The God-Stone War

Chapter 25

Dorian Thornbear looked out from the keep’s main entrance and breathed a sigh of relief, as the last of the soldiers passed inside. A light touch on his shoulder drew his attention to the man standing beside him. He gave a simple nod to indicate his readiness to listen.

“Sir Dorian, what instructions would you have me give my men?” asked Carl, the most senior of the soldiers and their primary leader, when both Dorian and Cyhan were absent.

“Captain, I’d like you to have the men take up defensive positions throughout the keep. Put bowmen in the windows and embrasures, and make sure there are spearmen close by in case they manage to reach the top of the walls,” Dorian told him.

“How many would you have remain here, at the entrance?”

“None, the Knights will secure the main door here,” replied Dorian firmly.

Carl gave a quick bow as he acknowledged the orders, “Very good sir,” and then he was gone.

Harold had been listening and stepped up beside Dorian. “Are you sure? There are only twelve of us here to guard the door.”

“From what you told me, I don’t think I want our men anywhere near the enemy. I’d rather they keep them at range if possible, or at worst, spear’s length,” answered Dorian.

“The ones that got inside were fast,” said Cyhan, coming up behind Harold. “They slaughtered the door guard and made it through quite a few of the halls before we caught the last of them.”

“I found five bodies upstairs near the Count’s apartments,” offered up Sir Aaron. “They looked much like the ones you fought down here. They were already dead though, with burns and marks all over them. We aren’t sure who dispatched them.”

After a brief exchange of descriptions, Cyhan offered his opinion, “Sounds like Mordecai, and perhaps Penny or some of the soldiers stopped them.”

“Where are they now?” asked Harold.

Dorian took up the question, “The Count had his own plans for evacuating his family. Wherever he has taken them, I sincerely doubt we need to worry about it at this point.”

“I hate to ask the question then,” said Sir Thomas, in a quiet voice, “but what is our purpose here then? There are none left to guard but soldiers and perhaps twenty or thirty of the townsfolk.”

All the knights looked at him then, and the Grandmaster of the Knights of Stone squared his shoulders as he stared back at them. Dorian waited until he was sure everyone was listening before he spoke and he made sure his voice was loud and strong when he did, “We are here, to be last. We remained so that others could escape. We were not given our strength to save ourselves, but to protect our fellow man.”

“There’s almost no one left to protect,” said Sir Edward from across the room.

“Then we’ve already won the best part of this fight, but so long as there is even one man, woman, or child remaining, our fight is not done. Do any of you feel differently?” questioned Dorian bluntly.

Sir Edward had always been a bit rough around the edges but he was a solid knight through and through. “Nah, you know better than that, Your Lordship. I just thought Sir Thomas had a good point. We aren’t really fighting to protect very many people, now that most are gone.”

“And what if all of them were gone?” asked Cyhan suddenly.

Sir Edward smiled, “Then I’d fight just to be stubborn. I didn’t take the oath to die old and in my bed.” A chorus of laughs and words of agreement went up among the knights at that remark.

“They’re on the move. I see men running toward us now, from the courtyard gate,” announced Sir William from the doorway.

“Close the door,” commanded Sir Dorian, preparing to order them into defensive positions. His command was interrupted by a deafening noise, followed by stone and dust falling to the ground outside.

The sound was so unexpected that everyone stood still for a second, unable to comprehend the source of the cacophony. Harold was quickest to recover, but his speed was almost his undoing. Leaning out, he looked up to find the source of the sound. Only Cyhan’s good sense saved his life, for he hauled the younger knight back just as a colossal piece of stone masonry passed through the area where Harold’s uncovered head had been but a second before. It crashed to the ground sending shards and splinters of stone flying in all directions.

“Son of a bitch!” yelped Harold, in a voice that was half curse and half startled cry.

“How did they get siege weapons this close so quickly?” said Cyhan, ignoring Harold’s yell.

Dorian grunted, running his hand over his short beard, “I don’t think it was a siege weapon. I’d put my bets on Karenth. He’s following behind his boys there.” He pointed to indicate the well-dressed man following the charging invaders. “Not much point in barring the door, leave it open,” he added. Raising his voice, he began barking orders, “Step away from the doors! Weapons out! One of the gods is with ‘em, so it’s time to die… anyone need to take a piss first?!”

