The Unknown Hero

by William A. Kooiker

“Gods almighty!”

The words were scarcely whispers past the chapped lips of the soldier who stood like an effigy, his somber eyes gazing beyond the steppes of the mountain range to the valley beyond. The man was atop one of the several watchtowers located at various intervals within the city of Arrow’s Peak, and this particular one gave him a clear view of the unwelcome sight ahead. His pale, muscular arms flexed as they rested on the parapet, his breath white mist hanging about his face in the crux of the winter season. Every one of his limbs ached from the cold and his cheeks were numb, yet he cared little, for the only matter of importance was the enormous army that advanced in that valley below, toward the city.

Truly, it was a sight to be seen. At least thirty-thousand troops marched, their blood-red banners waving amidst the winter chill like a grim precursor of impending doom. At least a legion of footmen, trudging along in crimson tabards, their pikes pointed to the sky, and cavalry as well, intermingling with the horde. No doubt those cursed war-priests were among them, clad in their outlandish cloaks and skull masks. Adding to the overwhelming display were dozens of wyverns, those nasty winged beasts of dragon kin, swirling above with enormous bat-like wings, forging a dark blotch in the failing light of the setting sun.

Randas watched the procession from his perch on the watchtower, his face emotionless, though his insides churned in a mixture of fear and anger. There was no sense to it, no reason behind the upcoming slaughter. True, the great empire of Nyis had an everlasting dislike of Arrow’s Peak, mostly because they owned it once, until some forty years ago when a rebellion won the city’s freedom. Since, Arrow’s Peak had done nothing to provoke an assault, keeping to themselves and caring little of events that took place beyond its borders. It didn’t seem just, for now the Nyis army strode upon them, and what vile cruelty they ushered, Randas could only imagine.

“They will reach us by nightfall.”

Randas hadn’t heard the other soldier approach until he had reached his side and spoken. He glanced briefly at the newcomer – a young soldier whose face he recognized but whose name he didn’t know – before returning his attentions to the spectacle in the distance. He didn’t reply, and for several seconds, both men simply watched the sea of red as it gradually moved closer with every agonizing moment.

Then, the young man spoke again. “You know, the cursed city council barred the exits to keep us from fleeing. I have a wife and son, and all they can do is linger in this walled prison until death reaches them.” The sentry shook his head glumly. The sharp air had turned his youthful face red and his eyes watered. “The council believes that those Nyis devils will show mercy if we remain in the city and surrender. Fools.”

“Where would we run?” Randas’ words weren’t really a question. “There’s nowhere to escape up here. Either way, they’ll kill every last one of us.”

Randas spat. He left no room for debate in the statement. “The men at least. The women will have it worse. May the gods pity them.” For the first time in his life, Randas was thankful he hadn’t a female companion to worry for. Not one that remained in Arrow’s Peak, anyway.

“Have we no hope, then?” The young man asked, a scant flicker of optimism in his tone.

Randas grimaced even more than usual. “Nay. We will hold for some time, for we are hardened and skilled. But, by sheer numbers they will overcome. We cannot hold back an army like that.” He tilted his head, as if mentally pointing to the valley. Then, in a surprising move, he waved his clenched fist in the air. “But, by the gods, I will kill many. The blood of that damned red army will drown my sword, and I’ll smile when I die.”

“It is New Year’s Eve. I am not so ready to die,” the younger soldier simply stated.

Randas nodded. “Let the fear drive you, lad. Become something greater in your last moments. If you can face death and laugh at it, then you’ve died with honor.”

The man said nothing in response, and Randas couldn’t blame him. In truth, his words fell hollow and meaningless even to himself. He merely said them to encourage a frightened man. There was no making sense of this madness, or the deaths that would follow.

Forcing his eyes away from the scene, Randas gave the other man an encouraging slap on the shoulder before starting down the tower. He clenched his teeth angrily and pain welled in his stomach. It was anticipation, that’s all, or perhaps the sheer helplessness of it. Was this really the end? Would he die to a flood of Nyis warriors as they poured into the city like a mob of starving cockroaches? Gods, the thought made his sick.

Randas reached the landing and entered the main street of Arrow’s Peak, called Westward Way. The city was little more than one ten-mile long road with a few avenues that wound like snakes into the mountain crags, resting like sentinels on both the north and south.

The normal scents of the city were absent; spilled wine, cooking spices, perfumes from the women. As he sauntered along, Randas felt a deathly calm about him. The street was empty save for the occasional guard or mercenary who was preparing for the onslaught. Most sane folk had locked themselves away in their dwellings, probably in vain effort to disregard the horror that was shortly to come upon them. It wouldn’t last, for when the siege began, the terrified populace would flood Westward Way in a torrent of panic and madness, like cattle running to the slaughter. He could almost hear their screams; smell the burning oil that would be dropped by those nasty wyverns in the sky. It would be utter chaos, with Randas right in the middle.

