2023, circa Year 10,232 Byd Hud
Crwydryn wandered the streets of Indianapolis in a world he perceived as dying. Sure, there were hundreds of people bustling around Monument Circle in the heart of the city. The weather was warm, and people wore short sleeves, sundresses, jeans, or T-shirts. Monument Circle had stores, a symphony hall, bars, restaurants, and a few other businesses.
The people moved about, unaware of the casually dressed old man with a patch over his left eye. A few passersby cast him curious glances but otherwise ignored him. As he looked with his Sight, which allowed him to see magic, there were no lines of connection among any of the people. In fact, most of the people he saw avoided contact with others. Without these connections, people could not move forward, and the environment was ripe for Evil to grow and flourish.
In his other travels, he had already seen Shadow, or evil, spreading. Free will was a fine, double-edged sword, and humans were feeling the collective consequences of poor choices. He remained unfazed by others’ indifference, which made his journey smoother. He was here on two missions and was glad no one paid him any mind. He stopped in front of the symphony hall and looked around.
He noticed a tall, white-haired woman in a white business suit and dark sunglasses standing in front of a candy store, and he approached her. She licked a multicolored sucker with obvious relish.
She was a head taller than his 6-foot frame, and he looked up at her and smiled. “Could you be any more conspicuous?”
A corner of her mouth lifted as she replied, “I thought it would keep people from asking questions. I was right. He’s over there.” She nodded toward a man huddled against a building down the street, then dropped the sucker into a trash can.
“Ah, yes.” Crwydryn approached the man. A woman passed by, and Crwydryn caught a flash. A bright white line stretched from the woman to the man. She leaned over him, slipped a folded bill into one of his pockets, and bowed her head. Her lips moved. The line brightened, then faded as she straightened and walked away. Crwydryn nodded. Yes, there were still a few left.
The huddled figure wore a green military coat, even in the warmth, paired with jeans that looked like they hadn’t been washed in quite some time, scuffed, dirty boots, and a rumpled green polo shirt. He had disheveled hair and a scraggly beard, and his odor made the woman’s nose crinkle. He looked like he was passed out. Crwydryn didn’t mind the odor. Once you’ve smelled the pits of Hell, simple body odor has no power.
He knelt before the man, his staff in his left hand. He reached out with his right hand and flipped the coat open. Inside the coat was a faded red, white, and blue ribbon with a silver star beneath it. He glanced up at the woman, who nodded once. Crwydryn cupped the man’s face in his hands and spoke, low and clear. “Sergeant First-Class George Emmick!”
The man stirred and opened his eyes. They were clouded, with scars around his eye sockets. His voice sounded as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Sergeant Emmick. I’m here with my friend Svava. She has come to take you home.”
Emmick shrank back against the building. “No,” he said, his eyes widening. “I don’t want to go.”
Svava knelt on the opposite side of Sergeant Emmick. “Sergeant Emmick, my name is Svava. I am a Valcyru. My job is to take heroes like you beyond the Veil. You have earned your place there.”
Emmick shook his head. “No, I’m no hero. I fucked up. I got my men killed. I got Billy killed!” Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed.
Svava put an arm around Emmick. She put her head close to his. “No, Sergeant Emmick, look, Billy is right here!”
Emmick looked up, and his eyes cleared. He saw a young man before him, red-haired with a freckled nose.
The young man wore a mischievous grin as he said, “Hiya, Sarge!”
A smile lit up Emmick’s face. “Billy? Well, I’ll be damned!” His smile shifted to a mock-stern look. “You know I hate that name, Sarge. He’s a fat man with a dog named Otto.”
Billy laughed. “I know, Sarge. It’s good to see you, too! Say, you should join us!” He motioned behind him. Emmick looked and saw a group of young men behind Billy, all smiling at him. They raised their hands and waved.
Emmick lifted a hand to them, smiling, but his face fell. “No. I can’t. I got you boys killed!”
Billy shook his head. “No, Sarge. You had orders to clear out that village. You ordered my squad in.” Billy pointed at a skinny black man. “Jethro there set off the booby trap, but even that wasn’t his fault. He just didn’t see it. The explosion killed him, Anthony, and me. The other six were wounded. The Vietnamese used the explosion as the start of their ambush.”
Billy’s smile faded. “You came back for us, Sarge. There were two hundred Vietnamese regulars firing on the platoon. You got our boys to lay down fire, went in to get the wounded out, then went back to recover our bodies. You did all that with only three minor injuries among the rest of your soldiers during the withdrawal.”
