The Stars of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 1)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  “Ah! That's stuck! That is definitely stuck!” the unfortunate rogue screamed, pulling as hard as the pain would allow him. “That one is in the bone! No question! In the bone!”

  Erana's arrow was aimed at the swordsman who sought to flank the gallant knight, but her attack was also defeated by the thin metal shell that protected their enemies. Tealor and the enemy captain once again passed one another in fearsome charge and, once again, each combatant's attack was deflected by the other. The swordsman that had fled from Sarena's deadly flames was quickly closing the distance that separated him from the mighty warrior. Both Tealor and Darian would soon find themselves each facing two enemies, while the crossbowman could shoot at either as he pleased. The beautiful sorceress kicked her own mount into motion. As she rode forward chanting, a dense mist began to spread around her. Within seconds, the melee was concealed in a thick cloud and the enemy archer found himself without a visible target.

  This was something the young knight hadn't been prepared for. Although his enemies were only feet from him, they were completely hidden from his sight. Darian lashed out at the air before him and, in turn, was struck by blows that seemed to come from nowhere. His armor was quickly drenched with dew; his brow with sweat. The giant blade of his enemy struck him again and again; sometimes falling on his armor, other times striking his shield or sword. Other attacks began to come out of the mist behind him and, more than once, an outstretched blade rang off his armor covered back. Some subtle instinct told Darian to duck. The instant he did so, the full length of his enemy's giant blade swept quickly above his head. The sword missed its intended target, but found another. With a cry of pain and alarm, along with the sound of steel ringing on steel, the young knight's second adversary fell from the saddle.

  At last, Kilren gave up his futile attempts to pull the bolt from his body.

  “Well then, I'll just use one arm!” he cried, pulling one of his feet from the stirrups and using it – along with his uninjured arm – to cock his crossbow.

  The elvish maid looked upon him with pity and increased respect. She wouldn't have expected the handsome young rogue to continue to fight on in such a condition. In truth, she doubted she would deal so well with the pain. Still, there was little time for these considerations. She drew her bow and sought a target. For the moment, all was hidden in the mist. Her arrow would wait and her next target would not be saved by his steel skin.

  However, the cloud that confounded sight did not prevent the other senses from seeking targets. The mercenary crossbowman sat listening carefully to the din of battle. One particular sound caught his attention. It was a dreadful tune that echoed off the cliffs around them. It was the sound of the pipes tolling out his dirge. As he sat listening, cold sweat began to form on his brow. Fear quickened his pulse, but he had no thought of flight. He and death were old acquaintances; he would not flee from the grave. He raised his weapon and slowly aimed at the heart of the eerie song. His bolt flew straight and true and the air was filled with the unmelodious sound of a punctured bagpipe slowly deflating. Before the poor pipes death rattle had completely died away, the archer was met with a surprising sight. A well-dressed dwarf came flying from the mist on a small white pony. The battle-hardened mercenary would have certainly laughed at the sight if he had never faced dwarves in combat before. As it was, he recognized the look of fury on the bard's face as he whipped his small animal onward. The hat flew from his head as he crossed the distance at a tremendous gallop. The poor archer tried to cock his bow once more, but it was too late. The small strong hands of the dwarf seized him by the leg. In an instant, he was thrown from the saddle.

  Tealor's prodigious mount shot out of the cloud of dew and thundered once more toward the mercenary captain. The leader of the enemy band, had himself, retreated from the wall of vapor to provide enough room for a devastating charge. As soon as he saw the mighty warrior emerge from the mist, he kicked his own powerful animal into a gallop. The two warriors faced each other alone as the distance that separated them lessened with every passing moment.

  Within the cover of dew, the sorceress once again found her former opponent and, once more, attempted to engulf him in flame. He was wise enough to fear her, however, and wheeled his horse in time to avoid the deadly blaze. As he shot out of the cloud, he came within view of the patient ranger. She let her arrow fly; it struck him between his breastplate and his helmet. With a muffled cry, he fell from the saddle never to rise again.

