The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (15 page)

As the riders passed their former camp, the sound of the River Hye softly babbling could be heard through the complete quiet of the forest of Lanis. 

Iounelle felt uneasy as they approached the place of last night's battle. She silently signaled for the others to stop and dismount. The three, filled with a dread apprehension, approached the place of slaughter.

Suddenly, the baby cried out, loud and long. Iounelle tried to quiet the infant. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught some movement, near where the bodies of the baby's parents lay.

"There is a carrion animal up ahead," Iounelle whispered to Halldora and Caerlund. "Careful." The elf then led the two humans cautiously forward.

As they neared the bodies of the babe's parents, all was unnaturally still. There was no sign of any animal. But it was clear that something had been eating the human remains.

"We should have buried them," Caerlund whispered to himself in angry disgust.

"I'm sorry, Caerlund," the elf whispered. "But, keep your eyes up. There is something nearby."

"These are not the teeth marks of wolf, lion, or any animal I recognize," Caerlund said with growing dismay. "See, the teeth are too wide apart."

"Caerlund," Iounelle whispered.

"Where is the creature?" Halldora said aloud.

Just then, the ghaunt lurched from behind a tree. The stump where its arm was severed worked with a gruesome bloodlessness. With its remaining hand, it clutched its long, black spear. Fresh blood caked its grim, lipless maw, long decaying teeth dripping. Sunlight shone through the large hole in its chest, where Iounelle had plunged her sword with a killing stroke.

A high, unnerving scream began to wail from the monster's dark, gaping mouth as it charged.

Iounelle easily deflected the ghaunt's spear thrust, but her poorly made human sword shattered with the clash. Iounelle kicked the monster with a force that drove the tall creature flat onto its back.

The elf spun, handed the baby to Halldora and sprinted for the swords tied to her nearby horse. Iounelle angrily muttered a chastisement to herself for not immediately arming herself with an elvish sword when she brought the swords up from the armory.

Iounelle could hear the striking of Caerlund's battle-axe against the ghaunt's spear as she rushed to extract an elvish sword, all the while the baby cried, long and loud.

Iounelle ran back to the fight to find Halldora had placed the infant on the ground, drawn her sword and joined Caerlund to fight the monster.

Iounelle leapt. With her elvish strength and speed, she was five times as strong and as fast as any human. As Iounelle leapt with all her might, she cleared the heads of Caerlund and Halldora. She had to twist her head to the right to keep from being decapitated by Caerlund's errant back swing.

The elf whipped her silver, bright sword out in front of her body, and landed with a thud with the sword embedded in the ghaunt's face, up to the hilt. The creature showed no signs of death or stopping. It dropped its spear and grabbed Iounelle's leg. With a supernatural strength it swung the elf to the ground with a mighty crash.

Iounelle could feel the blackness of unconsciousness edging her vision. She shook her head and leapt to her feet. Caerlund swung his broad, double bladed battle-axe, and the swing took his axe clear through the creature's chest. The ghaunt, with the elvish sword still embedded between its eyes, opened its vile mouth to bite Caerlund. But the hilt of Iounelle's sword hit Caerlund in the head and prevented the ghaunt from biting down.

Halldora grabbed Caerlund and dragged him back, his axe lost.

With its remaining hand, the ghaunt withdrew the elvish sword from its head with a sickening, dry rasping sound. Both Caerlund and Iounelle were weaponless. The creature circled Halldora with the elvish sword.

"Go around it and get your axe!" Halldora cried to Caerlund, who found his feet and scuttled to flank the ghaunt.

The creature shuddered and jerked as it tried to decide whom to attack next.

"Give me the sword!" Iounelle cried to Halldora, who kept a close eye on the creature circling her.

"Pick up the baby! It wants the baby!" Halldora cried, suddenly realizing the ghaunt was trying to circle around to get to the infant lying in the leaves of the forest.

Iounelle stopped to pick up the baby, just as the ghaunt, with height to its advantage, brought down a vicious overhand strike at Halldora.

Halldora deflected the blow with effort, but the creature quickly struck again, driving Halldora to one knee.