Billy pointed to the Silver Star on Emmick’s coat. “That’s why you got that, Sarge, and the Purple Heart for losing your eyes when that grenade exploded. You saved the rest of my squad, the other forty-five soldiers in the platoon, and over half of them while you were blind! Shoot, Sarge! That Silver Star should’ve been a Congressional Medal of Honor, and you know it!”
Jethro nodded, “That’s right, Sarge! Shit, if anyone killed us, it was me! But nobody here cares about blame. They just care that we fought the fight that needed fighting. Hell, Sarge, they even have some of them Vietnamese soldiers we fought here! They’re right nice, too! They talk about you all the time. They call you the “Crazy American.” They’d really like to meet you!”
The others chimed in, “Yeah, Sarge!” “Come and join us!” “We miss ya, Sarge!”
Crwydryn patted Emmick’s leg. His voice was gentle but firm. “Sergeant Emmick, it is time to go. Svava here will accompany you and help you get settled in. Your friends will, I’m sure, help you get the lay of the land.” He stood and extended his hand to Emmick, who reached up and took it.
When Crwydryn helped him to his feet, a young man stood before him – six-foot-four, blue-eyed, with a golden-haired crew cut.
He looked down at the body at his feet, then at Crwydryn. “What about my body?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Crwydryn said. “Go be with your friends.”
Sergeant Emmick nodded. Svava took his arm and said, “C’mon, shorty! It’s time to go!” She led him to the group of young men.
Crwydryn smiled at the backslapping and hugging, then turned to the body at his feet. He knelt beside it, straightened the clothes, placed the Silver Star on the chest, and dialed 911. After reporting the body, he stood, crossed the street to the Soldiers and Sailors Monument steps, and sat down.
Shortly afterward, Svava returned, much shorter, wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans. She sat down next to Crwydryn. They watched as a police car pulled up in front of the body. A few minutes later, an ambulance arrived. Svava stayed silent as the body was loaded into the ambulance. Crwydryn caught a bright flash as a police officer saluted when the body passed by. He smiled. Another good one. Too few.
He and Svava sat in silence for a while, watching the people pass by. With his Sight he saw watched a light flare between a mother and child as she caught up her son and swung him around. He smiled and said, “Svava, use your Sight. What do you see?”
She looked around and frowned. “It is dark. I can see occasional flashes between people, but there are so few lines connecting them.”
Crwydryn nodded grimly. “Yes. It’s like this all over the world. I -” He paused as a chill swept over them. He looked past Svava and saw a man walking by.
The man wore a polo shirt and khaki slacks. His right hand kept moving, scratching at different spots on his body, and his eyes were bright, as if they were dancing in their sockets. What he and Svava saw was a body surrounded by a dark halo, as if a shadowy form were trying to move in sync with it. That, along with the red, glowing eyes, made for a very sinister scene. The man’s eyes locked onto Crwydryn’s, and a grotesque shadow-head split from the man’s skull. It let out a piercing, despairing wail, then said in the demonic tongue, “We are Legion!” The man scurried away.
Svava started to stand. “I’ll take care of…”
She paused as Crwydryn placed his hand on her arm. “No, Svava. We don’t have time.” She sat back down, looking at him quizzically. “I wanted you to see for yourself what’s happening to this world. It’s dying. Shadow is everywhere.”
Svava’s eyes widened as she looked around. “But, Father, you love this world!”
He nodded, frowning. “True, but there is always a price to pay for Free Will, and humanity is ready to pay it.”
Svava looked crestfallen. “What will happen, Father? There are still good people here!”
“There are,” he replied. “I have plans for them, but preparations are needed. That’s where you come in, my dear.”
Svava smiled, although the rest of her face showed uncertainty. “Yes, Father?”
His face grave, he said, “My dear, I am going to ask you for something I’ve never asked before, and it will require you to become mortal.” He paused, then added, “I am sorry.”
Svava sat up straight. “Mortal?”
Crwydryn looked into her eyes. “There are reasons, my dear. Do you trust me?”
Svava sighed, “You know I do.”
He smiled and patted her hand. “Good. I am sending you to Byd Hud as a Dwarf Seeker of Dagda, with the ability to transform into a Berserker Wolf. You will seek a young dwarf with berserker powers. He will need your help but be careful! You’ll be mortal and can die as they do. When this is done, you and I will have a long talk.”
