The Mark of the Legend: Book One of the Mark Trilogy Page 7

  Alistair smiled as the sharp chimes of a brass bell echoed in the distance.

  The Forest Clan built guard posts around their borders, each with a large brass bell that rang anytime an enemy was spotted.

  The youngest trainees looked around for direction, but Alistair and his friends sprang into action. Alistair retrieved his sword and ran towards the chiming bell. His friends gathered their weapons and followed him. He reached the guard post as a Fallen scout disappeared into the brush. Alistair tore after the scout without waiting for his friends or the Forest Clan soldiers behind them. He sped into a grove and skidded to a stop before an expectant platoon of Fallen.

  Fifty pairs of smoky, gray eyes turned towards him. Fifty crazed faces leered.

  “Hello there, fellas. I do not accept your surrender. I’m afraid, I can’t let you leave.”

  The warriors roared with laughter and sprinted at him.

  “Here we go.” Alistair thought. He narrowed his eyes. “Who’s first?”

  Alistair locked eyes with the nearest soldier and sprinted towards him.

  The soldier aimed his twisted blade at Alistair’s head and swung through empty air as Alistair dropped to his knees.

  He slid past the man with the twisted sword, sliced his stomach and impaled a second in one fluid motion. Alistair leaped to his feet and his sword clashed with the oncoming pike of a third Fallen warrior. He spun away from the pike, past the one wielding it, and drove his sword deep into his back.

  The Fallen stared, surprised at how easily Alistair dispatched their three comrades.

  Alistair stared them down. “Who else?!”

  The Fallen were enraged.

  Alistair breathed smoothly with a grin on his face as they approached. One, two, three arrows whizzed around him and the three closest Fallen dropped dead. Alistair charged forward with his friends behind him.

  He pointed his sword at the next Fallen he chose to end. He wanted his steel, stained with fresh, black blood, to be the last thing his enemy ever saw. Alistair stared deep into his hazy, revolting eyes, daring him to try and live once selected for death. He lowered his sword and walked calmly toward his victim, ducking and side-stepping wild swings. Once Alistair had enough, he blocked the final swing inches from his face. Alistair met the Fallen soldier’s clouded eyes one last time and buried his sword in his heart.

  One by one, Alistair selected the next Fallen to die and set to his work with power and precision. His friends fought fiercely beside him in a familiar rhythm. He felt invincible.

  Soon, Alistair heard the snarls, shouts, and pounding hooves of the Forest Clan riding to war behind him.

  Wymond and Huntress lead the charge, and the Forest Clan plowed through the Fallen platoon.

  When the forest was quiet except for the sound of men heaving Fallen bodies into a burning pile, Alistair knelt and wiped his sword in the snow. Across the clearing, he heard Wymond speaking with Wybert.

  “What in Terrene were you thinking?! I have told you so many times. You can’t just run recklessly into a fight! You and your friends are going to get yourselves killed!”

  Wybert stared at the snow. “Dad, we’re fine.”

  “You got lucky. One day you won’t.” Wymond’s tone softened. “We’ve buried so many. Please, don’t make me bury you too.” Wymond wrapped his thick arms around his son and pulled him close.

  Alistair sheathed his sword and walked back to the treetop village. His father, Dalibor, approached.

  Dalibor had become a close friend of Wymond’s and was now a very respected and trusted member of the Forest Clan. He used his farming experience to develop the Clan’s agriculture. Now, they farmed the land as well as hunting and raising hogs. Dalibor’s advancements allowed the Forest Clan to grow and strengthen, which is the reason they had successfully defended against Calamity’s forces this long.

  Alistair nodded at his father.

  “Are you alright?” Dalibor asked, eyeing the Fallen blood splattered on his clothes.

  “I’m fine. Just another fight.” Alistair snapped.

  “Son, I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can.” Dalibor paused. “I understand why you crave battle. I do. But your friends trust you. Are you putting them at unnecessary risk?”

  Alistair snorted and shook his head. “You don’t know me as well you think.”

