"A rock from the sky?" Alric said.
"It fell a few thousand years ago, I've heard. Made a ruckus like you wouldn't believe. At least that's what my grandfather told me. They've even set up a mine there, but they could only get the iron from it for a year or two before they dug up something… a bit frightening."
"I'm intrigued," Alric said, scooting in closer. "What was it?"
Finn shrugged, lighting his pipe. The smoke was sweet but strong, and Alric coughed, waving his hand over his face.
"Dragons," Finn said. "But not like the Dragon himself. Evil, twisted beasts from who knows where."
"Like the Fomorians?" Freyja asked.
Finn shrugged again. "Somewhat," he said. "Definitely just as ugly."
"Do you mean wyverns?" Baleron asked.
Finn pointed at him. "Right," he said. "That's what they call them in some parts."
"We've dealt with them before," Alric said. "They're not too difficult to drive away."
"Aye," Finn said, nodding. "But these are a bit nastier than the usual variety, seeing as they lived in the caverns beneath the crater. That metal from the sky does strange things to beasts that live near it."
"I've never heard of metal from the sky," Ivar said, furrowing his brow.
Finn shrugged and slid down onto the cavern floor, leaning back against his rock and puffing on his pipe.
"It's something we can talk about tomorrow," he said. "For now, I suggest we get some sleep. We'll be safe here, so no need to stand guard."
Baleron stood and went to the large exit nearby. He looked out over the road below, seeing the glow of the fires to the north. Scarcliff was still burning, he realized, and he hoped that everyone had gotten away safely. He couldn't help but feel guilty about the whole thing, even though it wasn't really the fault of the knights. T'kar's troops would have come anyway. But, there was much more they could have done to drive them away.
Odhran must have sensed his mood, as the young ranger came to join him. The two sat on either side of the opening, each of them looking up at the darkening sky.
"I felt a lot of guilt when I came to your village," Baleron said. "I did nothing to prevent your family from being killed."
"There was nothing you could do," Odhran replied. "You and Menelith would have been killed along with them. I'm glad that didn't happen. If it did, we wouldn't be here now, and the rangers would not exist."
Baleron smiled. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm sure you had the will to strike back one way or another."
"Of course," Odhran said. "All of us would have. But without your training we would have fought bravely, and died very quickly."
Baleron sighed, remembering how aggressive and overly enthusiastic Odhran had seemed when they had first met.
"I had my doubts about you," he said. "But as it turns out, your rage was overshadowed by your will to succeed, and learn."
Odhran laughed quietly. "If the Alvar had not been involved, I'm not sure I would have been so willing to learn. I found them intriguing."
"They respect you," Baleron said. "Menelith did not object to me giving you the Alvar blade. In fact, when he offered it to me, I'm quite sure he knew I would give it to you."
"It was an honor. It was the greatest gift I've ever been given."
"You deserved it, my friend. I saw the strength in you, and so did Dearg. That's why he chose you, despite you being so young."
Odhran smiled. "And Alric?"
Baleron leaned back, smiling. "I'm not sure," he said. "He's an aggressive lad. Somewhat reckless. Maybe it was his personality."
They laughed, looking back into the cave where Alric and Freyja were sharpening their blades. Alric looked up, scowled, and shook his head before going back to working on his knives. Ivar was already asleep, snoring away even louder than Finn.
"We still need one more," Odhran said.
"Yes," Baleron agreed. "One more, then the knights will be complete. I'm sure Dearg will choose well yet again."
"What about Finn?"
"Too old," Baleron said with a grin. "He's got things to do anyway. He'll be a great ally, however. Maybe he can help us recruit more soldiers. Or criminals."
"I hope we meet pirates on the coast," Odhran said. "I've always wanted to meet pirates."
The assassin came like a dark storm, spinning in the air with his blades in a fierce whirlwind of steel. Igrid and Morrigan barely escaped his initial onslaught, both of them staggering back in surprise and terror.
The stranger's attacks were like lightning, driven by a dark and frightening aura, striking at both women in turn and forcing them to part and defend from opposite sides. He traded blows with both of them, effortlessly switching between the two without ever missing a block or a parry.
He seemed invincible.
Morrigan backed away as the onslaught came for her. She blocked his strikes well, as they were seemingly not full attacks, but test strikes to judge her skill. He then spun and charged for Igrid again, and the constant ring of steel began to echo painfully in her ears. She charged, attempting to strike him from behind.
But his left blade came over his shoulder to block just as his right blade slashed at Igrid. That same blade came slashing at Morrigan a split second later, and she barely had time to swat it aside with her blade and duck under it before the left blade came around again.
She dropped to a knee, blocking the blade and rolling to the side to escape the many downward thrusts that followed. Igrid attacked again, and the assassin spun and dealt with her strike before turning back to Morrigan. He struck once, slashing downward, turning his blade in his hand, and then back-slashed with the same blade.
Morrigan jumped back in terror. The assassin spun again and released a barrage against Igrid. She skillfully parried his blows, countering with a neck-level slash that missed wildly. Morrigan charged, rounding the assassin's right flank, and spun to deliver a neck-level slash of her own.
