The Fallen

We sit with our heavy woollen cloaks wrapped tightly against the biting wind, watching them.

Their black scales glisten in the flickering glow of the firelight. A small party of Cadutori, the Fallen. Long ago, the Gods banished them to the surface for their arrogance. They dared to rise up against the creators and in the great battle told to us as wide eyed children, the skies raged and crashed for forty years as they fought. Defeated, their wings torn from their backs they were thrown down, to walk among us poisoned with the essence of man. Forever destined to carry the greed, the anger and the pride, sins that had destroyed that race many years previous. Now they plague our lands. Locusts, stripping bare the villages and fields that stand in their path.

They sit laughing with one another in the clearing, empty wineskins scattered about their feet. The smell of venison slowly turning over the flames makes me long to be back in the warmth of the barracks with a hot bowl of stew. My eyes covetously drawn to the fire as I hold my shaking hands to my armpits to ward off the cold. The snow lies heavy on the ground and my feet are already numb from the prolonged immobility. I chew slowly on the dried rabbit that we all carry tied to our belts and wait for the order to attack.

We came across the destruction that shadows them earlier in the day. We had been scouting the forest east of the City as there had been reports of raiding parties coming down from the mountains to terrorise the local farmers. It was uncommon for them to leave the warmth of their caves in the winter months. I was the one that found them. The broken bodies and torn limbs a bloody jigsaw against the white carpet on which they lay, steam rising from the carcasses. They were still close.

We had been trading with the mountain folk for the past few years. Their skill and knowledge of the metals that they unearth unsurpassed throughout the borders. Each of the bodies had been stripped of weapons and clothing. Even I, accustomed to the horrors of war could not hold back the hot bile when I saw what had been done. The bodies ripped open and the insides removed, leaving just empty husks for the birds to pick at. We had heard tales of their love of entrails in the taverns late at night when the alcohol starts to loosen tongues but to have it confirmed in such a manner sickened me to my core. We followed the tracks not yet swept clean by the storm to the here and now, waiting for our moment.

I turn my head at the soft touch to my shoulder. “Soak the arrowheads” Jared whispers handing me a small vial. “Holy water?” I question. Nodding, he moves on. The wind cuts into my bare skin as I pull the stopper free and coat my arrows. To each side of me I see others following the same routine. Bows are being readied and knives unsheathed. A rising sense of anticipation flows through us. Blowing heat into my hands I notch an arrow in preparation and watch for the signal.

The arrows fly through the air, a soundless swarm of death. Mine catches one just beneath the chin and I see the shock register on his face as he collapses. His hands claw at his throat as he chokes on the blood. At once we are among them, slashing and snarling. I don’t remember drawing my sword but it clashes against the blow that comes from my right. I thrust the knife in my left hand into his neck and shoulder him aside. In the flickering shadows of the firelight I see Jared fall. A tall Cadutori kicks him off the blade he has buried in his belly. I throw my knife but it passes harmlessly by his head as he turns to face another. Something smashes into me from behind and my face crashes into the snow. The many hours spent training with Martin take over and immediately I roll. As the blade thuds into the ground inches from my face I hack out at the exposed legs. I scramble away as he falls screaming.

As quickly as it starts, it ends. Bent double with my hands on my knees I try to catch the breath that clouds the air around me. I’m surprised to see that we’ve managed to take a prisoner. A few of the others have crowded around him raining blows on the arms that cover his head and kicking out at his exposed body. Aaron, our commander shoves them aside and pulls him to his feet. At his order, they drag him over to a thick tree and tie his hands around it. Heartbeat slowing, I walk over to watch.

Even with the knife held to his throat, the Cadutori captive exudes confidence, a smile touches his lips and his blazing eyes bore into anyone brave enough to hold his gaze.“What are you doing down here this late in the year?” Aaron asks him swirling one of the vials of water around in front of his face. Not waiting for an answer he splashes some onto the prisoners face. If he’s disappointed with the lack of reaction that the burning skin brings, it doesn’t show. “I asked you a question”, Aaron prompts. As if in response, the thunder of war drums echoes through the silent night and as one our heads turn towards the mountains.

Thousands of torches, like glowing rivers of lava, flow down the dark slopes toward us.