“Where is the woman that just came in here?”
The tavern keeper fidgeted nervously, his face giving Guthlaf the impression of a small rodent. “No woman’s been here today.”
“Are you trying to make me angry,” the warrior flashed hotly. “I saw her come in here just before I did.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” stammered the man. “I swear by the gods, only those men around the fire have come in here since the light faded. The woman is a local who likes warriors like you.”
Slamming his fist on the wooden top of the bar, the warrior turned back to view those men huddled around the fire. He walked over to the bench they sat on, carefully observing them. The old ossane trader turned slightly to see the warrior staring at them.
“What’s your problem, noble Esterblud warrior? Perhaps you need an ossane? I can give you a fair price.” The man’s gravelly voice grated on the young warrior’s nerves. Guthlaf muttered a curse to the old man, quickly leaving the tavern, feeling embarrassed as he heard the old man cackle. The ossane trader paid little attention to the two merchants who stood, leaving to find a table away from the foul smelling stranger they did not know.
Guthlaf found Urith still outside of the healer’s house. The young warrior was fuming, believing he must have been tricked by the tavern keeper. When he told Urith his story, the giant warrior could not believe it.
“Somebody was playing a trick on you, my friend.” Urith’s voice grew ominous as he watched the door to the tavern open. An old man in a black robe stepped into the darkness of the road, slowing walking toward them. “I think I shall go find out who would joke when my father lies dying.”
Before he could act on his thoughts, the warriors heard the door to the healer’s house open, and the healer motioned for them to enter. A nervous fear crossed Urith’s mind as he quickly strode into the building with Guthlaf following him. Neither warrior saw the old man come in the pale yellow light cast by the lamp on the front of the building. And neither of the warriors saw the old man suddenly transform into the attractive young woman they saw earlier.
The dust blew across the road the next morning as Urith and Guthlaf loaded Uolven’s body on the cart. The great leader of the Esterblud tribe died quietly, not long after the two warriors went back into the house. While Earmis chanted the death song of the clan, the men wrapped the body in the Clovel skin blanket given to the leader by Urith. As they worked, Uolven’s son recalled the great pride his father showed him when Urith returned with the pelt of the terrifying monster. Nearly indestructible, the Clovel came from the underworld, a massive creature with small hind legs and long arms. Capable of inflicting massive wounds from a long muzzle and large, jagged black teeth, the wolf-like monster came from the old gods who used the creature to hunt humans for sport. Urith hunted down one of the last monsters in the remote forests high in the rugged Neewar Mountains as his sakreta, an ordeal quest a young warrior must take alone. Many within his village believed Urith would never return, but he proved them wrong, proudly handing the monster’s pelt to his father while the elders exclaimed their amazement at what Urith had achieved. Soon, his father would be burned upon the funeral pyre while holding his favorite sword and shield, a tribute to a great warrior. The thought made Urith proud.
“I’ve got the ossanes ready for our journey. I’ll ride ahead to inform the king we are coming with your father’s body,” Guthlaf’s voice scattered Urith’s memories. The giant warrior nodded as he looked upon the white fur covered body in the wagon. Guthlaf got on his mount, looking at his friend before he turned the animal to begin his short journey to Gramcan. He waved to Urith as he galloped past them, leaving the dust swirling with the wind.
Earmis joined Urith, taking his massive arm and drawing it around her own shoulders. As she walked him to his mount, he noticed she wore a long, formal tunic of fine wool, bearing the green and red colors of the Esterblud. While not of their clan, Earmis remained conscious of the nobility of her new position with her husband. “You will get your ossane and proudly lead your father to the temple of Exyts. There is no better place for the great one to be sent to the gods.” She patted his arm. “I’ll drive the wagon.”
Urith nodded, filled with a sudden melancholy. He took Earmis in his arms and kissed her, ignoring the pain from his wound. The wound was still quite sensitive, and he had not slept for much of the night because of it. “You are a noble woman and even better wife to me. How did I get so lucky?”