Only tense laughter answered him as they moved back from the entrance, a nearly ten foot wide opening framed by solid stone walls. The hallway that led into the castle was over thirty feet in length, before reaching the doorway that led into the great hall, where meals and most large events were held. Two doorways on either side of the entry hall led into other parts of the castle. The first two doors, a few feet in on the right and left sides led to small rooms; the one on the left being the chamberlain, Peter Tucker’s office. The one on the right led to a foyer that had been repurposed as a cloak room. The next two doors led into hallways that ran on either side of the great hall, connecting it to various servants’ quarters, the kitchens, guard rooms, and the corner tower stairs.

They had only scant seconds before the enemy would be upon them, as Dorian bellowed out positions, “Cyhan, Jeffrey, take the chamberlain’s office to the left, Harold and Brian, take the cloak room! Grant, Egan, you’ll be in the left hall, Edward and Phillip, the right… everyone else with me!” That left Dorian standing with Sir William, Sir Thomas and Sir Aaron just inside the great hall doors, directly opposite the main outer entrance. The other eight men were located in two’s behind each of the other doors leading into the entry hall. “Wait ‘till we have them piled up in the entry before you open those doors… if you’re unsure just wait till you hear me call for flames!”

As quick as the Knights of Stone were, they barely reached their places before the first of the enemy leaped through the open entryway. Fearless, the man seemed to have no caution or instinct to preserve his own life as he ran toward the entrance to the great hall, where Dorian and three of his fellow knights stood waiting. As he approached, his eyes darted left to right, noting the lack of visible defenders to his sides, before he threw himself bodily toward the four men blocking his path.

Sir Thomas took a single step forward, lowering himself as he did to slip beneath the high swing of the attacker. His great sword came up in a reverse swing that might have lacked the power to cut, if wielded by a normal man. Sir Thomas was not however, a normal man, and neither was the enchanted blade he carried. The blade’s mystically sharp edge was driven by his enhanced strength, and its edge took the invader from groin to shoulder, cleaving bone and muscle with equal ease. The warrior was already dead, as his momentum and the upward swing of Thomas’ blade sent his bisected body over their heads… to land with a sickening thump behind them.

“You certainly haven’t lost your enthusiasm for your work,” commented Sir William, who stood beside him.

Sir Aaron felt a bit differently though, “Damnitt Thomas! Every time! Every damn time! Look at me!”

Dorian had already noticed what the other man was complaining about. While Thomas’ cut had sent blood flying in all directions, Sir Aaron had been covered in gore and the unspeakable contents of the man’s stomach, as he had flown over his head.

Thomas apologized quickly; a soft spoken man despite his deadly prowess, but Sir William had begun giggling with what some might have termed combat induced hysteria. Not for the first time, Dorian wondered if the effects of the violence they had seen over the years, had finally unhinged the man. “Don’t be so damned prissy!” chided Dorian with a half-laugh, to distract Aaron from his predicament, “We’ll all be covered in that and worse before this is over.”

“At least these are fresh,” noted Sir Aaron as he wiped some of the gore from his breastplate. “They don’t stink near so much as the shiggreth do.” Although they all agreed with that sentiment, they had no time to respond, as the main body of the attackers began to pour through the entrance.

Those that followed the first, entered without even glancing to the sides, moving in perfect coordination, they assaulted the four armored knights guarding the great hall entrance. The ones in the front attacked in pairs, lunging forward two at a time at each of the defenders and making little, if any effort, to protect themselves from the deadly blades wielded by Dorian’s brother knights. In that first rush, the knights were nearly overcome, as their foes abandoned their lives to tangle and bind the sword arms of the armored defenders.

It was immediately apparent to Dorian that their attackers fought not as men, but as parts of something more, something that didn’t fear to lose those parts, so long as the goal of crushing their enemy was attained. Their long great swords cut through the first and second ranks rapidly, while they began backpedaling to avoid being caught by their suicidal attackers. They fight with no concern for themselves, like the shiggreth do, noted Dorian mentally, and they work in perfect coordination, as though they were controlled by a single mind.

