The dark-skinned man swayed aside and rapped one end of his staff against Forked Beard’s forearm before slamming the other end into his temple. The big man slumped to the floor.
Seeing how easily one the mightiest of their number was bested, the other guardsmen and kings’ champions hesitated.
“Well, come on you soft-bellied pukes,” Belash taunted “Don’t these odds favor you enough?”
Goaded into finding their courage, the guardsmen and champions hurled themselves at the trio.
Belash brained one with his axe, then stumbled as his right leg buckled. A sword swung at his unprotected neck, but Kyung-Su blocked it with her right-hand sword, her other sword licking out to open the king’s champion’s throat.
As the stricken man fell into his fellows, blood gushing from his severed artery, Belash hammered Ausak under the chin of another, splintering his jawbone and sending blood, spittle and broken teeth spraying the air.
Kyung-Su deflected a wild slash from a guardsman with her right-hand sword and lanced her left-hand sword into his groin. Yanking it clear, she continued her momentum and sheared clean through a champion’s ankle. As he fell, Belash cut short his scream of pain and horror, by stamping down hard on his throat.
A tall, lean king’s champion with two short swords reared before Kyung-Su. His right-hand sword darted at her throat, but she deflected it with her left-hand sword, and spinning, reverse- cut her right-hand sword at his neck. The man blocked the cut and replied with a searing riposte that scrapped across Kyung-Su’s ribs as she twisted away.
Anger and surprise touched Kyung-Su as she felt blood seeping from her side. It had been a long time since a human foe had cut her. It took an exceptional swordsman to draw blood from her, one she hadn’t expected to find in the land of the gwai-loh – round eyed foreigners. Startlingly blue eyes stared at her from the champion’s full-faced helm as their swords scrapped together.
The man tore off his helm as they sprang apart, and Kyung-Su was shocked to see he was little more than a boy. Confident in his ability, he grinned at her, his swords weaving a deadly pattern. He feinted a high thrust with his left-hand sword to disguise a lightning quick thrust at Kyung-Su’s groin with his other sword. His eyes widened in surprise as his sword met only air, then bulged in pain as Kyung-Su’s sword slid between his ribs. Blood filled his mouth from his pierced lungs and his swords dropped from his hands as he reached beseechingly for his killer, before collapsing to the floor.
Anger flared in Kyung-Su. She hadn’t left her land and journeyed this far across the ocean to kill beardless boys. The blame lay with the fat pompous kings squatting on their thrones. She caught Belash’s eye as he kicked away the falling body of a king’s champion in a red-lacquered breastplate. “The kings!” she yelled, as she gutted another guardsman. “This will only end if we kill those ungrateful in-bred pigs.”
Perched on a table to get a better view of the combatants, the chronicler Elander Zucross, couldn’t quite believe what he was watching. He had no illusions about the petty cruelty and fickleness of kings, or of the disregard most had for their subjects. But ordering the slaughter of heroes who had delivered the land from great evil was a betrayal of colossal magnitude.
He had watched Belash and Kyung-Su battle horrific demons of darkest nightmare and it saddened him they were going to meet their ends like this. Cut down like worthless chattels at a banquet called in their honor, because one wouldn’t indulge a king’s whim.
But though it seemed hopeless, perhaps they would survive the night after all, for helped by the dark-skinned barbarian, they were making a gory mess of the kings’ men. Then, Zucross’s eyes widened as he detected a change in the pattern of the struggle.
Led by the tall, powerfully built Prince Amsaovor, it appeared they were trying to fight their way to the kings’ platform. Zucross chuckled deep in his throat. Now, things would get most interesting indeed if they succeeded in getting to the murderous tyrants.
Time seemed to slow, affording him greater clarity as he stared intently at the swirling knot of fighting men.
The black man’s skill with the staff was breathtaking. Twirling it in bewildering patterns, he drove kings’ men backward or sent them spinning to the floor nursing cracked skulls and ribs. Zucross was astonished how what appeared to be merely a length of stout wood could do so much damage to armored men.
