Light Of Loreandril (9 page)

The dragon and the uzgen clashed in mid-air, the antithesis of each other. Silvery scales scraped against leathery flesh. In a tangled mess of talons, jaws, silver and black wings they spiralled up higher and higher into the sky, amidst deafening screeches and spewing flames.

Gomel and Gaular helped Eilendan to his feet, as the battle raged above them high into the night sky. They watched, still brandishing their weapons, knowing that this fight was now out of their hands. Equally matched in size and strength, the two magical conjurations grappled, clawing and snapping at each other, trying to get a deadly hold. The uzgen appeared unaffected by the white-hot fire of the dragon, only attempting to dodge the blows of the razor-sharp claws and talon-tipped wings. All the while, Nymril was trapped in her trance, kneeling in the leaf litter of the woodland floor. Eilendan, knowing she could not defend herself in this state, took position by her side, sword still drawn, blood dripping down his forehead.

Some distance away, Jaidan easily heard the thundering crash of the beast as it broke through the trees. He started running back to the camp at once, concerned for his friends, following the bright light that was streaming through the forest. As he entered the clearing and surveyed the damage he was relieved to see his friends were still alive. Following their gaze, he turned his attention high above the canopy. The two beasts continued to duel.

Without hesitation, he plucked an arrow from his brown leather quiver. Stringing his bow, he aimed high, directly at the angry, red eye of the uzgen that only his sharp sight could pick out. Holding his breath, narrowing his eyes, he drew back the bowstring and took his shot. The arrow winnowed speedily through the air, piercing the foul beast with perfect precision. The uzgen reeled back and plummeted towards the ground, scrabbling at its head. The comrades scattered. Eilendan grabbed Nymril and pulled her out of the way. She was still in her trance as the dead beast hit the ground.  

The dragon did two somersaults of victory, producing white fiery circles that lingered in the sky and then was absorbed silently and smoothly back into Nymril’s body. She shook herself, taking a deep breath as her eyes cleared. The female elf smiled, grateful she had proved her complete control of her newly released power.

“May I be the first to say, good shot, Jaidan!” Gaular slapped the clansman heartily on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“How did you know that would work?” Gomel asked, examining the notched head of one of his axes.  “None of our swords and axes could penetrate its hide.” He was perplexed by his failure during the attack.

“I didn’t stop to think. Eyes are nearly always a place of weakness.” Jaidan careful hung his bow over his back, and looked at Nymril who was still kneeling on the ground. He lent forward, offering her his tanned, strong hand, which she gratefully took, pulling herself to her feet.

In disgust, the comrades surveyed the grotesque, scaly body of the beast, each silently hoping they would not come across another such horror. It was already starting to decay, due to its unnatural creation. The blood that oozed from the cracks in its brittle, desiccated skin, looked and smelt like lamp oil, staining the ground, burning the grass and leaves.

Nymril stooped, picking up the
Aeonorgal that
had narrowly been missed by the beast as it hit the ground.  Wiping off the dirt she gazed into the sphere, watching the mists inside swirl, concealing its deep, unknown mysteries and magic. Its light had now lessened to its normal, faint essence, bathing the clearing in a warm glow, casting eerie shadows around the carcass. Carefully, she wrapped it up in the Elven cloth, shrouding its secrets and magic once more from the eyes of the enemy.

It took Jaidan a while to relocate
the horses that
had fled during the attack. He found them unharmed, but very skittish and edgy. No one was seriously hurt. Eilendan had a small gash on his forehead that was gushing blood, but was relatively superficial. Gomel just had bruises and a few scrapes from his fall. Gaular, however, refused to let anyone tend to him, claiming he was quite unhurt. They all knew that this was just his pride talking, but agreed to leave him alone. He was able enough to prevent his wound getting infected.

“Nymril, I was wrong. Please except my humblest apologies.” Gomel knelt before her, his hand on his stout chest as a sign of deep respect. “You saved us, and have more than proved that you truly are a mighty Elven warrior.” He spoke his words gravely, his eyes downcast, full of remorse for his earlier insults.