She sighed, looking away as her shoulders slumped. “As you wish, Father.”
Crwydryn reached out to hold her hand. “We’ll see how long that lasts, my dear.”
#
Heros noticed his son leading two squads away, presumably toward the Temple. That was where he would go. Lionel, his fellow King, oversaw the City’s defenses. Under these circumstances, Heros was to remain aloof, gather information, and keep the big picture in focus. But passivity did not suit him.
Even now, runners from across the city arrived, reporting that orcs were inside the walls. Lionel’s forces were working to clear the city of them. Heros’s brow furrowed. Something was wrong. Orcs never entered the city. They rarely launched frontal assaults. They were ambushers who avoided settlements. It seemed as if someone were directing the attack. What was going on?
At that moment, a loud explosion echoed nearby. Heros turned and saw a cloud of dust and smoke rising from a market area about ten blocks from the Palace. Another explosion came from ahead, then another. Faint cries of pain and alarm could be heard. Heros was able to look down from the Palace and see most of the city. He noticed the explosions were evenly spaced and equidistant from the Temple of Athena.
He turned to Telemachus and said, “Their goal is the Temple! Myrddin!”
He bolted through the door and headed down the road toward the Temple. The surprised aide watched as the four Centauri assigned to protect him took off after him.
#
Octavius was nearly at the Temple when he caught up with the two squads. He heard the first explosion from a few blocks away. He turned and saw a dust cloud rising from the market area, then two more blasts in quick succession. The blasts unsettled him because this didn’t seem like a typical orc attack. He hesitated, unsure what to do next. He had seen personal combat before, but never within the city walls, and this was his first as Commander of the Royal Guards. The cries of the wounded echoed from the explosion sites. Should he go to the market to help?
He paused, then heard Mikhail’s voice in his head. “Boy, combat is chaotic and overwhelming. You overcome that by focusing on the mission and remembering your training! Stay on mission; remember your training!”
Octavius took a deep breath. Yes. The Temple was his mission. The Centauri at the explosion sites would be another Centaur’s problem.
He looked around and saw uncertainty on his troopers’ faces. He slammed his spear against his shield. “Attention, Royal Guards, eyes on me!” They all looked at him. Good. He still saw uncertainty on their faces. “Our city is under attack, but our mission is to defend the Temple. That is where we are going. King Lionel’s forces will take care of your loved ones if necessary. Once the Temple is secure and we are relieved, I will grant you leave to check on your clans. In the meantime, our mission is the Temple!”
He struck his spear against his shield again and called out, ” We are the spearpoint!”
Twenty Centauri struck their shields together in unison and shouted, “Ares!”
Octavius raised his spear and shouted, “Follow me!” He galloped toward the Temple, his Centauri in tow.
#
Heros was at a full gallop, about halfway to the Temple. His speed outpaced his protective detail, leaving him alone. He turned a corner and found a group of eight orcs and a figure in full black armor, bent over a fallen Centaur, hand on its chest. He skidded to a stop, drew his sword, and surveyed the enemy.
The Orcs stood fifteen hands tall. They were bipedal, stocky, and black. Their bristly fur was covered in leather armor, and they wielded curved swords stained with blood. Their red eyes locked onto him, brimming with malice. Their long, wolf-like snouts were lined with sharp, curved teeth.
The armored figure, as tall as Heros, stood and pointed at him, commanding in a deep voice, “Kill him; bring his crown to me!” Then a black slit appeared beside him. He stepped through it and vanished. Fuck, thought Heros. A necromancer! He wondered when orcs had started using armor and weapons but set the thought aside for now. Instead, he raised his sword to a mid-guard position as the orcs charged.
He lunged to meet them, and one of his fore-hooves struck the leading Orc’s head, crushing it. His sword lashed out at a second Orc as he charged through the group, severing the Orc’s sword arm and making the Orc shriek in pain. At the group’s rear, he planted his two front hooves and kicked out with his hind hooves, striking two more Orcs with bone-shattering force.
He bounded forward a few paces, then spun to check himself. He had a couple of shallow cuts from their attacks, but nothing serious. Clearly, they weren’t skilled in swordplay, he thought.
As if reading his thoughts, the remaining five screamed, dropped their swords, and charged at him in their usual swarm tactic. The one missing an arm grabbed his arm from the ground and held it overhead, planning to use it as a weapon.
Four Royal Guards charged at them from behind. A quick flash of steel felled the Orcs.
