by James Wolf
The enraged Aborle warriors were so angry that they howled as they charged towards those Krun, and hacked them to pieces.
Baek saw, fifty yards away, over a vast open drop to the forest floor below, two Kruns chasing after a screaming Aborle-maiden. Baek exhaled as he pulled an arrow from his quiver, notched it, drew his bow and steadied himself. He knew it was a difficult shot, but the girl’s life depended on it. As Baek exhaled again, his flight flew true and a sprawling Krun toppled over the edge of the walkway to the forest earth far below. The second pursuing Krun froze, an easier target. Baek pulled back and loosed again, piercing the creatures throat.
Gerandel and the other Aborle had just hurled the last two Kruns from the platform as Baek shouted.
‘Father!’ Baek pointed up to the third level. ‘The Hall of the Council!’
There must have been fifty Aborle fleeing over the walkways into the hall of cascading spirals. But to Baek and Gerandel’s horror, gangs of Kruns and Ugurs were converging on the hall from three different rope bridges.
‘Go!’ Baek said to his father and the other Aborle warriors, drawing an arrow and sighting a lumbering Ugur that was pursuing the helpless Aborle. Moments later the Ugur spluttered and fell, an arrow in its back. But Baek knew there were too many Krun up there. The Aborle warriors were on their way up – but they would never make it in time! Baek tried to calm himself as he pinned another arrow through a different Ugur, but he knew his people were about to be massacred.
‘We’re trapped in here!’ Shayel screamed from inside the spiral walls. ‘There is no way out of the Hall of Council!’
‘The Kruns are coming!’ An Aborle hollered, whilst he struggled to hold the thick oak door as the Kruns began to thump into it.
A massive axe-blade crashed through the door, dangerously close to one of the Aborle braced against it.
‘Aarrrggghh!’ the Aborle who had almost lost his head screamed, and all four Aborle who had been holding the door jumped away.
A heavy booted foot kicked the door back, to reveal a snarling horde of malicious Ugurs, and Kruns jostling behind them.
The crowd of screaming Aborle ran to the far side of the hall, beyond the council fire, as the Ugurs stomped inside.
‘Screeem,’ one of the huge Ugurs growled, as he crashed his axe through an ornate carving, smashing it into pieces.
‘Light help us!’ Some of the Aborle wailed, as others broke down into tears.
‘Da Light ain’t guna elp ya,’ an Ugur gnashed its hefty tusks together, dribbling down its chin.
‘Time t’ squeal,’ an Ugur prowled forward, his blood-stained scimitar glistening in the Aborle lantern-light.
Another Ugur growled its sinister intent, salivating as it sneered at the Aborle’s fear. The Aborle huddled together at the far end of the hall, quivering and crying.
‘U’s guna wish u’s never been cut frum yer mu’vers gut!’ An Ugur licked the Aborle blood off his sword blade.
‘Gut em buoys!’ The lead Ugur howled back at the Kruns, as it glared at the ever so soft and sweet Aborle-maidens. ‘Chain em up an we’s take em back o-ver Dredgen wiv us.’
But as the foursome of monstrous Ugurs glared with greedy eyes at the fresh meat, no Kruns came. Unnoticed until that moment, there was no longer any cackling or howling from outside. There was nothing but silence beyond the Hall of Council.
‘Buoys!’ The Ugur leader roared, as it swivelled its hefty skull.
But to the monstrous creature’s surprise, there were no Kruns waiting in the hall doorway.
‘Where dem nattin cowards gone?’ One of the Ugurs snorted.
‘Yellar-bellied, durty, stinkin cheats!’ A massive Ugur growled.
‘Puny Krun!’ the Ugur leader hawked up a rancid ball of phlegm and spat it out on the floor. ‘Cursse em!’ It snorted as it stomped towards the dismayed Aborle.
‘Please don’t hurt us!’ Shayel begged.
The four Ugurs rumbled a vicious laugh.
One of the Ugurs snatched Shayel from the crowd. It glared as it brought her trembling face close to its own, and threatened her eye with the rusted point of its blood stained sword. The Ugur grunted and licked its lips, as it eyed her up and down from beneath its bony eye-brow ridges. It would enjoy sating its lust for blood and flesh on this girl.
