Prologue

 Jyron stood at his window, staring out into the night. From his place in the castle, the lord had a clear view of the courtyard and then the trees and mountains beyond. Dark clouds in the distance threatened rain for the morrow. It had been a long time since Jyron had heard the rush of rain on the roof or felt the rumble of thunder in the castle.

The moon had not yet risen above the dark clouds on the horizon, and its light left a milky crown on the rolling black mounds of the thunderstorm. The stars were abandoned to feebly illuminate the landscape on their own, leaving the ground almost pitch black beneath the richly blue night sky. The wind howled around Jyron’s chamber. That was what had wakened him and told him the storm was coming. He hoped it was warm air coming in with this storm. His fireplace had been lit almost nonstop from the morning to keep that room in the drafty castle warm. It never seemed to do much unless you sat in front of it, but it always elated some young lad in the castle to get to light the fire in the lord’s chamber, which made Jyron happy enough.

There was a flash of lightning in the distance. Jyron waited for the sound of thunder to come in over the rustling mountain woods, but none ever came. The storm was still too far off from Gassad. It had hardly changed its place on the skyline since before Jyron fell asleep that evening. Only the wind had come. Jyron went back towards his bed. Nothing else was moving that night, and it would all still be there come morning. There was no sense in losing sleep over any of it.

Then, in a burst of chaos, a hole opened up in the outer wall, rocking the castle like a giant death knell.

~~~~~

Seloh shot up as the blast shook his bunk in the castle barracks. He rolled out of bed and tore his sword and armor off the wall. He strapped on what he could quickly, donned a helmet, and ran out of the room tying his scabbard to his belt. His roommate Fligner stumbled after him, still pulling his pants on. “Seloh!” he called, hopping behind, “Wait up!”

Seloh turned quickly, and his sword started to slide back out of its sheath. He fumbled to grab it, and as he did the whole scabbard came untied and dropped to the ground. Seloh winced as it clanged against the stone floor, but in the chaos it seemed that no one had noticed. Fligner, pants now all the way on, trotted up. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Why is your armor on? Why is everyone up?”

“Didn’t you hear that?” Seloh asked.

“Hear what?”

“That… boom. Like thunder, almost.”

“Well there were clouds coming in last night. Remember, you pointed them out and said that you ‘hoped it was going to rain soon since all the snow has already melted but we still haven’t gotten rain yet’?” As if on cue, lightning flashed through the windows.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t thunder. It was bigger. And it’s not raining, anyways.”

“So the rain’s not here yet,” Fligner said. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Thunder wouldn’t shake the whole castle like that, not if the storm isn’t here yet.”

“Are you sure it was the castle shaking and not just you spazzing on the bottom bunk? Pretty sure that’s what woke me up, at least…”

“Then why is everyone else up?” Seloh asked, gesturing at their comrades around the barracks.

“Well, okay,” Fligner acquiesced, “but what was it, then?”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Seloh hushed him. “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah…” The two made worried eye contact. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Go get your armor on, Fligner. And your bow. And your sword,” Seloh said to his friend.

Thud. Fligner ran back off to their room, leaving Seloh in the quiet. Thud. Others had heard the pulsing in the castle walls now. Thud. More armored bodies trickled out of their rooms. Thud. Fligner came back. There were enough soldiers out now that Seloh could hear the armor clattering with each hit. Thud. There were enough soldiers out now that the room smelled like metal and the gray-green paint Gassad marked its soldiers with.

Bang. General Kliszer, followed by a train of underlings, stormed into the barracks. “Soldiers! Prepare for battle!” his voice boomed.

Fligner and Seloh rushed to their place in the ranks. Fyrro, a longtime friend and their direct superior, took his place in front of them.

“What’s going on?” Seloh asked Fyrro.

Fyrro shrugged. “We’re under attack. That’s all I know.”

“What shook the castle then?” Fligner asked.

Seloh offered the best answer any of them had right then: “Not thunder.”

Everyone was in position. “Soldiers, move out!” General Kliszer commanded.

Seloh looked at the man to his left as the march started. He was tall, sinewy, and more than a little scruffy. The young soldier had spent a lot of time standing next to him in drills, but he didn’t even know the guy’s name. Not that Seloh really wanted to. He didn’t seem like a social guy. In fact, he seemed like the kind of guy who would lay you flat on the ground over a piece of bread if he was hungry. Probably not the worst guy to be next to in a fight, though, Seloh figured. Then he noticed that Scruffy there was pawing the pommel of his longsword. Seloh felt his stomach turn in his gut. He’d never seen him do that before. If that big brute was worried, well, Seloh thought he might just vomit all over his opponent. If he was lucky.

One, two, three, four, five, six, Seloh counted the marching of the army. One, two, three, four, five, six, one, two, three, four, five, six. Think about your feet, Seloh. Think about your feet. One, two, three, four, five, six, one, two, three, four, fi- He paused. Marches were counted in eight. Why was he counting in six?

Thud. Seloh paused his thoughts waiting for the next one. Thud. Yes, that was it. Thud, two, three, four, five, six. Thud, two, three, four, five, six.

Seloh stared intently at the back of the head of the soldier in front of him, keeping that dirge-count out of his mind. “They must have a battering ram,” he blurted. “That noise earlier must have been them getting inside the walls and now they’re trying to get inside the keep.”

Scruffy snorted. Seloh’s voice dropped. “I can’t imagine the gate will last much longer.”

Fligner turned to Seloh and murmured, “Where’s Lemina?”

“She’s over there, under my dad’s command,” Seloh replied.

“Not now,” Fligner responded. “But Signa’s up there. All the other women, too.”

“Then where’s Lemina?” Seloh asked.

“At the gate,” Fyrro shot back. “She was on watch tonight.”

