Manil paused, his hammer seemingly floating in mid-air, a thoughtful expression on his face. He then lowered his weapon and lifted Erion so that his feet were dangling off the floor, before saying, “Manil not kill you.” As Erion sighed in relief and stopped crying, he added, “Me will let Bray kill you instead.”
Hearing this, Erion immediately glanced around in panic looking for the Duke of Brehatch. As he searched frantically for Bray, Manil dropped him. The air rushed from his lungs with a wheezing sound, as he hit the ground and he lay still, struggling for breath for a few minutes, before rising into a sitting position.
As Manil glowered down at the renegade Elf, Primero swept over them, heading for the enemy cavalry, which were now fighting a large number of mounted Sentinels. Seeing the battle was swinging their way and there was no need to guard Sam and Donny, Tom called to the honour guard, “Let’s get them.”
On his command, the agitated Sentinels charged forward. Seeing that the last of the infantry were in full flight, they headed for the silver-armoured Cavalry to bolster the number of Sentinels already battling hard.
Tom was the first to reach them. As he did so, his closest opponent leant over his horse’s neck and tried to stab him. This was a fatal mistake, because all Tom did was weave to his right, so that the blade passed over his shoulder, harmlessly, and then gripped the man by the throat, before pulling him from his saddle. As the enemy soldier crashed to the floor, Tom stabbed down with his sword.
The blade paused momentarily, as it hit bone, but then slid into the man’s heart, killing him in an instant. Withdrawing his sword, he had just enough time to duck a wild strike from another warrior, but as he stumbled forward, the remainder of the Sentinel honour guard joined the fray.
The battle was brutal, but relatively short; the extra numbers that the honour guard had leant to the fight were more than the enemy could handle. They fought bravely, making the Sentinels pay heavily for every rearward step that they took, but when they saw Primero soaring towards them, they began to panic.
All it took was one blast of flame from the Dragon and the enemies’ spirit broke. The plume of fire hit the three rearmost ranks in the column of Cavalry, decimating them in an instant and sending the remainder galloping back the way they had come.
As the Cavalry fled, Manil hauled Erion to his feet and marched him forcefully towards the central command post, which was the tent next to the largest fire. As the Elf drew nearer to the tent, he started to realise that Bray was not amongst the small army, which was still standing in a protective circle around the camp. Realising this and coming to the conclusion that he was not going to die, which would give him ample time to plan an escape, the Elf’s natural cockiness returned.
Erion noticed Muru looking at him and spat in his direction, as he snarled, “Dirty humans, you should all be swept from this world.”
Muru smiled sweetly and as he moved a little closer, replied, “You’re probably right.” He then drew back his arm and punched the Elf square in the face much to Omni’s amusement.
Erion flew through the air, such was the force, with which Muru had hit him. As he clattered to the floor, Omni growled, “But not by you,” Which drew a chuckle from Muru.
Erion looked up at Muru with fire in his eyes, as he growled, “You will pay for that.”
As blood continued to drip from the treacherous Elf’s broken nose, Manil grabbed the back of his armour again and hauled him to his feet. He then pushed him forcibly in the back towards the command tent and snarled, “Me not think so. Bray be dealing wiv you before you does anyfing.”
As Manil finished what he was saying, Muru smiled in satisfaction as the mask of confidence slipped from Erion’s face and he looked genuinely scared at the prospect of meeting Bray. Manil however, did not see the slight shift of expressions; he was too intent on getting Erion into the tent. With one powerful push, he sent the petrified Elf stumbling into the tent.
As Erion fell through the tent flaps, his leg caught on the edge of a rich tapestry, which the Sentinels had laid on the floor, and he fell, sprawling across it. Manil grabbed him roughly around the neck and lifted him against the central pole, which held the tent up. As he did this, Muru moved across to them and began binding Erion to it. He placed the Elf’s arms behind his back and tied them together before running the course rope down the pole. He then bound Erion’s feet together and stood up. Patting the Elf condescendingly on the cheek, Muru smiled and said, “Now we wait until Bray decides what to do with you.” As he strolled out of the tent behind Manil to join Galivan, he smiled to himself, knowing the torture Erion was putting himself through; just thinking about Bray’s return was far worse than anything he could do to him.
