The Clovel Destroyer

by Thorn Bishop Press

  “Such knowledge is citywide by now, passed along faster than the ossanes can gallop,” replied the warrior, trying to guess her indeterminate age as he paced slowly in front of her. “And you know that a fighter sheds no tears for the dead. Now, give me something useful in your visions.”

  “Did you not see the truth for yourself? Why come to me?”

  Her vague smoothness began to irritate the warrior. “I don’t need your riddles, woman. Should I put some koinons in the fountain to get your tongue to wag the truth?”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “You have no respect for me or the satgerts. I will not help you.”

  Urith stopped, “Of course I have no respect for you. How would I know you would show up when I spoke sacrilege against your visions? Because I know you have ears near the guards. The echoes of your worshipers come to you before they enter the shrine. It is a nice way to gather money and knowledge to use in your visions for the masses.” The woman stood, appearing ready to storm off. “While I’m just a lowly warrior of the Esterblud clan, I know about the tricks used by oracles. I will be happy to tell others about these.”

  She turned back to him. “And I could have you destroyed by King Penhda for such blasphemy.”

  “But I’m willing to risk this if you are. If you know about my day at the temple, you see I don’t bluff.” The warrior’s deadly eyes watched her. It was the same look which scared the farmer the day before.

  “What do you want?” She sighed.

  “The truth,” he replied. “I know some hakra’s have the ability to see and talk with the gods. If you cannot do this, give me the name of one in Esterblud.”

  The woman again seated herself at one end of a bench nodding for Urith to sit by her. As Urith sat next to her, she lowered her voice. “You know much of our way. For this reason, I ask you to give your oath to me never to speak against the visions I give here.”

  The warrior thought for a moment. It seemed a small price to pay for what he needed. “Yes, you have my oath on this.”

  The woman looked around before telling Urith that while she lacked many of the visions, she knew of a hakra who might help. “The great seer is named Joclac, and he is known to have great powers. He lives north of Esterblud, in the lands of Eernicia. I hear he is a strange little man, never taking koinons,” she confided in him.

  “Unlike you,” the warrior reminded her.

  “The smart satgerts go to him to help them with their overlords.” The woman let the slight go.

  “Someone like Feeral?” Urith asked about the priest who advised King Penhda. The woman just smiled, confirming the answer to his question. Satisfied, Urith stood and began to walk away.

  “Don’t forget your oath,” she reminded him as he neared the fountain. Her face turned to a frown when she saw the giant warrior throw a koinon into the Fountain of Destiny.

  Guthlaf reluctantly stayed in Gramcan after Urith told him of his meeting with the Oracle. They agreed that Guthlaf would wait for King Penhda to arrive, and he would explain Uolven’s wishes for the Esterblud clan to the king. Urith thanked his friend and rode off on the busy road. He decided to take the journey to Eernicia and discover the truth behind the spirit of his wife. Since his journey would lead him near Cilgarran, his home village, he would stop to inform the elders of his father’s passing.

  Traveling alone on his ossane on the main road leading to Eernicia, the warrior rode his ossane hard, reaching a tavern situated on the main crossroads just after the sun set in the east. The giant warrior found a few men sitting around the fire in the middle of the room, drinking and singing. He recognized the tunes of the skalds. Warrior bards who traveled the lands, the skalds recorded and regaled the exploits of great heroes and their deeds. They held a place of reverence among the Esterblud warriors.

  Their leader was a medium sized man named Narslac who sported biceps the size of most men’s thighs. The man recognized Urith’s tunic and black helmet. He called for the Clovel Destroyer to come over as the skalds cheered, reciting their tale about the young warrior’s hunt against the last of the monsters. As they offered him a place to drink heathmead, Urith felt at home.