~~~~~

Lemina brushed the vases and bowls off the table. There must have been a clang as metal met stone, but she couldn’t hear it over the giant grumble seeping in through the cracked gate. She and another soldier hoisted up the table and wedged it in against the gate.

THUD. One of the oaken legs snapped under the weight of the hit.

“We need something stronger!” came a shout.

Lemina turned and ran back into the entry room. All that was left were a few tables, smaller than the one they’d just grabbed. She ran over, hoisted one up, and ran it back over to her comrades still trying to reinforce the gates. “Here!” she shouted. “These are all we’ve got left!” Then she ran off to grab more of the little tables.

THUD. Lemina heard more cracking behind her. The main braces for the gate had long since broken into splinters. There was a pile of shattered wood in front of the gate now. The attackers had a major battering ram with them. It wouldn’t be long before the gate was broken in entirely.

THUD. There was more cracking and a big cheer from outside. Lemina rushed up with the next table to hand off as a makeshift brace.

“It’s no good!” one of her fellow soldiers shouted. “The gate’s gonna break! Make a run for it!” None of the Gassadians needed to be told twice. They took off running, and too soon they heard the creaking death of the gates, a mighty cheer, and the rush of harbinger arrows flying into the keep.

~~~~~

Fyrro, Fligner, and Seloh rushed down the hallway, weapons drawn, oblivious to the murmurings erupting from behind them. Whatever respect for authority they may have had, friends and family came first.

Fyrro turned to look down every hallway or stairway they passed, checking for any sign of his sister. Most of them were dark, some had torches on the walls, and occasionally he caught sight of a mother pulling a curious child back into their room, or rats scurrying back into the wavering shadows. His attention was grabbed by the strips of bright, flickering light ahead of him. That wasn’t normal in Gassad Castle. It was the light of hundreds of torches coming down hallways and staircases. That would be where Lemina was.

The first few corridors they passed as they approached were empty, each one slightly brighter and noisier than the last. The three soldiers came up to one of the main stairways, the sounds of marching and shouting almost deafening. And there was Lemina, scrambling up away from half a dozen pursuers. They wore the distinctive blue armor of Guldar, Gassad’s neighboring kingdom. Relations between the two had been tense for centuries, bar occasional alliances of necessity. But there wasn’t time to think about that right then. Fyrro and Seloh immediately started down towards Lemina, and Fligner shot an arrow off into the stomach of one of the Guldarans.

Fyrro crashed bodily into the first soldier in his path, knocking the soldier’s head into the wall, leaving him unconscious and with a massive dent in his helmet. Fyrro didn’t pause for a moment before swinging his sword straight at his next opponent’s head. The blow was blocked, but barely.  Fyrro hardly noticed the sting in his gloved hands as the blade vibrated violently, and he swung his sword at his opponent again. The Guldaran stumbled backwards down the stairs as he parried the blow. Fyrro swung again, and this time his blade came in under the soldier’s block. The soldier lurched backwards to avoid the attack, but the sword left a shallow wound under his chest, and his momentum carried him off tumbling backwards down the stairs.

Meanwhile, Seloh had charged, screaming, at another of the soldiers. Unfazed, the man simply smirked. Seloh faltered. The Guldaran soldier had called his bluff. Whatever courage Seloh had had charging in he’d lost, and his sword point started dropping with it. The Guldaran soldier took his chance against his inexperienced opponent and thrust his sword up at Seloh. He managed to block, but the force of the blow nearly knocked the sword out of his already shaking and sweating hands.

Think it through, Seloh, he said to himself, grabbing the sword with both hands and taking in a deep breath. He lunged awkwardly, and his opponent blocked with so much force that the blade was sent crashing into the stairs. A surge of pain shot up through Seloh’s arms, and he tore his bare hands off the hilt. Before he had a chance to recover, the Guldaran brought his knee up into the young soldier’s jaw, knocking him into a daze.

