Land of Madness Read online

  Land of

  Madness

  Copyright © 2019 B. T. Litell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission by the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Cover art by cheriefox.com

  Edited by Coach Lynn Media, LLC

  Printed and published by Amazon Digital Services, LLC.

  First Published in 2020

  Visit my website at: www.btlitellauthor.blog

  ISBN: 9781704484150

  Kindle ASIN: B07ZWCFFMH

  The Tales of Drendil (Short Stories)

  Fallen Stars

  The Collapse of Madira

  Dark Magic

  The Saga of Drendil (Novels)

  Land of Madness

  Downfall (Coming Soon)

  This book is dedicated to my loving wife, Mariana. Without you and your constant support I would not be where I am today. You are my rock, my foundation, my anchor in the storms, and my lighthouse. You are always guiding me back to safety. Without all of your continued support I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I love you so much.

  Land of

  Madness

  A Novel

  by

  B. T. Litell

  Prologue

  It was late at night and a heavy darkness loomed over the city. The impenetrable darkness of a moonless, thickly overcast night. The first few signs of color that heralded the rising sun were still hours away. With as thick as the darkness was, it felt like sunrise could be a lifetime away. A heavy, hollow ringing echoed through the city. The clanging of the echo sounded like a mine, or several dozen bells, had been planted under the city overnight. The moat around the city would have made a mine difficult, though not entirely impossible. And still the faint clang continued resonating in the darkness.

  Michael always despised patrolling the streets at night. He couldn’t avoid the feeling that he was being watched, and tonight, the faint clang beneath his feet only added to his discomfort. Unable to ignore the sound a moment longer, Michael scanned the street briefly. He turned around, the stiff, leather sole of his boot emitting a whispery scape on the cobblestone. He had to get to the guardhouse. Someone there had to know what was going on, or at least have a plan for dealing with it.

  As he ran, the familiar creaking of stiff, aged leather accompanied him, comforting him slightly. Outside of wartime, the armory only issued leather armor, a decision that was made to “reduce armorer costs” or something along those lines. His longsword was swung at his hip, his heater shield hung on his back. The front of his shield and his tabard were both crimson with a golden griffon, their wings held back as it ready for flight and their front paws off what would be the ground. Three, six-pointed stars showed over the griffon in the shape of a triangle. This was a constellation that could be used for navigation as it was always found in the northern part of the sky, no matter the time of the year.

  Michael thought to himself as he ran from narrow alleyways to wide boulevards of the sleeping city. Surely, the Guard-Captain had noticed the sound, Michael thought to himself as he ran from narrow alleyways to wide boulevards of the sleeping city. The clanging was an ill omen, but for what? Where had the sound come from, and why was this the first night he was hearing it? Someone had to have some answers.

  Rounding a corner onto a boulevard, Michael ran into Sven, also patrolling the streets. From a distance, the man appeared more as a wolf stalking its prey than a man looking for criminals or anyone being disorderly. His eyes never stayed in the same place for more than a second, and his left hand rested on the plain hilt of his sword. He repeatedly lifted it from the scabbard about a hand’s width and slammed it back home. His other hand sat on a wickedly curved knife barely longer than his hand. Many stories, some true, some likely exaggerated, told of the number of men Sven had killed with a simple motion of that knife.

  The man intimidated most guards, and for good cause; few guards had been mercenary thieves before enlisting, and even fewer had gotten their assignments directly from the King. The promotion to Guard-Captain should have been his, but one incident a few years back while assigned to a death squad had kept that promotion just beyond his grasp. Sven had, during his time in the army, seen and done things that would sound like a drunk soldier’s inflated stories told to boast to bar maidens or other soldiers. His were true stories, if he chose to tell them.

  “This sound is the worst thing in the world, Michael,” Sven called out, still scanning the empty street for any perceived threats.

  “I’m going to talk with the Captain about it. Come with me?” Michael asked. Despite having known the man for so many years, he noticed a touch of what looked like fear flash across Sven’s face. He usually displayed emotions like a stone.

  “The Captain’ll throw a fit if I leave my post, Michael. Taking care of this noise should weigh more than a Lieutenant roving the damn streets like a common guardsman. Not like a bloody footpad will do anything during this racket anyway. I don’t even want to be out here right now.”

  Despite his protests, Sven spun around on the balls of his feet without any hesitation and kept pace with Michael, their leather armor creaking in near unison. Even running, he had a hand on his sword or his knife, ready to use either. During his days as a mercenary he used an axe and his curved knife, though he always favored the knife for what he called a personal encounter.

  “James, come with us!” Sven yelled down a side street to another sentry on patrol.

  “Sounds better than walking through these side streets,” James replied, running toward the pair.

  When the three of them arrived at the guardhouse, the Guard-Captain already stood outside, barking orders at the assembled guards. The Captain was a stout man, yet that added to his overwhelming persona somehow. As soon as the three sentries arrived, the Captain’s face flushed red, a vein in his neck swelling. That was typically his reaction to seeing Sven, so that at least seemed normal.

