The ground trembled under Bradford, causing him to stir. He had rested some, but there was no light in the sky. Alert now, he bolted wide awake. From his perch wide and above the gap he looked out. In the distance came a rumbling. A sweeping black mass was difficult to make out in the distance, but this time he seen something that he had not seen before. At the head of the Daemor rode a small figure, upon a dark steed. This figure rode far ahead of the army clad in black and held a bright torch. The single light held before the great dark force was eerily clear and strange.
Bradford hurriedly prepared to leave. He felt as though he had not rested more than an hour or two, but it would have to be enough. In the dark, he could make off the glint of steel across the giants back and their smooth appalling skin. They moved tirelessly and at an inhuman pace. Bradford swung himself up onto Anemodes and made like the wind south and east. He and the Daemor army would reach the walls of Nearborne before the first light, it seemed. There would be no rest for these wicked beasts, and there could be no more for Bradford.
Riding through the dark night, Bradford looked upward. The cool night air rushed in his face and the familiar sky was conveyed in thick clouds, blocking out the light trying to creep through from a bright moon. The waxing moon, nearly full, let down a dull glow. The road wound downwards from here, all the way to the walls of Nearborne. The sure footed Anemodes knew the way well and needed no guidance as they raced home. They rode past the familiar signposts that littered the way. “The Reachers, Bed and Breakfast”, was followed by “The Ehrlichs”, a family homestead of nearly forty inhabitants. “The Butcher’s”, “Solveig Road”, and “Ellinger Private” flew by in short succession, each signpost decorated in dull black on shiny brown.
There was no time to save them all, Bradford assured himself. One detour would mean all was lost. He chastised himself in his mind for his rest. In the distance, Nearborne slowly crept into view, and behind it, and across the bottom of the clouds came a dull glow from the light of the growing day. He had refused to look behind him as he rode. He had noticed only that the low rumble had faded below him as he put distance between himself and the horde. Approaching the edge of the outlying city, Bradford looked back for the first time. There was no sign of the danger that was just beyond the edge of sign and hearing.
“Wake up! Everyone make for the walls!” Bradford shouted as he galloped through the streets. Several early risers of the city emerged from their homes to check on the commotion. At the top of his lungs, Bradford yelled. “We are under attack! The Daemor have come, make for the walls!” Behind him, there was a great stir as the word spread through the town like wildfire. There was great shouting and yelling as the city inhabitants gathered their families and made for the walls. Coming to the city gates, Bradford found them closed for the night. He shouted on high for the guards working the gate. “Open at once! We are under attack!” There was a moment of confusion atop the walls as the guardsmen surveyed the man at their gates.
“I’ve ridden through the night! I am Bradford, of the company of Beorlan. The Daemor are coming! You must open the gate!” He shouted. A crowd began to assemble around the gate, and they were stricken with panic. The gate remained frozen before him as the people. “We have our orders, Bradford of Beorlan’s company.” The gate watch shouted down to the crowd. The people had grown restless and lined the gate, pleading that they opened it. Bradford shouted up to the gate watch, pleading for them to fetch the Warden. His words were drowned out in the hysteria, and his call came back unanswered. His stomach grew heavy as the moments passed.
His fear was realized as he turned and looked down the long straight road leading to the gatehouse. Screams echoed through the city the Daemor poured in. The giants flattened the lesser cottages with brutal charging and thrashing about. The lesser Daemor skittered about, and the path was thick with pungent odor. The crowd surged into the gatehouse, pressing against Anemodes. In a panic, the horse kicked and bucked, throwing Bradford to the ground and trampling a number of faceless men. The black wave surged towards the keep with frightening speed and a full panic swept over the people above him.
Bradford watched helplessly from the ground, unable to recover in his heavy armor and under the weight of many feet. He reached for his sword in a panic, and was unable to draw the bulky weapon, and did not know what he would do with it if he did. A heavy boot came across his face and head again and again, leaving him dazed and confused. The snorting and whinnying of Anemodes was a distant call now, and Bradford felt the ground quivering beneath him heavily. Hopelessness swept over him. Unceremoniously above him, the heavy portcullis came crashing down, and Bradford was gone.
–
In the ramparts high above, Kardone and his loyal companion looked out upon the encroaching enemies. “What foul fate is this? Is this some foul elven magic?” Kardone walked with a wild pace through the ramparts, which were lined with men frantically donning their armor and weapons. Not enough men Kardone thought to himself. His face was stern and commanding as he rallied the men. His presence gave the young men hope, and each man worked with fervor.
The small house staff they had assembled in the few days prior set to making the preparations for feeding the men and tending wounds. Rolling bandages and mending gear were their common tasks. The soldiers donned their gear, and through the entire city, there was a frantic scratching and skittering on the walls. Everyone had faith the height and strength of the proud city walls would protect them, and their stores would keep the remaining men for quite a long time. The noises, however, were terrifying to behold and brought with them a sense of dread.
Ricky Hurlich Shorts 