  “Then help me.” Dalibor pleaded. “Don’t block me out. I know the pain you’re dealing with. I know it drives you to fight.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You seem to be doing just fine. I’m glad to see you’re not letting mom’s death slow you down.”

  Dalibor winced at the sharp words. “Lashing out at me won’t heal your anger, Alistair. I miss your mother every day. I’d give anything to have her back. But she believed in something bigger than any of that. She believed in Ardent’s light and goodness and the hope that he would redeem the world. She didn’t spend her life wallowing in everything that’s gone wrong. I’m trying to hold onto what she did.”

  Alistair glared at his father. “It’s time to wake up Dad! Mom was wrong! There’s nothing good coming! There’s nothing worth hoping for!”

  Dalibor placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

  “Don’t worry about me anymore Dad. I’m better off alone. If you need me, I’ll be wallowing in everything that’s gone wrong.”

  Dalibor’s face dropped as Alistair walked away. “I love you son. Remember that.”

  Alistair stormed into his treetop hut and slammed the door behind him. Most of his friends lived with their sentries, but not him. He had no desire for companionship. He preferred being alone. Sentries weren’t drawn to him. Alistair loosened his belt and dropped his sword. He took off his thick, outer furs and threw them against the wall. He stormed past the tree trunk in the center of his hut and slammed his fist into it. He shouted and smashed his fists into the bark until he couldn’t feel the pain in his knuckles anymore. Then he walked to a small table with a wooden pitcher, poured the water into a bowl, and rinsed his bloody hands. He struck flint with his knife and started a fire in the stone fireplace.

  Alistair heard a light knock at the door. It was Wybert.

  “Hey, are you busy?” He asked.

  “No.”

  Wybert grabbed a stool and pulled it by the fire. He passed the tree trunk and noticed the blood-smear there. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Alistair dropped into his chair and stared into the flames.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The fire. It’s warm, bright, powerful, and dangerous.”

  Alistair shrugged.

  The fire brought complex feelings that were easier to avoid than to face. Fire made Alistair think about Ardent, and his opinion of Ardent changed drastically throughout his life. There was a time when he loved to sit by the fire and listen to songs or stories about the Legend. Fire warmed his young soul then, but now, it reminded him of shattered hopes and broken promises. The warmth of fire was a bright future he no longer believed in.

  Alistair changed the topic. His eyes fell on an old book in Wybert’s leather bag. “What’s that?”

  Wybert picked up the book and the title flickered in the firelight. Long Live the King “I borrowed it from Ahian. It was written by someone named Kendric. It’s his telling of a story my Dad used to read to me about when Ardent created Terrene and Calamity first came.”

  Alistair smirked. “My mom used to tell me a story like that.”

  Wybert flipped through the dusty pages. “Ahian said this is about Kendric’s personal experience with Ardent. He knew him. Kendric was Fallen. Somehow, Ardent saved him.” Wybert noticed Alistair’s irritation. “You don’t think it’s true?”

  “Of course not. Look around you. There’s no Ardent, and if there is, he doesn’t care about us.”

  Wybert sighed. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

&nb
sp; Alistair shook his head. “If he’s real, and he cares, then why did he leave?”

  “We chose Calamity. He had no choice. But the story’s not over. He made a promise remember?”

  “Believe what you want. It’s late. You should go.”

  “Ok. Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Alistair shut the door behind Wybert.

  Alistair laid down on the mat on the floor feeling irritated. He was surrounded by people trying to fix him, but he didn’t need anyone. “Why won’t they leave me alone?” He wondered. A familiar feeling crept over him, an itch to fight again. His craving would grow until he found the escape of war again. Battle brought him peace. When he fought, no one questioned his choices. He was in control. Alistair drifted to sleep with the secret hope that he would hear the chimes of a brass bell deep within the forest again soon.

  The air around Alistair was blurry and out of focus as he walked through the woods. There was a flash beside him. A nearby tree was burning, and a figure emerged from the flames. The figure morphed into a woman Alistair recognized immediately.

  His mother, Layla, flames alight in her eyes, walked out of the inferno.