  “No word yet on the source of the noise. Patrols are being sent outside the city to find out what they can. Lieutenant, you will accompany your patrolman.” The Captain waved his hand toward James and Michael, “And check around the southeastern corner of the city. Reports say the noise is loudest there. Report directly to me what you find at four bells. Move!”

  “Aye, sir,” Sven replied, firmly clasping his fist to his breast, followed by a faint clang from his gauntlet on his cuirass. Upset as he was about the missed promotion, he held firm to customs.

  “What should we look for, Captain?” Sven asked. The question was unusual but given the noise Michael couldn’t blame him.

  “If I knew the answer to that, Lieutenant, I would have stopped the blasted noise myself instead of sending patrols to every corner of the damn city to find a way to stop it. Don’t question orders and you’ll succeed in my Guard.” The Captain replied snappily, spittle flying from his mouth. His tone could have eroded an anvil.

  “Captain, I just wanted to know if there is anything we should…” James started, before the Captain cut him off harshly.

  “Do your damn job! Patrol the southeastern quarter and get out of my face before I change my mind about allowing you into my regiment.” Leaving no chance for further questions, the Captain stormed
back inside, slamming the door behind him. The crowd of guards scattered.

  “Come along. We clearly will get no answers. I dislike this as much as you, but what else can we do?” Sven was uneasy about the noise. His eyes belied his confidence.

  “Aye, sir,” James replied, sounding hurt by the exchange.

  The three of them grabbed some horses from the stable and rode down the road. The noise caused the city to stir, despite the sun still being far from the horizon. Terror flooded the faces of those who stepped out of their houses or looked out their windows. James passed along some encouraging words to a few, but Sven stopped him after a block.

  “You’re not even a bit curious about Captain’s orders, Sven?” James asked, adjusting his grip on his tower shield. He rarely fidgeted.

  “I am curious,” Sven said, “but my place is not to question him. My place is to follow his orders. He has his reasons; otherwise, we would be in the barracks, or on patrol still. Would you rather be walking around pointlessly?” Even on a horse, Sven kept his left hand on his sword.

  “No, I’d rather do something useful. I suppose this is the best I can hope for right now,” James replied.

  As they rode toward the southeastern quarter, home to the city’s market, the sound stopped for a few moments, then resumed, louder than it had been before. A whisper of far-off shouting sounded in the city, drowned out by the sound of horseshoes on the cobblestones. They could not hear any words, but it was at least something they could mention to the Captain if they got the chance. Or if the man cared enough to hear their report.

  Coming in sight of the market, the ground erupted into a shower of stone and debris. The wall shook and collapsed, throwing bits of stone and a huge cloud of dust through the entire market. Sven drew his sword, coughing from the dust. It was impossible to see more than a few meters ahead; they would have a hard time telling what caused it from that distance. The ground shook and another, louder explosion collapsed a few of the warehouses, somehow making the dust even thicker. Michael could barely see James on the other side of Sven. They held their shields overhead against the falling stones.

  Suddenly, a horse whinnied and bucked, followed by a heavy thud and the clip-clop of horseshoes. James groaned as he lay on his back, recovering the breath that had been knocked from his lungs. Michael and Sven managed to regain control of their horses; Sven was faster than Michael. Before getting thrown himself, Sven jumped from his saddle, turning his horse around and giving it a quick swat on the rump. Michael’s horse bucked him off and ran down a side street. Stones continued to fall around him, and for some reason he found the pa-lump of the stones soothing.

  As he struggled to stand, Michael saw several looming shapes through the dust, approaching slowly. Each shape, roughly nine feet tall, and about five across at what seemed like shoulders grew closer. Sven’s eyes remained locked on them too. James rushed over to help Michael stand, unaware of the figures coming closer. Michael nodded his head toward the wall, and James froze when he saw the shapes in the dust. His face completely drained of color, and his hands began to tremble.

  “State your names and intentions,” Sven called, his voice stern and smooth. If he felt any amount of fear, he did not show it at all. His back was rigid, his hands clenched around the hilt of his drawn sword.

  Sven’s challenge received no reply, and he waited a few seconds before he called out again. The second time, the shadow nearest Sven stopped, the clacking of hooves sounding clear against the cobblestones. Labored breathing accompanied the clip-clop of the footsteps, but it sounded like a bull, yet the shadowy figure walked upright like a man.

  “This isn’t possible!” James stammered to himself. “They’re just a myth to scare children.”

  Before Michael could ask what James thought the shape to be, the figure swung what looked like a tree branch into Sven’s chest. There was a thud when Sven crashed into the side of a shop building and landed on the ground on his stomach. He laid there motionless for what seemed an eternity.

