“My prince,” interrupted Cefiz sternly, “you have been a friend and a leader for many years. I obeyed your commands and recently turned from folly upon your suggestion, but this time you must listen to me. This is not your destiny. The task at hand lies before Granu son of Grannak. No more will be said on the subject.”
Manfir stared hard into the unflinching eyes of the lieutenant and witnessed a similar resolve there. Something occurred to these men during their absence. Manfir could not guess at what it was, but he was sure powerful forces were at work. Finally, the prince bowed before the Keltaran.
“May Avra guide your hand,” said Manfir to the black robed giant. “We will outfit you with what armor we can and provide you with weapons.”
“Armor will do little good,” shrugged Granu. “If Fenrel strikes a solid blow he will cleave any armor forged in Zodra or my mountain home. As for weapons, I carry my staff, and my second carries what little else I need.”
Cefiz smiled and nodded, acknowledging the role Granu bequeathed him. Manfir noted an oaken handle protruding from a bedroll on Cefiz’s back. The Zodrian prince nodded then held a hand out to the giant. Granu firmly grasped it.
“Fare you well, Granu Stormbreaker, heir to the Granite throne,” said Manfir.
Granu smiled and nodded again to Manfir then spun and limped toward the battlefield leaning heavily upon his staff. Cefiz followed closely behind and the Guard parted to let the men through.
“Fenrel, I am here to accept the Invitation of Hadraig in the name of the Zodrian kingdom,” boomed Granu.
The eyes of Fenrel bore into his brother.
“More lies and trickery out of the Zodrians,” called Fenrel to both his brother and his own army. “This witless fool is so enamored with their wiles that he doesn’t see how he plays into their greatest hopes.
“Look how deeply your delusions of peace carry you into the trap of your enemy, my brother. The Abbot of the monastery of Awoi, a man of peace and principle, now intends to battle to the death against his own brother in the name of peace. How ridiculous you are? A cripple, a jester sent on a fool’s mission at the request of his own enemy.”
Fenrel spun toward the Anvil laughing.
“Take heed, men of Keltar. So is the natural order of this world. The yipping dogs of Zodra cannot find a champion more suitable to face me than the hobbled outcast of our own kingdom. Our worst is their best!”
Many of the Ramsskull roared and laughed in approval. The main body of the Anvil remained silent. Fenrel’s eyes narrowed in anger and he spun back to Granu.
“I was to face the Zodrian prince,” snapped Fenrel, “but as in all things the Zodrians deceive. No matter. I will dispose of Prince Manfir on the Anvil’s first charge through his ranks.”
Granu remained silent, leaning on his staff.
“Still the great man of peace I see,” scoffed Fenrel. “You bring a crutch as your only weapon.”
Fenrel strode toward the weapon’s rack maintained by his second and lifted a huge wooden war hammer. The hammerhead was the width of a man’s head and was bound in iron. Its handle nearly matched the length of Granu’s staff.
“My weapons are not so simple,” said the giant, “but I will show honor by matching wood with wood. I have no need to dirty my steel with your blood.”
Fenrel spun the hammer in his hand and immediately charged forward on Granu’s position. The older brother tensed and drew the staff up across his body with one hand while the other motioned Cefiz back. The Zodrian lieutenant complied and cleared the battlefield.
Fenrel moved quickly for such a big man. He spun the hammer deftly in his thick hands as he searched for an opening in Granu’s defenses. When he approached to within a yard from Granu, the hammerhead flipped and crashed toward the abbot. Granu’s staff shot upward and met the hammer just beneath the head.
Granu danced from beneath the heavy mallet as it rode the length of his staff toward the ground. The abbot needed all of his concentration. The hammerhead met the ground with a loud thud and instantly Fenrel whipped the long handle in a sweep.
Granu tried to dodge backward to escape the move, but his injured leg reacted too slowly and the hammer’s handle caught him squarely on the right shoulder. The giant tumbled backward. The Ramsskull erupted in a roar of approval. Fenrel ripped the hammer upward and stalked toward his prone brother. The weapon plunged downward again, but Granu was already moving. He rolled further to his right and sprung to his feet, favoring his left leg as he raised his staff.
