A man stood on the ridge, braced against the cold wind that swirled into his cloak. The sun was rising above the mountains to the east, faster it seemed than normal. Slowly, as the man watched his final sunrise, he sank down, first onto his knees, then half-laying. He smiled as the sun kissed his wrinkled forehead. It seemed to light up his face, and alleviate his intense suffering. Then, caught in a memory of kinder times, he died.
The ground he lay on was wind-blown rock. In the slight depressions in the mountainous terrain, to either side of the ridge, small bushes made a tortured living. The place had a desolate beauty which only places untouched by intelligent life can achieve. No animals were in sight, but the illusion of complete solitude would not last long. The blood from the man’s many wounds pooled on the ground around him, and soon scavengers would be along to investigate. Nature cleans up most messes.
In the direction opposite of where the man was facing before he died, a thin curl of ash-colored smoke rose gently upwards from the valley behind, dancing joyfully in the crisp wind. It was the sign of the times, and it knew that it would not be leaving the area any time soon.
Two days earlier
Concern was commonplace and running strong in the village of Huvrar. The inhabitants had survived long enough to be able to read the signs: the Zuw were coming. This normally meant concern, but this time it was different. The hunters had reported a multitude of tracks, and all the game had left the area, frightened into desperation by the smell of dried blood, mixed with the smell of the unknown terror.
The village elected a leader through a vote, once every 10 years. The current leader, a man by the name of Flynd, had been leader for the past 8 years, and was approaching 60. He sat frowning at the reports his scouts had given him, his thoughts working at a speed not generally ascribed to his mind by the jesting villager.
“Gruffen.” It was not a question, or a command, he simply said the man’s name.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard walked quickly into the room. His beard reminded many of wool from the black-haired goats in the mountains “Aye, sir?” His respectful tone was not a requisite, but such was his admiration of the leader that it came naturally.
“I want you to get all the lads together. You know, all the young boys with bulging muscles and not enough experience to realize what’s going on. Fix the wall, then hack down a few hundred saplings to make spears for the walls. The Zuw will try to storm the wall; they don’t go in for any fancy siege equipment. We need to be able to make sure that they don’t reach the parapet; otherwise the town dies, violently. If you finish that, make the wall higher. I don’t want to see an idle boy in this town until the Zuw arrive. Then they will be busy…with other things.”
“That’s good thinking. I’ll make sure that it is done. We may even survive this.” He walked out. Flynd leaned back and sighed, placing his hands over his worn eyes, the blood vessels clearly visible in the whites. “No, even then, it won’t be enough.” This was in an undertone; there was no need to kill any hope, even if it was false. The veterans knew, and the young deserved the belief that the village would remain undefeated.
The only real hope was that help would come from one of the neighboring villages. To Flynd, this hope seemed as unreal as the shapes one would imagine in the mist of the early morning. The other villages were not on the best of terms with the people of Huvrar, and they had troubles of their own. “Probably looking to their own defense, once we told them that there was a large party of Zuw in the area.” He snorted, “I guess I can’t blame them, their best hope is if we weaken the Zuw sufficiently so that they can defeat them. It’s what I would think of”
“Are you busy, Flynd?”
Flynd would have jerked up with a start, but he was getting too old for that. Instead, he turned slowly, and said “not really, what is the problem?”
The young girl looked guilty. ‘It’s just that some of the men are getting anxious to see their leader.”
“Ah yes, the ancient duty of instilling courage in the warriors before the battle. Well, Id better go see what I can do.”
A vigilant watch was kept that night. Watch fires glowed dimly, attempting desperately to illuminate the shadows around the village. On this night, the knowledge of the foe made men’s skin turn to ice as he looked out at the brooding darkness. Inside the thick log walls, weapons were quietly sharpened. Due to numerous conflicts, both with the Zuw and other humans, well made weapons had become a priority, and thus there was no shortage of swords and crossbows.
Flynd paced on the parapet of the jagged wooden embankment. The defenses seemed as thin as kala-skin. If only, if only… If only a third of the population had not been wiped out by the Krea Ranse Fever last winter. If only the Droshan Empire had not fought the Zuw so hard to the south, forcing them to raid farther and farther North. If only Hirea’s, daughter would meet an elemental, so that the flames of the purest fire would descend upon the Zuw, incinerating them, saving the town. Scathra seemed to have enough natural talent to be able to find a willing elemental on the plane of Fire, but she desperately needed training. It was no use. This village was just unlucky, or maybe the Droshan Empire was right. They had a Divine Right to rule over all humans, and Huvrar was outside of that blessing.