  Michael and James stood there staring at Sven, unaware that time had not stopped. The branch-wielder walked closer; its hooves produced the ever-familiar clack sound against the ground. As Michael stared at Sven, an arrow whistled through the air, striking the figure in the throat, followed by a groaning roar and a heavy thump as a hairy beast fell to the ground. Michael and James looked at each other and then at the creature, unsure of what just happened. They were alive, at the very least, which the beast could not have said, if it could speak at all. The beast had features of a bull but walked upright like a man. Coarse sienna fur covered every inch of its skin. Slightly curved horns, about a foot long, protruded from the sides of its broad head with furry, notched ears beneath the horns. The beast’s arms and legs resembled those of a man, albeit a very sinewy man; its shoulders were easily four feet across, with wrists bigger around than Michael’s thigh. Even its legs were massive, as big around as Michael’s waist. Instead of feet, it appeared to have hooves like a steer.

  “Grab the Lieutenant and follow me!” Captain called with his bow still in hand, an arrow readied on his bowstring.

  As Michael and James went to pick up Sven, he rolled onto his back, still wheezing and coughing from hitting the building. Michael felt something grasp his neck, and felt warm breath against his skin, as he knelt to help Sven stand; without knowing what had grabbed him, he knew he could not draw his sword. He had to free himself somehow. Michael slowly moved his left hand and grabbed an arrow from his quiver, yanked the arrow backwards, and planted the swallow-tail arrow. He could only guess that he had planted the arrow into flesh from the lack of resistance he felt with the arrow. The hand immediately left his neck and there was a pained hissing sound behind him.

  Michael spun around to see his attempted captor and confirm he had not impaled the Captain. He saw a squatty, grey-skinned creature with drooping, pointed ears. Its face looked as it if had been stepped on repeatedly with a heavy boot. Its nose was crooked like a brawler’s, and its teeth, if you cared to call them that, were gapped, crooked, yellow, and pointed. Its deep-set, large eyes were a dull green, but the pupils were wide enough that it was almost hard to tell the color. One of its trembling hands clutched a dagger, the other grasped the arrow Michael had planted in its potbelly. Without a second thought, Michael buried a second arrow in its scrawny neck; dark blood ran down its clammy skin. It shrieked, dropped the dagger to the cobblestone, and clutched at its bleeding neck before it collapsed to the ground.

  “James, we have company,” Michael said, drawing his sword and shield.

  Without hesitation, James drew his mace and the Scutum he wore on his back. He rhythmically beat the steel haft of his mace against the side of his shield, ready for whatever else came at them through the dust, which had thinned slightly, but still hung stubbornly in the air.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Michael said. A feeling of unease as deep as the sea filled him. Certainly, an invading force would not have tunneled beneath a city, collapsed a city wall, and attempted an invasion with only a single hulking creature and a small feeble being that died from two arrows impaled in its skin without the use of a bow.

  Not a blink of an eye after that thought raced through his head, a booming sound shook the ground beneath his feet. It was distant, but not overly so. The booming roar was followed by the pounding of drums, unmistakable as a marching beat. Long, pealing blasts from horns accompanied the drumming, and both echoed off the buildings that had not fallen yet.

  “Well that’s bloody unfortunate.” James muttered, quite unsure about his choice in being a Guardsman at that point. The man was brave, but no man was without faults.

  “We need to get Sven somewhere safe,” Michael said.

  “No need to get me anywhere. I’ll be fine,” Sven said, standing up slowly and wavering a little when he got to his feet.

  “We need to get the hell out of here!” James shouted, clearly back to normal self.

  The ho
rns continued wailing accompanied by the drumbeats, both growing closer. Not a second later, giant balls of fiery rocks began raining down on the city, smashing into buildings, causing a shower of bricks and shingles to rain down on the streets. Fire fell to the streets with the bricks. The soldiers had to dodge flames and bricks as they tried to decide of stay or move further into the city. If they moved further into the city, they may be safe, but if they stayed, defending the city from whatever sort of open invasion would befall the city. Captain was standing where he was before, a look of doubt on his face.

  This day won’t end well, Michael thought to himself.

  “Captain, what are your orders?” Sven asked, knowing that now more than ever was a time to lean on their leader’s support and take the appropriate actions. Fire and stone were raining down, and creatures had gotten into the city.

  “What can we do? The city wall has been breached by complete surprise,” the Captain replied quietly. His face had drained of all color, which made him appear ghostly.

  “The city has not fallen to any enemy! There is still hope for our people!” Sven yelled. His eyes were flooded with determination and righteous anger. Not toward anyone in particular, but toward whatever had caused this night to turn this way. Someone would clearly pay for this night, and Sven would carry out justice personally if he had to. Michael was suddenly very thankful that Sven was on his side.

  “Our city is exposed!” the Captain said, “A Minotaur waltzed in as if it lived here and knocked you off your horse. You nearly died, and you say our city still stands. We have lost, Lieutenant.”

  Sven flashed to the Captain and grabbed him by his cuirass, pulling the man close. Despite being a few inches from the man’s face, Sven shouted, likely unable to control his volume given everything going on. Another fiery ball crashed into a nearby building, scattering debris to the street below. Amid the debris, a man fell to the street, his clothes engulfed in fire. The man’s screams rang out between the not-so distant horn sounds; the man fell to the ground, the fire and the fall from the building having defeated him. Sven pointed at the man and ensured the Captain saw what was happening.