Hope Sundered

Chastin welcomed another quiet night as they did the familiar merchants from the capital. The town’s defenses were far from finished, but with no sign of an attack in days, the hard-working citizens of the lakeside town had grown complacent. Many had been wondering if their work had been in vain. The idea of an army traversing the Dragonspine to conquer Aveliria now sounded like a work of fiction.

Thick clusters of grey clouds ambled by, obscuring what little moonlight would have otherwise filtered through the network of interwoven branches. Torches were set every hundred yards around the perimeter of the village, but each radius of welcoming light didn't extend out more than twenty paces.

“You stuck here too, Duncan?” Oscar asked, a middle-aged farmer who’d reluctantly accepted the second watch on the northern end of town. Inspirational talks had failed. Losigalender turned to guilt trips and begging, and in a few quiet situations, bribery.

“Lost a bet with Zoe,” Duncan grumbled as he kicked a stone into the swallowing darkness.

Oscar laughed, as close to sympathy as he could offer. “Warned you.” He knew better than to gamble with Zoe, but he appreciated the familiar company with which to suffer another dull watch. Maybe now they could continue their philosophical debate from the previous night, regarding whether or not domesticated animals understood their language.

“You think they’ll come tonight?” Duncan asked. The townsfolk now tossed about the once important question more to initiate casual conversation than to voice any real concern.

“If they do, we’ll be in for a real laugh,” Oscar replied, determined to cheer up his disgruntled friend. “It’ll only take one to fumble down into a pit, and the rest’ll go screaming for the hills.” Both men shared a hearty laugh as they imagined the humorous scenario of clumsy and terrified barbarians running in circles, crashing into each other while the Chastinites sat and watched.

Duncan’s laughter became a grunt, then a gurgle, then silence. The man fell to the ground, face first, with an arrow protruding from his back.

Oscar stared dumfounded at the prone form. Before he understood the situation, a strong impact collided with his own chest, which was followed by a sharp burning pain. He tried to cry out, but his mouth welled up with blood and the world spun before his eyes. He toppled forward in death’s embrace to lie very still beside his friend.

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

A shroud of silence enveloped the town as the half dozen unsuspecting perimeter guards were cut down. The Azrahterans identified the few covered pits and torched them for easy avoidance. The wooden spikes were also set ablaze, creating a fiery prison from which there’d be no escape.

The autumn breeze carried red hot embers to new wooden targets. Random fires sprang to life, greedily devouring roofs before jumping to the next house. It didn’t take long for the growing conflagration to wake the surprised townspeople. Panic ensued, and those who became disoriented made for the safety of the forest. To their horror, they ran straight into the waiting spears and swords of an army that wasn’t supposed to exist.

Losigalender moved fast to recover some semblance of order, organizing his group leaders into their rehearsed duties. They called for their assigned men, and the now sober Chastinites began to make their stand as the first wave of invaders advanced.

One group of archers, Keila included, made it to their designated trees and loosed a steady stream of arrows. Another group pulled back from the fighting to start an efficient water brigade, staving off the spread of the inferno.

Under Losigalender’s guidance, the staunch townspeople rallied. The flames were now either under control or extinguished altogether. The element of surprise had run its course and taken a heavy toll on the Chastinites, but they were determined to survive. For hours they used the close quarters of the town’s layout to hold the enemy horde at bay.

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

Zordecai watched with growing frustration as the villagers entrenched themselves with surprising efficiency. Dozens of his men had already been dropped by the well-coordinated attack from the trees. The archers were too high up and too well concealed for the Azrahterans to retaliate in kind, and their aim was far more accurate than he dared to believe.

Despite losing a third of his two hundred volunteers, Zordecai’s force still outnumbered the defenders, and the invading force maintained constant pressure, working their way down each bottlenecked street at a slow but steady pace.

Even so, their progress failed to impress Zordecai. He drove his men on with scathing rebukes and threats, demanding they push through by any means necessary. Trampling their own dead, his bloodthirsty soldiers poured into town, climbing through back windows to burst through front doors. The ring of metal echoed throughout the night, interlaced with the cries of the dying.