A kings’ man doubled over as Amsaovor hammered one end of the staff into his groin. A flick of the wrist, and it slammed under his chin, sending his helm flying in the air. Zucross blinked; for a moment, he thought it was the man’s head.
Roaring a battle-cry, Amsaovor swept his staff right and left. More kings’ men fell, and swords went flying. Amsaovor spun, his staff licking out against the swords and Zucross gasped in awe as three kings’ men fell, impaled by the redirected swords.
Kyung-Su glided through the carnage in an effortless dance of death, her twin blades a blur. A silver-blue flash and a head lifted in the air, blood geysering from the severed neck.
In contrast to Kyung-Su, Belash was all bludgeoning power, as he rampaged through their attackers, his double-bladed axe rending limbs, crushing bone and inflicting horrendous wounds.
Such was the scale of the butchery, it seemed to Zucross that a crimson mist floated in the air above the combatants, coalescing into large droplets, which fell, painting them blood-scarlet.
With fewer kings’ men left standing, the batting trio got closer to the kings’ platform. Zucross shot a glance at the kings. Frightened and uncertain, they sat on the edges of their thrones in disbelief. King Lorranis-Halbro was on his feet, all pretense of kingly dignity abandoned as he screamed for more guards.
Eager to paint it red with kings’ blood, Belash was about to vault onto the stage when more guardsmen rushed in through a side door.
The reinforcements ripped into Belash, Kyung-Su and Prince Amsaovor, forcing them toward the large double-doors leading to the wide terrace overlooking the cliff upon which the castle stood.
Belash hammered Ausak into the skull of a guardsman with a dark trident-shaped beard and kicked the doors open.
The trio emerged onto the terrace. There was a brief respite as the wary guardsmen, now their masters were no longer in immediate peril, paused on the threshold, eyeing them.
Wiping gore from his face with the back of his hand, Belash breathed deeply, taking great lungfuls of the early dawn air and looked around, swiftly taking in their surroundings. The three-sided terrace ended in a steep drop to the rocks and sea below. They were trapped.
The bite of the cool air lifted the crimson killing mist that shrouded Belash. He looked at his companions who were splattered in gore from head to toe just as he was. “I am sorry my anger has brought death to us all,” he told them.
“You bear no blame in this, Belash,” Prince Amsaovor said, wiping away blood running into his eyes from a cut high on his forehead. “A man wouldn’t be a man if he let others, even kings, open their bladders over him. I came to your aid willingly, just like my lady, Kyung-Su did.”
“Prince Amsaovor is right,” Kyung-Su said, reaching across to grasp Belash’s arm. “And, we are not dead yet. We didn’t survive the horrors of the soul eaters and their servants to meet our ends at the hands of these miserable inbred dog whoresons.”
Belash’s brow lifted in surprise. Despite all their previous travails, he’d never heard her use such words, and she’d often chided him for being unmannered and uncouth. He grinned and looked up at her and was about to say something when the ground underneath shifted, throwing him off balance.
Gasping in surprise, Belash tried to right himself and glanced at his companions. They too were swaying about as the ground rippled and shifted beneath them.
“Earthquake!” Amsaovor yelled, as a deep rumbling came from the ground. The terrace shook violently, throwing the trio to the ground.
“Shilat’s teeth!” Belash gasped, as a wide crack opened across the terrace, the tea
ring, grinding sound of rock parting, rending the air as the crack widened, splitting the terrace into two halves.
There was a great groan as Crag Halbrosin subsided, large cracks appearing in its massive grey-stone blocks. The arch above the doorway collapsed burying the guardsmen beneath large blocks and assorted rubble.
The tremors stopped as suddenly as they had started. Belash, Kyung-Su and Amsaovor climbed to their feet gingerly, eyes uncertain and wide in fear in anticipation of another tremor or worse, being swallowed up as the ground opened beneath them.
Mercifully, the ground remained steady. Belash glanced at the doorway where kings’ men lay bloody and broken, this time courtesy of the rage of implacable nature and not that of axe blade, sword edge or seasoned hardwood. Sounds of panic, shouts and groans of pain, drifted to him from the great hall. He felt no pity for them.