Her blade met with his, and his other blade came across and struck the crossguard of her sword, knocking it from her hand. He followed with both of his blades, slashing them one after the other at a downward angle. Morrigan stumbled back to escape, tripping over a large branch, but managing to roll out of the way just as the downward thrusts came again.
Breathless, she crossed her arms in front of her, closing her eyes to prepare for the worst. But she heard the ring of steel as Igrid assaulted him from behind. The assassin turned to deal with her, and Morrigan rolled over to search desperately for her blade. She found it a few yards away, and it flew into her hand before she even touched it.
It was glowing and pulsing; ready to fight!
Growling with rage, Morrigan charged again. The assassin spun toward her, shoulder blocking a slash from Igrid, and slashed his blade across just as Morrigan struck. His blade flew from his hand, and he spun to attack again with his remaining blade. Morrigan blocked, and the assassin struck Igrid with a spinning kick, catching her in the face and knocking her back.
He charged Morrigan again, and she could see the pure rage in his cold blue eyes; the way his brow arched over them like a demon's. It was mesmerizing, so much so that the world seemed to slow down as he neared. She could feel her blade pulse with life, and its voice calling to her with the will to strike.
She raised the sword as the assassin's blade came up to strike her. She was much quicker than he seemed, and she easily blocked the attack. Her blade seemed to move on its own, guiding her and giving her the strength and speed of a much greater warrior. Around her, the air vibrated with energy, and the assassin slowed down even more.
She spun, gathering all of her strength behind her blade as it rounded in a deadly arc. She struck his blade, knocking it from his hand. Her right foot instinctively came up as she spun, and she released a kick that struck the assassin square in the back. He stumbled forward, flailing and kicking as he tumbled down the rocky hill.
Then, the world sped up again, and Morrigan stumbled as her head continued spinning. Ig
rid caught her, her eyes wide. Together, they watched the assassin tumble over the rocks and roots until he smacked onto the ground below. There he lay, still and seemingly dead. Morrigan looked at Igrid.
"What happened?" the shieldmaiden asked.
"I don't know," Morrigan said. "Everything slowed down."
"No," Igrid said. "You sped up. You were a blur for a moment there."
Morrigan shook her head, confused. All she could focus on was the strange sensation she felt when the world slowed, and now the dark body of the assassin that lay on the ground below.
"Is he dead?" she asked.
Igrid crept forward, trying to squint through the darkness to sense any movement. She shook her head shrugging.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It's too dark to see."
"Where are his blades?" Morrigan asked, sheathing her sword and searching the area.
They found both of them, noting their fine construction, and the odd symbol of a rat that was inscribed on the pommels.
"The Brotherhood of the Rat?" Igrid offered with a grin.
"These are just normal blades," Morrigan said, not feeling any lifeforce in them at all. "I wonder why he was so skilled."
"He's a professional killer," Igrid said. "He's likely been training his whole life."
Morrigan gathered both blades in one hand, then went to the edge of the hill to look down again.
"We need to keep these," she said. "In case he returns."
"He'll return anyway if he wants his blades back."
Morrigan suddenly felt horrified as she gazed down to the ground below. The assassin was gone. He had lived, and was now nowhere to be found. There was nothing but silence around them, and that same dark feeling that Morrigan had felt before. Once again, the assassin was watching them, she knew, and there was more about this assassin than she had realized before.
Despite carrying mundane blades, he bore the spirits of darkness with him. Why, she could not guess, but she was not about to find out.
"Come," she said. "We should get as far away as possible. He will return, and he will be even angrier than before."
At this moment, Morrigan knew that they were both marked for death. She had never felt more terrified in her whole life. Her only thought was Dearg, and how badly she wanted to be near him. He would kill the assassin, she knew. He would make her safe.
"No," she said out loud.
I will make us safe, she thought. Both of us.
"What?" Igrid asked.
"Nothing. Just thoughts… wrong thoughts." She shook her head. "Let's go, before he returns."
Erenoth limped into a bundle of exposed roots that afforded him a small shelter. His left hip was injured from the fall, and the pain was excruciating to say the least. By the time he reached his destination and flopped down against the ancient tree, he was barely conscious. The pain told him that his hip had come dislocated, and he dreaded the fact that he would have to pop it back in place.
On the verge of passing out, he rolled over onto his side, using his left arm to prop his leg up on a large root. Then, with a grunt, he held his breath and pushed himself up with his right arm. The joint popped back into place with a jolt of intense pain, and he collapsed back to the ground, his vision swimming and swirling with the agony.
The assassin rolled over onto his belly, folding his arms before him to cradle his head. There he laid, blocking out everything around him until the pain subsided and he caught his breath. The pain was replaced by the anger of defeat. It was defeat at the hands of his mark. The woman who had injured T'kar had defeated him in battle.
Or was it the other one?
T'kar's description had been vague, and though the two women looked nothing alike, they both matched what T'kar had remembered. His words were simply those of anger, vaguely describing a devil woman with a magic blade. Both of them seemed to have a magic blade, but it was the smaller of the two that had suddenly blurred from existence and disarmed him.