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

Having spent their limited ammunition, the Chastinite archers were forced to abandon their lofty perches as the Azrahterans climbed up after them. Some unfortunate archers were yanked from their positions and thrown to the ground where those waiting pounced upon them. The rest managed to jump clear of the oncoming wave of attackers and make it back to the defensive line.

Keila held her position until the last two arrows left her bow. Both missiles scored lethal hits, but the extra time cost her. Two soldiers made their way up to her spot. Several others encircled the wide tree, waiting to claim their next prize.

Those on the ground shouted louder as soon as they noticed Keila, and encouraged their comrades to make haste. It was clear they wanted to spare her life, which she knew would lead to an experience more horrifying than death.

As the first head crested the branch, Keila’s boot snapped out fast with surprising power, connecting squarely with the man’s nose. The blinding pain caused him to lose his grip, and he fell backwards to land twenty feet below. The second soldier cleared the bough a moment later and reached out for her. In one swift move she pulled a dagger from her other boot and plunged it into his hand, pinning him to the tree. He howled in agony but didn’t dare yank free.

Two more soldiers were mere inches from her perch. With nowhere else to go she worked her way further up, trying to stay ahead of her panic as well. She followed an avenue of branches which brought her close to a neighboring tree and lept across. After a series of similar maneuvers, she rejoined the ground forces, much to the immense relief of both her father and fiancé.

The Azrahterans who were not engaged in combat returned their focus to razing Chastin to the ground. Flames spread throughout the entire town in a matter of minutes. Demoralized, exhausted, and outflanked, the Chastinites turned to the lake as their last resort.

Losigalender and Lark Prentice tried to regroup the remaining fighters into a defensive circle along the shore. “Keila, launch as many boats as you can before the line breaks, then get out of here. I love you.” Losigalender’s voice was calm in light of the tragedy unfolding around them.

“Father, I…wait, what?”

“We’ll hold them off for as long as possible. Save as many as you can. You’re in charge now. Go!”

Keila froze as the sickening knot of realization formed in her stomach. Covering the retreat was a brave and noble sacrifice, but not for her fiancé, and certainly not for her father.

“Father, no! Lark!” she screamed in denial, but both had already turned their attention back to the enemy. She started after them, but someone grabbed her by the arm and held her fast.

“Keila, come on!” She turned to see Ekard, his brown hair now singed, and his chestnut eyes filled with terror. Something deep within her forced her body to comply, and she followed Ekard to the water’s edge.

The occasional soldier would break through the line and attempt to attack those fleeing. With sword now in hand, Keila dispatched such threats with ease before returning to her evacuation duties. Her detached sense of calm that belied her inner chaos. In spite of her desire to return to her father’s side, she continued to obey his instruction, ushering the terrified women and children to the waiting boats.

Her father and Lark were counting on her to save others, and she couldn’t let either of them down. Keila told herself over and over they would join her at the last possible moment. That had to be the plan.

Several intense moments later, six longboats were loaded to capacity and launched for the protective center of Lake Chastin. Each boat carried about a dozen people, the surviving remnant of the once beautiful forest village.

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

Losigalender and the surviving Chastinites braced themselves to make a valiant final stand against the invaders. Scores of dead Azrahteran soldiers covered the ground before them, but it seemed to make no difference against the never-ending waves of advancing enemies.

The bodies of even more Chastinites lay strewn throughout the town, and the streets were red with so much blood. The fighting competence of the farmers and fishermen had been extraordinary, but it wouldn’t be enough to save their ravaged home. All was lost, yet they fought on, refusing to surrender.

Fewer than thirty men were alive to cover the escaping longboats. Losigalender wished to be with his daughter, but he took comfort in knowing she’d survive. He turned to regard the boats, now several hundred yards from the shore, and his heart sank with despair.

Three stolen fishing vessels, loaded with half a dozen soldiers each, had launched from the shore north of town and were now heading south to outflank him and the resistance on the beach. Losigalender dropped to his knees as he caught sight of something else, behind the trio of approaching enemy ships. Three more craft were heading straight for the Chastin escapees.

And his daughter.