Amyth knew this, which was why he kept persisting over and over, slowly eroding at the defender’s strength in hopes he couldn’t persist in fighting. “You’ll give in!” Amyth shouted as he continued once more. “You grow weary as I speak!”
“Focus!” Denjin now said aloud as he once again formed a focus sign to harden his Euth and blow back the attacker. He needed a contingency plan, something to fall upon if his strength failed him and he grew fatigued. However, he had none outside of waiting for the paralysis effect to wear off so that he could then be mobile. He was here only to stall; where was Alban? He shouldn’t have been taking so long.
As Amyth and Denjin persisted, Trent began to think. He remembered his sister teaching him of the four Euths and how Heuth was wielded through clarity of mind. If this stranger was in a state of clarity, then that must mean what he knows to exist is true. So if he were to turn what Denjin thought to be true and make it false then he would no longer have Heuth to utilize.
“Amyth!” Trent shouted as he fashioned a brilliant plan. Speaking in a more hushed tone he whispered, “He wields Heuth, yeah? So all we need to do is take what he thinks is true and make it false.”
‘What were they speaking of?’ Denjin wondered as he stood there waiting for yet another advancement. He just needed a little more time; he could begin to feel his strength returning to his legs. Just a little longer and he would be able to move, then walk, then run! After that perhaps Alban would return to assist him and they could be done with this task once and for all.
“I see!” Amyth then said once he fully understood. If he was to tear down his opponent’s only means of success, he would need to not only deprive him of his strength, driving him to fatigue, but also his capability to wield such a power in the first place. “Right then,” he murmured as he thought of his first rebuttal sure to tear down Denjin’s sense of clarity. “You Were Born A Yewling Child And Your Mother Was A Harlot!” he shouted as he charged once more.
“That’s not true!” Denjin protested. “My parents were wed and my mother did no such thing!”
“You’re A Traitor to Carthol And Your Parents Are Ashamed,” Amyth then tried before advancing.
“I already know this is true, however I have no guilt” Denjin affirmed before driving Amyth back once again. “Also, leave my parents out of this.”
“Amyth,” Trent said, grabbing his attention once more. “Not things he knows to be true, things he thinks to be true.”
‘Things he thinks to be true,’ Amyth repeated in his head before mulling over common misconceptions. “Aye, I understand.” Once more he charged before shouting, “Cows Have More Than One Stomach!”
“Four, to be precise.”
“There’s An Organ You can Live Without!”
“The appendix.”
“Our World Is The Center of Reality!”
“That’s not true, we live in a heliocentric reality.”
Again and again Amyth would try and fail to break his opponent’s sense of clarity only to be blown back. Already he was running dry on truths known to be proven and lies too obscure to be proven wrong. He couldn’t give up, he had to persist, he wouldn’t fai—
“Let me try this,” Trent murmured as he rested a hand atop Amyth’s shoulder and stepped forward.
“Will you be trying now, boy?” Denjin questioned, knowing that in just a few short moments his legs would be free of the side-effect and he could escape. Already he had withstood objective truths and objective lies. What could this boy possibly say that would shatter a mind so clear and tame that Heuth would turn away? “I’m ready, boy!” he announced. ‘Focus,’ he mentally repeated as he prepared to let loose with another blowback.
“Oh, so you don’t know, then?” Trent brimmed with enthusiasm. “I guess I really do look the part after all.” He clenched his fist and readied himself to sprint.
“What do you mean?” Denjin wouldn’t let his guard down and nothing this boy could say would tear down his sense of clarity. “Spit It Out!”
He dashed forward, drawing back his arm as he shouted, “I’m Not A Boy! I’m Actually A Cross-Dressing Girl!”
“What!?”
In that moment, when objective truth became false and what was a lie became true, did Heuth turn his gaze away. Denjin’s clarity and understanding of reality faltered so much that it shattered in that moment.
‘No, Wait!’ Denjin internally pleaded, but it was too late, for Trent had closed the distance and let loose with the mightiest of punches straight to the traitor’s face, knocking him off his feet and to the ground.
In that moment of triumph Trent stood over his fallen opponent, having felt the sting of victory permeate throughout his knuckles. That was until his wrist fell limp and the pain set in, compelling Trent to scream in pain as he took hold of his arm.