Hidden Legend
Gwion scampered back into the small wood and hurried across to the trench, in which he had left his father. Grabbing a handful of large elephant-ear shaped leaves, he began covering Bray, so that if he was discovered his father would not be. He finished hiding the Duke of Brehatch just in time, because, as he laid the last leaf on him and clambered out of the trench, a gigantic armoured body pushed through the trees in front of him. The massive warrior saw him and immediately grabbed the front of Gwion’s tunic, before pulling him towards him.
As the large man hauled Gwion closer he shouted, “I was right sir! There’s a boy in here.” The powerful warrior then looked him up and down. As his eyes alighted on Gwion’s sword, his voice went up a pitch and he screamed, “And he’s armed.”
“Well drag him out here and let me see him then,” A curt voice replied, from outside the wood.
With this, the armoured soldier grunted and then turned back to the road. He pushed through the thick foliage, striding towards the owner of the other voice, with Gwion stumbling behind him.
Once they were out of the wood and onto the road, the large warrior pushed Gwion towards a massive lump of a man, who was sitting astride a massively built Charger. He turned towards Gwion, his expansive stomach wobbling as he moved, and growled, “Who are you then, boy?”
Seeing that the silver-armoured cavalry soldiers were human, Gwion sighed in relief and then seeing his predicament, quickly lied, “My name is Gurit Sir.”
The generously proportioned rider grimaced, as if in pain, and his face went bright red as he screamed, “Do you not know that I’m Ballik, Duke of Antia! When you address me you do so as my Lord, not bloody Sir!”
Gwion simply shrugged off his fury at being spoken to like that and then adopting what he thought to be the simplest attitude, replied, “I’m sorry my Lord. I did not know; I’m not from these parts. I have travelled far, from Billimarsh across the sea, to join the army of the King of Anlam.” Gwion thought that Ballik had probably never heard of Billimarsh, but it sounded foreign enough to impress upon the Duke of Antia, just how far he had travelled.
Again, Ballik’s face glowed, this time almost going purple, as he spat, “It should be of no consequence where you came from; all should know the Duke of Antia.” He then leant forward and growled, “My crest is on my saddle boy. In the future look before you speak.”
He cursed himself silently as Ballik berated him; he knew that etiquette required that a noble had to have their crest emblazoned on their saddle, but in the excitement of the moment, he had forgotten. He bowed slightly and in his humblest tone replied, “I’m sorry my Lord I didn’t know. As I have said, I have come from far away.”
Ballik took a deep breath and then seeing that the young man had dropped his gaze, his pretence of importance slid from him. He sighed heavily and then, in a far gentler voice, said, “It is of no consequence, my boy. You’re forgiven.”
He then leant down, his glutinous girth nearly spilling from his saddle, as he whispered, “But don’t let anybody else catch you out; they may not be as forgiving or as noble as me.” With this, he waved his hand dismissively and spun his horse around before calling, “Leave him here. He can go to the nearest recruiting Sergeant, we have bigger things to deal w
ith.” He then bellowed, “Forward.”
At this, the warrior, who had captured Gwion protested, “But he is armed sir. We can’t leave a man with a sword behind us.”
Ballik spun in his saddle and with complete arrogance in his voice, called, “Lieutenant Drakin, the boy does not look old enough to wield that sword well and he says that he wants to join our army.”
He then furrowed his brow at the warrior and snarled, “I’m a fine judge of character and believe that he is telling the truth.” He then sat up straight looking down the track in front of him, before asking, “Does anybody not agree with me.”
Knowing that the penalty for questioning the pompous Duke of Antia was usually death, the armoured soldiers surrounding him, simply shook their helmeted heads and remained silent. Happy that he had made his point, Ballik nodded in satisfaction, his many chins wobbling as he did so, and then guided his horse forward. As he broke into a gallop, the remainder of his column charged after him and very soon, Gwion was standing alone, staring after the plume of dust, which gave away their position.