Again the hammerhead slammed into the ground. Fenrel cursed and hefted its heavy head. The Ramsskull commander glanced at his brother’s stance and read the difficulty Granu encountered there. Fenrel rushed forward jabbing the hammer at Granu’s torso. The abbot parried the thrust forcing the hammer’s head further to the right with his outstretched arms.
Granu was off balance and stretched open as his long arms and staff applied pressure to the hammer’s head. Fenrel saw the opening he desired. The mallet head dropped and all the pressure Granu held upon it launched the abbot stumbling to his right as the support was taken away. Quickly, the younger brother used the handle as a weapon once more. The thick oaken handle snapped forward. Fenrel roared in triumph as he saw his brother’s ribcage wide open for punishment.
Fenrel missed something. Granu staggered right. The abbot’s foot landed squarely upon the hammer’s shaft just above its head. Granu’s weight was too much for Fenrel to hold. The handle, intended for the abbot’s ribs, halted in mid swing. Granu stumbled further. His staff flailed behind him blindly as he tried to make a desperate assault on his attacker. Luck prevailed and the staff met Fenrel’s forearms just above his gauntlets. The force was not great, but the blow combined with Granu’s weight upon the handle popped the weapon from Fenrel’s hands.
Granu caught himself and turned as Fenrel lunged toward the hammer. The abbot jumped forward and stabbed his staff beneath the hammerhead. Granu ripped up on the hammer just as Fenrel’s hand plunged forward to grasp it. The force sent the huge weapon spinning through the air and landing two-dozen yards past Cefiz’s position.
Fenrel’s eyes widened and he froze in a crouch. Granu was not close enough for an attack. However, Fenrel was without a weapon. Granu stared at his brother calmly. Fenrel’s eyes darted toward his second who stood gaping at his master’s situation.
“You have been disarmed, Fenrel,” stated Granu, “but I am not as dishonorable as you would have our people believe. I offer you alternatives.”
“What alternatives?” scoffed Fenrel.
“I do not pretend to think the Anvil would follow me at this time,” said Granu. “I have been in the camp of our enemy. Doubts would linger. However, all here know my uncle and his faith and service. Step down Fenrel. Step down and turn control of the Anvil over to Olith.”
Fenrel’s eyes narrowed.
“You offered ‘alternatives’.” said Fenrel. “What are the others?”
“Only this,” said Granu grimly. “You may rearm yourself and we will finish this. However, this offer will be made only once. If you are disarmed again I will do what I must.”
Fenrel relaxed and stood tall. He smirked toward his older brother then slowly backed toward his second.
“You act as if you show me pity by allowing me to rearm.”
“I do only as the rules of challenge instruct. I allow you to rearm because it is honorable. I have no pity for you, Fenrel.”
Fenrel grimaced then spat on the ground as he reached for a large pike propped against the weapons stand. The weapon’s head was equipped with a wicked, barbed point. Its three sides ridged with serrated edging.
“It is I who demonstrated too much pity here today,” snarled Fenrel.
The giant hefted the pike in his hand.
“My pity is my undoing, brother. I met wood with wood in an attempt to keep our proceedings fair. I forget your treason and lies,” boomed Fenrel loud enough for his army to hear. “Traitors should r
eceive no compassion. Not even from one so just as myself. Let us see how a man of peace and his staff of wood deals with a warrior and his steel!”
Fenrel raced forward with the pike head extended. Again the giant’s quickness was surprising for his great size. Granu reacted, slapping the steel away with a flick of his staff. Fenrel allowed the head to be diverted and spun the handle beneath Granu’s defense. The solid oak shaft of the pike slammed into the priest’s lame leg with a loud crunch.
Granu nearly fell but caught himself. His teeth clenched in agony and he scrambled away from his brother. Fenrel heaved from his exertion and smiled.
“That weak leg of yours appears not to have healed properly,” hissed Fenrel. “You should have been more careful. A man’s body is his temple.”
Granu did not reply, but instead readied himself. Fenrel attacked again with a feint of the pike head. Granu’s staff whistled through the air, missing the pike as Fenrel drew it back and sent the head low. Granu tried to hop from its path but it found the injured leg. His black robes tore as the razor edging slashed into his shin. Crimson blood flowed from an open wound and the abbot clamored to put distance between himself and his attacker.