Her eyes grew wide with feigned amazement, “Because your father arranged it, of course. Or don’t you remember?”
“That’s not the way I recall it,” he told her playfully, trying to avoid accidentally spitting on her from his still swollen lips. “You seemed to be following me around everywhere I went.”
His wife took his arm off her shoulders, giving him the pouting look he adored. “That’s only because I needed the shade from the sun, you big oaf. Now, get to your mount.” She pushed him away, smiling when he stopped her and kissed her again. He rubbed her belly lightly before he went to the ossane.
Pulling himself onto the mount, he waited for her to settle herself on the hard seat of the cart. He watched her as she cracked a small whip near the erba’s rump, causing the large shaggy beast to move forward. He smiled to himself as he thought about how well his wife would help him when they returned back to his village. Her noble bearing and quick wit established her as one of the favorites among the elders of the clan. It also pleased him she knew how to guide him through life. Urith steered his mount beside the cart and reached over to give his only love a tiny flower he found that morning. She smiled at him as they began their travel.
Just outside of Gramcan, Urith and Earmis found the road blocked by several large erbas. Unable to go around the animals due to the steep drop into a ravine on one side, the cart slowly pushed through the herd. Then they saw the smoke. Further up the road, on an embankment, they could see a farmer desperately trying to extinguish a small brush fire. The man was beating the flames using his own brown robe. Fortunately, so far, the wind remained calm, helping him to keep the fire from spreading in the brown brush.
“We need to help him. The brush in this area is too dry, and that could soon spread to the city if the wind changes.” His wife told the warrior.
Urith nodded his head. “I’ll help him, but you stay here. I don’t want you around those flames if the wind suddenly whips up.” He could tell by her face; she wanted to help, but she agreed. She said to be careful as he slowly moved his ossane through the shaggy beasts the farmers raised for food and transportation. Since he knew the animals were easily spooked around any fire, Urith remained calm, speaking soothing words as he moved through the herd.
Fighting his skittish ossane, the warrior jumped down, unhooking a blanket from behind the saddle. The Esterblud ran several paces to join the man working feverishly to knock down the flames. However, when they finished, one area, another set of flames flashed up between them and the herd of erbas. The beasts within the herd began snorting and nervously pawing at the ground. As the two men moved to quell the flames, a gust of wind swept up the fire, quickly spreading the smoke and heat toward the small pine trees along the road.
Urith ran toward the path, watching his wife trying to back the cart away from the herd. However, the erba stubbornly resisted her control. A branch suddenly snapped when the sap inside exploded, sending a shower of sparks drifting down upon the spooked, shaggy beasts. The herd immediately panicked, scrambling away with loud snorts and bellows. While smoke filled the area, obscuring Urith’s view, the frightened animals dashed headlong into the erba, while Earmis attempted to turn the small cart. The crash between the animals nearly unseated the woman. She grabbed the seat, desperately holding on when several erbas pushed into her wagon. The animal she controlled suddenly tried to back up, causing the cart to slide to the edge of the road. More animals crashed into the erba as it backed away, sending the wooden wheels over the
edge. Amid the animal’s loud bellowing, Earmis screamed as she felt the massive push from the herd forcing the cart into the ravine. Before she could jump, the erba attached to the wagon desperately tried to join the others, shaking its massive body to rid itself of the yoke. However, the wave of erbas pushed the animal out of the way, sending the screaming beast and cart into the ravine. The thrashing beast fell into the cart sending both tumbling down the steep embankment.