Shaking his head at the sheer arrogance and stupidity of the man, Gwion spun on his heels and raced back to his father. As he reached the trench, in which he had left him, he gaped in horror when he saw that Bray was gone.
He glanced around frantically and then relaxed when he saw his father come shuffling from the trees behind him. Bray saw the emotions flitting through Gwion’s eyes and smiled, before saying, “I couldn’t let you face all those men on your own.”
Gwion grinned, before chuckling and replying, “That was Ballik.”
Bray nodded, stumbling as he did. Still feeling slightly weak, he shot out a hand and steadied himself against a tree. As he did this, he coughed and then said, “I know, I heard.” He then glanced up at the sun and after getting his bearings, said, “We have to head west. If that was Ballik then we’ve arrived a week after your Grandparents met, so we must get into the Palace and capture Merihim.”
Gwion grinned at this and then quipped, “Why rush? We have all the time in the world.”
Bray, feeling a little better, tapped his son, playfully, across the head as he replied, “I know, but I want to get finished as quickly as possible.”
With this, Bray adjusted the straps of his rucksack, which had worked themselves loose, and then pushed through the thick foliage, back towards the pebbled road. Feeling his strength return, he stepped onto the road and rushed across it, plunging through the trees on the other side, with Gwion a step behind. They sped through the forest, leaping over creeping roots and dodging around snaking branches. They ran for almost half the day, unable to see the sun, due to the thick canopy of leaves above them. Eventually, the sky drew dark, so the two warriors came to a halt, by a small stream. They did not erect a shelter, because both of them were confident that it would not rain.
Gwion took off his pack and then moved a little way into the woods to set a small snare. He then crawled down wind of it and lay in wait. After an hour, his muscles began to cramp. Fighting his stiff legs and burning back, he waited, tensing and relaxing his muscles to try to lessen his agony.
Luckily, for him, he only had to wait a few minutes more before a large weazard – a small hairy lizard - wandered into his trap. As soon, as it began to thrash, Gwion leapt from his hiding place and rushed across to it. He pulled his dagger from his belt and thrust it into the unfortunate beast. It died instantly, so Gwion untangled it from the snare and then flung it over his shoulder. After placing the wire back in his pocket, he sped back to where Bray was building a fire. Once Gwion had given his father the weazard, it was not long before they were both sitting in front of the fire, watching as their dinner roasted over the flames.
An hour later, they had finished eating and Gwion was snoring while Bray took the first watch. He peered into the darkness, trying his best to ignore the little tricks that it played on his eyes. He knew that the round hump in front of him was nothing more than a large tuft of grass, but in the dead of night, it looked like a soldier’s helmet. For the next few hours, Bray and Gwion took it in turns to stay awake.
Morning came without incident, so after a hearty breakfast of berries, foraged from around the small clearing, they set off to the east. They ran until midday, only stopping for the occasional drink of water. Late into the afternoon, they halted and Bray glanced around, taking in the area around them. He could tell that they were close to the edges of the Aquin Mountains, because it was getting colder. However, he was not entirely sure where they were. Knowing that he and his son did not have enough food to travel through the mountains themselves, he decided that they would have to contour around the base of them.
Gwion saw the concentration on his father’s face and moved across to where he was staring up at the sun. He placed his hand on Bray’s shoulder and quipped, “Don’t strain too much, you may break something.”
Bray ignored his son’s jibe and pointed in front of him, before saying, “We have to go further east before cutting south through the Great Forest.”
Gwion nodded, realising that his father was not in the mood for hilarity and replied, “Lead on then.”
Bray glanced at Gwion, grinned at him and then ran out of the clearing into the woods. They travelled for another half an hour, before they found themselves on the edge of the forest. As they reached it, Bray stopped suddenly, forcing Gwion to step to his right so that he did not crash into him.
Gwion was about to ask him why he had stopped but then saw why; they were standing in front of a sheer cliff, which was so high that it would be impossible for the two of them to climb. Seeing this, Bray knelt down, stroking his chin thoughtfully. After a while, he nodded and stood up slowly. He then stepped cautiously from the treeline. Looking to his right, he spotted a cave, which he moved towards, bringing Gwion with him. As he neared the entrance to the cave, he knelt down once more and gestured for Gwion to do the same.
