Robert Barlow

         The eleven stood before their leader on a burial mound carved from the top of a small hill.  Fully armed and armored, the Knights Templar prepared for a last stand on the rock-exposed ledges of the mound.  High mountain slopes rose behind them while deep stretches of forest hemmed all other sides.  The body of their patriarch lay unattended inside the tomb with no time remaining for ceremony.

         Yero surveyed the meager defensive positions offered by the hill tomb.  A few stones jutted upwards to provide a limited cover amongst grass and trodden flowers.  He directed Dirk and Ives to roll open the gravestone capping the pinnacle so that the sepulcher could be used for the wounded or to offer temporary respite from enemy missiles. 

         Twelve would stand against the thousands clamoring in the wood.  The Captain's urgent missive flew on the leg of one of his hawks.  Yero had only a moment to begin with a short prayer so that his knights would have time to prepare themselves for the battle.  He winnowed all thought but one.  For though he would endeavor to promote their survival, one duty arose to prominence.  What exhortation would he bear to his fellow knights?

         "Blessed is he who has regard for the weak; the Lord delivers him in times of trouble."  The wind whipped at Yero's words.  "The Lord will protect him and preserve his life; he will bless him in the land and not surrender him to the desire of his foes."  Yero did not say amen for he intended to add increase as the Spirit led him during the combat to come.

         For the time being, Yero positioned only young Kurt to watch the side of the mound bearing a vista of the White Peaks.  He still struggled with whether his youngest knight was ready for what they now faced.  Yero knew that he could no longer protect him.  It would take some time for the enemy to climb the steep slopes on that side and Kurt's short blades would provide a reserve for the closer work sure to come.  The others took up positions on the three remaining sides, the gray clouds refusing to add reflection from their chain-plate.  Those with shields paired with those without.

         The rumble from the woods broke free into the thousand spans of wild grass separating the forest from the mound.  Even at such a distance, the enemy bore testimony to their unnatural condition.  The children of the Beast shuffled forward either half bent or on all fours in accordance to their specific perversion.  The unclean spirits possessing them powered their mutation into combinations of wolf, bear, stag, mountain cat, and bull, to name but a few.  Some sported a variety of weapons, while most evolved their own through some diabolic means.  They formed the horde that enthralled itself to the Beast and meant for all others to follow suit or perish.

         Before the horde gained half of the distance, Ives, the loan archer amongst the burial guard, launched six shafts.  Five of the mutated succumbed and many others followed as Ives continued to draw from the large quiver on his back and the two smaller ones strapped to each hip.  The bronze flow of his great bow contrasted against the silver of his chain-plate and inspired Yero to continue his exhortation.

         "It is God who arms me with strength.  He trains my hands for battle.  My arms can bend a bow of bronze." 

         Though nearly hidden by his faceplate, the eyes of Ives betrayed his reaction to the words of his Captain.  Ives, quiet Ives, would never admit his weakness.  While others stormed headlong into combat, quiet Ives knew only the strike of his arrows.  The archer saw the expressions of those who could not defend against his deadly reach.  Yero alone knew the burden that Ives bore with the memory of each strike.

         Only a small portion of the horde offered a return to the arrows.  Even a portion of the thousands meant that several hundred crude missiles responded from bow and sling.  To this Yero called warning.

         "For look, the wicked bend their bows; they set their arrows against the strings to shoot from the shadows at the upright in heart."

         Heeding his own warning, ill-fletched arrows and rough stones danced off the shields of Yero, Flint, Axel, Dirk, and Griffen.  The massive wall shield born by the equally immense Ward contained an outer barrier of spikes that shattered many of the devices hurled by the enemy.

         "My shield is God Most High, who saves the upright in heart," said Yero during the lull that followed the initial hailstorm of projectiles.  He thought about Ward and the big man's desire to guard the others from harm.  Ward had confided about the back pangs that threatened all that he hoped to do.  How long might this desire hold the anguish at bay?

         At the base of the high mound, no more than fifty spans from the first defender, the horde scrambled over the outer rock ring.  Roderick now had the range to plunge his javelins down slope into the pressing masses.  The knight had sequestered several thick bundles of his favorite weapon to share room with the extra quivers of Ives’ in the one wagon they had brought on the journey.  When those eventually ran out, Roderick would resort to the many throwing implements that he arrayed about his armor in scabbards, pouches and loops.  Yero vexed over Roderick's enthusiasm for the throwing blades.  They seemed somehow unfitting for a Knight Templar.

         "Brandish spear and javelin against those who pursue me," said Yero.  "He has prepared his deadly weapons; he makes ready his flaming arrows."

         At this command, Ives loosed the fire arrow that ignited the oil previously doused upon the outer rock ring.  The first three lines of the horde were now trapped within a ring of fire.  Yero gave another command.

         "Rise up, O Lord, confront them, bring them down; rescue me from the wicked by your sword."

         Even before he finished saying it, Yero step-slid down the grade to add his long sword to Cedric's spear, Axel's flail, and Griffen's axe.  Not far from them, another knot of Templars employed Frenek's two-handed great sword, Dirk's halberd, and Morgan's blade-spiked armor.  None of them relented until all of enemy within the flame ring lay slain.

