“But who is this child, the One? How can he wield three swords? Does he have three hands, or is he some sort of shapeshifter?” Tarthur asked his question to everyone, but looked to Zelin for the answer.
“We must read this carefully,” Artholeus continued. “He might not wield all three swords at the same time. I think we can safely assume that the child referred to is the One, but he may no longer be a child. Here is the rest of the prophecy:”
With the elemental power he will banish the dark
From this you may know him, for he bears no mark.
Tarthur read it over in his head three times before it sank in. The tension was palpable.
“It’s talking about me, isn’t it?”
Zelin was the first to break the heavy silence. “It certainly seems to be talking about you, yes. You are the only one who has banished the dark with elemental power. If the One were only a child now, it is hard to imagine a monster like Darhyn coming back, since we are watching the gates so carefully.”
“I hope it is me,” Tarthur said without really thinking about it. “Because I couldn’t imagine putting anyone else at risk by asking them to pass through the gate.”
“What you hope is irrelevant, as the world will make its way without you.” Zelin spoke, his voice gaining a surprising hardness. “This is the first thing you must accept if you are going to stand any chance against that Wall.”
“Maybe that is why you found the Rune Sword,” Addyean offered. “You were being prepared to face this truth all your life.” The idea certainly made sense to the rest.
The Rune Sword was dormant in its scabbard. Although he didn’t wear it, Tarthur had brought it in because he didn’t feel safe leaving it in the wagon. The blade was so ancient, Tarthur only wore it on special occasions. He had another sword for everyday use.
His other sword had been forged by the master smith Lytuoten, and was both light and strong. The flawless turquoise gem that adorned the pommel acted like a finely-tuned magergy compass—coherent beams of magical energy lit up like lightning bolts when the blade of the sword aligned with one of them. Tarthur could feel the magergy beams himself as he crossed through them, but the sword helped him locate them more precisely. And he never tired of seeing the jewel light up fully whenever he cast a spell.
One sword down, he thought. Only two more to go.
They debated on and on, analyzing every word. The more Tarthur heard about the prophecy, the more he knew inside that he was the One.
As the day was drawing to a close, the attendant reentered the room with food. Tarthur was hungry. They had eaten breakfast, but in their excitement over the prophecy had quite forgotten about lunch. The attendant set down their plates of chicken legs and torgyu steak. He left a basket of nishei bread and a flask of papple wine for everyone to share. Nishei bread had been first baked by Queen Marhyn’s army in order to sustain them during times of war. Although the army itself had wrought much suffering, since their bread was hearty and nourishing, if not tasteful, it had caught on in the lands of Daranor. However, it was still looked upon badly by those who had suffered the most at the hands of her armies. Opening up a nishei shop in Freeton or Ruf was a sure recipe for a quick bankruptcy. The papple was a cross between an apple and a pear. The sugar content had been magically increased to aid in fermentation.
Everyone began to dig in to the feast. As the attendant was lighting some lamps to cast aside the gathering darkness, Artholeus suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, Tarthur! I almost forgot. This came for you by pigeon six days ago.” He fished around in his desk for a moment. “Now, where did I put it…”
Tarthur’s heart rate increased. He hadn’t been expecting any communications. There were only a handful of people that even knew where he was.
“Ah, here it is.” Artholeus retrieved the scroll and handed it over to Tarthur.
Tarthur took the scroll warily. His pulse quickened when he saw “URGENT” scribbled across the front in Yvonne’s handwriting. He tore open the wax seal holding it closed. As he read its contents, the color drained from his face:
Tarthur,
You may be in danger. Last night Alahim and I were attacked by someone looking for you. We are coming to meet you with guards by way of the king’s highway. Whatever you do, be careful—someone is watching us.
Love Always,
Yvonne.
His hunger and excitement forgotten, Tarthur shot up from the table. “Our home has been attacked and Yvonne and Alahim are on their way here. I have got to go back and meet them.” Tarthur was angry. He cursed silently. Artholeus had been so caught up in their search for the One that he had forgotten about Tarthur’s letter.
