The White Dragon: Tales from the North — Chapter 8: Melphios’ Lost Fingers

Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (1818) | Caspar David Friedrich

ㅤㅤTwo beasts gaze at each other, and grin. Scarcely any seems to notice them, but trust me, they are quite real, and quite visible to a certain kind of an indoctrinated heart. Their species though frameless and made of nothing more than thoughtcells, rivals the masters of the stage for the number of costumes worn in a lifetime; they are quite the characters. And though no word is spoken between the two, these “foes” understand each other like few minds can. ‘If you are the one to feast on my intestines, may you savor each bite and delight!’ ㅤㅤA battle is about to begin. Thousands and thousands have come from near and afar. They have come to kill the men they see on the other side. ㅤㅤDividing them is the Sav Gorge. One misstep, and death is guaranteed. The blue dragon below might breathe no fire, but neither its spikes nor its teeth can say in good conscience that they have moved on to a new diet of less traumas and grotesque images. ㅤㅤUniting them, Melphios’ lost fingers; three bridges of about 50 zantuns in length. The tale says they are what’s left of the legendary creature who became the King of All Giants. Three fingers was the price Melphios had to pay to have his deepest desire granted… made touchable. Most of these men, gathered on this battlefield that squashes all hopes, would gladly give a full hand or a foot, if it meant that they could return home, sit by the hearth, and forget about war, even for just a while. ㅤㅤDrums and trumpets are heard, is it too late? Maybe the two men standing in the center of the middle bridge can prevent what’s about to occur. The wise already know, that’s a fool’s dream. The two beasts smile…

ㅤㅤ“Who speaks?” ㅤㅤ“Tiberius of the House of Mactire. Son of Hadrian IX. Blood of Sium and Afius the Conqueror,” he declared. “Who speaks?” ㅤㅤ“Ortis’okan Mithra, King of Vitus. Son of Artelon’okan. Blood of Zol’atan.” He carefully examined the appearance of the young man in front of him, and added, “I thought you Mactires wore armors of gold.” ㅤㅤ“Not until we’ve earned them,” stated the prince. ㅤㅤ“Your father must be quite confident, to move you here.” ㅤㅤ“And you not so quite if you’ve come to parley.” ㅤㅤOrtis smiled. “How are your cousins doing?” ㅤㅤ“What have you come to say? We’ve not marched here for small talk; we can see that the weather’s just fine.” ㅤㅤ“I’m sure you haven’t. We wish no war on you, on your people, or the House of Mactire, Prince Tiberius.” ㅤㅤ“And what do you wish for then?” ㅤㅤ“The head of the man named Sivus Whitethunder!” ㅤㅤ“I am afraid that between your desire, and Supreme Commander Whitethunder, there are at least thirty-five thousand legionaries that might have one or two unpleasant things to say about that; I’m also informed that they are heavily armed.” The two read each other’s eyes and knew… ㅤㅤ“My father is willing to bestow on you the title you now claim, and even more. After almost four thousand years, all of Vitus, with the stroke of a feather, can belong to the House of Mithra and your people. You need only to pledge your allegiance to the House of Mactire before me, return to Til’Ada, and if called, fight in your Emperor’s battles. Moreover, your brother, Artus’okan Mithra will be absolved of all the crimes he has committed. As for the murderers, marauders and arsonists that followed him in Imperial Lands, their heads are demanded.” ㅤㅤOrtis had his reply ready, “One expects and receives nothing less than a generous offer from your magnanimous father; I graciously thank him for that. Regrettably, Prince Tiberius, we have a hard day’s work ahead of us, and we better start now. Thirty-plus thousand heads… are a lot of heads.” ㅤㅤ“Akai Atai.” ㅤㅤ“Akai Atai.” ㅤㅤWhen both turned, they raised their swords and their men erupted in cheers. “AKAI ATAI! AKAI ATAI! AKAI ATAI! AKAI ATAI! AKAI ATAI! AKAI ATAI!”

ㅤㅤOrtis bowed his head to his brother, symbolizing that the stage now belonged to the Commander of the Ahnati Army. Artus turned to his men and said, “Raise your khopeshes, let the fucking hyenas gathered at our doorstep, see them gleam in the sun.” ㅤㅤ“Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!” ㅤㅤ“These dogs of war come for all of us. They come bearing sweet gifts. How the Children of Ek’atan have prospered by receiving them. This is not Hattius. This is not Dezúm. This is not Vitus! THIS IS HERRKÂLLÂ!” ㅤㅤ“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” The Ahnati warriors erupted in elation. ㅤㅤ“Let us give them a proper welcome! “Nefios Altorris nev Zol Badan! Nefios Altorris nev Zol Badan!” said Artus. The holy phrase of the Ahnatis. The very sentence uttered by Zol’atan’s warriors during the Hilfetian Revolt; ‘Freedom Eternal for the Children of Zol!’ ㅤㅤ“Nefios Altorris nev Zol Badan! Nefios Altorris nev Zol Badan! Nefios Altorris nev Zol Badan!” they chanted. ㅤㅤ“First line, forward!”

