The armies gathered under black skies lit by stars and phantom fire.
All across the northland riders passed, bearing with them undying
flame, and every place where men dwelled behind walls against the
night they brought the word that Druan called them to war. In a
hundred walled forts and sequestered vales men took down their spears
and axes, belted on their swords and donned their armor. Riders
passed through the dark, knots of flame moving in the deep cold, as
the warriors gathered, riding to the fortress called Ember.
They gathered there in hundreds, and then thousands. They found
safety in their very numbers, tents and shelters covering the ground.
Horses coursed in hundreds, forged flamed without ceasing, and the
smell of smoke from a thousand fires filled the air. It was the
greatest gathering of men that any of them had ever seen. On the
third day, the gates of Ember opened, and Druan himself came forth.
Most of them had never seen him before, only heard the stories, and
they struggled to see what they could. He rode a black horse and
wore a helm set with antlers and a mantle of wolf hides. When he
drew off his helm they saw his face, the flesh marked by the vivid
white scar and blind left eye.
Above the great gate hung the skull of the moon beast, dragged back
from the wilderness and displayed for all to see. It had been a year
since he slew the beast, and the ravens had long ago picked the dark
bones clean. It had taken time for the war lord to recover from his
wounds, and even now he walked with a heavy limp.
He held up the sword of the burning star, and men looked on it and
howled their war cries. That was the sword sent down from the sky,
from the hand of the Goddess to wield against their enemies. With
that sword Druan had cut down the creatures of darkness, had slain
their moon beast, and now he gathered them for a last attack. Once
before they had ridden to war against the enemies of their race, and
they had been defeated and driven from their old lands. Now they
would go to war again, and this time the fires of Ajahe would not be
prevented. The warriors howled and beat swords and spears upon their
shields, raising up a great shout to the blackened sky.
o0o
Druan descended into the depths of the keep. He walked the secret
way allowed only to a few. He and the men who had been with him that
first day were permitted here, and the women who served the Goddess
as her handmaidens. The hill raised up for the base of the keep was
hollow at the center, and here lay the fiery stone sent from the
outer darkness.
He stepped through the narrow tunnel, and out into burning light.
The floor was only blackened earth, and the walls were dark with the
smoke of years. The chamber was not large, and at the edges he could
touch the roof with his fingers. At the center it rose higher, and
there the stone lay where it had fallen. No hand was permitted to
move it, and it lay dark and glowing from within, indeed like an
ember. Over the surface flames crawled slow and red, never dying,
never cooling.
Ashra was here, with the other women close to hand. Naked, she bowed
before the stone, and with her hands she gathered up the small shards
of burning that broke away from the star. These pieces were kept in
a stone bowl, and they were taken away with great ceremony and made
into the hearts of torches and watch-fires. This was a fire that the
power of the dark could not extinguish, and it was worth more than
any treasure.
This was a great gathering, and Ashra plucked up the small fragments
with her hands, the tips callused and red from so many burns. She
lifted the bowl, heat shimmering the air above it, and she brought it
to him. “We will carry fire into the night,” she said. “Every
battle in your life has led you to this one. You are the chosen of
Ajahe. To you was given the fire of the Goddess, the light to drive
back the dark.”
“I took it, it was not given,” he said. “I came and fought and
bled to win this.” He touched the scar on his face, the sightless
white eye marked by fire. “Now we will go to war and avenge the
fallen, the taken and the slain. We will exterminate the men of the
dark, and undo what has been done.”
“I will,” he said. He went to the star and stood as close to it
as he could, the heat baking against him. Over these years it had
never faded, never ceased to burn. It was the weapon they needed,
and now it would undo their great loss. He touched it with his
gloved hand, just a small touch so that the leather blackened and
smoked. He did not have the will of the priestesses, to touch and be
burned every day. So close, the scar on his face flared and stung
him, and he bowed his head. This was the mark and the burden placed
upon him.
He turned, limping heavily on his bad leg, wishing he were back in
the saddle. On foot he hobbled like an old man, but on a horse he
was still a great warrior. He went forth to his army, and Ashra
followed behind him, bearing the shards of fire in her hands.
o0o
The army moved in the dark like a coiling serpent lit with a thousand
points of fire. Each man bore a torch, and every twentieth man bore
a torch that carried a shard of the burning star as the core, so it
could not be extinguished. These men were the best that could be
found, the bravest and fiercest, and they rode with terrible pride,
and more terrible purpose. They had been beaten down by fear, hunted
by enemies, seen friends and family slain; now they marched for
revenge.
The army wound through the valleys and passes like a burning serpent,
and Druan led them ever northward under the sky fires as they twisted
above them among the bright stars. He had riders and hunting hounds
out on his flanks, to guard against scouts or ambushes. He would not
be taken by surprise, not this time.
