Aikur's War

by Sam Ferguson

  After two nights and a day, they came to the city of Taron. Its alabaster spires reached high up through the giant redwoods and pointed into the heavens. None of the buildings had any visible corners. All of them were made to mimic the conical shells found upon beaches. Some had carvings in their sides, with jewels placed therein, while many of the buildings were simple and smooth, shining like crystals in the middle of a brown and green sea of trees.

  Aikur spied many Vishi’Tai walking calmly between the many spires and towers. He saw no weapons upon any of the people he watched, which was something he found both strange and admirable.

  “Imagine a city where no one carries their sword in the open,” Aikur commented softly.

  “But do they do it because it is safe, or because weapons are forbidden them?” Finnigrel asked.

  Aikur turned and shook his head. “No, the elves of Taron are not disarmed by rules or overbearing rulers. They simply have no need to carry them.”

  “Aye, but I would wager their magical abilities would make up for any lack of steel,” Finnigrel put in.

  The Konnon warrior offered a short nod. “Likely so,” he agreed. “Let us lay our weapons here by this tree, and then we will approach the city. The other warriors were reluctant at first, but when they all saw how quickly Aikur relinquished his own arms, the others followed suit. Unarmed, they walked into Taron openly.

  The Vishi’Tai paid them no mind at first. The elves walked by the intruding group of humans without hardly glancing in their direction. It was quite unnerving, actually, to be ignored as though some insignificant insect. They stood in the center of the city, near a grand fountain which displayed a mermaid spouting pure, crystal-clear water from her mouth. The elves continued to walk by, despite a few attempts to stop one or two of them.

  Finally, Aikur’s patience was depleted. He stood atop the rim of the fountain and shouted out at all passersby. “Is there no hospitality to be found among the high elves of Taron? Are they so preoccupied with themselves that they have become devoid of compassion for others?”

  His words stopped all around them and the elves each turned to face him with open disgust clearly displayed on their sharp, angular features.

  “I have come in respect, leaving our arms and shields without the city as is your custom. Yet, I have not received even a tenth of the welcome I would receive should I enter a pig’s wallow in the poorest of human villages in Kelsendale, though I be covered with muck and blood from battle. How has the great, majestic city fallen into such apathy?”

  More elves gathered around, some whispering among themselves, but none answering Aikur’s accusations.

  “Were we not brothers in the War of Ire?” Aikur asked. “Did we not advance in the marred lands together during the Battle of Princes?” Aikur held his arms out wide. “Yet here I am no brother. I am ignored as a stray, and viewed with disdain as if I have fouled your city somehow with my presence. What is this evil you offer me?”

  One of the elves, an exceptionally tall, golden haired man with slender cheeks and pointed jaw came out from the crowd to address Aikur. “What have we to do with thee?” The elf turned to regard the warriors. “I fought in the Battle of Princes, and my father and grandfather fought in the War of Ire. You were not there, though true it is that your ancestors were. You have no claim to such grand hospitality as you boast. Where are your deeds, that we may find thee equal to the fair elves of Taron?”

  Aikur jumped down from the fountain and approached the tall elf. The dark skinned warrior looked up to the elf’s light blue eyes. “In my teens I fought against an invading army of Kottri upon the lands of New Konnland. In my twenties I slew three minotaurs with not but a spear and a dagger. In my thirties I sailed against the corsairs that ravaged our coasts, and the coasts of Kelsendale. Now I am here, with a letter from the High King of Kelsendale, and you ask me to prove myself to you?” Aikur pulled the note from his pocket and showed it to the elf. “I seek the golden horn of the albino ram that roams these woods. I am here to ask for permission to hunt the animal.”

  The elf shook his head. “No. Jaeger forbids it. We refused to allow Kyra this hunt, why would we change our minds and allow a human to defile our forest?”

  Finnigrel stepped forward and whispered into Aikur’s ear. Aikur listened and nodded. “Very well, no hunting then,” he said.

  The elf arched his brow ever higher. “It is time for all of you to leave.”