  Narslac told Urith that he and his men fought with Uolven during the last battle, providing several lines of poetry about his father’s heroic stand in the fighting. The skald, having heard that Urith’s father was wounded, asked after the elder warrior’s health. He first showed surprise, then offered his sympathy at the news of Uolven’s death. He promised the young Esterblud that he would sing great songs in his honor. Standing, the rough man slammed his fist on the table which quieted the group. He then began to belt out a poem in tribute to Urith’s father. The skald’s voice left much to be desired, but it was heartfelt and moving. The giant man smiled as he looked over the group. The skalds reminded Urith of a warrior’s destiny and the great honor of heroic deeds. He took some comfort in their words as he drank the heathmead.

  The next morning, Urith found a polished piece of steel and used it to look at his wounded face. He knew the jagged blackened line which ran across his cheek, along with the sneer it created, would eventually form into a permanent reminder of his battle against a great warrior. It was something to be proud of; he told himself. However, the thought could not convince him. As he reflected on the wound, he decided it appeared to be healing properly, and he had no strange, fever-induced dreams during the night. For that he was thankful.

  Leaving the tavern where he had taken a room, Urith retrieved his ossane from the stable then met the skalds as they readied themselves for their journey. In the trading of stories and general talk of the previous night, the skalds had learned they planned to travel the same road to Eran as Urith. It was still quite early when they met up with him outside the stables, then leading their mounts to the road to begin the day's ride. Their long night of drinking and conversation left the giant warrior tired and bleary eyed. Yet, the men he traveled with appeared unaffected as they rambled on about the great heroes like Heptarc. He quietly listened with some fascination at their uncanny talent to remember significant details of ancient battles and warriors.

  As they rode along, Urith listened as the tall, thin man, who called himself Arvim, played the flute to the beat of the ossane’s cloven hoofs. The young man with auburn hair had no beard, unlike his comrades. As they drank around the fire the night before, Arvim’s keen interest in Urith's battles and the killing of the Clovel had struck the young warrior as curious. This morning, the young man played tunes which mimicked the singing of the birds as they guided this mounts along the road. The sounds lifted Urith’s spirits.

  The sun began falling to end the day, and Urith grew quiet, weary from the long journey. The group came upon a line of trees where a narrow bridge crossed a stream. When they reached the bridge, they saw men on ossanes filling the road on the other side. Out of the forest on the skalds, flank came others, men wielding spears and swords. They wore dark robes of brown and gray with little armor, most of them sporting leather helmets. It was evident they were bandits, leftovers of the Aberffraw army who had been joined by thugs and ruffians.

  Across the river, the leader rode up to the bridge. Several of the bandits followed behind him, dragging along bound women and children along using ropes around their necks. Slaves to be used or sold. One blonde woman who struggled to keep up with the ossane reminded him of Earmis. An ember of hate flashed inside the Esterblud when he saw this.

  “You skalds will have a new tale to add to your stories.” A stone-faced man who had stopped at the end of the bridge ahead of the others spoke in a challenging tone. The leader of the bandits wore armor and the helmet of the Aberffraw. “My men rule over this forest. Do you have koinons to assure your passage through my land?”

  “I would take care with such boasts,” stated Urith. “King Penhda controls this land.”

  “And who are you, little giant? The boy servant to this king?” The bandits laughed at the man mocking Urith for his green tunic. “Well, we
will relieve you of your ossanes and weapons. You must pay a toll when you enter our forests.”

  Urith pulled his Clovel Sword, his anger rising. “You will learn to kiss the feet of Caruun, little man.”

  The man laughed. “You are outnumbered, and your friends don’t look so willing to fight.”

  Arvim and Narslac suddenly pushed up next to Urith. “I don’t believe you know the skalds of Esterblud very well. We like the idea of Haligulf.” Narslac grunted his agreement, saying he would enjoy singing for the sky gods.

  The bandit nodded to his men, “Then, prepare for a slow death.”

  Immediately, spears were thrown, and the warriors clashed with bandits. Urith charged at the stone-faced man across the bridge. The two met near the center of the wooden structure, swords striking as each man tried to get an advantage. The leader of the bandits hit at Urith, who defended himself with his battered shield. However, several of the thugs behind their leader threw spears which struck the ossane, sending the animal down. The Esterblud jumped off his wounded ossane, landing on the long neck of the bandit’s mount. His weight forced the animal’s head down to the wood planks, causing the bandit leader to fall awkwardly and sending the warrior down on planks. The ossane immediately climbed to its feet, forcing the Esterblud to move aside as the panicked animal ran by him, jumping over the dead ossane which blocked the path. His quick glance over to his friends revealed savage fighting with the bandits. Arvim took on two enemy fighters attempting to come onto the bridge from behind Urith.