  Alistair’s eyes welled with tears and his heart caught in his throat. “Mom? Mom, what are you doing here?”

  Layla gazed deep into her son’s teary eyes until he turned away. “Alistair, you do not seem yourself.”

  “A lot has changed.”

  Layla smiled understandingly. “Some things will never change, my sweet little boy. Don’t let your pain make you hate what is good.”

  Alistair considered his mother’s burning eyes. She was about to leave like she always did. He wouldn’t chase her this time. He hated her for leaving.

  Layla’s elegant, white dress caught fire and she returned to the burning tree. The flames disappeared, and the tree stood untouched.

  Alistair’s eyes fluttered open. He didn’t allow himself sorrow. He chose anger at his mother for dying and bringing him fresh pain each time he shut his eyes instead. Alistair understood his anger was unjustified, but the knowledge couldn’t quench it. He rolled over. The fire was smoldering embers. He forced his eyes shut and heard a knock at the door.

  Sunlight silhouetted Wybert in Alistair’s doorway. Wybert’s young sentry, Buddy jumped on Alistair and licked his face. Buddy was an energetic white wolf with long legs and big, pointed ears. He was Huntress’s pup, and Wybert loved him more than Alistair could understand.

  “You better get out here.” Wybert insisted. “Something’s going on.”

  Alistair grabbed his gear and followed Wybert outside.

  A massive meeting hall, built around fifty large tree trunks, sat in the center of the Forest Clan’s village. People were pouring in from all sides of the colony.

  Alistair and Wybert hurried across the wooden bridges. Wybert told Buddy to wait outside, and they squeezed into the packed hall. At the front, was a large, wooden chair where Wymond sat with Huntress faithfully beside him. Alistair and Wybert pushed their way as close as they could.

  A group of Wymond’s advisors stood in a heated discussion. There was Dalibor, Captain Conall, the head of military operations in the Forest Clan, and several other men and women Alistair didn’t recognize.

  “We can't just charge into something like this,” Dalibor said. “We have no idea what we’re dealing with and rash action could be catastrophic!”

  Many voices mumbled in agreement.

  “What do you know of the matter?” Captain Conall asked. “You’re a farmer! My Lord Wymond, we have fought too hard for this land to abandon it. Our only security is in action. We must fight while we still have the chance!”

  The soldiers in the crowd shouted their support.

  One of the men Alistair didn’t know stepped forward. “Dalibor is right my Lord. Our scouts have reported new enemies far beyond anything we have faced before pouring out of the Shadow Lands. We can’t win this fight. We must leave.”

  A small, greasy man stepped up to speak. “We are forgetting the obvious solution, my friends.”

  “That's Medeo,” Wybert whispered. “Dad says he thinks we should work with Calamity.”

  “What? That’s insane!”

  Medeo continued. “Calamity may not be as bad as you think. He is ruthless but reasonable. All he asks is our obedience. If we give him that, he will let us keep our homes and our lives. His power grows every day. Terrene is his world now. We cannot fight him or escape his reach. Our only chance is to join…” Medeo’s words were cut off by Captain Conall’s fist smashing into his face.

  Medeo scampered away as the captain advanced on him, but Wymond’s raised hand froze him in his tracks.

  One of the women stepped forward. “My Lord Wymond, there is another option. The Yetta of the Southern Villages may be able to help us. If we stand together, we stand a chance.”

  “We’ve tried to work with the Southern Villages before.” Another advisor responded. “They think they’re safe from Calamity. We’re on our own.”

  “He’s right. We have to fight!” Captain Conall shouted.

  The crowded room erupted with shouted arguments until Wymond’s booming voice echoed through the noise. “Enough!”

  The meeting hall fell silent.

  Wymond rose from his throne. “I will not lead us to war. We have lost enough.”

  Captain Conall stepped forward. “My Lord please, you must reconsider.”

  “That is my final word Captain.”

  The Captain bowed his head. “Understood.”

