Penumbra - Book 1 (8)

The hanging turret groaned and shook as gravity struggled to pull it to the ground. Alys hooked her leg around one of the crenelations below her and hoisted herself up onto it. The platform she and the other bowmen had been standing on mere moments before was now almost entirely vertical, a wall instead of a floor, and it hung balanced on the edge of the remaining tower wall by only the slimmest of anchors. Alys heard wood above snapping and flattened herself against the floor of the turret, hanging onto the crenelations with both arms.

With a wrenching scream, the turret broke away from the top of the last wall, and slid downwards through the fire and broken timber that now made up one side of the tower. Alys rode it down with her eyes shut, sure that she was doomed, but the turret stayed largely intact until it reached the ground, when it collapsed into several hundred planks of wood. As the world about her shattered, Alys was thrown, along with everything else about her, across the air to land heavily on the ground with a thump. Moments after she did so, shredded wood started to land about her. A splinter the size of a knife impaled itself through her left hand, and she cried out in pain. She tore a strip of fabric from her uniform, lay it beside her, and then grasped the top of the splinter with her right hand. With a gasp she pulled the splinter free and then wrapped the fabric around the wound, binding it tightly.

She stood and looked at the rubble all about her, splintered wood, little patches of burning pitch, broken bodies, and in the middle of it all, the watchtower stood gutted and burning. With a final cry, the last wall collapsed, and the burning tower fell in on itself, now nothing more than bonfire. The ox wrangler struggled desperately to free the few remaining oxen who were still tethered to the pile of rubble, tears in his eyes as he did so.

Alys ran to one of the bodies, checked that he was not alive, and then drew his sword from his scabbard, the dull bronze of its blade reflecting the fire all about. It was heavier than the wooden swords she had practiced with as a youth, but she felt she would be able to compensate, and she reflected that she had little choice in the matter. The fires still raged about her, and the ruin of the tower was now almost entirely ablaze, so Alys retreated from the rubble of the tower to to fields about. Once she was shot of the fire, she dug the tip of the sword into the ground and put two of her fingers into her mouth, blowing hard to create a whistle that Atrius had been trained to respond to since he was a gelding, the call she used to summon her horse. She only hoped he hadn't bolted so far from the tower that he wouldn't be able to hear her. The fire was certainly the largest Alys had ever seen, so it was sure to be enough to spook any horse about to witness it. She looked about her, but beyond the fires it was difficult to see much of anything.

As she whirled about, looking for her friend, she saw another figure stalking through the spot fires, silhouetted against the enormous blaze. Although she could not make out any details, the figure was thin and spindly, its giant head balanced on its neck like a dandelion. As she looked at it, frozen, it seemed to stop, turn towards her, and then start walking immediately towards her. She had been spotted. She could try to run, but where to? Better to take a stand and have a fighting chance than be run from behind down like a dog. She grabbed the hilt of the sword in the ground in front of her and lifted it before her, assuming a combat stance. The Enemy had now closed the distance between them and was only a few feet away. Although still in profile, she could now make out the glint of the Enemy's teeth and eyes, giving the illusion of a reverse skull, black where it should be white. It seemed to grin as it regarded her coolly, sword in her hand between them. Its sword was serrated and gleaming, a kind of metal Alys was unfamiliar with- not bronze like her sword, but some other brighter, more wicked material. It also carried a small, circular shield on its forearm, giving it a significant advantage when weighed against her wounded left hand.

Remember your training, she thought to herself, trying to keep her mind calm against the racing of her heart. You've trained with some of the best swordsmen in the realm. Wait for the first strike, parry, and then look for a weak spot. She crouched slightly as her opponent circled around her slightly, keeping her on her guard. Then it struck, bringing it's sword crashing down with a high strike. Alys parried easily, but the force of the blow shuddered through her arm, and she cried out in pain. There was a visible dent in the bronze of her blade where the blow had struck. He leaves his center open when he strikes high, her mind noted as she waited for the next strike. There. He raised his blade high for another strike. Alys stepped to the right just far enough to take her out of it's swing, then ran her sword into his weak spot, below his arm and under his ribs. In training the wood would have touched and the battle would have been won. Now the blade slid roughly into the pale flesh, and her arm pushed forward, driving it into the horrible apparition. It looked at her with shock, eyes wide, and she was suddenly close to it, smelling its hot breath, seeing the fear in its eyes. She let go of her sword in shock and stepped back as it toppled backwards, strange gurgling noises emitting from its throat. It continued to gurgle horribly, thrashing on the ground with her sword still embedded in it. She continued to back away in horror before bumping into a large shape that stood behind her. She span about, her heart leaping to her throat, too see who she had bumped into. With a snort, Atrius nuzzled his head on her face, clearly pleased to see her. It was a happy surprise to see her dear friend, but she had taken a life, and something was taken from her in return- it came out of her as a cry of sadness and a short flood of tears. It was over almost before it began, and she quickly pulled herself together again, but she had killed, and while many things would change her in the coming months, it was this moment that invaded her dreams most deeply.