By the time Urith reached the spot where the cart had fallen into the ravine, dust and smoke covered the area. He forgot the fire. Instead, he hurled himself over the edge, yelling for Earmis. Sliding down the hard dirt, trying to avoid the rocks and bushes jetting out of the soil, he landed hard on a small boulder near the upturned wagon. Despite the pain, he stumbled forward, feeling his stomach sink when he saw the green cloth under the cart’s side. Urith paid no attention to the erba’s dying bellows as he limped by, coming to a wheel that still slowly spun. Under one of the wooden sides, he could see his wife’s leg, partially covered by her green robe. The man reached down to the edge of the wagon and tried to lift. The broken cart moved up slightly. Gathering all of his strength, he then heaved up until it tipped over to its side. The warrior stared down into the open eyes of his dead wife as she lay next to the covered corpse of his father. When the farmer first heard the anguished, growling scream from the ravine, he swore it was the cry of a dying animal.
Chapter 2
Survival
Now beyond human control, the fire climbed into the nearby hills as the wind pushed it away from them, into the hills and leaving blackened earth. The smell of charcoal filled the air as the farmer watched the flames race away from the area. Below in the ravine, the farmer saw a silent Urith trying to pull the body of his wife from the broken cart. The farmer scrambled down and helped the large man carry the bodies of the blonde woman and covered body of a man from the ravine. The two men laid the bodies on the side of the trail. The grizzled farmer gave the giant man his sympathy, telling his name was Alfard. However, the warrior only walked over to the ledge looking down at the remains of the wagon and the erba. The man paid no attention to his words of condolence. He observed the giant man held no will of his own. His ossane was gone, and the warrior sat between the bodies at the edge of the road, still staring down at the wreckage below.
For his part, Alfard looked over the blackened landscape on the other side of the road as he told the silent Esterblud how he came upon the small fire as he drove his erbas to the city for slaughter. The stillness of the warrior sitting next to the bodies spooked the man, and he began to speak quickly like he needed to explain.
“I would have sacrificed my whole herd to the gods, so they wouldn’t have harmed your woman.” The man told the unhearing warrior, his voice trembling with nervousness. “It’s a shame.” Despite the fact he knew the fighter heard nothing, somehow the farmer felt better as he talked.
Alfard got to his feet as he saw two men on ossanes coming from the village of Darykans. As the riders came closer, the farmer could see they were merchants by the black robes they wore. Alfard saw the men led several erba and a saddled ossane.
“I see you found our lost items,” declared Alfard when the two men stopped. The farmer’s grin dropped when he saw their hard faces. He realized they were probably bandits who wore the robes of their victims. The bulge of weapons could be viewed under their merchant clothes.
One of the men gave the farmer a cold stare while the other, a younger man missing his front teeth, showed Alfard a grim smile. The man with the missing teeth glanced over at the warrior who sat on the edge of the road. “I don’t know what you are talking about. These animals are ours. But seeing how you look stranded, we might be able to sell you these.”
The old farmer spat on the ground. “I don’t know who you think you are, but King Penhda hangs thieves in this land. Those are my erba. They scattered when the fire came through. The ossane belongs to that man over there. I don’t think you want to try and cheat him.”
“Well, you would have to prove your words to the king. Since these animals will be sold after we get to Gramcan, unless you pay up, you can sit on this road with your injured friend.” The toothless man looked at the giant warrior who continued staring at the wreckage in the ravine. The bandit looked back to his victim. “Choice is yours, but remember, those bodies won’t keep forever in this sun.” The men chuckled to themselves. They believed the farmer had little choice at this point. A quick way to make some koinons before they traveled on.
“I’m not paying for my own erba,” the farmer told them defiantly.
“Then, you can just rot here with the corpses.” The bandits started to move forward when they saw Urith rise to his feet. The warrior quietly walked in front of them, pulling his sword.
“You will give this man his animals, or you will die,” the Esterblud’s growl sent a shiver through the farmer. “It’s your choice.”
Dropping the line leading to the stolen animals, the two men pulled their swords. While they had not expected a fight, they could see little reason to worry about the dirty, injured fighter in front of them. “That works fine for me,” said the toothless man. “Your armor and sword will be worth more than the animals.”
