Many heads turned as they entered Gendrim. The locals had seen many strange things in the past, but none as strange as this, it seemed. Dannard and Stitch rode on the cart with Hunter walking beside it. Ahead of them, Ballorn was the main attraction with his armour gleaming in the sunlight and the glint from the silver hammer catching everyone’s eye. The crowd ahead of them stopped whatever they were doing and just gawped at them. Ballorn eyed them, unsure of what to do or say to get them to move.
Dannard could not resist. Leaping from the cart, he ran in front of Ballorn. “MAKE WAY!” he bellowed, “MAKE WAY FOR THE SEBRINALIM!”
Ballorn’s head dropped and he shook it slowly. Hunter placed his hand over his mouth to stop himself laughing and Stitch just tutted.
“Didn’t you hear me?” continued Dannard, “MAKE WAY FOR THE BRENISALIM!”
Ballorn grabbed the back of his collar and marched him back to the cart, “Shut up and get on!” he hissed.
The crowd had suddenly lost interest and went about their business.
Ballorn whispered to Hunter, “See if you can find an inn. If we want to hear any local gossip, we’ll hear it there.”
Hunter nodded and began to walk away. As he did, three men stood in his path.
“And what might four strangers be wantin’ in our humble village?” asked one of them.
“Just passing through,” said Hunter, politely. “We mean to take sustenance in your inn, if you have one, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Oh, we’ve got an inn, a really good un an’ all. Not interested in our livestock then?” the man asked.
The question threw Hunter a little. “Erm, no, not really,” he replied shaking his head.
“What about giants, you interested in giants? Got any giant friends?”
Hunter smiled, “Giant friends? No! What sort of a question is that?”
The villager screwed up his eyes and peered at Hunter and the others. “Oh, nothin’ just askin’. Enjoy your time in Gendrim.” He turned and ambled away, followed by his two accomplices.
Hunter turned to face Ballorn, who shrugged. “Not a clue,” he said, bewildered.
The villager paused for a second, “Oh,” he said, pointing, “the inn’s that way.”
***
Stepping through the door, the nemilar were overwhelmed by the smell of stale ale and pipe smoke, as well as the odour of many a villager who was sorely in need of a bath. The inn was busy, but not crowded, allowing clear visibility across the room. Well, the parts that weren’t obscured by the smog, at least. Strolling to the bar, Ballorn ordered two jugs of ale and waited patiently whilst the innkeeper drew them from the barrel. Hunter found a table that was free and sat at it with Stitch. Dannard, however, grabbed a tall stool and decided to sit at the bar. Ballorn shook his head, poured some ale into a tankard for him, and joined the others at the table. Dannard immediately leaned over the bar to get the innkeeper’s attention, “Excuse me,” he said politely, “Does you have any cake?”
The innkeeper laughed, “Sorry friend, this is an inn not a bakery.”
Dannard pouted, “Where’s the bakery then?” he asked.
“Other side o’ the village,” replied the innkeeper. He stared at Dannard for a moment. “I could get my lad to go and fetch you some cake if you like, but I’d have to charge you a bit extra.”
A beaming smile appeared on Dannard’s face, “Oh yes, that’ll be perfect,” he said. “I does like my cake, and by the way, my friend’s paying. Him in the shiny armour.”
His unusual request had attracted the attention of two young men on the other side of the room who were now leaning close and whispering to one another. They waited until the innkeeper was busy with other customers before getting up from their table and approaching Dannard. Taking a stool each, they sat either side of him.
He looked at them in turn, “Afternoon gentlemen,” he said politely.
“Hmmm,” said one of them. “What do you think he’s up to, Emmy?”
“Not a clue, Yello. Nothing good I’d guess.”
Dannard looked nervous, “I doesn’t want any bother gentlemen,” he said. “I has just come in with some friends for a bit of ale and some cake.”
“Cake?” asked the young man named Yello. “We know someone who’s very partial to cake.”
“Nothing strange about that!” said Dannard. “Lots of folk like cake… ’cause it’s nice.”