The ghaunt raised the elvish sword for a third strike, but Caerlund lifted the decaying creature's head from its bony shoulders with his battle-axe.

"There!" Caerlund boomed as the ghaunt crumpled. "That's what we do to evil monsters, such as you!"

"Be careful!" Iounelle called.

From a prone position, the headless ghaunt swung the elvish sword back, and struck Caerlund hard in the chest, piercing right through his armor.

"No!" Iounelle cried, setting down the baby. Iounelle was to the ghaunt with one step. She tore the elvish sword from the monster's hand, and proceeded to hack the ghaunt until it was nothing more than a pile of writhing body parts.

Halldora picked up the unharmed baby, and rushed to Caerlund.

The sword had cut deep into his chest, and the wound bled profusely.

"I wanted to be at the battle when we beat that bastard, Deifol Hroth," Caerlund said with a tired smile.

"You will be there," Halldora lied, knowing there was nothing she could do to save the Chieftain of the Madrun Hills.

"Caerlund!" Iounelle cried. "We can take you back to Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam. The pool Welm is still under the encroaching sea. It can heal you!"

"I will not make the journey, my elvish lass," Caerlund quietly said. "I am the last of my line. I have no heir. Do not let the madronite lords argue over the throne. I give it to Arnwylf."

"But he is lost, most probably drowned," Halldora said through her tears.

"He is alive," Caerlund said with effort. "I feel it. I know it. I wish I could see him triumphant over that Dark Bastard. But I must go now. Halldora, I know you've felt it these last days. And now as I die I have no fear of saying it. I love you. I only wish we could have had more days together. But they were enough."

"No, my love," Halldora smiled through her tears. "We will have many more days together. We will rebuild Kenethley and Ethgeow and make a new kingdom of our houses, and our children will be fierce and orange haired like you."

And thus, defending those he loved, Caerlund, the mighty Chieftain of the Madrun Hills died.

Iounelle held Halldora, who was inconsolable.

The sun rose to its height and warmed the forest. Birds began to sing in sweet, sad, melancholic strains as if they knew that a great and noble man had left them.

Iounelle built a small fire to burn the still convulsing pieces of the ghaunt.

Halldora, who had knelt by Caerlund's side the whole morning, rose to help.

As the last foul piece of the ghaunt was heaped onto the flames, Halldora held out her hands and screamed in anger.

The fire rose into a flashing blaze that quickly crisped the evil fuel to blackened ashes.

Iounelle and Halldora looked at one another in astonishment. Halldora looked at her hands with puzzlement. She was unharmed. There were no bun marks, or signs of injury from the fire that had flowed from her hands.

"You must have the blood of the auhrm in you," Iounelle said with wonder. "Some elves, who could manipulate fire as you have just done, were said to be the children of the auhrm. You must have elvish blood in you."

Halldora stared at the flames. "There was a legend among my people," Halldora said through her tears, "that the Islands of Fjindel in the provinces of Man, from whence I came, were settled by an elf who loved a human woman after the Elf Human Wars."

"I see a great design in this," Iounelle quietly said. "I was led to Bittel, a hidden and insignificant village. But, Alrhett, her daughter, Wynnfrith, and grandson Arnwylf had an elvish bloodline. And you, and your daughter, Frea, are also of an elvish bloodline. This is no coincidence. I was led to the last of my blood, to help me defeat the Great Evil."

"Before we fled Ethgeow, my mother and I both had the same dream, that elves were leading us through the meadowland," Halldora quietly said. "I thought at the time that we were supposed to go to Lanis. But I understand now that we were always meant to find Kellabald and his little village."

"I too had a dream of Bittel," Iounelle said with wonder, "the day before I came upon it. I thought nothing of it at the time."

Halldora was silent with grief.

"I see now," Iounelle said as she cradled the sleeping baby, "that I was saved by the Great Parent, from the destruction of my city and people. I was led to the remnant of my race hidden in the bloodline of humans who had been gathered at a specific place. I think that a Hidden Hand may have organized all our efforts from a great distance. Whether for good or ill, I know not."