  “What if we were to capture the ram and take one of its horns?”

  “No,” the elf said. “If you attack the ram, Jaeger will protect it.”

  “Jaeger?” Aikur asked. “Who is this, and may I speak with him?”

  “Jaeger is the protector of Toran. He was there in the beginning with Lysander, and is here still. You may not speak with him, nor may you have the horn. Be gone, we cannot help you.”

  Aikur set his jaw and stared at the elf. He had half a mind to pummel the arrogance out of the fair elf’s head, but opted instead to leave in order to conceive a new plan. He glanced to Finnigrel, thinking on the words the young warrior had whispered to him moments before. Aikur and the others walked back out of the town and retrieved their equipment. None of them spoke as they strapped their weapons back on and prepared to travel.

  “What will we do without the spear?” one of them asked.

  “Finnigrel had an idea about that,” Aikur said with a nod.

  The young warrior smiled and nodded. “In the monastery where I grew up, there was a book that discussed the albino ram. Apparently the animal is worshipped to some degree by the elves here. Every century, it sheds its horns, like a deer might.”

  “But rams don’t shed their horns,” one of the warriors put in.

  “This one does,” Finnigrel said.

  “So we are going to search the forest for shed horns? How would we know where to look?”

  Finnigrel shook his head. “No, the elves here always take the shed horns and put them in their shrine.”

  “So we are to steal it?” another warrior asked.

  Finnigrel nodded.

  Aikur led the group around the elven city. As they passed by the eastern most edge and the moon rose high above the city, Finnigrel peeled off from the group and snuck into the city. Aikur instructed the others to continue onward toward Tirnog and wait for him to catch up with them. Then he donned the cloak of invisibility and followed after Finnigrel to watch over the young warrior.

  The young man crept along the shadows, being careful not to make a sound as he stole his way into the shrine through an open window. He padded softly along the stone floor, scanning the stone walls, the pedestals holding curious artifacts, and the paintings and murals on the ceiling and floor. There were no pews or chairs in the shrine. Only a star shaped pillow in the center, at the feet of a giant marble statue of a tall elf.

  Finnigrel studied the statue and smiled when he saw what the statue was holding in its hands. There, in its open palms, lay the golden horn of the albino ram. Finnigrel grappled with the slick stone, trying to find purchase to climb the structure. Each time he jumped up, he slid back down to the floor. Luckily, he was able to steady each fall so that he barely made any more noise than a heavy footstep. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he grabbed a book from a nearby pedestal and took aim at the horn. The young warrior deftly threw the book so that it struck the statue, and in its rebound knocked the horn out over the floor. He caught the horn, but the book crashed to the floor, creating a dull echo in the shrine.

  “Is someone in there?” a voice asked from without.

  Finnigrel sprinted for the window and leapt out. As he hit the ground outside, he could hear the heavy brass door opening inside. He didn’t wait to see if they noticed what he had done. He sprinted for all he was worth to reach his comrades.

  A few seconds after he entered the forest, he heard a great bugle blast, and he knew that his theft had been discovered. Into the forest he dashed, zig-zagging through the trees and prayin
g that he would be faster than his pursuers. Soon he could hear shouts and whistles behind him, and he knew he was still a long way off from the group.

  Suddenly a nimble elf dropped from a tree above and drew his bow back, aiming a deadly arrow at Finnigrel’s throat. “Stop or die, thief!”

  Finnigrel stopped, sliding on the forest floor a couple of inches. “I need it,” he pleaded. “We can return it, just let us borrow it.”

  “That horn provides our town with protection,” the elf replied. “On your knees.”

  Suddenly, the elf’s bow snapped in the middle and the arms of the bow flew back, one smashing into the elf’s torso, and the other shattering his nose and dropping him back to the ground. An instant after the elf fell to the ground, his head suddenly jerked to the side roughly and then he exhaled.

  “Stay still,” Aikur commanded as he removed the cloak just enough to show his face to Finnigrel. Aikur then pulled the unconscious elf into the bushes and covered him as best he could.

  “You kicked him?” Finnigrel said.