‘We’s goona play wit yu,’ the Ugur snarled at Shayel, ‘hurt yu, makes yu I’s slave – makes yu wis yu’s dead. An dere’s nufin yu can du a’bout it!’
‘I can’t,’ Shayel whispered; her eyes focused beyond the sword-tip that was a hair’s breadth from blinding her. ‘But he can.’
‘What?’ The Ugur grunted.
As the Ugur turned to look, a slash of blue metal lacerated through its eyes – the last thing the nasty creature ever saw.
Taem had rocketed from the stairwell, out onto the platform outside the mesmerising spiral walls of the Hall of Council. The Sodan had torn into the Kruns, obliterating all of them, hacking them to pieces with fury and vengeance. There had been almost a score of the enemy up there, but Taem was possessed by a ferocious power. He had hit them hard and fast, and he had taken them unawares. Had the Kruns dared to all fight Taem at once, they would easily have drowned him with their numbers. But many had cowed and fled rather than face The Sodan’s terrible rage.
Taem knew a distant archer had his back, as the odd Krun was pierced by an arrow, but he was enveloped in the maelstrom of battle.
When Taem charged into the hall, and saw Shayel being threatened, he did not hesitate.
Two Ugurs were slain before the others knew anything was amiss. As Taem parried a high strike from one of the huge Ugurs, he ducked, pivoted and sliced horizontally through the belly of the enemy behind him. Spinning again, he turned just in time to rise his blade to his north, deflecting a blow meant for his head. Taem brought his blade smashing down like thunder, chopping clean through the enemy.
Taem whirled towards the door as he heard the trample of charging enemy feet approaching. The Sodan brought his blade up between himself and the door. Taem was ready to kill more enemy, but he lowered his blade when he saw it was Gerandel, and other Aborle with him, who burst into the Hall.
‘He is Sodan,’ Aborle in the crowd said reverently, touching their hands to their hearts as they gaped at Taem.
‘Yes, I am Sodan.’ Taem said to all the Aborle. And on seeing the look in Taem’s eyes these survivors were no longer afraid. The old legends had come again, and the Aborle were filled with hope.
‘It’s time to show no mercy.’ Taem said fiercely. ‘Kill them with honour, but kill them all!’ Taem roared as he ran from the hall.
The Aborle warriors followed after the Sodan, and they were furious and grim as they slaughtered every Krun and Ugur that had set foot in the ravaged village.
Chapter 9 – Kaladim
It had been a woeful few days as the Aborle of Leafholme struggled to come to terms with the raid. Countless Aborle had been butchered, and Taem doubted the woodland paradise would ever be restored to its former glory. The Mikeri had flourished everywhere, and the Aborle said the Great Forest had the power to overcome any affliction – but they were wrong.
The morning after the raid three companies of Forest Guard had arrived from the west, to be dismayed by the devastation they found. Taem lost himself in training during those miserable days, alone on the high platform. He was consumed by grief, and the dread in his heart that he was responsible for the Krun raid. Many of the Aborle gazed up to where they knew he lingered, puzzling the riddle of a living Sodan – eager to think on anything other than the sorrow for their lost loved ones. The day before Taem and Baek left, the elders decided to abandon Leafholme forever. They tore down and burnt all their buildings and walkways, and retreated further into the forest. Leafholme was broken and destroyed. It would never be the same again.
The Borleon Forest was so vast that it was two days before Taem and Baek lost sight of the great trees. They had rejoined the Mountain Way, as it
travelled over grasslands and hills, and were heading north towards Dolam. Taem was quiet and troubled as they rode north. Always he looked over his shoulder, watching for Narg pursuit. Storm had survived Leafholme, and Baek had been given a Forest Guard mount by Shandor. Taem pushed the horses hard, but not to exhaustion. He wanted to leave them with the energy to out-run enemies, if needs be.
In the evenings Taem practised the Way of the Sword, whilst Baek cooked their supper.
‘Hunting our dinner every day is enough practise for me,’ Baek chortled to himself, as he waited for the deer to roast over the campfire, and he watched Taem repeat the same sword strike over and over, and over again.
What is it that drives Taem, Baek wondered? As Baek saw Taem shake his head in annoyance, he wondered if the Sodan could ever be satisfied.