Iounelle stared down at the glowing coals of the last of the vile ghaunt.

"I was saved to finally cleanse this world of the evil of Deifol Hroth," Iounelle said. "I will turn no more from the fight, nor leave humans to their own battles. We must fight together, and we must prevail. We have no other choice"

Chapter Seven

The Lords of Bittel

The Eastern Meadowland was cold and the wind whipped across the moving sea of stunted grasses. There had been virtually no rain since the thaw of the snow, and it was still bitterly cold. The day was a chilled cruelty, cloudless, but numbing. The vast emptiness of the meadowland was a perfect partner to the despair of the young humans sitting together on the wind swept sward.

The young humans were thin and malnourished, but the Lords of Bittel wouldn't let them starve. They left them scraps. The faces of the young men were hollow and haunted as though they had lost the very will to live. They sat in a group, twenty or so, huddled together for warmth. Their clothing, although apparently once fine, was now tattered and dirty.

The Lords of Bittel occasionally patrolled the edge of the meadowland, making sure none of the young humans dared to approach their home, a cluster of trees, set apart from the rest of the vast plain of grass.

The meadowland, all the surrounding lands were devoid of stauer, auroch, deer, dodern and other grazing animals. The humans of Wealdland had no time to farm the previous year with the constant warfare against the invading garonds, and  the only food for the remnants of the kingdoms of Wealdland had to come from hunting.

The Lords of Bittel took their toll on the livestock all around the meadowland as well. There had been a pride of lions, but the Lords of Bittel made short work of them. The lions were not welcome or tolerated.

One of the young humans, Geleiden, his face a twist of torment, rose. Geleiden was a wealdkin, and once a captain of the forces commanded by Arnwylf. His once golden curls were unwashed, matted tangles. His once impressive frame was now nearly skin and bones. He was once a Wolf Brother, matched with the pack of wolves that fought with Arnwylf and Conniker, the white wolf as their leaders. The other young men muttered for him to return and sit down.

Husvet, dark haired and dark eyes, once Arnwylf's other captain, rose and put a sympathetic hand on Geleiden's shoulder. Geleiden paused for only a moment to savor Husvet's gesture, then he brushed his companion's hand away, and lurched forward towards Bittel.

"Geleiden!" Husvet cried, and stumbled after his dear friend.

Instantly, a Lord of Bittel, a huge timber wolf with yellow streaks along his jowls, set as a sentry along the tree line, yipped at Geleiden in warning.

But, Geleiden continued stumbling towards the stand of trees that sheltered Bittel, once the village of Kellabald and his family. He moved forward with a determination he had not felt for moonths. He set his jaw and clenched his fists. If he was going to die, let it be at the hands of one he loved.

The wolf sentry barked loudly three times to alert the other Lords of Bittel. The sentry danced and leapt in place with urgency.

A hundred wolves curiously strolled out of the stand of trees.

Among them, proud and larger than any other wolf, was Conniker, the white wolf, who stared at Geleiden with cold, indifferent, yellow eyes.

Lanner, a grey, timber wolf, with bright eyes, moved close to face Geleiden. Lanner was once Geleiden's brother when human was bonded to wolf warrior. Lanner shivered with fear, still clearly bonded in heart and soul to Geleiden.

Lanner yipped at Geleiden in warning, worried that his beloved human would be harmed if he tried to enter Bittel.

"I don't care," Geleiden said as tears streaked his dirty face. "Tear me to pieces. Tear me to pieces, because I can't live without you." Geleiden fell to his knees, his matted hung all around his bowed head. His thin frame quaked with his sobs.

Husvet gently walked up behind Geleiden and laid his hand on his shoulder. Tears streaked Husvet's face, too

Farren, a black, grizzled timber wolf, yipped in worry at Husvet, the dark haired young man was once her brother, and she wished him no harm. But she had her orders from the Only Father. Lanner and Farren nervously stood together, shivering, as if the wolves so desperately wanted to run to Geleiden and Husvet.

"Kill us," Husvet said loudly to Conniker. "I feel as Geleiden feels. I can't live without you." And Husvet opened wide his arms to Farren, hoping she would be the one, at least to end his life.