With his bow drawn, Amyth marched up to the two before telling Denjin, “Don’t move.” He then looked to Trent with great doubt as he second-guessed if he might or might not have been a boy. No, no, he was definitely a boy, his voice should’ve been enough to indicate that. Perhaps it was his face. Just handsome enough to border on the feminine side of the spectrum, but now Amyth was distracting himself. “Trent, are you alright?” he asked as he stood above Denjin, who held his face with one hand and passively clawed at the dirt with his other, not in an effort to escape, but more to cope with the pain.
Trent let out an assured little laugh and murmured, “My wrist’s broken.”
Looking down the road, Amyth saw Benphal patiently waiting beneath the canopy of trees beside the road. He was a good horse, never running and never making rash decision. He always kept himself safe and out of the way so that Amyth could carry out any task assigned. A good horse he was, just a good horse.
“You want to go check on Varrult, Trent?”
“And leave you—” he was cut off when the infantrymen arrived.
“We’re here,” Joshein announced before looking down to Denjin, who lay beneath Amyth’s drawn arrow. “Hmm, so your surprise attack failed after all?” he half laughed as he knelt down to him. “And here I nearly took you both seriously.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Denjin asked.
“No, you’re coming with us,” he answered as he stood, before looking to Amyth with regard. “Was it you that captured him?”
“No,” Amyth answered before nodding to Trent. “It was the boy.”
“I knew it!” Denjin scoffed. How could he have been so easily fooled? He was a boy, his voice was that of a boy. Why would he ever doubt that truth? He was ashamed and there was little he could do to worsen his honor.
“Trent, you say?” Joshein questioned as he looked to see Maven giving aid to the boy and his wrist in the form of white magic as he clung to his arm to suppress the agony.
“Now I can’t actually heal it, but I can numb the pain,” Maven explained. “However it still needs to be splinted and wrapped.”
“You don’t splint a wrist, Maven,” Joshein explained.
“Wrapped then?”
“Aye!” He then turned back to Amyth. “Strange how a boy could capture him and not a fully-grown man of Narrovinnia,” he casually murmured just loud enough for Amyth to hear as he undid the tie that bound his undershirt together. “In any case we’ll be taking you back to our hold,” he said, speaking to Denjin as he took hold of both arms to secure and tie him down.
“What about Venneith?” Trent asked as Joshein began leading Denjin down the road at sword point. “Are we to leave him?”
“Aye, by his orders we are to,” he affirmed. “Yet before you argue, ask yourself: would you rather obey the commands of a superior and hold to the honor that comes with it, or risk that honor and die a fool? If Venneith says we should flee, then by Myndre we flee until our legs grow weak and we can flee no more as we offer nothing more then our prayer to him in the hopes that he will overcome the odds set against him.”
Overhead the clouds continued to pour out water
upon the land. Within the valley of the city of stone there was hardly a sign of movement as, beyond the hillside, the winds began to stir and uproot the land with their furiosity. Within the valley crawled a knight with nothing but the armor on his back to weigh him down as his legs refused to obey as he pulled his poleaxe through the dirt. Next to him lay the mare, yet as cruel as it might’ve been, Venneith didn’t crawl towards her for he thought her to be dead and gone the instant she was struck by Zeuth.
Before him stood a man-giant, alone and bleeding, yet nowhere as near death as Venneith. Yet it wasn’t Venneith he looked down upon; likewise was it Voros who Venneith crawled towards. Yet between them lay a creature, petrified, scared and confused as he found himself in the midst of a great battle he had not the knowledge to comprehend. Everything, from the ferocity of the storm to the giant man before him, to the world he had at once gone blind to, compelled the dragon to want nothing more than to be in the care of Venneith, to be safely wrapped within his arms. It had been so long, Nerr almost forgot the warmth he would often give and the fire he would show, yet now Nerr was cold and lost as the Man-Giant looked down upon him, his gaze fixated on the dragon’s and the dragon’s on his so that neither looked away.
“I must apologize,” Voros spoke to Nerr as the dragon stumbled about, unable to find his balance after having been afflicted by Voros’s attack. “I hadn’t meant to strike you with the fury of Zeuth, yet it is his mark for you to bear if you survive these next few precious moments.”
Nerr only shook his head as a vortex peered over the hillside, pulling at the land with its vicious winds, leaving Nerr to brace himself to avoid being swept away by the power of Heuth. Then a voice called him by name, a voice he knew all too well; the voice of Venneith. Looking back, Nerr found his protector crawling weakly. He crawled to the dragon, to Nerr, outstretching his armored hand before collapsing to the ground, too weak to persist.