Artholeus didn’t seem to notice Tarthur’s frustration. “If you are in danger, you cannot go by yourself. Take some men from the village to help you.”
Tarthur turned towards the scholar and his retort was meaner than he meant it. “I can take care of myself—and my family!”
Addyean was also up and ready. “You can, Tarthur, but I will go with you. You may need help.” The way Addyean replied, it was almost as if he feared for whoever Tarthur encountered. Tarthur had never been able to hold his temper, and if it was some kind of misunderstanding, it was unlikely that it would be sorted out before Tarthur had blasted the offending party to bits.
“I will stay here,” Zelin said, tiredness apparent on his face. “But we will await your return.”
Tarthur nodded his assent, but it was hard to tell if either Addyean or Zelin’s statements had actually made it through to him.
“Now,” he said, turning to Artholeus once again. “Old man, is there anything else that I should know about before I leave?”
Artholeus shook his head guiltily, and Tarthur was out the door, Addyean trailing. He flew to the stables, shoved some provisions into his saddlebag, and tore off into the night.
Chapter 3: The Gerde-Vak
Yvonne stretched as the early morning sun hit her eyes. Alahim was beside her, still sleeping peacefully. The grass was wet with dew. Sparkling drops split the sunlight into a rainbow of colors, creating an iridescent layer on top of the short grassland. They were camped a few meters off the main highway. Yvonne had wished for more shelter—even a grove of trees would have been wonderful—but the land was rather barren next to the king’s highway between Tealsburg and Treshin. They were just beginning their fourth day out from Tealsburg, about halfway to Treshin. The Tabletop Plateau was on their right, and the caves of the dwarves were on their left. Yvonne had never visited the dwarves before, but she had heard that they were unfriendly, pushy, smelly, and poor.
They were filthy little creatures that burrowed around in the earth, obsessed with finding small gems and minerals that they brought back to their hovels where they spent most of their time hording their catches and coveting the imagined and real possessions of their neighbors. They were treacherous, and wouldn’t think twice about killing a human for such a crime of leaving a fingerprint on one of their precious shiny objects. Eternally suspicious of all other forms of life and constantly conniving, their society was in the midst of one great big sneaky game of who could stay alive and get the most pretty rocks. Because the gems were constantly being fought over and lost, the dwarves were very poor indeed, and cut off from the trade that was bringing prosperity to the rest of Daranor. It was sad, she reflected, but they probably deserved their fate.
At Tealsburg, they had exchanged Ziam and Zak with two guards that Yvette had provided. They seemed incredibly capable and in control. There was Garseon, a blond man whom Yvonne assumed was in his mid-forties, although his body looked youthful and strong. He traveled with a black cloak billowing from his shoulders, and when he walked seemed almost to float effortlessly along. Garseon didn’t appear to carry any weapons, but moved with such confidence that Yvonne would have thought he kept an army in one of the folds of his cloak. They had also been given a dark-skinned man by the name of Latson, who seemed roughly ten years younger than Garseon.
He was not a big man, yet his powerful muscles rippled throughout his body. He wore a long broadsword across his back and had a brace of throwing knives strapped to his midsection. His vest was made of rough leather, and his silk pants flowed loosely, yet were fastened tightly around his waist and ankles. He wore a black stocking cap on his head, even when it was not cold.
She saw a cloud of dust in the distance to the north, coming toward them like some horrible plague of insects. Yvonne frowned. Something about this cloud just was not right. She called out to the others, who began to hurriedly pack up camp. They skipped breakfast, and were ready to go in almost no time. However, they had already tarried too long. Little did they know, they were about to be the first to encounter a horror that others had only imagined.
Flying from the west, Yvonne saw a huge, leathery, winged beast. The body was dark brown and the skin hung from the bones, seemingly leaving little room for muscle. The beast had a long, sharp snout that looked like it would be as effective as any spear in stabbing right through a man. The monster also had tiny, mostly useless claws on either side of its thin body. Yet, while fearsome, this huge beast was not what they had to worry about most. It was the rider who had come for them.
