TGRF's Tales of Valhalla

[TGRF]

Greetings, one and all.
Following the creation of the new length limit rule in the fan fic competition, I have come across an unexpected development. The development is, to put it simply: I am having trouble staying within the limit. I've always tended to write more than average, and the fact that I am actually trying to write longer for my fan fictions doesn't help.
Now, obviously I can simply edit my entries down to the point where they fit, but I only want to edit them so much. For example, the first entry below was 1,191 words over the limit. I feel that if I were to edit out that much, something, possibly a great deal, would be lost.
Therefore, rather than hacking away at my entries until they begin to lose too much, I've decided to post them here.
This will be the place for those entries that were too long to post in the fan fic competition. It will not be limited to just those entries, but they will make up most of its content.
I will post the stories both here and in individual posts in the thread.

And yes, Bro-Man, I basically stole the title of your thread: Battles of Valhalla.

Darkness - 2/28/13

Spoiler Alert!

The prompt for this story can be found here.
Word Count: 9,308
Placement: First Place
Notes: This is likely the best entry I have written for the fan fic competition.

Spoiler Alert!

A tear slipped silently down Raelin’s cheek. It fell to the floor, where it landed, soundless, as she watched her lord and general, Jandar, bent over a desk littered with papers. The ancient kyrie’s head was bent against the top of his desk, his eyes closed. Silence reigned with Jandar.
Raelin took a shaky breath and approached the veteran general. She had known Jandar since before the war, always a kind, loving kyrie, always ready to go out of the way for the comfort of even a stranger. The war had torn him apart, turned his hair gray, and caused lines to furrow his caring face.
Raelin gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Jandar let his breath out in a long, defeated sigh, but gave no other acknowledgement of her presence. After a moment, though, he raised his head from the mess of papers.
“There must be a way,” he said, his voice strained and hoarse, “there has to be a way, to end this war.” He looked up at Raelin, his blue eyes searching hers. He turned away. “If only,” he muttered, half to himself, “if only we could reach Utgar, and lay his ruin before the open skies. If only I could muster the men, soldiers with courage, and march them to the heart of his land…” Jandar sunk his head back down to his desk. “If only I had an army,” breathed Jandar into the wood before him, his breath ruffling the papers, “willing to follow my command. But I don’t,” he added, once again raising his head and staring before him, not seeing. “I don’t. My men have deserted me because they are too afraid to do their lord’s will.” Jandar was silent for a moment, his hand slowly forming a fist upon the wood of his desk. “If I had but twenty men with the courage to crush Utgar!” thundered Jandar, sweeping a pile of papers to the floor in an angry swipe. His head fell back down upon his desk, his form shaking.
“You are ill, my lord,” said Raelin gently. “You have not slept for four nights. If only you would…”
“Sleep, Raelin?” shouted Jandar, rising from his chair and facing her. Raelin took a step back, startled. “How can you speak of sleep at a time like this? My army has deserted me, refused to follow my commands! How can I win a war with a force like this?”
Raelin bit her lip. No soldier would follow the orders Jandar had issued, no matter where they came from. She could not try to reason with Jandar, though. She knew what would follow.
“No, Raelin,” said Jandar, his voice dropping, “We are beaten. With no army, I cannot defend Valhalla. Utgar has won. I will send word to Utgar, telling him of my surrender.”
“Jandar!” cried Raelin.
“Yes, Raelin, surrender!” shouted Jandar. “We are beaten, and there is nothing you nor I can do about it but to accept our fate and ride to our doom with dignity. If even that is not robbed from us,” he muttered to himself, turning back to his desk.
“Jandar…” began Raelin, but she stopped. He would not listen to her. She had tried already to tell him why his soldiers refused to carry out his commands, but he threw her logic to the five winds and continued to rant about disloyalty. And if she persisted, he turned on her, and banished her from his sight for the rest of the day.
“You are ill, my lord,” said Raelin to herself, so quietly that Jandar could not hear. “And though you may not see it, there are still those that care.”
Jandar bent back over his desk, his once glorious wings now faded and drooping. The once proud general, defender of Valhalla, was gone, leaving behind this husk of despair and grief. A tear slipped silently down Raelin’s cheek, and fell to join the first on the floor.

Kelda slipped silently from the barracks and closed the door behind her, leaning against it, her eyes closed. So many wounds, so many hurts, and none that she could heal, for they were all within. Defying Jandar’s orders had left the army broken. They had served willingly under him for many years now, and many had come to know him personally. Each and every one of his soldiers had been fiercely loyal to him, ready to fight for him until the last drop of blood was gone from their veins. To stand before him, therefore, and refuse to carry out his wishes, had been a hard thing. Even more difficult than that, however, was Jandar’s reaction. In the past, if his orders were ever questioned, he would search until he found the reason why, and then do his best to fix it. But when Drake Alexander had said that deadly word, ‘no,’ Jandar had stood still for a moment, stunned. And then he had released such a stream of screams and yells as no one had ever heard from him before, least of all Kelda. He had left for his quarters, calling his faithful men deserters and spineless fools. He had allowed only Raelin to see him for four days, anyone else he shouted out before they could get the door open. After such a display, the moral of the men was not at its highest.
Kelda let out an inaudible sigh and opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Raelin, slowly descending the steps to Jandar’s quarters, trying to stifle her tears. Kelda half ran half flew to her, and was soon by her side.
“There’s something wrong with him,” Raelin said in a partially choked voice. “He hasn’t eaten since he… he… spoke with Drake. All he talks about is how the war is lost, and now he says he will send to Utgar, telling him that he… surrenders.”
Kelda put her arm around her and comforted her as best she could, but this news troubled her heart even further.
“Kelda,” said Raelin, stopping upon the steps and turning to her, “you know as well as I what has befallen Jandar.”
Kelda knew, but said nothing.
“Every scout we sent out,” continued Raelin, in a quieter voice, “returned broken, filled with despair, all of their hope gone. Some even never came back.” Raelin paused to take a shaky breath. “Jandar is the same as they. His words are twisted, his strength sapped, his heart filled with the blackest despair.”
Kelda stared before her, knowing that what Raelin said was true. “How?” she finally asked, not moving her head, her voice bleak. Raelin did not reply.

“There’s nothing we can do, Raelin,” said Drake Alexander, commander of Valhalla’s armies. “Jandar’s orders have turned to madness, and now many of my men are beginning to act the same. Whatever foul curse this is that now holds Jandar in its power, its spreading. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a month it had taken us all.”
Raelin shuddered. “No…” she pleaded quietly, “this can’t be happening; this can’t be how it ends.”
“Ends?” said Drake. “It hasn’t ended yet, Raelin. As long as there’s life in my men, it’s never ended.”
“But what can we do?” cried Raelin. “Our general and his army are being torn down by a force which we cannot see, much less fight.”
Drake was silent for a moment, as he stood, staring down at the grass, which was now black and withered. “I don’t know what we can do,” he finally said, looking up and facing Raelin. “Maybe there’s nothing we can do. Maybe it’s our doom to all die here, victims of an unseen curse.”
“No,” said Kelda, very quietly.
Both Drake and Raelin turned to her. They had not seen her enter the tent, as she had kept to the shadows. “What do you mean, Kelda?” asked Drake.
“There is one thing that we can do,” said Kelda, though very quietly. Her skin was ashen, and Raelin noticed that her hands trembled slightly by her sides.
“What’s wrong, Kelda?” Raelin asked, coming towards her.
Kelda rapidly backed away. “Come no closer, Raelin,” she said, her eyes telling plainly how much it pained her to say so.
Raelin stopped, slowly backing towards Drake as she realized what Kelda meant. Drake’s eyes widened as he, too, grasped the meaning of Kelda’s words.
“Kelda,” he said, “not you too.”
There were tears in Kelda’s eyes, but she brushed them away. “There is one thing we can do,” she repeated. “We can summon Vagmor.”
Both Raelin and Drake stared at her. After a moment, Drake spoke. “No,” he said, “that is one thing we cannot do. We cannot go against Jandar’s will a second time. The men are wretched enough as it is having confronted him once.”
“Then do it in secret,” said Kelda, her voice barely more than a whisper, “but we must summon him. He is the only one that can put a stop to this.”
Drake did not reply, but watched her, his mind churning. Finally, he crossed his arms. “Maybe he can, maybe he can’t, but I won’t defy Jandar again, no matter if he is half mad.”
At this, Raelin could contain herself no longer and a sob filled the tent, which she tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress.
Drake glanced over at Raelin, and then back at Kelda. “You’ll have to find someone else to do it, Kelda,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Kelda nodded. “I won’t need to find someone else,” she said, her voice flat, but calm. “I know where the wellspring is.”
“Kelda!” said Drake. “Your ill, you can’t possibly summon anyone, let alone Vagmor.”
“I can, and I will,” said Kelda as sharply as her soft voice would permit. “I must,” she added, to herself.

