Yet Nerr didn’t notice as a shadow overtook him, compelling the dragon to look back only to see a mountain of a man standing before him. Trembling in both shock and fright, Nerr hesitantly asked, “Wh-who are you?”
“Beastly,” Voros simply answered. “Like yourself. Lythre sees us both in the same light, yet her blessing only touches those who affiliate with men. Therefore, I will make but one inquiry,” he said as he stepped forward, closer to the dragon even as the winds pulled at his back, tearing the land away from the northwest. “Who is your master?”
“M-master?” Nerr frighteningly questioned as he stumbled across the ground, unable to control himself as he looked back to see Venneith on his knees as one familiar person came to the knight’s aid.
“Venneith! Venneith, Are You Alright?” Joshein said as he knelt down, taking the knight by the shoulders, attempting to lift him to his feet.
“Get…out of here,” Venneith whispered, hardly able to speak. “Tell your c-commander that Meil Kuskurroff is a-a traitor and Gyr worshipper.”
“With all due respect, you can tell him yourself,” Joshein rejected as he continued to assist the knight, only to find that Venneith, in his all glorious darkened armor, was far too heavy to lift on his own.
“Get Out of Here!” Venneith yelled. He had just enough strength to lash out, pushing Joshein away. “Just deliver the message, there is nothing you can do here.”
It was a hard thing to admit for the stubborn infantryman but as much as Joshein would have wanted to deny it, he and Maven, in this very moment, with their strength combined, could do nothing against Meil, the Man-Giant that stood before him.
“Fine!” he murmured as he turned away to retreat to the pass where he commanded Maven and Trent to stay.
“J-Joshein, what about Venneith?” Maven asked.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he answered as he took hold of Maven’s arm, pushing both the Narrovinnian and falconer forward through the pass. “He made his final decision, now come on!”
Maven didn’t object, yet it wasn’t as if he had many alternatives to ponder over as Joshein dragged him by the wrist, leading him through with both Trent and the Narrovinnian running along with him. It was strange, Maven found. Not more than a day ago he was on guard duty over a shanty training fort as he took in the sunlight in the company of his friend. Everything was much simpler and kinder, even way back to when he first glimpsed the horror of war, because even when things were at their worst Joshein was there to always pull him through and guide him back to wherever was safe.
Yet as the infantryman looked back from the carved mountain pass to the rage of the storm, seeing the knight crawl forward, utterly powerless and helpless to defend himself, Maven could only wonder if that knight, that Ashen Armored Knight, had once a need for another to pull him through the storm and guide him to the place he knew to be safe. Was it a friend like Joshein, was it a master like Trent and his gyrfalcon? Or was it a protector like Venneith himself?
Looking to the pass and over those who retreated, Voros allowed a sigh to escape his lips before saying, “I have need of only one messenger, and I intend that to be the knight himself.” With two followers at his side, one donning blades on either hip while the other had nothing but a robe, Voros pointed with his hand and commanded the two, saying, “Kill them all.”
Chapter sixteen
As the winds howled and the rain poured out of the sky onto the land, did a band of four burst from the foliage before taking to the south on the path set before them.
“I told you to hold onto her, Hold Fast!” Joshein scolded as they retreated as fast as they could.
“I’m sorry,” Maven pleaded. “She lost control and escaped my grip!”
However, Joshein wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Instead he shook his head saying, “It shouldn’t matter. I was right, Maven, we should have gone back, this was a fool’s errand.” He glanced over his shoulder, remembering the two that had begun to pursue them, and he quickly began devising a plan, one which Maven soon understood and agreed upon as they both took measures to stage their very own ambush.
In the distance Amyth looked to see Benphal waiting for him with eagerness as he shivered in the rain and patted at the ground. “Trent!” Amyth called to the falconer as he quickly took Benphal by the reins, cutting the stag from the horse’s back before swiftly mounting him. “Hop on, I’ll get you and Varrult home safely.”