It was the dark elf.
Without waiting for the creature to land, the elf leaped from her saddle and hit the ground rolling. She came up throwing spikes directly at Garseon and Mik. Both spun out of the way, but Mik still took a shot in his left arm while Garseon merely gained a hole in his cloak. Immediately, the soldiers were on their pursuer.
Yvonne and Alahim mounted up Wendimede and headed for the rear of the battle. Something in her mind was screaming at her to run, to get Alahim out of there as quickly as possible. Yet, something else was forcing her to stay. She had informed their guards that if at all possible, they were to take their pursuer prisoner. That was the only way for them to learn who had wanted to attack Tarthur so badly.
At the front of the battle, Latson was engaged with the dark elf. Her sword was still moving strangely, hesitating when she began a stroke and then accelerating as it got nearer to its target. Yet, Latson was fast, and it was taking everything she had just to parry his shots. “Tatch-O!” He screamed his battle cry, going on the offensive and feinting a neck slice while changing in midswing to stab forward quickly. The elf spun out of the way just in time, as the sword cut off the front part of her tunic around the stomach. The clang of metal on metal revealed the chain mail she wore underneath.
“Alive!” Yvonne called out, unsure if Latson had remembered or not. “We need her alive to find out what she knows!”
Garseon had started against the flying beast. It was hovering in the air and flapping its wings slowly—red, beady eyes focused on its target.
Its wingspan was too much. With such a large target area, Garseon did not hesitate. Yvonne saw him raise something to his lips, and then saw small puffs of smoke explode at half a dozen strategic places all over the creature’s wings. Howling, it dropped from the sky and tried to rise again. Flapping its wings just fanned the small fires, and soon the smell of burning flesh was searing through the air. Alahim turned his nose into Yvonne’s body, and Yvonne wrapped one arm around his waist and plugged her nose with the free hand.
Kris and Jon both drew their swords and brought them down simultaneously on the winged creature, which was still smoldering. They had the situation under control. Yvonne watched Garseon reach inside his cloak and snap out a hollow black tube that opened up with a flick of his wrist. It was some sort of blowgun with multiple mouthpieces arranged along a wheel that was set off from the main tube so that the edge of the circle lined up with the central shaft. He released the lock on the parallel crosspiece and spun the mouthpiece chamber until it stopped. She hoped that the special dart contained something like the mixture of herbs and tree sap from Breshen that caused a person to respond well to any suggestion. If he could hit her, then they could find out what she needed to know. He couldn’t get a shot off, though. The elf was entangled too closely with Latson.
Suddenly, Eli hollered and pointed north. The cloud of dust was finally close enough, and Yvonne could see what the dust had been hiding. There were five skull knights coming at them, but they weren’t lumbering methodically forward in the way that skull knights had moved for countless centuries.
Wendimede gave a whinny and tossed her mane from side to side, trying to leave the field. Yvonne held tight to the reins wrapped around her hand, her fingers turning white from the struggle. She leaned close to her steed and whispered in his ear.
The horse wasn’t the only one startled. Garseon stepped back in shock.
They were riding.
The skull knights were riding horses so similar that everyone immediately knew what they were, although, if someone had asked her about it an hour ago, Yvonne would have said that there was no such thing as an undead horse. Yvonne had only seen skull knights from far away, and Tarthur didn’t like to talk about them. What she had learned had all come from conversations with travelers, and she could always tell the ones that had had first hand experience—they were usually the quietest. Skull knights could not be killed by any ordinary means. They could reattach severed limbs and heads, and even when blasted into fragments of bone they would eventually reform. Their greatest strength was their single-mindedness—their ability to relentlessly follow prey to the ends of the earth, slowly and confidently. Their greatest weakness was their speed—a man could outrun one easily.
It looked like that might no longer be the case.