The stones were wet and slippery. It was pitch black, and the air smelled of mold and standing water. Kelda felt her way carefully down the stone steps into the summoning chamber. Her spells would not work here, this much she knew, and she conserved her energy, rather than try to light her way. She slipped and almost fell twice, but soon felt the damp floor beneath her feet. At the same moment, the wall left her touch, leaving her disoriented in the dark. Taking small steps, so as to avoid running into unseen obstacles, she slowly made her way forwards, feeling the floor with her hands, until she felt water. She probed it, to be sure it was more than a puddle, and then, satisfied, she crouched by its edge, and, cupping her hands, drank of its waters.
At first, nothing happened, other than the strangely sweet taste of the water lingering in Kelda’s mouth. Then, a faint prickling sensation, starting in her fingers and moving slowly up her arms, began to drive away the flaky dryness which had so recently taken hold of her skin. The tingling entered her shoulders and spread throughout her body, until it finally lodged firmly in her head, a small multicolored spark, whirling with vivid images. Ignoring these, Kelda tapped into the power temporarily granted her by the water, and stretched out her hand over the wellspring.
“Show me your light,” she whispered into the blackness. An ominous blue glow, emanating deep from within the wellspring met her words. She gazed at it, the light eerily illuminating her features. She knew what she must say next, but the words caught in her throat, and she stood still, gazing fearfully at the wellspring. Jandar had always been kind to her, at least before this dreadful sickness had taken hold of him, but if he ever found out what she was doing… she dreaded to think of the consequences, especially in his current state.
Shoving the thoughts from her mind, she summoned the words anew, and spoke over the wellspring, her words clear, if somewhat quavering. “Vagmor, I summon you. Leave your rest in the eternal shadow and see the light once again. Vagmor, kammeth framir.”
The surface of the blue waters began to bubble, lightly at first, but then more vigorously. The light swelled in brightness until Kelda could no longer look into its depths, but was forced to stumble backwards in the half light, shielding her eyes with her arms. The water began to swirl, sucking itself downwards until it formed a cone which just touched the illuminated bottom of the wellspring. It was at this point that a figure would normally have emerged, slowly forming from mist into matter above the water. However, the water continued to swirl, the cone remained in place, and the light neither dimmed nor grew. Kelda lowered her arms somewhat, fearful something was wrong.
And then, a voice, deep and amplified by some strange means, a vast power hidden within it, spoke from the depths of the wellspring. “Why do you summon me, Kelda, daughter of Cirithmir?”
Kelda, who had leapt back at the sudden sound, timidly took a step forward. “Vagmor?” she asked, her voice minute against the roaring of the waters.
“Speak,” commanded Vagmor’s voice.
Kelda straightened, though some undying fear kept her partially hunched. “Vagmor,” she whispered to the waters, “we need you. Utgar has unleashed a terrible… something, and it has taken Jandar. He is half mad, and would direct his soldiers to… to…” her voice broke off, searching for the words.
“Calm yourself, Kelda,” said Vagmor from the wellspring. “What is this devilry of which you speak?”
“We don’t know,” said Kelda, her voice gaining a little volume as she grew used to her surroundings. “It’s spreading like a plague, and we can’t stop it. Utgar sent it, that much we know. Please, Vagmor,” she pleaded, “Jandar will destroy the alliance if you don’t do something.”
“Jandar created the alliance,” said Vagmor, his voice smooth, calm, but commanding. “How could he destroy it?”
Kelda hesitated. Making up her mind, she said, “He gave Drake a command.”
“What was it?”
Again, Kelda hesitated. The command had been so unlike Jandar that it still sounded ludicrous, even to her. “He told Drake to summon the armies of the other allied generals, and lead them, without their knowing, to Utgar. Then, he and Utgar would turn on them and form an alliance and rule Valhalla together, and crush any that opposed them.”
Only for a moment was there silence from the wellspring. Then, with a great rushing of water, the light intensified, and Kelda again had to cover her eyes. In another moment, whirling above the mist as his shape took form, appeared Vagmor.
Kelda just had time to catch Vagmor’s silhouette before the light faded and she was plunged into darkness. No sound met her ears, save for the very faint dripping of water. “You have been contaminated by this darkness, Kelda?” Vagmor’s voice was softer, not as loud and commanding as it had been coming from the wellspring.
Kelda nodded, and was about to reply, realizing that Vagmor could not see her, but a sound interrupted her. It was the sound of a footstep, but it was so heavy that the words she had been about to utter died in her throat. Vagmor took another step towards her, and she felt his hot breath close to her face.
He stood there for at least five seconds, before muttering in an ominous tone, “Morker.”
“What?” breathed Kelda, her faint voice quavering.
Vagmor did not reply, but Kelda suddenly felt a faint tugging at her skin. It was not as if something was pulling at her, rather as if some force was pulling away from within. Whatever it was seemed to resist though, and Kelda’s skin began to prickle in agitation.
“Be gone, plague,” said Vagmor in a voice so low Kelda could barely understand it. The tugging ceased instantly. Vagmor took a step back.
“Now, Kelda,” he said, his voice still low and ominous, “explain to me the dealings. Why has Jandar not summoned me before this?”
Kelda felt herself blanch. She had feared this would come up. Vagmor had been sent long ago to deal with the monster Valkrill. He had engaged the demon, but had never returned. A scouting party sent after him determined that Valkrill, as he was dying, had used his power to lock Vagmor into eternal shadow, a strange prison, apart from space or time.
“Speak,” said Vagmor, his voice neither loud nor quiet.
Kelda swallowed. From what she knew of Vagmor, he would likely be able to tell if she lied, so she decided to speak the truth. “Jandar was afraid of you,” she said, “afraid of your power. He knew he could easily win the war with you on his side, but he knew also that he could never control you. When you were cast into eternal shadow, he decided to leave you there, lest you overthrew him once the war was won.”
There was silence. Kelda waited for Vagmor to speak, trembling. When he did, however, it was in the same calm voice.
“Very well. Jandar had his reason. Tell me of this darkness, Kelda. What do you know of it?”
Kelda almost sank to her knees out of relief, but managed to remain standing, staring into the blackness she assumed was Vagmor. “All we know is that it came from Utgar,” she said. “We sent scouts to determine what he was doing, but half of them never came back, and those that did arrived half insane, talking with twisted words.”
“And what of Utgar’s forces?” asked Vagmor. “Have they attacked you in your weakness?”
Kelda paused. Now that she thought of it, no reports of Utgar’s forces had reached her since Jandar was taken. Were they all blind? Utgar had withdrawn and they had been completely unaware. “No,” she said in reply, “I haven’t heard of any of their movements.”
There was silence, except for Vagmor’s heavy breathing.
“Can you help us, Vagmor?”
“A nameless fear, impenetrable, consuming all in its path. Morker. Yes, I can help you, Kelda, but you must do as I say.”
Kelda nodded, forgetting again that she was in the dark.
Vagmor seemed to have seen her motion, however, for he said, “use the wellspring to transport me to the northern edge of the Volcarren, three miles inland from the tip of Fire Peak. I will return once I am done. Until I do, do not stir from this castle. Do not go outside its walls, not even for a moment of peace, for if you do, you will be lost.”
Kelda nodded again.
“You must understand, Kelda,” said Vagmor, his voice quicker, “Morker will try to drive you from this castle, at first by subtle means, but you must not leave its walls. You must stay within the castle.”
“What is Morker?” asked Kelda, confused by Vagmor’s words.
“That knowledge is not for this time, Kelda. Now transport me, quickly.”
Confused, but trusting that Vagmor knew of what he spoke, Kelda stretched her hand out towards that wellspring and recited the incantation that Vagmor spoke for her. Once again, the waters glowed blue and swirled downwards, and then, the chamber was empty, save for Vagmor’s lingering words, “You must stay within the castle.”

“What have you done, Kelda?” Jandar’s words stopped Kelda where she stood, one hand still on the half closed door to the summoning chamber. Jandar’s voice was quiet, and as yet held no malice, but Kelda knew he was angry with her. Fearfully, she slowly lifted her head to his eyes, his piercing blue eyes, which now burned with wrath. She had never seen him so angry, and the sight frightened her.
“You think to use my wellspring without my knowledge?” asked Jandar, his voice still quiet and smooth, but deadly nonetheless. “I knew what you were about the moment you touched your lips to its waters. Now tell me, Kelda, who have you summoned?”
Kelda could not bear to look at Jandar any longer, his suppressed wrath was overwhelming. She bowed her head. She dared not lie to Jandar, not after what she had just done. Summoning all her courage, she said in a quavering voice which was barely more than a whisper, “Vagmor.”
There was silence in the hall in which they stood for nearly a minute. Jandar stood completely motionless, staring at Kelda as if she were Utgar herself, and Kelda remained looking at the floor, trembling for what she knew was about to come. And then Jandar’s wrath broke.
His voice was quiet at first, but gained volume with each passing sentence. “You summoned Vagmor, Kelda?” he said, his voice quavering with anger. “Do you not know that I forbid him to enter Valhalla again? Do you not know his power? Answer me!”
“Yes,” said Kelda, the words barely escaping her.
“Is it not enough that my men have deserted me? Must you defy me as well? Is my judgment not good enough that you must take matters into your own hands?”
Kelda shook her head, unable to speak.
“All of Valhalla is turned against me!” thundered Jandar, more to anyone who could hear him than to Kelda. “My army refuses to follow my orders, and now even my own kin attempt to usurp my rule from under me. What is this madness that has seized the land?” He turned back to Kelda, his eyes burning. She caught his gaze, and he held her there, unable to move, against the door. “You have all joined with Utgar,” he said. “You have all conspired with him against me.” He took one or two rapid breaths before continuing. “Well no longer will your treacherous kind walk about my lands free. I have heard the last of your sly whisperings in my ear. Deep in the lowest dungeon will you lie, Kelda, where neither Utgar nor anyone else will ever find you.”
With this, Jandar took a step towards Kelda, his arm outstretched. Kelda shrank against the door, closing it as she fell against it, her eyes wide with terror. At the last moment, however, Drake stepped before her, barring her from Jandar.
“Have you forgotten the laws that you yourself laid down, Jandar?” he asked, his voice even. “You said that if one be sick, or in need of aid, that person shall never be set in prison as long as the condition persists. Kelda is ill, and you will throw her into no cell.”
Jandar took a step back, resuming his position. A maniacal smile spread across his face. Spreading his arms wide, he laughed, and said to the arched ceiling high overhead, “Even my most trusted general is turned against me. Even in my own house I have no power.” He then turned to Drake, the smile still in place. “Very well, Drake. You insist on refusing to carry out my orders? You defend those that would topple me? Then go and join your true general and leader. Go to Utgar, and offer him your service, for I have no need of men that have no courage to carry out their lord’s will. I banish you from my lands, Drake. See that when you return, you fly your true colors, under the red banner of Utgar. Go.”
Drake remained motionless, his arms folded, his eyes fixed on Jandar. In that moment, he realized that this kyrie before him was not his beloved general, the one that he would follow to the end. That Jandar was hidden, his face veiled by this insanity.
“Go!” thundered Jandar, his voice murderous.
Drake turned, and, without a word, lifted Kelda to her feet. He then turned back to Jandar, and walked resolutely past him, his eyes fixed ahead, Kelda following him. The Jandar they both loved and trusted was no more.

Vagmor opened his eyes. A harsh wind smote him in the face, laden with dust and ash, but it might have been the breath of a kitten for all the notice he took of it. The cracked earth of the Volcarren, usually red and brown, was now black, laden with layers of gray ash. The sky was a dark gray, laced with red, and ash fell from it as snow. Vagmor looked out over the desolate place. The fissures in the earth, usually filled with running lava, now were silent. The air, commonly broken by the regular eruption of volcanoes, was now as quiet as death itself. The falling ash made the only noise, a soft sound, as of distant water. A sound that, in this place, could quickly drive one mad.
“Morker,” Vagmor muttered. The hostile word rolled from his tongue, anxious to leave as he spat it out. He took a step forwards, and his foot sank in three feet of ash. Undeterred, he took another step, and fell in similar depth. As he stood there, in ash above his knees, he realized that he would never reach his destination in time. Therefore, he cast a spell, and soon felt himself rise above the ash. He took a step forward, but his foot did not sink. A smile would have crossed his face had he had one. He would confront this evil soon enough.

“Drake,” pleaded Kelda, “you cannot leave. Vagmor said we would be lost if we left the city.”
Drake turned to her, a harness in his hands. “Where do my loyalties lay, Kelda? With Jandar or with Vagmor?”
“It is not Jandar that banished you, Drake. It is to that Jandar that you are loyal, as is Vagmor.”
Drake turned back and began saddling his horse, a chestnut with two white feet. “Jandar may be blinded to all about him, Kelda,” he said, “but I feel he knows what he says.”
“Then he at least knows not why,” said Kelda, searching desperately for anything to keep Drake within the city.
Drake turned to her once more. “I have defied my general twice already, Kelda, I cannot do so a third time. We can only pray that Vagmor will succeed in his mission and Jandar will call me back once his senses return.”
“Drake…” pleaded Kelda, but Drake turned away.
“I cannot do what you ask, Kelda. I’m sorry.” Drake swiftly mounted his horse, and with a last look at Kelda, rode from the stables, many of his belongings strapped behind him. Kelda watched him go, her eyes dry, but a terrible sadness in his heart.
“Kelda,” the word was spoken softly, and Kelda turned to see Raelin come in a side door. “Kelda,” she said again, “Jandar has commanded that… that you be taken to the dungeons for… for disobeying his word.”
Kelda nodded; she had expected this. She stood and walked towards the door which Raelin held open for her. “Raelin, she said, turning towards her. “Vagmor told me that we must not leave the castle for anything, but Drake won’t defy Jandar, not again. He might listen to you, though.”
Raelin met her eyes and nodded. “I’ll ask him,” she said.
Kelda thanked her and added, “Do not try to release me. I feel this curse in me once again, and it is likely that I will be better in a dungeon, where I can do no harm.”
Raelin nodded a second time, this time with tears in her eyes. “Vagmor will end the plague,” she said. “I know it.”

Vagmor stumbled and fell to one knee. He could have easily gotten back up, but he remained there. Something was wrong. He had never stumbled before, not even in the Underdark, where no light penetrated. Glancing down at his armor, he saw that the biting wind had begun to wear it away, scratching into the delicately carved lines and curves. That was something else that was wrong, his armor was enchanted, no mere wind could erase it. “Be gone, Morker,” he said in his mind, infusing the thought with power. An echoing laugh was all that met him.
“You leave me, and I will leave you.” The voice was slippery and smooth, coated in oil and dripping with venom. Vagmor recoiled at the sound, though it was only in his mind. “You know not what you are meddling in, snake,” he said, his voice flat, but still powerful. “Leave this land and its people alone. Go hide in the caverns where you belong.”
More silken laughter met his mind. “No, Vagmor, I do not belong in the caves, the muck, the dampness. I belong here, with people, with you. You will realize it before you die, I’m sure.”
“Fool,” stated Vagmor. “I cannot die.” With these thoughts, he rose to his feet and continued to press on, driving straight into the tearing wind which fought so desperately to drive him back.
Morker kept up a constant whispering in his head, enough to drive him insane, but Vagmor brushed his voice aside and did not stop. He had beaten this foul thing before, and he would do it again.