The men spurred their ossanes as they charged at Urith, one behind the other. It was their last mistake. The Esterblud warrior calmly parried away a sword strike from the toothless man, shoving the tip of his blade between the man’s ribs. The bandit barely made a sound as he fell over the side of his mount as the animal slowed to a halt. The thief died before he struck the ground. Spinning around as the other mount bore down on him, the warrior whipped his weapon across his enemy’s face. The blow nearly severed the bandit’s face from his skull, leaving the ossane galloping along the road with a lifeless body perched on the high back saddle. The animal came to a stop, Alfard and Urith watched the body slowly fall away to the ground before sliding down into the ravine. The farmer stared in astonishment at the warrior who cleaned the blood from his blade as if nothing had happened. Urith stepped back between the bodies of his wife and father, looking over the landscape as he slid his Clovel Sword into its scabbard.
After gathering the remainder of his herd, Alfard took Urith's ossane to him then asked if he could help put the bodies on one of the ossanes recently vacated by the bandits. When Urith turned to him, the farmer saw a deadly detachment. The farmer suddenly feared the warrior and wisely chose to remain silent as he helped strap the bodies over the back of one of the ossanes. When the farmer offered the other bandit’s ossane as compensation to the warrior for saving him, Urith only shook his head before riding off. Alfard watched the giant man galloping down the road with the second ossane in tow, and he felt a cold chill run through him. He thanked the gods; he would not be around when the warrior decided to inflict his rage upon his enemy.
Lowering into the Mayflow Sea, the setting sun cast a pale red light across the land when Urith finally reached the thick wooden gates at the walled city of Gramcan. The warrior slowed for the heavy-laden wagons trying to enter the town before dark. Guards nearly attempted to stop the dirt covered warrior until they recognized his tunic colors. They waved him by, and he paid no attention to the stares of people looking at the wrapped bodies on the ossane behind him. He was beyond thinking about others. Urith’s sole focus was to deliver his wife and father to the temple.
When he reached the white stone steps leading to the circle of towering columns, he found Guthlaf waiting for him. One look at his giant friend and the two bodies told Guthlaf he should have stayed with them. It was a mistake his friend would regret for the rest of his life. He reached Urith, unable to think of anything to say. He simply reached over and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Urith stopped. “I come to the temple where I will send my wife and unborn child to the Sky Realm. Their bodies will burn with my father.”
The ominous demand surprised Guthlaf. To do as Urith insisted upon would m
ean going against the satgerts, as the priests were called. And it was against Esterblud tradition. While a noble woman, Earmis was not a warrior and to make her ashes an offering to the sky gods risked offending them. Only warriors who died from battle traveled with Mivraa to Haligulf. The best hope for Urith’s wife was to become a water spirit among the elementals who lived along the Exyts Spring near Haligulf. But only Duwdamon, the ruler of the Sky Realm, could grant such an unusual request. Guthlaf disagreed with Urith’s intent and knew the help of a powerful hakra, or seer, would be necessary to get permission from the gods to offer Earmis' ashes in such a way. Knowing better that to cross Urith, he just stated that they needed to seek the great hakra Dughorm for his help and wisdom.
“No, he is long gone to Ynyover,” Urith replied. “I will not wait and hope for such a thing. The gods will hear me now. You can leave if you cannot help me.” Guthlaf knew his friend too well to think he could convince him otherwise. He shrugged and followed Urith to help with moving the bodies into the temple.
The men climbed the steps, Urith carrying his father while Guthlaf carried Earmis. Reaching the top of the steps, they entered an open courtyard, where a large rectangular block of black stone shined like a polished blade. Around the altar were special torches which the priests always kept lit. They lay the bodies on the stone platform, before going further into the open temple. Descending the steps to the funerary pit which was reserved for nobility, Urith and Guthlaf went to a nearby blue woodpile and began filling the hole. Laying enough wood to fill the pit level with the ground, they placed the bodies on the kindling, then added more of the blue colored wood over the dead. When Urith began pouring the oil over the wood with a bucket, a satgert came running to them.
The Clovel Destroyer Page 3
