We arrived. I'm looking at it now. Beautiful.
_______________________________________________________________________
"Now!"
Spear in hand, Fredrich skirted the beast. He dashed behind- silent, hidden, deadly.
Why is he doing this?
He ducked, the beast's tail whipping past his head. He lunged, spear angling toward the beast's stomach.
Why? He should have slipped into the night. He shouldn't be here.
The spear's tip punctured. The beast roared and gnarled at him. Fredrich pushed it deeper but the tip encountered something hard. A bone, probably. Or a muscle. He was so in trouble to care. Fredrich pulled the tip, beast's blood still dripping, and parried the claw.
He shouldn't be here. This is insane. Deadly. Fatal. Stupid.
Trest and Gren bashed their shield against the beast's face. They repeated the bashing until the beast regarded them more than it regarded Fredrich.
"Do it properly Fred!" Trest shouted. "I don't want to die today"
Fredrich held the spear. It was bloodstained, further greased with sweat. His grip was feeble and his arm was now weak. And yet he dashed again. This time he aimed for the neck. The tip went through as if the beast's flesh was butter. It roared but more squeaky this time. Blood bubbled from its neck. Fredrich didn't provide mercy. He pushed the spear deeper. The beast's struggles abated after a while. It was more tamed now like a whimpering dog.
He remembered. The reason. Yes. He was still here because of fear. Execution awaited all stragglers. He feared the army more than he feared the beasts. The Ninevans can be killed. But the executioner's axe was a certain thing.
Fifteen fools from their cohort were already executed. He was there every time a head would roll. He saw the axe's kiss against their neck. He saw their blood shower the platform. Death for the cowards, the King's command.
Fredrich's butt fell. He didn't mind the impact and the pain was lost in his mind. The battle was far from over but the fort seemed stable enough to hold for today. As always the beasts and some Ninevans were left dying and burning.
His arms were numb and so were his legs. He, Gren and Trest killed four beasts today. The largest one dealt a gash on his arm. It still throbbed and it was still sour. He just grimaced.
Fredrich looked around, curiosity heaving him to care. They had won, if the definition of winning extended only to defending the wall. It was more accurate saying that they held for today. The thousand men of the fort were reduced by a few dozen. Those who died had mangled corpses. The wounded mostly had serious cuts and bites. He had seen more horrible defenses than today. But still, those bodies severed in half were not helping to ease his mind.
"That was an amazing aim Fred!" Trest's pat on his aching back shook his lungs. He coughed and glared.
"Stop it."
"How many do you think we lost today?" Gren sat beside Frerich. The Vanadian reeked of bloody tang.
"Many" Trest slumped on his back. It was sticky and foul and hot and humid. Fredrich wiggled away from the Hadean.
"Do not touch me. Do not talk to me. We have defended for today. The mingling of our paths has ended."
"Ah don't be shy Fred. The three of us, we are unstoppable! How many did we kill today? Six?"
"I think it was four," Gren said.
At least the Vanadian can count, Fredrich thought. He kept swatting Trest's arm around his neck.
"'We should be a team, yes? The three of us. I mean we are in the same Century." Trest said.
Never. Team? What would that accomplish? Nothing. Better survive alone than to depend on them.
Fredrich was able to struggle our of Trest's sticky hold. He fixed his armor and noticed the tear slanting in the stomach. The links were busted, split apart by something. He sheathed his fingers on the tear and was relieved when he felt the gambeson intact. That could have been deadly if not for the armor.
He trod the field back to the gate with regard to the broke remnants of the battle- split spears, caved shields, corpses both of Ninevans and humans. It was the same morbid sight. Death was never attractive.
One of his steps fell near the face of a dying man. He gasped for air, the man, though it was futile. Some spear was lodged on the man's back, sticking and wet with blood. Fredrich heard his voice- small, rubbing, fleeting. It sounded like garbles. It must be garbles. Fredrich didn't understand a thing.
He stopped, curiosity heaving his boots to still. He knelt, drawing his face nearer. The man's armor was not one of theirs. It was a simple gambeson topped with leather coat. It was a stupid move, prying near to the enemy, but his curiosity was too strong.
"Help" He heard the man say. It was a sincere plea, stripped of coyness. Truly, a man would only be honest when teetering between life and death.
"I cannot help you. You are dying. The truth is the only solace I can offer. You are dying. Accept it and be done with it."
"Help" The man again said as if Fredrich's words were just ruffles in the wind.
"Nobody can help you except yourself. Accept your end. It is a cruel thing believing in life until the end."
"Help"
Fredrich rose. The man's lips continued moving. He could make out the same word being pronounced. Those lips had gone livid. Soon death would come, a cold embrace of an eternal darkness.
He did feel pity. Death was always pitiable. Ends were always sad.