  For the moment, the Telian found himself once again alone with his giant opponent. A slight breeze had begun to stir, and the vapors gave way before it. Already, he could see his enemy more clearly. Darian lashed out; striking his foe in the arm, but his adversary's armor was well made and the blow was turned aside. The two combatants fell together, blow after blow ringing in the air. What the young knight did not see was his fallen opponent rising from the ground and raising his sword up for a deadly attack. Just before the blow fell, Kilren appeared out of the mist and shot the Telian's unseen adversary at point blank range. At such a short distance, armor failed and bolt succeeded; the unfortunate mercenary dropped to the ground; shot through the heart. Once more, the Telian's giant opponent lashed out at him, but the knight dodged the attack; returning it with one of his own. He drew his sword up above his head and dropped it with all the strength he could muster. The blade struck his enemy's armor but, this time, it passed through steel and flesh alike. The giant mercenary reeled for a moment before his lifeless body crashed to the ground.

  The mist continued to thin, revealing two distinct scenes. The first was the bard climbing from his fallen foe; a dagger in each hand. The second, Tealor and the mercenary leader crashing together like two raging storm heads. The eyes of the party watched as Tealor's flashing blade passed through helmet and skull alike. They also beheld the enemy's lance tear through the valiant warrior's armor and chest. Both fell from their saddles staining the earth with their life's blood.

  Sarena screamed, quickly jumping from her horse to run to the side of her wounded husband. She gently raised his head and placed it in her lap. He smiled up at her beautiful face before slowly speaking.

  “I'll wait for you in the halls of Kaldor, my love. Remember me with joy.”

  Having said this, he drew a short breath before sighing softly as his soul passed from his body.

  “Tealor. Tealor!” his wife screamed wildly.

  She threw his head to the ground, leaping to her feet. As her eyes scanned the area in desperation, they fell on the young knight. The members of the band were moving quickly toward their fallen comrade's body. Sarena strode directly toward the approaching Telian.

  “Quickly Darian,” the sorceress said, trying with all her strength to control the tremors that shook her frail frame. “Heal him.”

  The young knight stared down at his fallen ally with concern. His mind flew over every possibility, snuffing out the embers of hope one by one. His companion was dead. Certain members of his order could save the bold warrior even now, but Darian had neither the strength nor the experience to do so.

  “What are you waiting on, sir knight,” Sarena's said, her voice cracking as she spoke; tears filling her eyes. “Heal him quickly.”

  “I can't,” the young knight replied.

  “You have to!” she exclaimed.

  “I can't,” the Telian shook his head. “He's already dead.”

  “Bring him back!”

  “I don't have the power.”

  “You must have!” the sorceress screamed.

  “He can't!” Kilren interjected. “He's already exhausted. If he even tried, it could kill him.”

  “Then, he'll die! He is a Telian! His life is sacrifice!” the dead man's wife yelled, gazing up at the young knight with tears flowing down her face. “Please, please, save him.”

  “You can't expect him...” Kilren began.

  “No!” Darian interrupted. “She's right, I have to try.”

  “I knew you would!”
the beautiful sorceress exclaimed, throwing her arms around the bold knight and sobbing wildly.

  “Step back, Sarena,” he said, gently pulling her arms from around his neck and passing her to Erana's open embrace. “I'm not sure what's going to happen.”

  The gallant knight dropped to his knees and raised his palms to the heavens. In silent prayer, he asked the Eilian to fill him with power. He begged them to disregard his own life and give him the strength to revive the poor widow's valiant husband. Almost at once, the divine power began to course through his veins like fire. His outstretched hands passed over the wound and, slowly, the broken lance head rose from his companion's flesh and fell to ground beside him. The power that was once again uniting body and soul began to consume the young knight. His hands were aglow with the energy that passed through him. Finally, the giant warrior's frame began to move, and Tealor slowly opened his eyes. Darian sighed, his head rolling to one side as he collapsed senseless to the ground.