Wasting no time in arguing, Trent took Amyth’s hand to be pulled up alongside him. Varrult was safely within his arms, yet unable to rest easy over what had transpired due to his intervention. “I’m a murderer,” he whispered in his all too insidious tone of voice, recalling the moment before Astregra intervened, sacrificing herself for her master.
“Stubborn mare,” he had called to her as the infantrymen guided them down the mountainside and into the valley. “I said we would speak later, I hear we have the time. Why is it you fear and fall to distrust even in the grace of your master? For as long as I can remember my boy Trent has always been there for me, to guide me and direct my wrath upon those in need of an end. I never feared. Not in the days I would become lost, for he would always find me, calling my name. I never feared! Not in the days when I battled a creature too great for my own good, for he would intervene and bear the scratches and bites for me. I Never Feared! Not today, even when I became poisoned and unable to fly, even when I became overwhelmed by the creature of the earth, because I knew my end was not near. I never feared, for I remembered my god-given vision from Lythre herself, and I knew my death was to come as I flew over a field of decay, with corpses of men and beasts scattered amongst the vast land in a battle fought between scale and bone. I never turned from my master, not once. Here I shall now ask once more, why have you fallen to distrust your master? What within your mind rents you into such a mentality? Tell me so that I may know and come to understand this strange phenomenon.”
“Its death, my friend,” she had answered. “It’s death itself I fear. I can’t take solace in my god-given vision for I have long since forgotten it myself. Faded from memory. I know the last thing I saw was death in the flesh. Yet it’s death I see, often and everywhere in the company of my knight. Constantly following, looking to those Venneith gazes upon, and oh how weary he appears and how faded my memory has become. I can’t remember, yet I speculate it to be near. Even now, death lingers, yet where he looks…it’s not upon that which my knight sees but in many directions at once, and lately… often he gazes at me.”
“I’m a murderer, cold-blooded and cruel,” Varrult whispered as Benphal sped down the pathway in retreat, leaving the infantrymen to take to foot in their retreat. “Yet if that is the case,” he whispered as the final moments of Astregra came to an end at with a mighty, thunderous flash, “why is it that I feel so… guilty?”
It was he that gave her the encouragement, it was he who told her to trust in her master and now it was he who had compelled her to run after her knight and die a moment later. Nerr was strapped to her side, his little protégé, a friend, and now he too was gone. It was a double homicide, and none other was to blame but himself as his master retreated with the follower.
Bursting through the entrance to the pass, Alban and Denjin took the hidden path leading to the road. Upon reaching it they looked south to faintly see two men in retreat through the mist and the rain, whereupon they fell into fast pursuit. “Taff, I hadn’t known they had a horse,” Alban stated as they only fell further behind.
“Shall I speed ahead, Alban?” Denjin asked, bringing his hands together to meditate and focus upon gathering energy, that would accumulate in his legs, before he was given an answer.
“Stop them and I’ll be speedily there.”
There wasn’t a moment to answer before Denjin seemed to vanish from his side in a flash of light as he raced forward in a burst of speed unmatched by any naturally capable beast. He closed the distance in an instant, passing the horse-mounted duo far too fast t
o attack reliably before coming to a halt upon the stretch of road surrounded on both sides by steep, rocky hills. Standing before his enemies he unleashed a focused gale of wind, knocking both the riders from the horse, leaving it to continue on past him unharmed.
It seemed his efforts to stall them were a success. However, the effects of such a fast advance began to make themselves known. His legs began to seize up, causing him to scream in agony, preventing him from moving from the very spot on which he stood. Temporary paralysis in the area where large amounts of light magic was discharged was a major side-effect of such a vigorous and aggressive action. He lacked the knowledge and experience to do it safely with minimal drawbacks, and as such his incompetence had resulted in this particularly severe consequence.
Although he couldn’t move and experienced immense agony, Denjin was confident. He didn’t have to move from this spot, for it was the very spot he would prevent the two riders from passing. Such a dire moment harkened back to a memory Denjin had when Voros once told him a story.