Nymril knelt with him, touched by his words. It was not in a dwarf’s character to apologise, unless it was deeply heartfelt. “Gomel, please, you have nothing to apologise for. It is I who should ask you for forgiveness.”

Gomel raised his head and looked into her deep blue eyes. Taking her slender, white fingers in his stubby, hairy hand he whispered, “Nymril, you truly carry the humility of a High Elf.”

With nothing left to say, they joined the others in locating what few belongings and supplies they could from around their decimated camp.

It was a unanimous decision to move on from this place as soon as possible. Not only was the huge, rotting carcass going to attract every wild scavenger in the vicinity, they knew that this would not be the only thing the Rjukhan had sent after them. The others, whatever they may be, would not be far behind. The comrades did not want to wait to find out.

Despite smelling the foul stench from a far distance, the comrades had not been fully prepared for how dank and miserable the marshes were. Since the night of the uzgen attack, they had travelled nearly non-stop for three days through the marshlands, resting only briefly in the shelter of small thickets.

The dark brown mud oozed and bubbled under the weight of the horses and their riders. Scattered here and there were small pools of water, black, oily and undrinkable. Fearing the horses would become stuck in this muddy trap, the riders were forced to dismount and wade knee-deep through the reeds, spiny marsh grass and stinking mud. Although this helped the horses, Gomel struggled despairingly. Being shorter than the others he stood nearly waist deep in the mud.

“Omph! I don’t think I can stomach much more of this smell!” Gomel was stuck again, trying to pull his right leg out of the mud without losing his boot. “Whose idea was this? Is this even the right way?”

Eilendan groaned as he supported Gomel’s heavy weight, while Nymril attempted to free his foot, battling against the suction. It came out with a slurp and a gurgle, accompanied by a putrid smell of rotting vegetation and carcasses that must have been trapped below the surface for decades.

“Gaular, can you carry him? I think it’s the only way we are going to make any headway at all,” Eilendan suggested.

After much grumbling, Gaular waded over, easily overcoming the suction force with his strength. Even so, the mud was up to his knees, unfortunately past the level of his leather boots. He picked up the gnome, who wriggled awkwardly, his stumpy limbs flailing, as the dwarf lifted him into position, straddled over his shoulders.

“Omph, much better!” Gomel smiled, patting the dwarf’s black, shaved head. Gaular growled in response, looking down at his leather armour, which thanks to Gomel was now covered in mud.

“Jaidan, what can you see?” Nymril called forward to Jaidan who stood looking far into the distance. His keen eyesight strained over the vast, flat marshes. Even for his sharp eyes, there still seemed to be no end in sight.

“Nothing, yet!” came the shouted response.

“And Khar?”

High above them Khar hovered, away from the stench of the brown, sticky mud. Jaidan let out a high-pitched long whistle that floated across the air. At this signal Khar folded her dark, speckled wings neatly and plummeted down, straight towards Jaidan’s outstretched hand. She landed in a silent ruffle of feathers, and cocked her head, peering intelligently at Jaidan with yellow-rimmed, beady eyes. Jaidan gently stoked the plumage under her chin, and was silent, returning the bird’s gaze. It was almost as if they were reading each other’s thoughts.

It was well known that members of the wandering Brathu
Ü
nder clan still retained some knowledge of the Elven magic they had been taught centuries earlier. Jaidan, like most of the few surviving members, still held a close connection to his Earth magic. It was not as powerful as an Elf’s magic, but he was gifted with an understanding and closeness with all creatures.

“She sees nothing either. But she thinks we are being tracked. Riders on khalit. But they are still some way off and hard even for Khar to see. I could ask her to fly for a closer look, but I would be concerned that they would shoot her down.”

“I agree, the risk is too great,” Eilendan nodded.

Troubled by Jaidan’s words, the comrades pressed on as fast as they could, leading the horses carefully, trying to find the driest patches of mud between the bubbling, murky pools. It was slow going. They did not stop for food, knowing they must maintain the distance between the enemy and themselves. Their only comfort was in knowing their followers were suffering the same problems crossing the marshes.

