Wait a minute, didn't you have six pages written last time? Is this going to be a novel of epic action as well as epic proportions? Maybe it'll take 'til next week to just read, at which point the others will have been forgotten...
I had 6 pages to go last time. At which point I realized I had more like 10 pages to go. 4 of those got done...
Well, I can wait personally but I don't want to keep everyone else waiting if they're waiting for the results, so do you have a ballpark estimate of when you'll be done SoA?
Well, I can wait personally but I don't want to keep everyone else waiting if they're waiting for the results, so do you have a ballpark estimate of when you'll be done SoA?
'Sigh' My family has decided that a movie takes precedence over my writing time. So I'd say by noon tomorrow. I really hate to do this to you guys. If you want to go ahead and judge now, you can, I won't take offense.
Well, I can wait personally but I don't want to keep everyone else waiting if they're waiting for the results, so do you have a ballpark estimate of when you'll be done SoA?
'Sigh' My family has decided that a movie takes precedence over my writing time. So I'd say by noon tomorrow. I really hate to do this to you guys. If you want to go ahead and judge now, you can, I won't take offense.
I'm fine with it. All that writing... it has to be worth something!
Well, I can wait personally but I don't want to keep everyone else waiting if they're waiting for the results, so do you have a ballpark estimate of when you'll be done SoA?
'Sigh' My family has decided that a movie takes precedence over my writing time. So I'd say by noon tomorrow. I really hate to do this to you guys. If you want to go ahead and judge now, you can, I won't take offense.
I'm fine with it. All that writing... it has to be worth something!
Yeah, I'd really hate to see all your writing go to waste so I'm fine with waiting. Just do what you can.
Well, I can wait personally but I don't want to keep everyone else waiting if they're waiting for the results, so do you have a ballpark estimate of when you'll be done SoA?
'Sigh' My family has decided that a movie takes precedence over my writing time. So I'd say by noon tomorrow. I really hate to do this to you guys. If you want to go ahead and judge now, you can, I won't take offense.
I'm fine with it. All that writing... it has to be worth something!
Yeah, I'd really hate to see all your writing go to waste so I'm fine with waiting. Just do what you can.
Just got back from the movie. 'Whew'. Was writing in the car the whole way to and from. They're almost to the talisman, it shouldn't be long now...
The short answer is: no, he can't. . But, after days and days of writing, I can present to you all the rough draft of what I consider to be some of my finest work in a great while. Be warned. It totals about 20 pages, and odds are good that this thing is full of errors. I apologize for them in advance. Other than that, I can only ask that you enjoy it.
Spoiler Alert!
A rat-like creature scurried across the slippery rocks of a bleak coastline. Waves crashed against the dull rocks, smoothed with time. The animal slowed it’s movements as it approached a tide pool. It froze, motionless in it’s timing between waves. Sensing movement, it leaped to the edge of the pool, seized a fish stranded in the shallow pool, and raced to the safety of the high rocks with the wriggling creature. It sat upon the raised stone, enjoying it’s still-twitching meal with gusto. It had enjoyed an isolated existence on the island, far from anything other than the occasional predator and prey. This existence soon came to an end as a light flashed in a clearing, high and away from the creature. The light spread across the island, a bass hum penetrating everything it could find. Any animals on the island fell to the ground, twitching and frothing at the mouth. The rat fell off it’s perch, and fractured it’s minuscule skull on the rocks below. A minute later, the light retracted to the clearing from whence it had came. Within an hour, the creatures of the island recovered their senses and stood, going about their nightly business as though nothing at all had occurred.
Ashil ibn Hunakah raced through the stripped trees of Western Anund, his cloak billowing around his slight frame. Ashes were scattered across the forest floor, a testament to the pillaging of Utgar’s orcs. He listened a moment to ensure that there were no beings close by, plunged a hand into a pile of ashes, grasped a metal handle, and pulled open a trap-door. He leaped down into the tunnel, and pulled it shut behind him. Crouching and pressing along the metal-lined walls, Hunakah soon came to the tunnels end. It came out in Vydar’s stronghold of Korrulai. Ashil pulled down his hood, and hastened to the war chamber. As he reached for the door, he felt certain there were raised voices inside. Yet as he pushed it open, there was nothing. Only Vydar sat within, staring at the far wall.
“Ellurt, Vydar,” said Ashil, bowing, “you wished to see me?”
Vydar turned to him slowly. His voice rasped slightly, as though he had not slept for many hours. “Yes. You are ready to travel, I trust?” His servant nodded. “Good. You leave at once for the harbor. A ship awaits you. You will receive further instruction there. Go.”
Haellin sprinted the last few steps up an ancient ruin atop a grassy knoll, and threw herself to the ground amongst the scrappy brush. Crawling forward on hands and knees, the elf quickly and quietly came behind a broad tree. She waited. Watched. Soon, the sound of beating wings reached her sharp ears, and booted feet touched the ground on the other side of the oak. Softly, she scaled the tree, carefully hiding amongst the dense topmost branches.
Around her the sound of wings grew fainter as other kyrie touched down, and the one below her hefted his axe, waiting for his fellows to take position. The Minion coughed, and Haellin used the cover to pull a knife from one of the belts criss-crossing her chest. As the last of the dozen or so kyrie serving Utgar completed the circle, a last one landed hefting a wriggling bundle over it’s shoulder. He loosed the cord securing the sack, and let out several kyrie children. Their small wings quivering with fear, a Minion stared at them with an eerie hunger. “Well? Are they ours for feast?”, one asked. The biggest one grunted in approval. The Minions grasped their weapons.
Haellin’s mouth tightened, and releasing the branch above, she dropped like a cat onto it’s prey, landing on the Minion below and plunging the knife into his throat with the same movement. Silently, she managed to put the body on the ground. The others were still focused on their victims, who had begun to cry and scream. Haellin did not bother retrieving her blade from the kyrie’s neck, instead pulling two more from her belts. With barely a sound, these went in the nearest Minion backs. The other kyrie turned to see her crouching in the fallen leaves, a deadly look in her eyes. With some nine left, two advanced on her curled, light form. With a roar, one brought his axe down at the space her head had occupied previously. Now, it was at his side, and her hand putting yet another knife in his chest. As he slipped forward limply, the second sent his axe for Haellin. She grasped the dying Minion’s axe, and wedged it with surprising strength into the attacking kyrie’s leg. He went down, screaming, and a knife quickly silenced him.
The rest came, and the rest fell by her short silver blades. Crouching next to the children, she whispered softly that they were safe, the danger over. Footsteps behind , and Haellin whipped around, another knife at the ready. Instead, stepping into the clearing was High Lord of the Order of the Crimson Sigil. Ulginesh beckoned to her. “Lord, these children need help. They-”
“They will be well cared for, Haellin, I assure you. But right now, Lord Ullar commands you to the port of Ostrillian. You are to move Northeast.”
Flaidor let out a breath, raised his war-hammer, and screamed. “Charge!”. The host behind him raised their own weapons and surged forward to meet the army of Marro before them. Humans in silver armor tore a path through the mass of skinless flesh before them, as Drone after Drone fell. In the midst of the Marro tide sat a Warlord atop a gargantuan, four-legged creature of bone. It’s tusks gored any Drone that came near. As the knights made their way to it, Flaidor looked up to see his honor guard, elite seasoned Sentinels of Jandar, fly straight for the Hive at the center of the conflict. They had been advancing on Utgar’s Laur position for months now, and this was the climax of the campaign to drive out the Marro infestation. Flaidor looked again to the Warlord, and saw that it had reached the column of knights now surrounded as more struggled to break a line of Stingers. Flaidor’s grip on the hammer tightened, his wings beat, and he flew for the Warlord and his mount.
As he came close, the Warlord stared at the advancing kyrie with empty sockets. His jaw dropped, and a hellish moan escaped the bone-plate lips. The mount turned at command, and reared onto it’s hind legs, tusks thrown up in front of Flaidor. He ducked, rolling in midair to come up, grasping at the mount’s ribcage. His grip firm, Flaidor clambered up the creature as it’s front legs came back to the ground. Quickly, he drew from his belt a gift from Ullar’s kyrie regiments. Placing the hand-crossbow at the base of the Warlord’s skull, he checked his grip on the mount, and pulled the trigger.