  “I broke his bow too,” Aikur replied.

  “Where are the others?” Finnigrel asked.

  Aikur rushed forward and used the cloak to cover them both. “They have moved on toward Tirnog. Remain quiet now.”

  A few moments later a pair of elves came near, scanning the area with bow and scimitar at the ready. Aikur used his hands to guide Finnigrel and the two of them silently escaped without detection. They used the cloak all the way to Tirnog, for fear of being discovered by the other elves, and were all too happy to see their comrades waiting for them with the King of Tirnog at the gates of the city.

  Chapter 13

  Aikur removed the cloak and walked openly to the elf king. “No need to hide here,” Aikur said. “The elves of Tirnog are strong allies to the king.”

  Finnigrel nodded.

  “The city of Tirnog welcomes its guests, and extends the warmest of wishes. May you have long life, and plentiful peace,” the king greeted with open arms.

  “May peace also find its way to your door, and never leave,” Aikur replied with a nod of his head.

  “It has been long since Tirnog has welcomed a Konnon within its walls,” the king said. “Your men have told me of your quest, and I must say that I have no ship available to sell.”

  Aikur’s countenance fell and his shoulders slumped. “Not even a boat?” he asked.

  The king stepped forward and smiled as he put a hand on Aikur’s shoulder. “Your men told me everything about your quest. I have no ship I would sell, for that would be robbing a man who has already lost so much. Instead, I offer my ship to you, free of charge. My personal guard will see you to the shores of Mat’Jhar, and they will wait for your return. Should you succeed, they will sail with you to Belknap as well, so your journey may be swift.”

  Aikur fell to his knees. “You have my gratitude, and anything you would ask of me is yours in return.”

  “Leave the horn with my men upon the ship when you disembark for Belknap,” the king suggested. “Its blessing will help protect us from evil spirits that lurk in the night.”

  “Agreed,” Aikur promised.

  The king snapped his fingers and another elf appeared, holding a splendid shaft. “Give him the horn, and he will fashion the spear you need.” Aikur did so and the group went into Tirnog. They feasted, and prepared for the sea voyage, and then slept.

  The next morning, they set out for Mat’Jhar. The elves masterfully navigated the winds and waves while Aikur and the warriors rested their legs and enjoyed the salty sea air. Some of the men played stretch, a knife throwing game where each contestant had to stretch to reach the opponent’s knife with their foot once it was thrown without falling over. Most of the others sat upon crates or benches and simply watched the waves roll by.

  Finnigrel soon found Aikur sitting at a small table, again reading the transcription. “Does it change each time you read it?” the young warrior asked.

  Aikur smiled. “No, but I like to make sure I don’t forget anything vital.”

  “Do you know what Mat’Jhar is like?”

  The Konnon shook his head. “Only what I heard in tales and legends.”

  “They say the fire pits stretch across the southern half of the island, and that no plants can grow anywhere on the surface. It is rumored that fire demons roam there too, so I’ve heard.”

  “I suppose we shall soon find out for ourselves.”

  “Are you afraid to face the Bloodguard?” Finnigrel asked.

  Aikur shook his head. “Without my family I am already dead,” he replied. “There is nothing that the orcish spirit servants of Hatmul can do to me.” Aikur patted the spear next to him and smiled. “Besides, I have the spear, thanks to you.”

  “You will earn much glory,” Finnigrel said, ignoring the comment about the spear. “No one has ever willingly challenged the Bloodguard before. Only the most valiant orcish warriors can become members of the Bloodguard,” Finnigrel said. “I can’t imagine what you are going to see down there.”

  “Well, I will be relying on stealth more than this spear, truth be told. I don’t want to sound any kind of alarm.”

  “I would go in with you,” Finnigrel offered.

  Aikur shook his head. “While I appreciate the gesture, I cannot allow it. This is for me to do alone.”

  Finnigrel’s smile faded and he offered a simple nod before looking out to the waters. “There are dolphins out there,” he noted. “I hear that is a good omen.” Finnigrel then went back to join the others playing stretch, pushing one of the players over onto his face and starting a minor scuffle. Aikur laughed to himself and then turned his attention back to the transcription. He studied it several times a day for the rest of the sea voyage.