“Drake!”
Drake halted his horse instantly and turned in the saddle, waiting for Raelin to catch up. She flew to him and landed by his side, looking up at him. “Drake,” she said again, “you cannot leave. Kelda told me what Vagmor said, and if he speaks the truth, you cannot leave this place.”
“Vagmor always speaks the truth,” said Drake, “but I must leave this place. “Jandar wishes me to go to Utgar, so I will, and drive my sword right through his black heart. With any luck, I may end this terrible plague and free Jandar’s mind.”
“But Drake,” said Raelin, “Vagmor said…”
“Blast Vagmor!” said Drake. “We have no way of knowing what he is doing, and no way of knowing if he will succeed. It’s better to have two going at Utgar than one.”
Raelin took a step back, looking at Drake. Slowly, her eyes traveled over his face, and then down to his hands, which were slowly turning gray. Behind his eyes burned a feverish fire, the same fire that now tormented Jandar. “Drake, please… don’t go,” whispered Raelin, just loud enough for him to hear.
“I must,” said Drake, his eyes softening.
“Indeed,” said Jandar’s imperious voice, as he landed beside them. “And you, Raelin, shall not attempt to sway him from for once following my orders, lest I send you to join Kelda.”
Drake stiffened in his saddle.
“Now go,” said Jandar. “Be gone Raelin. If you try to undermine me as has Kelda, your punishment may be more severe than hers.” When Raelin did not move, Jandar shot out an arm and grasped her by the shoulder, seeking to fling her away. His motion was halted, however, by the rasping of Drake’s sword against its sheath.
“You will not touch her,” said Drake, tensely dropping to the ground, his sword held firmly in his right hand. His eyes blazed both with anger and fever, and they bore into Jandar with a gaze that he returned with venomous hatred.
“So it has come to this,” said Jandar in a musing voice. “Blows at last…” With these words, he drew his own long two-handed sword from where it was strapped cleverly to his back, and released Raelin, facing Drake. Raelin quickly backed away, looking fearfully from Jandar to Drake, both of which were now crouched, circling each other like mad dogs ready for the kill.

With the sound that accompanies a small building collapsing, Vagmor crashed to the ground. His enchantment gone, he rapidly sank into the ash, and it poured in over him, blocking him from the already dark world. “Give up?” asked Morker.
Vagmor did not respond, but summoning the power within him, blasted the ash away. He rose to one knee, and then to the other, and raised his head to look before him. There, rising ever upwards and fading into the dark clouds above, was the gigantic mountain that was Utgar’s fortress. He was close, he couldn’t give up now.
Give up. The thought had never before entered his mind. Vagmor looked down at his metal gloves, now worn thin from the wind. What was happening to him? His armor was impenetrable, his mind unwavering, his strength unmatched. What force would rob him of all three? Morker’s laughter echoed in his head. Summoning his strength, Vagmor rose to his feet, and began to climb the face of the mountain.
“You, Vagmor, climbing? You disappoint me. I would have expected something more… spectacular from you.”
Vagmor stopped. What was he doing? He was no man to climb a mountain, nor was he kyrie to fly over it. He was Vagmor, unhesitating, undying, unyielding. He stepped back and pressed his hand against the mountain. With a thunderous boom, the entire side of the volcano came crashing down, burying Vagmor in a cloud of thick dust.

With an insane yell, Jandar leapt at Drake, whirling his blade wildly. Drake prudently took a step back, allowing Jandar to waste much of his momentum, and dealt him a blow with his hilt which forced him downwards, where he landed, sprawled in the dirt. Drake turned and waited for Jandar to get up.
The Valkyrie rose in an instant, and swung his sword at Drake. Drake flung his own up, and met the massive blade, but the impact traveled through the steel and into his arms, jarring him. He momentarily lost his grip and sank to one knee, struggling to keep Jandar at bay.
“Fool!” yelled Jandar. “I’m a Valkyrie, not some pitiless orc. You should have thought of that before you refused to follow my orders.”
“No one in their right mind would do as you had asked,” Drake shouted back, still struggling against Jandar’s strength.
“No one in their right mind would dare to refuse them either,” Jandar hissed back. He then lifted his sword and kicked Drake before he could reply, rolling him over in the dust. Then, as Drake still lay on the ground, he raised his sword high above his head and prepared to strike him down.
“No!” Raelin rushed before Jandar, trying to stay his sword. Jandar turned, and flung her to the ground with a fist. He then turned back to Drake, but Drake was by now on his feet, his sword back in his hand. Seeing Raelin upon the ground, not moving, he rushed at Jandar, his sword held ready. Jandar prepared to meet his blow with one of his own, and their blades clashed, ringing throughout the castle.

With a heave, Vagmor flung aside the last of the heavy doors to Utgar’s chambers and went inside, tearing down the black hangings that he found in his way. An overpowering stench met him, which he sensed, rather than smelled, accompanied by a sinister hissing.
The stench he had found all throughout Utgar’s ruined fortress. Orcs and kyrie lay together, their blood mingling, their hands still at each others throats even in death. Buildings had been toppled as dragons fell, battling with their own, and everywhere lay a thick layer of dust from the fallen stones. Blood ran like rivers in the streets, pooling where it met and lending a red hue to everything. Vagmor had come across Utgar’s axe, imbedded deeply in the heart of Mimring, who lay sprawled across several doorways, crushing the bodies of orcs beneath him. He had passed on, going deeper into the destruction, searching, until he found what he sought, and what now lay before him: Utgar.
Utgar sat, rigid, lifeless, in his throne of black, his arms open, his head tilted back, his eyes wide. A mindless grin was fixed upon his face, and all about him, destruction reigned. Hangings were torn to shreds, orcs and kyrie lay in piles at his feet, various limbs missing, and Runa lay, dead, against a far wall, a trail of blood suggesting that she had been thrown there. Taelord’s sword rested, still standing, sunk into the chest of Moltenclaw, and Taelord himself, minus his head, lay in a grotesque position slumped against Utgar’s throne.
Utgar himself had already begun to rot, and bits of skin had flaked away, showing bones beneath. But what had caught Vagmor’s attention and held it was the gaping hole where Utgar’s chest had once been. As if he had been blown apart from the inside, Utgar’s skin was ripped to shreds about the hole, and his ribs were scattered every which way. And residing within the hole, frothing silently in its own vapor, was Morker, the source of the black plague.
Morker had no shape, but was rather concentrated smoke, tinted black, sending tendrils of darkness out of Utgar to all parts of his fortress, and now, Valhalla. Disgusted at what he saw, Vagmor raised his hand, his palm facing Morker, and thundered in a voice as old as the peaks overhead, “Vatra gatt!”
Hissing was the only sound that met his ears. That, and Morker’s laughter in his head.

Drake’s sword came down, and a spatter of blood met it, dying his face red. He blinked his eyes to keep them clear, and readied his sword for another strike. Behind him, the sound of the guns of his men filled the air, their bullets mercilessly ripping through kyrie flesh. Jandar and Drake clashed again, locked, and then fell apart. Jandar could not wound Drake, such was his skill, and Drake wouldn’t if he could have. About them, chaos reigned.
A battalion of knights, led by Sir Gilbert, clashed with the full force of Finn’s Vikings. Thorgrim stood in place, hacking at any foe that came within reach. The Templar Knights, most of them without horses, stayed together, slicing as they were assaulted by elementals. Kumiko, silent assassin that she was, slipped through the giant fray, killing who she pleased, and sparing those she trusted, which were, unfortunately, very few. The whole of Jandar’s once grand army was occupied in destroying itself.
The battle between Drake and Jandar had been the breaking point for the men. Some had tried to pull them apart, fearing for Jandar’s life, but others had stopped them, feeling that Jandar could not be saved, and must be destroyed before he destroyed them. The situation had rapidly disintegrated, with those loyal to Jandar pitched against those loyal to him as he once was. And now, fed subtly by the plague that was in all of their veins, the men fought each other, barely knowing why.
Raelin, stunned by the blow Jandar had given her, was now flying far above the battle, desperately trying to convince Nilfeim not to strike down Drake. Concan had joined her, though his pleas were slightly less heart-felt than hers. Nilfeim, however, saw only his master in danger, and strove to get a clear shot at Drake. Raelin, determined to not let this happen, followed Nilfeim’s head so that she was always before him. He would not strike her, this much she knew, though his temper was rising quickly.
A volley of musket fire broke into the mass of Vikings, leveling many of them. Finn turned, and, signaling to his remaining men, charged the ranks of the 4th Massachusetts Line. Another volley, and Finn went down.
Sir Gilbert had engaged Kumiko, and was dealing her blow after blow, each of which she barely managed to block. With each swing of his sword, he denounced her as a skulking coward, traitorously slipping a knife into her enemy’s back when their face was turned. Kumiko remained silent, but dueled him all the fiercer.
Jandar and Drake clashed for what seemed to be the thousandth time. They tangled briefly, and then broke apart, each unable to strike the other. “You cannot win this fight,” said Jandar, eyeing Drake with a crazed look.
“Neither can you,” replied Drake shortly, his skin burning with plague. He doubted the veracity of his words, however, for he felt sweat coating the hilt of his sword, and his hand was beginning to shake.
“Oh, but I think I can,” said Jandar, the same idiotic smile creeping back onto his face. “You forget, Drake, that I am a Valkyrie.”
Drake froze. He had, remarkably, forgotten. He rolled just as the earth opened up below him, and improvising quickly, shot his grapple gun at Jandar. The metal arm knocked Jandar flat, and Drake thought he heard a wing snap as the kyrie struck the ground. Jandar bounded back up in an instant though, and kicked Drake to the ground, holding him there with his sword.
“This duel is over,” he said, all trace of a smile gone.

Vagmor slowly lowered his hand, his eyes fixed on the black steam that was Morker. “You say I cannot kill you, Vagmor,” laughed Morker’s voice in his head, “but you cannot destroy my either. I hold too much of Valhalla in my grasp.”
Vagmor did not reply, but remained looking at the ruined corpse of Utgar. Something here was not right. None of Utgar’s soldiers had begun to decay, only Utgar himself. And judging by the state he was in, Vagmor surmised that he must have been dead nearly a month. So then, Utgar had died first, and then his soldiers had followed. “What have you done, Morker?” asked Vagmor in his head.
Morker laughed. “What have I done? What have I always done, Vagmor? You’ve found me enough times to know what I am, and what I do. Yes, I have always been the same, Valkrill, Utgar, call me what you will. Answer your question yourself.”
Vagmor would have closed his eyes if he had any. So this was the answer to all the riddles. Vagmor had suspected something similar, but never this.
“You know, don’t you,” whispered Morker in his head, “what I am? Jandar has fought me for the better part of his life. Ullar has always sensed me in his forests. Einar sensed me, and tried to drive me from his halls, though he never fully succeeded. Vydar entertained parts of me, while ignoring the rest. Only Utgar recognized me for what I was, for I had always been with him. He saw my potential, though I must admit I kept the full consequences from him. He made Valkrill for me, and for a time, all was well. But then you came along, and had to spoil everything. You ruined Valkrill for me, and I had to go back to Utgar. However, things had changed in my absence. Utgar had begun to grow; Taelord and the others had sensed it. I tried to return to my old haunts, but they were unfamiliar to me. Finally, Utgar could contain me no longer. One of us would have to triumph over the other. Naturally, he was no match for my might, and the result you see before you.”
Vagmor’s mind was churning with the information he had received. It all made sense now. And he was powerless to stop it.
Morker’s voice laughed again in his head, reciting and ancient line, one that Vagmor had only heard once before in its entirety. “A nameless fear, impenetrable, consuming all in its path. A dark terror that drains the hope and comfort from all about it; an unnamed death, lurking in the heart of every living thing. It is I, this black plague, which has been set lose from its natural bonds. It is this dark disease that now ventures out from where it first gained its freedom, seeking to consume all, every living thing, until only it is left, and the void of my emptiness is completed.” Morker laughed again. “Very soon, Vagmor, very soon Valhalla will be mine. And then I will take you too.”
“No,” said Vagmor. “There are those that will oppose you always.”
“Jandar?” mocked Morker. “Here is your Jandar…”
An image flooded Vagmor’s mind: Jandar’s quarters, as he had once known them. Jandar, his skin withered and black, lay upon his death bed, Raelin weeping by his side. From out of the open window, Vagmor could clearly see the courtyard littered with the bodies of Jandar’s men, either slain or fallen to the unseen plague. The scene looked very similar to Utgar’s fortress. “You think Jandar can oppose me?” asked Morker. “He is but a wisp, as easily blown away as a trail of smoke. You have seen how easily I overcame Utgar, powerful though he was.”
Vagmor could stand no more. “By the power granted me,” he thundered, “I banish your very existence from the universe!”
Morker only laughed.
Vagmor stumbled back, his power drained. Morker was right, he could not destroy him. “Why, Morker, why? You know I could easily destroy Utgar or Valkrill.”
“Why must you fail now, Vagmor? I think you know the answer to that. I was born in Utgar, a little spark, a small flame. I was merely a thought. He nurtured me, poured his very being into me. When the war came, he fed me all the misery and suffering heaped upon him, and I grew. He gave me a mind, Vagmor, until I could think for myself. I fed off of the magics coursing in his veins, and I began to speak to him, subtly at first, but then more and more boldly. He gave me a form, in his mind, an insatiable hunger for quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes with the grave, the end of all things. As his strength waned, mine grew, and our places shifted. I drove him on, instead of him driving me. I drove him to crush Jandar and his puppets, to wipe them from the face of the earth. And then, as I have already told you, Utgar created Valkrill. In my absence though, Utgar began to see what destruction I had wrought, and he began to become afraid. He began to call back his minions, release his prisoners. When I tried to return to him, where I had been created, his mind was hostile to me. I could not live there, and I burst out, consuming Utgar, my maker, as I did so.
“But now you see, Vagmor, I don’t need Utgar any longer. His desire for destruction, his wish to kill, that is me, I am his will, and I can exist on my own, such is my strength. I am too strong for you to kill. I now sit here, slowly draining the life from Valhalla. When I am full, this land will be no more, and I will move on to more fertile grounds.”
Vagmor slumped against the dead body of Taelord. Morker was right. Even he, Vagmor, could feel the darkness of Morker slowly clouding his vision. Valhalla was lost. All would perish to this plague, unless…