The Warlord went limp in his makeshift saddle, and the mount, it’s telepathic link broken, fell to the ground writhing. Flaidor went down beneath the huge seizing frame of bone. Knights cleared the area around the body, and found no trace of their commander. A few were assigned to search further for the body, while the rest aided the Sentinel honor guard in dispatching the Hive and the last of the Marro.
Sir Gilbert himself came to aid the search, for Flaidor had long been his brother-in-arms on Valhalla. As they had lost hops of finding the corpse, a rattling came from within the fallen mount. They turned in astonishment to see Flaidor extricating himself from the beast’s giant ribcage. Gilbert embraced the kyrie, and holding him at arms length whispered, “Though it warms my heart to find you alive by God’s grace friend, you are needed elsewhere. You are to report to Jandar’s outpost, at the eastern end of the Dragon’s Head Sea. A ship is there, and new orders.”
“What news?” the man speaking was used to being obeyed, it was there in his voice. Saturated with the comfort of command.
His lieutenant spoke with a heavy heart, as one that speaks of loss usually does. “Sir, the men report that there have been thirty percent casualties. We failed to take the position. What is more, clouds of fumes out of the Volcarren are coming towards us. The winds and tide of battle have shifted Commander Pellus, and the position we are in now is untenable. I fear for the lives of the men, we should retreat immediately”.
Pellus Sarconus nodded. He had not gotten to where he was in Einar’s forces by ignoring his men. Still, their orders had been to take the archipelago connecting Anund and the Volcarren. And his Legionnaires had failed him thus far. He still had more than a thousand men at his disposal. Failure was not acceptable. “Anything else?”.
“Sir, a messenger has arrived from Lindesfarme,” said the lieutenant, as he placed a scroll on the makeshift desk of his superior. Pellus reached out, and unrolled the paper. Staring only a moment, he strode to the fire pit in the tent, kicked at the smoldering coals, and buried the paper in the fire. It was gone in seconds. He turned to the lieutenant.
“Lieutenant, are you prepared to do your duty for Lord Einar?”, asked Pellus.
“Yes, sir,” the reply came uncertainly.
“Thank you. Gather the men outside and wait for me.”
Minutes later, Pellus exited the tent to find his lieutenant standing at attention, and the men, well and wounded, kneeling before him. Pellus drew his sword, gifted to him by Einar himself for success in the Elswin campaigns, now a year since. He nodded to the lieutenant. He drew the decimation lots from a pouch at his belt, and as his eyes were on the short wooden rods, Sarconus’ sword neatly toppled his head from his soldiers. Most of the men, to their credit, did not flinch. Clasping the head, Pellus yelled, “This is the fate, the fate that is reserved for any man who for a moment even thinks of retreat, of surrender, or desertion! You will fight to the last man in my absence, and you will fight honorably!”
The closest lieutenant rushed to Pellus’ side. “Your orders, sir?”
Pellus wiped his blade on the dead man’s tunic, and sheathed it. “You are in charge of this army. Continue the assault. Ready my horse, I leave for the coast immediately”.
Rahlinn brought down the sword, slicing through another enemy body. Sliding off his sword, the body served only as an obstacle to the next few men that foolishly charged him. He dispatched each one with ruthless efficiency. He thought it a shame, to waste so many bodies, lain upon the ashes of the Volcarren. They could have attained glory and honor in fighting. Unlike most of Utgar’s warlord’s, Rahlinn did not consider those he fought little more than scum or dirt. Rather, they were an enemy that could be just as powerful as he, and the truth of who was the better was only revealed with the sweep of a blade or the notch of an arrow. He wiped the blade, passed down by his family for nine generations, and turned to see a messenger clad in armor, blackened with soot, stumble towards him through the heat and airborne gases. Coughing as he spoke, he managed to get out, “Lord Rahlinn... presence... requested at... communications tent!”
Rahlinn nodded, and indicated the loose cloth on the soldier’s sleeve. Apparently, he understood, as he brought it to his mouth as a rudimentary filter against the noxious gas. The fumes did not trouble Rahlinn much, he had breathed much worse in his life, and it would probably shave a few years off the end. Nevertheless, he covered his own face, and made for the communications tent.
Arriving with boots caked in ash, he entered to find an underling standing next to a short column of stone, with an object covered in dark cloth sitting atop it. He advanced, fingers tingling with small shocks of electricity. He often exuded minute amounts of power when he was nervous. Taking a breath for control, Rahlinn knelt before the column, eyes closed, and spoke to the lieutenant. “Out”, he said, and it was obeyed.
Alone now, Rahlinn grasped the cloth, pulled it aside, and grasped a sphere of glass sitting on the column. Instantly, he felt a mental torrent assault him. He winced, sparks playing about his free hand. Closing the fist, he opened his eyes and stared directly into the depths of the object. “My Lord.”
A cruel voice spoke in his mind. “Servant. You have defended our position between Einar’s advance and Aquilla’s encroachment. I am impressed. You shall be rewarded.”
Rahlinn winced at the voice as the sounds in his head cauterized the edges of his consciousness. “Thank you, my Lord. You have orders, I take it?”
“Yes. An object of power has come into our world. I have no doubt the other Valkyrie shall be sending scouts to retrieve it. Their unity shall not stop their desire for personal power. You shall take it, and bring it to me. Accomplish this, and you shall have dominion over our armies in the North.”
“Yes, my Lord. Where is this object?”
The voice seemed uncertain as it spoke in his mind. “It is on an island, in the far Northeast reaches of the Bitter Sea. I warn you now, servant, you are not to use this object, nor touch it with bared flesh. It would consume you. You must leave at once, for Haukeland.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
One Month Later
The shores of Haukeland were bitter cold as the waves crashed in steady rhythm. The sky was dark with clouds, and the air left one chilled to the marrow. The landscape was undisturbed as the creatures of the island sought shelter where they could among the rocks on the coast, and farther inland amongst the dark mountainous terrain.
It was to this island, cold, dark, and miserable, that the body came. Waterlogged by hours in Northern Bitter Sea, and skin nearly blue with hypothermia, at first glance it was an animal with dark brown fur. Yet as a scavenger, a crab untroubled by the weather, approached the body, it became clear that it wasn’t like anything the creature had before seen. Two legs, two arms, and the fur didn’t even seem to be part of the animal! Absurd, to be certain. The crab grabbed for a fold of loose skin, hoping for a meal. It was not to be.
From under the body, not quite as dead as the crab had judged, shot a hand. The crab found itself quickly caught and crushed by the scrabbling fingers. Pellus Sarconus brought the still-twitching creature to his face, broke apart the shell with sandy hands, and stuffed the cold meat into his mouth. He turned himself over in the sand and rock of the beach, on top of his goatskin cloak. Laying there breathing for a minute, he gathered his strength and rose, stumbling into the fields of tall, black rocks beyond the line of sand.
Flaidor’s journey to the Dragon’s Head Sea had taken him a week, the trip by sea to Haukeland nearly three times that. His ship had weathered the worst of the storms across the Northern Bitter Sea, and he had left the ship at an outer island just in sight of his destination, island-hopping the rest of the way to the bay where he stood now, on what he judged to be Haukeland’s northern shore.
From what Jandar had suggested, the thing he sought was actually just below the surface of the island, and the only entrance to the tunnels that were known by Jandar to riddle Haukeland’s underground was on the eastern end of the island. That was where he had to go. Speed was needed, but stealth too would be necessary. The weather too brought him to his final decision to travel on foot. Withdrawing a dark blue hood and cloak from his pack of supplies, he cast it about himself and began his march east.
Rahlinn’s small vessel sank within a few miles of the Haukeland’s western shores, traveling the last leg to the island in his spectral form of black smoke. Though he could transform his living body into a cloud of dark smoke, and cover great distance, it also caused him great pain while he did so. This was why he had chosen to take a ship for most of the journey, and had only flown for a short distance. As it was, he lay gasping upon the beach for several minutes before he could recover the strength to stand. His ship had sank when he encountered another vessel, manned by a human garbed in leather armor, a fur cloak, and wielding a short sword. Both ships sank in the ensuing fight as it became clear that both beings were sent for the same thing, and Rahlinn had cast the man’s body into the choppy waters.
