Ill Weather Falls

Will to Survive

Part One

The Fall of Dragons

I. Ill Weather Falls

Shar-ait, 24th day of Guthion
Second Month of Autumn
Festival of the Harvest Moons
In the 10,568th year Since Creation

        The festival of the Harvest Moon was being celebrated. The moons had risen, both Moun and Saa full and bright in the fall sky. The tables in the inner bailey of the Guardian Keep were heaped with the fruits of harvest. Farmers, peasants, minor lords and merchants from surrounding villages on both the Dragonlands and Nobol sides of the border had come to the Guardian Keep to rejoice and revel as well as make the appropriate sacrifices and gifts to the gods responsible for the bountiful season.
        Wine was poured onto the ground in great quantities, thanking Nefrus, god of waters, the seas, and rains. Wheat, corn, livestock and incense were burned to Harprenus, goddess of life and growth.
        Naureen, goddess of wisdom and bravery had received her gifts as well in the form of consecrated soil and farm tools, the tools finely hand-carved and bearing the sharp but thoughtful face of the goddess.
        Aerrus, Keepmaster of the Guardian Keep, which protected the pass leading through the formidable Ishtooth Mountains, raised his cup in salute to the farmers and their successes. Before him the carved carcasses of pig and fowl were spread out, their meats distributed among the numerous celebrants. Aerrus tipped his cup and poured a swallow of wine onto the earth, where it was soaked up and given to Nefrus.
        "Thanks and praise to all who have toiled and labored in the fields, your granaries are filled as are our bellies. Your tithes to the keep are most appreciated and we poor soldiers guarding the pass thank you for it."
        There were cheers and the thumping of mugs and tankards on the tables all around him. Most everyone present had fallen into their cups before the light of the triple suns had vanished, the continued revelry only added to the drunkenness of everyone present.
        A sudden gust of wind sputtered the torches ensconced on the walls of the keep and the burning braziers that had been placed throughout the bailey.
        "Nefrus signals his approval as well," jested Aerrus as he poured more wine on the ground and then proceeded to drink his cup dry.
        As he lowered his mug, the Keepmaster's eyes glimpsed the forming of clouds on the far horizon and he frowned to himself.
        It was unusual to see clouds in the sky on festival. Wizards across the planet moved the weather and controlled the winds, chasing off the clouds. The days after a festival were usually wet as the forestalled rains were allowed to go about their natural courses, no longer tampered by the powerful magics of the wizards. It was too early for the clouds to move back in. The formations that Aerrus saw were coming from the west, across Nobol. Rains that followed festivals always came from the east as the pent up furies of the delayed weather crossed from the night of the far side of the planet and into the waking day of the rising suns.
        More wind gusted and this time the clouds grew thicker and darker. The bellies of the clouds, reflecting the light of the moons, boiled with internal fury.
        Aerrus looked down his table to the warlock quartered in the keep, the one who had performed the spells of dispelling earlier in the day, forcing all sky born ills farther west, to be carried onward around the planet.
        The warlock had passed out, evidently from too much of the excellent wine. The old man's face rested against the table, his arms at his sides with his hands dangling above the ground. Aerrus frowned. It was not a natural form of slumber, no matter how intoxicated.
        Another look to the sky showed the cloud formations to be more than forming and boiling. Now they moved with preternatural speed, motivated by forces far exceeding that of the warlock of the keep. Fear gripped the heart of Aerrus as he rose. Hastily the keepmaster moved down the table and placed a hand on the wizard's shoulder, shaking him gently. The warlock did not rouse, but his body moved, falling to the ground in a heap.
        "It looks like our magic-user has overdone himself," guffawed one of the eating companions. "Is there any cold water about to rouse our mage?"
        Aerrus searched for a pulse in the still form, pressing his fingers first to the neck and then the wrist. There was no sign of life in the old man.
        "He's dead," whispered Aerrus, shocked.
        "What was that?" queried the eating companion.
        "He's dead," repeated Aerrus, louder. He straightened and looked up. The eating companion was no longer glib, his complexion having turned ashen.