Belash heard a scrabbling sound and saw a figure scramble over the debris of large blocks and stone that was once the doorway, and tumble onto the terrace. It was a small wiry man, face bloody, and his fine robes torn and dust-covered. “There’re all dead in there,” he gasped as he spied the trio. “Crushed and mangled…but I am glad to see you still live.”
“Why is that?” Belash growled, eyeing the man. “You don’t know us, and to the likes of you, we are nothing more than dried goat dung.”
“No… no, I am no noble, lord or rich merchant. I am…was King Lorranis-Halbro’s chronicler.” He wiped at the blood on his dust-covered face and took a deep breath. “You deserved far more gratitude than Lorranis-Halbro showed you, for the horrors you faced were…” he shook his head and shuddered “…beyond imagining.”
“And what do you know about the…horrors you say we faced?” Kyung-Su hissed, taking a step toward the small man.
“I was there, I saw it all,” he blurted. “The soul eaters changing their forms into shapes that will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my days. I saw you battle the one the sorcerer Castillan, called Kbari…the way you cut him time and again…his wounds healing each time you cut him. But you never gave up…kept cutting and hacking with the Stormblades and Ausak Demon Bane.” His eyes widened. “I saw you summon the lightning elementals with your swords to destroy the stone creatures the Gualich created.”
“So why were you there?” Belash growled, eyes narrowing. “Spying on us for your pig of a king? And how come we never saw you?”
“No, no, I wasn’t spying. Lorranis-Halbro didn’t know I followed you.” the small man said. “I have always had a curious mind and a thirst to chronicle events so those who come after us can read and learn about them.”
Belash glared at the man. “A sheep shagging chronicler,” he muttered, shaking his head in bemusement, as his anger and suspicion ebbed for the moment.
Kyung-Su stepped forward, towering over the man as she fixed him with her chilling storm-grey eyes. “So, chronicler, if what you say is true, why didn’t we see you?”
The small man backed away in fear but bumped into the towering figure of Amsaovor. He looked up at the dark-skinned man. “Please don’t hurt me,” he said, voice trembling. “You couldn’t see me because I wore an invisibility cloak.”
“Horse dung!” spat Belash, grabbing him by the throat.
“Wait, Belash,” Amsaovor said, placing a hand on the Axeman’s shoulder. “I think he speaks the truth. I know about invisibility cloaks and own one myself back in my lands.”
Belash frowned and glanced at Kyung-Su, who nodded. He let go the man’s throat.
“So, what are you called, chronicler?” Amsaovor asked.
“My name is Elander Zucross,” the man said.
Belash shrugged and moved away toward the chasm that now split the terrace in two, then stopped and stared at the ground lest it writhed beneath him or yawned open to claim him. Assured it was solid as it should be, he glanced over his shoulder at Kyung-Su and Amsaovor and strode up to the chasm.
Belash looked down the jagged rip and called to them. “We can climb down to the beach below and get away from this pigging place.” He glanced up and frowned. “Would you look at that,” he exclaimed, pointing at something out to sea.
“Looks like there is a mighty storm blowing,” Amsaovor said. “Something has angered the sea gods and I pity the poor souls who have to face their wrath out there.”
Elander Zucross moved toward the edge of the terrace and stared long and hard at the sea. He couldn’t make out the delineation between sky and sea. There was no horizon and it appeared the sea, and still-dark sky were one. His eyes widened in fear in realization of what he was looking at. The dark mass of the sea had risen high into the sky and he could hear a faint roaring sound.
“That is no mere storm,” he cried, as he ran back to the others. “The sea elementals roar their anger and the sea has risen up to the sky. We are doomed, for it will sweep over us in moments and wash everything away.”
“That’s horse dung, chronicler,” Belash said with a dismissive snort. “The sea swallowing the sky, and washing us away even though we stand on a high cliff?”
“Just like the idea of shape shifting soul eaters and yellow-eyed demons was horse dung, neh, Belash? Kyung-Su admonished, as they all stared at the dark mass in the distance.
The mass appeared to be getting nearer, and the faint roar deepened.
Belash, now uncertain and fearful, looked around frantically. “We have to get off this cliff and find shelter,” he urged.