She wanted to get away from the body as quickly as possible. Atrius was not wearing a saddle- this was not a huge problem, she had ridden him bareback on many occasions, but getting onto him with only one hand was difficult, she had to haul herself up with her forearm on his back and her right hand gripping his mane. He whinnied in protest, but seemed to understand that now was not the time to get obstreperous with her. Once she had mounted him, she let him run free -it was difficult to control him precisely without reins- and he took her away from the horrible creature she had slain, away from the blaze of the tower's remains, and towards the line of cavalry still attempting to hold back the swarms of white flesh from beyond the veil of night.

"Rogan!" she screamed as Atrius quickly closed the hundred-foot distance between the two sites of battle and came near to where her brother held against the Enemy. He had barely a moment to register her presence before he had to turn back to slashing at the Enemy. "The tower has fallen, you must retreat!"

Rogan continued to parry blows as he yelled back: "Father has circled around them, we must keep them occupied if he is to surprise them. Now get out of here!" He said it as a protective reflex, an older brother's concern for his sister, but he must have known she would not comply. A spear stood stabbed into the body of one of pale corpses on the ground, its handle pointing up into the sky just high enough for her to reach. She scooped it up and bought Atrius up alongside her brother's steed, and started jabbing the bronze tip at any of the Enemy who came too close to him running interference to defend him, so as to give him a chance to strike. She was not able to look up directly, but she could feel the hordes of animals gathered before her in the darkness. An armed man on a horse is worth ten on foot in the field of battle, but there was only so long they could hold off against such numbers before they were overwhelmed and overrun- their father had better strike quickly, or he would find himself without anyone to come to the aid of.

As if on cue, Alys heard the sounding of a horn from the darkness and a sudden tumult in the crowd of the Enemy. Over the sea of white skulls, their father and his retinue came stampeding through the mass, slashing from side to side as their horses overran the creatures with mighty hooves, stomping on bodies with all the effort of running through tall grasses. The Enemy before them realized they had been trapped in a pincer movement, and began to run with abandon to escape the oncoming stampede. The tide of bodies surged forward in a panic, and suddenly both Rogan and Alys were swamped- the Enemy was all about them. Rogan turned and turned again, hacking with abandon, but there was only so much he could do against such numbers. He looked up at Alys and stared at her with fear, seeing that she was equally surrounded.

"Alys, get out of here! Now!" he said, his eyes pleading with her, and it shocked her to see such fear in his eyes, her strong brother who had never been afraid of anything. It was the last she saw of him, for his horse was wounded badly, from many directions at once, and it fell sideways into the throng, taking her brother down with it. He fell into a sea of swords and shields, his terrified eyes locked onto hers before drowning in the darkness.

It took a moment for her to register all this, and she sat shocked on Atrius' back before she felt the hands grabbing again at her ankles. She grabbed onto Atrius' neck and shouted in his ear: "Go Atrius, go!" and he launched forward on powerful legs, kicking over several of the swarming Enemy as he did so. He ran forward through the crowd, which was thinner on the sunward side, and soon he had smashed free from the edge of the battle, ready to streak across the plains and carry his mistress to safety. But it it was not to be- as he pushed past the last of the ghostly warriors about them, it slashed at his hind leg with its wicked sword, slicing his calf muscle and rendering him lame. With a squeal of pain, the once-mighty beast, that had ridden the great circle many times over, stumbled and fell forward, throwing Alys heavily to the ground. She hit the earth on her shoulder, snapping the spear she carried in half as she fell on it. She rolled with the fall and then coughed, the wind knocked out of her. Her vision swam out of focus, and she shook her head to clear it, trying to get up again.

The still-panicked army of darkness continued to rush forward, and she could see it coming towards her, and between her and them, Atrius, her beautiful friend, lay gasping and thrashing on the ground, an awful parody of the man she had killed herself a few minutes earlier. She ran to her horse, grabbing the top half of the broken spear and brandishing it before her, trying to protect her friend from the oncoming horde of the Enemy. But there were so many. There was nothing she could do.

"Come on, Atrius, get up. Can't you get up?" She looked down into his huge brown eyes, saw pain and fear, and the special kind of incomprehension that only animal can display. "Can't you get up, old friend?" He thrashed and thrashed again, trying to get up onto his lame leg, but it was severed, ruined- he could not walk.

"Damn it!" Alys screamed, hot tears rushing down her face. "Father, help me! I need you! Help me!" she screamed so loudly her lungs burned and her skin prickled.

The tide of bones rushed over her in a wave, arms and swords and eyes all about her. She stabbed meaninglessly at a few with her stunted spear, but it was all for naught. The last thing she perceived was a mighty, metal-studded club coming towards her face, then the darkness overswept her, and all became black.