Fligner quickly loosed another arrow from his bow and hit Seloh’s opponent in the shoulder. The Guldaran soldier looked up at where the arrow had come from only to find Lemina charging down the stairs, swinging the flat of her blade straight at his face. With no time to react, he was quickly sent tumbling down the stairs, unconscious. With that, the two remaining soldiers fled back down and off around a corner.

The four Gassadians took a moment to breathe. “How’s that guy doing?” Fligner asked, gesturing to the first fellow he had shot.

Lemina knelt down next to him. “I’ve got a pulse,” she said. “I don’t expect he’ll be doing much fighting after a wound like that, though.” They all felt relieved, but they didn’t show it. None of them were eager to take a life, but they knew that was a part of their duty, and if push came to shove, they would do it.

Fyrro stripped the gloves off one of the Guldaran soldiers and handed them to Seloh, who, still dazed, nodded thanks. “Those oughta help you keep a hold of your sword,” Fyrro said as he took the blade from an unconscious Guldaran and stuffed it into his scabbard. “All right, then, let’s head back to the army.” The rest grunted in agreement and the proceeded carefully back up the stairs.

Fyrro peeked around the corner at the top. He saw a mass of blue, and whipped back around the corner before he could fully process it. Fyrro swore under his breath. “Back down the stairs. Now!” he urged. They started creeping down the stairs, Lemina at the front. “Go! Go!” Fyrro whispered urgently. He checked back over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming. Sure enough, they had noticed him peaking, and there was a Guldaran soldier standing at the top of the stairs pulling an arrow from his quiver as more Guldarans pulled up beside him.

“Run!” Fyrro shouted, facing back down the stairs and pushing at those in front of him.

Lemina took her brother at his word and ran down the rest of the stairway, not checking back to see why. As she arrived at the bottom, an arrow flew past to her left, smashing into the wall and snapping violently in half. Worse, to her right she could see the two soldiers who had fled earlier barreling towards them with reinforcements. “There’s more on the right!” she shouted up to the others before flying off to the left.

“Lead the way, Lemina!” Fyrro shouted. “We’ve gotta lose them somewhere in here!” Gassad was a massive castle. It was far more than a fort or a military base. Foreign invaders had built it centuries in the past with the intention of housing their entire people within it, separate from the natives. There were plenty of places the four could run.

Seloh stumbled a bit, still dazed from the blow to his head. Fyrro glanced back up the stairs. The Guldarans were gaining on them, never mind the fact that there were more coming from the side. Fyrro grabbed a a fistful of fabric on Seloh’s back beneath the armor and shoved him forward. “Come on, Seloh. If we can’t lose them, we’re gonna need you to tell us how to beat them.”

Right as they reached the bottom, another arrow from the archer at the top whizzed by. Fyrro pushed Seloh off to the left and held up the rear.

“There are more up here!” Lemina shouted back and took another left. Fyrro reached that turn barely ahead of this newest set of pursuers. Lemina had reached a staircase headed up, smaller than the one they’d been on earlier, and turned to see if the others were keeping up with her. She saw the two at the back barely beyond the reach of the swords behind them. “Fyrro!” she shouted before starting to run back towards them. At that, Fligner turned, and, seeing the same thing, pulled an arrow to his bow and started to pull it back.

“Stop!” Fyrro shouted. “Go back!”

The adrenaline of the chase had brought Seloh back to his senses. “Find another staircase up, guys! We’re almost back to the army!”

Some violent laughs broke out from behind the two, far too close for comfort. They pushed up the stairs with all four limbs, trying to put any distance they could between themselves and their pursuers.