“My lord, the duel is not over.” Sir Denrick’s blade clashed against Jandar’s.
“More traitors!” Jandar yelled, turning to Denrick. The two of them exchanged blows for a few minutes, but Denrick was no match for the skill of Jandar, and he quickly fell, his head cloven in two. Drake, however, had had enough time to recover himself and get a firmer grip on his sword, and now stood ready to face Jandar once again. Jandar rushed at him, his left wing trailing pitifully on the ground, but before he could reach him, something large and white thudded to the ground between them.
“Stop.”
Both Drake and Jandar lay on their backs, staring up at the massive form of Nilfeim. Raelin fluttered down, anxiously watching Drake. Concan hung just out of reach of Jandar’s blade, should he consider turning on him as well.
“You are both half mad,” said Nilfeim, “and if you would but pause in your senseless dealings for a moment, you would see this. Look about you, Jandar. Your armies clash against each other, tearing each other to shreds. Drake, these men look up to you. Command them to stop. This plague, this sickness, this is what it wants. Do you intend to humor it, or fight it?”
Both Drake and Jandar got up shakily. Raelin flew instantly to Drake’s side and helped him up, and Concan warily approached Jandar. Nilfeim remained between them, swinging his head from side to side, scrutinizing each one in turn with his hard blue eyes.
Drake slid his sword into his sheath, and waited for Jandar to do the same. Jandar, however, remained where he was, staring up at Nilfeim with an odd expression on his face. Drake saw in an instant what was coming. Jandar was too far gone to heed Nilfeim’s words, and in one motion, he swung his sword at the white dragon’s neck.

Pain seared across Vagmor’s body, but he did not withdraw his hands. Cautiously, he probed the center of the blackness within Utgar. He felt nothing but thick mist, but he cupped this in his hands, drawing it out. The mist was hot in his hands and throbbed as if it had a heart. Vagmor closed his glove on the smoke and left the room.
“You cannot kill me, Vagmor,” said Morker, though all trace of laughter was now gone from his voice.
“No?” said Vagmor. “Shall we find out?”
“No spell you know of can end me,” persisted Morker, but Vagmor did not stop. “You can hurtle me from the highest cliff, but I shall survive.”
Vagmor paid no heed to Morker’s whispered words, but rather hid his mind from him. Morker tried to break through, to see his darkest thought, but he could not. Therefore, he turned to other, more natural, means. It was this that Vagmor had been hoping for.
Vagmor’s glove was entirely melted by the time he exited Utgar’s fortress. Morker began to seep into Vagmor’s strange matter. He found it difficult to enter Vagmor, due to the fact that he was not human or kyrie or any other species that he had encountered before, but he managed it. He flowed into Vagmor like a thick syrup, diluting him, and spreading his curse throughout his strange body.
“No… no… You can’t do this Vagmor!” said Morker, sensing at last his enemy’s thoughts. “Think, think of what you could do with me.”
“I’ve done plenty with you already, Morker,” said Vagmor, even as he felt the plague begin to cloud his mind. “All of which,” he added, “apparently wasn’t enough.”
Vagmor stopped, and Morker saw through his eyes the crater of the volcano upon which Utgar’s fortress sat. Only here, in all of the Volcarren, lava still flowed. And still, it appeared to be but a faint trickle from this height. Vagmor raised his hand, and a shimmering portal appeared before him. “Kelda,” he said, speaking to the portal. The flat disk shone and contracted, and then remained steady. Kelda appeared within its depths, seated on a hard floor. She looked up, surprised, and Vagmor saw that her face was spotted gray.
“Kelda,” he said, his breathing becoming difficult as he fought Morker, “I will not be able to return. You will know when the plague has left you. When that happens, you may leave the castle, but no one is to approach the Volcarren for at least a year. When you do, do not do so alone. Evil still brews here.”
“Vagmor,” said Kelda, rising. “What… What do you mean you won’t return?”
“You will understand, Kelda,” said Vagmor. “Someday you will understand why.”
Kelda’s eyes widened. “Vagmor, no…no!”
Vagmor nodded his head once at her, and then fell, falling towards the shimmering ribbon of lava far below.
“You mindless fool!” spat Morker as he fell. “Think of the things you could have done.”
“I did,” replied Vagmor. “You were made by Utgar, and you must inhabit a living thing to spread your evil. You need a tool, like anyone else. However, once in that living thing, separating yourself from him is not such an easy task. And if that vessel is destroyed with you in it, you, too, are killed. Utgar himself placed you in Valkrill. I didn’t kill Valkrill, but his body was weak enough for you to flee it on your own when you banished me. You overwhelmed Utgar, and thus freed yourself, but you cannot escape me. I am the prison meant for but one purpose, to contain you.”
“NO!” shrieked Morker, but his cry was interrupted as Vagmor struck the lava.

With a clash of steel, Drake met Jandar’s blade. Nilfeim reared backwards, snorting, as he realized what Jandar had nearly done. No words came from Jandar now. Instead, he dueled Drake with a strength that was not his own. Drake was only just able to block blow after blow, but he was forced to back up constantly, losing ground with each step. And the more ground he lost, the closer he came to the gate to the city.
Concan, infected with the disease as he was, flew to Drake’s aid in beating back Jandar’s furious assault, but he was little help. In a stunning move, Jandar flipped his sword around, wrenching Drake’s sword from his grasp and knocking Concan to the ground at the same time. Jandar easily whirled his blade upwards and held it with both hands above his head, its tip pointed at Drake’s chest. Concan struggled to get up, but he was not fast enough. Jandar planted a foot on Drake’s chest and drove his blade downwards.

In that moment, Morker, far, far away, seething in Vagmor’s body, felt the heat of the lava consume his enemy, the one upon which he depended for his life.

With the force of a dragon’s wing shoving air from beneath him, Jandar was grasped from behind and pulled to the ground. He hit it heavily, and his other wing broke, his sword clattering out of his hand. Kelda stepped before him, and lowered her spear to his throat. Jandar, however, made no move to get up. As she watched him, Kelda saw the insane light in Jandar’s eye go out, and the grayness slowly leave his skin. She looked down at her own hand, and saw the same effect. She slowly raised her spear.
Drake sheathed his sword a second time and approached Jandar, still wary. Jandar blinked his eyes as he looked at him, as if he were waking up from a particularly sound sleep.
“Drake?” he said, his voice cautious, and not the loud rumble it had been. Drake did not reply, but merely nodded at him.
“Are you all right?” asked Kelda, helping Jandar to sit up.
“Aside from an ache in my head, and a weariness in my arms,” said Jandar, glancing at Drake, “I believe I will be fine.” He then leapt into the air, his wings newly mended by Kelda, and, thundering out over his capitol, said, “My friends! Cease your battles, for we fight our allies! The plague is gone; that which Utgar sent has been defeated!”
Silence slowly fell over the milling army as Jandar floated back to earth, and they realized that the curse had left them. Jandar retrieved his sword from where it had fallen on the ground, and sheathed it. “Come,” he said. “There are wounds to heal, hurts to forgive. Let us mend them now before they become scars, both on men and this land.”
Drake knelt before Jandar, his head bowed. “Forgive me for my words earlier,” he said, “I believed them to be necessary. You have my loyalty.”
“My friend,” said Jandar, raising him to his feet. He looked steadily into Drake’s eyes. “…I never lost it.”
A tear slipped silently down Raelin’s cheek. It fell to the ground, silent, but it was a tear of happiness. Utgar’s terrible plague, his awful wrath which had assumed a form of its own, was gone. Her general was back.

Einar's Battle - 11/20/13

Spoiler Alert!

The prompt for this story can be found here.
Word Count: 2,909
Placement: First Place
Notes: This is my second attempt at the above prompt. The first turned out to have far too many problems to work out.

Spoiler Alert!