As he lay upon the rough land, Rahlinn contemplated his life. Since the beginning of their history his family had held residence on the world of Paellion, known to the Orcs as Grut, as far south as they could possibly come to escape the riotous fighting of the other peoples on the planet. And for the entirety of that history, his family had held power over cloud and lightning, holding it in their bodies. He was the first known to experience pain when he wielded the power. He had managed to keep it secret on his home-world, but since his arrival on Valhalla, the pain had become nearly unbearable.
Enough. He did not have time to ponder an aspect of his life that he should be ignoring. Rising to his feet, Rahlinn wrapped his soggy black cloak about himself and started into the dark trees beyond the sands
Ashil smiled as he watched the man clad in fur and armor disappear into the maze of rocks set before him. The servant of Vydar had already climbed the tallest tree overlooking the rock field, and he knew the odds of a man weary as the one before him would likely take days to come out of there. He had a good lead on him as it was. Vydar had warned him in his written orders at the ship that other scouts would be sent for the target. One was now obsolete in the chase. Only three enemies were now of any importance.
Casting his gaze to the next tree, Ashil tensed the muscles in his legs, and leaped to the welcoming branches. Dry within them, he prepared his leap to the next tree. He could travel like this until he reached the plains not far off.
Haellin’s canoe glided smoothly onto the fine clay of Haukeland’s farthest inland bay. She had abandoned her larger vessel at an island separated from a reaching bit of land by a short channel. From there, she had taken a day to construct a smaller ship of tree bark and branches before traveling just out of sight of the shores on either side. She had gone as far as she possibly could by water. The elf dragged the canoe to the safety of dense trees, covered her tracks in the sand as best she could, and raced into the forest.
Five Days Later
Ashil knelt down to the water’s edge, and brought his clasped hands to his mouth. Cold water poured down his parched throat. Two days since he had sighted the man stumble from the rock fields, barely standing it had seemed from the distance between them, but alive. He had reached a creek traveling to the sea, and then Ashil ibn Hunakah had known. The man would survive. How fast he would travel overland was another matter entirely. Still, Ashil needed no interruptions, nor for anyone to know of his mission. So he had struck out straight west, and then advanced north with a large body of water on his left side. Keeping to the water had ensured survival, and ensured that no enemy would approach him at least on one side.
As his hands reached for another sip of water, he sensed a presence behind him. He had just enough time to tear his hands away from the water before an arrow pierced the lake’s surface, disappearing into the shallow water.
Ashil reared back from the lake, diving into a bush behind him. Another arrow whipped through the branches just above his head. Laying flat, Ashil heard another two arrows fly over him. He waited, holding his breathing steady lest the enemy see the bushes rustling.
For what seemed like hours, he lay there, as night fell around him. Still he heard nothing. Deciding it was worth the risk, Ashil slowly rolled over onto his stomach, and placed his hands against the ground at his shoulders. He drew a breath, and launched himself out of the bush, running along the edge where the trees met the sand. Northwest, as fast as his body could carry him. As he ran, more arrows whistled past. He clearly had not been forgotten.
Haellin held her course going north, keeping concealed in the trees which thickened more the farther she moved. From what maps she had seen on the ship, she had only to keep this course for another few hours, at which point she would break out of the forest, onto flat plains which she would trek until she came to a river. From there, she would go east, until she reached the thing that Ullar desperately sought. She had only a vague idea of what she was after, but she had been told to watch the others that were sure to be after it. Once the target was taken, she would relieve it’s holder of it, and escape.
On the went, as quiet as a being could possibly be in the forest. Haellin did not like these woods. The elf had traveled far under trees in her life, and yet none had unsettled her more than these. They did not have the sense of decay so present in Upper Bleakwoode. Nor were they so full of life as those surrounding Feylund’s great city of Ashra. Instead, this forest made her feel young, as though these trees had been in existence so long that they had acquired a sort of indifference to all that walked upon or beneath the branches, feeling no care for other living things. A stern presence far older than anything Haellin had ever encountered.
Lost in her thought, she was both surprised and relieved to so suddenly come out of the trees, and find herself knee-deep in grass. Something caught her eye above. Immediately, she dropped down into the grass, staring at what could only be a kyrie in the sky. Slinking through grass, she kept pace with the kyrie.
As night began to fall, she lost sight of the being for a moment. Almost in panic, she quickened her pace, eyes held to the sky. Nearly running, her heart seemed to rise in her throat as she frantically scanned the skies for her quarry. Cresting a low ridge, a fire bloomed below her. Keeping low, she moved to it. As she came to it, she noticed that it had been built hastily, and only moments ago. Rising out of the grass, she walked to the burning scraps of grass and twig. Only a single pair of boot prints besides her own tracks were in the dirt cleared for the small fire. A single pair. Haellin cursed and turned, ripping a knife from her chest as she did. She did not turn fast enough to stop the kyrie from landing on her. The shock of the descending weight, combined with crushing hands at her throat and knife arm, sent her flying into unconsciousness.
Rahlinn sprinted across the last stretch of the plains, and scrambled up the nearest foothill of the mountains before him.
After moving northeast through the woods for a few days, he had come to a small break in the trees, flat land and tall grass. Seeking cover, yet needing to keep going north, Rahlinn had continued across the plains towards a stretch of mountains. As dark fell on the fifth day since his arrival on Haukeland, he began to feel he was being followed. Quickening his pace, he had come within an hour’s distance of the mountains before an unseen enemy attacked. Arrows flew at him from behind, and he had broken into a run.
As he crested the hill, and continued toward the taller walls of rock, he heard the release of a bowstring. Rahlinn fell to his knees, letting the arrow pass over his shoulder. His long sword was no good against the darts. And so he rose up, and kept running, more arrows singing through the air at him.
He leapt into a small ravine between two hills, not caring what lay at the bottom. As he slid wildly down the loose stones of the ravine’s wall, he scrambled to maintain a grip on something. Sharp stones cut at his desperate hands. Ignoring the pain, he at last managed to grip a scraggly shrub clinging to the wall. Safe for a moment, he heard movement in the dark at the low end of the ravine. Squinting in the dark, he didn’t hear the next arrow quickly enough to pull his hand away.
Pain shot up his right arm as the shaft entered the back of the hand grasping the brush. He yelled, and realized too late not to let go. With a useless hand, and left at an angle he couldn’t correct, Rahlinn half-fell, half-rolled the rest of the way down the sheer drop.
Rahlinn thought for a moment that he’d been knocked senseless, then realized that the bottom was simply this dark. He heard pounding footsteps in front of him. Struggling to rise with only his left hand, he came up onto his feet, and clutching his hand to his chest, he ran. He only made it a few steps before his arm went numb. His mind felt clouded, and the feet were coming closer. The arrow that had pierced his hand must have been drugged. Gritting his teeth, he turned blindly in the dark as he ran, and decided pain was better than death. A small bolt of lightning exited the index finger on his left hand, and collided with the closest being behind him. The darkness was lit for a moment by the crackling electricity playing around the thing’s form; Rahlinn’s eyes made out a human-like figure, maybe a kyrie, writhing as it stood and dropping to the ground as the light went out.
The noise of the pursuers halved, Rahlinn still kept running, the sound of water now at his feet. Runoff snowfall from the closest mountain. He lost his footing on the slick stones, rolling in the water to see the silhouette of the second one bearing down on him. Even in the dark, he heard the bowstring tense. Disoriented and blind with the venom coursing through him, Rahlinn gathered what strength he had, and cast his body into the sky as smoke.
The pain hammered at his consciousness, sending lancing bolts of pain through his mind. As he flew through the air, no idea which way he was going, he became aware that a hellish noise pierced the night. Apparently, he was screaming. Screaming... no mouth... not possible... oh. His mind would no longer tolerate the pain in his smoke-form. Becoming corporeal in midair, his hands bright with lightning, he managed to aim his body for the nearest cliffside. He crashed to the ground, skidding until he slammed into a wall of stone. Screaming, still screaming. A last view of the sky, and he blacked out.