Ten seconds later her suspicion was confirmed. Garseon released the latch again and spun the canister until a new type of dart came up. He sent three barbed ones whizzing through the air and into the closest horses. The darts struck their marks, digging into the sides of the beasts and ripping away flesh. Yvonne gasped in horror as the wounds closed up on themselves.
Baron Morty’s guards turned to face these skull knights, while Yvonne scanned the battlefield, waiting. While they might have dealt with the dark elf alone, the chance that they would all die was far too great to stay. Frightened, she cast about, looking for a way out. Garseon was there, taking control of the situation, yelling orders to the rest of the troops. He vaulted onto his horse and called out for Yvonne to start ahead. “North! We must escape to the north!”
Yvonne needed no urging to flee. She dug her heels into Wendimede’s flanks even as Alahim wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.
“I can’t breathe!” she managed to get out.
Alahim apologized and relaxed his grip, instead reaching around her and grabbing the polished pommel with both hands as if he were a street urchin clutching his last copper coin.
“We’ll make it,” she said in a quivering voice as she undid the leather strap holding her crossbow. She reached for a bolt in the pouch next to her belt, somehow managing to cock it in place and turn the horse. They were a good fifty meters away from the fray, and she surveyed the scene while leaning forward on Wendimede’s neck, crossbow ready to fire. The familiar smell of sweaty horse calmed her. Wendimede had been a gift from Tarthur, and as Tarthur was not there to defend her, Yvonne wouldn’t have rather relied on anyone else. Despite Garseon’s orders, she couldn’t leave them to the mercy of the skull knights. The creatures had none. Yet there was another reason she stayed close to the battle. With a sinking feeling, Yvonne realized that without help, one woman and her child would be very vulnerable out in the open country.
The attack had been so sudden!
A skull knight galloped straight for Grags and brought its sword down towards the man’s head, but he parried the blow and sliced through the skull knight’s midsection. The trunk was still partially attached, and after hanging limply for a moment, swung itself back on top of the legs and the fissure healed. The knight rode on.
None of the men had ever fought skull knights before, but all had heard tales of their brutality. “Meet up in Treshin!” Garseon called out what Yvonne knew was a la
rgely unnecessary order.
She could see no way that the men would survive the battle.
“It’s up to us!” Garseon yelled to Latson, who was still clanging swords with the dark elf.
Latson broke off immediately from his confrontation, even while motioning for Kris and Jon to take up the battle. He was quick to jump on his steed, and they were off, sprinting towards Yvonne.
Jon sliced horizontally toward the dark elf’s midsection, but she bent backwards and the blade skimmed inches away from her face. She arched her back and kicked her legs upwards, knocking Jon away and landing in a handstand. Kris bent low and sliced for her elbows, but she pivoted on one palm and spun around, kicking him on the way down.
She rushed for one of the skull knights, jumped in the air, and kicked him off of his horse. She landed in the saddle and spurred the horse towards Yvonne. She motioned to two of the skull knights to follow her.
That was all Yvonne needed to see. She flicked on the safety on her crossbow and urged Wendimede onward.
Wendimede ran at a smooth gallop, barely jostling her as he raced forward. She ducked down low in the saddle and pushed forward, transferring Alahim in front of her and covering him with her body. She wondered what was going through his mind. His face was white from shock—undoubtedly from seeing the skeletal figures that could reform themselves and the elf lady who had tried to kill his mother.
She wanted to turn around, but she was afraid of what she would see and afraid of breaking rhythm. She could not afford to let her guard down even for a second. Already the beat of the horses’ hooves filled her ears as they churned up the ground. The clang of swords and the screams of the injured were fading now, but even though the six guards had a two to one advantage over the three remaining skull knights, Yvonne dreaded the outcome.
What good was a thousand to one advantage if your enemy could not die?
She could almost feel their cold lifeless fingers raking across her back and dragging her from her horse. Her stupefied mind raced for a way out.
Lands of Daranor: Book 02 - ProphecyQuest Page 6
