OCTT : A TALE OF TWO QUEENS : SUMME - CHAPTER FIVE - ALBI (COPYRIGHTED CONTENT)

Chapter Five

Albi

Albi stood but ten metres away from the rest of the traumatised company, his eyes turned south-east to the distant mountains of Ash, their tops covered in a thick layer of ash, which was now carrying itself south through a mass of formidable grey clouds, their bursts of thick showers covering all the land as far as the eye could see. The winds had changed course, heralding their crisp temperatures south-east, their supreme force whirling countless piles of ash into a great cloud of dust. They had been travelling on foot for more than three hours, many without boots and clothes, and some dying upon the sides of the country lanes and roads, unable to hold onto life any longer. There were but twenty-seven survivors in all and for the duration of their miserable journey towards the town of Til which lay north-west of the city of Ashlouis, they had not uttered one word. Their eyes were without light and their bodies were hunched over in hunger, hopelessness and fear. The harsh south-easterly wind howled down the country lane, its ice cool breath, running through the weak bodies of the men, women and children who hobbled along the muddy ground, the pools of water now turned to ice, the flakes of ash stuck between the sheets of frozen water. Albi turned from the group and looked back upon the distant city of Ashlouis, his mind troubled. Having given his heavy cloak of dier fur to a young girl, he stood in just a thin tunic of red wool and leather trousers. His heavy locks of blonde hair fell across his brow, the ends flickering against the wind. His face was raw and cold and his lips dry. They had been without warm food and drink for over nine hours and many now were desperate for just a bite of something in which to warm their bellies. His eyes scanning the horizon, Albi new that the enemy was close upon their trail and that any hesitation to stop now would most certainly lead to their death, none of them having any weapons of defence upon them. Turning away from the north, Albi scanned the western lands of Summe and spotted the small town of Til, which stood upon an isolated hill, its great hall and fort surrounded by a wall of wooden forts. Before the hill a small forest lay, its ceiling covered in the ash which continually fell from the clouds above, teasing all those within the walls of Kil of the death which soon would fall upon its doorstep. The world was unusually quiet, considering the recent attack upon Ashlouis and the invasion of an ancient dragon, its master the terrible black witch, Ethla. It was much too quiet for Albi, his heart beat beginning to race under the suspicious circumstances.

“Durnab?” Albi called out, his eyes upon the forest, which lay but half a league west from their current position. Hearing his brother’s footsteps making their way over to him, Albi turned to his brother. Durnab, his eyes running over the small group of survivors, halted a moment to brush off the layer of ash from a child’s head of hair before moving on.

“Yes brother?”

“What can you hear?” Albi asked quietly, aware that the starved and traumatised eyes of those dependant on him, were in fact glued to himself and Durnab, their gaze searching every line and movement of his face for a sign. Bringing his brother close to him, Albi considered his green eyes, his own solemn and alarmed. Durnab’s brows furrowed suddenly, his gaze once upon the ground below now lifting to meet with his own.

“Nothing,” his whispered darkly. “I hear nothing.”

“Exactly,” Albi said with a nod, his own fear now confirmed. “We must reach the forest yonder, for I fear our enemy is but a breath away. The air is too quiet and the land is holding its breath. We must hurry!”

Durnab lifted his head away, seeing the fear in his brother’s eyes and merely nodding in agreement. Albi placed a hand upon his brother’s shoulder, the force of the wind causing their bodies to move about quite violently.

“Keep the children to the front, I shall stay at the back with Mornac and Brust, they are the strongest of the men we have, if anything should happen, you must lead the group to the forest and make for Til,” Albi commanded darkly. “And whatever you do Durnab, do not for whatever reason stop.”

“I understand brother,” Durnab replied simply, his brother’s order’s clear and precise. He knew what was to be done, and understood the cost if he should fail. Standing back from his younger brother, Albi smiled down at him, proud of his courage and strength.

“Then go brother and do not look back, I and my men shall provide the defence,” Albi said kindly, releasing his hand from his brother’s arm.

“People!” a child cried out suddenly, his cry shaking Albi with fear. Turning to the child who was but five moons old, he saw his outstretched hand directed towards the east. Following his hand, Albi spotted a line upon the horizon, its head making for Til. Coming to stand beside Albi once more, Durnab strained his eyes.

