The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (47 page)

The battle raged and neither man held advantage. In one moment, Fenrel advanced upon his brother with a series of heavy blows, driving Granu toward defeat. In the next, the abbot rallied and beat his attacker back toward the lines of the Anvil.

Sweat poured down their faces. Fenrel’s red mane lay matted to his neck and shoulders. The blood on his chin and chest dried and blackened.

Granu gathered strength from the calls of support that now rose from many members of the Anvil. The Abbott delivered a furious attack and nearly dropped Fenrel to the ground, but the younger brother caught himself and scrambled away, putting distance between them.

Desperation filled Fenrel’s thoughts. He spun to his troops and saw none of his supporters in the ranks. His hold on the Anvil weakened and his battle against this cripple slipped away. He lifted his blade to his side and his eyes rolled backward.

“Lord of Chaos! I deliver all that I am to you! Fill me with your power!” screeched Fenrel.

He rapidly chanted in the foul tongue of the Ulrog invoking the support of Chaos. Strangely, it was Granu’s ax that flared and sputtered, pouring molten flame onto the battlefield. Fenrel’s eyes widened with horror. Granu nearly dropped the ax as his hands blistered from the heat. Fenrel stared at the inferno held in his older brother’s hands with a mixture of dismay and shock.

Granu read the confusion in his brother’s eyes.

“You don’t see it do you? Your mind is as blinded with avarice and greed as your eyes are from the white light of this ax,” stated Granu raising his weapon. “The Great Deceiver betrays you. All this power you try to gain for yourself eventually finds its way to its master. He is unwilling to share it with anybody. Even now his eternal blood, smeared across this ax, greedily saps power from the air around us. In the end you are just another fool who has spent his trust on a being incapable of showing loyalty.”

Fenrel's eyes widened and his lips curled in hatred.

“Die and rot with your people!” screamed the warlock, hurling himself forward.

The massive ax head at his side swung in a wide arc as he charged at his brother. All his might lay behind this blow, all his power. No simple oaken handle would hold against such a force no matter how strong its bearer. Fenrel would shatter Gretcha’s ax and send his steel through his brother.

Granu reacted. The path of Fenrel’s swing was too deep to avoid. He held his own ax close to his body and launched himself within the sweeping path of Fenrel’s ax. The younger brother’s eyes widened at the magnitude of his mistake. Fenrel’s ax handle smashed into Granu’s ribcage with a loud crunch, its head far too extended to make contact with the monk. Granu cried out from the pain of shattered ribs.

The abbot was thrown slightly off center of his target but followed through on his lunge. His flaring ax blade slammed into the scarred chest of Fenrel. The blade lodged deeply in the breast of the beast and Fenrel gasped. The field hung in silence for a moment as both brothers stared into each other’s eyes from just inches apart. The handle of Fenrel’s weapon slipped from his hand and dropped to the earth below. Granu wheezed and blood foamed from his mouth. Fenrel wobbled and slumped toward the ground, supported now only by the firm grip of Granu on the handle of the sputtering ax lodged in his chest. The younger brother stared up in bewilderment at the face of the older.

“Forgive....” muttered a wide-eyed Fenrel, choking on his own blood.

Granu’s eyes narrowed as he raised a foot to his brother’s midsection gaining leverage on the handle.

“Forgiveness is not mine to give,” coughed the giant through clenched teeth as he ripped the ax from his brother’s chest.

The red glow surrounding the Keltaran captain faded. Fenrel’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward lifeless. Granu dropped to his knees as a spasm of coughing and choking enveloped him. The flame surrounding Gretcha’s ax went still.

CHAPTER 27: CAPTURE

Cefiz ran to his friend’s side. Fenrel’s second backed from the field, his eyes shifting in fear and confusion over what he witnessed. He spun toward the Anvil and noted only a handful of Ramsskull remaining. His mind slowly calculated possibilities. Granu motioned Cefiz close and the guardsman leaned in. Granu grasped his friend’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Now is the time to capture their hearts,” rasped Granu. “Turn them from this course. I cannot.”