Sweet merciful gods, he thought. What hell will come upon us?

*****

Randas was still wandering about the streets when the first wave of wyvern’s began to swoop in low and drop their bombs upon the city. The result was nothing short of misery itself. The people scampered aimlessly about the streets, crying out of fear, or injury, or worse. The bombs were actually stone spheres filled with oil and an elixir of fire, but they were brutally effective at causing damage and creating chaos beyond the protection of the city walls. The spheres would smash upon impact, throwing flaming oil in all directions, lighting up the nighttime world with the terrible luminance of burning buildings. Curtains of flame shifted in the darkened night, and a wave of smoke stung Randas’s eyes. Wiping away tears, he gazed upward.

Just barely, the soldier could see the Arrow’s Peak sky riders, soldiers mounting dragons, soaring upward to meet the enemy wyverns in the sky. They were vastly outnumbered, but they were a dogged bunch and extremely skilled. It was quite possible that they would all die, but not before many a wyvern and its mount had been slain by the deadly lance of a sky rider.

The solider pushed his way through the growing mob of terrified citizens. Scattered amid them was children, the lucky ones merely frightened beyond reason, the unlucky having already lost their parents within the press of bodies. The madness before the butchery, he mused grimly.

As Randas moved past one building wholly aflame, he heard a scream come from within. Something inside him, some unintentional code of honor, caused his momentum to slow until he ultimately stopped.

He knew that someone was inside that inferno, and though he had no desire to act upon it, Randas understood he could not simply walk away. Running at full speed, he burst through the open front doors and immediately realized that the structure was a tavern. A lone figured crawled on the ground near the back wall. Randas waded further inside, nearly closing his eyes amidst the swell of black vapor and searing heat. He reached the figure and pulled the body to its feet.

An old man, delirium draping his panicked face.

“Help,” the follow managed to croak before coughing roughly, directly into Randas’ face.

Without thinking, the soldier bent low and scooped the man over his shoulder. By now, smoke and flame had obscured his vision beyond usefulness. Randas could only guess where the door was located. The heat was so intense, he thought as if his skin were about to melt from his bones. He pushed forward, and to his pleasure, carried the old man directly through the doorway and out into the lunacy that was Arrow’s Peak.

The cold air felt like heaven to Randas after the intense inferno of the tavern. He towed the old man sufficiently far enough away from the burning building, dumping him into a snow bank.

The elderly fellow was hacking uncontrollably, but somehow managed a “thank you” amid his convulsions.

Randas frowned. “Not sure you’re better off, friend, unless you’d rather die by a spear thrust.” The soldier didn’t wait to hear the old man’s answer, for he left him there and hustled away.

At this point, the streets had taken a different tone. People still lingered about in terror-stricken indecision, but there were fewer, for many had scuttled further east in a desperate attempt to flee the oncoming tide of Nyis spearmen who had broken into the city.

Randas could see the devils now, plowing their way through the western gate, killing all who stood in their way, be it soldier or commoner. Clearly, they had already torn through the Arrow’s Peak western contingent of defenders, and now that they were inside the gates, it was only a matter of time.

For another moment, Randas calmly watched the deluge of death. What a surreal vision it was! Similar to having a front row seat to the apocalypse, he thought. All was chaos, sound and sight. Nothing redeemable remained, no lasting memory to hold dear before his end. His people, his friends, were dying to their own screams, by the hands of invaders whose merciless bloodlust drove them on. Gods, what a horrible end!

“Come, soldier. We need every sword for our defense.”

Jerked from his stupor, Randas turned to see another soldier, an officer, regarding him. The man was older, but certainly still able. His hair was fully gray, as was the stubble on his chin, and the freezing weather caused every wrinkle on his face to show more prominently. But, the man’s body shown broad and strong. Unfortunately, Randas did not know his name.

He then noticed other soldiers of Arrow’s Peak setting up a blockade in the middle of the street. The city’s rear-guard, come to the aid of its brethren, preparing for one last stand. They were dragging anything that took up space; wagons, barrels, and the like, drawing a line across Westward Way. Looking back at the officer, Randas nodded and withdrew his sword from its scabbard. That seemed to satisfy the officer, for he moved away, barking commands at others.

Randas took his position at the barricade, which spanned the entire width of the street. Beside him were a good number of other soldiers, standing firm and holding on to any remnants of hope they could muster. Seeing the wilful determination in his comrades, Randas almost allowed himself a trace of confidence until he witnessed the sea of red coming toward them from the west. It seemed endless; wave after wave of men with murder in their eyes. The sound of their rushing feet upon the cobble and their shouts of war turned his stomach in a knot.

