beholder Wars, when the lords of the lands called up the Highren’Dol for assistance, they never came. Two different civil wars raged causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands, the Highren’Dol did not show. Man had lost faith in their elven companions. They cursed their existence, swearing they made a pact the elves failed to keep, and never did anyone hear word from them; only silence. However, today, the dual horns of the Highren’Dol filled the air and their armies marched, marched to the aid of the King in need.

              From the east came the Horsemen of the Sand, fifty thousand nomads from the lands north of the Grogan Sea. They must have been riding for months to arrive here, for even the quickest of routes surpassed a three-month journey. The riders wore long, thick shawls that wrapped around their faces and heads, covering their arms to their hands, and draped over their legs. Multi-layered and baggy pants covered the lower half of their bodies where their wide swords rested. Heavy crossbows hung strapped to the sides of their mounts.

              In a small separated group, ahead of the horsemen army, rode their leaders. Their shawls were all black, not the colors of the desert like the rest of the army. They were a part of the Hermetic Order of Helios and were all Gifted. It would be a great day in the battlefield with the Order in attendance, for the only rumors greater than their fighting abilities were of their Order’s Gifted.

              Out of the western tree line marched the wild men of the mountains. They were a primal group of men, once said to have fled to the mountains as cowards during the Great Unrest, the period before the birth of the Age of Creation. They were husky and large, unshaven and covered in the furs of animals. They brought weapons of every shape and size, shields covered in the stretched skins of the wild elk, and packs of their hounds. The dogs of the wild men were thick and mangy, covered in dirt, bearing long and sharp yellow teeth. The dogs were savage and primal, some even said completely wild. The dogs stood shoulder to shoulder with their masters; large enough to wear a saddle, if they would allow it. They yanked at their master’s thick arms with heavy metal chains, snarling and biting, flinging curdled mucus through the air.

              Cedric looked around in awe at the incoming forces. He wondered how they got here and how they knew to come. He stood watching as the armies filled the landscape and could not help but smile. The armies settled to stillness as the leaders of each group approached the King.

              Three towering men, bare chested except for the heavy bear furs draped across they shoulder, walked towards Reinhold. The two men on either side of the tallest and most muscular man in the middle wore helmets made from the head skins of grey wolves. The wolves ears pointed upwards and the men’s bearded faces peered out from the wolves open mouths. The tremendous man in the middle appeared to be the leader; his head covered by the skin of a grand bear, and his deep blue eyes looked through the bear’s fanged and open mouth with look of certainty.

              The two wolf-headed men stood back ten paces as the largest man walked to the King, extended his arm and placed his right hand on the shoulder of Reinhold.

He had a guttural and commanding voice.

              “The men of the mountain have come to stand side by side by the men of the plains, to slay the wicked and drink of their blood.” The wild men believed that by drinking the blood of their enemy, they would absorb some of their power and the Gods of battle would bless them. Although not a common acceptance amongst the civilized, Cedric would not judge them for their beliefs.

              Cedric placed his hand upon the shoulder of the Wildman, named Hronlin he later discovered, and thanked him. “Your men are welcome here.”

              As Cedric lowered his hand from the tall mountain man, he turned to see the desert nomad leaders; the thirteen members of the Hermetic Order of Helios. Shock and surprise ran through him at first glance, though he quickly reset his outgoing façade. He could only see the area around the horsemen’s eyes because a thick wool shawl covered the rest of their features. Lustrous green scales that reflected tones of gold and blue  covered the small areas of visible skin. Their eyes, the color of burnished gold, were centered with an emerald green iris. They were humanoid, but definitely not human. The outline of the body and the structure in their faces resembled that of a lizard.

              The King stood facing them, looking proud. One of the nomads got awkwardly close to the Cedric, nearly touching faces with him. The lizard man moved his head around the King’s face inspecting him, ignoring all else. Cedric had his right arm locked and back behind him, keeping Janga away, whose discomfort with the examination became quickly obvious. After a few seconds of studying, the lizard man stepped back and the King released his held breath.