The giant slumped further toward the ground. The friends’ eyes met and Cefiz nodded. The lieutenant set his jaw and rose to the silent battlefield. Cefiz turned to the Keltaran ranks. They were uneasy. A few of the bolder members of the Ramsskull emerged from the army, assessing their place now that Fenrel was gone.

“Brothers,” shouted Cefiz shattering the silence. “For that is what all men who follow the Creator are, brothers in faith. Now is the time for our enmity to be put aside.“

Cefiz stood over the body of Fenrel.

“Here lies the cost of an allegiance to Amird, an allegiance to power over men, an allegiance to greed. Here lies an example of the rewards Amird bestows for unconditional obedience to his evil. A man so driven by a thirst for power that he murders his own father. A man willing to kill a brother and drive his people to the edge of ruin. A man twisted and branded with prayers to a force bent on the destruction of us all. Are these the tenets your forbears held dear?”

A murmur of denial ran through the crowd. Cefiz stepped over the body of Fenrel and moved toward the Keltaran line. Fenrel’s bodyguard tensed as the lieutenant brushed past him.

“We have lived too long in fear. We have let Amird draw a line between us. Every moment that line remains is another moment of victory for the king of hatred. Are you a people bent on destruction and murder as the stories say?”

“No!” shouted several Keltar near the front line.

The entire Anvil roared in agreement.

“Are you the children of Awoi the gentle, chosen of Avra?” demanded Cefiz.

“Yes!” roared the Anvil.

“Do you descend from Gretcha beautiful heart, a daughter of the realm of Zodra and a princess of that kingdom?”

The entire assemblage paused for a moment and looked at one another. Never had a Zodrian acknowledged the rightful place of the Keltaran matriarch in the history of Zodra’s rulers. Utecht stepped forward and eyed Cefiz carefully.

“We do, guardsman,” he stated simply.

Cefiz stared back into Utecht’s eyes. The guardsman turned, standing shoulder to shoulder with Utecht, and addressed the Zodrian camp.

“Does Zodra acknowledge her misdeeds and prejudices from the past?” called Cefiz.

A hush fell across the field. Manfir stepped from the Zodrian lines and crossed the battlefield.

“Zodra acknowledges her misdeeds,” shouted the prince, “and begs the forgiveness of the Keltaran people.”

The Zodrian prince halted at the kneeling figure of Granu. Manfir slowly knelt beside the Keltaran prince and threw Granu’s arm over his shoulder.

“As a sign of sorrow for our past actions,” continued Manfir, “the kingdom of Zodra returns all the disputed lands between our peoples to Keltaran control. Any claim that was won on this battlefield today will be waived and Zodra acknowledges her role in the unlawful settlement of these lands. Additionally, we beg the Keltaran to send a representative to our court to advise us on all matters confronting the kingdom.”

The assemblage quieted. Utecht pulled on his stubbled beard and narrowed his eyes at Manfir. The Zodrian prince struggled to his feet lifting Granu with him. Cefiz turned to the Keltaran sergeant and stared hard into his eyes.

“Do the children of Avra continue to butcher each other on this day while Amird sings with delight,” asked Cefiz, “or do we seize this opportunity to forge a new future for all?”

Utecht stared for a moment longer, then he raised a brow and a slight smile spread across his face. In an instant he turned and pointed to several regulars standing in the front line.

“You,” he ordered, “see to the king. He is in need of a healer.”

The Keltaran Anvil cheered its approval as the group of men rushed forward and took Manfir’s burden from him. The sergeant walked to the center of the field and lifted the ax of Gretcha from the ground. He carried it to Cefiz and laid it in the guardsman’s hands. He unsheathed his own ax and held it on high.

“Men of Keltar,” exclaimed the old soldier. “Many of you know me, and those of you who do not can ask the others. I have fought for my kingdom for more years than some of you have lived.

“If any of you still wear the insignia of Fenrel, remove it now and burn it. All transgressions will be forgiven. Now is not the time to punish a man for his evil. Avra will judge you when you meet him. For now, you may redeem yourselves on the field of battle.