Farren danced in place, yearning to go to Husvet. Lanner tore at the turf with his paws in frustration. But, the other wolves yipped and growled in warning. Disobeying the Only Father brought severe consequences.

A soft, pitiful wind blew across the meadowland, whispering of past loyalties and love, a pitiless breath softly crying for old love to be renewed.

Then, Lanner broke from the pack and bounded towards Geleiden, who raised his head so his beloved wolf could tear his throat. But Lanner fell upon Geleiden licking and whining with love. The wolf had disobeyed the laws set forth for the Lords of Bittel, and now was in imminent danger.

The Lords of Bittel began barking and growling in displeasure. They advanced in a closing circle to end the life of both trespassing human and disobedient wolf. Geleiden held his wolf tightly, weeping openly.

A loud sharp bark from Conniker stilled all sound. The wolves looked to their Only Father with questioning eyes. Lanner lowered his head in shame, but did not leave Geleiden's side.

Conniker huffed a command and then turned to silently return to the shadows of Bittel. The Only Father of the Lords of Bittel seemed sad and heavy with grief. There was One, he too, missed with all his wolfish heart. And, the huge white wolf did not have it in his soul to deny to those who still had what he so desperately wished he had once again.

But the command was instantly understood as the wolves that were bonded to humans happily bounded to their brothers, licking and greeting with whines of love. All the humans who once had been bonded to a wolf warrior were welcomed into Bittel. The Brotherhood was reforged. 

The new wolves curiously sniffed at the young men who entered the stand of trees, with the bonded wolves nipping at any new wolf that was too brusque with their human brother.

Every wolf in Wealdland had fled to Bittel.

Husvet looked around with amazement.

"Look," Husvet said to Geleiden, taking his arm almost to reassure himself that what he was seeing was real.

There were even more wolves than he had ever suspected. There were as many as three hundred wolves combined into one extended pack leisurely lounging among the elms and oaks. The Lords of Bittel were mighty indeed.

The Archer, cradling the Lhalíi, stood in the weak surf that splashed about his waist.

Deifol Hroth stood on the sand, waiting.

The Archer, without turning his head, looked down the shore. His bow and quiver, holding his last and only Arrow of Yenolah, was but a little distance down the beach, just too far out of reach.

The Lord of Lightning began a pleasant, small laugh, and he held out his hands to receive the crystal the Archer had just recovered from the depths of the New Sea.

On his right side, the Archer was only aware of a huge explosion of spray for a moment. From his peripheral vision he saw Grisn bursting up and out of the surf, massive head tilted back, horns held high for maximum impact.

Then from his left side, another explosion of spray, as the Archer slightly turned his head, he saw Josr leaping high out of the water, her mouth wide with sharp, conical teeth, eyes aflame with fury. Although she was smaller than her brother, Josr's teeth were larger and longer.

Without hesitation, the Archer thrashed through the surf towards his bow and quiver. The whole world seemed to be in slow motion for the Archer. He misjudged how long Grisn's body was, and was nearly kicked in the head by the creature's webbed hind feet, as the Kaprk-Uusshu vaulted onto the shore. Looking up, the Archer could see the enormous body of Grisn, although half of the beast had already passed over his head, like a massive, angry storm cloud rolling towards the shore and the Lord of Lightning. The Archer quickly plunged down, and looked up through the light green water of the New Sea to see the long, lashing tail of the beast as it whipped past, scattering the water on the surface.

The Archer fought up and gasped for breath as he pushed at the water with all his might, fighting to get out of the surf. In one hand he cradled the elvish crystal, in the other he still clutched the elvish sword, Bravilc. Violently swinging his arms back and forth, clutching the sword and the crystal, he fought his way to land.

A sound paralyzed the Archer and made him turn. The sound was a deep, deep, honking, ear splitting, grunting scream of fury. Grisn came down on the Lord of Lightning with the power of an avalanche.

At the same time, on Deifol Hroth's other side, a shrill, whistling, piercing cry came from Josr as she clamped down on the Lord of Lightning's entire outstretched arm.

