The surprising addition to their little party had been Aleena, the blonde daughter of the town’s seamstress. Evidently, she had been holding out on everyone with her skills with knives. When the goblins had attacked her home, she had killed three of them with only a pair of knitting needles. Then, she had grabbed their knives and went hunting. She now sported a scar down the left side of her face that marred her perfect skin but she felt that was a small price to pay for her life. Now she was armed with at least twelve knives of varying lengths and those were just the ones that the dwarf could see. He suspected that she had more hidden away somewhere on her body. He was not too sure where since she was scantily dressed in tight leathers but she had proven that she could use those blades with deadly precision too many times over the last twenty hours for him to complain.
Rjurik glanced at the twenty-three villagers huddled together under the boughs of the trees. They were nothing more than sheep. He hated to think of them that way but that was about it. They were too scared to do anything but cry and whimper. They could not or would not even lift up a shovel to defend themselves. The rest of the villagers had been either killed or captured.
Rjurik watched as Anasazi moved among the villagers, placing a hand on each of their foreheads before moving onto the next. He was not sure why or what the old man was doing but the warrior had learned not to ask. The affairs of wizards and shaman were well beyond this simple dwarf.
Matanza joined the dwarf and nodded his head toward the old shaman in silent question. Rjurik just shrugged. The two friends waited for him to finish. It was not long before he walked out of the woods and back towards their campsite. When they joined him, the centuarian chieftain asked, “So what’s the plan?”
Anasazi shrugged. “There is no plan. We are behind the enemy’s lines. If we rush forward, we will only catch up to the raiders. If we stay, the secondary lines will catch us. We are between a rock and a hard place.”
“But we’in can’t be doin’ nothing,” roared Rjurik.
“We aren’t. We are going hunting.”
By this time, they had reached the campsite and the others had heard the shaman’s last remark. It was Aleena who asked, “Who are we hunting?”
Anasazi just nodded his head toward the halfling. Broun grinned and took up the explanation. “The slavers. This was too well planned out to be just a random attack. It was well organized and orchestrated. If you noticed, the Orcs and jotens did not stay and pillage. They attacked, destroyed and moved on. The only thing they slowed down to do was take prisoners.”
Aleena nodded. “And you think we can catch up and possibly free them?”
“Possibly. The slavers will be outnumbered and can only move at the speed of their slowest slave,” explained Anasazi. “If we follow the Draken we should be able to find them.”
Gaspar pointed his huge hammer at the old man. “Why do you think they’ll be near the river?”
Unfazed, Anasazi kicked some dirt on the campfire. “They will need to keep the slaves fed and watered. It would be cheaper and easier to give them water from the river instead of hauling it.”
Gaspar tilted his head to one side. “Well then, let’s get moving.”
Anasazi shook his head. “Someone has to stay and lead the villagers to safety.”
Gaspar threw his head back. “Well don’t go looking at me. I don’t have any family in there. My son is down south somewhere.”
“True but your son followed the slavers by his own free will.”
“So you say.”
Broun got defensive. “I don’t say, the tracks say. It’s as obvious as the horn on a unicorn.”
Matanza stepped forward slightly. “I will stay and lead the villagers to safety. My herd is scattered. I may yet find some of them along the way.”
Broun immediately seemed torn. It was obvious that he wanted to go on the hunt to rescue his son but he did not relish leaving behind his friend.
Anasazi settled it for him. “Broun, you should stay also. You know the roads east of here and can help guide them to Krantos and safety.” The halfling nodded but the old shaman was not finished. “And Gaspar you shall travel with them also. They will need your protection if they are to survive the trip.”
The blacksmith puffed up his chest and slammed his sledgehammer into the ground. “I will do no such thing. I want combat, not babysitting.”
Anasazi calmly waved his right hand. “Perhaps there will be more glory in protecting the villagers.”
Gaspar’s bluster quickly faded as his said, “Perhaps there will be more glory in protecting the villagers.”
“There’s no need to look for trouble,” said Anasazi calmly.
“There’s no need to look for trouble.”
“The villagers need help. It’s your duty to protect them.”
Gaspar’s face seemed to lose the constant look of anger as he said, “The villagers need help. It’s my duty to protect them.”
Anasazi broke eye contact and finished covering up the fire. “You had best be going.”
Gaspar threw his sledgehammer over his shoulder and moved toward the waiting villagers. “We had best be going.”
Aleena, Broun and Matanza all looked at the blacksmith with wide-eyed wonder and then back to the ancient shaman. Broun started to ask, “You didn’t…”
Anasazi shook his head. “I did no such thing. It was what he really wanted to do all along. I just sort of cleared away the cloud of anger that was poisoning him. Incidentally, I think you two will find him a bit more agreeable.”
Matanza just laughed and shook hands with those staying behind. “Good hunting. May your arrows always fly true and your string never break.”
Aleena gave both the centuarian chief and the halfling rogue a big hug. “Be careful you two.”
It was not long before the remaining villagers under the guidance of Broun, Matanza and Gaspar set off for Krantos. The other three gathered up their belongings and headed south following the banks of the river.