Once his son was kneeling next to him, Bray whispered, “We have to be very quiet and very careful. If I remember rightly, I recall a story that your human Great-Grandfather, Rubin, once told me.”
He paused to gather his thoughts and then just as quietly, continued, “Apparently, the Zandors used to live deep in the Aquin Mountains. Surviving by using a mass of tunnels, which run through the mountains, connecting a number of caves.”
Taking a deep breath he continued, “If he was correct, then we should be able to find our way through the mountains, without having to climb them.”
In reply, Gwion simply nodded. Seeing this, Bray crept into the dark, echoing cave. Gwion followed, as he moved along the cold stone floor. He led them up a darkened ledge. They kept going, scrambling over boulders and jagged rocks until they reached a narrow circular tunnel, high up in the cave wall.
When they reached it, Bray halted and embraced his Mogya. The magical power immediately flooded through his limbs, instilling him with super human strength. His eyes sparkling with power, he whispered, “Where?”
For a couple of seconds nothing happened. However, the two warriors, both experienced in the use of Mogya, waited patiently. Suddenly, the mountain shook violently, loosening a host of rocks, which tumbled from the roof and crashed into the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust. As Bray and Gwion waited for the curtain of dirt to settle, thousands of glowing insects began to crawl into the tunnel. They then began forming arrow shapes along the roof of the tunnel, showing Bray where he had to go.
Bray clambered into the tunnel, which was just tall enough for him to crawl through without knocking his head on the tunnel’s ceiling. Once he was in far enough, Gwion joined him, so seeing that his son was close behind, Bray followed the insect arrows.
After a while, they came to a massive cavern, with a river raging through it. With the light given off by the shinning insects, the two of them could see that the walls of the cavern were thick with moss, which looked like a lawn of grass covering the cave. As the two warriors, marvelled at the cavern, a flur
ry of movement below them caught their attention. They crawled forward onto a ramp like ledge, which led down towards the river and looked down.
An army of Zandors were busy digging a series of tunnels with crude tools. The mantis-like creatures were making such an ear-splitting noise, as they cut through the rock that the ceiling above them was beginning to crumble. Bray stood up, before rushing down the sloping ledge towards another tunnel, which glowed with the same ethereal light as the insect arrows. Gwion charged after him, muttering silent prayers to The Light that the Zandors would be so involved in their excavation that they would not notice the two wild haired warriors charging past them.
As Bray neared the glowing tunnel, he almost sighed in relief that they had made it. However, Bray suddenly cursed himself for tempting fate, because as he released his last silent ‘thank you,’ a large Zandor clambered over a rock to his right. Bray saw the insect-like creature draw its sword and with incredible speed slashed at it with his own blade. The black bladed Sentinel forged sword, struck the Zandor in the head and split its mandibles, shedding black blood across the stones. As the Zandor died, another scrambled up behind it. Bray drew back his blade and prepared to attack this one, but he did not have to, because Gwion leapt at it, sending a spinning kick into its throat, before stabbing it through the head.
The Zandor fell over the edge of the ledge, which they were standing on, and hit the ground with a wet thump. Bray glanced around frantically to see if any of the other Zandors had noticed the scuffle, but seeing that they were all still too busy digging to have noticed anything, he sighed and rushed to the first of the Zandor soldiers.
Grabbing its arms and dragging it to the edge of the ledge, he rolled it off, letting it fall head over feet into the raging river below him. Once he had dropped the body over the edge, he turned to Gwion and whispered, “Let’s go then.”
Gwion nodded and, without answering, sped after Bray, who was rushing into the tunnel, smiling with relief when he realised that unlike the last one, this one was tall enough to stand up in. Gwion continued to follow, as Bray sprinted further along the large open tunnel. They ran for another hour, following many twisting stone corridors as they did so. Eventually, they came to another cavern, but this one was much smaller than the other was and had only two tunnels leading from it.
Destruction of a God Page 14