"He's a Levantine" Trest peeped beside his face. A back pat didn't come this time. "Traitor"
"But are they? Really?" Gren asked. "Levan has joined the Ninevans. That is treason to us humans. But the citizens are not Levan. They didn't have a choice."
"Like us" Fredrich said. He turned his look at Gren. "We didn't have a choice either, did we? We were plucked and given spears and shields and swords and a hazardous job."
"Only for two years. We need to sacrifice and be at risk to guard the realms of man. You do understand right?"
Fredrich did understand. There was no other way but to levy the youths into war. Him putting the blame to the monarchs was probably just his escape. Blaming someone else was far easier than having nobody to blame his pitiful state upon.
Trest pulled his shoulder. "Let's just go Fred. Let the cleaners have them."
Fredrich looked at the Levantine one last time before letting Trest's pull lead him forward.
The horn sounded. It was long like a mother's wail, low as a dying beast's roar. It repeated thrice, all in quick successions. Similar sounds blared from the neighboring forts. It was symphony of blares, one which brought alarm in place of glee.
"What is that signal?" Gren asked.
"I don't know. Familiar but I haven't heard of it." Trest said.
But Fredrich knew what that blare meant. He remembered the Centurion teaching them about it. That was only once as training sessions were mostly interrupted by constant attacks.
"Maulers" Fredrich said, voice drowned by the hurried stomps of feet out of the fort. Even the reserves were sent out. They flooded out of the gate, pouring and forming units. Centurions in silver capes hollered orders. Their own unit too were forming, their own Centurion dragging every man he could find in a firm line.
"We should go." Trest said, jogging toward the line. Gren followed after.
Fredrich just stood- contemplating, weighing, deciding. Maulers were a rare occurrence, that's what he heard from Ice. Good thing that was the case or else the walls would have fallen a long time ago.
To the front, north and under the wispy clouds, dark figures lumbered a sight. They swayed as they moved, awkward but never frail. Beasts, a familiar sight. But there was nothing familiar about these beasts. They stood tall, bodies reaching heights only walls should reach. There were five heading to their fort. Beside them were smaller beasts.
Maulers. The wall in Wismar fell for two months because of Mauler attack. Fredrich only heard stories, tales breathed with trembling lips. As all as the walls, curving teeth the size of spears, ferocity of a maddened freak.
Fredrich wanted to run. Spears and shields were mere jests to the Maulers. Courage and loyalty, even more so. He should run. Away from here, far far away.
He clutched his chest and took a step back. He took another and another. He must flee. Madness. Standing against the beasts was pure madness.
The Centurion yanked him forward. Fredrich staggered, legs limp to trembles. The ground met both his knees, the pain covered by the fear.
"Get in line!" The Centurion shouted, saliva whisking to Fredrich's face. He yanked Fredrich some more.
"I said get in line! Don't you hear me boy?"
He was from the original Rooster, the Centurion. Head full white and heart full of courage. The Centurion was a seasoned veteran of a thousand battles, a thousand bloodshed where he didn't run from. But Fredrich was not like that. Neither did he aim to be brave. Courage was scented stupidity.
"We can't do it Centurion" Fredrich didn't sever his stare at the approaching Maulers. Those things were bloody large. "We will die. I will die if I stay."
"I'll have you executed boy." The voice was course and the warning was meant. Fredrich knew that much and yet his decision remained. The gate was still open. He could run.
A hand gripped the Centurion's bristly arm. Ice. The Ninevan was in his full armor, uniform shredded on some parts. "I'll handle this Centurion"
"I will have him executed. Look at his eyes. His eyes! Without depth, empty of commitment."
"Centurion I'll handle this, I said. Please regard my request.I'll borrow him in my unit." Ice stooped, placid face near the Centurion's.
The Centurion's mouth twitched. It rumpled like a dragged carpet. "You better be bloody or dead when all of this is through boy. Mark my words. You better be broken or dead or else I would make you so."
He left to Fredrich's relief, jogging back to the line of men foolishly facing the approaching beasts. He commanded as soon as he reached the Century, bellowing orders out of Fredrich's ears. Soon that old man would die. Fredrich was certain of it. And those young men too. Trest. Gren. All of them. Loyalty was a lethal lie, a poison of the mind muddling one into making stupid decisions.
"Let's go" Ice tugged the hem of his mail. The crossed the field toward the trench. Fredrich looked back to the gate.
"I meant it! I am not fighting that!"
He yanked from Ice's hold though he failed. Ice pulled him closer. "Yes you are. This is life here in the walls, Fred. Always has been and always would be until my damn race concludes these attacks. It ain't pretty. And damn me, it ain't safe. But you have to take up your spear and live. It ain't loyalty or some feeble thing like courage. It is survival. You think you could escape if they breach through these walls? The beasts would hunt you down. The only way is to stand, Fred. So stand."