  Three thugs faced Urith, and he charged them, yelling the wild cry of his clan. His first sword strike missed its target, but he managed to parry a counter-stroke from one of the bandits. His momentum carried the warrior into the enemy, knocking him flat. Urith kicked him in the groin. However, the fighter was forced to throw up his shield as another attacker came at him with a battle ax. The Esterblud deflected the ax, but his arm took the jarring energy as the shield broke. Fortunately, the enemy’s momentum sent him to the edge of the bridge. Urith swung his sword into the back of the man who fell away into the stream below. Coming back to the bandit holding his crotch, the Esterblud swung his sword down, sending his enemy’s head tumbling along the bridge.

  The leader of the bandits was on his feet, striking at Urith, who was able to parry the stroke. While younger than his opponent, the Esterblud knew he held an advantage on the Aberffraw and he quickly exploited his knowledge. The leader tried to come in close against the larger Esterblud, striking at his neck with a long-bladed dagger. Urith saw the move coming and threw up his battered shield, striking the man in the mouth. The blood poured from his lips, and the leader fell back, slicing his sword into Urith’s shield which finally shattered, sending wood pieces across the area. The flying wood distracted the bandit for a moment, but the young Esterblud seized the advantage, coming around with a long sweep of his Clovel Sword, which struck the man in the throat. The blood spattered across both men as the leader of the bandits grabbed his neck in a doomed effort to staunch the wound.

  Urith pushed the dying man to the side, picked up the battle ax and dropped his shield, then strode toward the two men who still sat on mounts, holding the slaves. As one of the bandits tried to escape, the ossane began dragging the slaves, strangling them as they were dragged along the gravel. The Esterblud sprinted forward, sending his battle ax into the back of the bandit. The Fates were on Urith’s side that day for the ax embedded in the thug’s back. The Esterblud caught up with the ossanes just in time to cut through the rope holding the struggling women and children who gasped for air like fish out of the water. He glanced down at the girl who bore a distant likeness to his dead wife. He saw the blonde hair girl’s eyes widen with fear as she stared at his blood covered face and scar. The look enraged the warrior even more, and he turned back to the last of the bandits on his side of the river. He saw the fight across the stream was coming to a close as the remaining bandits had begun to give themselves up to the warrior skalds. The thug in front of Urith smiled nervously throwing his hands over his head after he came down from the ossane, deciding it was better to be branded a bandit than to die. The thug showed the warrior, his intentions as he let go of the rope holding the captives who quickly loosened their bindings and scattered. However, the Esterblud was not in a forgiving mood as he plunged the tip of his massive sword into the short man, the blade exited out the surprised man’s back. Urith stood observing the man die like a skewered rat, feeling no satisfaction, just stone cold emptiness. It was a bitter taste which he tried not to enjoy the moment.

  The giant felt someone watching him, and he looked over to see Arvim staring at him from the bridge. Urith went back to where the skald stood, saying nothing as he passed the man in the back robe. He went to his dead ossane, pulling his bags and blanket along with his saddle. He carried the equipment to the bandit’s mount, packing the animal for the rest of his trip. As he worked, the rest of the skalds rounded up the remaining prisoners and Narslac led them across the bridge.

  “It will take some time to gather our ossanes. Fortunately, only one of our men was killed. We will carry his body back to Gramcan. I believe some of the men wish to take these prisoners back to Gramcan for judgment,” Narslac told him.

  “That is up to you,” replied Urith, not stopping as he packed. “I would just cut their throats and leave them to the scavengers.”