Fenrel edged forward smiling.
“Your weakness will be your downfall, monk,” whispered Fenrel. “All those months ago, I created my advantage on this battlefield when I crippled you. That hammer blow in front of the palace was the first of many death strokes I will rain upon you.”
Fenrel continued his advance. Again the barbed tip shot toward Granu’s chest only to be snatched away as the handle rounded and hammered the exposed left leg of the giant. Granu was unable to counter the maneuver. He needed his staff to protect his body but was too slow to keep his leg free from assault. Fenrel repeatedly punished the leg.
Fenrel lunged once more, but this time Granu anticipated too greatly and took his attention from the pike head. Hooked barbs locked on the priest’s staff and forced it to the ground. Fenrel lurched forward and an iron-shod boot slammed down upon the thick staff of wood, shattering it in two.
Granu stumbled forward as the staff was forced down. He released it and leapt backward as the pike handle split the air where his head had been. Fenrel roared in triumph as Granu backed away weaponless.
“You are mine now, brother,” barked Fenrel.
Granu went rigid and calmly stared at Fenrel as the sweating, wild-eyed beast advanced. Granu edged toward Cefiz, but Fenrel quickly interspersed himself between the monk and his second.
“Oh, no,” laughed Fenrel. “I make no such allowances. I’m not as big a fool as you!”
Cefiz removed the bundle from his back and moved toward Granu. Fenrel turned and aimed the pike at the Zodrian. Shouts of protest arose from the Guard and a few from the Anvil as well. The Ramsskull turned on their troops and tried to shout them down, but the din grew. Fenrel’s lips curled in disgust as he eyed his army. He still needed their allegiance.
“Arm yourself so I may finish this,” snapped the younger brother.
Granu remained frozen. Fenrel grumbled and stepped away from Cefiz’s position. The abbot struggled forward, blood coating his exposed shin. Black swelling bulged about the knee and ankle. Cefiz moved to him and held out the bundle. Granu smiled to his friend and took the protruding handle firmly in his right hand. With his left hand he unfolded the cloth encasing the ax. Granu slowly lifted it on high and stared at the simple blade, its head glistening red with the blood of Amird.
“What is this?” scoffed Fenrel. “You mock me. Do you bring a common woodsman’s ax against a Keltaran warrior? What have you been doing with it, slaughtering the Zodrian’s pigs for them?”
The Ramsskull delighted in the slight and laughed in approval. Granu’s expression betrayed nothing. He looked past Fenrel to the Anvil. He held the ax aloft.
“Behold, descendants of Awoi. I hold the ax of Gretcha the Beautiful, still fresh with the eternal blood of the Deceiver,” shouted Granu to the Keltaran. “With this simple tool she banished Amird from the world.”
Animated discussion broke out on both sides of the battlefield. Even the Ramsskull stared at the hobbled priest in awe and dismay.
“Now one of her sons aids in bringing the evil one back amongst us. Take heed to what scheme you are a party. Avra’s forgiveness is infinite but his punishment is eternal. Repent now from your folly for this will be your only chance.”
Granu turned and in a low voice spoke only to his brother.
“You have only one chance to ask for his mercy, my brother,” said Granu. “I give you this last opportunity to amend what wrongs you have committed in your fruitless struggle for power.”
The Anvil crowded past their Ramsskull commanders, drawn by the sight of the ax. The commanders glanced at one another in uncertainty then shoved back at their soldiers.
“Fenrel is your master, fools. Back in line!”
“More trickery from the Zodrians.”
“Do not be fooled by the false heir. Fenrel is your master.”
The Ramsskull picked up the chant.
“Fenrel! Fenrel!”
It sounded weak and hollow emitting from so few voices in such a massive space. However, Fenrel took power from the chant. He straightened his massive frame and moved forward. His witless second raised his hands in exhortation of the chants. The Ramsskull roared and beat their weapons on their shields.
“The conquerer asks not for mercy, only the conquered whimpers in shame,” barked Fenrel.
Immediately the younger giant raced forward, pike extended. Granu blocked the thrust with the head of Gretcha’s ax. The sounds of clashing iron echoed off the Bear’s Knuckles.