‘I’m sorry,’ Taem walked up to the campfire. ‘About your people.’
‘I know,’ Baek passed Taem a cup of water. ‘You should not blame yourself, for I don’t. If not for you, I would be dead, as would every Aborle in Leafholme. Logan and Hirandar would be proud.’
Taem raised up his cup, with a grim smile.
‘You cannot understand or reason with Krun,’ Baek said darkly, ‘we’ve both learnt that the hard way.’
Rarely did the companions pass others on the road. When they did, other travellers stared at Baek – Taem knew that most people had never seen an Aborle before.
‘Tell me about the world?’ Baek would often ask Taem as they rode.
And Taem would tell his friend as much as he knew – which was not very much. Taem told Baek how Aritas was the largest kingdom in Hathlore, renowned for its fair legal system and for the greatest army. How the Crown of Justice was passed to the first born child of the Sun Throne, how the capitol of Arilon was reputed to be the most beautiful city in the world, and how the wealth of Aritas came from farming, mining and fine horses. But Taem could only speak of what he had been told, not of what he had experienced.
Nevertheless, Baek’s eyes grew wide as Taem spoke.
‘Ever since I was a youngling, Taem,’ Baek said, as they rode over the grasslands, under the glaring noon sun. ‘There has been so many places I’ve longed to visit; the wondrous sights my father told me of as a child. I want to gaze upon the majesty of the Royal Palace of the Sun, in Arilon; to hear and smell the trade of the markets of Marac, in Maresh.’
Taem smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm.
‘How I wish to listen to the waves crash against the white cliffs,’ Baek said, ‘hundreds of feet below the temple of The Light, in Jinamon. And what about Calledron? The City of Magic! And these are just a few of the famous landmarks I thought I’d never get an opportunity to see…’ Baek beamed. ‘But now, I might just get that chance.’
‘I guess you might,’ Taem smiled. ‘How did the Aborle come to dwell in the Great Forest?’
‘My people – like yours Taem, and like every nation of men and women in Hathlore – are descended from the Sartorians. Long ago, in the Golden Age, this ancient race of Men lived alongside the Rhungars, and the Sartorian Empire stretched over much of Hathlore. But during the Great War of the Dark, the world was all but destroyed. The Sartorians that could not live amongst the ruins of the old world – that could not face that the Golden Age was gone forever – retreated into the depths of the great forests, and these people became known as the Aborle.’
As they rode north one morning, four days after leaving the Borleon Forest, the heavens opened and rain poured out of the grey sky. The companions pulled the hoods of their cloaks up over their heads, as their mounts plodded on. They no longer talked, just kept their heads down and pushed on through the gloom.
A wagon came into view on the bleak horizon, and the companions urged their horses on through the rain. Taem could see men on horseback circling the stationary cart, and it did not seem right. There was something amiss in the way the horsemen were circling, the way they sat bolt up in the saddle. Baek and Taem glanced at each other, realised they were both thinking the same thing, and urged their mounts closer.
Taem could see there were four Rhungars, standing boldly on the wide hoodless wagon, as the pouring rain beat down. The Rhungars were positioned back to back, in a defensive square, covering all directions. With a shout, the ten men on horseback charged in on the wagon, bearing steel. An enormous, russet-bearded Rhungar swung out his hulking axe. The first rider to reach the wagon was smashed by the great axe, catapulted from his saddle like he had been rammed by a raging bull. The attack was stopped dead in its tracks, and the rest of the wary riders retreated to circle the wagon once more.
Taem gestured for Baek to follow him off road. They dismounted and tethered their horses in a clump of trees. The companions crept forward on foot, through heather and grass, until they could hear the men on horseback yelling and jeering at the Rhungars. The two friends crouched down to listen through the sound of the rain.
‘Give us your wagon,’ one of the men on horseback hollered, ‘and we’ll let you go!’
‘You must pay tax to use our road!’ Another horseman sneered. ‘Or we’ll kill you, and take your wagon anyway!’
‘Do come on then!’ A white-bearded Rhungar roared as he brandished his fist. ‘Let’s ’ave yhee! Yer sissies! This nay be thy road!’
‘We might even give you a head start,’ a different horseman said, ‘to run off on your stumpy little legs, before we chase you down.’