“Could they be survivors?” he asked calmly, his legs shaking against the coldness.

“I do not know, but we shall meet them upon the road, for they too are headed towards Til, which means that they shall pass alongside the forest,” Albi answered clearly. Turning to the group, he took to standing upon an isolated rock. Wiping away the thick strands of his hair, he looked down into their frightened faces. “We must hurry and make for the protection of the forest yonder, I fear the air is too quiet for my liking. We cannot say for certainty that those who walk over the plains yonder are our enemy or ally and so we must wait until we have made shelter. My brother here shall guide you, whilst those strongest of you shall remain with me at the back. We have no weapons but we shall protect the weak and vulnerable to the best of our ability. It is imperative to understand that should we come under attack, your only hope of surviving is to follow Durnab and remember, should the dragon reveal itself, do not look upon it, for to do so shall only render you its victim.”

Albi heard the outcry of fear, the mothers instantaneously holding their young close to them and the men standing forward in receipt of his request. Running through the legs of the fearful mothers, came Geetham, his feet defiantly rushing through the frozen slush and coming to a halt before his brothers.

“What about me?” the young boy quizzed, his blue eyes stained with confusion. “What must I do brother?”

Feeling his pain, Albi stood down from the rock and came before Geetham, bending down low so that their eyes met.

“You my brother have the greatest task before you,” he said in all seriousness. “You have miraculous feet which can run twice the speed of a grown man, and so my brother you must use your feet and make for Til, you must use your gift and save your friends. Can you do this for me?”

“Albi no!” Durnab said with disgust, his eyes growing dark. Albi turned his eyes to Durnab.

“I feel no honour in bequeathing such a mission either Durnab, but he has unbelievable speed and right now, we must rely on all of our resources, should we wish to see the rising sun of tomorrow,” Albi stressed, his voice shaking. “Come we have no time to argue, we must be on our way!”

“You best hope he survives brother,” Durnab threatened as the young Geetham turned about and began to run with all the strength he could muster. Their eyes upon his distant figure, the brother stood side by side, their quiet thoughts striking them with fear. Without another word, Durnab left his brother and took charge of the company, leading them towards the distant forest. Standing together, Albi and the remaining men looked upon each other. Albi knew that were they to be attacked, that they would not see the light of the morning pass over their faces, he knew that the certainty of their deaths lay before them with a fearful truth.

“Come, we must stick together,” Albi commanded kindly, motioning for the me to lead on. Their journey moved onwards and in relative silence, the hearts of the survivors rigid and torn. Keeping himself at the back of the several men, Albi rubbed his hands together for warm, his ears pricked and his heartbeat resounding violently through him, its pulse so deep that his heart ached. The world he had been born into had all but changed under the cover of night, and now there was no trace of yesterday, no trace of his past nor the world in which he recognised. All lay hidden beneath a veil of death and ash. For the first time in his young adult life, he could not look into the future as he had once done, for the hands of time had stopped and the winds of fate changed. The fields should have been filled with workers and farmers, gathering what little grain had been left to them, their ancient songs of the south should fill the ears of all those who passed by and the Summerian birds should be hovering above their heads in the hope that some grain would spill upon the ground. Nothing of life lingered anymore upon the lands, not even the scurrying of frightened mice could be seen. Nothing had given way to life, and soon death would stalk its prey like the flames of fire. He knew not how to remedy a medicine for the days which would soon pass before him, knew not how the people he loved could possibly ward of a vast army, led by a killer dragon. The once secretive people of Summe, all of them soaked in an ancient culture and history, would soon be wiped from the memory of time. The singing mockbird would sing no more. His heavy boots trudging through the dark puddles, Albi felt a small tremor run through him, its force causing the puddles of water to tremor. Halting, he lifted a hand in the air, the feet of his men coming to a halt alongside him. Bending down to the ground, his placed a hand upon the ground and closed his eyes in observation.

