Light Of Loreandril (30 page)

“Must you hit me so hard?” huffed Cradon, rubbing the backs of his legs. From the smarting pain, he already he would be left with two large bruises across his calves.

“I’m just hardening you up! Besides, you are still too easy read. Your movements are too slow and far too big.” Gomel mimicked Cradon’s large swinging arcs. “The bigger the move, the longer you give your opponent to avoid them.”

“But it’s the only way I can get any power,” Cradon said, standing up again.

“The power will come as your strength grows.” The gnome stood in an attack position again, beckoning Cradon on. “Bear in mind, regardless of how strong your blows are, it does not matter if you cannot land them!”

He lunged towards Cradon again, this time to the other side. Cradon dodged, and swung his sword over Gomel’s head as he spun out of the way, finding himself behind Gomel. He raised his sword to hit the gnome again, but Gomel blocked it effortlessly, catching Cradon off balance again. Cradon stumbled forward, surprised by the gnome’s reaction. Instead of landing on his face, however, he successfully rolled out of the way as Gomel hit the ground. Much to the gnome’s amazement, Cradon instinctively kicked Gomel’s chest with both feet, knocking him backwards. It gave him opportunity to spring back to his feet and with great pride, panting deeply, he found himself standing over Gomel for once, the tip of his fake sword under the gnome’s chin.

“Well done, lad! You actually got me!”

A beaming Cradon offered a hand to help his friend.

“It’s good to see you have an ingrained knowledge. Are you sure your father never taught you?”

Cradon shook his head. “I have never even seen a real sword used.”

“Well, that bodes well! You’re clearly a natural. Now, lets see how that stew is coming along, shall we?” he slapped Cradon on the back and plodded over to the bubbling pot of stew dangling over the campfire.

Cradon’s hunting skills were also improving. This was the second night he had provided fresh meat, having shot two hares with his bow earlier that day.

“This is ready! I think we have done enough practising.” Gomel sat down carefully on the soft grass, rubbing his tender coccyx.

“You can’t stop just because I’ve beaten you!”

“You need to be careful, boy, you’ve only defeated me once.” He handed him a small wooden bowl of stew.

They relished every bite, whilst sitting in the small thicket hidden from any prying eyes. After three days of riding across the grasslands, the landscape was eventually starting to change. The flat land was slowly becoming more hummocky, gradually rising higher and higher and the long, lush grass was being replaced by increasing numbers of gorse bushes and small ash and birch trees.

“How much further is it?” asked Cradon, his mouth full.

“Well, if we keep going at the same pace, probably another three or four days before we reach the start of the Lopthian Mountain chain.” Gomel took another spoonful of hot stew, then continued, “But our journey is going to get much harder after that.”

“Why?” Cradon stopped eating, looking up expectantly.

“We need to travel deep into the mountains. The Lopthians are renowned for their ferocious weather. We will not be able to ride as the ground will become far too steep and dangerous.”

“Is there no other way?”

Gomel shook his head as he scraped his spoon round his empty bowl. “No! How do you think my kin kept hidden all these centuries? It is an inhospitable, inaccessible place, but it’s safe.” He patted the saddlebag in which the Aeonorgal was hidden.

“Can I ask you something?” Cradon leaned forward, throwing his empty bowl to the ground. “Where did that thing come from?”

“The Aeonorgal?”

Cradon nodded.

“Not even the Elves know. They say it is older than time itself.”

“But what is it?”

Gomel paused as if trying to work out how to phrase the explanation. “Well, it is the source of their magic. It links their spirits with the earth energy around them. That is the foundation of their White Magic.”

“But how?” Cradon persisted.

“I really don’t know. You have to understand that Gnomes are not the most magical of beings. We know it exists but we don’t use it ourselves, nor do we understand it. Our knowledge lies in the rocks and ground beneath us.” Gomel shook his head, his greying beard waggling from side to side.

“So what’s the link between Elves and Gnomes?” Cradon asked.

Gomel sighed, sensing this was going to be a long night. “Omph! Gnomes are also an ancient race. No one knows how we began, but we are just as old as the Elves. Our races have always been close.” Gomel lay back, patting his round stomach. “Gnomes look after the Under-Earth, while the Elves looked after the Over-Earth. At least, that’s how it used to work.”  His tone of voice had changed, becoming more sombre.