And that was the worst part. He had lost his blades. He was now defenseless, and there was no way he could get his blades back. The two women had likely taken them. That's what he would have done.
"Damn you," he whispered into the dirt. "Damn you both."
Still somewhat breathless and dizzy, he rolled over and sat up against the tree, dragging himself and collapsing against it with a groan. It would be a few hours before he could walk comfortably again, and by then the women would no doubt be long gone.
And with them, his blades.
The only other weapon he carried was a small dagger. It wasn't even really a weapon; more of a tool. He couldn't very well go into battle with it. No, he needed his blades back, but that was hopeless.
Then he remembered the vision from before. Someone or something unknown had promised him a beautiful set of blades, just his style, but showing a dragon's head on each pommel. Though he loathed the thought of dragons, he needed those blades. The question was a matter of their location. Where were they, who had them, and what would he have to do to get them?
He had no desire to align himself with the Alvar in any fashion. They were his enemies, and they would have no reason to offer him any gifts. They worshiped the Great Mother anyway. What use would they have for dragons? The only answer was the Firstborn of this land; the Dragon.
He knew of all the Firstborn; Kronos, Imbra, the Dragon, Leviathan and Yin-Kai. They were all legends, for all he knew, much like the mysterious Gaia. But he had seen evidence of Gaia's existence in the Alvar ruins. Maybe she had existed at one time, during the height of the Alvar kingdom on this world. But those Alvar were gone, and only their shades remained. Perhaps they were beckoning him to explore further. But why? Why would they offer him a gift if he was in pursuit of two women who were in their forest? Were they worshipers as well?
That seemed to be the case to him. He had seen the triquetra symbol on the crossguards of their blades. It was obvious. So why were they here, and why had T'kar's attacker been in league with the savage Northmen and the uncultured and crude Highlanders?
When he thought about it, he realized she was in fact one of the Northmen herself. She was much taller than the other woman, with fierce blue eyes like his own. The smaller woman had reddish hair and green eyes. She was quite obviously a woman of this island; a Highlander, even.
Why were they together?
He couldn't stand the ambiguity of it any longer. He growled in frustration, standing up painfully. He would no longer sit and be docile. He wanted his blades back. His blades. He would have them.
He started forward, ignoring the pain that shot down his leg. The forest was dark, and his only guide was the dim moonlight that filtered through the canopy of leaves above. He would have to search for a path back up. It would do no good to wander around in the huge gully. He had to get back to the road.
He turned toward the slope and began the arduous task of climbing back up. It was steep, and he was weak, but he was determined to make it up. His feet found good places to step, and the exposed roots and fallen branches made for good handholds. Despite the darkness, he had confidence he could make it up fairly quickly.
But then he saw a faint glow from above. He paused a moment, looking upward, feeling a strange sense of peace within him. It was comforting, yet infuriating at the same time. He didn't want to feel peaceful. He wanted his damn blades back so he could kill his mark and return home.
Erenoth, a woman's sweet voice said.
He paused again, gritted his teeth, and then started up again. He ignored the voice, whoever it was, and focused on pulling against root after root as he made his way up. The glow was getting brighter as he reached the top, and when he finally pulled himself back onto the path, the entire tunnel-like road was aglow with the beautiful green light.
Erenoth rubbed his eyes, hoping it was all an illusion. But it wasn't. The light was real, and he knew it was some kind of Alvar magic. He growled and turned to the path, taking the direction the women had gone. But then, ri
ght before his eyes, a bright shape appeared before him, blocking the way.
He stopped, shielding his eyes from the light's brightness. As he staggered back, it began to dim. He suddenly felt a presence, as if someone were standing there in the path ahead. He lowered his arm, squinting into the light as it dimmed even further. A shape began to emerge; a woman in a lavish yet earthly gown.
He felt a sudden wave of terror wash over him. Was this an Alvar queen here to exact revenge?
"Who are you?" he shouted.
Erenoth, she spoke without really speaking. She merely smiled as her words came out. You may go no further.
"I will go wherever I please," he hissed. "With or without your permission."
You will not harm my daughters. Not now. Not ever.
"Your daughters?" he repeated. "Who are you?"
You know who I am.
He did, in a sense. But this could not be the Great Mother herself. It was just an avatar. Gaia was not human. She was pure spirit. Why would she take this form? The form of an Alvar woman was not suitable for a divine spirit, hated or not.
"What do you want from me?"
The figure smiled, and Erenoth couldn't help but let the warmth wash over him, pushing away his rage.
I want you to leave this place and answer the call.
Erenoth shook his head. "What call?"
The avatar smiled again, cocking her head.
The Dragon's call.
The Dragon? Why would the Dragon call to him?
"I have heard no call from the…"
He paused, remembering the blades. Could the blades be connected with the strange sensation he got when gazing at the tower? Was it truly the place of the Dragon himself? Did he really exist?
Leave this place. I need you not. The people of Eirenoch need you. The Dragon needs you.
"Damn the Dragon," Erenoth spat. "And damn the people. This is not my land. I care not for its people."
Sisters of the Blade Page 9