  “What happened?” Tealor asked, coughing.

  “Nothing, dear heart,” Sarena said, sitting down beside her husband and wiping the tears from her eyes.

  She hugged her husband around the neck as he sat up and once more began to sob – this time, with relief and joy. At the same moment, Gwendolyn knelt down and took one of the valiant young knight's hands up in both of hers.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, tears filling her own bright green eyes.

  Kilren and Erana gazed down at their unconscious companion as Ian raised the knight's head from the ground, holding the Telian's mouth near his face.

  “No! He's alive, but only just, my dear,” the bard said, glancing up at the maiden. “We must act quickly. I need something from my saddle bags.”

  Having said this, he laid Darian's head gently down and ran to his pony. From one of the bags, he produced a small vile. In an instant, he was back at the noble knight's side uncorking the frail container.

  “Lift his head up,” the bard said.

  Gwendolyn did as she was instructed and pulled Darian's limp body up into an almost sitting position.

  “Drink, lad,” the dwarf said, raising the vial to the Telian's lips. Instinct alone guided the unconscious knight as he drank half of the little bottle's contents. The other half was quickly taken to the mighty warrior who still lay on the ground, coughing weakly.

  “Honestly, dearest, what happened?” Tealor asked, gazing into the swollen eyes of his lovely wife.

  “You died, my love,” Sarena replied, her voice cracking as she uttered the words. “But, Darian saved you. At the risk of his own life, he brought you back. We can never repay him!”

  In reply, the warrior slowly got to his feet and looked down at his unconscious companion.

  “Will he be alright?” he asked.

  “He will be in a day or so,” the bard confidently replied. “Or I know nothing of the Telian.”

  “Thank the Eilian!” Gwendolyn and Sarena said in unison.

  By this time, Erana had turned her attention to Kilren's injury; running her soft hand gently around the wound.

  “You know, that's kinda nice,” Kilren began, “Except for the extreme pain!”

  Having said this, he pulled her hand away and took a short step back.

  “Well, we have to get it out,” she said, taking a step toward him.

  “No, we have to leave it alone,” he replied.

  “We can't just leave an arrow sticking out of you,” she argued.

  “She's right lad,” the dwarf agreed, walking over to the injured rogue.

  Kilren glanced down at his shoulder.

  “Alright,” he sighed. “How do you want to go about this?”

  “You lay down on the ground and Erana, you get him something to bite on,” the dwarf replied.

  “You don't know a song that kills pain, do you?” Kilren asked, as he carefully stretched himself out on the ground.

  “Not one that I can sing now lad,” Ian said, shaking his head. “I'm sorry.”

  “Figures...” Kilren nodded.

  Erana rolled up a section of her own cloak and stuck it in the rogue's mouth while the dwarf stood beside him, carefully considering the bolt. Kilren lay, staring up at the dwarf, already biting down on the cloak. Suddenly, the dwarf glared off into the distance.

  “What's that?” he cried.

  The rogue instinctively turned his head to look and, in a flash, the bard seized the bolt and wrenched it from the wound. Kilren let out a sound that was something between a cry and a howl as he bit nearly through the cloak. In an instant, both Erana and Ian were working to stop the flow of blood and bandage the wound. Within minutes, Kilren was back on his feet. Unfortunately, his left arm would be useless until his injuries could be better attended to.

  “We've got to get out of here quickly,” Tealor said as he sat on the ground considering their position.

  “My thoughts exactly,” the bard agreed. “You, nor the knight, will be up to much fighting for a day or two. Come to that, can you walk?”

  “I can, with help. I don't think he'll be able to, though,” the warrior replied, looking over at the still unconscious knight.

  “We need to get rid of these horses,” the dwarf said, slowly rubbing his chin.

  “What?!” Kilren exclaimed. “Have you lost your tiny little dwarf mind? We're having trouble making a getaway even on horseback!”