  “We built this colony from nothing, and we can do it again. The Forest Clan is not this village. It is the people in this room.” Wymond turned to the woman who spoke before. “Amani. Select representatives to travel with you to the Southern Villages. Plead with the Yetta to reconsider joining this fight. Captain, you and a squad of your men will accompany them. Leave as soon as you can.”

  Amani and Captain Conall bowed low and walked out of the meeting hall.

  “The rest of you, prepare your families and gather your belongings.” Wymond ordered. “When spring arrives, we leave the colony. We will travel deeper into the forest to the West.”

  “What?!” Alistair shoved his way through the mass of people exiting the meeting hall until he stood before Wymond. “We can't leave! You said yourself a fight is inevitable. So, fight!”

  Wymond considered Alistair for a moment. “You are a passionate and skilled warrior Alistair, but you are reckless. You have my son’s respect and the loyalty of your friends, but you don’t deserve them. You lead them needlessly into extreme danger. They should not trust you. You do not respect the weight of lives in your hands. You will honor my decision. Gather your belongings.”

  Alistair stormed out of the meeting hall and back to the chilly winter air where Wybert waited.

  “Where were you?” He asked.

  “Nowhere. Get the others and meet at my hut. There’s something we need to do.”

  By midmorning, Alistair’s friends were gathered in his hut, watching him pace back and forth.

  “Wymond has ordered us to abandon the colony, but we have fought too hard for our home to give it up.” He said. “It’s time to fight! Scouts report new threats and greater numbers in the Shadow Lands. People are afraid we’ll be overwhelmed, but I say we can handle it. It’s time we take matters into our own hands. We’re going to gather as many fighters as we can, and we’re going to the Shadow Lands. If we can show Wymond that the threat isn’t as big as he thinks, maybe he’ll stay. Trust me on this.”

  Alistair’s friends were hesitant but slowly nodded in agreement.

  Alistair smiled. “Spread the word. Tell anyone who wants to fight to gather at the south end of the Forest tonight. We leave at daybreak.”

  Ahian, Anujah, and Serilda left, but Wybert stayed behind.

  “Alistair, are you sure about this?” He asked.

  Alistair clenched his jaw. “Have I ever led you wrong?”

/>   “No, you haven't. But this…”

  Alistair interrupted. “I need you to do this.”

  Wybert sighed. “Alright.” He turned and followed the others to recruit soldiers for Alistair’s plan.

  Alistair stayed behind. His reputation of recklessness would deter fighters from his cause. His friends would be more successful without him, so he anxiously willed the day away until night finally returned. He paced back and forth by the fire, his heartbeat strong. Tomorrow would bring blood and war. For Alistair, it could not come soon enough. He stopped pacing in front of a small wardrobe. He pulled open the wooden doors and gazed at his armor. He strapped hardened leather plates to his chest, back and shoulders. He hoisted a round, steel shield on his back with a thick, leather strap. He strapped his sword to his belt, drew it, and welcomed the weight in his hand as he imagined the fierce battle ahead of him. He doused the flames in his fireplace and took one final look at his home. Then Alistair descended the winding causeway to the forest floor, turned south, and jogged into the night to meet the fighters he would lead against an unknown enemy.

  Nightfall provided the warriors joining Alistair the cover they needed to leave the colony undetected.

  Serilda was the first to join him on the southern outskirts of the forest leading a band of twenty young fighters.

  Alistair nodded to each one as they passed by. He caught Serilda’s elbow and whispered in her ear. “Do they understand?”

  Serilda nodded.

  Ahian and Anujah arrived with ten and fifteen soldiers respectively, bringing their number to forty-five; much less than Alistair hoped for.

  Then Wybert arrived with sounds like a bear crashing through the brush. A company of nearly seventy troops followed him.

  Alistair was not surprised by Wybert’s success. He was loved and trusted by even the strongest among the Forest Clan. If Wybert trusted Alistair, then so did they. Alistair beamed. Wybert’s recruits brought their number to over one hundred. “I can work with this.”

  “You’re their leader. You should talk to them.” Wybert urged. “They need to know you believe in this.”