         "The wicked will not stand," said Yero just before he noticed that Griffen lay sprawled upon the slope, his axe buried in the armor of a swollen ox-man.  Why did Griffen feel the need to fight the largest enemy on the field of battle?  Yero had always expected that it might be his undoing.

         Ward covered them with his wall shield so that Yero could drag Griffen into the burial mound.  While the fire yet burned, the Captain applied an herbal poultice to Griffen's damaged right leg.  He convinced his fellow knight to not return to combat until the healing power had restored him.  They spoke some about what still lay ahead and the battle-voracious knight expressed his ache to contribute.  Then Yero reminded Griffen how to call upon divine aid.

         "Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint; O Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony."

         Yero returned above ground to see the flames extinguishing and his knights disarrayed from the presence of an unholy dread.  He had never known his men to yield to such a panic.  They were ready to break and he feared that he might succumb to it as well if he didn't speak boldly.

         "I will not fear the tens of thousands drawn up against me on every side. Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident.  I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears."

         With those words, the palpable terror drained away from the Templars and they once again stood ready to continue the fight.  Yero sensed such a swirling power flow into the absence of the horror that he could not keep the next words from his lips even if he were to clench his teeth to the breaking point.

         "Summon your power, O God; show us your strength, O God, as you have done before."

         The rumble and shock of an immense trembler followed his words and the knights buckled from it.  They watched great rifts open into the grassy area surrounding the mound.  Jagged trenches zigzagged like bolts of lightening.  Hundreds of the enemy fell to their doom and were eaten by the earthen voids.  Panic spread amongst the rest of the horde, sending them streaming back to the forest's edge.  Demonic fiends serving as overlords stopped the horde's route using whip, scourge and chain to thrash the rebellious mob forward again.

         Such an opportunity was not lost upon Yero.  When the trembling subsided enough for the knights to rise from their knees, they made their way to the small plateau where the warhorses remained tethered to their single wagon. They tied Griffen to his mount and all took up lances.  Then down the hidden switchback they led the horses to assemble at the mound's base.  Prior to the command to charge, Yero reminded the knights of their true source of strength.

         "His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of man; The Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love."

         As one they sallied forth to find an enemy channeled between the fissures rendered by the quake.  The horde could not surround the knights, nor could they flee from the charge in any direction, save backwards into those pressing behind.  Again and again the Templars thundered full tilt into them until lances sundered, forcing the knights to use their personal weapons.  They pushed hundreds of the beasts into the fissures, many times more than fell from weapon point or trample of hoof.

         Yero pressed charge upon charge and nearly lost a wounded Dirk to one of the rifts.  A panic swelled in Yero's throat at the thought of losing the one knight he'd known since they served as young pages together.  One by one they lost the horses, rescuing knights between those still mounted until they could do naught else but flee on foot with the massive Ward carrying Griffen and Dirk, his wall shield left behind on the mound.  They withdrew to Yero's words.

         "Keep me safe, O God, for in you I take refuge.  Keep me as the apple of your eye, hide me in the shadow of your wings from the wicked who assail me, from my mortal enemies who surround me."

         At the first of the rock rings Yero saw that they still had gain in front of the horde, now advancing again in some semblance of coordination.  Rocks and arrows struck the knight's armor, but from above not behind.  To his horror Yero realized that infiltrators crept in where he could not afford to leave a rear guard.  Into this infiltration Ives fed arrows and Roderick his serrated flying blades.  The other knights could do nothing until they closed by upward strife in a complete reversal of their earlier contest.

         Yero knew that they could not fight those above and behind at the same time.  He turned to face the horde navigating the maze of rents in the earth.  For a moment the old fear arose that this trap would be his doom.  Then a new hope sprang to his lips.

         "He is the Lord our God; his judgments are in all the earth.  He sent darkness and made the land dark—for had they not rebelled against his words?"

         From out of the north, where the White Peaks drained to form the river Ansell, a strong wind funneled a mist through the trees until it flooded the open space around the burial mound.  The sound of those falling to their doom in the fissures told Yero that the advance would slow enough to give his men time to fight those above.  He took up a new cry as he climbed to clear the mound.

         "I do not trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory; but you give us victory over our enemies, you put our adversaries to shame.  In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever."

         When no more infiltrators remained to be seen on the mound Yero made to lay his wounded within the resting place only to discover some of the enemy desecrating the remains.  Yero left his shield at the entrance to attack with sword and dagger.  In the confined space he pierced the desecrators with his blades, his cry echoing out from the bare stone within.

         "You are not a God who takes pleasure in evil.  Their throat is an open grave.  I crushed them so that they could not rise.  They fell beneath my feet.  The wicked return to the grave."

         Yero brought Griffen and Dirk into the place of respite.  The two suffered their wounds well enough as they lay amongst the sarcophagi.  Would the rest of his men come to occupy the same space should he fail them?