One of the guards, Claretus, saluted Heros and asked, “Are you all right, Your Grace?”
Heros nodded. “Yes, thanks to your timely arrival! Good job catching up!”
Claretus grinned. “If we hadn’t gotten here when we did, you wouldn’t have left us any of it!”
Heros smiled grimly. “No worries. I feel Ares will have plenty for all of us at the Temple. Let’s go!”
#
Octavius and his two squads arrived at the temple. Fortunately, the squads posted outside the central sanctum were alert and prepared, with swords and shields at the ready. It didn’t seem the orcs had been here.
Lapithes, the squad leader, entered the inner sanctum and returned, trotting over to Octavius. “Only Myrddin and a squad of Royal Guards are inside, Commander, overseen by Line Leader Flavius. There are two other entrances to the sanctum, but they are guarded by priestesses.”
“Thank Ares! Excellent report, Lapithes. Post to your squad.” Lapithes saluted and trotted off to join his squad.
Octavius shouted, “Platoon! Double phalanx!”
The three squad leaders replied, “Yes, sir!”
Within twenty seconds, the three squads lined up facing the entrance six hundred feet away, with the second squad filling the gaps between the first and third. Octavius called out, “Spears!”
The Centauri sheathed their swords and grabbed one of their three spears. Almost in unison, they struck their shields with their spears, making them ring.
Octavius faced the first squad. “Centauri! Orcs are inside the city walls. They might be coming for Myrddin. We won’t let that happen. We are the spearpoint!”
Twenty voices shouted, “Ares!”
Octavius noticed a sharp drop in temperature behind him as a black slit opened in the air at the entrance. He turned and saw a black, armored figure step out of the black slit. Behind him, a mass of armored Orcs began gathering in the street leading to the temple. Octavius saw that they carried swords, many of them bloodstained. Uncharacteristically, they were quiet. Of all he’d experienced, this bothered him most.
Octavius stepped forward and planted the butt of his spear firmly. He looked at the black-armored figure and called out in a commanding voice. “Stranger! I am Commander Octavius of the Royal Centauri Guard. This is the Temple of Athena, and you are not welcome here!”
The figure spoke, his voice deep, low, and mocking. “Hello, Commander Octavius of the Royal Centauri Guard. My name is Medrawd, and I don’t give a shit whether we’re welcome or not. I’m here for the man you guard. Drop your spears or die!”
Octavius planted his feet, raised his spear, and struck his shield, making it ring. “Come and take them!”
Medrawd raised his right hand and pointed at Octavius. A ball of flame shot from his hand and streaked toward Octavius. It struck Octavius’s shield, knocking him back a pace. As the flame faded, Octavius was smoking but otherwise unharmed.
His Centauri tapped their shields twice and chanted, “Ares! Ares!”
Medrawd’s helm tilted sideways as he said, “Interesting, resistant to magic, as she said.” He pointed at the Centauri and commanded the Orcs, “Kill them all!”
The Orcs screamed and surged around him, charging the Centauri. Octavius wheeled around and returned to his position behind the lead phalanx.
Lapithes was there, grimly watching his still-smoking body. He spat. ” Magic users! “
Octavius nodded. The lead squad of Centauri raised their shields and planted their hooves in the ground. The mass of Orcs slammed into the lead squad with a loud crunch, followed by shrieks as Centauri spears thrust. The Orcs flowed around the front squad as their black bodies began to pile up.
Medrawd pointed both hands at the lead squad. A bolt of concentrated energy shot from his hands and struck the ground beneath them. The resulting explosion hurled several Centauri and Orcs into the air. The three Centauri landed on their sides and were swarmed by Orcs. The second squad filled the void left by the blast, using swift spear thrusts to cleave the Orcs, allowing the fallen Centauri to get to their feet and rejoin their ranks, cut and bleeding but still in the fight.
Medrawd raised his hands again. A beam of white light shot from behind Octavius and struck Medrawd, knocking him to the ground. He got to his feet, smoke rising from his armor, and saw a female Centauri in white-and-blue armor, her glowing mace aimed at him.
Reginae shouted, “This is the sacred Temple of Athena! You are not welcome here!”
Medrawd tilted his head again. He bent down and touched a wounded orc, who seemed to shrink and then die. He stood and said, “I get that I’m not welcome. I guess I’ll leave, then!” A black slit opened in the air beside him. He stepped through it and vanished.
