Authors: James Wolf
Taem knew a distant archer had his back, as the odd Krun was pierced by an arrow, but he was enveloped in the maelstrom of battle.
When Taem charged into the hall, and saw Shayel being threatened, he did not hesitate.
Two Ugurs were slain before the others knew anything was amiss. As Taem parried a high strike from one of the huge Ugurs, he ducked, pivoted and sliced horizontally through the belly of the enemy behind him. Spinning again, he turned just in time to rise his blade to his north, deflecting a blow meant for his head. Taem brought his blade smashing down like thunder, chopping clean through the enemy.
Taem whirled towards the door as he heard the trample of charging enemy feet approaching. The Sodan brought his blade up between himself and the door. Taem was ready to kill more enemy, but he lowered his blade when he saw it was Gerandel, and other Aborle with him, who burst into the Hall.
‘He is
Sodan
,’ Aborle in the crowd said reverently, touching their hands to their hearts as they gaped at Taem.
‘Yes, I
am
Sodan.’ Taem said to all the Aborle. And on seeing the look in Taem’s eyes these survivors were no longer afraid. The old legends had come again, and the Aborle were filled with hope.
‘It’s time to show no mercy.’ Taem said fiercely. ‘Kill them with honour, but kill them all!’ Taem roared as he ran from the hall.
The Aborle warriors followed after the Sodan, and they were furious and grim as they slaughtered every Krun and Ugur that had set foot in the ravaged village.
It had been a woeful few days as the Aborle of Leafholme struggled to come to terms with the raid. Countless Aborle had been butchered, and Taem doubted the woodland paradise would ever be restored to its former glory. The Mikeri had flourished everywhere, and the Aborle said the Great Forest had the power to overcome any affliction – but they were wrong.
The morning after the raid three companies of Forest Guard had arrived from the west, to be dismayed by the devastation they found. Taem lost himself in training during those miserable days, alone on the high platform. He was consumed by grief, and the dread in his heart that he was responsible for the Krun raid. Many of the Aborle gazed up to where they knew he lingered, puzzling the riddle of a living Sodan – eager to think on anything other than the sorrow for their lost loved ones. The day before Taem and Baek left, the elders decided to abandon Leafholme forever. They tore down and burnt all their buildings and walkways, and retreated further into the forest. Leafholme was broken and destroyed. It would never be the same again.
The Borleon Forest was so vast that it was two days before Taem and Baek lost sight of the great trees. They had rejoined the Mountain Way, as it travelled over grasslands and hills, and were heading north towards Dolam. Taem was quiet and troubled as they rode north. Always he looked over his shoulder, watching for Narg pursuit. Storm had survived Leafholme, and Baek had been given a Forest Guard mount by Shandor. Taem pushed the horses hard, but not to exhaustion. He wanted to leave them with the energy to out-run enemies, if needs be.
In the evenings Taem practised the Way of the Sword, whilst Baek cooked their supper.
‘Hunting our dinner every day is enough practise for me,’ Baek chortled to himself, as he waited for the deer to roast over the campfire, and he watched Taem repeat the same sword strike over and over, and over again.
What is it that drives Taem, Baek wondered? As Baek saw Taem shake his head in annoyance, he wondered if the Sodan could ever be satisfied.
‘I’m sorry,’ Taem walked up to the campfire. ‘About your people.’
‘I know,’ Baek passed Taem a cup of water. ‘You should not blame yourself, for I don’t. If not for you, I would be dead, as would every Aborle in Leafholme. Logan and Hirandar would be proud.’
Taem raised up his cup, with a grim smile.
‘You cannot understand or reason with Krun,’ Baek said darkly, ‘we’ve both learnt that the hard way.’
Rarely did the companions pass others on the road. When they did, other travellers stared at Baek – Taem knew that most people had never seen an Aborle before.
‘Tell me about the world?’ Baek would often ask Taem as they rode.
And Taem would tell his friend as much as he knew – which was not very much. Taem told Baek how Aritas was the largest kingdom in Hathlore, renowned for its fair legal system and for the greatest army. How the Crown of Justice was passed to the first born child of the Sun Throne, how the capitol of Arilon was reputed to be the most beautiful city in the world, and how the wealth of Aritas came from farming, mining and fine horses. But Taem could only speak of what he had been told, not of what he had experienced.
Nevertheless, Baek’s eyes grew wide as Taem spoke.
‘Ever since I was a youngling, Taem,’ Baek said, as they rode over the grasslands, under the glaring noon sun. ‘There has been
so
many places I’ve longed to visit; the wondrous sights my father told me of as a child. I want to gaze upon the majesty of the Royal Palace of the Sun, in Arilon; to hear and smell the trade of the markets of Marac, in Maresh.’