There is a common saying that you don’t know what you have until you have lost it. This would seem to indicate that you should learn what it is you possess now, so that you will not have to go through loss and learn then. Unfortunately, the saying is all too true. You don’t know what you have until you have lost it.
Take the mind, for example. In all my years, it never dawned on me just how fortunate I was to have my mind all to myself, to be the only one who could hear my thoughts. Well, I lost that. I lost the freedom of my mind. Only now that it is gone do I realize what I had.
What would I say if I could see myself, sitting here on my throne, doing nothing but thinking? Doubtless, something rough. Something meant to punch me into action.
“Stop stewing there and get moving. You know as well as I what must be done. Get doing it!” Yes, it would probably sound a lot like that. Those were the kinds of orders I had given to my soldiers, after all.
My soldiers. The men depending on me. I had always thought that anything could be gotten out of them. All it took was enough discipline. Marcus, Kaemon, Parmenio – they all agreed with me. Push your men hard enough, and they’ll eventually comply. Now that I am in their position, I realize I was wrong. I realize I shouldn’t have been quite so strict. I realize I should have been easier on them before now, the end.
This is not the end. You’re still here, aren’t you? You still have the will to fight, don’t you? Or are you telling me that Einar has given up?
No. I’ll never give up. My men repaid my harshness with unwavering loyalty. I’ll never abandon them, Jandar, or the alliance. I’ll never give up.
I have to keep fighting. I can’t stop. If I do, it’s all over. If I do, Valkrill has won. His darkness will stretch from one corner of Valhalla to the other. I can’t let that happen.
Ah, but I’ve already won.
Get out of my head!
Both of us know that isn’t going to happen. Even now the expedition draws nigh. They will decide the fate of Valhalla, not you. I can hardly guess what the outcome of their endeavors will be.
Blast you, Valkrill! I knew Valkrill was probably right, however. What a fool I’d been, to think that we could slay Valkrill with so few men. It would take legions to do the job, not a motley crew of five.
Precisely. You have no hope. You know I’m right. You can’t deny it.
Once again I had forgotten that Valkrill could hear my thoughts.
I could not remember when he had seized control of my mind, and with it my body. It had been months now, perhaps years. I had at last managed to convey things to the alliance, but only enough to tell them of my condition. I could see into Valkrill’s mind as well, and the plans I had seen there, I had not been able to relate. If only the alliance knew them… But it was too late now.
Valkrill had been using me to draw my forces away from the borders. He had withdrawn my men from Vydar’s armies, a move I couldn’t fathom until a few days ago. He had maneuvered them so that Utgar’s forces beat them back time and time again, every time the causality list growing higher. I had sat by, helpless, watching myself issue commands that I knew would mean the end of Valhalla.
But not just Valhalla. I might have had my doubts before Valkrill seized control, but now I knew them to be true. He wouldn’t stop with just one world. He would use the wellsprings and invade all the others as well, slowly consuming them all with his darkness. It had already begun on Toril.
Very good, Einar. Your mind is most clear, to be able to read my thoughts so well. Most kyrie would be a gibbering wreck by now. If I let them, that is.
But fear not, Einar. You despise how you treated your soldiers? You wish you had been in their place, so that you could have understood? Don’t worry, you will be soon enough. Since you can read my mind as I can yours, you know well that I will poison you until you no longer have the strength to resist, to even think. Your thoughts will become mine. Einar will cease to exist. There will be only… me.
No, monster. You are pure evil. If you had ever taken the time to read a good book – which I know you have not – you would know that evil is always conquered in the end.
This isn’t a book, Einar. It’s the end of Valhalla. You see, in real life, evil does prevail. Surely you’ve learned, after all you’ve seen, that evil is far more powerful than good? If it were not so, how could there be a war in the first place?
I knew he was twisting the truth. He was trying to break my mind early. I forced a mental laugh. You’re words betray you, Valkrill. You should know why the war happened. It has nothing to do with how powerful evil is.
So you say, but can you be sure? Can you really —
Sounds entered my mind. They came not from my ears, but from Valkrill’s. A woman’s voice. With a shock, I recognized it as belonging to Ana Karithon. I realized I was hearing the members of the expedition. So they had reached Valkrill’s wellspring after all.
“Dan,” Ana was saying, “put it in the wellspring. Destroy it.”
“Destroy my wellspring?” Valkrill’s soft voice, etched with malice and drunk with power sliced icily through the air, chilling Einar to the bone. “I think not. Why don’t you step away from it instead?”
I could hear metal scraping. That must be Dan, I thought. He’s about to throw the crystal into Valkrill’s wellspring and destroy it.
No he’s not. You should know better, Einar.
I heard Valkrill lunge forward, whipping some weapon through the air. It seemed to have found its mark, as I heard Dan slammed against the wall a moment later.
It was horribly fascinating, watching the hopes of the alliance being crushed single-handedly by Valkrill. Dan seemed to be the only one that stood any chance. The rest were quickly dealt with, but he continued to fight Valkrill to the bitter end.
I couldn’t quite tell exactly what happened, being able to only hear it. I heard well over a hundred gunshots. It was a marvel the fight was still going. I heard Valkrill hiss in agony as something struck him, some form of mist, from what I could tell. And then I heard a thunderous crash, as of a great wave, and then silence.
Blast that soldier of Vydar’s! I told him to send someone else.
I thought evil was more powerful, I reminded him.
You’ll note that I’m still here, Einar. You’ll note that I’m still talking to you, still in control of your body. And Dan didn’t kill me. Sometimes a little deception can go a long way.
I would have said he was lying, if I didn’t know that he was doing the opposite. He was still alive. Beaten and bruised, yes, but still alive. I could sense it through his mind. He was right. He was still in control.
No, wait. Something was different. I could feel it. For once, I had access to my magic. Valkrill wasn’t blocking it as he should. Perhaps Dan had done more to him than I realized.
I searched through my memory and soon found what I was looking for. I knew the spell. I knew the words. I knew I could free myself from Valkrill. And yet, I hesitated.
I opened my eyes. Or, more properly, I used my eyes. I had gotten so used to Valkrill using my body that I didn’t bother to stop him. Not that I could, of course. I could still act, but the moment Valkrill wanted me to do something, I did it. There was no arguing.
I used my eyes now, however, and looked in front of me. Sure enough, my Imperium guards flanked the hall before my throne, where I sat. Normally there would have been twenty, all of them standing silently at attention, as still as a statue.
There were twenty-one, and they weren’t all Imperium. They weren’t even all kyrie. I couldn’t tell which, but I knew one of them was a drow, disguised as a guard. I knew because Valkrill had put him there. He wasn’t there to watch me. Valkrill could do that easily enough. He was there to punish me if I somehow freed myself.
Valkrill held such a sway over the armies of the alliance through me that he could not afford to lose my mind. If he did, everything would be lost. This was the final stage of his grand plan, the plan to end the war. Timing was crucial. If I got free, everything could change. And now, here, parading before my eyes like a vision, was the chance I had been hoping for. I could free myself with five words. And yet I hesitated.
Scared, Einar? It is a daunting prospect, isn’t it? You see, being in one’s mind and one’s palace simultaneously can be advantageous. I could do anything I wanted to. The drow amongst your guards is connected to me as securely as you are. He knows every word I’m saying.
Where shall I strike? Your library? The burning of documents surely upsets you. Your throne room? All that time spent building it: gone in flames.
Valkrill paused, as if savoring his control. He knew perfectly well where to strike.
Kiova, perhaps? Doubtless she would be devastated if you were to die. But how might it affect you if the situation were to be reversed?
Curse you, I thought bitterly. I couldn’t do it. Valkrill didn’t seem to have the power to keep me from freeing myself, but I couldn’t do it. If I did, the drow would get to Kiova before I could even warn her. I couldn’t lose her, not even for Valhalla.
You see, Einar? Evil is more powerful. Only a fool would think otherwise. Evil will always win, in the end.
No.
What?
No. You’re wrong, Valkrill.
Then, as much as I hated to do it, knowing full well that I was probably sentencing Kiova to death, I cast the spell.
I felt Valkrill slip from my mind. I could at last feel my body under my control again. One of the twenty-one Imperium guards suddenly leapt into the air and flew out the hall.
Stretching my wings, I leapt after him. I had no weapons, and I hadn’t used my body for nearly a year. My wings faltered. I shoved them downwards, propelling myself up. They faltered again.
The drow was faster, but I had determination on my side. I would not let him get to Kiova first. I couldn’t.
I flew out the hall and executed a painfully sharp turn upwards, following the drow as best I could. He was too far away. Even now, he was alighting on the balcony of Kiova’s chambers. I saw the gleam of a blade as he drew it. I beat my wings faster.
I failed to land directly on the balcony, and had to grab ahold of it instead, stopping myself mid-flight. I pulled myself onto it with difficulty. The drow, however, was already well inside. I heard a scream.
I rushed into the building just as the drow flung Kiova to the floor. She had apparently been putting up a valiant fight, but the drow was far more powerful. She rolled to the left, away from where I stood, just as the drow brought down one of his swords. I heard him snarl in frustration.
I lunged forwards, seeking to stop the drow, but he was too far away. He drove the other sword at Kiova, forcing her to roll towards him. Then, in a single, deft move, he slid the first blade neatly through her stomach.
A moment later, I tackled the drow to the ground, punching both of his wrists simultaneously. The swords clattered to the ground. The drow whipped about, ready to face me, his disguised face twisted into a menacing growl.
I didn’t need time to think, which was fortunate, since I couldn’t anyway. Kiova was dying. What was I doing fighting a drow?
Seemingly of its own accord, my right boot swept up and punched the drow behind the elbow. His arm went slack. I circled my other leg behind his, and then brought it forward. The drow tried to move forward to avoid falling, but I twisted my body and flung my arm in front of him, sending him back. At the same time, I moved my leg sharply upwards.
The drow executed such a painful back flip that even I cringed. Needless to say, he did not land on his feet. I flipped about, stamping on the drow’s chest to keep him down. I shifted my weight forward, preparing for the final move. The drow struggled to get up, but I was too fast. I dropped, like a stone, to one knee. The drow went slack. Blood spurted everywhere. I wiped it from my eyes and turned to Kiova.
“Einar…” she breathed, her face white. “I… I…”
I put a finger on her lips. “It’s all right, Kiova,” I said. “It’s all right.”
I knew perfectly well it wasn’t. She had a sword driven half way through her. Knowing it would hurt less if it was done quickly, I grasped the handle of the sword and pulled it out.
Kiova gasped with the pain and slumped to the floor. I caught her before she struck it. Blood came pouring out of the wound in her stomach, dying everything – her clothing, my hands, the carpet – red.
“Mesenier, teleketh,” I said, holding my hand over the wound. I felt the magic begin to leave me. “Asantilin ekcer tel abin. Ise elnen athir.”
As my words took effect, Kiova’s wound slowly began to heal. The flesh began to reform, knitting together cleanly. But it wasn’t enough. Even as I watched the wound rush to repair itself, I knew Kiova had lost too much blood. She wasn’t going to last.
Kiova must have seen something of my thoughts in my face. “Einar,” she said, gently placing a hand over mine, “it’s all right.”
It struck me as odd that she should be repeating my own encouragement back to me. I grasped her hand. “No…” I said. “Don’t do this, Kiova.”
She smiled at me, but I could see the pain etched on her face, that same pain I had seen in the face of many a soldier before: the pain of death. I felt her body tense in my arms, and I knew the time had come. “No, Kiova, don’t leave me,” I pleaded.
I couldn’t let her go. I held her tightly, as if hoping to deny her from death. Nothing I knew, no word, magic or otherwise, could stop her, however. She let out a shuddering sigh, and then relaxed. I looked at her face, dreading what I might find there.
Her eyes were closed, as if in sleep, but her lips still quivered. I bent closer, and heard her whisper six words, the final words she spoke in this life: “I will never leave you, Einar.”

How sweet. Dismal from your point of view, of course. Devastating.
I didn’t have the heart to reply. I didn’t even wonder what Valkrill was doing still in my mind. I couldn’t accept that the kyrie, Kiova, my Kiova, was dead. It couldn’t be.
She’s gone, Einar. You see? I was right after all. Evil will prevail.
I raised my head, my eyes staring far past the walls that I saw. Past miles upon miles of open plains, down through the earth, and directly at Valkrill, gloating in the darkness, I stared.
What now, Einar? Are you going to blankly refuse my logic? You know that won’t work.
You want to know why good always triumphs over evil? I asked. You want to know why all the books end the same way?
I’m dying to know.
It’s because of you. You think you’re more powerful, able to quench all the good in the world. But you aren’t. You aren’t more powerful. Think about it. What exactly can you do that will last?
You can cause happiness and sorrow, but neither remains. The happiness or sorrow caused by good stay until they are resolved. You can hide the truth, but it will come out eventually. Good will show the truth for what it is, something everlasting. You can cause despair, hopelessness, but what are these when compared with faith?
You will fail, Valkrill. You will always fail, in the end.
For a long time, no reply came. And then I realized that Valkrill was gone. Fully, completely, without a trace, he was gone. I realized I was right. He had failed, as he was destined to.

The Rise of the Valkyrie - 12/12/13

Spoiler Alert!

The prompt for this story can be found here.
Word Count: 3,860
Placement: N/A

Spoiler Alert!

