Wayne Batson - The Final Storm

“But we do not put our faith in odds or in numbers-nor even in the prowess of our weapons. We put our faith in the might of King Eliam, who alone defeated death! We serve a King who gave everything for this kingdom-not sparing even his life! And now… it is our turn. Draw your weapons and do not hide them again until victory is assured. Nothing can be spared. When the sun rises between the Mountains of Glory, let there be glory given to the King. Glory and a free Alleble-whether we all live or not!”

“NEVER ALONE!” Stirred by their Sentinel’s words, the warriors of Alleble, Mithegard, Acacia, Yewland, Balesparr, and Ludgeon charged into the field of battle.

“Words well spoken, m’lord,” Lady Merewen said, drawing near to Kaliam.

“M’lady Merewen,” Kaliam said. “Do you think that the two of us together can defeat one of the Sleepers?”

“Together we can,” she said. “Or together we shall die trying.”

Kaliam nodded confidently and looked to Alleble’s main gate. Paragor was no longer there.

Mallik, Nock, and Sir Rogan came upon one of the Sleepers as it preyed upon several fallen knights. Mallik rushed in and smashed his hammer against the creature’s hindquarters. It flopped awkwardly to the side, but turned quickly. The Sleeper bared its fangs and growled at its attackers.

“Okay,” Mallik said. “So maybe that was a wee bit rash!” And then, Mallik stared. This wolvin had gouges on its neck crusted black with dried blood. “I know you, beast,” Mallik said, “and I owe you a little something for Aelic!” Sir Mallik raised his hammer and took a step toward the creature. He stopped short when he saw Nock gesturing.

Nock signaled something to Mallik and Sir Rogan. They nodded, and Mallik took off running. The wolvin’s yellow eyes flashed and it raced after Mallik, who was not particularly fast. He dodged and turned corners, occasionally swinging his hammer at the creature’s face just to slow it down. All he needed to do was give Nock and Sir Rogan enough time to get into position. The creature was nipping at Mallik’s heels as he made a final turn and raced back the way he had come.

Nock stood atop one of the broken sections of the palisades. He took aim and fired a Blackwood shaft into the creature’s left eye. The wolvin howled but kept coming. Nock’s second shaft found the Sleeper’s other eye. Blinded, it could not see Sir Rogan spring up and sweep his axe low, lopping off the wolvin’s forelegs. It faltered, crashed, and slid to a stop right at Mallik’s feet. Mallik raised his hammer and brought it down heavily on the beast’s head.

“Now there are six!” he yelled.

Thrivenbard, Warriant, and Sir Valden raced after a group of ten Paragor Knights. They chased them into a wide avenue behind the keeps off the main thoroughfare. There, the enemy knights split paths and sprinted down three narrow passages that stretched between a group of small cottages.

“Those are dead ends,” Thrivenbard said, looking at his two comrades.

“Verily, they shall be,” said Warriant, hefting a bale. When he turned, his eyes were wild, but also… they glinted blue.

“Sir Warriant!” Thrivenbard cried out. “Your eyes! You have chosen!”

“How could I not?” Warriant asked. “I have seen the ways of the enemy, and I know the valor of King Eliam by the deeds of his people! Now, Thrivenbard, take the three on the left-hand passage. Valden, the right. That leaves the four in the middle for me!”

“Do you now lead us, spear-meister?” Thrivenbard asked slyly.

“Nay, master woodsman,” Warriant replied. “But you owe me one for not putting a bale in your foot that evening near my village. I say this makes us even.”

Thrivenbard grinned. “Sir Valden, what do you say?”

Valden said nothing, but he nodded and raised his two long-handled axes.

“Agreed, then!” said Thrivenbard, and the three warriors split and raced into the dead-end alleys.

They emerged victorious a few moments later. But there was no time to celebrate as a Sleeper leaped down on Valden, its jaws snapping perilously close to Valden’s neck. Valden hacked at the creature’s chest with both his axes, all the while yelling like a madman. Warriant drove a spear into the creature’s side, and at last it rolled off of Valden. The wolvin turned, snarled, and lunged for Thrivenbard. The tracker rolled out of the creature’s path, but still its claws gouged a hunk of flesh out of Thrivenbard’s arm. Warriant came to his aid, but the wolvin hit him in the back with one of its heavy paws, sending Warriant flying against the wall of the other cottage. He fell in a heap. Then the monstrous creature turned its yellow eyes back to Thrivenbard.

“Back, you filthy cur of Paragor!” came a thunderous, roaring yell. Valden had finally found his feet-and his voice! He stood and faced the monster as if daring it to move. The creature pounced. In that moment, Valden threw one of his axes at the wolvin, missed its head, but buried the blade into its humped shoulder. The wolvin bowled Valden over, howled in pain, and fled.

“You will not get away that easily!” Sir Warriant yelled, taking off after him. Thrivenbard and Valden ran around the corner of the cottage and saw Warriant landing on the back of the creature, while holding on to Valden’s axe and his own spearlike handles. The wolvin shook and bucked, trying to throw Warriant off, but he would not relent. He clambered up the creature’s back, grabbed the nape of fur behind its ears, and twisted. The wolvin turned as if steered and came running back toward the cottages.

“I will finish this!” Thrivenbard yelled. And he drew his two long fighting knives and raced toward the wolvin. Thrivenbard and Warriant made eye contact just long enough for Warriant to understand what to do. He violently steered the creature into a turn. Thrivenbard was already there holding his knives to the wolvin’s throat as he slid beneath it. The wolvin took two or three clumsy steps before collapsing in the middle of a wide alley.

Warriant leaped off the beast. He wiped his hands and turned to the others and said, “Well, that was not as bad as I thought!” But Thrivenbard and Valden were not looking at Warriant. For there, angrily sniffing the body of their dead companion, were three more gigantic wolvins.

Wayne Thomas Batson

The Final Storm

I ’m sorry, girl,” Robby said. He knelt by Splinter and stroked the crest on the back of her head. “You did your best.” She nuzzled his hand weakly, laid her head to the stone, and went very still. Robby looked up over the nearby armory at the turbulent sky, searching with wet eyes for the Wyrm Lord. He was there, banking slowly above the forces of Alleble, raining fire on top of them without challenge. The remaining Sleepers had led Paragor’s surging forces for the first time past the fallen palisades. Alleble’s armies were slowly being forced back, and the battle raged among the Seven Fountains. Robby shook his head. Some legendary hero I turned out to be.

Suddenly a shadow loomed behind Robby. He rose and turned, sweeping up his heavy broadsword. “Whoa, Sir Robby!” exclaimed a heavyset Glimpse warrior. He had a corona of black hair that blended indistinguishably with his beard. And he wore the armor of Alleble. “Lower the sword, lad! I saw what happened with your steed-thought you might have been hurt.”

“Kindle?” Robby asked.

“At your service,” he replied. “Are you all right then?”

Robby nodded his head slowly. “I’m not hurt.”

“Then you best get moving,” Kindle said. He lifted a huge battle-axe with a wide blade and started to back away. “The enemy does not take a break to mourn!”