20 In 5 -- Vol. II -- His Time Has Come

Across the valley, the torches broke the night, floating through the darkness like beacons of hell. From the tower, the torches barely illuminated the villagers, the raving mob that made its way up the craggy foothills to…attack.

Time has a weight eternal...

The lone figure in the tower, indeed in the entire castle, looked behind him, into the lofty crypt, to again glance at the stone coffin. The center of all fears. The cause for the villager’s riot.


Empty now, the coffin was his only true refuge. Without it, he would be reduced to ashes in moments, a horrendous burst of pain delayed by centuries. He knew, he knew with every fiber of what humanity he had left, that those few final seconds would burn him with the vengeance of time, the weight of sins and the heat of so much blood.


A rising murmur brought him back to the humid night and its view. The mass of villagers had elongated, what was once a fist was now a lance, with the spearhead moving fast up the rocks to the castle walls.


Not much of a castle, an ancient token of a few centuries gone by, when the land held very few people and the valley was the farthest reach of a forgotten tribal empire. The walls took months to repair, working alone, using night as cover until the villagers saw the changes. Then it took silver to hire workmen, and as some of them disappeared, it took gold. Fortunately, the gold lasted long enough to repair the walls, the drawbridge over the deep dry moat and secure the coffin at the castle’s highest point. An affectation, that, his penchant for sleeping high above the ground. He sighed, looking again at the stone coffin. Maybe this time his eccentricity would cost him dearly…


At the castle walls, the spearhead was reabsorbed into the fist, not so massive as it seemed from a distance. He screwed his thin, sharp lips into a parody of a smile. Many had stayed behind. With alarming speed, evidence of a well-thought plan, the villagers sloshed a liquid on the massive wooden drawbridge, the tossed torches at it. The whole gate was engulfed in flames and a ragged cheer wafted above the roaring fire. It was pitch, he knew, and the wood was terribly dry. It might last an hour.


Or less. In the commotion, he missed the second group to arrive, bearing an immense battering ram, steel-shod at the tip. His eyes narrowed brutally. The game had definitely changed.


Again with speed, the crown parted, the most massive men grabbed the huge ram and with a shout, they lunged at the drawbridge. The resounding crack made him wince, and within seconds, the ancient wood cracked even more, crumbled and burned with sparks. The castle was breached.


Daring burns, the raging mob rushed through the fiery gate, screams and shouts mixing with shrieks of fury. This was the endgame, for though the tower had a narrow staircase, there were hundreds of villagers rushing up its steps. Many would die, but ultimately, their shrieking fury would overwhelm him.


Adjusting his cape, he walked from the tower’s highest window into the stone coffin’s aerie, pausing long enough to run his hand across its rough surface. The motion stopped abruptly as the screams and shouts changed in tenor. The villagers were seconds away.


--


Continued in Volume II of "20 in 5." Please purchase a copy today to finish "His Time Has Come" available directly from Smashwords in a variety of e-book formats. Or you can purchase it from the Mis Tribus eBook Store. 


Included are the ending to "His Time Has Come" along with 19 other flash fiction stories. Brought to you directly by Mis Tribus.