They rode through the valley where he was born, and he saw there was
nothing left but the burnt remnants of the long houses, and the
crumbled ruin of the stone wall. He paused there for a moment, and
then he turned and looked at Ashra, who ride close beside him.
“Here,” he said. “When I am dead, build a mound of stones for
me, and let this be my resting place. I was born in this vale, I
would rest here when my labors are finished.”
They pressed on through the starlit dark, until he saw the aged bones
hung in the branches of the trees, and he knew they were near to the
end of their march. They trod on ancient skulls, and the horses
shied from the strange smell of the place. Druan spurred forward and
drew his burning sword, held it up as they reached the stone gate
that men named the Pass of Bones.
It yawned before him, as dark and forbidding as it had been on
another day, when he was a younger man. The cliffs reached up to the
dark sky, like hands raised to ward men away from this place, and he
bared his teeth. This was a world of men, and he would not see his
people denied any single place upon the face of it. He looked into
the dark, and he wondered if the enemy was gathered as before, if
they were prepared to strike. He seemed to feel them, to sense their
cold presence pressing upon them, watching from the night.
Hesitation would buy nothing, and so he beckoned his riders and they
formed behind him, drawing down their masked helms, drawing swords
and axes ready to hand. Each man bore in his shield-hand a torch lit
by a shard of star fire, and those flames would not be extinguished.
There were seven hundred of them in his vanguard, and they formed a
wedge of iron at his back. Druan held up the burning sword and the
drums beat the war call, and ten thousand voices lifted to shout
their blood hunger, and then he charged.
The horses bellowed as they rushed forward, beneath the cliffs, and
Druan felt his heart speed as they drew so close to where the old
battle had been joined. He looked ahead, waiting for the enemy, and
then they were in the pass, thundering through the dark, lighting the
way with the divine fire. Druan felt the cliffs closing on over
them, as if they rode down a tunnel into the darkness, and then they
were free again, under the burning night sky.
This forbidden valley was empty and silent, the snow and the trees
undisturbed by the works of man. Northward there was a glow, and he
saw there the legendary wall that marked the end of the river of ice
that flowed down from the uttermost edge of the world. It simmered
there like a blue flame, watchful as a cold eye. The darkness moved,
and Druan saw the enemy.
His riders spread out into a wider front, and they blew their horns
to summon the rest of the army, as the forces of the night gathered
against them. Upon the hills and the unprinted snow they drew up in
a shadowy mass. Riders on their unliving steeds, cold-eyed and
breathing freezing smoke, waited in a great horde with jagged spears
and helms that hid their pale faces. Hounds gibbered and slavered on
the hillsides, crouched like beasts in the snow, snapping at the
heels of their horned masters. And in places Druan saw the dread
hulks of the giants such as he had faced before, pallid and
misshapen.
He never slowed, and his war-horse, trained from birth to hunger for
battle and hate, bellowed with eagerness and tore the earth with his
sharp hooves. His riders surged around him, brandishing their
torches and their iron swords and spears, gleaming with the light of
the sky fires overhead. Druan saw now that the sky fires were an
emanation of the ice wall, and he hated that phantom light as he had
never done before.
The enemy surged forward, and as one they let loose a roar of hunger
and hatred that blasted across the landscape and churned the snow
like a wind. The cold power washed over them, and men hunkered
behind their shields and their horses screamed and plunged, but the
charge did not stop, and the torch fires did not go out. The power
of the dark could not extinguish the fire from the sky.
Druan gripped his shield in his left hand, and the sword of embers
burned in his right, searing through the stone and leathers, and he
drove his men into the mass of his enemy on the heels of a scream of
war. The enemy hounds rushed toward them and were met by the savage
war-dogs of his people in their hide armor and iron collars. The two
lines came together in a mass of tearing and screaming, and then the
horsemen crushed through and struck the lines of the foe like an iron
hammer.
Again Druan heard the clangor of battle, the ringing of sword and axe
on shield and iron helm, the clatter of spear hafts as they battered
against each other, the screams of horses and of men. At once he was
engulfed in the foe like a dark tide, and in his right hand the star
sword swept down like a burning brand.
There was no skein of strength held back in this test of wills, for
the men were filled with a holy desire to purge their enemies from
the earth, and the darkness ever yearned to exterminate mankind, so
there was no thought of retreat or of mercy. Spears reaped a deadly
harvest, and the horses rode over the enemy and crushed them
underfoot. The charge of riders smashed the enemy line and fire
struck down upon the creatures of the night.
The foot soldiers began to arrive, rushing to the flanks, and arrows
thick with burning pitch began to scythe across the enemy lines.
Before they could flank the charge of horsemen they were cut down in
a storm of fire and steel, and the hounds and huntsmen melted away.
The light of burning bodies lit the dark, and gave the men a fire to
see by.