“What do you mean?” asked Cradon, still probing.

“Before the clans learnt dark magic.”

The gnome paused again, but Cradon waited for him to continue.

“The Elves trusted man too much. They entrusted too much power to them and some clansmen became consumed by it. And when the Elves refused to teach them anything more, these men found their own magic.”

“You mean, Black Magic?”

Gomel nodded, “Yes!” He shook his head in dismay again, and rubbed his bald head with his small gnarled hand. “It was too late when the Elves realised. Before anything could be done, the men waged war against elves and all fellow-kind, Gnomes, Dwarves……..” Gomel trailed off.

“And that’s when you went into hiding.”

Gomel rolled onto his side, taking out his pipe to fill it with tobacco. “After the Great War, there were too few of us left. With the Aeonorgal, the Elves source of power, captured, we were forced into hiding until our strength was great enough once more.”

“So that’s why you came out of hiding now?” He was now lying on his stomach, his chin resting in his hands, watching his friend light his pipe. “So, are you going to wage war against the Empire?”

“Only if we can get this back to the Elves. It all rests on this. The return of the Aeonorgal will signal the start of the end.” He patted the saddlebag again. “We dare not fail!”

Gomel’s words hit hard. It suddenly dawned on the young man how serious this mission truly was. With so much resting on this pair, Cradon now understood why Gomel was teaching him how to fight.

With nothing more to say, the two comrades wrapped themselves up in their blankets, and tried to sleep the night away. There was a growing chill in the air and the wind was howling all around them.

Cradon tried his best to get to sleep, but could not shake Gomel’s words. He lay on his back, looking up at the black cloudy sky, with his stomach tied up in a thousand knots. It was a long, restless night, listening to Gomel’s snoring shake the mist-laden air all around them.

Tavor was now certain of their escape route. It was mapped out in his mind, although he knew it would be hard. They would only have one opportunity. If they were caught, it would mean death for all, himself included. With his own fate decided, he could wait no longer.

Sitting in his darkened, private quarters, with faint, flickering candlelight drawing dancing shadows on the walls, he took a few moments to compose himself. His stomach churned with nervous anticipation that tingled down to his toes. He dressed himself in the new Imperial armour that had been presented the day before. Tavor flexed his shoulders, feeling the weight of the metal and leather restrict his movement. It may have been a long time since wearing such armour, but his body quickly remembered the sensation. The last time he had worn it with great pride, but this time he donned it only out of necessity.

Silently he slipped out of his quarters, snuffing out the torch in the corridor, and disappeared down into the blackness towards the prison.

The way was easy, burnt into his memory. He paused before approaching the guard stationed outside the dungeon. The man stood to attention, surprised to see anyone so late.

“Identify yourself!” he demanded, peering into the darkness, holding up his torch.

“Sleeping on the job, soldier?” Tavor stepped out of the shadows.

“Sorry, Sir. I didn’t recognise you.”

“Borvik! Good to see you again!” Tavor slapped the guard in a friendly fashion, as if they were old friends.

“I hope you’ve bought something for me to drink!” jested Borvik.

“Actually, I’m glad it’s you on duty.” Tavor looked over his shoulder, checking no one else was around. “I was hoping to see the boy.”

“Tavor, you know I can’t. I’d be flogged,” Borvik shrugged his shoulders, apologising.

“I just want to see him before Canvil does his work. It will give me more pleasure to see how much pain Canvil inflicts!” Tavor raised his eyebrows, a dark smile on his face.

Borvik contemplated Tavor’s reasoning, then smiled and nodded. “Alright! But make it quick. I don’t want to get caught.”

With a jangle of keys he unlocked the heavy door. It creaked loudly as it opened making Tavor close his eyes in prayer, hoping the sound would not draw anyone’s attention.

“You owe me, Tavor! I’ll give you a few moments!” Borvik closed the door behind him, leaving Tavor standing in the prison alone.

He approached the cells, and saw the sleeping bodies of the prisoners. Reaching through the bars, he shook Nechan’s foot, waking him with a start.

“What? Why are you here?” gasped Nechan, moving to the back of his cell.