Twenty-five years before the War of the Wellsprings

“Noooo!” The blood-curdling scream was cut suddenly short, followed soon afterwards by a thud.
I landed solidly on the ground, my feet spread wide to keep me balanced. They were everywhere. A door on my right was ajar, and I rolled inside. Darkness. Silence.
I peeked out a window. Smoke obscured the scene, flames lending their fiendish light in places, casting wavering shadows on the walls. Every now and then the red sun caught the glint of an axe, or the shine of a blade. It was a massacre. I knew the minions of Utgar would slay all in their path. Unless, that is, I got to them first.
I saw a red body land outside my window and ducked down. Gripping the handle of my sword, I crept stealthily back towards the door.
The minion was curious. I knew he would enter the ruined building I was in soon enough, in search of loot. I was right.
The minion nudged the door open with his foot, scanning the dark interior of the room with his eyes before stepping inside. It was at that moment that I struck.
Yelling like a crazed madman, I swung my sword upwards, catching him below the jaw. The minion stiffened in pain as my blade met his red flesh, and then crumpled to the ground. I finished him by sinking my sword in his back.
One down, I thought. Only around two hundred more to go. I stepped out of the building, looking for the next attacker.
“Jandar!”
I whirled around, ready to cleave the kyrie that approached me in two, but it turned out to be Concan, my brother. He had a deep fear in his eyes, something I had never seen there before.
“Jandar,” he repeated, as if my name was something firm amid all this chaos, “they’re breaking through. The soldiers can’t hold them much longer. We have to keep them away from the south side.” Concan turned and sped away down the street, and I hastened to follow. I knew that the old and sick were trying to escape the massacre by fleeing south, out of the village. We had to keep the minions away from them.
In and out of the buildings we wove, flames flickering evilly in our path. Smoke choked us, burned our eyes, blinded us. We would have flown higher, but we knew that the red kyrie were just above us, hunting, watching, ready to pounce. Therefore, we sped by close to the ground, our wings barely flapping, just keeping us aloft in the thick air.
WHAM!
A monstrous axe swung towards me from nowhere. It was only out of habit that I raised my sword in time. I was still flung to the ground, my breath knocked out, as the red-skinned kyrie approached me from around the corner of a building.
I didn’t wait for him to get close enough to finish me off. My lungs burning in protest, I whirled around and swung my sword towards his legs. He tripped. I deflected his wild blow, and stabbed him through the chest. He quivered a little, and then was still.
I didn’t even notice that Concan was similarly engaged until several seconds later, when I could breathe again. When I saw him exchanging blows with a monster of a kyrie, I sped forward, slamming into the invader, and dispatched him as well.
Without a word, the two of us flew on. The invaders were closing in.
The smoke made my eyes water. It was fortunate, for I didn’t want Concan to see the true tears in my eyes. This had been my home. I had been born here, and had never left its walls for most of my fourteen years. And now Utgar had invaded, and was destroying everything, my village included.
A shrill scream rent the air, its volume so loud that I nearly flew headlong into a wall. I dropped to the ground just in time, keeping low and turning around to find the source of the cry. I didn’t have to look for long.
Just two houses away, a very small girl was pulling herself through the dirt. At least I thought it was a girl. Her face was so blackened by soot it was hard to tell.
A large invader appeared just behind her, his axe held limply in his hand, apparently enjoying the struggles of his prey. Clearly, he had broken one of the girl’s legs.
For a moment, I wondered why the girl didn’t simply fly away. She was surely about nine, well past the age when wings became fully developed. And then I saw the reason.
“Kinir’maetil,” I muttered. The word sounded like a curse, and indeed it was. It was a terrible disease which struck the wings of a kyrie, causing them to whither and become useless. One look at the girl was enough to see that she had been afflicted with the plague for many years.
Concan had not seen the girl. He was aware only that I had stopped. “Come on, Jandar,” he yelled. “We have to get out of here.”
Time seemed to stop, as it does at crucial moments. All in the span of a second, I saw four invaders bearing down on the girl. I saw the one behind her tighten his grip on his axe.
And I also saw the girl. I saw her eyes, peering out of her darkened face, pleading with me, full of tears, fear, and suffering. I couldn’t imagine what her life must have been like. I didn’t want to imagine it. Kinir’maetil was very contagious. She would hardly have been let out of her home. Even if she escaped now, she would probably die later anyway. And if the invaders didn’t get her, sickness surely would. Kinir’maetil wasn’t deadly, but it left a kyrie weakened, in no fit state to fight against another illness.
I thought all this, and didn’t hesitate a moment. I flew straight towards the girl, flicking my sword towards the invader behind her as I did so. He didn’t see me coming at first, and wasn’t fast enough. My blade cut into him with a spurt of blood, and he fell to the ground, writhing.
Concan sped up to me, but shrank back at the sight of the girl. Her withered wings were quite obvious, the limp skin shaking over the bones, dragging along in the dust.
I held my breath against the disease, but stooped to pick her up. The four invaders that I had seen earlier were only yards away, coming fast.
I gave the girl to Concan. “Take her,” I said. “Get her out of here. I’ll buy you some time.”
Concan didn’t argue. There was no time for anything but fleeing. The invaders were already on top of us.
Concan just barely evaded one of them, ducked, and then sprung to the air. I tackled the invader to the ground, sinking my fist into his stomach. He doubled up, but then kicked out at me. His knee found my ribs, and I was sent rolling away in the dirt of the road. I came up against the wall of a building, slamming into my wings painfully.
I fought well, but there were four of them, and they were all trained soldiers. I was a fourteen-year-old carrying a sword almost too big for me.
My sword was the first thing to go. It was quickly wrenched from my grasp by a vicious axe-stroke. My balance was next. One of the invaders rammed into me so hard I was sure my wings broke against the wall I slammed into. I then received a kick to the face, my legs, and my stomach, serving to throw me into an all around feeling of intense pain.
All that pain was forgotten as an axe came down on my arm, slicing it open. By some miracle, it missed the bone, but it still served to drive everything else from my mind. I was kicked aside like a piece of rubble, but I didn’t roll far enough. I could hear the invaders laughing as they rained more blows down upon me.
As they beat me, I, unable to defend myself, could only think of one thing: I will have my vengeance. I will have vengeance on these kyrie, and the one that sent them, Utgar. I won’t rest until he’s dead.


Five months into the War of the Wellsprings

My sword struck the kyrie painfully on the shoulder, went straight through it, clove down his chest, slicing through the leather straps used to hold his axe as it went, and finally came to a halt deeply embedded in his thigh bone. The force of my blow transferred to the kyrie, and he was flung sharply to the ground. He landed hard on one leg, which snapped with an audible report.
The kyrie’s anguished cry met my ears. I didn’t need to hear such a thing. I quickly silenced him with a blow of my sword to his head. It sunk in and struck his brain. The minion went limp in an instant.
I wrenched my sword from his body, and took another step forwards.
There, not too far above me, Concan’s castle rose, a brilliant full moon bathing its ramparts in silver light. Minions flew all about it in the dark sky, triumphant, yet unaware of my approach. I was, after all, on the bridge leading to the castle. They would expect an aerial assault.
The night was peaceful. A faint wind stirred the feathers of my wings, carrying with it the scent of spring blossoms, just –
“YAAAA!”
The wild war cry took me by surprise. I rolled to my left, and came up facing the minion, which had crept up behind me. Our blades met, sword upon axe. I lashed out with my leg, striking the minion in the stomach. I then finished him with a blow to the head.
Alerted by the cry of their companion, a nearby group of Utgar’s kyrie turned and saw me. I flew slightly upwards to meet them. They were no match for me.
We clashed a moment later. I ducked the first blow, driving my sword under the minion’s guard and sending him to the bridge below with a jab to the stomach. I then whirled, avoiding a second axe. Lashing out with my left arm, I punched the kyrie in the face. He was so stunned that he too fell to the bridge.
That left me with only two minions. One swung his axe heavily at my head, a blow which I easily dodged. The other tried to catch me from the left. Since I couldn’t escape, due to the proximity of the first axe, I simply grabbed the kyrie’s arm and stopped the blow. Then, using my body as a counter weight, I flung the minion in a great arc down towards the other two.
I heard the whistle of an axe next to my ear, and turned just in time to see the last minion take another swing at me. I flipped out of the way, and slammed my sword into his face as I went, breaking his nose and blinding him with blood. I then neatly decapitated him.
I dropped back to the bridge. It wouldn’t do for any one else to be alerted to my presence.
I stepped carefully over the bodies of the minions I had slain, but stopped at the last one. Despite the red skin and the twisted features, there was something familiar about his face. It reminded me of Concan’s.
I felt my throat tighten unexpectedly. I knew Concan was alive, but I couldn’t shake the image of him lying there, dead, at my feet. It was an all too real possibility. If he joined Utgar against me, which wasn’t as unlikely as it sounded, I could very well meet him in battle. What would I do then?
“Mauser, Ilfin’kinir!”
I turned just in time to slam my sword into the jaw of the oncoming minion. He dropped to the ground in a pool of his own blood.
Ilfin’kinir. I hated the term. ‘Tame’ indeed. I’ll show them tame.
More minions leapt at me from beneath the bridge, with more cries of ‘Ilfin’kinir!’
I flew at them.
My blade sang through the air, tracing a delicate pattern of blood with each corpse it created. I showed no mercy. The kyrie fell before me as before a hurricane. They stood no chance, and I slew them as I would so many birds of the sky.
When the slaughter was finally over, I dropped again to the bridge, now slick with blood. Blood. It was everywhere. It covered the bridge, the corpses, and me. But none of it was mine.
You shouldn’t have done that, Jandar, said a small voice inside my head. Coating your blade in blood like that? It will just bounce off of their axes now.
Yes, it had been a rash decision. But that was what I did. I made decisions. I sighed. Perhaps I made too many decisions, too quickly. Concan would never do that. He always thought things through. My brow furrowed as I thought of him. That was part of the reason why I needed him. I had already made several rash moves in the war, and they had cost me dearly. I needed his judgment, his clarity. But hope of him joining me was all but gone now.
I could clearly see our last meeting. We had been sitting at a table in my castle. Or, rather, Concan had been sitting. I had been pacing back and forth, shouting angrily. Another bad decision.
“No, Jandar!” Concan had said. “You would ask me to join in such slaughter? No! I won’t do it.”
I had already tried pleading with him, threatening him, everything I could think of. Nothing had seemed to work, so I had shouted at him.
“Curse you,” he had replied, jumping to his feet. “Curse you for causing this chaos. Curse you for the misery you have sown. I will never join you in this bloodshed, and I curse you for causing it!”
Yes, things had not ended well that day, but I knew why. Having your home burned, your family slain, and all that you knew taken from you can change a person. It had changed Kelda, the girl I had saved. It had changed Concan, my brother. And it had changed me.
Concan had been horrified by the war, and had sworn to never be a part of it. I tried to convince him he’d have to join it if he wanted it to end, but he insisted there was another way.
To me, the only way to stop the war was to slay those responsible. For years I had hunted Utgar, and everywhere I went, his minions fell. But never could I catch him. I could not fathom Concan’s thinking. Rather than share in my quest, he denounced it, saying I caused as much bloodshed as the one I hunted.
A minion landed on the bridge in front of me, and, almost without thinking, I slammed my sword into him. It went straight through. I pulled it out roughly a moment later, and let the minion fall to the ground. He gasped from the pain of the wound, his blood welling up between his fingers.
“You’ll lose,” he whispered, staring up at me, his eyes already beginning to cloud over. “Utgar will find you, and kill you. He always kills… in the end.” He coughed up some blood. He wiped his mouth and spoke again, his hand dyed crimson. “You’re not that different from Utgar yourself,” he said, his head tilted to one side. “You are as skilled as he, and kill with the same ruthless –”
WHAM! My fist came forward of its own accord and slammed into the kyrie’s mouth, knocking him back on the bridge. He coughed up more blood, but I wasn’t finished. I raised my sword over my head and brought the flat edge down on his chest.
The kyrie’s ribs cracked. I still wasn’t done. Dropping my sword, I fell to one knee, being careful to land in his stomach. His whole body shook as I landed. I then punched every inch of him I could find. He was dead long before I finished, but still I continued.
“I… am… not… Utgar!” I yelled at his lifeless face. “I’m not! I’m not!” I punched him again and again, until I finally withdrew, my knuckles bruised. I stood and took a deep breath. I wasn’t Utgar. I couldn’t be.
I looked down, and saw the minion’s blood on my hands. It had splattered all over my arms, my face, my armor. I can’t be Utgar.
Another kyrie attacked me from the sky. I grabbed up my sword from where it lay and drove it through him one fluid motion. He was still alive, so I twisted it as I pulled it out, moving it from side to side. Once my sword was free, I plunged it in again, and again, and again.
Was this what I had become? Another Utgar, merely avenging killing with killing? I shook myself. What kind of twisted logic was that?
Another minion attacked me, and I hacked him down where he stood; quite literally. I had told myself for twenty-five years that I knew the answer. I knew how to end the war. But deep down, so far inside me that I had never realized it, I knew I was wrong.
I plunged my sword into another kyrie, whether dead or alive I knew not. I didn’t care. I need the answer!

