Ash Falls Upwards

[_Stigwig 1510]

ASH FALLS UPWARDS

 

 

 

It had begun as a good day. The sun was bright and warm, the paths gentle to Adelmar’s feet as he returned from a trip to Marna. The birds had even been chattering in the trees, whispering out a gentle melody. Yet within a few moments at the Crossroads, a hive of activity and chatter that whirred enough to make his brain hurt, it had turned itself upside down.

 

Adelmar exchanged a few words with his comrade Spencer, vigilant eyes watching over the thin path, as a collection of black particles began to gather together. Thicker than dust, heavy with added substance, the Reiter’s eyes widened as they began to form into a lengthy pole. Adelmar ducked down into the dusty road and, grasping a rock, tossed it towards the materialising shape. It clanged off noisily, attracting the attention of more mercenaries.

 

“I come for a challenge.” A voice boomed out of the pole. Within a moment two flickering yellow eyes peered out of the gloom as a dark form appeared; a knight moving in heavy plate with a long, thin dagger in one hand and a black kite shield in the other. After a half-second the crash of steel echoed about the clearing; Spencer had leaped forwards, a warhammer in hand that seemed to crackle with white flame, and swung his weapon against the Knight’s shield, forcing it backwards.

 

A moment more and the Knight forced Spencer back only to find a circle of steel surrounding him. Berenfroy and Gwyntaran stood side by side, halberds and polearms outstretched, while the fresh-faced Cedric hung nervously to Spencer’s side, hand slippy in a sweaty palm. Adelmar whipped forwards as the Knight advanced, his blade flickering alight as flames wrapped the steel in mid-flight, sparks flying as it connected with armour before being flung back.

 

Adelmar’s eyes widened, a sheen of sweat already covering his forehead, as the knight shifted before them. The dagger, seemingly an expansion of its own arm, morphed and twisted into a huge flail, head dragging across the gravel floor. Cedric stepped forwards with terror-filled eyes, sword jabbing forwards, only to be matched with a heavy swing as the flail flung out of the air towards his form; dark spikes shifting and growing even as it moved. Yet with a swift cry the battle transformed before their eyes as Spencer smashed his warhammer into the weapon’s head, forcing it onto the ground.

 

Every blade there stepped into the opening, ears ringing with the sharp crash of steel. Polearms smashed forwards, forcing the knight backwards and up against a pillar, even as swords flashed up through the air to push back attacking strikes. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the knight disappeared, swirling motes of something forming a portal instead in its place. Caught off balance in mid-strike Adelmar stumbled through, vanishing from before his comrade’s eyes. After another moment the troop of soldiers followed through, the yet to be bloodied Thomas at their head.

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

Adelmar was running. The air filled his lungs as he sprinted across the tops of ravines, bouncing from brush to rock. On almost each one he stumbled, fatigued, palm desperately wrapped around the blade. The flames cast long shadows against the rock, guiding him through the darker sections even as the wind wrapped dangerously around him; sending his hair flying. The initial confrontation with the three - three - opponents seemed long ago. The Reiters had split up and it seemed unclear if they were the hunters or the hunted as he turned another rock formation, eyes scanning both the sky and the ground under his feet.

 

Spencer had done well - far better than Adelmar had - and at every confrontation scored another hit with his deadly warhammer, forcing the knight that they were chasing, a lightly-armoured figure with a deadly crossbow, back again and again. Finally Adelmar heard the sounds of battle again, screams and deadly strikes, as he dropped down to the ravine below. He hit the floor with a soft crunch, legs bending, palm flattened against the earth. He rounded the corner, steel flashing as he took a step forwards.

 

A knight towered over a pair of Reiters and a Hansetic in the narrowest part of the ravine, forcing them back. Its blade flashed again and again, hammering down on the shields held desperately. It laughed, a hollow sound filled with the darkness of the soul, before lifting a foot and smashing it down into the face of the Hansetic; cracking bones. The Reiter stepped forwards again, teeth gritted, and began to advance, feet pounding on the earth below him.

 

Then he was on the floor, blood pouring from his shoulder, as he screamed.

 

A black-shafted crossbow bolt had struck him in the shoulder, tossing his body back against the cracked rocks behind him. Rage seethed through Adelmar as he slowly, inch by inch, brought himself to his feet. Cold fingers closed around the hilt of his blade. His eyes tilted up, scanning the sky, only to see the knight that had shot him fall from the sky. Spencer stood above it, warhammer in hand, sun glinting in his eyes. The knight crashed onto the floor in a tangle of limbs; his descent having triggered a small rock-fall. Pebbles and stones crashed down onto Vadim and the Hansetic, forcing them to the sides of the passage. Adelmar watched, wincing, as Berenfroy spun about with his halberd, separating the knight from his crossbow and scoring a glancing blow across its breastplate. After a few more moments Berenfroy and Vadim trooped away, leaving the first Ebonknight still standing, huge poleaxe forming in both its hands.

 

Spencer had fallen in the time that Adelmar was absorbed in the fight, and even as he turned to examine his comrade he could see injuries. The Reiter tried to rise then stopped, staggering down onto his knees again; pain flashing through his eyes. Adelmar took another hesitant step forwards, grip firming up about his weapon. He stepped forwards, blade flashing from right to left in a long sweep, only to come apart with barely a scratch made on the armour. Dancing back the knight’s polearm struck him on the side, digging through chainmail and tossing his body backwards, his vision flickered - black dots fuzzing around the edges. The knight turned back, almost laughing at the failed attack, as he struck at the Hansetic again, forcing him back into the rock with a series of flashing attacks that drove him away. The fight between them seemed to last an age to the wounded Adelmar as he struggled up onto his knees again, panting with the exertion, bloodied fingers staining his face. The crimson droplets fell down onto the floor, muddying the coarse dirt. His hand shook like a roof in the very worst moments of a storm, fingers grasping the weapon unsteadily.