        The keepmaster looked to the skies again. At the center of the forming storm was a spinning eye of fury, forks of lightning illuminating its center. The winds grew fiercer and the other revelers of the festival began to notice the disturbance as well.
        "Soldiers to your stations," ordered Aerrus, a thrill of danger running the course of his body. "Raise the drawbridge and lower the portcullis."
        Soldiers and feasters alike looked up at the keepmaster in bewilderment. Festivals were marked with drawbridge lowered the whole of the day to show welcome to travelers and revelers.
        The Captain of the Guard bolted to his feet and reissued the orders, the sharpness of his voice chastising the drunk soldiers for their lack of obedience.
        Groggy men rose from their tables and stumbled out of the inner bailey towards the battlements and front gates. The rising winds soon carried the sound of chains being driven to raise the drawbridge and the sudden sing of steel followed by a resounding clang as the portcullis was dropped into place.
        "What's the matter?" asked the captain as he strode up to Aerrus, his hand on the pommel of his sword.
        "The nature mage is dead and his death was not natural. The storm we have forming above our heads is not natural, either. Someone plans an invasion."
        "Of the keep?" queried the captain, the sudden turn of events were clearly confusing to the seasoned soldier.
        "The keep and more, no doubt," answered Aerrus. "What better time to invade than during a festival?"
        The captain's brows furrowed worriedly and then he nodded. "Shall I place archers along the outer wall and have the catapults manned?"
        Aerrus nodded grimly. "Move the foot soldiers into the outer bailey and have the tunnels ready. If need be we'll seal the farmers and townsmen in the tunnels. For now, have them placed in the tunnels for their safety. I am not going to risk their welfare, even if I am wrong about this."
        The captain looked to the skies. "Whoever does this is powerful indeed."
        Aerrus did not need to make any reply.
        The forks of lightning from the storm above began to arc downwards. Lightning struck one of the embattlements and a soldier on his post. The lightning bolt raced through him and into the stone walls, taking the soldier's life with it. Those seeing the lightning strike watched in shock, and then jumped in surprise at the resounding boom of the thunder that clapped over their heads. Many of the soldiers, as well as farmers and townsmen, cried out in pain as the thunder shattered their hearing.
        From the shadows thrown by the torches and braziers stepped forth a figure, his face lit by the lightning that continued to flash in the clouds. His skin was dark, seeming to capture the shadows of his origin on his face. Likewise, his armor was also dark, gleaming light from the fading moons off of its polished surfaces, making him a visage of the surreal. In the figure's hand was held a bastard sword, its steel as dark as that of the armor he wore.
        "Druirsteel," hissed the Captain of the Guard at Aerrus's side. "A drow."
        "Correct," came the sibilant voice of the figure. "I am known as Meleketh, Lord of the Drow of Vladisnor. Greetings, brave men, I come in the name of my master, Judeo, the Apostle of Necronus."
        "Gods preserve us," breathed the captain.
        With a sharp nod of his head, Aerrus signaled one of the archers to fire. The archer responded, drawing and notching an arrow to bowstring with speed and firing with accurate precision. Before the shaft reached Meleketh it was engulfed in flame, burning to ashes while in flight, the arrowhead falling to the ground amongst a powdering of ash.
        From the shadows emerged more drow, bearing swords, crossbows and halberds, all metal forged of the same black and mystic druirsteel. With deadly efficiency the drow archers began to fell the soldiers of the keep.
        The captain began barking orders and raced off to assemble the surprised troops for battle with the invaders. There had been no contingency for the invaders appearing within the walls of the keep itself. The keep's defenses were in chaos.
        A drow in leathers charged Aerrus, a short sword in hand. With battle-honed reflexes, Aerrus quickly drew his own blade and turned to the side, blocking the sword thrust downwards with his own sword and then pulling his sword upward, slicing through leather armor and flesh, disemboweling the drow. Around him battles were being engaged as the invaders made their strikes against the keep's soldiers.