It was nearly half an hour before I entered the castle and reached the room Concan was in, its door locked, voices issuing from within. Without hesitating, I kicked the door down.
Concan was there, sitting placidly in his chair, a red skinned kyrie on either side of him. Their axes were drawn, ready to slay him at any moment. Sitting across from him was another red skinned kyrie, his back to me. He stopped speaking as I entered and whirled around. I froze. I knew that face.
“And what is this?” asked Utgar, looking me up and down with disgust.
Of course, I thought. Utgar wants Concan to join him, the same as I do. I should have known he would be here himself.
I stepped forward. Utgar likely did not know my name. I was, after all, merely a general in the army of the Valkyrie Mallidon.
My sword, however, was introduction enough. Covered in blood as it was, it was clear I was no friend. The minions stepped towards me.
A flash of light. A clash of arms. Two mangled cries. The minions lay dead at my feet in a matter of seconds. Utgar rose from his chair, slowly drawing his own axe.
“Remember my name, Utgar,” I said, “for it is I that will fight you until this war is ended, once and for all.”
He sneered. “And what is your name, little Ilfin’kinir?”
I spoke clearly, my voice ringing in the small room. “My name is Jandar, and I am here to kill you.”
The duel that followed was a blur of action. Even now, years later, I can’t remember all the details. Despite my skill, I couldn’t get past his guard, but neither could he. I would drive him back, but then would be forced to retreat myself. I would gain an advantage, only to have it taken away. We were more evenly matched than I could have possibly anticipated. The duel could not last forever, however.
Concan tried to join in, likely simply trying to stop the fight. Utgar’s axe, deflected to the side by me, crashed into his chest, and he was sent flying backwards across the room to land against the wall. That was all I needed. Near enemies we might be, but he was still my brother.
I disengaged and reengaged so fast that Utgar lost his rhythm. Before he could adjust, I smote him once, twice, three times with my sword. I then brought my blade down so fiercely upon his arm that he dropped his weapon and stumbled to the floor. I kicked his axe aside as I advanced on him, sword outstretched.
I stopped, my sword pointing at his throat, and glared at him. He glared back at me. Neither of us moved. We seemed to remain thus for hours, maybe even days, our eyes locked, our muscles tense. Finally, however, I lowered my sword.
“I won’t kill you, Utgar,” I said, “even though I’ve done it in my dreams every night. I swore to end this bloodshed, not cause more. Leave this place, and see that our paths never cross again.”
Utgar stared at me for a long time, as if waiting to see if I was bluffing. When I didn’t move, he gathered up his axe, and leapt out the window, his wings carrying him into the black night. I watched him go, a strange feeling in my stomach. I had just let Utgar, the sole target that had kept me determined for twenty-five years, fly out the window. What was wrong with me?
“Jandar,”
I turned, suddenly startled by the weakness of Concan’s voice. His entire chest was bathed in red. I hurried over to him.
“Jandar,” Concan whispered again, coughing as he did so, “why did you do that? You swore to kill Utgar. Why did you let him go?”
I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes fixed on his wound, which I knew to be deadly. “I’ve had enough,” I said. “This killing, this mindless slaughter; it’s going to destroy me. If it hasn’t already,” I added, under my breath.
“That’s why you have to stop,” said Concan. “You can’t combat killing with killing; it only spreads the infection further.”
I finally looked him in the eyes. “What other choice is there?” I said, pleading, almost begging him to have an answer.
“Peace,” said Concan, breathing out shakily. “The kind of deep peace that only comes when the war is over. If we are to end this slaughter, we must strike at the thing, the war itself, not those that caused it.”
“You said ‘we,’ Concan.”
“Yes,” he said. “We must do this thing. Together.”
“Then you will join me?”
“Yes, brother. Not for vengeance, but for an end to vengeance. Not for glory, but for peace. Not for spoils, but for true gain. Let us end this together, as we should. Let us rise above this war, and strike it down.”
I nodded. I was suddenly aware that I was oddly at peace. I felt, somehow, that I had at last done the right thing. I had let Utgar go, and I didn’t regret it.
“Kelda will heal you,” I said. “But then let us rise together. This will be the Rise of the Valkyrie.”

A Breath of Wind - 8/7/2014

Spoiler Alert!

The prompt can be found here.
Word Count: 2,298
Placement: Third Place
Notes: This fiction features one of the original characters from The Quest for Valhalla, Nargshir. It likely takes place before the main events of that fiction unfold. Reading the Quest is not required.

Spoiler Alert!

Cold dew dusted Nargshir’s paws as he padded silently through the trees, intent on his surroundings. Next to a particularly thick tree, he stopped and sniffed the air, his red eyes darting from dark shadow to dark shadow. A peculiar scent drifted towards him which caused his nose to tingle and the hair on his back to stand up in a ridge. ‘Curious,’ he thought; he had never smelled anything like that before. He stood up on his hind legs, the better to tell from which direction the scent came, but as he did so, it disappeared. He twitched his whiskers, trying to recapture the smell, but all that met him were the scents of the humid jungle and stagnant swamp water around him. Shaking his head and growling slightly to himself, Nargshir dropped back to all fours and padded forward, his eyes and ears ever alert for the slightest hint of an enemy.
A week ago, Utgar had sent him on this scouting trip deep into the Ticalla to investigate a devastating attack on a large marro force. The marro had been scouting out a large piece of dense jungle, when they had suddenly been ambushed. The hive controlling them had received only images of fleeting shapes in the dark, accompanied by the flashing of massive blades, and then darkness as each and every one of the marro were wiped out.
It had first been Utgar’s intention to send a battalion of marro drones and his newly recruited gnids to wipe out the enemy, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. Driven by a desire to find out who, or what, had the power to kill his marro with such apparent ease, Utgar had decided to send Nargshir to scout them out before he attacked.
Nargshir was the perfect recruit for the job. He had spent his first years in the forests of Feylund, learning how to hunt and track elves, creatures which were most adept at stealth. Then, when he was nearly slain by an elf, Utgar had summoned him. Now he served as a valuable scout to the dark Valkyrie, sneaking behind enemy lines, gathering information, and reporting back to Utgar’s generals without their enemies being any the wiser. And any that got in the way of Nargshir usually ended up with a knife in their back or a broken neck.
Nargshir paused and sniffed the air. Once again, that strange tingling scent drifted over him, tantalizing him, urging him to find its source. He looked around. All he saw were the dark forms of trees and the hazy silhouettes of stars through the green leaves of the palm trees overhead. Black shadows covered the ground, hiding the pools of green water that Nargshir knew lay there.
He took a cautious step forward and sniffed. The scent was stronger here. He took another step forward. Stronger still. And then he paused, one paw raised between steps, his eyes fixed on a patch of dark foliage five feet ahead of him.
Staring out at him from deep within the foliage were two red eyes, glowing with reflected light from the moon overhead.
Very slowly, and without looking away, Nargshir put his foot back down and pricked his ears forward, straining to catch the slightest sound from the two red eyes before him. Silence met his ears; complete and total silence, broken only by the soft swishing of the branches overhead in an invisible wind.
Nargshir stiffened. There was no wind. The swishing sound was soft, almost inaudible, but it was regular, and it was coming from the two eyes before him. Then Nargshir recognized it: breathing.
A human would have been unable to hear the breathing, but to Nargshir’s wolf ears, it was just discernible. As he watched, the two eyes slowly slanted, as if their owner was tilting its head slightly. A low swish of air met his ears, and Nargshir looked down just in time to see the tip of a sword retract back into the leafy foliage.
With a snarl that broke the silence like a thunderclap, though it was quiet, Nargshir sprang backwards, all his senses directed towards the bush before him. He was none to soon, either, for just as he sprang, a wide blade went swishing through the air where he had been moments before. He caught a glimpse of a slender arm covered in short white fur, though muscles were evident below the skin, and then it had gone, blade and all, back into the brush.
Nargshir narrowed his eyes, searching through the darkness for his unseen attacker. The red eyes, which had remained visible throughout the attack, flashed, and a low snarl escaped their owner’s lips. Nargshir froze yet again. He recognized the snarl; only a wolf could make such a sound.
Cautiously, he edged forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the other wolf. The red eyes narrowed and retreated further into the brush, and Nargshir caught a glimpse of more white fur and something brown. He crept slowly forward again. Once more, the eyes retreated, and this time Nargshir saw the hilt of a massive blade, compared to a wolf at least, flash in the moonlight. He stopped and sniffed. There was no doubt; the strange smell was coming from this wolf. No wolves on Feylund had white fur, not unless something had gone very wrong with them from birth, and Nargshir had never smelled one like this before anyway. Then he swiveled his head to the right. Another smell, quite similar to the first, but slightly different, had drifted towards his nose. He then caught another similar, yet different, scent, on his left. He had a sudden moment of panic, and then ducked just as two more of the massive blades swung out where his head had been. At the same time, he had to leap off of the ground to avoid the first blade, which had snaked out of the bushes in front of him and gone for his legs.
He landed rather awkwardly, and rolled to avoid another attack, coming up close to the bush where he had seen the red eyes.
A clawed foot snapped away from him and a blade came singing down towards his head, but Nargshir was too fast. He leapt upon the retreating foot, clawed his way up the leg so as to gain some leverage, and brought its owner crashing down to the ground. The wolf landed with a grunt which sounded somehow peculiar to Nargshir, but he was given no time to think about it as another of the blades swung down towards his head. He ducked the massive blade, and, lunging forward, yanked on its owner’s arm so that it, too, fell forward onto the ground with a faint grunt, which sounded equally strange. The third blade went angling upwards towards Nargshir’s chest, and he had to roll away to avoid it. Too late, he realized where the first wolf had fallen, and rolled right on top of his enemy.
He could feel the wolf moving its right arm, trying to bring its blade up to ward off Nargshir, and he made a grab for the arm, pinioning it to its owner’s side. The other arm crashed into Nargshir’s head with so much force that he momentarily lost his grip on the right arm, but regained it a moment later. He then planted his knee in the stomach of the wolf, noting that he felt leather beneath his leg, and twisted the arms around so as to flip the wolf around, so that it faced the ground. He released the pressure from his knee just long enough to turn the wolf over, and then replaced it, this time in the wolf’s back. Then, moving quickly and skillfully, he whirled around to face his other two attackers, holding his hostage before him, his teeth to its throat.
Nargshir felt his body suddenly tense from surprise. Standing before him were two female wolves, both covered in white fur and leather garments. In either hand they carried a massive sword, its blade wide and thick, and on their heads were masks of leather. A strange, curling blue design flowed across each of their right shoulders to end in a curl below their necks.
Nargshir did not release his hold on his hostage, which he now recognized as another of the female wolves, but removed his mouth from her neck and looked apprehensively at the two wolves before him.
None of the wolves moved. Nargshir eyed the two before him, as they did him, and his hostage, though he could feel her trying to subtly work her way out of his grip, did not move either. Seeing that he could break their companion’s neck with a twist of his arm, the other two wolves lowered their weapons and glared at him with their red eyes.
Finally, one of them took a step forward and said in an oiled voice that purred through Nargshir’s mind, “What do you here, Utgarian?”
“I should think you would find that obvious,” said Nargshir, keeping any emotion out of his voice. “And you need not refer to me as an Utgarian. My name is Nargshir.” After a slight pause, he added, as an afterthought, “What do you do here?”
The female wolf gave a short laugh that rippled with the hints of a growl. “We patrol our lady’s land, keeping it clean of Utgar’s filth.”
Nargshir’s temper bristled at being addressed as filth, but he calmed himself. “And I come here on Utgar’s orders alone. I would far rather be in the woods on Feylund than in this infected jungle.”
The female wolf’s smile and persuasive tone vanished instantly. “Then let Shrinir go and we can save you the trouble of having to leave,” she snapped.
Nargshir glanced sideways at his hostage. “No,” he said, turning back to the wolf in front of him, “I prefer to keep my skin intact. Let me go with… Shrinir, and I’ll leave this jungle to you and your kin, and let her return when I am well away from this place.”
The wolf before him opened her mouth to reply, but Nargshir continued before she could speak.
“You are really in no position to bargain, so I suggest that you let me leave in peace.”
The wolf tilted her head, contemplating Nargshir through eyes full of hate placed there by another. “How do I know Shrinir will not be harmed, or come back at all?” she asked.
“You don’t,” said Nargshir calmly. “But you can’t stop me from leaving, so you will just have to be content with my word that I do not intend to harm her, as long as she does not try to stick a knife in my back.” He waited for her to reply, and when she said nothing, said, “I will release Shrinir when I reach the edge of the jungle. If I am attacked while she is with me, she dies. If not, I will let her live.”
Before the wolf could reply, Nargshir slipped backwards into the brush and then to his left, behind a cluster of trees, the shadows of which hid him from the two wolves. Keeping a firm grip on his captive, he then ducked low and ran through the underbrush, away from the two wolves. As he ran, he noted that Shrinir did not struggle or try to hinder him, and for this he was thankful; he was doubtful if he could have won a struggle against her, since she appeared to be as strong as he.
For nearly an hour they ran, darting from tree to tree, from bush to bush, until they reached a small clearing in which the ground was covered in thick vines and the moon shown brightly down overhead. Here Nargshir stopped, and knelt down upon the leaves, pulling Shrinir down next to him.
“Can I trust you to go back where you came from and not try to kill me once I set you free?”
Shrinir looked at him with confused eyes from behind her leather mask. They were still miles from the edge of the jungle, and the closest border was nearer Aquilla than Utgar. “Why would you set me free?” she asked, her tone guarded.
“Because,” Nargshir said, “I have found what I was sent to find out, and a captive will only slow me down on my way to Utgar. I am also not obligated to bring you back with me as a prisoner, so I prefer to let you go free.”
Shrinir simply looked confused, so Nargshir continued. “Utgar may have a lot of power, and he may have many soldiers, but not all of his recruits are undyingly loyal to him.”
Shrinir’s eyes widened as she understood what he was suggesting.
“As long as you promise to not try to capture or kill me,” Nargshir continued, “I will let you go.”
Shrinir sat still for a moment or two, and then silently stood with a grace that befitted her beauty. “Wolves do not make promises,” she said, “for they are too easily broken. We state facts, and I will not capture or kill you, and I will command my wolves to let you pass by them on your way to Utgar.”
“Good,” Nargshir said. “Then I bid you farewell.” He looked up at the full moon above, and then suddenly looked back at Shrinir. “Your wolves?” he repeated. But she was gone. All that was left was the imprint of her paws on the soft vines that crept along the ground. As Nargshir stared at the indentations, he heard, as if whispered by a breath of wind, “Farewell, Nargshir.”
But there was no wind.