Taem smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm.
‘How I wish to listen to the waves crash against the white cliffs,’ Baek said, ‘hundreds of feet below the temple of The Light, in Jinamon. And what about Calledron? The City of Magic! And these are just a few of the famous landmarks I thought I’d never get an opportunity to see…’ Baek beamed. ‘But now, I might just get that chance.’
‘I guess you might,’ Taem smiled. ‘How did the Aborle come to dwell in the Great Forest?’
‘My people – like yours Taem, and like every nation of men and women in Hathlore – are descended from the Sartorians. Long ago, in the Golden Age, this ancient race of Men lived alongside the Rhungars, and the Sartorian Empire stretched over much of Hathlore. But during the Great War of the Dark, the world was all but destroyed. The Sartorians that could not live amongst the ruins of the old world – that could not face that the Golden Age was gone forever – retreated into the depths of the great forests, and these people became known as the Aborle.’
As they rode north one morning, four days after leaving the Borleon Forest, the heavens opened and rain poured out of the grey sky. The companions pulled the hoods of their cloaks up over their heads, as their mounts plodded on. They no longer talked, just kept their heads down and pushed on through the gloom.
A wagon came into view on the bleak horizon, and the companions urged their horses on through the rain. Taem could see men on horseback circling the stationary cart, and it did not seem right. There was something amiss in the way the horsemen were circling, the way they sat bolt up in the saddle. Baek and Taem glanced at each other, realised they were both thinking the same thing, and urged their mounts closer.
Taem could see there were four Rhungars, standing boldly on the wide hoodless wagon, as the pouring rain beat down. The Rhungars were positioned back to back, in a defensive square, covering all directions. With a shout, the ten men on horseback charged in on the wagon, bearing steel. An enormous, russet-bearded Rhungar swung out his hulking axe. The first rider to reach the wagon was smashed by the great axe, catapulted from his saddle like he had been rammed by a raging bull. The attack was stopped dead in its tracks, and the rest of the wary riders retreated to circle the wagon once more.
Taem gestured for Baek to follow him off road. They dismounted and tethered their horses in a clump of trees. The companions crept forward on foot, through heather and grass, until they could hear the men on horseback yelling and jeering at the Rhungars. The two friends crouched down to listen through the sound of the rain.
‘Give us your wagon,’ one of the men on horseback hollered, ‘and we’ll let you go!’
‘You must pay tax to use
our
road!’ Another horseman sneered. ‘Or we’ll kill you, and take your wagon anyway!’
‘Do come on then!’ A white-bearded Rhungar roared as he brandished his fist. ‘Let’s ’ave yhee! Yer sissies! This nay be thy road!’
‘We might even give you a head start,’ a different horseman said, ‘to run off on your stumpy little legs, before we chase you down.’
‘Why don’ yhee get down off yer horse,’ The russet-bearded Rhungar bellowed, ‘and let me put my axe through yer face! Yhee robbin’ scum!’
It was the closest Taem had ever been to a Rhungar, and he saw how each one was a hulking mass of muscle. Only five foot tall, but three feet across their massive shoulders, with a huge barrel chest three times the size of a man’s.
‘Thieves?’ Baek whispered to Taem, from their hidden position.
‘Must be,’ Taem murmured. ‘Hirandar warned me about bandits in this area. We have to help those Rhungars; I’ll not stand by and do nothing. Let’s move closer.’
The Aborle nodded to his friend.
Taem and Baek crept through the low cover so they were thirty feet from the circling horsemen. As the tirade of abuse went on between the two groups, the companions could now make out the individuals involved. Taem could see the horsemen wore every day clothes, but had dark scarves tied around their heads, covering their mouth and nose. Taem could tell these were black hearted men – their nature was in their eyes, on their brows, and in their very bearing. All of them were armed.
Peeping through the bushes, Taem got a closer look at the Rhungars, and he thought their massive muscular frames weighed double a Man’s. He could see they all had long beards, pronounced eyebrows and enormous – almost comical – noses. The Rhungars wore light armour and carried gleaming axes in their hands.
It was clear to Taem that the robbers, despite all their bragging, were unwilling to fight the Rhungars – even though they were ten against only four. But then again, Rhungars did have a ferocious reputation.
‘Stop!’ Taem shouted, as he and Baek stood up. ‘In the name of the King.’
The bandits reared up in surprise, as they turned to see the hooded companions.
Taem felt his heartbeat quicken as the bandits’ attention was fixed on him, but he managed to remain outwardly calm.
‘This is no business of yours,
travellers,
’ one of the bandits sneered.
‘We have made it our business,’ Taem said.