“Friend,” Voros had begun. “This goes back to many, many years ago when I served beneath the banner of Myndre. There will come a time when the winds, fire, earth and water beat hard and vigorously against your soul, so much so that you feel you can withstand no more. Yet you will reflect upon that for which you fight and take a stand over the mightiest of mountains, to the war-torn, desolate ruins and say, ‘I Will Be Unmoved!’ Thereupon what you seek to protect is defended and you find that beaten soul to be reinvigorated, egear to endure the woes of the world tenfold. ’Tis called loyalty, ’tis what Zeuth highly favors.”
“I, Denjin Falk, Will Be Unmoved!” Denjin now announced mightily as he bit through the pain within his legs. No longer did he doubt, for he had trained under Voros for this. He had abilities that could offset such a crippling disadvantage, and with this mentality he looked up to see those whom he faced. The first was a Narrovinnian, the second was a kid, leaving Denjin with but one question to ask himself: ‘where are the infantrymen?’
He looked down the road to see Alban making his way. That was until he paused, having heard something to his immediate left. Before Alban investigated, he drew both swords, one in each hand, ready to attack. He heard a bush rustle by the wayside, but it was neither due to the winds nor the rain. No, it was a disturbance, for if the infantrymen weren’t with the Narrovinnian and boy then surely they lay in wait for a surprise attack.
He would be prepared, ready to intercept and repost any attack with his second blade. He was trained to be a proficient and deadly killer. No blade would graze his skin without him first delivering two lethal blows. He was confident in his ability, prepared for anything and ready to fight when he was suddenly struck in the head by a hard object.
A single cry escaped his mouth as he stumbled forward away from the blow, only to turn and see Joshein with several stones in his hand, grinning. “Oh, that first one was supposed to hit you, but I guess it worked as a diversion.” He threw another one, fast and swift. It would have struck Alban in the face once more if he hadn’t ducked. “Look at this wag; no helmet, no shield and hardly armored at all. However, your blades are indeed something to be admired, that’s all I’ll give,” he mocked as he gazed down at the dual blades in Alban’s hands. It was almost laughable, the nerve this guy had! “What? You think you’ll repost me?”
He threw another stone, aimed directly for Alban’s head only for him to notice how unusually fast they flew given the minimal effort Joshein was giving each throw. He must’ve been accelerating the rocks using Keuth. However, now it was clear to Alban that the only reason this man hadn’t engaged in sword-armed combat was because he was trying to incapacitate him with mere stones. One hit was nearly enough to knock him out. In fact he already bled from the point of impact; another hit would put him at an even worse disadvantage to the point where he surely would be killed.
The infantryman, however, seemed all too content with this standoff, his confidence seemingly irradiating from the very grin upon his face. It nearly irritated Alban, yet he kept calm for rage only brings mistakes and misjudgment. Perhaps that’s exactly what the infantryman intended the grin to bring, Alban wouldn’t yield to his efforts.
“What a tactless approach. Throwing rocks?” Alban asked as he studied this man’s wears, noticing the smallest glimmer of chainmail beneath the collar of his jerkin. His arms where well-padded, yet his shoulders and elbows were thinned, allowing for greater mobility. The same held true for his knees, yet to compensate for this lack of protection, each elbow and knee was reinforced with some metal alloy. His weakest points where the bends in his limbs and his neck, as well as his head, yet still it might’ve been easier simply to plunge a sword through his stomach.
“Would you prefer sharper rocks then?” Joshein asked before clasping each hand together, with his index finger and thumb curled together as the rest of his three fingers formed a peak, the Xull for sharpen. Therein the six stones in his grasp began shedding their surfaces as they took the forms of various missile darts, ranging in size. Such an act was a drain on Joshein’s strength but he persisted. “How about a volley?” he inquired before letting loose with with five projectiles in a wide spread, aimed at the traitor.
Yet Alban had been prepared to take action, for the infantryman’s attack was well-projected. He made a swift move to his left, for the volley was less dense in that direction. However, once his first step hit the muddied path a searing pain shot up his leg, rendering him unable to stand.