  “Exactly lad!” the bard nodded. “We're being followed from behind and our enemies also seem to be ahead of us. We can't outrun them. What we need to do is disappear.”

  “Ian's right,” Erana said, walking to his side. “If we move through the woods and hills carefully, they won't be able to find us. The horses are just going to make us easier to track.”

  “You've both gone insane,” Kilren said with a look of concern on his face. “It has to be the sun. Dwarves spend a lot of time underground; elves stay in the shade of the forests. You've both been out in the sun too much. Sit down. I'll get you both a drink.”

  “No, dear fool, I believe they're right,” Sarena said, glancing over at the young rogue. “We need stealth; not speed.”

  “Tell me you're not going to go along with this, Tealor,” Kilren implored.

  “What choice have we got, Kilren?” The warrior asked. “We have enemies behind us and before us. Look at us! You, me, Darian. Are we going to be able to put up a fight if we run into another group of soldiers or mercenaries? I admit that it's a tough decision, but I don't think the horses are going to be of any more help. Besides, we can head for the mountains. It will add a few days to the trip, but our enemies will have a hard time finding us. There's a pass that will take us right where we need to go. We just have to get there.”

  “Alright!” the rogue replied, throwing up his good hand. “Then, let's get moving.”

  “Good!” the dwarf said, stepping quickly over to one of the dead mercenaries. “Kilren, start collecting large stones. Ladies, if you will assist me.”

  “Insane,” the rogue said, shaking his head. “He's gone completely insane...”

  “I don't think he has,” Tealor said, rising slowly to his feet. “Just start collecting rocks with your good arm. I'll help you.”

  In a few minutes, the bodies of their former enemies were tied to their horses' backs. The noble animals were sent off galloping the way they had come, leaving a very obvious trail behind them.

  “That much I get,” Kilren observed as the horses ran out of sight. “So, what's with the rocks?”

  “Start filling our saddle bags,” the bard winked.

  A few minutes more found the party's horses following behind their kin, loaded with enough stone to make their tracks appear as if they still bore riders.

  “Now, what?” Kilren asked.

  “Up the cliff,” the dwarf replied, moving over to the prostrate body of the young knight.

  “You can't be serious,” the rogue chuckled.

  “Aye, that I am, lad,” the bard said, picking up the Tel
ian with surprising ease and laying him across his shoulders.

  Under different circumstances, the sight would have been fairly humorous. A young man, almost six feet in height and covered in armor, draped over the shoulders of a dwarf who wasn't five feet tall. If Kilren could have found it in his heart, he would have laughed. As it was, the situation was far too serious for mirth.

  “I have one arm, Tealor can hardly walk, and Darian is still unconscious. How do you plan for us to climb that wall?” he asked as they approached the vertical stone face.

  “It's not a wall, it's a cliff,” Ian pointed out as he carefully laid the body of the knight on the ground. “I don't plan for us to climb it.”

  “Wall, cliff; what's your point?” Kilren asked.

  “Well, a wall is a wall; and a cliff is a cliff – and things have names for a reason – but, we'll skip that for now,” the dwarf replied. “This is natural stone and there are plenty of handholds for those who have patience.”

  He drew one of his daggers as he said this, scrutinizing the cliff face for a moment. His eyes scanned the surface of the rock, his head nodding as he pointed with the naked blade time and time again, considering his route. Having decided his course, he slipped his pack over his shoulders and began to climb the wall with ease. The dwarf had to traverse only twenty feet of stone before he reached the top and, shortly after he did so, a rope dropped from above.

  “Lass, come up here, if you would,” the dwarf said, gazing down at Erana.

  The ranger quickly climbed the rope and, in a moment, was standing beside the worthy dwarf.

  “Tie the rope around Darian carefully, and I'll pull him up,” he called to the party below.

  “I'll help you,” Erana offered, picking up the rope.

  “No lass, I want you to help me get him over the edge once he's up,” he replied. “I'd hate for the rope to blister your tender hands.”