Pellus rounded the corner of the rock face he was edging along. Not far to the water now, he could see. The dying light glistened off the calm waters of the lake. The mountains descended down to the very edge of the water. Rolling waves of smooth rock seemed to mesh perfectly with the water below. He caught a last glimpse of the stone waves continuing northeast before the sun dipped behind the mountains he had just crossed. He had come far indeed in the past days.
Waking up on the beach, and then spending two days in the rock fields had left him weary, but easy journey across the plains had brought some strength. Unfortunately, he had ended up nearly collapsing of thirst, finding no water for three days since his arrival. Fortune it seemed, had smiled upon him, as what had seemed his last days of thirst had brought him to a small stream coming out of the mountains rising from plains. It had taken him another two days to cross the mountains, scrounging what food he could find out of the deep cracks in the rocks. Insects had never tasted so good, and mountain water fueled his walks well.
For a time, Pellus had been able to ignore the fact that he likely would fail in his mission. Considering that he had spent days without water and little food, and the others after the object would surely be well-supplied, he was certainly behind them. He had been ordered to go northeast after landing at Haukeland’s southern shores. Whether he had actually landed there, Pellus had no idea. His mind had felt clouded for days as he forced himself to go northeast.
There was no moon tonight. It was no good continuing along the mountain range in complete darkness. He was like to fall off a cliff or into a crevasse. Feeling his way forward in the dark, Pellus soon found an overhang of rock. Pulling his sword off his belt and wrapping his cloak about himself, Pellus fell into a fitful sleep.
Flaidor studied his pursuer a moment. Female, that was clear enough. He had known she was following him since he came within sight of the trees. The kyrie brushed the fine hair back from her face. Pointed ears. An elf. Evidently, Ullar knew of the talisman’s existence.
The decoy fire had served it’s purpose. No point keeping it up now. Flaidor kicked out the fledgling flames, crushing the embers beneath his boots.
The elf moaned faintly in her sleep. Flaidor turned quickly to see her rubbing her head. He took two steps forward, and took the knife from her hand. Quickly now, before she woke up. He pulled a length of rope from his pack, and bound her hands behind her back. That woke her up.
She struggled to her feet, and fell again as she lost her balance. The elf struggled to escape her bonds before Flaidor drew his small crossbow and aimed it squarely at her head. She froze. Even in the dark, the elf could see the weapon pointing her way.
“Who are you?”, her captor asked.
Interrogation then. Haellin shook her head. She could toy with him a moment before asking the questions.
Clearly, the kyrie was not experienced in getting information out of others. In response to her shake of the head, he pressed the bow to her temple. “I said, who are you? Answer me.”
Haellin decided to ease his mind for a bit. “I am Haellin.”
The kyrie snorted. “Hardly a clear answer. Whom do you serve? And what’s more, what were you doing following me?”
The elf shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you knocked my head a little too much. All I can remember is some great bird falling out of the sky on top of me. I do hope it’s master will teach it to stay up in the air.”
Flaidor ground his teeth. “Start talking, now. Or the bolt goes in your knee. And I’ll still get the answers I want.”
Haellin shrugged again. “Fine. I’m sure that you’re here the same reason I am. You’re following orders from one greater than you are. You were sent to find an object of, and I quote, ‘great power’.” As she spoke, Haellin worked discreetly at freeing herself of the hastily tied bonds.
Flaidor turned away from his prisoner, pacing in the grass. With his back turned, Haellin wrenched her hands free of the ropes. “And what did Ullar tell you about this object, elf?”
Haellin rose quietly to the balls of her feet, hand on a knife hilt. “Not much. And I can tell from your tone that Jandar told you less, kyrie.”
Flaidor tensed. “What makes you think I serve Jand- aargh!” A weight smacked into him from behind, bringing him to the ground. Face-down in the dirt, he struggled to throw her off, until he felt cold steel press against the base of his wings. He froze.
“Two things. Firstly, your hammer is sitting in the dirt a few feet away from us. Only Sentinels carry those. And secondly,” she pressed the knife harder against the right wing. “You turned your back on a prisoner. Now start talking, or I clip your wings.” Her deadly tone made the kyrie shudder beneath her.
“Fine, I’ll talk. What do you want to know?”
“Who else have you seen on this island?”
“Only you!”
“Ridiculous. You’ve been flying for days now, you must have seen something. Tell me,” she scoffed.
“Nobody, I’ve seen nobody.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the elf pressed a bit harder with the blade. “Very well. Which way were you told to head once you reached the island?”
“North,” he gasped as blood was drawn. “I was to go north!”
“Liar,” she knew immediately. “You’ve been flying east for the past few hours.” Haellin drew another knife, pressing both blades against the ligaments between his wings.
“Why ask the question you already know the answer to? I was going east, yes!. Please... I can help you!”
Even though the kyrie couldn’t see her, Haellin still raised her eyebrows skeptically. “How are you supposed to help me? An arrow in my back? Crush my skull with your hammer? Or will you just fall on me again?”
“No. Please, our Generals are allies. We can get the object together!”
She pondered it a moment. He could be useful. But he certainly wasn’t trustworthy. No loyalty to his General, that was for sure. Still, some muscle could be useful if she encountered others on the island. She sheathed her knives, and got off his back, making sure to press the boots into him, hard as she did. “Get up.”
He scrambled to his feet. “Thank you.” He grabbed his hammer, and lashed it to his belt by the leather strap. Folding his wings, Flaidor stowed his cloak in his fallen pack, and slung it about his shoulders.
Haellin picked up a knife from the dirt. Turning to her new ally, she spoke. “How fast can you run?”
Flaidor turned, surprised. “Shouldn’t we find a place to rest for the night?” The elf nodded.
“In a few hours, yes. Until then, we have a ways to go. The river I saw on Ullar’s maps can’t be more than a couple days run from here.”
Flaidor nodded wearily. “From there, only a few days to the cave.”
“Cave? What cave?”
“Oh, right. Eh, Jandar told me that he saw in his visions walls of rock around the object. That can only be cave. Right?”
The elf spoke uneasily. “Yes. Yes, it must be.” She paused a moment. “Did Jandar say what exactly he saw?”
Flaidor shook his head. “He called it a talisman. But when I asked him what it looked like, all he would say is that he saw a golden light. Odd, isn’t it?”
Haellin shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never met him. Let’s go.”
They both ran swiftly, across the plains going east in the night.
Three Days Later
Rahlinn collapsed against the slick rock face. The rain was falling in sheets, as it had been for days, and the winds about him howled, threatening to throw him from the path beneath. For three days now, he had traversed these mountains. Food was easy enough to find, as small animals, reptilian in nature, seemed to swarm over areas of sun-laden rock. Easily caught and cooked, they sustained him. Rahlinn was still pursued at times by whatever it was that had first shot at him three nights ago. But for the most part, he had evaded them. His hand still throbbed with pain, but he had bandaged it as best he could, and dealt with it. He had experienced worse pain than that.
On awakening from his sleep the morning after the chase, he’d found his head aching, but with water it soon passed. Whatever the arrow had been tipped with, it wasn’t lethal. The arrow itself, he had pulled out, or it had come loose, in his sleep.
His pursuers had only come close to him once. At least, he thought it was them. Stones had tumbled down at him from above yesterday, and he had immediately thrown himself behind the cover of a rock pile. Caged as he was by walls of rock on either side, he had again turned to smoke, crossing two mountains in minutes that would have taken hours to climb in his human shape. The pain had been, again, unbearable, but he had escaped danger a second time.
Rounding the last corner of the mountain pass, Rahlinn saw not far ahead that were no more mountains in front of him. Instead, the stony slopes arced downward, dwindling into grassy knolls, now slick from the days of rain. He laughed, water coming down his cheeks in streams. The mountains ended in northeast Haukeland, and from there the object of power was only a few days east. If the mountains were ending, that meant the river was close. The river Rahlinn squinted in the blinding rain, but could barely see anything in the rain. The sound of water falling was overpowering, and as the torrent increased, he couldn’t hear himself yell in frustration.