ㅤㅤAt the same time that Artus was inspiring his warriors, on the other side of the Three Fingers, Sivus and Efran were riding back and forth inspecting their troops. In no time they too were galvanized by the battle cries of their centurions and respective commanders and started slamming their swords against their shields. “Glory to the Army!” many shouted. ㅤㅤOthers, “For Eksium and the Golden Wolf!” ㅤㅤPopular among the legionaries were also, “Wolfborn!” and, “Until the end!” ㅤㅤ“The left is yours to command, Efran. Katon ek’sulus nirrvadan,” said Sivus. ㅤㅤ“Eksaliorr! Eksaliorr!” he replied and went to take his commanding position. Then Sivus quickly galloped to the right, where the overall command of the side was entrusted to Lucius Pulcher this time (the Supreme Commander preferred to rotate the position among his legions’ commanders). “May Lady Carnage find these lands already plowed,” he said. ㅤㅤ“Katon ek’sulus nirrvadan,” said Lucius saluting Sivus. ㅤㅤ“Eksaliorr! Eksaliorr!” ㅤㅤWhen he returned to command the center, the Ahnati first line had begun to move. The White Dragon turned to his men, and in typical fashion, spoke but a few words, “For the Empire! For the Emperor! Nashnaran Lives! Glory to the Army! Until dawn or beyond if need be. Kill, kill, kill, or be free. Forward! Akai Atai!” ㅤㅤ“Akai Atai! Akai Atai! Akai Atai!” chanted the first line as they moved to clash with the Ahnati forces.

ㅤㅤ“Formation! Deathwall!” ㅤㅤIn an instant, the Mactire legionaries raise their shieldwall and welcome the initial barrage of the Ahnati skirmishers; a shower that blesses their formidable defense with nothing that isn’t already there. They proceed forward, one step at a time; conquerors already. Some Ahnatis try their luck by either kicking the wall and trying to create an opening in it, or by jumping over it. The former are swiftly pierced, skewered meat style, and the latter meet a welcoming bed of spearheads. The Mactire Deathwall… swift and unforgiving; a marvel of effectiveness. ㅤㅤWhen the two opposing shieldwalls clash, at first the situation is at a standstill; some fall, but their place is quickly taken over by another. The Ahnatis push and try to push even harder, but the Mactires hold their ground firmly. The width of the bridges doesn’t allow for more than nine men to stand side by side at a time; nullifying the numerical advantage the Army of Vitus has. ㅤㅤAt this point, Sivus turns and looks at Korinth, and a moment later a rain of black arrows is falling on the Ahnatis. Brows, eyes, necks, shoulders, arms, thighs, shins, calves, feet and everything else in between, unleash a broken melody of screams. ㅤㅤ“Attack!” yells Publius Demus who is commanding the first line in the center. ㅤㅤThe two forces break their respective shieldwalls and rush to serve their own flavor of justice. Shields smash jaws. Khopeshes cut arms. Spears fly en route to an unspecified target. The never-ending rain of arrows makes the Ahnatis more frantic and bolder with each passing minute. Bodies are pushed and thrown from the bridges. Blue and red mark their commitment. Breathing gets more and more difficult… ㅤㅤA sword thrust into a mouth. An act of sacrifice. A fresh supply of lifeforce. The worms celebrate the arrival of a Hundred Days of Heaven! ㅤㅤAn order is given and the Ahnati elite infantry joins the fray. These men aren’t just better equipped, they are properly trained; some have seen combat, though of a different age. The fighting gets fiercer and fiercer, and the Ahnatis manage to turn the tide in the center; the Mactire resistance on the right and left is faring a bit better, but soon about to collapse as well. Publius Demus takes two more to the grave with him, and then falls. The second Mactire line prepares, but can they stop their charge? ㅤㅤ“Release the gift!” Sivus shouts. The ground begins to shake. A looming, growing dark figure pants. The legionaries move and make space for something to pass. The Ahnatis look confused, but they continue to carve their way through, until the first of them are thrown high into the air, ribs torn and limbs flying. ㅤㅤ“IT’S A FUCKING ELASMOTHERIUM!” is the last cry of one of them, before he quickly gets trampled over. ㅤㅤThe one-horned beast shoves forward, untroubled and unconcerned, wreaking carnage. The few who manage to come close enough and attack it, can’t pierce its thick skin. Two Ahnatis bodies now adorn its great white horn; flesh rings. The bridge trembles and the Ahnati effort seems to be utterly shattered. When the cub is about to cross the bridge and crash into the main body of the Ahnati Army, an odd flying creature emerges, its two black wings, two sharp blades. Artus’okan plunges his swords into the beast’s eyes and it releases a shriek to trouble all souls. Soon it loses speed and falls on its side, dead. The soldiers behind their king, cheer in excitement. ㅤㅤWhat other tricks do the Mactires have? What more to offer? And a figure in a golden armor emerges.

Chapter 8 of my work, The White Dragon: Tales from the North

*Prologue & Chapter 1*

Next week, another chapter!

For the full work, click here, or just reach out to me, and I can email you the file.

— written in 2023 AD