“Nice?” said the young man named Emmy. “He always says that too… It’s nice.”
“What are you up to?” asked Yello. “Why are you talking like that? And, not wanting to be insulting, why the ridiculous disguise?”
“You gentlemen seems to have me mixed up with somebody else,” said Dannard, now more nervous than ever. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll join my friends.”
Dannard began to rise but Yello placed his hand on the nemilar’s shoulder and pushed him gently back onto the stool. “Friends?” he chuckled. “You? Since when did you have friends?”
“Moreso,” asked Emmy, “when was the last time you bathed? You’ve never had any friends, and you never will smelling the way you do.”
Dannard glared at the young man, but not because of the insult. “Go away, Emnor,” he hissed. “You’re interfering with things you would not understand.”
“Come now, Barden, you don’t know that. Why don’t you try us?”
“You and Yellodius should leave now! It’s taken me years to get this right and you’re going to ruin everything. The dragons are rising and if someone doesn’t step in this will end badly for us all.”
“All the more reason for you to allow us to help,” said Emnor. “You know that our powers are much stronger than yours, and always have been.”
“It’s not about power this time, Emnor. It’s about timing, having the right players in place for when they are needed most!”
“I could help you there, Barden. I have been experimenting with time magic for a few years now, it may come in handy.”
“I know that, Yello, but you are attempting to manipulate time. These events have to be allowed to occur naturally.”
“Events?” asked Emnor. “How curious. What events?”
“Events that have been foretold for centuries. I’ve read the scrolls!”
“This is becoming more fascinating by the second, Barden. Why don’t you come with us and we’ll discuss the situation, in detail.”
Ballorn was watching the men. As annoying as Dannard was, he felt a duty to protect him. “Everything alright, Dannard?” he called.
Dannard smiled, “Yes, fine, fine. We is just discussing cake. This chap thinks seedcake is better than carrot cake and won’t admit he’s wrong.”
“Who’s your shiny friend?” asked Emnor.
“None of your business,” growled Barden, covering his mouth so that Ballorn and the others could not see his lips move. “Now will you go away and leave me in peace?”
“Ordinarily,” began Yello, “there’s nothing more we’d like than to get away from you. Unfortunately, we have taken… employment here, so we won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
Emnor grinned, “You know what he’s like, Barden. Not only are the villagers offering payment in gold, we get all the free wine and ale we can drink.”
“All for sorting out a minor problem they have with giants pinching some of their livestock,” laughed Yello. Gold to spend and lakes of wine to swim in. I may just stay here forever.”
Ballorn watched with interest. “Why are they speaking so quietly?” he asked.
“Probably just being a bit wary,” replied Stitch. “You know, strange place, strange people. Who knows who you could disturb.”
Hunter gave him a look of disbelief, “You do realise who that is, don’t you?” he asked. “That’s Dannard. Quite probably one of the most outspoken and obnoxious nemilar to have ever walked these lands. I hardly think that he would be concerned about disturbing anyone.” He peered at Dannard, “No…” he s
aid thoughtfully, “… there’s more to this than a discussion about cake, of that I’m certain.”
“Agreed,” said Ballorn. “Perhaps he knew them before he moved to our village?”
“It’s possible,” said Hunter, “They seem to dislike him as much as anyone else who makes his acquaintance.”
“Don’t be so horrible!” whispered Stitch. “He’s alright is Dannard, he just gets a bit grumpy at times.”
“At times?” chuckled Ballorn. “In the five years I’ve known him, not once has he…”
“So how long have you known this little stain?” called one of the young men at the bar. It was Yello, of course.
Ballorn placed his elbows on the table and glared at the wizard, “I’d mind my manners if I were you,” he warned. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”
“Not long then?” laughed Yello. “Give it time, sir. You’ll realise soon enough that this one has no friends. He only has acquaintances, whom he quickly discards once they have served his purpose.”