The water. Rahlinn edged carefully to the sheer drop-off to his right, and stared down into the ravine below. Water was rushing from beneath an overhang of rock, fueled by the pouring rain as it raged through the foothills. There! Now that he could follow with his eyes, Rahlinn saw the silver thread that was the river flood out over the plains below. Laughter was drowned by the rain.
It came to a swift stop as an arrow sailed over his shoulder. Rahlinn did not think. He did not turn. He knew they were behind him. He knew that it was only the rain that had saved him, an easy target in the middle of the path. And as all thoughts save one left his mind, he leaped down the short drop to the descending foothills, sliding on the wet grass as he desperately ran for his life.
Pellus clambered from the icy water, teeth chattering and limbs shaking. He had left the mountains now, after traveling parallel the lakeshore for a few days. A small branch of land extended out into the water, and from his high perch, Pellus had seen another reach from the other side to meet it. He’d had to remove most of his clothes, and his cloak, along with all of his armor. He had kept his short sword with him. Out of vanity more than anything, it had remained at his side in the frigid waters. It had nearly dragged him down. Foolish, but he could not continue unarmed.
Luckily, he had crossed the waters in the early morning, what little light the sun could give was now directly above him. He forced his shaking limbs to move, carrying him north across the pebbly ground. It was not far now.
Ashil stumbled up the steep incline, desperately trying to get away from the creatures after him. They had pursued him since the lake, giving him only a brief rest a day ago. He had not slept, but taken food at the top of a tree and water from the soaked leaves. The rain had been ceaseless.
Knowing they would come, he had kept running, along the shore of the lake. And come they did; he had been forced to run all through the night, and now, at what he imagined was high noon, they were nearly upon him. His course had turned back to the northeast, and he had passed a small strip of land going out into the water. Just past the strip, he’d noticed the land slope upward. Desperate for some advantage over those chasing him, he’d begun the climb, which now ended in sheer cliffs, dropping to the murky waters of the lake below. Reeling, Ashil glimpsed clouds gathering above, darkening the sky. His eyes came back to earth just in time to see another arrow come flying at him. He ducked, but the dart still grazed his cheek. It felt as though a brand had been pressed to his face. He cried out, but instantly felt drowsy. Ashil shook his head, trying to drive the drugs from his system. As he resurfaced from the haze, clearly saw his pursuers for the first time since they had beset him.
In the dim light beneath the clouds, he watched as four kyrie ran up the slope towards him, as he stood at the cliff’s edge. Their wings were dark grey, nearly black, and they carried with them long blackened bows of rough wood. Lengthy pouches, no doubt filled with arrows, hung at their sides; they were naked from the chest up, save for blank white masks on their faces, unmarked with only narrow slits for the eyes. They advanced slowly, but surely, up the incline, pulling arrows and fitting them to the bowstring. Ashil stood frozen. Nowhere left to run, and weakened as he was, four were too many for him. Backed against the drop to the water, he noticed a strange thing as they came. Three of them were moving slower than the other, their faces moving back and forth, always notched to one side. The fourth was keeping pace just ahead of his fellows, but his mask was pointed straight at Ashil’s face. Ashil tensed they came closer, foot twisting into a steadier position on the loose pebbles. Suddenly, all four masks were pointed straight at him. All four had arrows ready. Four arrowheads dipped in God-knows-what aimed for him. He waited, waited for what seemed like an age. And as the arrows left the string, he fell backwards over the cliff.
Diving down, down to the dark water below, glimpsed one come over the cliff after him. Ashil broke the surface, and swam down with all his strength. He heard the dull splash as the following kyrie came down after him.
As Pellus felt the strength return to his body, he came upon a cliffside dropping down to the lake. As he moved right to walk around it, he heard pounding footsteps above. Quickly, quickly, he ducked behind a large boulder half-buried in the loose rocks. The footsteps subsided as they came closer to the cliff’s edge. He strained to hear more. More came, as what sounded like three, maybe four people rushed up the incline leading to the drop off. A few seconds passed, and he heard scraping rocks. He came out softly from behind the rock in time to see a man, hooded and cloaked, leap off the cliff, and fall into the water below. Another creature, with wings, went after him, and the others soon followed it.
Pellus watched as the waters seethed, the people below struggling. The man who had dived broke the surface, savagely yelling and grappling with a masked kyrie. It let out a harsh shriek as he delivered a swift fist to it’s abdomen. Doubled over, it fell back into the water as another resurfaced behind the man, wrapping it’s arm about his neck. He struggled, trying to twist away. His sopping wet hood came off, and Pellus saw his face. He knew him. Not well, but well enough.
Pellus drew his sword, and ran into the water. The man saw him coming, saw him raise the sword, and finally pulled down, out of the kyrie’s grasp. The kyrie was left with empty arms, and the blade protruding from it’s chest. It slid back into the lake, scrambling to maintain a grip on the slick blade.
The others three resurfaced, clawing at the man. Utterly focused on him, the first one barely noticed Pellus before he sent the head tumbling into the dark water, the body falling soon after.
The other two turned at the splashes of Pellus wading towards them, released the struggling man. One kyrie swam underwater to his left, while the other approached him directly. Keeping an eye on his flank, he did not wait for them to attack. Pellus was halfway to the first one when he felt a pair of arms snap around his legs. He floundered, going down to his enemy below. He struggled, losing his sword in the murk. Pellus drew back his fist, sending it into the creature’s chest. Slowed as he was, it was not enough. His lungs already burning, he wrapped his fingers around the creature’s throat. Tightening, tightening. The kyrie swam down, trying to make him let go. He kept up, and soon felt bubbles of air bump against his face before spiraling up to the surface. He held another few seconds, then kicked after the bubbles.
Air, precious air flooded his chest. He looked around. The water was rippling, but nobody was near. He brushed the water from his eyes, and heard two splashes, followed by a sharp crack behind. He whipped around, and saw that the last kyrie had surfaced. It had only made it a couple feet towards him before the man came up, grabbed the kyrie’s head, and with a vicious jerk snapped it’s neck.
Ashil sat on the pebble-strewn, his clothes still soaked. A drizzle of rain pattered onto the grey rocks. The sky matched the stones, clouds completely blocking the sun. The man sitting next to him stared across the lake, to the mountains. They had sat in silence for nearly ten minutes now. Finally, the man rose, turning to continue down the beach.
Ashil put out a hand. “Wait, sadiak.” Pellus did not turn around. As he continued his walking, Ashil rose quickly, catching up at a smooth trot. “Tiktavara, friend!” Ashil drew even with him. “Will you not accept my thanks?”
He did not look at Ashil as he spoke. “They are not necessary.”
Ashil raised his eyebrows beneath his hood. “Lismen abaruli? Not necessary? Sir, if I’m not mistaken, you just saved my life. Are thanks not customary after such action where you come from?”
Pellus did not answer, continuing his brisk walk, looking straight ahead as he went. Ashil kept pace, and sighed. “Very well. Then will you tell me why you are here,” he asked. His rescuer answered this time.
“I am here for the same reason you are. You are sent by your general to find a talisman of great value.”
Ashil nodded. “He called it an artifact, but I get your point. We are here for the same reason. Who sent you? Which of the Valkyrie?”
Pellus’s brows furrowed in annoyance. “Why should I tell you?”
Ashil shrugged. “I’d repay you in kind.”
“No need. I already know who sent you.”
The corner of Ashil’s mouth twitched. “How,” he asked. Pellus chuckled.
“We have fought together, though you did not know it at the time. I remembered your face. And since you aided me and my men in our time of need, I felt I should return the favor. I owe you nothing now. So I could kill you without any feeling of guilt, if I needed to.”
Ashil’s hand strayed behind his back. “So your idea of repaying a debt is to save a man so you can kill him later? That is incredibly meshnun, friend.”
Pellus noted the hand, but kept his pace. “If it needs to be done, it must be done. Anything else is pointless and futile. But, as I said, I will only kill you if I need to.”
Ashil snorted. “That is a great comfort, you seffah. Only if you need to. Has it not occurred to you that I could break your neck as easily as I did that of the machluok, back there?” He indicated the spot they had been walking from.
Pellus nodded. “It did, yes. However, there is no need for one of us to kill the other. We are both after the same item-”
“Quite a good reason to kill you.”