“Now, Maven!” Joshein shouted as he dashed forward with sword and shield drawn. Alban had nearly no time to comprehend what had happened before a second infantrymen tackled him to the mud, pinning him completely, with a knife held to his throat.
“H-How!” Alban screamed as he easily became overpowered by his surprise attacker.
As Maven kept the traitor pinned, Joshein knelt down beside the two and said, “Not very often do you see a man with two swords. It can only mean two things. Often, they are incompetent and unskillful; however, a man wielding two swords can actually pose quite a threat. I assumed the latter for it’s only safe to. As such I took action to ensure you wouldn’t get close.”
“But the volley,” Alban protested. “I dodged it.”
“Five,” Joshein murmured before yanking the stone missile dart from Alban’s leg. “The sixth I held onto until the last moment, when you were locked in motion with one foot sure to land in precisely the location I threw it. Not all battles must be fought between the clash of blades, my friend,” he then stated before tapping his temple. “Take that parcel of wisdom to the gates of Paluge. Ensure he gets there, Maven,” he then said with a pat on his back. “We’re done here.”
“I Die For A Cause!” Alban shouted. “It’s Teuse I’ll…”
His voice became cut from the world the moment the blade pierced the soft, vulnerable flesh of his neck.
Picking himself up from the mud as the rain ceaselessly beat upon the two, Trent dazedly asked, “What was that?” The falconer hadn’t much information to draw upon prior to the attack. All he witnessed was a blazing flash of light before he seemingly was forced from the back of Benphal, leaving Varrult strapped within the side bag of the horse. “Varrult!” he suddenly said aloud once the realization struck him.
“Don’t,” Amyth warned as he held out an arm, blocking the falconer’s path.
It was then when Trent noticed the stranger standing before them. A stranger draped in ragged, slightly worn robes that fitted tightly to his body, yet slacked at the ends of his arms and legs. Trent remembered his sister reading something regarding his attire, that it somehow better allowed for the air to flow around his body, yet that was more a belief than an actual fact. If anything, it was customary attire for those especially adept with Heuth.
“Stand away, Trent,” Amyth commanded as he reached for his bow. “I’m unsure as to the extent of his Euth or the magic he may be capable of.” Already he began studying his opp
onent: what he wore, the attack he inflicted, as well as the speed at which he traveled. Given his age he couldn’t possibly have accomplished such a magical feat, unless…“Your legs are paralyzed,” Amyth plainly stated as he drew an arrow. “Aren’t they?”
Heavily panting, Denjin answered, “And what would make you assume such a thing?” Amyth then let loose with his bow, his aim sure as always, before the arrow betrayed his competence and veered away from his target and into the rocky cliff face beside them.
Yet the arrow hadn’t missed due to Amyth’s incompetence, it was due more to the defensive capabilities of his opponent. It was the wind he had manipulated, causing the arrow to strike away from him and land elsewhere alongside the path. It was clear to Amyth that the arrow had been directly influenced by some foreign force that redirected it through means of focused wind force, and looking to the hand sign Denjin utilized seemed to confirm his theory.
‘So he could influence a simple hunting arrow,’ Amyth mentally stated as he reached for his blade. ‘Yet how does he fare against me?’ He dashed forward, ahead of Trent with his blade grasped in both hands, hung over his shoulder, ready to bat down upon his foe. He intended to strike the area where his opponent’s shoulder met with his neck to deliver a devastating, deadly blow.
Yet before Amyth could come within striking distance, Denjin had let loose with a powerful windblast, knocking Amyth back quite a considerable distance. Amyth persisted, having come out unharmed, and once again was blown back. “Again!” he yelled and again he was blown away. “Once more!” he shouted before rushing, yet again only to yield the same results.
Denjin was panting as he intertwined his fingers again, creating the hand sign which hardened Euth attacks, turning Hueth into quite the blunt force, capable of returning the Narrovinnian back to his starting position time and time again. He knew he couldn’t keep this up for forever, but forever was far longer than he needed, for it was mere minutes which he desired to outlast his opponent.
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