Light up the Darkness - 11/24/2017

Spoiler Alert!

You can read the story here.
Word Count: 3,990
Notes: Due to the Word document being an absolute mess to copy over, the best way to read this fiction is over on my website, linked above.

[Bro-man]

That is fine with me buddy. Just be sure to let others know who you got the title from.

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by Bro-man

That is fine with me buddy. Just be sure to let others know who you got the title from.

No problem.
~TGRF.

[TGRF]

In light of TAF deciding to drunkenly make the rounds of unrated fictions and bless them with a number from 1-10, I have decided to bolster my chances with him and add some of my better entries to this compilation. They'll be from all over the ten-odd years I've been in the competition.

First up, we have:

A Breath of Wind - 8/7/2014

Spoiler Alert!

The prompt can be found here.
Word Count: 2,298
Placement: Third Place
Notes: This fiction features one of the original characters from The Quest for Valhalla, Nargshir. It likely takes place before the main events of that fiction unfold. Reading the Quest is not required.

Spoiler Alert!

Cold dew dusted Nargshir’s paws as he padded silently through the trees, intent on his surroundings. Next to a particularly thick tree, he stopped and sniffed the air, his red eyes darting from dark shadow to dark shadow. A peculiar scent drifted towards him which caused his nose to tingle and the hair on his back to stand up in a ridge. ‘Curious,’ he thought; he had never smelled anything like that before. He stood up on his hind legs, the better to tell from which direction the scent came, but as he did so, it disappeared. He twitched his whiskers, trying to recapture the smell, but all that met him were the scents of the humid jungle and stagnant swamp water around him. Shaking his head and growling slightly to himself, Nargshir dropped back to all fours and padded forward, his eyes and ears ever alert for the slightest hint of an enemy.
A week ago, Utgar had sent him on this scouting trip deep into the Ticalla to investigate a devastating attack on a large marro force. The marro had been scouting out a large piece of dense jungle, when they had suddenly been ambushed. The hive controlling them had received only images of fleeting shapes in the dark, accompanied by the flashing of massive blades, and then darkness as each and every one of the marro were wiped out.
It had first been Utgar’s intention to send a battalion of marro drones and his newly recruited gnids to wipe out the enemy, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. Driven by a desire to find out who, or what, had the power to kill his marro with such apparent ease, Utgar had decided to send Nargshir to scout them out before he attacked.
Nargshir was the perfect recruit for the job. He had spent his first years in the forests of Feylund, learning how to hunt and track elves, creatures which were most adept at stealth. Then, when he was nearly slain by an elf, Utgar had summoned him. Now he served as a valuable scout to the dark Valkyrie, sneaking behind enemy lines, gathering information, and reporting back to Utgar’s generals without their enemies being any the wiser. And any that got in the way of Nargshir usually ended up with a knife in their back or a broken neck.
Nargshir paused and sniffed the air. Once again, that strange tingling scent drifted over him, tantalizing him, urging him to find its source. He looked around. All he saw were the dark forms of trees and the hazy silhouettes of stars through the green leaves of the palm trees overhead. Black shadows covered the ground, hiding the pools of green water that Nargshir knew lay there.
He took a cautious step forward and sniffed. The scent was stronger here. He took another step forward. Stronger still. And then he paused, one paw raised between steps, his eyes fixed on a patch of dark foliage five feet ahead of him.
Staring out at him from deep within the foliage were two red eyes, glowing with reflected light from the moon overhead.
Very slowly, and without looking away, Nargshir put his foot back down and pricked his ears forward, straining to catch the slightest sound from the two red eyes before him. Silence met his ears; complete and total silence, broken only by the soft swishing of the branches overhead in an invisible wind.
Nargshir stiffened. There was no wind. The swishing sound was soft, almost inaudible, but it was regular, and it was coming from the two eyes before him. Then Nargshir recognized it: breathing.
A human would have been unable to hear the breathing, but to Nargshir’s wolf ears, it was just discernible. As he watched, the two eyes slowly slanted, as if their owner was tilting its head slightly. A low swish of air met his ears, and Nargshir looked down just in time to see the tip of a sword retract back into the leafy foliage.
With a snarl that broke the silence like a thunderclap, though it was quiet, Nargshir sprang backwards, all his senses directed towards the bush before him. He was none to soon, either, for just as he sprang, a wide blade went swishing through the air where he had been moments before. He caught a glimpse of a slender arm covered in short white fur, though muscles were evident below the skin, and then it had gone, blade and all, back into the brush.
Nargshir narrowed his eyes, searching through the darkness for his unseen attacker. The red eyes, which had remained visible throughout the attack, flashed, and a low snarl escaped their owner’s lips. Nargshir froze yet again. He recognized the snarl; only a wolf could make such a sound.
Cautiously, he edged forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the other wolf. The red eyes narrowed and retreated further into the brush, and Nargshir caught a glimpse of more white fur and something brown. He crept slowly forward again. Once more, the eyes retreated, and this time Nargshir saw the hilt of a massive blade, compared to a wolf at least, flash in the moonlight. He stopped and sniffed. There was no doubt; the strange smell was coming from this wolf. No wolves on Feylund had white fur, not unless something had gone very wrong with them from birth, and Nargshir had never smelled one like this before anyway. Then he swiveled his head to the right. Another smell, quite similar to the first, but slightly different, had drifted towards his nose. He then caught another similar, yet different, scent, on his left. He had a sudden moment of panic, and then ducked just as two more of the massive blades swung out where his head had been. At the same time, he had to leap off of the ground to avoid the first blade, which had snaked out of the bushes in front of him and gone for his legs.
He landed rather awkwardly, and rolled to avoid another attack, coming up close to the bush where he had seen the red eyes.
A clawed foot snapped away from him and a blade came singing down towards his head, but Nargshir was too fast. He leapt upon the retreating foot, clawed his way up the leg so as to gain some leverage, and brought its owner crashing down to the ground. The wolf landed with a grunt which sounded somehow peculiar to Nargshir, but he was given no time to think about it as another of the blades swung down towards his head. He ducked the massive blade, and, lunging forward, yanked on its owner’s arm so that it, too, fell forward onto the ground with a faint grunt, which sounded equally strange. The third blade went angling upwards towards Nargshir’s chest, and he had to roll away to avoid it. Too late, he realized where the first wolf had fallen, and rolled right on top of his enemy.
He could feel the wolf moving its right arm, trying to bring its blade up to ward off Nargshir, and he made a grab for the arm, pinioning it to its owner’s side. The other arm crashed into Nargshir’s head with so much force that he momentarily lost his grip on the right arm, but regained it a moment later. He then planted his knee in the stomach of the wolf, noting that he felt leather beneath his leg, and twisted the arms around so as to flip the wolf around, so that it faced the ground. He released the pressure from his knee just long enough to turn the wolf over, and then replaced it, this time in the wolf’s back. Then, moving quickly and skillfully, he whirled around to face his other two attackers, holding his hostage before him, his teeth to its throat.
Nargshir felt his body suddenly tense from surprise. Standing before him were two female wolves, both covered in white fur and leather garments. In either hand they carried a massive sword, its blade wide and thick, and on their heads were masks of leather. A strange, curling blue design flowed across each of their right shoulders to end in a curl below their necks.
Nargshir did not release his hold on his hostage, which he now recognized as another of the female wolves, but removed his mouth from her neck and looked apprehensively at the two wolves before him.
None of the wolves moved. Nargshir eyed the two before him, as they did him, and his hostage, though he could feel her trying to subtly work her way out of his grip, did not move either. Seeing that he could break their companion’s neck with a twist of his arm, the other two wolves lowered their weapons and glared at him with their red eyes.
Finally, one of them took a step forward and said in an oiled voice that purred through Nargshir’s mind, “What do you here, Utgarian?”
“I should think you would find that obvious,” said Nargshir, keeping any emotion out of his voice. “And you need not refer to me as an Utgarian. My name is Nargshir.” After a slight pause, he added, as an afterthought, “What do you do here?”
The female wolf gave a short laugh that rippled with the hints of a growl. “We patrol our lady’s land, keeping it clean of Utgar’s filth.”
Nargshir’s temper bristled at being addressed as filth, but he calmed himself. “And I come here on Utgar’s orders alone. I would far rather be in the woods on Feylund than in this infected jungle.”
The female wolf’s smile and persuasive tone vanished instantly. “Then let Shrinir go and we can save you the trouble of having to leave,” she snapped.
Nargshir glanced sideways at his hostage. “No,” he said, turning back to the wolf in front of him, “I prefer to keep my skin intact. Let me go with… Shrinir, and I’ll leave this jungle to you and your kin, and let her return when I am well away from this place.”
The wolf before him opened her mouth to reply, but Nargshir continued before she could speak.
“You are really in no position to bargain, so I suggest that you let me leave in peace.”
The wolf tilted her head, contemplating Nargshir through eyes full of hate placed there by another. “How do I know Shrinir will not be harmed, or come back at all?” she asked.
“You don’t,” said Nargshir calmly. “But you can’t stop me from leaving, so you will just have to be content with my word that I do not intend to harm her, as long as she does not try to stick a knife in my back.” He waited for her to reply, and when she said nothing, said, “I will release Shrinir when I reach the edge of the jungle. If I am attacked while she is with me, she dies. If not, I will let her live.”
Before the wolf could reply, Nargshir slipped backwards into the brush and then to his left, behind a cluster of trees, the shadows of which hid him from the two wolves. Keeping a firm grip on his captive, he then ducked low and ran through the underbrush, away from the two wolves. As he ran, he noted that Shrinir did not struggle or try to hinder him, and for this he was thankful; he was doubtful if he could have won a struggle against her, since she appeared to be as strong as he.
For nearly an hour they ran, darting from tree to tree, from bush to bush, until they reached a small clearing in which the ground was covered in thick vines and the moon shown brightly down overhead. Here Nargshir stopped, and knelt down upon the leaves, pulling Shrinir down next to him.
“Can I trust you to go back where you came from and not try to kill me once I set you free?”
Shrinir looked at him with confused eyes from behind her leather mask. They were still miles from the edge of the jungle, and the closest border was nearer Aquilla than Utgar. “Why would you set me free?” she asked, her tone guarded.
“Because,” Nargshir said, “I have found what I was sent to find out, and a captive will only slow me down on my way to Utgar. I am also not obligated to bring you back with me as a prisoner, so I prefer to let you go free.”
Shrinir simply looked confused, so Nargshir continued. “Utgar may have a lot of power, and he may have many soldiers, but not all of his recruits are undyingly loyal to him.”
Shrinir’s eyes widened as she understood what he was suggesting.
“As long as you promise to not try to capture or kill me,” Nargshir continued, “I will let you go.”
Shrinir sat still for a moment or two, and then silently stood with a grace that befitted her beauty. “Wolves do not make promises,” she said, “for they are too easily broken. We state facts, and I will not capture or kill you, and I will command my wolves to let you pass by them on your way to Utgar.”
“Good,” Nargshir said. “Then I bid you farewell.” He looked up at the full moon above, and then suddenly looked back at Shrinir. “Your wolves?” he repeated. But she was gone. All that was left was the imprint of her paws on the soft vines that crept along the ground. As Nargshir stared at the indentations, he heard, as if whispered by a breath of wind, “Farewell, Nargshir.”
But there was no wind.

~TGRF, more to come!

[TGRF]

This next entry, posted sometime late in 2017, was the first entry where I had to significantly edit something to make it fit within the word limit. While I originally didn't want to do this, thinking too much would be cut, the exercise gave me a newfound appreciation for the power of editing, and the usefulness of brevity. If I had to point to a single piece of writing which actively made me a better writer as I wrote it, it would be this entry.

Now, due to all that editing, posting this isn't as simple as copy & pasting from Word. The best way for you to read it would be to find the cleaned up version over on my website. As I've said elsewhere, the Website is owned by me, and devoid of ads or background programs. You can browse without worry.

Light up the Darkness
Word Count: 3,990

That's all for now.

~TGRF.