“Horses,” he said aloud, his body suddenly straightening. Turning to his men, he saw the blazing fear in their eyes, the ground shaking again. Standing up tall, Alibi slowly turned his head, his gaze travelling from the faces of his shaking men to a torrent of ash which had formed into an unholy cloud, but five hundred metres away in the distance. His heart stopping, Albi watched as a great shadow fell across the land, its moving form followed by an aching cry. Flinging his hands to his burning ears, Albi watched as the men to his side fell upon the ash-ridden ground, their eyes closed in pain. His breath stuck, Albi saw the great beast fall through the dark clouds above, its vast form soaring through the open air, the form of the black witch upon its back. Turning about he could see the shapes of his group, now but a few metres from the forest. His moment of joy ended as a great flame of white fire was unleashed from the dragon, its heat so strong that his skin burned. “No!” he cried out in horror as the flame washed over the group of survivors. As though the moment of horror could not possibly dissolve into further terror, one of the men grabbed at his sleeve.

“Soldiers!” he screamed in horror, his grey eyes alive with the reflection of the dragon’s fire. Turning about, Albi caught sight of a great barrier of soldiers upon horses, their wall stretching from Albi’s location to that of the fleeing survivors across the plains, their screams of horror now filling the air like poison. The ground now quaked with the onslaught of the enemy, the flags of Galgor gleaming against the light of the dragon’s breath, its white fire singing down upon the innocent victims.

“Run!” Albi cried out as the eyes of his enemies bore down upon him in anger. “Run for your lives!”

Hearing his words, the men turned about and began to run like demented sheep, their weak feet gathering but a little pace against the backdrop of horses and men. The ash fell like torturous flakes of death as they ran, all of them in varying directions towards the edge of the forest, the dragon’s shadow falling over them once again as a great flame of white fire bore down upon their group, turning two of his friends to ash. Falling to the ground in shock, Albi rolled about in shock. His hands finding the ground, he instantly picked himself up and caught sight of a group of riders riding forth from the edge of the forest, the flag of Summe flying against the flames of death. Finding his feet once more, Albi realised with dread that he now stood between his enemy and friend, the sound of their war cries singing like the shots of arrows through the dense air. Looking up, he saw the arrows of death as they searched the air for their targets. Unable to move, his friends all but dead, he watched on in stunted realisation as the group of soldiers which had emerged from the forest, headed towards him, their swords raised. The ash upon the ground flew up into the air against the pressure of the hooves, and as the horses passed by him, he felt himself lift into the air, his legs and feet losing balance. Before him he watched as the enemy and foe clashed swords, the clash tinging the air with a gleam. Men fell from their steads to their death, their heads crushed and their bodies torn apart. His spirit finding renewed energy, Albi ran forward and joined the battle, his hands finding the discharged swords of his enemies. Taking up a sword, bow and several arrows, Albi readied himself before sourcing out his first target and moving with haste, desperate to aid his falling allies.

Blood spilled upon the ground and the stench of war filled his senses as he waded his way through the army of soldiers, all of whom fought with strength beyond measure. Looking around and finding the eyes of his friends, he watched as they fell like Auta leaves, their hopeful gazes freezing with terror as their dismembered bodies sought the frozen ground for relief. Across the plains, many other groups of allied soldiers upon horses, raced across the plains of Ashlouis, their swords casting a light across the battlefield, amid the flames of the dragon which bore down upon them like a raging river of hatred. Turning his attention back to his own survival, Albi felled his enemy with such anger, that the blade of his sword gracefully swung down over their bodies with such lightness, that even he did not feel the pressure of their deaths. The enemy and the ally so embattled with one another, clung to one another like the latching of a disease to its victim. The air was stained with death and his face bloodied with the blood of his victims. His arms ached and his legs trembled with pain as he brought down a soldier from his horse and plucked his final breath with the tip of his sword. Taking a hold of the traumatised stallion, Albi swung himself up upon the back of the horse and took the reins into his gloved hands. Sensing the need to find his brothers, he turned from the battle and kicked the horse into a fierce gallop, the edge of the forest but a five-minute ride. His hair glued to the side of his face and forehead, he rode with such ferocity that the horses head drew back in pain. The cries of battle rang out in his ears as he rode onwards, the forest edging ever closer. As he rode he felt the shadow of the beast fall over him and quickly began to direct his horse to the left, quickly turning the reins again, this time directing the horse to the right, in a zig-zag manner. Behind him he heard the cry of the dragon as it rained down upon him, its flames of white fire scorching the ground beside him, the heat so fierce that he felt himself faintish, his skin burning. His eyes shutting against the heat, he saw from the corner of his eyes the shape of the dragon as it swooned down over him and came to an almighty crash before him, a great cloud of ash and dust sweeping up into a flurry of disturbed mess. Stopping his horse immediately, Albi felt himself thrown to the ground before the great dragon. His body paralysed with pain, Albi rolled over, his gaze catching the body of the dragon, its face turned from him. Beside him, his saw his bow lying within a puddle, arrows splayed across the scorched land. His pain unbearable, yet his need to find his brothers greater, he took to his feet and took up the bow, his other hand plucking the arrows from the ash. He knew he couldn’t defeat the dragon, knew that his life was soon to vapourish into a pile of ash, but he would not die in vain, he would not die without trying.