‘There is only one king in this district,’ said the bandit spokesman, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘And it is not the king you speak of, it is our boss, the Bandit King. He rules here. Kill them men!’ The bandit thrust his sword in Taem and Baek’s direction.
The mounted bandits wheeled their horses away from the wagon, and came hurtling towards the two companions. Baek reached over his shoulder and whipped an arrow from the quiver on his back, rain spraying off his arm as he pulled the arrow up, over and down. The Aborle shot one of the galloping bandits through the chest, knocking him from his horse.
The horsemen slowed their advance, worriedly glancing round to each other. By which time another of their number had fallen to the Aborle’s archery.
The russet-haired Rhungar reached down and flourished a small hand axe from a loop in his belt. Drawing it back over his shoulder, he launched it tumbling end over end, spinning through the falling rain until it slammed into the head bandit.
‘Have that!’ The Rhungar yelled, as the bandit slumped from his horse.
Dismayed and leaderless, and with dangerous warriors to front and rear, the bandits fled eastwards away from the road.
‘Hah! Cowards!’ The russet-bearded Rhungar bellowed, as he thrust his huge axe overhead. ‘That be teaching yhee ter mess with Rhungars!’
The other Rhungars all howled, and raised their weapons up in salute.
Taem and Baek loped up to the wagon, lowering their hoods as the Rhungars climbed down. Taem examined the wagon: it was sturdy and well-maintained, with crafted spoked wheels, rimmed with metal. There was something meticulous about its elaborate craftsmanship, sharp and stark but refined.
‘An Aborle,’ the white-haired Rhungar snorted.
Taem was struck by how grumpy and rude this older Rhungar was, and wondered why he spoke with such contempt of someone who had just come to his aid.
‘Me name be Forgrun Krojan,’ the russet haired Rhungar bowed, lowering his chestnut eyes, ‘son o’ Dugan, be o’ clan Ironstone.’ Forgrun wore black leather boots, baggy red trousers, a bright yellow shirt and a padded jacket sewn with pieces of shining steel plate. He was even bigger than his Rhungar companions.
Two of the other Rhungars wore similar clothes with equally bold colours – Taem’s eyes could barely take in the glaring colours these Rhungars were garbed in. All four of them had shaggy mops of plaited hair and beards. But one of them looked very different; he wore dark clothes and had a shaved head, with his scalp covered by circular black tattoos, like the rings of a tree.
‘These be me companions,’ Forgrun said, ‘Rodan,’ he pointed at his white-haired companion, ‘an’ Derad,’ Forgrun gestured to the black-haired Rhungar. Both these Rhungars eyed the Aborle-cloaked wanderers suspiciously.
Baek sullenly crossed his arms as the two Rhungars scowled at him. Taem wondered why the fourth Rhungar, with the circular tattoos on his scalp, was not introduced.
‘Yhee saved our lives,’ Forgrun bowed. ‘So I do give yhee me axe, until I have repaid thy favour.’
‘Master Rhungar,’ Taem said, ‘really, there is no need, we did not–’
‘My honour do demand it!’ Forgrun boomed. ‘In ye name o’ Kaladim, I do be duty bound ter accompany yhee.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Taem shook his head, ‘danger follows us, Nargs and Krun are after us–’
‘Good!’ Forgrun said heartily, ‘yhee do be need me axe!’
Rodan and Derad scowled, and looked at each other in disapproval.
Taem knew there would be no changing this Forgrun’s mind, and he had no desire to even try. Forgrun was as strong as an ox, and knew how to use those axes he carried.
‘We be on our way ter our mountain home,’ Forgrun pointed south, ‘ do return from tradin’ in Arilon.’
‘Well you can’t continue south,’ Baek said, ‘Krun have just raided Borleon.’
‘Hah!’ Rodan snorted, as Derad laughed. ‘We nay scared o’ them weak devil-scum!’
Baek shot Taem a disparaging glance.
‘Those scum be ambushin’ us and cuttin’ our ’orse loose,’ Forgrun looked down at the dead bandits. ‘They be toying with us, waitin’ ter come in close and finish us off. When they tried – by Gromm an’ Odrin! – we would be given ’em hell! But we were being outnumbered and would be been bested. It was fortunate yhee arrived and came ter our aid.’
Taem nodded, although he doubted the combat would have been such a foregone conclusion. He scrutinised the fighting axes all four Rhungars carried. The fabled Rhungari axe consisted of a black steel shaft, wrapped in two places with black leather for handgrips, and an enormous axe-head. On one side of the burnished steel axe-head there was the main curved axe-blade – a full three hand-spans long – and on the other side extended a curved spike. Gromm was the Rhungar god of war, and Odrin was the highest god, father of all Rhungars.