* * * * *
Rhiánön, Queen of the Elves, had never even considered her current situation. Not even in her deepest, darkest nightmares. She was bound, both physically and magically, by her own son. When she saw the head of the young elf explode, killing her two bodyguards, Rhiánön believed she would be next. A simple slice across her throat or a thrust into her heart, both would be quick and lethal. Even a stab to the kidneys would be deadly and especially painful…but she was wrong.
Once Mortharona had gained complete control over her, he pulled off her crown and tossed it aside. One by one, he cut off her clothes until she stood naked before him. At first, she thought he just wanted to humiliate her before killing her. Once again, she was wrong.
Rhiánön almost did not recognize her son. Mortharona was always quick-tempered but never malicious. He completely ignored her tears and pleas. He just set about doing his work with the most serious, almost business-like expression. Rhiánön could not believe it when he guided her to her own throne and bent her across the armrest. Then he entered her from behind and she screamed.
Rape. How could her own son rape her? This was the thought that repeated through her mind as he savagely abused her body. It went on for what seemed hours.
Rhiánön screamed until her throat was raw but still he violated her. It was at this moment when she had a flash of insight to what her only daughter Tatianna must have felt all those years ago. The memory saddened her. Even as her son climaxed inside her, Rhiánön cried for her dead daughter and the grandson she never knew.
* * * * *
Mortharona stepped back and looked down on the beaten and bruised body of his mother. He had done his best to violate her in every way possible, just as the Spinner had decreed. Hearing the sounds of running feet, Mortharona spit on her and took a couple steps back. Drawing his twin swords, he waited for his brother.
Almost exactly on time, Khlekluëllin entered the Royal Suites at a dead run and skidded to a stop.
&nbs
p; “By Clotho, you are so damn predictable.”
Khlekluëllin looked at his brother, then back to the naked and battered body of their mother.
Mortharona could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to fit all the pieces together. But the dark-haired twin didn’t plan on letting his brother live long enough to do anything about it. Therefore, he attacked.
* * * * *
When Khlekluëllin came to a stop inside the Royal Suites, he was dumbfounded and shocked at what he saw before him. Not only had his brother murdered all of his men, it was obvious that he had raped their mother. When his brother spoke, he knew that his greatest fears were true.
“By Clotho, you are so damn predictable.”
Somehow, someway, his brother had been seduced to the Dark Alliance but before Khlekluëllin could say anything, his twin attacked.
Eight black bolts of energy flew out of Mortharona’s twin swords to strike him in the chest.
Khlekluëllin had been so shocked at the maltreatment of their mother that he hadn’t manage to summon a shield in time and was knocked backwards into the hallway from the energy of the spell. Luckily for him, Mortharona was nowhere as strong a spellcaster as their mother or long-lost sister.
Khlekluëllin jumped up and drew his own sword. The Dawnsword flared to life and filled the hallway with a brilliant yellow light. His blade was one of three legendary Swords of the Moirai, sometimes called the Blades of Fate. His blade was dedicated to Aurora, the Mistress of the Morning and the patron goddess of the Elves. Unfortunately, his brother also carried one of the swords. His was the Darksword and it was dedicated to Hecate, Goddess of the Night and the patron goddess of the Dark Elves.
“How long have you been serving the Spinner?” Khlekluëllin cracked his neck as the two brothers began to slowly circle each other. They had sparred against each other since they were children, however this would be their first real duel.
“Does it really matter? The invasion had begun. All across Terreth, anarchy and chaos will soon reign.” Mortharona feinted with a quick thrust with the Darksword which his brother blocked easily but had to jump backwards to avoid the jab from his offhand sword.
Even as Khlekluëllin moved out of the way and countered with his own slash, he absentmindedly noted that his twin’s offhand sword seemed to be dripping a black poison or possibly acid since it sizzled when the drops hit the wooden floor. This was not going to be an easy fight and they both knew it. The problem was that they both knew each other too well. Whenever a small opening or gap in their defenses appeared, it would be quickly seized upon but just as easily blocked and countered. Khlekluëllin wanted to keep him distracted until reinforcements arrived. “But why? Why would you turn your back on your people?”
“Ha! My people. We elves have failed to step forward and claim what should rightfully be ours. The other races are weak and constantly looking to us for aid and guidance. I say make them serve us. We should be rulers not advisors.”
“So, you wish to dominate others? Is that why you raped our mother?”
“No, that was purely for fun.” Mortharona’s grin was venomous. “Clotho just wanted her humiliated and beaten. This was all my doing.”
“So you did to our mother what was done to our sister? Who are you?”
In the back of Khlekluëllin’s mind he heard his friend’s voice. * Almost there.*
The twins went through a flurry of stabs, slices, thrusts and jabs. None could get past either Bladeweaver’s defenses. They were just too similar.
For an elf, Bladeweaving was more than just a style of combat. It was a way of life. It was the art of blending swordsmanship and spell craft into one formidable skill. Khlekluëllin had chosen the way of the Dragon, an ancient style of bladeweaving; while Mortharona chose the way of the Panther, a more subtle and surreptitious style. Both were challenging paths and extremely effective. But since the twins had been sparring against each other for over a century, they knew each other’s nuances and tells.