~~~~~

The four of them ran towards the cellar door. The Guldaran army had gotten ahead of them and blocked every route to the main army. In the end, they’d had no choice but to go down. They had to choose somewhere to try and hold out for the rest of the battle.

Lemina charged into the thick oak door and it swung open, hardly slowing her down. As soon as all four were in there, they whipped around and slammed the door back shut.

It was almost pitch black in there. The only light that came in was from the cracks around the door, and even that was just dim torch light. Fyrro fumbled around near the handle for a moment, before realizing that there was no way to lock it from within. “Brace the door!” he called out just before the mass of Guldarans smashed into it.

“Grab stuff to block the door! Tables, barrels, anything!” Lemina shouted. She and her brother continued to brace while the other two ran off into the space.      

“Ha, doing okay, sis?” Fyrro asked.

“Eh, I’d‘ve been fine without you guys. I had it under control,” she replied panting after the Guldarans slammed into the door again.

Fligner and Seloh came back to Fyrro and Lemina, pushing a barren shelf. They quickly put it in front of the door, and then rolled some more barrels over to put in front of it. After that, they loaded up what they could onto the shelf. Before long, the banging at the door stopped, and the four of them could take a chance to breathe.

~~~~~

After breaking in through the gate, Kertankuse, the White General of Guldar, had delegated most of the army to his second in command, Eirk. The plan was to overwhelm the Gassadians from multiple sides while Kertankuse sought out Lord Jyron. He and his elite guard, the White Pike, trotted through the castle, trying to get to the lord’s chambers as quickly as possible while needing to deal with as few Gassadian soldiers as possible.

Meanwhile, Eirk was enjoying his place as head of the army. A sadistic smile twisted across his face as Kertankuse went off. He hadn’t had a chance like this in a long time.

Eirk nodded to one of the colonels, directing him and his troops to head off to the right as per the plan. Eirk whipped his broadsword out and held it aloft. “All right, soldiers, move out! Let’s find these soldiers and cut them down!” he shouted and started the move off to and up the main staircases. Kertankuse had had the whole castle plotted out. Eirk knew exactly where to go to meet the Gassadians on an even playing field. And then where to flank them most effectively.

They reached the target hallway, and sure enough there was the Gassadian army. Eirk swung his sword over his head again, started running, and shouted out the command to charge. Eirk’s gaze caught ornate armor that no doubt belonged to the Gassadian general. As he ran towards the mass of Gassadian troops, he looked down to his left hand, whose nails he kept trimmed like claws. He smiled yet again. This was going to be fun.

General Kliszer swung his blade as soon as Eirk was in range, but it was blocked. Then, before Kliszer had a chance to swing again, Eirk shoved his claws into the man’s cheek and tore them back out. Kliszer screamed in pain and his free hand shot up to his cheek. This was certainly not something he had trained for. Eirk grabbed him, shoved him face first into the wall, and pinned him there with his claws digging into Kliszer’s hand. He let out a maniacal chuckle as he put his blade up against Kliszer’s cut up cheek and tore through the wounds again. The general roared, then whipped around and elbowed Eirk in the face. In the chaos, one of Eirk’s claws broke off in the back of Kliszer’s hand.

