Benjamin Tate - Well of Sorrows

At his side, Karen gasped and scrambled to her feet. She tugged on his shoulder. “Colin, we have to go.” But Colin didn’t move, rooted to the spot in horror. He watched as the driver of the wagon realized the dwarren were close, watched as he lashed the horses, trying to get them to run faster. Those on foot were scattered to the sides and behind, running as fast as they possibly could, a few of the men out in front of the wagon itself. One of the women stumbled and fell, her shout faint with distance, almost lost in the thundering charge of the dwarren armies And then, like an ocean wave, the dwarren army to the north struck, the charging gaezels overrunning the wagon, smothering them, the people on foot lost instantly, trampled beneath a thousand hooves. The wagon remained in sight for another breath, but then the driver was pulled from his seat, the horses themselves cut down and dragged beneath the horrendous tide of dwarren. The hides that covered the wagon shuddered and jerked as the dwarren surged around it, and then gave way, the faint screams of children piercing the general roar on the plains.

Colin gasped, clutched at his chest as a searing ache exploded there. He almost fell to his knees, but Karen’s hand suddenly latched onto his upper arm, fingers digging into flesh.

In a voice that allowed no argument, she said, “Time to go, Colin.”

Colin stumbled as they began to run, staggered, but caught himself, Karen ending up a few steps ahead of him. Pain shot through his legs at the sudden exertion, but he forced more speed from them as the battle cries of both groups of dwarren escalated, gathering force and momentum, then breaking as behind him the two forces of charging gaezels met. The earth seemed to tremble beneath his feet, the very air to shudder, but he couldn’t tell for certain. He was moving too fast, the chill air rushing against his face, blotting out most of the sounds of the battle behind, his feet thudding into the earth, legs lashed by the grass. Karen began to outdistance him, and he saw the guardsman and the rest of those from the wagon charging toward the forest ahead, his father, Walter, and the other two wagons already close to the trees. The fourth wagon, closer to the forest, had halted and turned, lurching toward them from the right. He felt a pressure against his back, felt certain that the dwarren themselves were riding hard behind him, were close enough that any second he’d be overrun, smothered by their sheer numbers, like those who’d been with the fifth wagon. Tears streamed from his eyes, and air burned in his lungs. A sharp stitch began to burrow its way into his side And suddenly he realized the wagons ahead had halted, had turned so their sides faced outward protectively, the sharp line of the forest at their backs. Men were scrambling to get weapons, women yanking the children out of the wagon beds and ushering them behind the incomplete circle, near the forest. Colin saw Karen slow, come to a gasping halt, leaning against one of the wagons. He tried to slow down himself, his heart thundering in his chest… and tripped.

He spilled to the ground, hitting hard with one shoulder, his face smashing into the grass. He tasted damp stalks and dirt, spat them out as he rolled, coming to a stop near one of the wagon’s wheels.

He lay for a moment in the wet grass, felt the sun beating down on his back, then rolled to one side.

“Colin! Are you all right?”

Colin blinked up into Karen’s terrified face and nodded. “I’m fine,” he coughed, out of breath, his throat raw. He lurched into a sitting position, the stitch in his side flaring. “I need my sling.”

“Maybe not.” Karen motioned toward the plains. “The dwarren started to follow us, but they’ve halted.”

A twinge of shame made Colin wince. He’d thought the dwarren were right at his back, thought he’d felt their breath against his neck.

But then he noticed the group of dwarren. They’d stopped over a thousand paces away, the main group milling about behind the leaders in the front, as if reluctant to come any farther forward. The leaders stared at the wagons for a long moment, discussed something among themselves And then they motioned to the dwarren in their group, spun their mounts, and charged back toward the battle raging on the plains behind them.

Colin frowned. He saw his father, Walter, Jackson, and Arten standing off to one side, their faces creased with worry, with confusion. The rest of the men and guardsmen stood in front of the wagons with weapons ready. They were all tense, all grim.

The dwarren retreat didn’t make any sense. Those from the wagons had no hope of holding them off. The dwarren could overrun the wagons in a matter of moments.

Unless No trees.

Colin’s eyes widened in realization.

He spun toward Karen. “They’re not approaching the forest.” Karen’s brow creased, still confused. “They’re not coming close to the forest. There must be something in the forest! In the trees!”

And as Colin saw comprehension dawn on Karen’s face, someone screamed.

Colin’s first thought was of his mother.

He scrambled to his feet, but before he could take a single step toward the side of the wagons facing the woods, the piercing scream broke, cut cleanly from the air, followed immediately by the panicked cries of children and more screams.

“The forest!” Arten barked, his sword waving toward the backs of the wagons.

Colin grabbed Karen’s hand and lurched toward the space between the two nearest wagons.

They stumbled into chaos. Children were screaming, fleeing the edge of the forest, tears coursing down their faces. One of the youngest boys collided with Colin before slipping around him, the rest banking away as Colin’s father and the others emerged between the other wagons. Colin couldn’t see what had spooked them But then one of the guardsmen shouted, “Look!”

His eyes snapped toward where the guard pointed, saw the terrified women herding the children away from a crumpled body on the ground. The woman lay facedown in the grass. Someone had thrown a black blanket over her shoulders, although where they’d found a black blanket in the mad rush to escape the dwarren Colin couldn’t fathom.

At his side, Karen gasped, and Colin suddenly realized it wasn’t a blanket.

The black form rose from the woman’s body, moving fluidly, like water, like silken cloth, an intangible swath of darkness that reared upward with insidious grace. Before Colin could react, could even suck in a shocked breath, it leaped from the crumpled form on the ground toward the retreating women, lashed out And one of the women dropped, collapsed like a sack of grain. The shadow fell on her with a visceral shriek, like a predator onto prey.

“Holy Diermani,” one of the guardsmen whispered. “What is that thing?”

The children had seen it, and fresh screams broke out, those retreating breaking apart, all semblance of order lost. Arten began barking orders, men surging forward, hustling the women and children behind them, until someone shouted, “There’s more than one of them!”

Karen’s hand clamped down hard on Colin’s shoulder, spun him slightly. He tore his gaze away from the blackness feeding off of the fallen woman, centered it on the forest.

Beneath the trees, the forest was dark with shadow. And those shadows were moving.

The horses-still tethered to their wagons-whickered nervously and danced back, one rearing, hooves kicking the air, eyes white as it shrieked, a hideous sound that Colin felt in his bones. As the last of the women and children passed the line of men, one of the shadows slipped free of the confines of the forest, slid out into the vibrant sunlight. It flowed outward toward one of the tethered horses, moving fast, the men closest gasping and skittering back, the entire group shifting as children whimpered and someone sobbed. The shadow hesitated a moment as the horse yanked hard at the reins that held it in place, so hard the wood of the tongue of the wagon creaked Then the Shadow flowed forward, covered the horse from neck to shoulder, latching itself onto the horse’s form, sinking deeper into the horse’s flesh as if it were insubstantial. The horse shuddered and stilled. Its eyes rolled and its lips pulled back, baring teeth. It snorted once, then collapsed to its knees and rolled to the ground, dead, its head twisting as the reins held it upright, its neck contorting to an unnatural angle.