Octavius frowned. A necromancer! A second thought crossed his mind. That felt way too easy. He turned to Lapithes. “Take over! I’m going into the sanctum. It’s a straight-up fight now!” Lapithes nodded.
Octavius turned and saw his mother strike an orc with her mace. He shouted over the din of battle, “He’s going after Myrddin!” She nodded, and Octavius galloped toward the sanctum.
At that moment, Heros and his bodyguards charged the Orcs from behind. Their terrified victims screamed, and the remaining Orcs scattered in panic. Octavius entered the sanctum to the Centauri’s cheers behind him.
At the entrance, he sidestepped a spear thrust from one of the Centauri. The scene that greeted him was troubling. Myrddin’s sleeping body lay on a dais at the center of the sanctum. Half the squad was fighting the other half. One Centaur was on the ground, and another seemed frozen over Myrddin’s body. Medrawd stood next to the frozen Centaur, his left hand outstretched, pointing at the Centaur.
The nearest centaur to Octavius thrust his spear at him again. Octavius deflected the spear with his shield and struck with his spear hand. His fist slammed into the centaur’s face, and its front legs buckled as it fell unconscious.
Octavius released the spear from under his arm and charged toward the dais. His horse-chest slammed into Medrawd, hurling him across the sanctum and into the wall. Octavius turned toward the centaur standing over Myrddin’s body. The centaur’s face was twisted in agony, a grimace. Sweat slicked his brow. His right hand held a raised sword, but his arm trembled. Octavius tried to recall the centaur’s name.
Ah, yes, Flavius. “Flavius, lower your sword!”
Flavius’s voice came out strained, mirroring his face. “My… Lord Commander… I cannot! I… am… being controlled… by that black-armored hellspawn!”
Octavius dropped his shield and rested his left hand on Flavius’s shoulder. “Do you know what I must do?”
Flavius gasped in pain. “Yes, Lord Commander, quickly! It is so hard!”
Octavius dropped his spear and drew his sword. He set the tip just above Flavius’ right shoulder.
Flavius gasped again. “My… Lord… free my clan from dishonor!”
Octavius sighed. “Flavius, on my word as the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, you’ve brought great honor to your clan today!”
“Thank… you… My Lord!” Octavius drove his sword into Flavius, who collapsed onto the dais. Octavius withdrew his blade and stepped between Myrddin and Medrawd, who was rising after Octavius’ strike.
Octavius braced himself, then felt a warm sensation to his left. Reginae stepped beside him, glowing with silver light. Her eyes shimmered silver, and Octavius felt a wave of relief. Athena was with Reginae.
Reginae spoke, her voice like two voices in unison. “Medrawd, necromancer from another world! You are not welcome in my house! Stay and be destroyed or flee and live! Choose quickly!”
Heros appeared on Reginae’s left, sword at the ready. His deep voice boomed, “Medrawd! Please stay! Ares needs another sacrifice today!”
Medrawd stood tall and removed his helmet. Octavius examined his face. He had long black hair, pale blue eyes, and a shadow along his jawline. His pale blue eyes regarded them with malevolence.
His deep voice rang out. “You Centauri have taught me much today. I look forward to examining one of you to see what makes you tick!” He pointed at Myrddin’s body. “He will be the cause of this world’s destruction! Stand with him, and you will all die painful, wicked deaths! This I swear!” A black slit opened beside him. He stepped through it and vanished.
Octavius looked at his father. ” Who the fuck is Medrawd?”
Heros frowned. “Language, Lord Commander.”
Octavius made a face in response.
A raspy voice from behind them said, “Medrawd is my son. He needs to be killed, but it is my responsibility to do it.”
Heros, Reginae, and Octavius spun to see Myrddin seated on the dais. With Medrawd’s disappearance, the ensorcelled Centauri regained their senses. Crestfallen, they looked around at the carnage surrounding the dais.
The royal family bowed to Myrddin. The other Centauri followed suit.
With his head bowed, Heros asked, “My Lord Myrddin, how may the Centauri serve?”
Myrddin croaked, “I could use some wine! And an escort to the lands of the Tylwyth Teg. Lots to do, so little time to do it!”
Octavius went to a nearby table, grabbed a wineskin and a cup, and offered them to Myrddin. Myrddin ignored the cup and drained the wineskin, then looked forlornly at the empty wineskin. His voice sounded much more solid as he repeated, “Yes. An escort to the lands of the Tylwyth Teg. So much to do, so little time!” He looked around the sanctum, his face scrunching in thought. “What year is it?”
Leave a comment