Fenrel commenced a series of rapid blows using both the handle and point of the pike. Granu spun and flicked the ax first left then right, deflecting every stroke. Fenrel cursed then lunged with the long handled pike. Its length afforded him a distinct advantage and Granu was forced on the defensive.
The pike’s hooked barb latched onto the ax head several times. Each time the pike locked into place, Fenrel yanked on the weapon with a tremendous amount of force. He twisted and ripped at Granu’s weapon, but the abbot felt infused with the power of his ancestors and refused to yield the ax.
Fenrel heaved in frustration and exhaustion. Granu edged to his left, leaving his injured leg behind him and protected. Sweat poured from both men as the battle progressed.
“Your resolve leaves you, brother,” stated Granu. “A house built on sand cannot stand, just as a faith built on lies will never sustain a man in time of need. Look to your heart and see the folly of your trust. The Deceiver turns us all against our own best interests.”
Fenrel whipped the pike across Granu’s torso, but the priest easily dodged the tired attack.
“Amird weaves a tale of power and knowledge, but at its center it is pure treachery,” continued Granu. “Let us end this and return home to the king as allies.”
Slowly Fenrel’s wicked snarl softened and he backed away from Granu toward his second. Granu relaxed as well, but eyed his brother cautiously. Fenrel extended the pike toward his Ramsskull guard as he directed a broad smile toward Granu. He removed his helm and let it fall. He slowly unhooked the cape draped over his shoulders and tossed it to the ground.
“There is no need to return to Keltar to see the king,” smirked Fenrel as he stripped the golden breastplate and black under garments from his body. “You stand before the king now, and he is anything but your ally, Abbot of Awoi!”
Fenrel stood before Granu naked from the waist up. His long, flaming red hair cascaded over his thick, massive frame. Granu’s jaw went rigid as he beheld his brother’s body.
“Now I will force their hand,” growled Fenrel in a low voice to his brother. “Now is the time for this charade to end. They will follow me or not, but they must make a decision. I will hide my allegiances no longer. Your death will be the catalyst for change in Keltar. We will abandon foolish notions of peace and brotherhood and
embrace power.”
Chaotic symbols and messages of obedience were tattooed and burned into the flesh of the huge man. Granu was taken aback by the character of his brother’s body. Fenrel had always possessed an unusually large physique, but this beast before Granu was unlike any man the priest had ever beheld. Corded muscles bulged beneath scars and symbols.
“The Lord of Chaos infuses me with power. He feeds my body with his strength,” sneered Fenrel. “Since I fully embraced my lord, I find little use for sleep or rest. I worked tirelessly honing this body into a weapon. A weapon I prayed to Amird would see this day come. I am crafted to destroy you, Granu, and you possess no hope. If we were ever equals once, we are no longer.”
“What says the true king of these allegiances? I would be interested on his thoughts concerning your new master?” questioned Granu in a low, controlled voice.
Fenrel laughed and spun to his troops.
“His mind is still clouded by the visions of morality his god imbedded there. He asks for his king!”
Anvil regulars and Ramsskull alike stood gaping at the creature before them. Fenrel turned back to his brother as he retrieved a huge double-headed ax from his second.
“I am the king, you ignorant fool,” growled the beast. “The old simpleton you called our father rots in the grave.”
Fenrel lunged forward at Granu. The monk ducked to his left and drove the double bladed ax from his head. Fenrel laughed and squared his position to Granu. His revelation made him giddy and filled him with power. The beast slowly circled left.
“He asked about you near the end,” said Fenrel as delight danced in his eyes. “He wished to know how both of his children could abandon him so!”
The double-headed ax cut through the air at the head of Granu. The abbot raised the ax of Gretcha and met the blow. He threw all of his weight into the weapon to prevent himself from being knocked over. Granu’s knee buckled under the pressure and in an instant the iron boot of Fenrel hammered into it. Granu screamed out in agony.
The monk tumbled toward the ground but recovered, rolling free of a ferocious down stroke by Fenrel. Granu scrambled to his feet and brought the handle of his ax around into the face of his brother with a sharp crack. Fenrel reeled backwards and brought his hand to his face. An inhuman roar issued from the beast. Blood sprayed between Fenrel’s fingers and down his face and chin.
The Trees And The Night (Book 3) Page 34