Ballorn stared at the two men either side of the cooper. He had known Dannard long enough and, ordinarily, would have agreed with the statement made by the young man. But now was not the time to be siding with strangers. Then he noticed the look on Dannard’s face. It was more than anger, it was rage. How close to the mark had the young man’s statement been to invoke such a response? What did he know about the cooper that they did not? “I think you’re confusing him for someone else,” he said quietly.
Yello screwed up his nose and glanced at Dannard, “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “But you have to be careful of the company you keep in the wilds. People are not always what they appear to be.”
“You leave my friend alone!” Stitch shouted suddenly, pointing at Yello. “If you’ve got a problem, perhaps we should take this outside!”
Hunter grunted as he stifled a laugh, “What are you going to do?” he sniggered. “Sew him to a cart or something?”
Yello rose slowly from his stool. Emnor leaned across and touched his arm. Yello pouted, shook his head and waved his hand in dismissal, “No need,” he said quietly. “Forgive me,” he began, turning his attention back to the table. “I did not mean to upset you, friends. Allow me to buy you a drink and let us forget this nonsense.”
“You should apologise!” protested Stitch. He glared at Yello, then nudged Ballorn, “Make him apologise.”
“He just did, you imbecile! Didn’t you hear him?”
“Not to us!” exclaimed Stitch. “To Dannard.”
Ballorn shrugged, “Well he has got a point,” he whispered.
Hunter had heard enough, “Thank you,” he said smiling at Yello. “I think a jug of ale would be welcome.”
Yello nodded and signalled to the innkeeper, who seemed most relieved that their quarrel had progressed no further than a few harsh words. Yello carried the jug across to the table and placed it in front of Ballorn. “So what brings you to this boil on the backside of a glamoch known as Gendrim then?”
“Ballorn is the sinrilbem and we is…”
“Be quiet, Dannard!” said Ballorn, raising his voice slightly. He looked up at Yello. “We’re merely travellers,” he smiled. “Wandering the land in hopes of adventure and riches.”
Emnor raised his eyebrows, “Really?” he asked dubiously. “Bit overdressed in that armour to be a simple adventurer, aren’t you?”
“Oh this old stuff?” he asked looking down at himself. “Just a musty heirloom,” he sighed. “Been in my family for generations.”
“You’ve kept it in very good order,” said Yello. “What’s that thing there, that mark on your breastplate?”
“Erm, oh that… family crest,” he replied, having to think quickly.
“I’m sure I’ve seen that before,” said Emnor. “Or something very similar. What does it mean?”
“Ah… well…” began Ballorn, trying to think of a convincing answer. “… It’s lost something of its translation over the years, but it means strong arms.”
The wizards glanced at Ballorn’s biceps and then at one another.
Yello sucked the air through pursed lips, “No…” he said, “…I disagree. I don’t think it could be any more accurate a translation than that.”
“I’ve got an idea!” Emnor suddenly exclaimed, “If you’re looking for adventure and riches, why not give us a hand to sort out the village’s ‘giant’ problem? There’d be a bit of coin in it for you as well.”
Ballorn leaned forward on the table, “We’d like to help, we really would, but we have urgent matters to attend to elsewhere. We’ll be moving on once we’re rested.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” sighed Yello. “I would have liked to have seen what you were capable of with… well, you know,” he said, gesturing at Ballorn’s arms.
“Come on, Yello,” called Emnor. “We have business of our own to attend to. Time to go.”
The two wizards bade them farewell and left the tavern, but not before both managed one more scathing look at Dannard.
“Nasty buggers!” muttered the cooper.
CHAPTER 15
The moonlight cast an eerie glow across the fell. Gelbran lead the way, followed closely by Asdor and Fellis. The three had unknowingly formed a bond and now rarely left one another’s company as they continued their hunt. Months had passed without so much of a trace of anything that might reveal the presence of a dragon. Those vikkery most adept at transforming into winged creatures took flight each day, but returned with their search proving futile. But four days prior, their luck had changed.