  “I’ve seen you in battle, and I don’t believe you really mean that.” The skald leader observed. Urith did not respond, so the man continued. “I did not speak of it last night, but I met the farmer you saved from bandits like these. He told about the death of your wife. You have much on your shoulders. But I ask that you listen to one who has seen much in my life.” Narslac placed his hand on Urith’s shoulder. “Bitterness and revenge are not honorable traits for a follower of Heptarc. Please believe me when I say that the emptiness of one’s heart cannot be filled with the blood of enemies.”

  Urith momentarily stopped, thinking about the man’s words. “Words don’t fill it either.” It was a simple statement without sarcasm. The giant warrior climbed on the ossane. He held out his arm to Narslac. “You have honored my father who looks down from Haligulf with pride at your songs. I thank you for this.”

  Narslac grabbed his new friend’s forearm. “I will make an offering to him and your wife when we reach a temple. Please, stay and wash. We would be honored if you joined with us for a while.”

  Urith shook his head. “My path leads to other lands. It appears I need to follow where the Fates take me and learn from life. I hope we meet again. Farewell.” The giant warrior dug his heels into the ossane, turning the long-necked beast toward the north and his tribal home. Narslac watched him ride away before returning to the other skalds. He did not see Arvim walking along the road behind the disappearing Urith. Entering an area of brush and out of sight from the group of bards, the figure of the young man changed. Soon, a tall woman with a black shawl over her shoulders was staring in the direction of the Esterblud warrior.

  “What a remarkable human,” Mivraa murmured to herself. “It appears the Oracle of the Gods got his fortune correct,” the woman pulled back her black shawl over her head revealing her auburn hair. Her hazel eyes shimmered like her golden breastplate gleaming in the sun. Half human, the goddess found the young human warrior to be more complicated than she initially thought. He would be one to keep an eye on she decided as she seated herself, leaning back against a tree, as she waited for the group of skalds to leave.

  It was just before sunset when the demigoddess of Haligulf was satisfied that none but the dead remained. The woman walked to where the stripped bodies lay, knowing nothing of value would stay. Even the bodies would soon feed the animals and nourish the soil. But her duties lay with the spirits which wandered about the area. She was one of the few who could see the spirits in the world of the living. Normally, cutthroats like these would not be worthy of her attention. They would be left for one of the Vanths of the unde
rworld to send to eternal torment. However, on this evening, the demigoddess felt some sympathy to a few of those thugs who fought valiantly. She told the shades they would have a chance to follow her when she took the skald to the sky realm. Despite their foul deeds, a hero had just given them a chance at Haligulf with the approval of her father, Duwdamon.

  As the spirits gathered around the woman, she heard the low familiar whistle. Tuulcha stepped from the shadows looking at the spirits. She was not pleased, although only another god could tell this. As one of the demigods of the underworld, the Vanth was a horrible creature with a rat face, beady eyes and a mouth that was like the beak of a hawk. On her head snakes writhed giving a revolting image of living hair that helped the underworld god control the spirits as she led them to the underworld. Tuulcha cocked her head to one side, staring at Mivraa.

  “These mine,” the ugly creature said. “Underworld gets unworthy.”

  Mivraa shook her head as she told the Vanth it is too late. A hero’s battle created more spirits for her. “You’ll have to guide the cowards who ran from the field. Besides, you were out to build fires to trap the humans. Go there.”

  Tuulcha refused to leave. “No, these mine.” The demigod held its weapon at the ready. “Fires not bring much. The hero in my way.”

  The demigoddess of Haligulf placed her hand under her shawl, retrieving a crystal spear that reflected like silver. “Do you wish to fight me?” Her grim smile showed she liked the idea. “I would love to show off your head mounted on a pike in the sky realm.”

  The foul underworld creature stared at her long and hard but decided against a fight. She placed her weapon on her shoulder and watched as Mivraa began walking her spirits toward the twisted lellowtere tree near the bridge. Tuulcha waited until they left before returning to the shadows where she retrieved the single soul of a blonde woman. Forcing the weeping spirit along the same path to the twisted tree, the Vanth decided it would be happy when its master, Caruun, decided to remove the sky realm as he always promised.