Eirk stumbled to the ground. As he wiped the blood from his mouth, Kliszer swung his boot at Eirk’s face. Eirk barely caught it in time, and immediately after that a blade was being thrust down at him. Eirk nimbly rolled out of the way, and the blade crashed against the ground. Kliszer turned and swung his sword again at his opponent, who was now kneeling on the stone floor. Eirk blocked, then stood, bringing his elbow up under Kliszer’s jaw. Kliszer stumbled back and tore the nail out of his hand with his teeth while Eirk wiped more blood from his nose. Their eyes locked again for a moment and Kliszer spat the nail back out at its owner.

This time, Eirk took the offensive, rapidly slashing and jabbing at his opponent with his broadsword, but General Kliszer was a talented swordsman and none of the attacks met their mark.

“Ohoho, you make this interesting, don’t you?” Eirk squealed. He licked his lips.

“Save your mind games, sirrah!” Kliszer said, clearly disturbed, but as commanding as ever. “Have at you!” With that, he took another swing.

Eirk blocked again, but this time he responded by rushing in and digging his four remaining claws into Kliszer’s throat. The general gagged and started to stumble backwards, but Eirk kept his nails dug in and walked with him. There was a clang as Kliszer’s sword fell to the ground. Then Eirk let out a girlish giggle and leapt onto Kliszer, wrapping his legs around his waist. Kliszer’s knees buckled and he fell down to the floor. Eirk let out a cry of triumph at the terror in his opponent’s eyes and then thrust his broadsword sideways through Kliszer’s ribcage.

~~~~~

General Kertankuse and his White Pike arrived at the doorway to the lord’s chambers. All that stood in their way was a pair of Gassadian soldiers stationed outside the door. “Drop your weapons, get on the floor, and I’ll let you live,” Kertankuse informed them sternly, motioning for his personal cohort to wait.

The Gassadian guards simply readjusted their fighting stances and stood their ground. Kertankuse began to comment, “Hmph, fair enough. I doubt the soldiers who let the king-”

The door behind the Gassadian soldiers creaked open. Lord Jyron stood in the doorway, geared up for a fight. “I said, ‘Come in.’ I take it you’re still too busy listening to yourself talk to pay attention to what anyone else has to say?” He shooed his soldiers away. “Drop your weapons. There’s no need for any more people to be killed tonight.”

The Gassadians paused for a moment before placing their weapons on the ground and starting off down the hall, watching the Guldarans out of the corners of their eyes. Kertankuse rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. His White Pike grabbed the soldiers before they got out of reach and pinned them with their arms behind their backs.

“You had best not harm them, General,” Jyron warned.

“I never promised that. In fact, I believe I told them to drop to the ground if they wanted to live…” Both of the Gassadian soldiers received a sharp kick to the backs of their knees. Their legs buckled and they were pushed to the floor.

“You seem angry, General,” Jyron observed nonchalantly. “There’s still time to negotiate.”

“I didn’t come here to negotiate, and I would guess by the sword in your hand that you know this, old man,” Kertankuse threatened.

“You know, I liked you, general,” Jyron said to Kertankuse.

“I liked you, too, old man,” Kertankuse replied mockingly.

“Do I detect sarcasm, or just impudence?” Jyron retorted.

“If I wanted just another battle of wits between us, do you really think I’d have brought an army?”

“Oh, but it was always so fun watching you try and outsmart me.”

“I told you I’m not here to bandy words with you! Raise your blade!”

“I really don’t think that’s the case, general.”