“Protector!” Nerr called before turning on his tail to run into Venneith’s arms. But the wind pulled at the dragon, impeding his progress, threatening to take him into the sky as the vortex uprooted the landscape, tearing through the valley.
“You have nothing left to protect, Venneith,” Voros said as he stepped forward through the wind, passing little Nerr as he struggled along. “You’ve neglected everything you’ve had and everything you were given.” Venneith didn’t heed his words and instead persisted in reaching the dragon, clawing through the dirt just as Nerr did to take him in his arms and give shelter from the storm. “I remember, Venneith, however obscure the truth might’ve been. Like Nerr you were taken in only after that to which you truly belonged was killed.”
Nerr no longer dared to move, for if he even so much as lifted a claw he would’ve been swept away. Yet as fear took hold of his very being, as destruction loomed to the west, the last Nerr could offer was one final desperate plea to the knight before the winds took hold of his wings, lifting him into the air. The dragon cried out one last time to Venneith, before disappearing into the vortex above.
“You will outlast this storm, Venneith,” Voros said as the earth and stone began to take hold of the knight’s legs, pinning him to the dirt so that the vortex may not sweep him up. “And you will deliver a message. Come the twenty and first year from today, I will return.”
Higher and higher into the heavens Nerr was lifted as he tumbled about, unable to fly or help himself in any way as the vortex took him in. It was deafening, it was dark and it was cold, and the air around Nerr seemed to escape his breath while at the same time drawing him in. He wanted to be free of this nightmare, to go back to the time in which he could explore the world, finding new things to bite, new songs to sing as well as birds to meet or eat. He wanted to discover new places, meet new people. But if little Nerr wanted anything the most, it was the knight Venneith, for he was there since the beginning, the very first thing Nerr discovered even when the only thing he knew was coldness. Venneith provided warmth, he provided safety when Nerr was scared, as well as being the one thing he could always run back to when lost.
The dragon closed his eyes in fright, the heights too high for him to comprehend, the winds too urgent and violent for him to overcome. Yet just as Nerr thought he would be destroyed, a sudden calmness overtook the area. Nerr was hesitant to investigate; he kept his eyes covered by both his wings and forelegs, yet when the calmness persisted did Nerr finally muster the courage to investigate for himself.
Looking about, peering into the daylight, Nerr found himself within the vortex itself as clouds and debris circled about. It was a startling sight for the little dragon indeed, yet something caught his attention for it hovered right before him, glowing and spherical. It was almost entrancing just too look at as it drew Nerr near, compelling the dragon to reach out with his claws and touch it, hold it. It was light and soft and…pretty, almost like the gold he once found, yet his natural instincts told him this…whatever it was…was worth worlds more than meger metal could ever be.
With little thought, Nerr investigated in the most orthodox way he could possibly think of: by eating it and consuming it whole.
For a short moment Nerr didn’t know what to think. He floated high, high up within the clouds. The vortex itself seemed to lessen before calming altogether as the storm parted and the clouds thinned, releasing the last drops they held within before disappearing completely to reveal the sun, the land, and just how incapable Nerr was at flying.
The air no longer held him aloft, the winds no longer able to drag him away, and so the dragon fell, crying out in fear for his life. He had never been so high up before The tips of trees had been the highest from the ground he had been, yet this…this was terrifying and incomprehensible to the dragon as he slipped through the air with wings unable to catch the wind. It was such a harrowing experience that poor little Nerr couldn’t bear it and passed to sleep as he fell to the earth and valley from whence he was taken.
The same valley his protector lay in, alone and abandoned of his own volition. His legs were pinned beneath earth and stone so that the vortex might not take him away, yet now he lay trapped, his energy spent just as much as his will for he had failed in multiple things. He had failed in the task of bringing Voros to his knees as well as failing to keep the safety and security of all who had followed him this entire way. Had they escaped or had those men Voros sent after them put an end to them?
As Venneith sullenly pondered over these questions did a shadow overtake him, compelling the knight to look up. There before him walked a being dressed in a fur pelt. For a moment, the knight didn’t know who this man was, yet when Venneith looked did he understand quite suddenly.