Fortunately the Knights had had extensive experience fighting foes that did not fear their own deaths… backing through the doorway behind them, they used it to shield themselves from the weight of the crowd pressing inward. William and Aaron stepped slightly to the sides, where they could cut down any that crossed the threshold, while Dorian and Thomas blocked the enemy’s advance several feet back from the entry. Together they were able to render any foe foolish enough to enter their deadly circle into numerous pieces, and the stone floor before them soon looked like some grotesque abattoir.

Those penned in the entry hall began pulling at the side doors, attempting to find other means of ingress into the castle proper. They were met by the blades of the Knights guarding each door, but the fighting was desperate. Those unable to reach the defenders began using their large iron mauls to widen the doorframes; smashing masonry and stone blocks aside with a strength and ferocity that was difficult to believe. Dorian knew if their efforts persisted for more than a minute, they would soon be able to come at the defenders from all sides… and the fight would not likely last long after that.

“Flames!” commanded Dorian, in a voice that cut through the din, and the Knights prepared to use their swords in the manner that had caused the people of Gododdin to name their enchanted blades ‘Sun-Swords’.

As one, the Knights of Stone lowered their blades to point at their foes as if they were spears, and each of them uttered the command words that would unleash the power fettered within their magical seals. Incandescent flames rushed forth from their weapons, blazing with a white-hot heat that sent the temperature in the room quickly soaring. Each sword sent forth a radiant fan of flames that reached out almost five feet in front of its wielder, and the strange warriors attacking Castle Cameron began to burn, as the flames flowed over them from multiple directions.

The area rapidly filled with rancid, black smoke, as the ravenous flames consumed human flesh and rendered those caught into little more than burning fat and black resinous ash. Mordecai had designed the enchantment on the Knight’s swords with the express purpose of incinerating the bodies of the shiggreth, since that was the only way known to permanently dispose of them. The enchantment channeled power from the God-Stone and produced temperatures so great that almost anything the fire touched would be quickly reduced to its most basic elements.

The Knights kept up their incendiary assault for long seconds, letting the flames do their work. Experience had shown them time and again how long it took to render a corpse completely to ash and habit guided their hands. Almost a full minute passed before they relented and allowed the flames to die out, leaving a burnt silence filled with little more than the crack and pop of embers. Aside from the Knights, not a living soul stood in the ruined entry hall, and the remaining enemy had given up their attempts to enter.

“Damn that stinks!” yelled Sir Egan from the side hall he had been guarding. “I’ll never get used to that smell.”

“It isn’t that much worse than your armor after a week on the road,” joked Sir William. “I wouldn’t think it would be that hard for you to get used to it.” Several of the Knights chortled in appreciation of his joke, even as they all began to choke from the smoke that filled the room.

Dorian had little time for humor though; he knew how dangerous the smoke could be, especially given the enclosed space they were in. “Harold, Cyhan, Brian, and Jeffrey… move to my position in the great hall!” he barked out, and even before he had finished uttering the words he saw their forms emerging from the smoke, seeking clear air. “Grant, Egan, Phillip, and Edward… back up down those hallways as far as you need, but stay vigilant! You’re all that’s keeping them from entering and encircling us.”

Several long slow minutes passed while the smoke cleared, and the Knights of Stone waited patiently. Eventually Cyhan had enough of waiting and spoke up, “They aren’t coming back. They’ve got something else planned. I’m going to look.” Without waiting for confirmation of his decision, Cyhan stepped out, and picking his way through the smoldering ashes cautiously looked out the entrance to see where their opponents had gone. He visibly stiffened as he saw the figure approaching the door.

“What are they doing?” asked Harold from his position.

Cyhan didn’t answer; instead he seemed to be fighting to raise his sword, as though it had suddenly become immensely heavy. “You may not… enter… here,” he gasped out, as if even his breathing had become labored.

The shadow of a tall man fell across the threshold as Karenth the Just stepped into the hall. He merely smiled, as he watched Cyhan struggling to raise his blade. “Your will is strong o’ guardian, but it is nothing before my judgment… and I find you lacking.” Raising his hand the god prepared to unleash his might against the man daring to defy him.