In the end, Flynd decided that even if he found a cause to ascribe blame to, it would not change the situation any. He would still have to fight in a few hours. Most likely, he would perish and the town would fall. The women would be slaughtered, and the entire village, the product of countless hours of labor, would be burned. The ashes would be scattered, and the forest would reclaim the soil. In a few years, no one would even remember that Huvrar had ever existed. “Then,” he thought darkly, “what is the purpose of fighting? The end result is the same.” It struck him that no matter what happened, he would die. If not to an enemy blade, to sickness or age. “At least, as long as some mage doesn’t invent a way for all humanity to become immortal. Well, that doesn’t seem very likely. As long as there is chance of survival tomorrow, I will fight for the right to live a few more years. I owe the village that.”
Macabre shapes danced in the early morning light, their shrill expressions of bloodlust easily reaching the grim faces of the defenders. A ragged line of humanoid shapes formed at the tree line, growing larger with every passing minute. Half the defenders were grainy-eyed from lack of sleep. Flynd had seen the situation, guessed the Zuw would attack at dawn and sent the other half to bed. They now stood on the walls, armed with the 10 foot pikes and marginally clearer eyes then their counterparts. The Zuw may have had basically a single tactic: the charge, but their forms were varied and seemed to suit different tasks. Shaggy leviathans stood side by side to tall, almost skeletal figures, both surrounded by hordes of the smaller, most common zuw. These zuw looked like slightly short humans with canines and talons. The specialized zuw were all twisted or distorted in some way: humanoid forms with non-human fur. All their faces were somewhat bestial, but not the faces of beasts, they looked scarily human.
The defenders, men and women in equal measure, muttered prayers and rubbed cold hands. The dawn failed to warm their hearts. All would stand and fall together. One of the young men spoke out “looks like some of their mothers mated with Hurn bears.” A few laughs, but the effort was largely wasted. Flynd walked up and down the wall, exhorting the men to meet the onslaught with bravery. In one of the corner towers, Hirea’s daughter, Scathra, sat cross legged, her eyes closed. Her lips moved incessantly, as if in constant supplication.
On an unspoken command, the Zuw began to move, like black froth on a wave. The sounds of bloodlust tore at the ears of the defenders. The tall, gangly zuw, many hairless, rode the tip of the wave. As soon as they were within range, heavy crossbow quarrels took flight from the wall, reminding Flynd of so many rooks taking flight. The most eager of the zuw were cut down, a few flying backwards from the force of multiple bolts impaling them. The defenders grimly reloaded their weapons and fired again, delivering similar carnage. Then the mottled black wave smashed against the rock of the wall.
The spindly zuw in the first wave actually leapt the majority of the way up the wall, their long talons digging into the wood and giving them purchase. The defenders were quick to give answer, pike heads, some metal, some wooden, slamming into the chest and shoulders of the zuw. Some fell back senseless; some were pierced straight through and died writhing like worms on a hook. This had its disadvantages, though, as the weight of the bodies pulled many of the pikes out of the defenders hands.
Flynd surveyed the wall. About 10 meters down, around 5 of the Zuw had reached the parapet and began attacking the men. A bit of bone and gristle from the skull of a man named Trivyen flew through the air and skidded delicately to a stop at Flynd’s feet. Gruffen and his two sons charged the Zuw, Gruffen wielding a large axe, his sons armed with swords. His first blow decapitated a Zuw warrior covered in greenish gray fur, splattering his blood in a wide arc on the ramparts. The rest fell to the frenzied blows of the defenders, wounding Gruffen’s eldest son before they were cut down.
A smell of gore filled the area, making it hard to think rationally. Flynd blinked at the sweat in his eyes and looked the other way along the wall. The gate was under heavy attack, with swarms of the enemy climbing on top of each other, and up the wall, throwing themselves upon the defenders with suicidal fury. A man overextended himself and was pulled off balance by the weight of the fresh corpse on his sword. Flynd saw the blind terror in his eyes as all reason lost his mind and he fell screaming into the horde beneath him. A large zur casually raised his arm and the man was impaled on his outstretched talons. Two of the largest zuw were attempting to batter down the gate, and looked as if they would succeed. Flynd sighed, his hope fast leaving him, and ordered the reserves to the already heavily manned gatehouse. “So soon…” he murmured to himself. He knew that he was sending men to their deaths; the gatehouse would remain under constant assault.
