The Shattered Path

Chapter 40 - The Ashikaen

Aerham finished his spin, stopping in Defender of Stone once again. He heard the anticipated thump against the ground, followed by the beastman's headless body. There were sounds of battle all around. The proud Merthians fought hard to repel the swarming attackers.

Flames emerged through the thatch roof of a cottage, quickly rising into the night. Then more flames rose from another cottage. And another. Aerham wondered why the beastmen would burn the village, since the light would only ruin their night vision and allow the defenders to see, but he heard a cry that explained it all.

"Burn every third cottage!" came the cry. And it was repeated by several excited voices. He knew they kept bonfires at the guard posts, ready to be set aflame if an attack came. Burning the village was an indication that the situation was dire.

Squinting in the glow of the rising flames, Aerham continued towards the meeting den. There were no longer any enemies nearby, but he didn't relax. The sounds of fighting continued to fill the night. He prayed that Ravyneira would watch over him and give him the strength to reach his friend.

"Burn the huts! Every third!" came another shout.

Men passed him, calling out to their family or shouting for other men to come join the fray. More than one woman passed him carrying a blade.

Aerham moved carefully, holding his sword before him. His ears strained to pick out any approaching enemies. The flames grew higher into the sky and he was able to see farther. Figures approached through the smoke, but all were villagers. He shifted his stance to Typhoon of the Waiting, moving slowly, turning as he went, sword held out with one hand. The heavy blade fatigued the muscles of his arm. His time spent rotting in a cage had weakened him. He focused on his destination. His breathing came hard and adrenaline fired through his veins, but he kept his mind directed and under control. This was how his father had taught him to fight. This is who he truly was.

It seemed the village would be overrun. He had thought the guards at either end of the valley would have warned everyone of an attack. It probably didn't matter since most of the men were inside of the meeting den drinking away their sorrows. They had called it a celebration, but he couldn't see mourning dead family and friends on one day and dancing with a mug of ale on the next. There were going to pay a heavy price for their celebrating.

Aerham glanced behind him. The glow of the growing flames illuminated the cottage he had approached before. Had Maeshana attacked the Raujornian? The cottage still appeared dark and silent. He didn't have time to help her if she had. If anyone stood a chance against a wizard, it was her. Maybe even she had sense enough to fight the real fight and not bother with the wizard. Regardless, he needed to find his friend and make certain he was safe.

Bright flames roared hungrily through the thatch roof of a cottage on his left. He felt the heat on his face. A layer of sweat instantly rose on his skin. His flesh felt tight and tingled for a moment. The smoke was thick in the air, heavy with the smell of burning wood. And flesh.

A man with a sword stood between the burning cottage and Aerham, silhouetted by the flames. He was too slender to be a Merthian, and at first, appeared to be naked because his outline was too smooth and unbroken by clothing or gear. Blinking and squinting, Aerham realized that the man wasn't just silhouetted; he was solid black. It was a moving patch of night, contrasted against the glowing flames. Yet, it couldn't be.

The shadowy man stood in place, motionless like a statue of blackness. Dark tendrils of smoke --or maybe it was steam?-- rose from its ebony form.

It had to be a trick of the smoke or the excitement of battle, but it was still there, no matter how many times he blinked. It was real, whatever it was.