The dragon brought itself up onto its great feet of black scales and slowly turned about, its gigantic head soaring into the air with vengeance, its red eyes baring down upon the small figure of Albi, his bow at the ready. Upon the dragon’s shoulders, Albi sourced the figure of the black witch, her pale face marred with a treacherous smile.

“You cannot kill that which is already dead solider!” she hollered aloud with a painful laugh, which shook Albi from within. As soon as she spoke, Albi unleashed his arrow and watched as it danced through the air, its silver tipped end turning downwards, its target, the dragons eye. As soon as the arrow nose-dived, the dragon unleashed its white fire upon Albi, its heat raining over him with such an intense tremor that he felt himself slip into the arms of death willingly. His life flashing before him slowly, he watched himself fall to the ground, the great dragon before him sweeping his head about in demented torture as though wounded. Behind him he could feel the eyes of both his enemy and ally upon him, their gazes reeking of pity. It felt strange to be dead, for he never felt more alive that he did now. For he saw clearly before him the dragon, its left eye pierced by his arrow. And behind him he heard the battle-cries dimmish into whispers. Looking down at himself he realised with disturbance that he was very much alive. Looking up from his feet, he saw the reaction of the witch, her smile all but gone and her eyes peeled with hidden terror. His hands shaking, Albi sought the bow from the ground and lifted himself up. Placing an arrow within the bow, he summoned his inner most strength and aimed the arrow at the dragon’s right eye. Seeing what he was about, the dragon soaked in another mouthful of air and unleashed another flame of white fire, its heat melting Albi, but not to a pile of ash, for still he stood, arrow pointed. With anger, he pulled back the arrow, tilted the bow upwards and released the weapon, its cry piercing through that of the dragons. The black witch let out a cry of anger as the arrow struck the other eye of the dragon, rending the beast blind. Albi stepped back in disbelief, the witch’s commands to her soldiers heralding through the air. With pained wings, the beast lifted itself into the air and soared into the dark clouds above, its screams vibrating across the battlefield. Turning, he saw his enemy make for him with renewed effort. Before he could react, a rough hand took him by the collar and threw him up upon a horse. Positioning himself before the rider, Albi looked behind him, the army riding as hard as the hooves of their horses would take them.

“Soldier, make your bow ready and pick off the closest of riders so that we may survive!” came the rough voice, a vice Albi distinctly beheld as a woman’s. Clambering about, he made ready his bow and arrows and obeyed the soldier’s commands, his arrows picking off the closest of prey. Feeling the wind in his hair and the blood trickle down his throat, Albi held on tightly with his legs as the soldier finally made the forest and whipped their way through the trees, losing sight of the enemy. Unable to use his bow any longer, Albi lowered his arm and prayed to the Gods that he would keep his seat as the rider rode weaved their way through the thicket of trees, several branches whipping at his face. Turning his gaze over the shoulder of the rider, he caught sight of the town of Til through the trees. As they dashed out of the forest and onto a small plain, the rider took from their satchel a horn and with weak breath blew upon it, the sound deafening Albi. Twice the rider blew at the horn before putting it back into their satchel. The horse sped up the mounting hill, the gates of the town opening wide at the call. His eyes upon the battlefield north, Albi knew that great blood had been spilled that hour and that the battle was far from over, the enemy out-numbering the soldiers of Til. Behind them, the gates closed and the rider commanded their horse to stop. With a firm halt, the horse came to an exhausted halt, its head dancing about in irritation. They strode in a large square area, now quickly filling with armed soldiers, all baring the mark of Summe. Before he could take in his surroundings, Albi found himself being flung down from the horse by his saviour, his body hitting the ground with terrible force, a force which only exacerbated his already pained self. Turning about, Albi felt the tip of a blade at his chest. Lifting his gaze to the soldier, he watched as his saviour drew away his hood to reveal not a male soldier, but a woman as blazingly beautiful as the mid-night moon. Shocked to be at the mercy of a woman, but a few years younger than himself, Albi lifted his brows.