The whole hillside seethed with battle, and this time, no breath of
cold could extinguish the fires. Frozen giants crushed through the
lesser servitors and smashed men down with their terrible strength.
Burning arrows studded their pallid bodies, and they went down rent
and pierced by dozens of blades and spearpoints.
Druan cut his way through the enemy, the red sword unstoppable,
cleaving cold flesh and leaving a trail of burning dead behind him.
Bones snapped beneath the hooves of his war steed, and it savaged the
enemy with its teeth like a wolf rather than a horse. A giant loomed
over him, and he drove for it hard, crashed against it with the full
weight of his mount and made it stagger. His sword cut in great
sweeps, spilling black blood that burned, and he hewed off one great
arm before he was dashed from the saddle.
He came up in the churned snow, enemy warriors closing in around him,
and he saw the great leg of the giant and he hacked at it, cut
through the cords and sent it hurtling to the ground, smashing its
companions beneath its bulk. The night horses clawed at him and he
cut them down, sent them staggering away with ruined skulls and
burning skin.
His horse was there, bloodied and relentless, and he caught the
harness and pulled himself into the saddle again. The dark warriors
rushed in on him, but he smote them great blows with his burning
sword and splintered their dark armor, sent them screaming back.
Spears broke against his shield and swords rang on his helm, but he
fought like a beast himself, consumed with the hatred of his foes,
burning and growing inside him for years and now let loose.
He smashed their blank-eyed faces, split their pale flesh and left
their bodies burning in his wake. Nothing slowed him, no wound
stayed him, and at last, as he reached the crest of the hill, they
broke. He pushed through the last of them, and they fled before his
fire. His riders howled and rushed in his wake, cutting the enemy
down as they fled. They stained the snow black with the blood of the
dark, drove them into the trees and hacked them to pieces.
The remnants of them fled, scattered and broken, and Druan rode after
them. His arm was like iron, aching and stiff, his hand burning with
the heat of the sword, but he would not stop, and he struck again and
again at any enemy that came within his reach. They fled down the
back of the hill, through the scattered trees, toward the blue
radiance of the glacier. That fell glow drew them closer, and Druan
looked at it, feeling the cold eating into his flesh at he came
nearer to it.
All the long years he had wondered if there was a king of these dark
creatures, if there was a single mind that mastered them and sent
them forth; now he drew near, and he felt fear for the first time.
Something lived there in the unearthly light of that wall of ice, and
he would see it, at last. He did not wish to go, and even as he drew
near it, his horse stumbled and shuddered. The cold was too much,
and the heat of the sword could not protect it.
Druan dismounted, and even as his warriors tried to join him they
were held back by the terrible cold, the frigid power like teeth in
the night. He waved them back, and he held the sword of fire before
him, shielding himself from the cold that came on him like a curse.
His crippled leg pained him, but he ground his teeth and forced his
way through the snow, limping heavily but never stopping.
The cold grew more intense, and he could see now the power of the
sword like a halo around him, mist forming in the air where the cold
met the radiating heat. The sword glowed brighter, fire dancing on
the edge. The snow melted beneath him and then froze again when he
passed. He came down the final hill, and before him rose the wall of
ice, glowing from within as though lit by another sun, and within the
deep blue ice was something dark, something vast.
The minions of the night gathered at the edges of the fire and
stalked him, afraid to come closer. They hissed and clawed at the
earth and shrank back from the fire of the star sword, and at last he
stood before the wall of ice at the end of all, and he looked on the
form trapped inside of it, the origin of all the evils he had known
in his life.
It was hidden in the ice, a shadow larger than any giant, and at the
edge of the wall some part of it was broken through. He saw white
flesh, like the skin of a corpse, and a single eye that gazed out on
the darkness, unseeing. From that eye a dark trail led down,
trickling over the ice, until it gathered at the base of the wall,
black against the snow, and there it formed a pool, and that pool was
filled with bones.
He saw the bones of men and of beasts, their flesh eaten away, their
bones etched with what looked like some strange glyphs. Even as he
looked, the black fluid roiled, and heaved, and more of the
white-fleshed hounds crawled from it like worms birthed in decaying
flesh. They cried like newborns and clawed at the air, and Druan
felt his guts turn in loathing. He came forward, the sword held up.
The new hounds slunk away from him, gibbering and crying out, and he
plunged the burning sword into the black pool. It hissed like
boiling blood, and then a foul smoke rose up from it. Blue fire
danced upon the surface, and then the black poison began to burn.
Fire spread across the surface in a wave, and the pale, once-human
creatures caught in it screamed and clawed to get free of the flames
that clung to them. The sword hissed and shuddered, but the fire
could not be extinguished, and soon the pool was boiling and burning
away, making a pillar of black smoke that choked Druan and made his
eyes stream with tears that froze on his skin.