* * * * *
Mortharona knew that his brother was stalling, probably waiting for reinforcements. But they were spread far and wide throughout the Great Forest. Not that they would not arrive but not in time to save his virtuous brother. Mortharona had planned for this circumstance.
He only needed to move Khlekluëllin over about three more feet to his left. So, Mortharona launched a flurry of attacks, not that he expected any to land but they would cause his twin to move. Which he did, and stopped right underneath the Harvestman Spider Mortharona had conjured earlier for just such a situation.
* * * * *
The next few minutes were a blur of activity as the huge Harvestman Spider dropped from the ceiling to land on Khlekluëllin and there was a loud tearing noise from the far side of the Royal Suites.
This particular spider had a body about two feet around with legs spanning eight to ten feet. Not that any of that mattered to Khlekluëllin at the moment. When the huge arachnid had landed on him, he had dropped his sword and was doing his best to keep the fangs of the beast from penetrating into his skin. From his position and angle, Khlekluëllin had no leverage and had to rely on pure strength. He expected at any moment to feel the bite of his brother’s swords in his ribs. Little did he know that Mortharona had his own troubles.
Even as the dark-haired twin sprung his trap and the harvestman spider fell on his brother, Mortharona heard the rending of wood. Glancing across the fifty-foot room, he watched as the outer walls were shredded by the five-foot claws of a huge blue dragon.
Halhulingrath had arrived.
An old saying ran through Mortharona’s mind, ‘it does not do to leave a dragon out of your calculations…’
He was not too sure who said it or even if it was an exact quote but no adage had ever been more truthful. Since the walls of the Royal Suite were part of an actually living Malloran, they were resisting the dragon’s attempt at entry. But they could only slow him down, not stop him. Seeing Hal stick his snout into the hole and inhale, Mortharona knew what was coming next. Pulling off the black pearl on his bracer, he threw it hard on the ground at his feet and a cloud of black smoke enveloped him.
* * * * *
The bolt of lightning harmlessly passed through the cloud of smoke and blasted the wall behind. The raven-haired elf had vanished. Pulling out its snout, Halhulingrath took a huge bite out of the tree creating a larger hole in the side of the tree. Sticking his whole head inside, Hal spied his friend wrestling with a puny spider.
* Hold still. *
Breathing a second bolt of lightning at the spider and Khlekluëllin, his aim was perfect. The mass of pure energy fried the spider but did nothing more than singe the elf’s clothing. He and Khlekluëllin were bond-brothers. The elf had saved him from a life of servitude and in doing so; the dragon was indebted to him. However, Khlekluëllin had not wanted a dragon as a slave and had freed him. Such an act of benevolence deserved to be rewarded and Halhulingrath had pledged himself to the azure haired elf.
Khlekluëllin stood up and dusted himself off. “I know that your breath isn’t going to hurt me but it still scares the hell out of me.”
* How can Hell be scared out of you? That is a place, is it not? *
Khlekluëllin shook his head. It was hard to remember that Hal was still a very young dragon. “Yes, it is a place and it is just a saying.” He looked around. “Mortharona?”
* Gone. Disappeared in a flash of smoke. *
Khlekluëllin nodded. Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings looking for more traps his twin might have left. Then his eyes fell across the naked and battered form of his mother. Rushing forward, all thoughts of the invasion were thrust aside. His mother was severely injured and needed his help.
The Wardens were on their own.
Chapter 13
The three hunters paused at the bodies of the mercenaries and the girls.
Rjurik might not have been the most skilled tracker but he could read the signs. The t
hree mercenaries had taken the girls away from the slave pens with the intent of raping them. Judging from the lack of clothing on Kariah’s corpse, she had been raped. He could only guess that Graytael and Garoth had interrupted them.
Then his eyes landed on Annabelle.
Aleena had moved to her first. They had never been close. They were rivals to each other. Annabelle had been the dark haired beauty while Aleena the fair-haired one, seemingly two sides of the same coin. But that didn’t mean Aleena didn’t like Annabelle. They had always been cordial to each other. It just seemed that the raven-haired beauty got most of the attention in town. Subconsciously, Aleena reached up and touched the bandage covering one side of her face.
“Don’t cha be worrin’ there, you is still a bonny lass.”
Aleena found herself blushing slightly at the older dwarf’s comment. Whether he truly meant it or was just being polite, it was just what she needed to hear. Forcing herself to study the body of her friend, she noted the jagged cut across her throat and her eyes were drawn to the knife in the hand of the dead mercenary just a few feet away. She pointed at the tomahawk still embedded in his forehead.
“It looks as if Gray killed him but not before he sliced Anna’s throat.”
Anasazi stepped up holding Gray’s lost warclub. “Aye. If I read the tracks correctly, Gray dispatched the one next to Kariah first, then the one behind us before turning on this brigand. I would guess he was holding Anna at knife point.”
Rjurik nodded. “That’s how I read it. The question remains, did he kill Anna before or after Gray threw the tomahawk.”
Aleena, who was only slightly taller than the dwarf, looked down on him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter either way, Anna is dead and Gray is gone. What matters is that he risked his life for hers.”
Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) Page 12
