Earthbreaker's Promise
Chapter 7 - Arlington

Arlington bolted upright with a gasp and took in the carnage around him. Everywhere he looked he was surrounded by dead men, several of them in separate pieces. Planting a hand on the ground to steady himself, Arlington frowned at the blood that seeped from the grass and covered his fingers.

“What the hell happened.” He wondered aloud and moved to stand, except when he went to move his left arm there was a sudden flare of pain. Arlington stared at the limb hanging limply at his side, which is when memories started coming back to him in a rush.

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A peel of laughter slid from between dry, cracked lips. He raised a hand to his mouth to stem the coming tide but it was already too late. A few more giggles escaped before he found himself shaking with laughter that rang out clear and strong across the plains. Then in a rush, he sobered.

This is what we get for letting the abominations live and flourish unchecked. If only more men had agreed to join the Crusade. We could have torn this place apart piece by piece, cleansing the countryside along the way.

Arlington looked around the battlefield again, one fist clenching as he really took it all in. Losing men during battle wasn't new, it was expected. Except this wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter. A thousand men dead and they never managed to draw blood from the enemy.

“Erik.” He whispered, looking around before remembering that the man had been dropped into a chasm. There would be nothing to bury.

Arlington glanced around for Nicholas. Then he spotted the man’s spear sticking out of the ground near a hand shaped crater. It would have to act as an impromptu grave marker as there was likely nothing left inside the armor but a smashed mess.

Casting his gaze towards the castle he was surprised to find the structure hidden in shadows so deep it was almost nonexistent. How long have I been out? Where are the reinforcements? He had heard the scouts mention that with the way the kingdom was nestled in the valley it could disappear inside the darkness, but he hadn’t seen it for himself until now. If he wasn’t sure of exactly where the border was due to the number of bodies lying around it, the castle would be invisible.

“Just another obvious sign that these things are monsters.” Arlington said to himself. “Predators that prefer the darkness to the light. Their eyes accustomed to these conditions.”

He grimaced as he turned too quickly and his dislocated arm shifted position.

Where the hell is my sword? I’ll storm the castle myself. No abomination gets to take my friends from me and live. Not even one with the power that the their Queen displayed.

Glancing back towards where he had fallen, Arlington spotted the black hilt more by luck than anything else. Walking towards it, he shook his head as another laugh escaped him. At least the sword made it.

Yanking it from the ground he turned it skywards and stared at the hilt. The sword had been passed down through the men of his family for generations. Originally it belonged to his great, great grandfather who hunted in the North. The hilt was made of obsidian carefully crafted into the shape of a bear and a flat crossguard of pure silver stretched out to either side. Arlington’s smile returned, remembering the times he had caught werewolves unaware by forcing the crossguard into their skin.

“Why do you not carry a trident like the rest of us?” Nicholas had once asked after carrying Arlington, beaten and bloody, from a battlefield.

“Cold steel for anything.” He had cried loudly, drunk on his own battle high.

“Why not at least coat the edges in silver?”

Arlington had snorted laughter at Nicholas’ pleading tone.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Nicholas.” He said. “Take their heads and you don’t need to worry about what you’re fighting. Vampire, werewolf, fae, without their heads they all die just the same!”

Both men had dissolved into bursts of laughter at Arlington’s proclamation. The other soldiers sitting around the campfire had only smiled and continued on with their own conversations. Back then, Arlington was only somewhat more than a recruit even though he had risen quickly through the ranks. Especially after his commanding officers had learned how many Others he had killed in that battle. That may have been the first time he had been called the Laughing Death.

Glancing now at the blade, Arlington got a nice surprise. One edge was streaked with dried blood. So she does bleed. And if she bleeds, she can be killed. Good news for me. Next time I’ll bury this blade in her heart.

A distant cry reached his ears and Arlington looked around, wondering if one of his men was still alive. Carrying his sword in one hand he moved quickly among the bodies, searching for the source of the noise. Then it came again.

“Officer!” He heard someone shout, and glanced towards the hill they had marched from. A lone figure on horseback was galloping towards him, a stained yellow band on his shoulder.

One of the Commander’s scouts, come to see what happened?

Soon enough the man was close enough for Arlington to recognize him.

“Abraham!” He called, surprised to see the man alive.

In moments Abraham was close enough to dismount and sprint towards him.

“Arlington. You’re...alive? How? I saw you in front of the Queen before I lost consciousness.”

“I wish I could say it was my own skill that got me here,” he said. “But the truth is the abomination seemed distracted right near the end.” He glanced up and down the scout. “Did you know that you’re covered in blood?”

“The blood is from my horse, Lillian, bless her heart. The abomination.” Abraham frowned. “You mean the Queen?”

“I mean the abomination that killed my men and left me for dead.” Arlington said, his smile cruel, and the scout standing before him swallowed. “The one I will surely see dead by my own hand before the day is out.”

“Of course, sir. I’m just glad to see you made it.” Abraham said. “Commander Tiller and the rest of the army are coming behind me. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to realize that someone other than myself made it.”

Arlington clapped the smaller man on the shoulder. “Excellent news. The sooner they get here the sooner we can storm this castle and be done with these monsters.”

“Are you sure you’re up for that sir? What about your arm?”

“Dislocated. Nothing more. I’ll have it set and ready to go in no time. How far back is the rest of the Crusade?”

Arlington rolled his eyes at the man’s frown. The scout didn’t understand the urgency. Now is our best chance of killing her. We have to strike while she is still occupied!

“Well?” Arlington prompted, tapping his foot.

“Almost to the top of the hill, sir. But we won’t be charging immediately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Commander Tiller has ordered that we take the time to bury our dead first. And since it will be dark soon we’ll likely have to make camp before launching our next attack.”

In a blur, Arlington wrapped his working hand around the scout’s throat. Abraham’s eyes went wide as his air flow was suddenly restricted. Both hands grasped at Arlington’s arm, then his fingers, but it was useless. Even injured, Arlington was more than strong enough to hold him.

“That will take too much time!” Arlington shouted and threw the man to the ground.

Abraham scrabbled backwards, coughing.

“I didn’t make that decision sir,” he rushed the words out. “I’m sorry. You know as well as I that it would be suicide to charge them in darkness. Our few advantages would be lost.”

“In that case I will speak with the Commander when he arrives.” Arlington said having turned to look towards the castle. “Surely he will understand the need for a swift attack.”

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