The fighting had gone on for an hour now. The defenders had shown they were not easily cowed, but their arms grew steadily wearier. The energy of the Zuw seemed limitless; they threw themselves at the defenders almost as hard as they had in the initial assault. Flynd had joined the battle several times, and was now covered with fast drying blood. Now, as he watched, the long held gatehouse began to fall to the Zuw horde. At the same time, the parapet on one of the far walls was taken, its numbers thinned by continuous fighting. “This is the end” Flynd thought.
He bellowed “Everyone who can, with me!” and charged the gate. As he ran forward, he saw the wood splinter decisively inwards. In his right arm, he held a pike, poised to strike. Half the door gave way, and a giant shape, sprinkled lightly with arrows, started to push its way through. Flynd stepped forward and hammered the pike into the zur’s neck. It shrieked and thrashed as it died, breaking the pike in its agony. Flynd cursed and drew his sword, finally prepared to show the Zuw one of the reasons he had been made leader. Another zur dragged the first out of the way and smashed through the weakened wood. It was 7 feet tall, but quite lean. Flynd lunged forward and struck towards its legs. It parried with its claws, devilishly fast, almost wrenching the sword clean from Flynd’s hands. Flynd was ready, however and jumped lightly forward. His sword lashed out in a large counterclockwise arc, and lightly caressed the neck of the zur. Flynd ran into the zur, hitting it with his whole body, knocking it off balance, giving him just enough time to roll off to the right, avoiding the claws of the zur’s other hand. As he finished his maneuver, his sword casually swung backwards and hamstrung the zur.
A few of the men finished off the wounded zur, leaving Flynd next to the gaping hole in the defenses. Whatever force or intelligence drove the Zuw had decided to send in hordes of smaller zuw at this point. The smaller zuw may have been all the army had left. Flynd threw himself into a mass of stinking fur, his sword alive in his hands, the expensive Jarul Steel cutting through the lighter zuw with ease. He momentarily drove the Zuw back, before his own mortality and age caught up with him. A set of claws evaded his block and severed the artery in his thigh. Flynd stumbled, but drove the point of his sword into the zur’s throat. His reactions slowed, he could not react in time to fully deflect a blow on his head. The claws sliced the skin on his left temple like a knife peeling an apple, one claw narrowly missing his eye. The blow threw him to the ground, blood half spilling over his field of vision. He blindly swung the sword to the left and took the zur in the ankles, bringing it crashing down, shrieking in pain. Flynd cursed, knowing in his youth he could have killed them all.
A skeletal zur rushed at him with inhuman speed. It leapt into the air, knowing it would reach Flynd in one bound, its outstretched claws unstoppable to Flynd. Gruffen stepped into Flynd’s vision, sidestepped the airborne claws, and decapitated the zur. The zur continued flying through the air, over Flynd, and collapsed in a bloody heap on the ground. His sons picked up Flynd and quickly dragged him back. After dispatching another zur, Gruffen turned to Flynd and shouted out “I’ve ordered a retreat to the town hall, it’s our only chance. We have severely weakened the Zuw, but we won’t survive without a defensive position.” The he turned around and stood in the main gate, his axe held in both hands. From his position, Flynd could see Gruffen fight, holding the gate for close to a minute, with the powerful sweeps of his axe, before having his face ripped off, and claws shoved up underneath his ribcage. He was then devoured by a group of blood crazed smaller Zuw.
Men were abandoning the walls and sprinting towards the town hall. The Zuw began to swarm over the wall in earnest, desperate to reach their prey. The town hall was solidly built, with two doors, one at each end. Vothy, one of Gruffen’s sons threw open the door and sprinted for the opposite end, desperate to bolt the door there. He was ten feet away when it shattered, and three Zuw from the breach on the far wall charged him. He slowed and turned to run, but in vain. A skeletal Zuw’s long arm swung out like a thrown spear and slashed off his left foot. Vothy fell screaming to the floor. The Zuw surrounded him, and Flynd turned away, knowing the same fate awaited Vothy as his father.
The last of Gruffen’s family bolted the near door from the outside and began to tend Flynd’s wounds. The remaining soldiers gathered around him, their shoulders together, and their backs to the outer wall of the town hall. They killed the few zuw that attacked immediately, but no one saw any hope in their situation. The final group of zuw entered through the shattered gate, the proclamation of the doom of the town. This was the only remnant of the Zuw army, but it was enough to accomplish its objective. The walls had all been taken, any defenders on them having almost definitely been killed, and more and more zuw circled around to join the newcomers. In the center of the new group, an ancient and twisted zur sat on a dais held aloft by two huge zuw. His body had withered away, but he was still 8 feet tall, and his eyes were cold and merciless. He raised his hand to order his personal guard of veterans, around a hundred strong, to attack the forty humans left. He fully intended to show the humans that this town was mortal, and its earthly span was over.