Pellus continued, “And working together will allow us to take it with ease. Vydar and my General are on good enough relations to negotiate for the item.”
Ashil nodded. “Ah, so you fight for the Archkyrie Einar. I should have guessed.”
Pellus turned to him for the first time. “How,” he asked.
Ashil grinned. “You are entirely too high-strung, sadiak. An alliance, then?” Ashil stopped walking, and held out a hand. Pellus stared at it a moment, the rain falling thicker. The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a second, and he met the hand with his own.
Haellin crawled across the wet grass, as rain pounded the ground. Hills rose out of the plains to her right, and before her the river could be seen not twenty feet away. It’s waters were swelled with the rain coming out of the mountains beyond the hills. And still the rain grew heavier. Heavy footsteps came up from behind. Flaidor had to yell to be heard over the rain. “Well?”
Haellin rose out of the soaked grass. “The river is swollen, far beyond what I would expect. It is not safe to swim across. A log, or rocks could hit us. Worse, we could be carried far down-river. Can you carry me over it?” The kyrie shook his head.
“You hear the wind?” Haellin did not bother replying, it was howling with the rains. “I cannot even stay in the air myself, let alone carry you. We must find another way.”
Haellin rolled her eyes. What good were wings if you could not fly in a little rain? Suddenly, lightning struck a tree on the other side of the river, the lancing sparks shattering the wood. Without thinking, she gabbed Flaidor, and pulled him down into the grass. Splinters flew just over their heads. Flaidor opened his mouth to yell his thanks, but she clasped a hand over his mouth. Putting a finger to her lips, she shook her head. She held up a hand, indicating that the kyrie would be wise to stay where he was. A nod from him, and she was off, crawling to the noises she heard coming from the riverbank.
Reaching the edge of the grass, she looked down to the water and mud to see a man dressed in black and red sprinting down the river, looking over his shoulder as he went. Peering through the rain, Haellin saw there were dark shapes following him in the rain. They moved slower than he did, but as they closed the gap, the man skidded to a stop, and pointed at them. No bow was in his hand, no weapon of any kind. Haellin’s jaw dropped as an arc of lightning flew from his hand, and slammed into the closest figure. It flew back, landing with it’s legs in the water. It’s twitching form was quickly pulled beneath the surface by the raging current.
Turning his back on the other pursuer, the man, or whatever he was, kept running through the mud. As he took a step, his back leg slipped out from under him, and he went face-down into the mud. The creature quickened it’s pace, bearing down on him in an instant. He turned himself over, and raised a hand. The thing standing over him drew a short blade from what looked like a belt about it’s waist. The men struggled to pull himself from the grip of the mud, and the creature took it’s time with the blade. As it held it over it’s head, preparing to bring it down, Haellin’s ears strained against the shrieking wind. She heard the man shout, though it seemed only a whisper in the rain. “Please!”
Action came before thoughts, and within a second, Haellin had drawn a knife. In another second, it was buried up to the hilt in the creature’s neck. It fell to it’s knees, and pitched forward into the mud.
Rahlinn wrenched his left arm from the mud, and struggled to stand. Wiping the slime from his eyes, he looked around wildly to see where the knife had been thrown from. Stooping back down, he grabbed the dead kyrie by the hair, and pulling it out of the riverbank, saw the knife. The hilt was pointing towards the rising ground on his right side, covered with grass. He tore the blade from the corpse, and began the slog through the mud towards the plain’s beginning.
Haellin crawled back to Flaidor as quickly as she could. He shot her a look, plainly asking what had happened. The elf spoke as loudly as she dared. “Move!” She pointed. “Move!”
Keeping low, Flaidor moved left through the grass. In a few seconds, he’d reached the drop to the muddy bank. Slowly, ever so slowly, he rose out of the grass. A large figure stood where he had been just a moment ago. Behind it, the kyrie saw Haellin rise from the grass, knife in hand. The wind and rain gave her the advantage. Before the figure could turn around, she had pounced, and both went down.
Flaidor rushed forward, to see both of them grappling for a knife.
The man had managed to knock Haellin’s knife away from the two of them as they hit the ground. She had gone for his, tearing at his fingers as they struggled to keep a hold on the hilt.
Rahlinn was already turning at the sound of feet when the girl had hit him from behind. He’d managed to throw her knife away, but now she was trying to take his. So distrusting.
He freed one hand from beneath her knee, wrapping the fingers around her throat. He forced her back, but gently. Something in her eyes made him not entirely certain she was an enemy. With a yell, he let go of the knife, and using that hand to grasp her wrist, threw her off. Weaponless, he faced the girl, and the looming figure now standing at her shoulder. It reached into it’s cloak, and withdrew a small crossbow.
As it leveled the bow and pulled the trigger, Rahlinn noticed the girl’s eyes on him. Staring through the rain in what seemed the most unnatural way. And yet, it was somehow elating, to find something so beautiful and strong on this isolated island.
Electricity playing about his fingers once more, Rahlinn threw himself to one side as the bolt passed over his shoulder. He yelled, “Wait!” as he dived. He came up on one knee, open palms held out. The large one quickly reached for his belt, drawing another bolt. As he loaded the bow and aimed again, his companion put a hand on his arm.
“Wait, please.” Rahlinn stood, hands still in the air. The large one tried to shake the hand off his arm, but she kept it there, forcing him to lower the weapon. Only ten feet between them, Rahlinn addressed the girl. “Was it you that killed it?” She shifted on the balls of her feet. It was difficult to see through the falling rain, but Rahlinn was certain she had nodded. “Thank you.”
Her companion stepped forward, gesturing with the crossbow. He yelled in a deep voice. “Weapons. Let me see them!” He ripped back his hood, showing a stony face and fierce eyes.
Rahlinn nodded, reaching with one hand to pull aside his cloak and show the sword at his belt. The man’s eyes narrowed. “Whom do you serve?”
Rahlinn opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. The pair of them glared at him through the water, and he found an answer to satisfy all three of them. “I serve myself.” His tone had a sense of finality that told them not to question it.
Haellin studied him as best she could through the rain. Dressed in black with hints of red in his ragged clothes, he did not inspire confidence. Still, he had not attacked them. And after seeing what he was capable of without weapons, that was something. She stepped forward, between Flaidor and the stranger. “What are you doing here? What was that thing?”
He shrugged. “I am here for myself. As for the creature, it and others like it have been pursuing me for days. I cannot seem to-” Without warning, several things happened at once. First, something flew past her, inches in front of her nose. Second, the man dropped one hand from the air, pointed the other hand into the rain, and launched a bolt of lightning from his fingertips. Finally, Flaidor pushed her aside, and fired his bow at the man. The bolt sank into his shoulder, and he cried out. The man ripped the bolt from his shoulder, and dived at the pair of them. Stunned, Haellin had not time to defend herself as he managed to tackle Flaidor and herself at the same time. As they hit the ground, she heard several more sounds of whistling through the air above their heads.
Rahlinn struggled to keep the two of them down as arrows streaked over them. The large one was particularly difficult, and Rahlinn had to pin his right arm beneath his shoulder to maintain the grip. The girl was a bit easier, as she seemed to know not to put up a fight. She’d heard the arrows. Now close to her, he noticed that he ears were pointed. No human then, but an elf. Ullar knew of the object. Rahlinn knew that he needed their trust, now.
“Listen to me, both of you. We cannot defeat these creatures. They will keep coming, and they will not stop until we are dead or worse.”
The elf whispered, “What are they?”
Rahlinn shook his head. “That is not important right now. We must get away. Now, I suspect that all three of us want the same thing, and that can be sorted out later. But right now we need to get across that river. Our paths lie that way.”
For the first time, her companion stopped struggling. “Fool. I cannot fly across, and we would die trying to swim. We must fight them, or die here,” he said.
Rahlinn chuckled. “Fly? You are a kyrie then. I certainly feel the fool that I did not see it. But I have no intention of flying, at least not in your sense.” He stopped, listening. The arrows had stopped, and pressing an ear to the ground, he heard footsteps. “There is no time. Hold on, if you can, and whatever you do don’t struggle. Just relax,” he said.