Quite by chance, one of the vikkery had landed on a pile of rocks. His wings were aching and his intention was merely to a rest for a few minutes before taking to the air once more. He stretched his arms, arching his back and tilting his head from side to side. It was then that he noticed the carcases on the ground. There were eight of them, all had been burned to a cinder. They had no signs of predation on them, so it was clear that they had not been hunted as a food source. From what he could tell it had been a wolf pack, or something similar. It was hard to tell as even the teeth had been disfigured by what must have been an intense heat. Eager to report his discovery, he headed back to Gelbran.
Excitement travelled through the vikkery camp like wildfire. At last their search was over, they could reap a modicum of revenge on the dragons. The hum of chattering voices grew louder as the excitement turned to anger and bloodlust. Although Gelbran wanted this more than most, he felt that he must quell the emotions of his kin. If they were to face a dragon, and survive, rational thought would surely be the key to success. “SILENCE!” he bellowed.
He paused as a hush fell around him. Looking from one to the next of his kin, he raised a hand. “I know what you feel,” he said slowly. “And do not think for one second that I feel any different. We have searched and waited for this moment, and now it is upon us. Fear not, we will defeat this enemy!” Cheers erupted from the crowd.
Waiting for the noise to die down, he continued, “Despite our new abilities, we will be severely outmatched. But we will use something that our foe is incapable of.” Mumbles ran through the crowd.
“We will use stealth,” he whispered. “How many have charged headlong toward these beasts, only to be incinerated in the blink of an eye? How many have faced them honourably, challenging them to a fair battle, only to be lured into a cowardly trap? How many have attempted to flee, knowing that they have neither the skill nor the bravery to face them, only to be sadistically chased down and trampled?” The crowd were suddenly not so enthusiastic.
“But what if one of them were not given the chance to strike first? How would it react if suddenly it were the victim as its enemy dealt the first blow? Our abilities will mean nothing if we face a dragon head-on… but if we were to strike from behind, or from the side, it would have no time to defend itself. It may seem cowardly when said aloud… but is that not the way they would normally behave?
Gelbran had rekindled the fi
re within the vikkery and searches over the next two days lead to the discovery of a cave not far from where the carcases had been discovered. It did not appear to be huge, but the mouth was sizeable enough for a dragon to enter and the gloom beyond proved that it was certainly deep enough to conceal one.
The vikkery produced sketches of the cave and the surrounding area, scoring images into pieces of wood and creating a map of sorts. Back at camp, they laid them out for all to see. Discussions were had and a battle plan drawn up. If they were to succeed, everyone must play their part and follow the plan to the letter. Although all were slightly unsure of their own abilities, they agreed wholeheartedly on one major aspect of the plan. They must attack after dark.
That same night the air was still. The distant howling of a wolf pack did nothing to ease the tension of the vikkery, who had already begun to transform. Much thought had gone into their strategy of what to choose as a suitable opponent for a dragon. Now beasts who had excellent night vision surrounded the cave. Wolves and gemnar amongst others crept around, determined to stay hidden and wary of any movement from within.
Gelbran, however, did not transform. Taking a deep breath, he marched toward the cave, “GET YOUR MANGY, FLEA-BITTEN CARCASE OUT HERE YOU PIECE OF FILTH!” he bellowed.
There was a brief flash of light from inside the cave, and a rumbling could be heard as something stirred deep within.
“SHOW YOURSELF, SLIME. I HAVEN’T GOT ALL NIGHT!”
The entrance to the cave lit up and a roar echoed from within that turned Gelbran’s blood cold. “No going back now,” he mumbled under his breath. “Wish my hands would stop shaking!”
The huge silhouette almost filled the cave mouth, illuminated from behind by the flames that now obviously filled it.
“OH, YOU HAVE GOT SOME GUTS THEN!” roared Gelbran. “COME ON… COME AND FACE ME! COME AND FACE THE ONE WHO’S GOING TO PUT YOUR FLAMES OUT FOR GOOD!”
As the dragon moved forward, Gelbran began to transform. The dragon paused, it had not seen anything like it before and seemed a little wary of its unknown challenger.
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 14