The Archer could only gape in awe.

Deifol Hroth held up his left hand, and a blinding flash repelled Grisn with the sound of a mountain exploding. Grisn was thrown back. His huge body was limp and seemingly dead as he flew back towards the New Sea. The beast's mighty carcass landed with a titanic splash.

The Evil One simply turned to stare at Josr clamped down on his right arm. The Kaprk-Uusshu was breathing hard. She began to twist her head to tear his arm off. But, the Dark One lifted his arm, with no apparent effort, as though it was a toddler clinging to his forearm. As Deifol Hroth lifted his right arm, Josr's body went up with the motion, her large body extended, stiff with paralysis.

Josr was held in the air, perpendicular to the sand, for just a moment. Seawater dripped off her shaggy white hide like a soft gentle rain, pattering on the sand. A sound started from Josr as though she were about to scream.

Then, Deifol Hroth violently brought his arm down, and with it, Josr came down to the earth, smashing with a resounding thump, so strong that it made the Archer unsteady on his feet. Dry sand leapt with the concussive force.  The Kaprk-Uusshu lay still and unmoving on the sand.

The Lord of Lightning turned to look at Derragen.

Any other man would have been frozen with fear, but the Archer from Kipleth steeled himself, turned, and sprinted for his bow and quiver.

Halfway there, the Archer flinched with a burst of unnerving energy that cascaded over his body and made him stumble. He turned to look over his shoulder.

Deifol Hroth held his hands out and down as he hovered over the sand. The Archer could see ripples of energy shimmering from the Dark One's body. The sand just under the Dark Lord's feet melted and fused instantly into a green glass. The Lord of Lightning, body stiff, arms thrust down, began to float towards the Archer.

The energy emanating from the Lord of All Evil Magic hummed over the Archer's flesh, numbing his muscles. As Derragen turned to run to his bow and quiver, he could feel Deifol Hroth's energy pulling, dragging at his legs. The Archer yelled in anger and desperation, willing his body to move forward.

A hollow, dead, evil laugh echoed behind him. The Archer could feel Deifol Hroth getting closer. He would never make it to his bow and quiver.

Derragen could feel the energy of the Great Darkness pulling him down to the earth. He fell to his knees, but began to crawl through the sand, on his hands and knees, towards his bow and quiver holding the last Arrow of Yenolah.

"Just give me the Vananth Indelune, Archer," a chilling voice buzzed from just behind Derragen. The sound of the Dark One's voice was strangely modulated as the words traveled through the shell of energy haloing him. "I have no wish to kill you."

The Archer clawed at the sand with all his might, as he inched closer and closer to his bow and quiver. Derragen looked back and for a moment, and saw, back by his shack, the Old Man crossing behind the Lord of Lightning. He wanted to shout, cry out to the Old Man, to run for his life. But he knew his own life hung in the balance and turned, and struggled with all his might towards his quiver.

"You could become one of my Great Ones," Deifol Hroth purred through the ripples of energy distorting his voice. "I could make you one of my Dark Generals," Deifol Hroth's voice was nearly directly over the Archer.

Derragen grimaced and moved his heavy limbs with all the strength he had left.

"Don't you want to be filled with power?" The Dark Lord whispered in Derragen's ear.

"Not from you!" Derragen cried rolling over on his back to swipe at the Lord of Lightning with Bravilc, his sword.

Deifol Hroth moved back with a blur. But, he had to stop hovering and gently stepped to the earth.

"The only other choice for you," Deifol Hroth said with cool anger, "is to die." He raised his hands.

With a subtle gesture, lightning cracked from Deifol Hroth's hands.

The Archer swung Bravilc up at the flash. The arc of energy resounded off the blade with an enormous ring. The sand, in a halo around the Archer was melted to glass. The Archer was pushed back along the sand, but he was still alive. The impact of the lightning bolt against the elvish sword had felt like being rammed by a stauer. The Archer's whole body was filled with pain from the violent shock of the lightning bolt, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to even raise his arm to deflect another.

Deifol Hroth stepped close, so that he was but one pace from the Archer.