Story #331 - Vanguard

Vanguard

“For the honor of the Vanguard!” The cheer went up from the assembled, rumbling out along the hills and valleys, thundering out so loudly that shepherds had to calm their flocks and riders soothe their horses.

Despite the noise, despite the soul-shattering racket, humans looking at the spot where Old Gods gathered would have seen nothing but a gently rolling plain, nothing but empty amber fields.

Aleth’adren, however, saw something strange in one of his brothers.

“Dresh,” he said as the chant faded, “come here.” The stout God shot him a dark look but complied – power in the Order was based on time of creation, and Aleth had been in existence long than any other except Pelen. He forced thoughts of the Oldest from his mind as Dresh approached; the ancient one had not been seen in some time.

“What?” The younger god said as he came to a halt. A long look from Aleth had the desired effect, and red began to climb Dresh’s cheeks. “I mean – what is it you require, Elder?”

“Stand easy, my friend,” Aleth said quickly and watched as his brother’s pose relaxed marginally. The youngest except for Sima, Dresh bore a chip on his shoulder nearly half the size of the world and wasn’t shy about letting anyone – man or god – know about it. “I have only one question for you and then I will let you go: why did you not join in the cheer?” It had been obvious to Aleth, and though no human could tell the difference, he knew when his brother’s voice was not among the bellowed.

“What? I –“ Dresh began, shifting quickly on his feet, eyes darting side-to-side but Aleth cut him off.

“I know of what I speak, brother!” Aleth’s voice cracked his brother’s excuses, sharply enough that several of the others looked up in alarm. “Tell me why you did not cheer.” He was implacable, now. There had been signs over the last century, but Aleth had ignored them, let them slip by while he was busy with other matters. Perhaps he was yet wrong – perhaps Dresh had not been corrupted.

He took a step forward, increasing his size to loom over his younger sibling. “Tell me,” he grated. “Why you did not swear.”

“I –“ Dresh started again, but stopped when he saw others crowding around, eager to see what was happening, curious about why their normally calm elder brother was suddenly angry.

The detonation took them completely by surprise, throwing them to the ground with a force no human could hope to survive. Dresh’s floating laugher rang out and Aleth struggled to rise, but his body refused to respond. Betrayal!

***

Waking was painful, and not simply for thoughts of a brother lost.

“Please,” a soft voice came from his right, “do not try to move.”

Aleth forced his eyes open, at first relieved to see the familiar outline of the Healing Chamber, but an odd sensation forced his attention downward. A singed robe and burned patches across his legs and torso would have been cause for concern on any other day, but they paled in comparison to what had been done – what had been lost.

“I cannot say how such a thing is possible, but…” The voice came again, and Aleth looked up into the eyes of Ciara, Healer of the Gods. Fear stood in straining orbs - he was certain she had never seen anything like the deformity that lay before her. Those of the Vanguard could not be damaged, not be torn limb from limb.

“How many?” Aleth’s voice was cold, and he looked away from the Ciara’s shimmering form. He could still feel his left arm, was sure it still functioned and yet could not see it, could grasp nothing with phantom fingers.

“I don’t understand, brother.” Ciara’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“You do!” He hissed. “If this is my fate, others did not survive.”

There was a long pause, and then his sister spoke a single word. “Fifteen.”

His world came crashing down. Fully half the Gods were dead, murdered at the hands of their wayward brother. The Unliving was a tempting beast – Aleth had done enough research into the underside of creation to know that much, but he had never believed that even Dresh would stoop so low.

“How?” He forced himself to move, to stand, brushing off Ciara’s efforts to stop him. He knew the answer, but needed to hear it, needed her to make it real.

“The Unliving…” Ciara hesitated. “We think Dresh somehow channeled its power.”

“Come with me,” Aleth brushed past the healer, forcing her to tag along out of pure concern even if his words were not enough to compel.

It was as he expected; the City had been razed, and many of the great buildings were smoking ruins. Dresh had been careful to spare the library and the great hall, likely at the request of his new master, but every private home had been leveled. His brother was thorough.

“Brothers and Sisters!” He bellowed, striding down the healing manor’s staircase to clouds below. “Come to me and listen!” From the smoking twilight figures appeared, twisted things that did not look like the noble Vanguard he remembered.

“I am Aleth One-arm!” He declared. The name was foolish but would be repeated, would spread among the assembled as a title of defiance and opposition. “We have been betrayed by one of our own, but that does not mean we have been defeated! Dresh caught us unaware, robbed us of some of our number in hopes of breaking out spirits, but I say to you that will not happen!” He raised his single arm skyward, drawing on Creation’s veins to set it ablaze with sunlight.

“Gather the armies,” he went on, “and rouse the hosts of men. “Together, we will root out the fool that has betrayed us and show him our true strength. For the honor of the Vanguard!”

Weak at first, the cheer spread as Aleth repeated it, building, building until it shook the City itself. Dresh would pay – Aleth One-arm was angry.


- D