“Wait Brother!” came a dozen voices from the castle yard. “Do not seek to spoil my fun.”

Karenth closed his hand into a fist and relaxed his arm, letting it fall to his side. “You dirty yourself playing with these creatures Doron, but if that is your wish.” Turning aside, Karenth continued walking forward, ignoring the Knights standing on either side of the entrance to the great hall. All of them were struggling to reach him, as if they were fighting against a powerful gale, the sheer force of his presence kept them at bay.

Only one of them stood unbowed. Dorian Thornbear watched Karenth’s approach calmly, as if the deity was simply another intruder. His sword rose lightly to point directly at the god’s chest as he drew close, “You will not enter this house,” he said simply.

Karenth was amused and his lip curled into a sneer as he glanced down at the blade leveled at him. “You are remarkably resilient, perhaps you are simply too stupid to intimidate. Will you try your flame upon me, Sir Knight?”

Dorian’s cheek twitched for a moment in annoyance. “I am unable to use a Sun-Sword,” he admitted with his typical honesty.

“Does not your impotence make you unsuited to lead these men?” asked Karenth.

“Power comes in many forms,” answered Dorian immediately, “and none of them grant the wisdom necessary to lead.” As he spoke, his sword snapped to the side and back again in a lightning-quick strike. So fast was his stroke, that even the shining god was caught unprepared, and the blade struck him cleanly in the neck with such force that he should have been decapitated. Unfortunately, the deity was not so easily slain. The blade stuck after passing no more than a half an inch through his skin; blood, the color of liquid gold, oozed from the wound.

Angry now, Karenth swatted the sword away with his left hand, sending the weapon flying from Dorian’s hands. At the same tim,e Karenth stepped forward, driving his right fist at Dorian’s armored chest.

Dorian was no stranger to hand to hand combat, however. Before the god’s blow could land, he side stepped, and moving too quickly for an observer’s eyes to see, he caught Karenth’s wrist as he swung. Twisting and using his other hand to drive the deity off-balance, he used his opponent’s momentum to throw him bodily across the room. Karenth slammed into the wall with such force that the stones cracked. His eyes opened wide with shock at the sudden reversal.

But Dorian hadn’t wasted time gloating. Even before his foe had struck the wall, he had launched himself into motion, charging at the shining god. Before the god could recover, he had closed the distance and his armored fists began hammering into Karenth’s head and stomach. Inside his armor, the son of Gram Thornbear howled his rage, even as he drove his powerful punches home, each one striking with the force of a battering ram.

The stone blocks of the wall behind Karenth shifted, and dust fell from above, as Dorian pounded mercilessly at the shining god’s body. However, his blows had little effect upon the god himself, and eventually he could hear the god laughing, even as his body was driven against the hard stone again and again. Enraged, Dorian refused to relent, for he knew his foe would recover within seconds if he stopped.

He had underestimated the power of the shining god however, and after a time Karenth grew bored. “I think you’ve had enough fun,” said the deity, and with nothing more than a thought he sent Dorian flying across the room, as though he had been struck by a giant, invisible fist.

Dorian had been thrown in a similar fashion once before, during his brief and disastrous confrontation with Celior, and this time he was better prepared. Twisting in the air, he managed to get his feet under him, and while he still struck with enough force to break stone, he was able to keep from being stunned by the blow. Instead, he launched himself from the wall, using it as if it were a springboard, to propel himself back at his divine enemy.

“You really are too stupid to know when you’re beaten,” said Karenth, and with another exercise of his will, he caught Dorian in mid-air with a blast of pure force, sending him flying again into the wall. This time the Knight of Stone was unable to save himself from a bad landing. He struck the hard wall sideways, at an awkward angle, before crashing to the floor. He began struggling to rise almost immediately. The god of justice raised his hand again, and a dark purple light began to glow around it, as he prepared an attack that would put an end to Dorian’s resistance.

Dorian glared at Karenth through the visor of his helm and somehow found the strength to stand again. “Maybe I am,” he replied, through lips that felt dry and sandy. His voice had grown deep, almost guttural, “I’d rather be dead than admit defeat at your hands.”