              The lizard man turned back and walked to his companions, who formed a tight circle, heads facing inward. They seemed to talk all at once; a series of hisses and tongue rolls, but Reinhold heard the occasional words of man amidst the noise. They rattled on for a solid minute. Reinhold, Janga, and the wild men looked at them curiously. As they talked, a lone Templar of the Highren’Dol approached, but kept his distance, awaiting his turn.

              The lizard men simultaneously split, taking a semi-circle formation facing the King, and their leaders stepped forward again. His voice had the sound of a whispering man, covered up with a secondary wispy rasp. The lizard man held on to every “S” sound he spoke.

              “We ssseek the death of the Empresss. We ssseek the death of the one who will enssslave usss. We are in the right placcce, yesss?”

              “My name is Cedric Reinhold, Lord and King of these lands. We stand as the only opposing force to combat the mad woman known as Aurora. She seeks to enslave us all. She has a standing army of over two-hundred thousand troops, so if that sounds like what you were expecting, then yes, you are in the right place.”

              The nomad’s head tilted sideways as he looked at Cedric, then he turned around and rejoined the circled group of the others. They hissed and spoke to each other again, and as before, the leader turned to face the King.

              “You have our might, and our magic,” he spoke as he bowed in front of the King in a sweeping, dramatic fashion.

              “Excellent.” Reinhold turned towards the Templar, who already closed the distance, hand held out to shake.

              Cedric locked hands with the elven Templar, surprised at the strength of his handshake.

              “Hail and salute, King Cedric Reinhold, I am Ri’Kel’Asan Reyendar, High Templar of the Highren’Dol, Son of Tres’Kel’Lay Reyendar, and future Caliph of the Three Nations. We come to the calling of the covenant, to answer the true need of mankind, and to reunite our brotherhood in battle. We stand strong and ready, and will fight back to back with you brother, as man and elf should.”

              Cedric’s smile bloomed. “Thank you, friend. Your help is very much needed here. How did you know to come now?”

              “Our seers have foretold of this day. We have been preparing for the last fifty years. We stand at a hundred and ten thousand, and each Templar has no less than ten years of extensive training. We have Gifted mixed among us as well, ready to aid in healing and offense. We are as ready as ever for this, ready for the battle that will split the world and make kings of men and elf alike. May the Gods of men and elf bless us and grant us strength.”

              He said everything that crossed Cedric’s mind, so he simply nodded in acceptance. Cedric turned to Janga, feeling overwhelmed with relief and joy.

              “I can’t believe it, friend, we might actually have a chance.”

              “You didn’t think the Gods would abandon you in your greatest time of need, did you?” Janga laughed as he hit Reinhold on the shoulder with his open hand. The two men both laughed together.

              The sun fell below the mountain ridge, dimming the visible light. The Templars setup white camp tents across the open area in front of the castle; their camp torches making the entire landscape flicker.  Fires sparkled throughout the deep woods where the mountain men camped. The Horsemen of the Sands however simply laid down next to each other in a giant circle on the ground, surrounded by a wall of their horses. Reinhold could see the practicality of the idea though; if anyone was to come near, the horses would spook, giving the nomads in the center time to react. It also seemed like a good way to preserve heat, sleeping next to the others of your group; simple, yet effective, and it showed the ingenuity of the desert folk.               

              Cedric immediately sent extra soldiers to the kitchens.

              “We need to get the kitchens in production mode. Make sure the fires are cooking twenty four hours a day, and cook everything. Keep the food and drink coming. Setup tables out here in the courtyard and let everyone know we are working on feeding them.” He glanced back at the sand people. “What do they eat? Find out. Hungry men are hard to deal with, but also easy to please. I want food out here, now,” Cedric said to Janga. Janga nodded and then barked out orders to his men, switching their duties instantly according to his instructions.

A few hours passed, all became quiet, and for once the people of the castle were at ease, if only for the night. The courtyard had lines of men, wild men mostly, waiting for their turn at the food tables. Multiple barrels of wine and ale were stacked in piles, surrounded by Hronlin’s wild men and Reinhold’s soldiers, laughing and losing their soberness together.