“Leave the boy alone!” came the deep voice of Gaular. He had been woken by the sound of the prison door opening.

Tavor cast the dwarf a spiteful look and then motioned for Nechan to come closer. “I’m here to help you!” he whispered.

Nechan slid closer in the straw, unsure whether to trust Tavor or not.

“I understand that you don’t trust me, give me the opportunity to make it right!”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

 Tavor had not realised that Eilendan was also awake. He sat leaning against the bars of his cage.  “Look, you have to trust me. I am going to get you out of here!”

Nechan knelt up as Tavor crouched down to explain. The clansman had also drawn the attention of the other cellmates, intrigued by the prospect of escape.  Their hearts were now filled with a cautious glimmer of hope.

“You expect us to believe that?” mocked Gaular.

“We either do this now, or never. This is a one time offer.” Tavor stood up and took a step backwards as if he was about to leave.

“Wait!” cried Nechan. “I believe you! You have tried your best to look after us this past week. I trust you!” Nechan clung onto the bars, a look of desperation in his blue eyes.  

“Quiet boy. This is not your decision!” Gaular’s voice was raised in frustration.

“The boy’s right. He has done what he can. It does not mean we have to trust you though,” Eilendan said calmly, staring at Tavor.

“Trust is earned. Prove it to us.” Jaidan was now standing at the front of his cell, also staring at his fellow clansman with disdain.

The sound of the prison door being unlocked suddenly echoed around the bare walls of the dungeon. Borvik opened the door and poked his head round.

“Hey, Tavor. Time’s up! Sorry!”

Tavor knew it was now or never. “Would you come here a minute, Borvik. There’s something I want to show you.”  He beckoned the soldier as he pointed into Nechan’s cage.

“Fine, but be quick.” Borvik checked the darkened corridor and then closed the door behind him with a clang.

Tavor listened to the sound of jingling keys and footsteps of the soldier approaching. With perfect timing he swung round, grabbing Borvik and twisting him down onto his knees. With his arm pulled tightly up under Borvik’s chin and his body pressed tightly against his chest, Tavor began choking him. The soldier’s arms flailed, pulling and hitting Tavor’s arms and face, as he screamed in breathless silence. The comrades watched the slow death. Nechan could not bear it, and had to turn away. Borvik’s body finally went limp and Tavor let it slump to the floor. He brushed himself down, composing himself once more.

“Is that enough to convince you?” he demanded.

“You still need to get us out of here!” Jaidan remained stony-faced. He was not going to be easily swayed by Tavor’s display of brutality.

Rolling the dead body over, looking at the bloodshot, glazed eyes that stared up vacantly, Tavor removed the bunch of keys from the man’s belt. He held them up for the prisoners to see. “We do this now, we do it quickly and we do it my way. Understood?” He stood up and walked towards Jaidan’s cell. “Understood?”

Jaidan reluctantly nodded and waited as Tavor sifted rapidly through the keys until he found the correct one. As he unlocked the other cells Jaidan dragged Borvik out of the way, stashing him in a dark corner behind some empty barrels and bales of hay. He hoped, at least for a short while, it would look like the guard had left his post. Eilendan helped Nymril out of her cell. She stumbled forward weakly even with her fellow elf supporting her.

“If she is going to slow us down we have to leave her!” Tavor looked at the elf who could barely stand.

“We leave no one behind! No one, you hear!” Jaidan stepped into Tavor’s face showing he meant business.

“Any chance you can remove this?” Nymril croaked, pulling at the neck brace.

Tavor shook his head. “No, it’s designed not to be removed. There is no key nor weapon that will unlock it.”

Eilendan pulled Nymril closer and gave her a look that said
we will find a way.
 

“Ready?” Tavor opened the door and looked out, motioning for the comrades to be silent. He listened down the corridor, but there was only silence. It was as safe as it was going to be. The comrades filed out of the prison down the dark corridor, Tavor leading.

The maze of long, dark corridors and narrow staircases seemed interminable. The air was beginning to get colder and the walls wetter. It was obvious they were heading further down into the belly of the fortress.

Jaidan grabbed Tavor’s arm, pulling him to an abrupt halt. “I hope you know your way out of here!” he hissed.