        In the guard towers where the winches for the drawbridge and portcullis were housed more drow emerged from the shadows and deftly dispatched the soldiers standing guard. In moments the drawbridge was rapidly lowering across the chasm separating the keep, which was perched upon a jutting cliff, from the mountainside and the road of the pass. The portcullis was quickly winced upwards.
        From the pass swelled the rest of Meleketh's army, composed of the abominations of the worlds. Orcs, partially human and partially porcine; goblins, diminutive creatures with flesh the color of rotted moss; hobgoblins, larger than their cousins, skin a sickly yellow; ogres, bastard cousins of giants, their massive size and girth capable of inflicting untold damage and even trolls with moss-green skin, wiry hair and glowing eyes, nearly impossible to kill without fire or acid.
        The Captain of the Guard pulled his men back from the outer bailey and ordered them into the inner bailey, closing the gates between the two and reinforcing them with a steel crossbar.
        "Retreat," screamed Aerrus as he saw the drow attack the disoriented soldiers of the keep. "Into the tunnels before the doors break. The tunnels must be sealed."
        "That's right, Keepmaster," said Meleketh soothingly, his voice sounding close. Aerrus whipped his head about and beheld the drow lord at his shoulder, torch light reflecting off of the teeth of the wide grin on Meleketh's face. "You have the lives of innocent men, women and children to think of. Their safety is paramount, is it not? Let me make a deal with you, Aerrus Keepmaster. Take yourself and all of your men into the tunnels and seal yourselves in. I will spare their lives. The alternative is your quick death. Remember, only you can seal the tunnels."
        Aerrus felt his body shiver with the proximity of the drow lord. Meleketh could kill him before Aerrus had the chance to swing his sword. The words that the drow lord had spoken were true, only Aerrus could activate the runes which sealed the tunnels from all outside intrusions. Slowly the keepmaster nodded.
        "Very well, spare my men and the innocents and the keep is yours, druidihar."
        "That's Lord General of the Druidihaim," corrected Meleketh. "I lead all of Judeo's forces, known in your bastardized tongue as Dark Forces. I have tested my teeth on you and your keep and have found them sharp. Next we take the lives of the dragons and then the Dragonblood."
        "King Starlangof," breathed Aerrus in fear. The royal family of the Dragonlands, the lands just beyond the pass, were the Draconians. Due to their relationship with the dragons for which the land was named the family was also known as the Dragonblood. They were the direct descendants of the godservant Aastineus, Forefather and Creator of the Five Planets and their moons. The queen of the dragons, Mautra, had been the mate of Aastineus and mother of his offspring, both human and dragon.
        "Why?" asked Aerrus, the words low and whispered and nearly lost to the howl of the winds.
        "Why?" tittered Meleketh in amusement. "Because before this night is over the blood harvest of my master will free the dreadest of gods upon the five worlds and his will shall sweep all of Creation. And there is nothing that the lords of the heavens can do to prevent it. Now go, keep your charges safe and I may yet spare them."
        Meleketh was gone from Aerrus's shoulder, the drow lord melting downwards into his own shadow and disappearing from sight. Aerrus signaled his captain to bring all of the soldiers into the tunnels. Defeatedly the captain nodded his understanding. The drow forces were retreating from the fray of battle as soldiers made for the safety of the caves.
        The drow contingent of Meleketh were leaving but the Druidihaim invaders at the gates of the inner bailey remained. As the bailey gates shattered inwards Aerrus followed the last of his soldiers into the tunnels.
        The winch that lowered the sealing stone was already clanking and dropping its burden into place. As it settled Aerrus touched the surface of the stone and activated the runes set in its facing. The stone liquefied and flowed through cracks and unseen fissures, creating a powerful bond as the stone rehardened in place. They were sealed in the caves.
        "Now what?" asked the captain.
        "Now we wait and pray," responded Aerrus wearily. "Vladisnor preserve our king or all Creation will fall." Continued in the next installment of Will To Survive, "The Fall of Dragons: Mautra's Sorrow"... Back to Fantasy

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