“Vrueth?” Venneith asked as he gazed up to the being, who in turn peered into the sky with a head cloaked in the skull of a stag. He gazed towards something small, something dark that fell with urgency as it rushed to the ground, making no effort to save itself from the fall. As it fell did Venneith see that it was his dragon, Nerr, who had been swept away from him only to fall to Vrueth who waited with open arms. “No,” Venneith muttered weakly with his own arm outstretched. “Don’t touch him! Stay away from Nerr!”
His words were only met with a rather cold glare as Vrueth took notice of the knight that lay before him. Yet, even when he gazed upon Venneith did the god of death then look away before asking, “Can a god not intervene over the plane in which he oversees? After all, Venneith Cornease,” the god of death casually stated before the little dragon fell safely into his arms, “you openly invited me.” With Nerr fast asleep within his arms, Vrueth kindly adjusted the dragon for better comfort. “Look at him,” he then whispered as he cradled little Nerr. “A beautiful little creature he is, Venneith. A creature long etched into the stones of legend. A creature known for its violent, furious nature. Yet, when I gaze, I see none within him. So terrified he passes to sleep with arms outstretched, longing for he who watches over him. He who protects. He’s reliant, Venneith, like a child. So innocent, so frail.”
>
“Have you come to take Nerr away?” Venneith asked as he lay before Vrueth.
“No,” he simply answered.
“But you…you are…”
“The god who appears where death has trekked,” he answered. “So easily misunderstood is my purpose, but to bring death it is not. Death is not an entity, it’s simply a by-product of life. It must exist, yet for what men lack in understanding they apply to gods, only to forget that death is often brought about by the very agency man possesses. I find it liken to how they believe in destiny and the visions of Roughen.”
“Why are you here?” Venneith asked. “Am…am I to die?”
“And what mortal wound has struck you so?” Vrueth asked as faced the knight. “No,” he then answered. “I’ve come to speak with you, Venneith, for over the years I’ve grown rather… disgusted with your actions. Wherever you go I often must hastily follow. Yes, it is my duty, Venneith, but I grow tired. So very tired, for it’s hard to follow he who is lost.” He waved a hand, compelling the earth to part from Venneith’s legs before saying, “Sit with me, Venneith, if you are too weak to stand, for I have much to say.”
With his legs now free the knight began to drag himself forward to re-orientate himself to a simple sitting position as Vrueth carried on. “For many years now you’ve wondered all round Carthol acting as a…a bringer of death and justice, as you’ve put it in your own words. Yet you always fail to see the circumstances of the situation, for how can there be justice without judgment? How can there be judgment without insight or knowledge?” The knight didn’t answer, for he knew Vrueth’s words to be true, however vague they may appear. “You’ve amassed quite a killing beneath your weapon, Venneith; lives that cannot be given back. Were most just? Was every soul you delivered so evil as to be irredeemable?”
“Wh-what are you trying to say?” Venneith asked in a low tone, emanating guilt.
“I’ve spoken to Roughen, Venneith,” Vrueth began. “She revealed many things unto me. Many things concerning you, concerning Carthol, as well as little Nerr here,” he softly gestured with Nerr in his arms. “First and foremost, the second Exphian war draws near to an end, yet neither your beloved Carthol nor Narrovinnia shall be conquered wholly, for a truce will be made in favor of Narrovinnia. Now, while this is unavoidable for the scale exceeds the doing of one man, this is what you shall know and control, if it be by your own agency that is. You will hesitate to kill and administer death only when absolutely necessary. However, be wary in the years to come for as many deaths will now be avoided, Roughen sees one of two you shall slay ending their existence entirely, but who shall it be? Voros, perhaps…” he trailed off before casting his gaze down to Nerr. “Or the dragon, for now he lies in dire straits with none but you to guide him. How will he grow, Venneith? To fear man, to serve beneath, alongside or above them? He’s a precious little thing, Venneith,” Vrueth softly whispered once he felt Nerr begin to stir within his grasp only to kneel down to the knight and place the dragon within his arms. “Will you raise him to be a bringer of death like the Armor Burnt Venneith, so that I follow him wearily too? Or will he be a protector of man like the Silver Knight Cornease, so that all men, women and children find themselves at ease and in comfort knowing that he watches over them?” As Venneith gazed to the dragon in his arms did Vrueth tear the pelt from his back to wrap both the knight and dragon in warmth as the sun began to set far over the horizon to the west.
Dragon Kindred_And The Gyr Worshipers Page 29