“That will do us no good,” Zucross said.” High ground is usually the safest place to be in these circumstances, but by the looks of that…” he shook his head.
“So, what do we do, wait to die like… rats caught in a trap?” Amsaovor said.
“Well, my prince,” Kyung-Su said, curling an arm around Amsaovor’s waist and drawing him close. “Unless you have some magick that can spirit us away from this place, we are going to die here, and our time together will be much shorter than either of us desire.”
Amsaovor’s eyes narrowed in thought, then he lowered his head and kissed Kyung-Su on the forehead. “Thank you, my lady. Your words give me an idea…and perhaps we have some hope”.
The prince in exile intoned an incantation, and the red stone embedded on top of his staff glowed a deeper red. “We haven’t much time,” he told the others as he glanced over his shoulder at the approaching dark wall of water. “Now, everyone…come closer… grip my staff. Now, listen carefully, no matter what happens, whatever you see or how frightened you are, do not let go. Hold on to it like your life depends on it, for it does!”
Amsaovor looked up again, the whites of his fear-wide eyes a stark contrast to his dark skin. The mammoth wave would sweep over them in moments. The rumbling roar of its approach washed over the four, as they huddled together, three with knuckles white on the staff as instructed.
Gripping the staff firmly with one hand, Amsaovor whispered another incantation, then the tsunami hit.
Every instinct in Belash’s body screamed at him to run, to get away from this implausible watery doom. But he squeezed his eyes shut and held on to the staff for dear life, while praying to all the gods he knew or had ever heard of.
He could no longer hear the roar of the water. He couldn’t hear anything at all, so he opened his eyes…and almost let go of the staff.
Belash’s entire vision was filled with the rushing black wall of water. He screamed as it engulfed him, but he held on grimly to the anchor of Amsaovor’s staff.
The scream died in Belash’s throat. I am alive! I still live! But how? The rushing mass of churning water was all-encompassing, but he could still breathe, and water didn’t fill his mouth and lungs. His companions huddled in a tight knot alongside him, hands tight on the staff, were still alive, their wide eyes mirroring his astonishment and wonder. He saw Kyung-Su’s lips move but couldn’t hear her voice.
The all-encompassing rush of water ceased, and Belash could see the sky again. But as he puffed out his cheeks in relief, another rolling su
rge swept over them.
The surge ceased, and the sky became visible again. Belash counted three more surges before the prolonged absence of another, indicated the sea elementals, as the chronicler had described them, had sated their rage.
Belash looked down at his feet. The terrace was awash, water cascading down the deep crevasse ripped open by the earlier tremor, and down the sides of the cliff. The sky was lighting as dawn approached.
“Shilat’s tits,” Belash whispered in awe as he let go Amsaovor’s staff and moved away from his companions. All that was left of Crag Halbrosin were a few standing walls. And perhaps in grim jest, or to display their might and the insignificance of the works of men, the sea elementals had deposited a ship – its timbers smashed, in the middle of the ruins of the once-great seat of the Halbro dynasty.
“What happened? What did you do? What kind of sorcery did you work that we still live?” The questions tumbled from Belash as he walked up to Amsaovor.
The exiled prince’s face was ash-grey, his eyes sunken and ringed with fatigue. Ignoring Belash’s questions, he sat heavily on the wet ground, his eyes distant.
Kyung-Su sat next to Amsaovor and leaning against him, rested her head on his shoulder. “You saved us all, my prince, we owe our lives to you.”
Amsaovor stroked her head, running his hand through her long dark hair. “Your hair is so…soft…so beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes still unfocussed. He shook his head and took a deep breath, then looked up at Belash.
“Forgive my lack of manners, demon slayer,” he said. “To answer your question, I shifted us into the echo of our reality…of our world. I have heard of powerful sorcerers and magickers using the echo to travel far distances in a short span of time… alas, that is something I haven’t mastered yet,” he added with a wistful smile.
Belash wrinkled his brow in confusion and scratched at his beard. “So, because we were in this…echo, as you put it, we could see the huge waves as they washed away the king’s castle, but remained safe?”
The King's Banquet Page 4
