One more day passed before their frantic pace was finally rewarded. The dense jungles and low mountains that swallowed them up slowly gave way to the rolling fields of wheat and small hamlets that filled the valley that Hargish was nestled in. But Jasper's hopes sunk as they rode past them; the fertile fields had been reduced to little more than ash, the ruins of the small cottages still smoldering lightly. A large pillar of smoke rose above the horizon and though he could not see its source, it was easy to guess - Hargish.
Ihra gave a strangled cry, spurring her stag into a gallop. She swerved out of the formation, racing past the front of the line. Jasper followed behind her, little Dapplegrim gamely - but vainly - trying to keep up with the magnificent hart.
They cut through the scorched fields, a few bodies scattered amongst the chaff, and Ihra finally came to a stop at the crest of a hill, far from the elven line. From the top, she could see the city in the distance, the smoke rising up from it. When Jasper caught up with her, her head was buried in the neck of the stag, her shoulders shaking as great sobs wracked her body. He sat beside her silently, unsure of what to do.
“The city's been taken; they're all dead.” She choked the words out through her sobs.
Jasper strained his eyes, unable to see much more than the smoke rising above the walls. “Maybe the queen's forces are still outside the city and are just attacking-“
“No. I’ve got much better vision than you, remember? There is no army outside those walls, just the smoke rising above it.” Ihra thrust herself up in the saddle. Her tear-stained cheeks were red and puffy, and her big blue eyes bloodshot. “My nephews and nieces…” her words faltered.
He awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Maybe they escaped?”
She shook her head. “I hope, but Hargish doesn’t have a Sanctum. Some people probably fled out into the countryside, but the rest?” The implication hung heavy in the air. They sat in silence for some time, watching the smoke fill the heavens.
When the last of her tears had finally dried, and the flush of red had faded from her cheeks, they rejoined the group. The elves had quickened their pace even further, perhaps hoping that the queen's forces were still assaulting the city, but it soon became clear that Ihra had been right; the city had already fallen. It was not until they stood in the shadow of its once pristine white walls, now blackened with soot and riddled with gaps, that Aphora finally called for a halt.
The group gathered around her, unsure what to do, now that the city was destroyed and the queen's forces had disappeared. Aphora spoke slowly, the words coming with a halting cadence as her usual confidence was replaced with a haunted look in her eyes. “It seems we have failed to reach the city before my mother, the queen.”
This was no news to the group, the devastation plain to see.
“I summoned you to save the city, and that is the task you agreed to do. I cannot keep you here any longer. You are free to go.” She waited a minute. No-one moved.
A small measure of her confidence restored, Aphora lifted her chin defiantly. “But I ask you to stay and fight with me. If we cannot save the city, then let us avenge it. My mother cannot be allowed to roam through these lands unchecked.”
Shouts and cries echoed from the group, and she raised her hands, calling for silence.
“We have driven ourselves to the bone the last week, trying to beat my mother to the city. Although she is not here now, the fields and ruins still smolder - she cannot have gone far. But it would be folly to engage in battle now; we are all exhausted and her undead are not troubled by such mundane concerns. We shall rest tonight and gather strength for the coming battle. And tomorrow?”
She lifted her voice in a shout. “Tomorrow we shall call upon the Victorious Dead. May they ever shine upon us!”
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He awoke to the cacophony of a camp preparing for battle. The meeting with the Fey woman last night seemed like nothing more than a dream, but the bracelet wrapped around his wrist testified otherwise.
Ihra smiled as he emerged from his tent, and waved a cup in his direction. “Here.”
He breathed in the spicy warmth, stirring memories of Christmas, as he took a grateful sip of the wassail. “Damn. It’s not quite coffee, but it’s almost as good.” He downed the cup quickly as Ihra saddled their mounts.
“Hurry up, I don’t want to miss this.”
He grumbled as he stood up. “I’d really like another cup. Where are we off to in such a hurry anyways?" He glanced around the camp; the tents, aside from theirs, were already empty; some of them were torn down and packed up, but plenty were still standing. "Where did everyone go?”