This did not reassure the kyrie one bit. He redoubled his efforts to throw Rahlinn off of him. Rolling his eyes, Rahlinn summoned all the power in his body, and cast his flesh into the sky, dark smoke carrying the bodies away from the creatures and across the water.
Two Days Later
“Well?”, Rahlinn whispered from his niche in the scrub-covered knoll.
Flaidor shook his head. “I don’t see anything. But Haellin’s eyes are better than mine. Can you see anything,” the kyrie asked.
Haellin, standing upon a tree branch thirty feet above them hissed down, “Nothing. We could go in now, while there’s still a chance.”
Rahlinn, staring up at the canopy, shook his head. “No. Something is not right here. It is too quiet.”
Flaidor, leaning against the tree Haellin was perched in, sighed. “They’ve been chasing us nonstop since the river, and you complain that there is peace for a few minutes? I am beginning to think that you do not want us to find the talisman.”
Rahlinn rolled his eyes. “If I did not want this thing found, then I obviously wouldn’t have taken you two with me across the river. I could have left you to be skewered by these things. Is it not prudent to question one’s enemy when a constant is suddenly changed?” He gestured with his hand towards the clearing they were sitting on the edge of. “If you want to go marching into what could very well be a trap, be my guest. I will at least be relieved of your ceaseless chatter.”
Flaidor scoffed, “I don’t pretend to understand what goes on-”
“Both of you, shut up!”, Haellin’s voice scolded from the dense leaves above. “Neither one of you is impressing me with this bickering.” Both of her companions below rolled their eyes. “I say we wait until nightfall, and then go in. We can at least have one advantage, and it will compensate for the noise you make.”
The kyrie threw up his hands. “Fine. I should like some rest. Covering that distance, on foot, is tiring for any creature.” He walked behind the tree, and lay down.
“Good,” came the whisper from a tree. “Rahlinn, you get first watch. Wake Flaidor in an hour or two.” Haellin nestled herself in the crook of two branches, and quickly dozed off into a light sleep.
Rahlinn placed his hands behind his head, and leaned back against the scrappy bit of grass beneath him. It had not rained for several hours now. Staring off into the dense trees, he marveled at the capacity for trust those two had. Though perhaps it was just the stress of fleeing from the creatures. After crossing the river, he had actually passed out from the effort of keeping his smoke form and carrying them. He’d awoken a few hours later to the kyrie lightly slapping his face. They’d been surrounded by the creatures. Fortunately, the grass was soaking wet, and Flaidor had managed to hold them aloft long enough for Rahlinn to send a ripple of lightning through the ground. Every creature had been knocked flat. When they’d descended, Flaidor had examined one of the creatures. It was, as he’d suspected for a time, a kyrie. Curiously, it, along with the rest of them, had been wearing blank white masks made of a light metal. When the kyrie tried to remove the mask, they had all reeled back in revulsion. Along with the mask came off a considerable amount of skin and flesh. That mask had been fused with the kyrie’s face.
They hadn’t had much time to consider the meaning of this. More had come soon after, and the trio had been forced to continue on east. They had not agreed on this direction, but all three knew that was where they had to go.
Hours of constant running had now brought them here. A short, thick line of trees on the edge of a clearing. And there, only a minute’s walk away, he could see the dark mouth of the cave. Between here and there, it was nothing but green, open ground. Deadly open ground. There was no doubt in Rahlinn’s mind that there were more kyrie hidden among the trees. More of these masked monstrosities. Rahlinn had fought alongside some deplorable beings in his life, but none so twistingly repulsive as these kyrie.
And if he could fight with creatures like those that served Utgar, was it not so strange that he could fight, for a time, with these two? He could leave them now, travel in smoke form to the cave, and seize the object. But he would be caught. Of that he was certain. The pain would leave him helpless long enough for them to capture him.
That, coupled with a strange feeling of responsibility for Haellin, kept him where he was. She had thought his life worth sparing. That counted for something.
His mind not quite at ease, Rahlinn relaxed into the embrace of the hillside.
Pellus moved quickly, trying to keep up with Ashil, who was leaping through the trees above. They had reached the boundaries of this forest nearly an hour ago, and had quickened their pace since then. Ashil had taken to the treetops, as both a guard and a scout. If they ran into more of these kyrie, it would be prudent to have the element of surprise with them.
Soon the ground began to rise, coming up to a ridge where Pellus could see an opening in the trees. Squinting, he saw a clearing through the gap. Slowing to a walk, he whistled four low notes. Almost instantly, Ashil’s hooded form dropped lightly from the canopy, bringing more than a few leaves with it. Leaning against a tree, he asked, “Mehua?”
Pellus shook his head. Over the past couple of days, he’d manage to pick up a few phrases of Ashil’s language. “I don’t know. Something is not right here.
Ashil grinned. “It isn’t. Our target is just beyond the tree-line, but creatures are all around this clearing. I think I spotted a couple more over what looks like a cave entrance. They must know what we want, why we’re here.” He scratched his head. “We are without weapons. It doesn’t look jiete. We’re going into a trap if we continue.”
Pellus scowled. He took a few steps towards the clearing, and knelt by a pile of rocks. Picking one up, he tore a scrap of cloth from what was left of his clothes. Wrapping the stone in the fabric, he raised it above his head, and brought it down on a larger rock with a dull thud. Unfolding the cloth, Pellus tossed a piece of the shattered rock to Ashil. He caught it carefully, as the stone edges were now sharp. He examined it a moment. “Just what do you propose we do with this?”
Pellus gestured back the way they had come. “There are some dead branches on the ground a couple of minutes back. Find a few that are not too rotten, and get back here quickly. Night will be falling soon, and it will take time to sharpen the wood.”
Ashil grinned again. “You are more dangerous than I give you credit for, sadiak.” With that, he took off, moving silently through the woods. There was not much time.
Three Hours Later
Darkness approached in the clearing. The sun fell slowly behind the trees, into the safety of the west.
Pellus took in a breath. Now or never. He picked up two wickedly sharp makeshift spears, one in each hand, and braced himself to run. A hand on his shoulder nearly sent his heart rocketing into his throat. “What!”, he hissed at Ashil.
Ashil put a finger to his lips and pointed over the ridge. Peering through the dark, Pellus followed Ashil’s finger until he saw the three figures emerge from the trees on the north side of the clearing and hurry towards the cave mouth. Pellus turned to Ashil and mouthed two words. Thirty seconds. Ashil’s nod put his mind to rest for the moment.
“Go.” Haellin’s whisper sent all three of them running for the entrance. Sprinting, they made it in under thirty seconds. Flaidor slammed into the lip of the cave’s mouth, breathing heavily, his eyes wildly searching for enemies. Haellin slipped inside, feeling a waft of cool air on her face. Rahlinn looked deep into the cave, trying to see the object, the creatures, anything. The darkness inside enveloped him.
But nothing came. For the moment, the clearing and cave were silent but for the sound of their own breathing. For some reason, this scared Haellin more than anything she had seen since arriving on this island. She heard the familiar scraping as Flaidor drew his crossbow from inside his cloak. Another sort of scraping soon followed as she felt rough, deadly sharp wood press against the back of her neck.
Pellus pressed a spear into the back of the smallest one’s neck. Ashil did the same with the large one. He was the one that talked with them. “Move inside the cave, now.”
Flaidor was surprised by the voice. Not the creatures then. Still, it was a threat, and they had been caught like fish in a net. All to easily. He complied with the request, as did Haellin, moving down the dark stone tunnel.
Rahlinn was nowhere to be seen. Flaidor was not sure if that was good for them, or very, very bad. Shuffling through the darkness, they did not get far in before the shrieking began.
Rahlinn, huddled inside a small fold of rock, not far inside the cave, heard the hellish noises. He winced. It was not nearly as terrible as Utgar’s voice in his mind, but it was terrible. It made him want to disappear into the rock, to be swallowed by the cool stone.
Mastering the fear, he listened, hearing the sound of quickening footsteps echo down the tunnel. Drawing a silent breath, he pulled a torch from inside his cloak. Nothing more than a tree branch with one end coated in sap, it still lit when he sent sparks scurrying down his arm to ignite the fuel.