 

Even as the knight turned and laughed, praising their fire, the sword was held in an unsteady hand. Spencer had risen, slowly, all of his weight tilted on the left side; a mountain wrought from fallen rock and ash, blonde hair floating softly in the breeze. The pair moved slowly, almost lazily, yet fluidly - their actions came in tandem as both moved forwards, the perfect amount of distance between them in order to cover each other safely.

 

Adelmar stepped forwards, fingers shaking, as blood pounded all around his ears. He stepped forwards again, another halting step across the ground. He thought of nothing but the movement of his own limbs, sluggishly pulsing through the airs; he watched, disconnected from the sense of battle, as his own arm swung forwards, driving the sword deep into the knight’s eyes. A second later Spencer swung his own warhammer forwards, driving the sword deep into the knight’s skull.

 

The glittering poleaxe disappeared before Adelmar’s eyes, an inch away from burying itself in his chest, as he fell to his knees. His cheeks were wet with tears as he sobbed in relief, the hollow voice that boomed from the mess of particles that fell upwards into the sky failing to register with the wounded warrior.

 

Dragging himself upwards again, he walked towards the glittering Sun.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The pair of them, Spencer and Adelmar, lay flat on the rocks; hidden in a rough undergrowth of twisting vines and thorns that prickled at bare skin. Berenfroy and Vadim had vanquished their opponent as well, and now the whole host of Reiters was united.

 

The scene before them was a bloody carnage. The final knight stood amongst a field of fallen bodies and wounded soldiers, four arms swinging steel about it. Two axes flashed, beheading a levyman who had followed them by chance, as a trio of Reiters held their ground, long polearms warding the final opponent. It was surrounded in a circle now by tired men, battered and bruised, who flexed arms uneasily to ward away fatigue.

 

Then, suddenly, the earth broke apart from under their feet. The being summed to thrum with energy to Adelmar’s eyes as he was tossed apart like a doll. Men all over fell down, broken, as their steady footing was lost. Screams bounced about the hillside as Thomas fell on his arm. Cedric was similarly injured, the young unblooded's shouts of pain echoing about the ravine in which he lay. The setting sun gave one final burst of light to the scene, illuminating broken bodies strewn about as other men clambered unsteadily back onto all fours, before it flickered behind a distant hill.

 

Something in that final moment, the final flickering of the light, broke many of the injured men. Flaxen-haired Spencer, up until now indomitable, staggered backwards to avoid the enormous knight. Berenfroy stepped forwards, bright eyes glazed over as he readied his own halberd and raced down the hillside. Adelmar watched it all over with dull, unseeing eyes, an insane grin splitting his broken lips. He struggled gently to his feet, rocking on his own haunches even when the inverted earth came to rest, murmuring a string of inanities.

 

Each sentence was mumbled in praise of the Sun, the hopeless words of a zealot lost to anything but his faith, as he took another unsteady stumble forwards, falling down onto the rocks before him. Before he had even fully raised his blade the knight swung around, metallic fists grasping his wrist. He squeezed, and the world was undone.

 

He was screaming; screaming louder than he ever had before. Each gulp of air brought a fresh burst of pain that wracked his entire body. He fell to his knees, tears staining the cheek as the night air whipped around his broken wrist. Then, suddenly, the knight spun away and left him sprawled in a heap on the ground. He closed his eyes, desperate for relief, for an end to the pain, desperate for death or anything. Yet nothing came.

 

Around him spun the most intense moments of a battle; the seconds when both sides hang on the very precipice of destruction, walking the razor’s edge between victory and defeat. Berenfroy slammed the halberd into the knight, gaining nothing, as the blackened being swung both his swords to impale the Hansetic soldier; finally ending his life. The Serene who had accompanied them, a mage, finally grasped their blade and entered.

 

Berenfroy was the only man still standing, barely visible through Adelmar’s hazy eyes as he searched out for hope. His red scarf hung loosely around his neck, pulled low, as sweat speckled his cheeks and forehead. Thick arms pulled back the halberd to grasp a warpick as he continued the onslaught, bringing down the blunt end of the weapon in a long, sweeping blow even as the Ebonknight turned to end him.

 

The final strike resounded with a deafening crack about the hillside, whispering through the ferns and roaring past the peaks of the mountains behind them. Finally, blessedly, the final knight dissipated again; black ash floating upwards before Adelmar’s own failing eyes. Squeezing tight his eyes, he slept.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The ground shall be broken asunder, ash shall fall to the skies;

Men shall die, men shall bleed, men shall weep and men shall scream;

The Last will stand before Ash and open his palms,

The Truth will stand at last.

 

The First will be born once more, spears aflame.

The Ashenborn will plant a mighty tree in a copse of adders;

The Faith returns. The Sun burns, the Dark fades.

The Son of Sun is born again.

 

- The Prophecy of the Last Tree, from the Faith of the Sunsingers

 

It was morning now, and the Sun had returned. It burned down, soaking up Adelmar’s pain, dulled by the battlefield ministrations of Gwyntaran. He stood in a rough circle with the men who surrounded him: Berenfroy, Gwyntaran, Spencer, Thomas. Both experienced and freshly bloodied Reiters leaned on each other for support, resting roughly after the dangers they had faced.

 

Found in all that they had lost though, was faith. Each man spoke the ancient words, the oaths of the Ashenborn priests, and promised to devote themselves to the ways of the men that had once been known as Sunsingers; pagans that worshipped the Sun.

 

With a soft sigh, they turned themselves north and began the long walk back to the Whispering Crossroads. Each dawn brings hope, but this one had brought rebirth.

 

[JEEGK 1367]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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