He held the sword there as long as he could, and then he fell back,
coughing, staying close to the sword lest the terrible cold crush
him. The ground beneath him shook and trembled, and cracks raced
across the great blue wall of ice. He wondered if the thing in the
glacier would rise and break loose, but it did not move. Even that
single eye did not shift or stir at all. The fire crawled up from
the pool, along the black rivulet, and then the eye itself began to
blacken and smoke.
A great howling rose from the creatures where they cringed in the
darkness, and then masses of them came rushing for him, desperate and
ravening with their final convulsion of rage. Claws scourged the
snow, and a circle of the enemy close in on him. Druan found a rock
to set his back against, and he raised the burning sword high, bright
against the blackness.
There, under the cloud of smoke, he met his foes in battle one last
time. The red sword cut through pale flesh, sent them back shrieking
and burning. The air smoked and hissed as the black power of the
cold hurtled against him again and again, and yet nothing would dim
the fire of the ember shard. Their cold, dark swords splintered
against the red one, and though they wounded him with innumerable
small hurts, he would not give way. He slew them until they lay in a
burning, writhing ring around him, and then the remains of them broke
and fled.
The earth shuddered again, and he turned back to the wall of ice and
the thing entombed within it. The pool of blackness had burned down
to a hollow charred and dry and smoking, and he saw the burned bodies
there that had lain beneath it. How many years? Since the first
creature fell into that pool and became something else, became a
slave to the slumbering will of that dread creature where it lay,
dreaming, or dead. How many had been brought here and forced
screaming into that pit of venom?
He crushed bones underfoot as he crossed the burnt pit of death, and
then he looked into the blackened, smoking eye of the thing. It did
not move, it did not stir, but he would be certain. With both hands,
the flesh raw from the great heat, he drove the star sword into the
eye like a red-hot nail.
It pierced the flesh, and hissed and blackened. Fire crawled over
the eye, and he thought perhaps it saw him in that moment, but then
black ichor splashed out and ran over his gloves, stained his furs,
and it struck his face and seared him like hot iron. He spat it out
and felt the burns upon his tongue, but he would not draw back his
blade. He drove it deeper, and then drew it across, and fire plunged
in with it.
He ripped the sword free and fell back, feeling his skin burning as
though it were stripping away from his face. The earth shuddered
again, and he looked up and saw the ice cracking. He stumbled away
from the thing, grinding his teeth in pain. His old wound in his leg
slowed him, but he struggled on. He heard great sounds, like
breaking stone, and he looked up.
Above him, the cliff of deep winter ice was fracturing apart. There
was a glow inside, but it was an angry, red glow. Fire was inside,
consuming the thing trapped in the ice, and the ice was breaking.
Druan struggled to get away from the glacier, half-blind and in pain.
He was wounded in a dozen places, and he knew he was losing blood,
even if he could not feel it.
There was a last, great sound, as if the very sky were breaking. The
earth convulsed under his feet and he fell, looked up and saw the top
of the wall of ice, like a crested wave long held suspended, collapse
and slide down in a cascade that shattered and glimmered like jewels
as it fell. It fell in and buried the dark thing, and then the
impact sent a wave of ice shards slashing outward like knives. Druan
covered his face and felt the pieces strike him, and then the blast
of air flipped him over and buried him in the snow, and he clung to
the sword with desperate strength even as he was buried, and faded
from awareness, into the dark.
o0o
They found him, after. He was pale with cold, scarred and bloodied,
but Ashra led them and they gathered him up on a wolf skin and
carried him away from the ruin of his enemies. She herself bore away
the red sword of fire, holding it up before him as they took him back
to the fortress of the Ember.
He lived, though it was many days before he would wake, or could
speak. The wound on his leg was worse, and he never walked again
without a staff. His face was scarred by the black blood, and he
covered it with a mask made of bronze, save for his blind eye, which
glowed with a cold light in the darkness. His hands were ever stiff
from the burning, and he never used them without pain. He grew
taller, as if he here a giant out of old tales, and he sat on his
throne like a brooding titan.
They made him more than a man; they made him a god, or like one.
More people came, gathered by the story of his war against the dark.
The creatures of the cold fled, and the sky fires no more foretold
blood, and killing. Only a few of the night things remained to haunt
the darkness, and when men found them, they slew them. The fires of
the star never failed, and they lit the darkness for many years.
And then Druan looked upon his domains, and he was not satisfied. He
cast his eye far away, across the mountains to the south, where there
were warm lands and days of bright sun. Where men did not have to
hunt and grub for their food, where there was wealth, and ease, and
beautiful things, all of which might be taken, with iron in hand.
And so he brooded on his carved throne, and armies gathered and
marched in the darkness of the long winter, and the world changed.
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