Haellin nearly collapsed with surprise and fear when the torch lit in front of them. The screams behind put her on edge, wanting to run, but unable with their captors behind. Trapped underground had always held a certain type of fear for her, one that could not be eased by words.
“Rahlinn,” she whispered. The wood came away from her neck, and the cave erupted into a chaotic mixture of yells, shrieks, and howls of pain.
With the shriek, kyrie had poured from behind into the tunnel, swarming in like insects. Ashil had heard them, and tried to make the prisoners move faster, but it was no use. They were too fast. Hearing the steps come too close for comfort, he had signaled Pellus, and the two had turned to catch the advancing creatures on their spear tips.
Rahlinn held the torch aloft, and saw the two men holding back the closest of the kyrie. Far too many. He pressed the torch into Haellin’s hand, stepped forward, and screamed to be heard above the din, “Move!”
The men were only too happy to oblige, and with their shadows clear, the things came after him. Rahlinn raised his arms, and sent twin chains of lightning pouring into the crowded tunnel. Struggling to maintain the power, he turned his head as much as he could. “Go! I’ll be right behind you, go!”
The others, all four of them, took off into the briefly illuminated tunnel. Rahlinn held for another few moments, and then let go. Retreating after the others, he ran from the sound of more kyrie stampeding after over the dead bodies.
Haellin was the first to come out of the tunnel, the torch casting light over a large chamber of rough stone. Still, as she moved the torch around, it was clear that she could only light a small portion of it at a time. Desperate for a source of greater light, she rushed to the walls, searching for more torches. Instead, she found a pool of liquid. Dipping her fingers in the stuff, she knew immediately what it was. Oil.
The set the pool alight, and a trough of fire suddenly came to light, running along the walls of the entire room, revealing something more than she had ever expected.
Ashil stared for a moment in wonder. “Hiyerh allah,” he whispered. The walls of the cavern were adorned with the most intricate carvings he had ever seen. The entire chamber was linked with them, not a single surface spared from the almost maddening volume of them. As he looked at them, Ashil noticed something. The floor, worn down by ages of feet, but the images still visible, was carved in the shape of a face. It was beautifully detailed, but hideous in one respect. Vividly depicted was blood running down the cheeks from empty sockets.
Shaking the wonder from his mind, he listened. The sounds were getting closer. It no longer mattered who served who, or what side of the war they fought on. Alliances were no longer important. If they did not get out of here, they would all die.
Flaidor was the first to see the short column at the back of the chamber. A dome of stone covered the top, and the carvings seemed to converge on that spot. Not thinking, he ran to it. Before he was halfway across the chamber, a tremor ripped through the space. The floor before him fell away into darkness, leaving only small bridges on either side of the room. His wings were the only thing that saved him. Halfway through his fall, he cast off the restraining cloak, and with several flaps, alighted on the other side of the small chasm.
Haellin came after him, casting the torch aside as she ran. Coming to the gap, she coiled the muscles in her legs, and leaped the distance with inhuman strength and grace. Her landing was somewhat less graceful, as she hit the ground arms first, rolling across the unforgiving stone.
Pellus sprinted to the left, crossing the narrow ledge of rock and nearly going down to the shadows. Recovering his balance, he kept running, reaching Flaidor just in time to tackle him before he reached the column.
Ashil opted to take the right bridge, and coming across it easily, ran past the elf, still on the ground. The talisman could be their only hope of surviving in this place. Orders or no orders, he valued his life more than his allegiance to Lord Vydar.
Rahlinn burst from the tunnel, the light blinding him for a moment. He nearly fell, but he kept his feet long enough to dodge the first arrow that came whistling out of the tunnel. It soared into the chasm, clattering against the sides, down, down.
Taking in the room and it’s occupants in seconds, Rahlinn understood immediately that any and all bets were off. At least two more arrows flew past, and a third sank into his calf. He yelled, his voice reverberating in the space around. He immediately felt the effects of whatever the arrows were tipped in. He fought it, coming back from the edge of unconsciousness in seconds. His mind clouded, he yelled, casting his body into smoke, flying across the room towards the column.
Ashil almost made it to the column, every thought focused on ending this fight and saving their lives. He saw the kyrie’s hammer coming from the right, but could not move fast enough to keep the metal from connecting with his head. Darkness overtook him, and he slipped away from the world. Perhaps it was for the best.
Haellin saw the smoke travel across the room, and was on her feet moving by the time Rahlinn materialized in front of the column. As his hand reached for the dome atop the pillar of rock, her body slammed into his. Both went down, struggling to fight, but also to escape the hold of the other.
Rahlinn went down on the cavern floor, and turned in midair. He snarled, trying to throw her off, but she was fierce beyond imagination. He could not hurt Haellin, and he could not pull himself away. The pain was still too much to turn to smoke again, he had barely stayed awake with the last attempt.
Haellin’s hand scratched his face, nails raking deep cuts into his cheek. He cried out, and used every last bit of power to throw her off him. He quickly rose from the floor, turned to the column, and heard an ugly sound behind him. He whipped around to see the creatures pouring into the room, Flaidor and Pellus holding them at the bridges, Ashil on the ground, and Haellin standing before him, staring blankly into space. Her lips were red with blood.
Haellin felt the arrows enter her back. She tasted metal for a moment, and then felt as though she were flying away from this place. Away to the sound of trees.
Rahlinn’s screams echoed through the chamber. He caught the elf as she fell, tearing the arrows out. But her eyes were already blank. He released the body, and stumbled back. He hit the column, and felt petrified by the innumerable, pale, masks swarming forward. Fear overtook him for a moment. Blinding, raw fear. And then, a deluge of emotions flooded him. Grief, fear, anger, pain and power beyond what he had ever felt.
Jaw set, Rahlinn turned to the column, and finding the switch on the dome’s apex, pressed it. Stone ground, and two hemispheres of the half-globe split away to reveal a black circle sitting upon the stone, winking at him in the firelight. He did not remember the warnings of the voice at the Volcarren, he did not think of orders.
Rahlinn picked up the ring, set it on his finger, and turning to the multitude of bodies, raised his arms above his head. A well of energy seemed to come up inside of him. The cavern shook, and lightning leaped for the last time from Rahlinn’s fingertips. It hit the bodies, the walls, burrowed down into the chasms and tunnels that opened in the stone. Finally, finally, they felt no pain. Only light.
SoA, that was awesome. It was really long and took a while to read, but it was well-written throughout and you really know how to tell a story. Here are the judging results:
Spoiler Alert!
3rd place: Dysole
It's really hard to put you at third because you had a really great story and it had a great humorous aspect to it which was very unique. The main reason you had to place at third was because I felt the writing wasn't as good as TGRF's or SoA's. But still a great story and entertaining to read.
Spoiler Alert!
2nd place: The Grim Reaper's Friend
Another great story and all of these were very close. I thought it was well-written and concise but not skimping on the details. I also really liked the twist ending. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with this story, but one was just better, and I think we know who's that is....
Spoiler Alert!
1st place: Son of Arathorn
This story was really amazing. Not just because it was the longest, but because you have a great writing style that made it interesting throughout. It's like I said before, you really know how to tell a story. You left just enough detail into each description, not too much or too little. You also really allowed me to picture what was going on in my head. Great story. You definitely deserve first place.
1) Bassist, thanks so much. I really felt like that was the best writing I've done on this forum since my first win, way back last summer.
2) The prompt for the next contest will be up later tonight.
3) Due to the inactivity of Vader Fan 7, and Kaemon Awa 123 becoming engrossed with his customs/RoV, I was wondering if I should create a newer version of this thread. I can maintain it easily, it'll just be some time before I get all of it organized (you try searching through 100 pages of thread and finalized. Thoughts here?
March 24th, 2012, 06:06 PM
. But, after days and days of writing, I can present to you all the rough draft of what I consider to be some of my finest work in a great while. Be warned. It totals about 20 pages, and odds are good that this thing is full of errors. I apologize for them in advance. Other than that, I can only ask that you enjoy it.
SoA, that was awesome. It was really long and took a while to read, but it was well-written throughout and you really know how to tell a story. Here are the judging results: 
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