Towards early evening Jaidan spied a small mound, with a few scruffy hawthorn trees. They made their way towards it, hoping to find some shelter in the flat marsh and maybe even some dry ground to sleep on.

Much to their joy, the grassy mound, although only a few metres wide, was relatively dry compared to the surrounding sea of bog. The entire party was able to squeeze on. Deciding to stay there the night they settled down, unravelled their bedrolls, and ate a meal of cold dried meat and stale bread. They dared not light a fire, fearing it would signal their position to their trackers. With everyone still recovering from the uzgen’s attack, nursing wounds, no one wanted another encounter with the enemy just yet.

Miserable and exhausted from their hard day’s travel, they went to sleep in dreary silence, wrapped up tightly in their woollen blankets, each praying that their followers would either stop for a night’s rest or pass them by in the darkness. In the distance, there was the troubling rumble of deep-bellied thunder.

Gomel was volunteered for the first watch, having been carried for most of the day. Complaining under his breath, the gnome plonked himself on the highest part of the mound, allowing him to survey everything from all sides. Pulling his weather-beaten woollen cloak up tightly around him to keep out the chill wind, he prepared himself for the long night ahead, with nothing except the sound of Gaular’s snoring and the shuffling hooves of the horses to keep him company.

It was not yet dawn and the surrounding land seemed dormant. Gomel’s chin was resting on his chest as he gently snoozed. He had tried to stay awake, but the past weeks of riding, walking and fighting had taken its toll on him just as much as the others.

He was awoken from his snatched moments of slumber by the plip-plop of several large raindrops. He wiped the cold water off his bald head and then rubbed the gritty sleep from his eyes, grumbling at the thought of rain. The echo of thunder groaned and rumbled all around, threatening a downpour. As he looked over at his sleeping comrades, Gomel prayed the bad weather would pass over.

Very aware he had just fallen asleep on watch, he forced himself to scan the dark horizon, straining his ears for the slightest sound. A cold chill ran down his spine as a flash of lightning lit up the flat marshlands.

Gomel was not certain.
Had he seen something?
Even in the sudden flare, the surrounding land remained steeped in gloom and a heavy unease filled his mind. He thought he smelt a brief waft of some strange fragrance on the air, an odour that was very out of place in the marshes.

Lying flat on his belly he crawled towards the slumbering Eilendan, who lay nearest to him. Gomel shook him awake, holding his hand over his friend’s mouth so he would not shout. Immediately sensing the gravity of the situation, the elf nodded, and discretely began unravelling himself from his blanket and drawing his sword. Lying on the ground, he slid over to Nymril to wake her, while Gomel rolled over to alert Gaular. Jaidan, who always slept lightly, had already woken himself, his subconscious telling him there was something wrong.

The group hugged the ground, each with their weapons drawn, or bow strung. Facing different directions, looking out over the marsh, they peered into the darkness, almost imagining looming shapes groping towards them. They had lit no fire and had tried to remain silent the entire evening; even the best trackers could not follow them at night, nor could animals track their scent above the foul smelling mud.
Could they really have been found in the darkness?
 

A sharp breeze swam through the camp, carrying with it a strange, sickly odour, pungent enough to be smelt above the decomposing mud. As they stared out into the shadows, another bolt of lighting flared across the night sky above them, illuminating the tall figures of the trackers circling the mound.

They had been found. Jumping up, the group took defensive positions, standing back to back, weapons held high. Tale-telling whistles filled the air. The comrades grabbed their shields just in time as arrows rained down upon them. The horses screamed in panic and galloped away into the surrounding gloom. The air was suddenly filled with horns and clamorous yells. Then the heavens opened, unleashing a pounding torrent of icy rain that drenched everything in seconds.

Their attackers finally revealed themselves as they broke formation. Six tall, menacing karzon, their black cloaks sagging with water, charged towards them on vicious, snarling khalit, whose scaly wet skin glistened as another streak of lightning tore the sky. Holding their ground the comrades braced their strong shields as the first charge fell upon them. The khalits’ talons scraped the ground and clawed at the shields. Upon them the karzon wielded their black, jagged swords, trying to reach over the tops of the shields, barely missing the ducking comrades.