Kertankuse gripped his steel sword by its leather handle and charged Jyron with a yell. Jyron whipped up his own sword and stopped Kertankuse’s swing. The attack wasn’t meant to kill, but to initiate combat. “Maybe I was wrong,” Jyron said concernedly. “You really mean to kill me?”

Kertankuse’s eyes traced along the intricately gilded handle of Jyron’s blade to the massive emerald embedded in the pommel, ignoring his query. “You chose to fight me with a decoration?” the General asked indignantly.

“Don’t think it’s just for show. I can kill you with this just as easily as I could kill you with any other blade.”

“You say that like you think you’ll make it out of this alive, old man. You may think you have the sharper mind, but you never were a soldier. You don’t have a chance.”

“Well, if you’re going to kill me, would it hurt to give me one last, ‘Your Highness’?” Jyron asked mockingly with a bow.

“Do I detect sarcasm, or just impudence?” Kertankuse stepped back into a fighting stance. “Now raise your blade or I’ll run you through.”

“Strange,” Jyron said, obliging his opponent’s request. “I don’t recall you being the kind of person to give your enemy a fighting chance if you don’t have to.”

“I can appreciate honor on the battlefield,” Kertankuse said.  

“And if things don’t go well, you’ll have your friends there jump in and cut me down, I assume.”

“You know me so well, old man,” Kertankuse replied sarcastically. “You know you don’t have a chance. Just give up and make it easier on all of us.”

“Hah! I thought you were the one who wanted to get right to the action, general, but saying something like that makes me think you’re afraid.”

“Enough banter!” Kertankuse said, eager to get this over with before reinforcements might show up.

“Indeed, it must be so difficult for a man like you to be in a position from which you know you can’t win. It only makes sense you’d want to duke it out like wild animals.”

“I said enough!”

“You know what you owe me.” Jyron was getting nervous. Things weren’t going well.

“Yes, I do, and I would love to repay you, old man, but I’m not here seeking your death. That’s just a necessary evil.” With that, Kertankuse let out a swing. Jyron met it with his own blade. The General struck with his spare fist. Stunned, Jyron was helpless as Kertankuse spun him around and dashed his head against the wall. Dazed and blinded, Jyron suddenly found himself swordless and bent backwards against the window.

“You know, I really did like you, your highness,” Kertankuse whispered before smashing the glass. Jyron felt something sharp prodding at his stomach. He blinked his eyes until they came back into focus. Kertankuse had him pinned over the now empty windowsill, sword ready to stab. Their eyes locked. After a moment, Kertankuse nodded towards his White Pike. “Close that door. I want to end this... personally,” he growled.

~~~~~

Eirk rose from Kliszer’s corpse, satisfied that he’d made an impact on those around him. “Soldiers of Gassad!” he cried out. “Put up your arms!” The Guldaran soldiers broke out of combat with their opponents. “Your general is dead. The decision is up to you.” The Guldarans paused, guard up, waiting to see what would happen.

The Gassadian army looked around, demoralized and confused, before the soldiers let out a collective sigh and dropped their weapons to the ground. Another cheer broke out from the victorious Guldarans.

Then Kertankuse entered the space, Jyron’s gilded sword held aloft. “Your king is dead, soldiers of Gassad, and you cannot win this battle. I advise you leave your weapons on the ground and allow us to escort you to the dungeons.”

The surviving soldiers were rounded up, bound, and forced to march down the hall along with those who had been captured outside the lord’s chambers while Kertankuse surveyed the scene. Eirk and Kertankuse met up at the head of the army and Kertankuse turned to Eirk.

“I never told you to do anything like that, Eirk, and there’s a reason for that,” he scolded, nodding towards the general’s dead body. He’d been told what had happened there.

“It worked, didn’t it, sire?” Eirk tried to placate him.

“I don’t need you playing your mind games with them right now. The citizens of Gassad hardly have a history of going down without a fight as it is.  If you try too hard to scare them, you’ll just infuriate them, and then there will be no controlling them. Now clean the blood off your hands!”

“Yes, sire,” Eirk sighed.