         He returned to lead the remainder of his knights to battle's end.  A short span still remained before the complete dissipation of the fog.  During that span the few enemy stragglers to reach the base of the mound met with either the tips of Ives' arrows or the skewer of Roderick's javelins.  The other Knights Templar prepared the final defense.  To their work Yero added his exhortation.

         "May the table set before them become a snare; may it become retribution and a trap.  May their eyes be darkened so they cannot see, and their backs be bent forever.  Answer me, O Lord, out of the goodness of your love; in your great mercy turn to me.  Do not hide your face from your servant; answer me quickly, for I am in trouble."

         A last sweeping gust of wind cleared the fog from the fractured land below.  Its absence revealed a vast horde still occupying the crooked lanes between fissures.  The wicked overlords drove the cursed toward the mound allowing Yero to see what he had hoped for.  At long last he witnessed the full compliment of the horde and he welcomed it.

         "I call to the Lord, who is worthy of praise, and I am saved from my enemies."

         In timing with Yero's words the horde reached the mound to swarm up in mass.  Those pressing from behind would not allow those in front to avoid the traps the Knights Templar had prepared.  Various deployments of caltrops, smoke rollers, snares, trips and billowing smudge pots slowed the climbing foe so that each knight was required to take on no more than half a dozen of them at any one time. 

         This pleased the Templars for they had spaced themselves to allow full reach and back swing of their weapons.  Yero could sense his men's joy at the opportunity to carry the fight in accordance with each of their gifts.  Franek's great sword swept back and forth overhead and around full circle.  Axel's flail thrashed about with near reckless effort.  Cedric used his spear as if it were a quarterstaff until the enemy tore it away with their sheer weight in numbers.  They buffeted the knight and his wounds might have claimed him had Yero not pulled him to the safety of the grave behind Ward's wall shield.  Morgan swam into the mix as rear guard, slashing and raking with his spiked armor.

         Roderick too, became surrounded, though he reaped a whirlwind of tumbling darts, knives and serrated discs into the foe.  When his pouches and loops hung empty he fought on with his last javelin.  He suffered multiple strikes before they could rescue his unconscious form.

         Tighter and tighter shrunk the defender's circle around the burial opening.  When Axel and Franek collapsed, Yero alone dragged them, one to follow the other into the tomb.  Ward shielded the withdrawal, assisted by Flint, stripped of his mace and round shield cloven.  This was the moment that Kurt's double short swords proved of most value in a concerted effort with Morgan's spiked armor.  They reaped into the surging enemy, leaving trails of the fallen as winnowers would in a field ripe for harvest.

         Now, none of the Knights Templar lacked injury.  When Kurt and Morgan expended their final effort, Yero forced them to retreat into the grave.  He had vowed to leave none of them behind.  Not a single one of them.

         They backed into the vault behind the wall shield, Yero forcing his sword on the right and Ives emptying his last quiver on the left until the tomb swallowed them with the wall shield the capstone.  These three, the last to stave off exhaustion, used bodily weight to anchor the straps against the forces pulling and prying from above.

         Yero knew that if the shield gave way the fight could not continue.  He knew it now to indeed be the final moment before the end.  For though they could take intervals striking the one or two who might enter the small aperture in turns, the enemy could simply resort to anointing their pit with burning oil.  Yet, that was not the reason he held so dearly to the shield.  Yero did not fear the enemy as he did the wrath of He whom they angered. The Captain's voice broke through the rasp of his thirst-choked throat.

         "The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice.  Clouds and thick darkness surround him; righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.  Fire goes before him and consumes his foes on every side.  His lightening lights up the world; the earth sees and trembles.  The mountains melt like wax before the Lord, before the Lord of all the earth.  The heavens proclaim his righteousness, and all the peoples see his glory."

         Down from the heavens peeled a rolling rumble that boomed and thundered above the shield.  The howl of rushing wind soon overwhelmed the lamentation of the enemy.  Not even this last moment of sorrow for their inclination could save them from the devouring element descending upon them.  The swelter of it enveloped around the edges of the shield, and for a brief moment Yero's fear sweated doubt.  Then it passed along with the volcanic blanket that threatened to turn their tomb into a crematorium.

         The heavy breathing of the wounded knights, spent beyond all human reason, reminded Yero of his duty.

         "Delight yourselves in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart."

         Yero hung from the shield straps, no resistance offered against him.  He pushed at it weakly then gained in effort until it slid sufficiently out of the way.  More straining and sheer determination came before he could pull himself up onto the pinnacle of the burial mound.  He had only to survey the incineration broiled by heavenly brimstone.

         Yero witnessed his answer to prayer, the defeat of the threat to his small town and the temple within it.  All around him lay testimony to the enemy's last stand.  Now he would send a second message to follow his announcement of the battle joined.  But first he would speak it.

         "Who is this King of Glory?  The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle!"

 

 

Copyright 2006, Robert Barlow

Robert Barlow has sold short fiction to Dragon's Knights and Angels Magazine, Alien Skin Magazine, The Sword Review, and Far Sector SFFH (Published on Fictionwise.com). Links to and uploads of Robert's work can be found at < www.spoiledink.com/Robert_Barlow >. Robert works as a police detective in Oregon.