  The elves augmented the weather with a bit of their own magic bringing the group of heroes to Mat’Jhar within a week’s time. They rounded the southern edge of the island and set anchor down while Aikur went ashore. While upon the ship, two of the elves had fashioned a visor from the leviathan’s scale and fastened it to a helmet. They took care to ensure a proper fit for Aikur to wear the helmet. He looked quite peculiar as he reached the beach of the fire pits. His helmet resembled a bubble more than a piece of armor. The ram’s horn spear glowed magnificently in the sunlight, but its tip was curled, instead of straight, and the cloak flapped in the breeze half covering Aikur in invisibility and creating the illusion that his legs and back were missing.

  However strange he appeared, the landscape of southern Mat’Jhar was equally as extraordinary. A thick, silvery mist floated just above the red dirt and stone, splitting apart as geysers or vents would spew steam or fire into the air. Jagged, black rocks stuck out from the ground like broken spears that a giant might have pushed up from underground. As Finnigrel had said, there were no plants of any kind. There wasn’t much of anything, actually, just smoke, mist, steam, fire, rock, and dirt.

  On into the red lands of mist he went, holding his spear at the ready and closing the cloak around him to hide within its protection. He spied a pair of ghosts upon the surface of the fire pits. Each held a wickedly curved sword and appeared to be the spirit of an orc, for they had orcish forms, and they spoke in a strange tongue that he could not recognize.

  Aikur crept up to them, not sure how well the cloak would work against ghosts, but when the spirits started floating his way without any sign of seeing him, Aikur walked upright and approached them quickly. It was time to test the spear.

  He thrust out into one, expecting to feel nothing at all, but instead feeling resistance similar to striking a real body. However, instead of blood, light leaked from the ghost, and then the form faded. The second ghost wheeled around with its sword, but couldn’t see Aikur to defend himself. Aikur swung his spear back to catch the second ghost across the neck, and it too vanished as had the first.

  A smile crossed Aikur’s face as he realized the plan had more merit than he had heretofore dared hope. He jogged to find t
he fire pit spoken of in the parchment. He studied the rock formations, looking for anything that might resemble a snake, as the parchment had noted that the rear entrance to Hammenfein lay deep within the smoking pit below the rock shaped like a viper. Once he finally discovered it, he jumped down into the smoldering chute, sliding down into the bowels of Terramyr.

  The heat became exponentially more intense. Beads of sweat quickly turned into rivulets that streaked down across Aikur’s face and dripped from his chin. At the bottom of the chute, fire spurted out from holes in the wall. One almost caught Aikur in the face, but he managed to duck under the burst without harm.

  A trio of Bloodguards crossed the opening of the tunnel in front of him, talking amongst themselves and laughing as they took turns yanking on chains that were dragging a couple of condemned souls. Aikur thought to attack them and release the damned souls, but then changed his mind, preferring to keep his presence as unnoticeable as possible.

  After the group passed out of sight down a side tunnel he crept along the cave to his left, careful to flatten himself against the wall whenever a Bloodguard or ghost came near. He walked for hours in the labyrinth, memorizing each turn as he went deeper into the hellish realm. Finally, he came out of the tunnels and saw a magnificent city before him. Black granite mixed with pink tufa forming a beautiful, yet horrific fortress before him. It looked as though the binding cement was made from red pumice, which shined like blood holding the stones together. The walls rose up about forty feet to just touch the roof of the chamber. A host of Bloodguards patrolled along the battlements, shouting and yelling things that the Konnon warrior could not understand.

  Aikur moved in close to the giant, obsidian gates. Arcane symbols and runes that he did not recognize were carved in the archway over the gate, and glowed red like molten lava. He could hear shouting and wailing. Occasionally he heard the sound of cracking whips and horrid screams. He tried to put the sounds out of his mind and moved in to stand off to the side of the gates, waiting for the portals to open.