“You’re a woman,” he said with discourtesy. Around him he heard the laughs of men, all of them somehow finding the whole situation humours.

“And you it seems are immortal!” the woman said with severity as she knelt, her dark eyes baring into his own gaze. “How did you manage to stay alive? What sorcery do you wield?”

“I hold no sorcery my Lady,” Albi answered honestly. “I am as much surprised by my own breath as you.”

For a moment, she lingered in silence, her gaze searching his own. Her brows relaxing, she withdrew the tip of her blade and stood back.

“Your actions have changed the course of this war soldier,” the woman said with a cool gaze as she turned away and handed over the reins of her mount to a soldier. Finding his feet, his body sore and his mind restless, Albi looked at the sea of faces, searching for those familiar to him.

“My brothers, you must help me to find my brothers,” Albi called out as he wiped his brow with the back of his gloved hand. Turning to him, her long black tresses falling about her shoulders, the woman glided over to him, her eyes sombre and pained.

“The company you sent here through the forest?”

“Aye my Lady, did they make it?” Albi asked, the image of the dragon breathing its wicked white flames over the group passing over him like a cruel joke.

“No friend,” the woman said under her breath. “Only a young boy managed to make it to the town.”

Before he could answer, the cries of a young boy filled the air.

“Albi! Albi!”

Albi turned about and watched as the crowd drew apart and made a space, the space filling with the form of Geetham who ran down the road, his arms opened wide.

“Geetham…” Albi whispered under his breath as his younger sibling ran into his arms and held him tightly.

“Albi!” Geetham cried loudly, his small arms wrapped about him so tightly that Albi let out a groan of pain.

“Come child you are causing your brother pain,” the young lady said as she drew Geetham back. Albi looked down into the pale face of his sibling and felt tears prickle at his eyes. Bending down so that their gazes met, he saw the grief in the young child’s gaze.

“Durnab, where is he? Have you seen him?” Albi asked kindly, the voices of the crowd becoming quiet and distant. Geetham merely shook his head, large buds of tears falling upon his cheeks.

“The dragon, the dragon…” Geetham began before he turned away in shame. Looking to the young woman, Albi searched her face for any sign of hope. There was none to be found, all that she had said was true. His brother was dead, alongside those he had tried to save, his actions in vain. His chest tightened and the prickling tears fell. His knees upon the ground, his face stained with the blood of his enemies and allies, Albi let out a holler of a cry, his hands finding his face and covering it lightly. The echoes of his pitiful cries rang out like the heralding call of destruction. As he sobbed uncontrollably, he felt the embrace of young Geetham, the boy falling into his brother’s arms, his own high-pitched cried mingling with his. Holding him closely, the warm of his embrace giving him some relief, Albi opened his burning eyes and caught the gaze of the young woman, who stood silently still. Those who had surrounded him had now dispersed as the horns of battle drew closer.

“Come we must prepare for an attack,” the young woman said before turning on her heel and following the soldiers as they ascended the dusty road towards the great hall, its doors of silver gleaming against the weak rays of sunlight. The sun now rose over the Ashlouis Mountains, the sky bleeding with the blood of those who lay lifeless upon the plains below. Many would lose loved ones this day and many yet would continue to lose those they held dear, for the heralding of war had now been rung and the world around those in Summe would be forced to answer.

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