Fredrich paused, for a single heartbeat, he paused. Those words were true. It wasn't loyalty. Like at things it was fear. Fear prompts action. Fear was a fodder and he was truly afraid. He didn't want to die, no sane man does.
He stared at Ice. The Ninevan's narrow face was a field of scars and fresh wounds. "What am I to do?"
Ice grabbed a fallen shield. Three holes lined its side, punctured by teeth. The edges were busted, wood splintered. He thrust the handle into Fredrich's hand. "Defend me. That's all you got to do. Defend me."
They took a position not far from his Century. The spiked final trench gaped below. They men changed weapons. Gone were the shields and spears. All except him and Ice had long pikes held with both hands. It was a single line as always and it looked flimsy and stupid.
The artillery barrage rang from above. Flaming projectiles arched toward the beasts. Fredrich hoped the death of at least a single Mauler. It didn't happen. The land exploded and the horizon was shrouded in dust and smoke. But when it all ebbed, when everything cleared, the Maulers kept their charge.
A second barrage flew. The gloomy sky was illuminated by hundreds of flaming ball. One of the Maulers was hit. It roared as three projectiles exploded on its fur. It wailed and whimpered and died. Or so Fredrich thought. It didn't die. It rose again, angrier this time.
"This is bad, I'm not going to lie. This is bad." He heard Ice said.
"Has this happened before?"
Ice's answer was drowned by another barrage. The projectiles flew lower this time. Two of the Maulers garnered dozens of hits. It was a bath of fire, fury of man. The two Maulers were scorched. They fell heavy and dead.
Nobody cheered. Nobody. Not a sound was heard. Three more Maulers and hundreds of beasts were charging at them and soon the two sides would meet.
One of the Maulers directed a charge at them. Fredrich noticed the wooden structure on top the Mauler's back. It was built like a small tower with dozens of enemies loosing arrows from the top. The arrows whizzed, some hitting but none killing. A cry of pain indicated hits.
Fredrich was thankful of the fractured shield. He hid behind, his head tugged but eyes watching forward. They were near. The clash would be soon.
The line shattered. The flimsy spikes were broken by the Maulers. Bodies trampled. Bloody limbs flung. Arms without bodies. Bodies without heads. Dead men. Once living breathing beings. Dead men.
Ice swayed, a dance in the air. Blue crystals erupted from his hands. They poured like water but stayed solid. Sharp. Cruel. Deadly. The thing crept toward one of the Maulers, engulfing one of the legs. The thing rose to heights with Ice struggling with a push.
The enemy crossbows focused their arrows on Ice. Fredrich slid just in time to raise the shield on top of Ice's head. Thuds rang. Arrows which could have hit Ice. The others around them began poking the Mauler with the long spikes. Other dealt with the beasts.
Ice pushed forward. His power was mighty. Fredrich had heard of Ninevans gifted with the ability to fling frozen water. But never did he expect this sight. The thing they call ice engulfed the Mauler's body. It rose as tall as the wall and was sharp too.
Fredrich looked at Ice. Sharing the shade of the shield, he could see Ice's pallid face. The Ninevan was blinking weakly and his body trembled.
The arrows stopped. Fredrich cocked his head, another stupid peep driven by curiosity. He looked just in time before hundreds of flaming balls shattered the frozen image of the Mauler. The huge body was wrecked into pieces. It crumbled like a hammered statue. The enemies on top fell on their deaths.
Ice fell, face on the ground. Fredrich knelt and grabbed Ice's chin. The Ninevan was cold. He put two fingers on Ice's neck, hoping for a pulse. Any faint pulse would be good. He felt some though it was weakening.
He looked around. A battle met him. It was more chaotic this time. Their line broke and the fighting now descended into a melee. Beast, men, Ninevans- everyone fought for their lives. The two remaining Maulers were on the wall, biting every men they could. Even catapults didn't escape their wrath. Sometimes men and machine would just fall from the sky, dead or shattered respectively.
The barrage of the surviving catapults didn't stop. Explosions mangled bodies left and right. Some of their own were hit.
Fredrich slumped Ice's arm around his neck. He struggled pulling the Ninevan back to the gate where some semblance of a line still stood. Each step was tortuous to his leg. He trudged anyway.
A single projectile made a miss and fell not a dozen step away. The land was flung and so were them. Fredrich's vision swayed, a blur of colors. He remembered being lifted and seeing the ground below him. And then everything turned dark.
"Die now Fred."
Voice. He of course knew the voice. He had been hearing that silky voice all his life, drenched with insults and threats by it. Fredrich had grown a feeling deeper than hatred for that voice.
"You stayed. Ah yes you did. But then again, what choice did you have? Flee and die or stay and this. Life's a dark mess, ins't it? But honestly Fred, you should have died a long time ago. Your existence is a curse, a mistake."