‘Why don’ yhee get down off yer horse,’ The russet-bearded Rhungar bellowed, ‘and let me put my axe through yer face! Yhee robbin’ scum!’
It was the closest Taem had ever been to a Rhungar, and he saw how each one was a hulking mass of muscle. Only five foot tall, but three feet across their massive shoulders, with a huge barrel chest three times the size of a man’s.
‘Thieves?’ Baek whispered to Taem, from their hidden position.
‘Must be,’ Taem murmured. ‘Hirandar warned me about bandits in this area. We have to help those Rhungars; I’ll not stand by and do nothing. Let’s move closer.’
The Aborle nodded to his friend.
Taem and Baek crept through the low cover so they were thirty feet from the circling horsemen. As the tirade of abuse went on between the two groups, the companions could now make out the individuals involved. Taem could see the horsemen wore every day clothes, but had dark scarves tied around their heads, covering their mouth and nose. Taem could tell these were black hearted men – their nature was in their eyes, on their brows, and in their very bearing. All of them were armed.
Peeping through the bushes, Taem got a closer look at the Rhungars, and he thought their massive muscular frames weighed double a Man’s. He could see they all had long beards, pronounced eyebrows and enormous – almost comical – noses. The Rhungars wore light armour and carried gleaming axes in their hands.
It was clear to Taem that the robbers, despite all their bragging, were unwilling to fight the Rhungars – even though they were ten against only four. But then again, Rhungars did have a ferocious reputation.
‘Stop!’ Taem shouted, as he and Baek stood up. ‘In the name of the King.’
The bandits reared up in surprise, as they turned to see the hooded companions.
Taem felt his heartbeat quicken as the bandits’ attention was fixed on him, but he managed to remain outwardly calm.
‘This is no business of yours, travellers,’ one of the bandits sneered.
‘We have made it our business,’ Taem said.
‘There is only one king in this district,’ said the bandit spokesman, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘And it is not the king you speak of, it is our boss, the Bandit King. He rules here. Kill them men!’ The bandit thrust his sword in Taem and Baek’s direction.
The mounted bandits wheeled their horses away from the wagon, and came hurtling towards the two companions. Baek reached over his shoulder and whipped an arrow from the quiver on his back, rain spraying off his arm as he pulled the arrow up, ove
r and down. The Aborle shot one of the galloping bandits through the chest, knocking him from his horse.
The horsemen slowed their advance, worriedly glancing round to each other. By which time another of their number had fallen to the Aborle’s archery.
The russet-haired Rhungar reached down and flourished a small hand axe from a loop in his belt. Drawing it back over his shoulder, he launched it tumbling end over end, spinning through the falling rain until it slammed into the head bandit.
‘Have that!’ The Rhungar yelled, as the bandit slumped from his horse.
Dismayed and leaderless, and with dangerous warriors to front and rear, the bandits fled eastwards away from the road.
‘Hah! Cowards!’ The russet-bearded Rhungar bellowed, as he thrust his huge axe overhead. ‘That be teaching yhee ter mess with Rhungars!’
The other Rhungars all howled, and raised their weapons up in salute.
Taem and Baek loped up to the wagon, lowering their hoods as the Rhungars climbed down. Taem examined the wagon: it was sturdy and well-maintained, with crafted spoked wheels, rimmed with metal. There was something meticulous about its elaborate craftsmanship, sharp and stark but refined.
‘An Aborle,’ the white-haired Rhungar snorted.
Taem was struck by how grumpy and rude this older Rhungar was, and wondered why he spoke with such contempt of someone who had just come to his aid.
‘Me name be Forgrun Krojan,’ the russet haired Rhungar bowed, lowering his chestnut eyes, ‘son o’ Dugan, be o’ clan Ironstone.’ Forgrun wore black leather boots, baggy red trousers, a bright yellow shirt and a padded jacket sewn with pieces of shining steel plate. He was even bigger than his Rhungar companions.
Two of the other Rhungars wore similar clothes with equally bold colours – Taem’s eyes could barely take in the glaring colours these Rhungars were garbed in. All four of them had shaggy mops of plaited hair and beards. But one of them looked very different; he wore dark clothes and had a shaved head, with his scalp covered by circular black tattoos, like the rings of a tree.