Ihra rolled her eyes. “The Victorious Dead? Remember?”
He yawned. “Oh, right. Some sort of religious ceremony. They mentioned them at the wake, I think.” Another wave of yawns hit him, as he stretched his arms out, swinging them back and forth. “Do we really need to attend that? We've barely slept in like two weeks.”
Ihra gave him a funny look. “And miss seeing them arrive? Come on.” She hopped on her stag and rode a few feet further into camp. She stopped and looked back impatiently.
Spurred into action, he hopped on Dapplegrim and rode to catch up with her. Their horses weaved through the largely abandoned sea of tents, occasionally passing someone who was still frantically scarfing down breakfast. “See who arrive?”
“The Victorious Dead?” She looked at him incredulously, and he could almost hear the implied duh.
“Wait - we’re summoning the dead?” Their horses slowed to a trot as they found the place the rest of the camp had gathered.
“We’re going to beseech them to come to our aid. Hopefully they’ll accept.” Ihra shrugged. "The maryannu only come when they feel like it, but their aid in battle would be invaluable."
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The two fell silent as they slipped through the crowd, which roared with excitement. Sitting on top of Dapplegrim, Jasper had a good vantage point above the crowd. The elves had gathered by the banks of a small river, beside which a large cauldron had been set up. Aphora was filling the cauldron with various ingredients, while the other leaders stood around her.
When she had finished her preparations, a pair of horns were blown, and the crowd's excited buzz fell silent. Aphora turned to face the army, a dagger gripped tightly in her hand. In an instant, Jasper found himself flashing back to the scene at the top of the Tower. Despite the jungle heat, a shiver ran down his spine, and he felt his chest tighten as he gasped for air.
“We are here to summon the maryannu. You know the price that must be paid.” The elf raised her hand high in the air, for all to see, and pricked her thumb with the dagger. A single bead of blood formed on the tip, hesitating a moment, before plunging into the cauldron. "May the Dead hear us, and answer our call."
The soldiers in the crowd fell into line. Each one passed before Aphora, contributing a drop of blood to the cauldron. Jasper found himself carried along in the press of the crowd, unable to escape. Eventually, he stood before the cauldron, unable to meet the eyes of Aphora. She handed the dagger to him, but leaned forward. “You don’t have to cut yourself, Jasper,” she whispered. “Just pretend to, if you want.”
He hesitated, but finally pricked his finger. It’s just a drop, he told himself.
When the last of the soldiers had contributed, the sacrifices were brought forth. Five deer were brought to Aphora. She cut their necks with the ceremonial dagger, and their blood was drained into the cauldron. Their bodies were laid on a waiting pyre, covered in herbs and spices that was set ablaze. As the sweet smokey smell filled the air, Aphora bowed to the ground, addressing the river.
Dayyānu Nahāru, petû bābīka
The leaders carefully poured the cauldron's contents into the river. As soon as the blood touched the water, great clouds of steam rose up as the river caught fire. The flames quickly spread across the surface of the water, but they did not touch the banks on either side, only burning the river. Still bowed on the ground, Aphora raised her hands to the heavens and screamed at the top of her lungs.
Alsika, maryannu mūti. Dīnū purussûnu weṭerū!
Damu ana erṣeti, lahmu ana ekālli. Yequmū!
The sky darkened as she spoke the incantantion. Clouds covered the heavens, and a stiff, cold wind begin to blow, a wind quite out of place in the tropical environemnt. When Aphora fell silent, the army picked up her refrain. Beating their weapons against the ground, they chanted the words over and over again, their cry like the rumble of the heavens.
Damu ana erṣeti, lahmu ana ekālli. Yequmū!
Damu ana erṣeti, lahmu ana ekālli. Yequmū!
Damu ana erṣeti, lahmu ana ekālli. Yequmū!
The wind howled, rain drops driving into their faces, the cold water splashing against Jasper's face as the soldiers continued their chant, screaming into the winds. As it reached a feverish frenzy, the earth beneath their feet begin to shake.