At that minute a painfully loud voice rang out, resonating through every bone in everyone’s body, human and Zuw alike. “VERY WELL, LITTLE ONE.” A split second later, the east tower exploded in an almost perfectly spherical ball of flame. Landing in the flaming wreckage was Scathra, miraculously overlooked by the Zuw. She was obviously Possessed by an elemental, whose voice they had heard, and it appeared to be a powerful one. White flames crawled around her body like writhing snakes, and she gave off enough light to dazzle the eyes of the Zuw. Her eyes were windows into a fiery hell and flames wreathed her head like hair blowing in a demonic breeze. When the defenders had abandoned the tower, they had left her there, with the sword given to her by her father, the blacksmith. The sword, an elongated, light, almost delicate katana, now rested in her left hand; the sword of a mage. As Flynd watched, the flames coiled around the katana, intensifying, until that was the brightest section of the flames. She was death incarnate for the Zuw; the last hope for the town.
“This is impossible,” Flynd thought. “She has become a Kava mage…on her first Possession”. Scathra was screaming in agony, her body unready for such a powerful Possession. Nonetheless, she jumped lithely to her feet and moved towards the Zuw. The Zuw leader raised his hand, ordering his frozen warriors towards a new target: Scathra. There was fear biting at his features, twisting the already desiccated skin into grotesque shapes. As the Zuw surrounded Scathra, she jumped into motion, moving with inhuman reflexes. Swinging the blade in large arcs, Scathra began to slaughter Zuw. The Zuw could not stand before the brilliance of the sword. It cut through hardened skin, bone and claws without pausing. Scathra was not an amazing swordsman, but she had practiced enough to put the power of the sword and the enhanced reflexes to good use. The smell of cauterized flesh filled the air as the Zuw elites were sliced into pieces. The battle was bloodless, the blade sealing any wound it caused.
Scathra jumped and twirled, eviscerating the last of the attackers. She sprinted forward and dispatched the dais bearers with one long swing. The dais fell to the ground, throwing its occupant into the dust. Without pause, she stepped forward and drove the blade threw the chest of the Zuw leader, driving it into the ground. An agonized scream rang out, and then stopped, as flames spread over the figure. The remaining Zuw fled, jumping over the walls, and running out through the gate. Scathra stepped away, towards the last of Huvrar. As soon as she let go of the sword, the flames left it as it had been, an unadorned, well made Mage katana.
“NEVER EXPECT ONE OF MY KIND TO BE SO GENEROUS AGAIN.” Scathra fell to her knees, and the flames were swept off her, disappearing somewhere on her back. She stared at the townspeople for a moment, and then collapsed as the fire in her eyes went out.
The defenders stood a minute stunned by their salvation. A man moved to pick up a coat and walked towards Scathra to wrap it around her naked body, the clothing having been burned off in the initial blast. Gradually people began to move, generally to grieve over a dead body, some to stare in awe at Scathra. She now looked just like any other girl her age. Flynd, his wounds bandaged well enough to present no immediate danger to his life, levered himself to his feet. He walked to Gruffen’s last son, and spoke softly “you’re father was a brave man. I thank him for his sacrifice,” and moved off. There was a lot of cleaning up to do, and people would look to him for directions. He knew that work was what they needed, simple numerous tasks to dull the memory of the horror.
The night had come, its veil easing the violent stains upon the town. Most of the remaining townspeople had gotten drunk, and were now sleeping, confident that all danger was past. Scathra still had not woken up, her body forcing her to rest after it had been pushed far beyond safe limits. Flynd sat in his house, marveling at the power of Scathra, and wishing she had found it earlier, before so many had died. He was slightly drunk from the town’s supply of wine, and he sat brooding on the death of Gruffen, one of his best friends,
The clean up of the town had gone well; many of the signs of the Zuw were gone. The Zuw bodies had been carried out and would be burned in the morning. The human bodies had been gathered and placed in a mass grave. Flynd planned to put a large stone memorial there, the only memorial he would allow the town. Once the majority of visible signs had gone, people could begin to allow the town as it had been to die in their hearts. The town could not be salvaged, only reborn, with what was left. Flynd pondered whether it would be best to move, or if not, to change the name.
When he heard shouting outside, it did not register at first. Finally, through the pleasant haze, he realized that something was really wrong. He staggered outside, and gaped in astonishment. A contingent of 200 steel-clad soldiers stood in the middle of the ruined front square. A man dressed in black armor with silver edging and a crimson cape rode a stallion at the front. He raised his voice and began to read a proclamation to the townspeople who were stumbling out of the doors and gazing blearily at the new development.