He hated it. Back in that house, he hated every breath he took. The shining chandeliers above. The fine oak tables. The marble floors. Things of beauty for some. But those were disgusting.
"You will die Fred. Accept your fate and be done with it."
Fredrich had the urge to laugh. It was the same thing he said to the dying Levantine earlier. He meant it as mercy but those were the same words.
He gasped deep before he opened his eyes. He panted and struggled to sit. The battle was still not over. In fact, it seemed to have grown fiercer.
Ice sprawled not far from him, arms and legs spread wide. Fredrich pushed a stand but fell on his butt. He looked down and soon a grimace formed on his smutted face. His right leg was twisted and a long gash was on his left. The pain was dull but throbbing. Soon, when sense had returned to him, the pain would worsen.
Damn the artillery crew who missed that shot. Damn them all.
He couldn't say that they were winning. The result of battle was tipping like a scale. Many of them were dead. Hundreds probably, once hopeful youths but now cold corpses in this forsaken land.
Three Melters vibrated the portion of the wall not far from him. The catapults had focused on the Melters but the beasts met the projectiles in some convoluted sacrifice. The wall cracked. It extended to the top like vines. It began as small but grew larger.
The wall shook. Dust and bits of stones puffed in the air. And then it fell.
Like a waterfall, a chunk of the wall came crashing down. Dust blanketed the ground. A chunk as large as a horse rolled toward Fredrich. Fast. It was fast. He struggled in vain. He pulled his leg, a heavy grimace on his face.
The stone rolled just under his feet. The ground shook as it passed and his heart stopped. But another worry prodded his relief. Several smaller stones came after. One- no, three- bashed his face. He remained conscious this time, gritting through the pain.
It passed. The haze of dust lingered but the wall was silent. As if a prayer. As if a meditation for the carnage done.
It became loud again. Swords, spears, shields, teeth, claws. He couldn't see. Nobody could see and yet everybody was fighting somebody.
Fredrich clenched his jaw as he pulled himself to a safer place. A safer place? He found that amusing even with his current situation. Behind the haze were people finding their demise. Hidden yet true, people were dying in horrid ways. He would soon die and join the ranks of nameless soldiers.
And yet he continued pulling, dragging his broken legs. Every heave forward was a torment. Every small flick was a curse. His body was getting numb, coldness engulfing his being- like water slowly creeping through.
Footsteps gathered his attention though the numbness remained. He looked back. A man, no, a Ninevan was walking to him. Shrouded in the haze but the glint of his sword was clear. He wore a uniform, red as a bloodstained mattress. The armor underneath was torn in many places. A Sentinel., stronger than three men and quick for their strength.
The Sentinel took three steps- three more steps nearing Fredrich's doom. The slow crunch on the ground felt like heartbeats.
"Die, Fred. There's nothing you can do. Just like your mother, there's nothing you can do. So die and accept your fate."
Ah, yes. He should die. Stop struggling and be free. Living was a burden. Fredrich found agreement to that.
"Die and be free."
Freedom through death, a strange concept yet it felt true. There was freedom in letting go. There was peace. It would be over soon.
No.
Freedom? To the sewers with that. Freedom was a flimsy thing, a hollow reward. There were more important things than freedom.
"Die and be free" The voice again said.
Yes, this voice. The voice of a man he despised, hated beyond hating. That voice urging him for freedom. No, he mustn't listen to that voice. His entire existence was meant to reject that man.
He would live. He would breathe. As long as he does, that man's words were lies. Proving that monster wrong was a thousand times sweeter than freedom. He must live. He will live.
A force surged through his body, like searing heat of warmed oil. It coursed through his veins, to every small recesses.
Fredrich eyes glowed silver, eyelids opened wide. His aches were gone, his worries perished. He was new. He was powerful.
He caught the Sentinel's sword, hand sliced in the process. Fredrich rose, the Sentinel's dropping jaw betrayed his shock. Fredrich yanked the sword away. It flew and was lost behind the haze of dust.
It was his turn now. He strode- slow, heavy and certain- eyes still glowing.
"What are you?" The Sentinel asked through quivering lips.
Fredrich grabbed the Sentinel's neck. He lifted the man. The Sentinel struggled to no avail, breath choked on his neck and legs kicking futilely.
What am I?
Fredrich asked the same question. The answer eluded him, terrified him to an extent. Perhaps the answer would come to him someday.
He snapped the man's neck. The Sentinel was limp in a heartbeat, head lolling to the side and arms falling down. Fredrich let the corpse fall on the ground. The Sentinel was a puppet without strings.
Fredrich fell sitting on the cold ground, aches coming back. His legs resumed being broken and his wounds bled. But amidst the pain and the injuries, the realization hit him- he just killed a Sentinel.