Yequmū! Yequmū! They screamed, and then a bolt of lightning fell from the heavens.
The chant fell silent as soldiers watched the thunderbolt slam into the bloodied waters. It crackled across the surface, a surge of energy ripping through the smokey haze, quenching the flames in an instant. With a shudder, the riverbed split apart, as a gaping hole emerged. And, as the river's water poured down the new wound in the earth, the Dead emerged.
Jasper watched in awe as the first warriors emerged from the netherworld. He’d expected zombies, or maybe skeletons, but the creatures resembled strange man-birds more than anything else. All of them seemed to be in a slow state of change, some further along than the rest. Their legs ended in sharp talons, much of the surface of their skin covered by feathers, and some even sported wings or beaks.
But all were dressed in gleaming armor, its hue closer to copper than steel. They wielded a wide assortment of weaponry, perhaps what they had favored in life, but they moved as one, with almost mechanical precision. The earth shuddered again, and the gap widened further as a giant rose from the depths, even more birdlike than the rest. It hung over the forces, its wings flapping far too slowly to support it in the air, and yet, it flew.
“What the hell?”
The words had no sooner left his mouth than the creature swiveled its head and looked him in the eye. Jasper shivered as a ferocious cold invaded his body. Sorry? The cold receded as the beast looked away, dismissing him.
When the last of the dead emerged from the netherworld, the river sealed behind them. Their numbers were surprisingly small, perhaps no more than 100, and despite their impressive appearance, Jasper found himself a little disappointed. Can so few make a difference?
With a calculated and terrible efficiency, the warriors fell into formation. The maryannu did not speak to or acknowledge the gathered elves, but simply turned to the north and began to march away from the burning city.
“Where are they going?”
Ihra tore her eyes away from the spectacle to look at him. Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with wild glee, marred slightly by hints of lingering sorrow. “To track the queen. She must have gone north.” His eyes followed the maryannu as they disappeared into the jungles. The mountains soared high above the plains surrounding Hargish, their tips covered in eternal snow. Why would she go north? Isn’t there just wilderness up there?
When the last of the maryannu had passed through their ranks, the elves followed close behind them. Their stags strained to keep up with the swift pace of the dead, and Jasper soon found himself falling behind, as Dapplegrim was, in turn, unable to keep up with the elves’ mounts. It was more than a bit frustrating; Dapplegrim's evolution could not come soon enough.
When night fell, the sky glowed with a red haze from the burning city. The Dead never stopped, never faltered in their pursuit, plunging deeper and deeper into the jungle, away from all signs of civilization. The trek through the jungle was hazardous, with drops and snares concealed in the ruby darkness. But the elves’ mounts never wavered, navigating every treacherous path with an envious ease. Somehow, Dapplegrim managed to navigate the dark jungle, carrying him safely through the night. And then the Dead came to a halt.
When the sun rose, Jasper could finally see where their destination. Their nighttime pursuit had carried them much higher and further into the mountains than he had realized. They stood near the peak of one of the lesser summits. There, hidden at the top of the mountain, was a giant caldera and in the deep valley, the queen’s army waited.
As his eyes focused on the valley below, he realized that the ruins of the city stretched beneath them. Towering buildings were carved into the caldera’s high walls, buried deep into the mountainside, and in the large open hollow, hundreds of buildings still peaked out of the jungle which had consumed them. There was no sign, however, of any road or path that down into the caldera. The valley floor appeared to be at least three hundred feet below them and, even with his improved endurance, he didn’t think he could survive that sort of a fall.
“How the hell did they get down there? What even is this place?” he muttered beneath his breath.
Ihra heard him and just shook her head. “I never knew there was another set of ruins so close to Hargish. It must have still been settled when the queen died.”
The Dead stood at the edge of the rim, their movements so thoroughly stilled that they resembled statues. Why aren't they moving, he wondered, but as he watched them he realized their leader, the giant that flew above them was missing. The early morning hours ticked by slowly, but it was not until the sun was high in the sky that the maryannu finally made their move.