“Good people of Huvrar, it seems that you have suffered a pyrrhic victory. At this point, the Empire of Droshan would like to welcome you into its warm embrace. You will not be able to defend yourselves from any further attacks without the aid of the Steel Legions of the North. You may cast your worries aside and rest assured that the Empire of Droshan will protect you from any further harm. Trade will be increase, and this town will flourish to its original size. The only requirements we ask is that you all convert to the Kasul Faith and allow us to appoint a governor for the town. Really we ask very little compared to the immense advantages becoming citizens will offer. Additionally, the extraordinarily talented untrained mage will be sent to the Imperial Academy, where she can fulfill her true potential and may well rise to be one of the most powerful individuals in the Empire.”
A murmur broke out in the townspeople. Someone shouted “How did you know about our mage?”
The Droshani leader spoke out, “Daglar, my mage, felt the immense emanation of power from this village earlier today. Our division was in the area, so we felt it necessary to discover the source. Your village truly has produced a prodigy.”
Angry voices were raised. Flynd called out and the crowd was stilled. “I am the leader you are ready to depose. I’ll happily step down if it benefits the village, but I’m not so sure it will. A few questions come to my mind, and probably the minds of all of us. If you were in the area, and your mage is as talented as you make it sound, you would have felt the presence of the Zuw. Why then did you not come to our aid? If you were so ready to abandon us to our fate before, would you really provide us with adequate protection? You know very well that Droshan does not have the best record in the North: its energy is spent in the South, fighting Zuw, fighting Ghlal, fighting The States of Cronso. You seem to have made a lot of enemies.” He chuckled mirthlessly.
The Droshani leader did not look that upset. “Do not tempt us. You would not want to be our enemies as well. Droshan will benefit with trade with this town, thus, we will keep it safe from marauding threats. It is really in the best interests for both of us.”
Flynd countered, “However, if our mage remained here, supplemented by your soldiers, I would feel confident that we could repel any new threats. That is the deal I am willing to make, Scathra should remain here; we know enough to teach her. In return, we will all convert to the Kasul Faith and pay taxes to the Empire”
“We cannot allow that. She must reach her full potential.” The Droshani leader was beginning to lose his calm.
“I think not. You do not care about her potential, or value to us; you want to use her as a tool of Droshan. You have come here, uncaring about the trading possibilities of a remnant of a town. Why should you, we are hardly worth protecting. You came here to take our mage and leave this town to die, and you attempt to tell us that it is for our own benefit, you pompous bastards.”
The Droshani leaders eyes tightened, but he didn’t look surprised. He turned to his second and said quietly, but loud enough for all, “Kill them all. Capture the mage; we will indoctrinate her so that she never remembers this place. Torch the buildings.” The soldiers immediately moved forward and began to methodically cut down the townspeople, who could offer no real defense. One soldier was wounded and two killed in the extermination. Blood ran freely down the center of the street and pooled in the potholes, red mirrors in the gloom. The gasping sounds of death went on for minutes, the soldiers searching out anyone hiding or lost in a drunken stupor. Soon enough, the town had its final death throes and was silent, save for the sound of soldiers lighting houses. Scathra was picked up, her defenders dead, still wrapped in the same coat, and bundled on to a pack horse. The second remarked dryly to his leader “so, another glorious victory for the Empire”. Not catching the sarcasm, the leader answered him, saying “yes, indeed.” He walked forward and picked up the Mage katana, still imbedded in the blackened ruins of the Zuw leader’s chest. “She may have need of this.”
Epilogue
Flynd awoke with a quarrel through his right lung in the midst of a dead village. He had fought desperately until shot, upon which he was thrown backwards into the gloom underneath a tree. “I must have been left for dead. Makes sense, I'm still going to die.” He had been right, no matter what he did, the village died. Every choice he had made had led people to their deaths. The sun had not risen, but its light began to highlight the clouds in the sky, adding to the light produced by the smoldering ruins around him. He realized that he would never live long enough to see the sunrise from where he was. Possessed of a sudden desperation, he forced himself to his feet, and grabbed a nearby branch. He coughed up blood and retched. The wound in his leg reopened, blood from it joining the crimson stain running off his chest. He broke off the branch and began to push himself to the top of the ridge, every step a new experience in willpower. He didn’t care, though; he wanted his life to end on one happy experience, the sight of a sunrise.