“Fenrel drove honor from the Anvil and replaced it with a hunger for power and domination. We stood idly by as our enemy wrested control of our kingdom. We stood silent while those true to the Creator were punished and silenced. At first, Fenrel dazzled us with his talk of conquest and redemption. Our pride has been our downfall. Our inaction makes us complicit in the crimes of Fenrel and his servants. All in this army are truly guilty, not just those wearing the ram’s skull.

“Through this guardsman, Avra has spoken to us and shown us the way to redeem ourselves. We will make penance with our Lord by humbling ourselves before him.”

The old sergeant turned and faced Manfir.

“I am Utecht, first sergeant of the house of Netur,” began the giant. “My people’s blood feud with the Zodrians goes back generations. We were the first to fall to the men of Zodra those many years ago.

“I now pledge my ax and all who will join me to your command, Manfir son of Macin. You may use me in any way you see fit. We will march north to face the Ulrog under your command if you wish it. I trust that Avra works through you.”

The Keltaran knelt before Manfir and bowed his head. Several of the regulars who stood by the old sergeant stepped forward and dropped to one knee.

A bundled black uniform launched from the midst of the Anvil. It landed in the dirt near Manfir. Another soon followed and the pile quickly grew. Fenrel’s bodyguard watched as uniform after uniform landed in the heap. Utecht rose and faced the man.

The massive Keltaran glanced at the old sergeant then stomped toward the battlefield. He snatched half of Granu’s broken staff which lay smoldering in the burning grass and bore down on Manfir. The burning club swung near his side as he strode to within a yard of the prince.

“I don’t have the brains to lead and I ain’t fool enough to try to takeover the Anvil,” growled the giant.

He quickly tore the black uniform from his back and set it on fire with the club’s end.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses for myself,” he snarled. “I haven’t been a good man, but from here on out, I’ll follow you.”

He tossed the flaming uniform onto the heap at Manfir’s feet and stalked into the midst of the army. A cheer issued from the throng as more Ramsskull stepped from the ranks and tore black tunics from their chests. The fire rose as the uniforms were tossed upon it. Manfir looked over the assembly then called out.

“Noble men of Keltar. Avra gives every man a chance for redemption up to his last breath. Many of you will take that last breath when we face the Ulrog in the days to come. However, we do not march north.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Utecht looked to the Zodrian prince with questioning eyes.

“The threat is from the north,” said Utecht. “Where would you have us march?”

“West,” stated Manfir.

Many of the Keltaran exchanged puzzled looks.

“Your sins have not merely jeopardized your souls, warriors of the Anvil,” continued Manfir, “but also the lives of your families and the welfare of the Keltaran kingdom. Our homeland is threatened. King Granu has determined the path Izgra has chosen to conquer the world for his master. As we have wasted time trying to cut one another’s throats, the Ulrog march on Keltar.”

Shouts of protest and dismay rose throughout the ranks.

“I have made a pledge and it will hold, Prince Manfir,” stated Utecht. “You may order us where you wish. What of the threat to the north?”

“It remains,” replied Manfir, “but it must be dealt with by King Macin and the remnants of the Guard. He will be joined by the Rindorans and the Eru if they can be contacted. I raised this army of militia to destroy the Anvil if need be, but find solace in the fact that I hope to restore it.”

Utecht looked over his shoulder at the Anvil then back to Manfir.

“We marched to this field to find an enemy and destroy him, instead we discover a savior and a liberator. I can only hope that Granu son of Grannak is wrong in his predictions concerning Keltar. We must make haste.”

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CHAPTER 28: THE VALLEY BELOW

The prisoner slept. He often prayed that slumber would help him escape the nightmare. However, even in sleep the cold crept into his bones and the wet sent shivers down his spine. Hunger gnawed at his stomach and the sunlight of his dreams seemed little comfort from lack of the real thing.

He awoke to the sound of iron grating, followed by the thud of heavy, rotting wood. The echo of iron boots emitted from beyond his cell door and he slowly threw his legs over the edge of the crates he used as a bed.