“Arrows! Fire at will!” This was the commander of the rear guard.

The twang of bowstrings resonated as the archers of the rear guard began firing over the barricade. Many of the Nyis soldiers in the front line crashed and rolled to the ground, while those behind trampled over and maintained their assault. The single warmage in the defense threw a fireball which exploded amid the mass of attackers and sent many veering off in several directions, their skin burned horrifically, their tabards aflame. There was enough time for two more rounds of arrows and spells before the Nyis footmen had closed the gap.

“Arms!” the commander shouted above the fray. “Hold your pos─” Either he had been struck down, or his voice had simply been drowned out by the clamor.

Randas ducked beneath the pike of a soldier whose progress had been halted by a barrel full of water at the blockade. Leaning forward, Randas thrust his sword, catching the man pure in the face. He heard a muffled scream as the enemy soldier reeled backward, but another foe had already taken his place, and Randas engaged him. In every aspect, it looked as if the barricade would be overrun within seconds by the seemingly endless horde.

From the sky, a wyvern spiraled downward, its body bloodied with fatal wounds, and crashed on the opposite side of the barricade, in the midst of the oncoming mass. Several men were crushed. One Nyis footman, in a desperate attempt to escape being flattened, leapt recklessly over the barrier. Randas missed him with his sword, but was able to secure the enemy with his arms and quickly pinned him to the ground. He looked in other man’s eyes and saw a fellow who was probably in his mid-twenties.

“Tell me, was this worth it?” Randas demanded before cutting his throat and spinning back to his feet to prepare for the next enemy.
The dead wyvern had given the defenders a few moments respite, but soon the attackers worked their way around the huge lifeless beast and continued their onslaught.

No more thoughts crossed Randas’ mind. He simply fought; fought like a madman who had sacrificed all else and no longer had purpose to live. His sword was red from hilt to point, his arms tired, but he carried on. Those fighting at his side fell one-by-one around him, and soon the Nyis footmen were pouring over the barricade.

Randas stepped back to give himself room to move. The dead bodies strewn at his feet were hindering him and he needed space. A foe came rushing from his side, and Randas dropped to a knee and swung low, severing the man’s legs just above the knees. When he rose, he squared his body to face his next opponent.

The newest Nyis soldier did not rush him heedlessly as the others had, but instead approached with caution. He was dressed in finery that most certainly marked him as an officer, and he carried a fine sword rather than a pole-arm. Randas bordered on exhaustion, but he gathered resolve and prepared himself for the next challenge.

Blades flashed, and the two duelists locked each other in combat. No one else interfered, but several of the Nyis pikeman stopped to watch their superior finish off one of the last of the city’s protectors.

It became apparent that his newest opponent was skilled with a sword, and Randas, battling his own fatigue, fell heavily on the defensive. He did everything in his power to parry the Nyis officer’s assaults, but he couldn’t manage to mount an offensive of his own. Catcalls from the onlookers rose in volume, anticipating the concluding fatal blow.

In an effort to change to tide of the duel, Randas made a clumsy thrust aimed for his adversary’s neck. The Nyis officer deflected the strike, and in an impressive maneuver, encircled Randas’ weapon with his own and knocked it free. Randas was disarmed and at the others’ mercy.

There was a cheer from the audience, and the victor grinned slightly before rearing back his arm, poised for a death blow. At the last possible instant, Randas ducked the sweeping attack, his opponent’s blade missing the top of his head by less than an inch. He then hurled his body directly into the chest of the Nyis officer, and both toppled gracelessly to the ground. Randas threw a fist into the nose of his adversary and heard it shatter. As the man cursed in pain, blood gushing from his face, Randas took advantage of the moment to wrest the sword from the others’ grip, placing the tip against his throat.

Completely out of breath, Randas managed one last statement, “Nyis has won Arrow’s Peak, but you’ll not relish it . . . nor will your family.” The man vaguely struggled as Randas drove the blade home, killing the man with his own sword. It was his final triumph.

He never felt the other pikeman fall on him, their thrusts puncturing his body. For him, the bell had already tolled. He could die knowing he’d sacrificed everything for the people of Arrow’s Peak. He wouldn’t know what fate awaited those on the eastern end of the city, but it was no longer his concern.
As life drifted from his body, he looked to the sky, ready to greet those that welcomed the unknown hero.

William A. Kooiker is the author of two fantasy novels and several short stories. Visit him at: www.williamkooiker.com He can be contacted at author@williamkooiker.com