Light Of Loreandril (34 page)

“You cannot fight them alone!” Cradon cried, drawing his sword with a chill ring. He felt the weight of the heavy metal, his arms already tired from the gripping cold.

“Cradon, you are not ready to kill!” insisted Gomel as he planted his feet firmly in the snow preparing to meet the charging troops.

Ignoring him, Cradon took a defensive stance beside him, grasping the hilt of his sword tightly with both hands. He turned at the terrified whinnies of the horses, in time to see them bolt.

“Let them go!” Gomel yelled through the snow. “They are the least of our worries! Stand your ground. Remember what I have taught you!”

The sentry was quickly upon them, raising his sword high above his head to bring down a fatal blow. Gomel ducked to the side, anticipating the attack, and swung his axe up into the man’s chest as he stumbled forward past the two comrades. Before his dead body had hit the ground, the other five soldiers reached them. Gomel pulled out his second axe and blocked the blows of the two men that set upon him, leaving Cradon to defend himself.

The young Hundlinger successfully diverted each blow from the soldiers, skilfully dodging and rolling to either side. The force of their hits sent jarring shudders through his arms, running up to his shoulders. He stayed calmly focused, trying to remember everything his friend had taught him. To his side he heard the sound of the other two soldiers dying, and knew that Gomel was doing well, urging him not to give up. The gnome quickly came to his rescue, leading away two of the soldiers, leaving Cradon to defend himself against only one.

With each heavy blow he found himself anticipating the man’s movements. His confidence grew with each swing until he was able to follow defensive moves with an attacking lunge. The soldier, however, parried them easily.

Something soon came over Cradon, and he found himself fighting instinctively. He parried again, lunged and spun round, moving nimbly about the soldier. He rolled under the man’s swinging sword, jabbing upwards towards the man’s exposed chest. The trooper met this attack with a swift kick. As he forced Cradon to roll backwards he sliced him skilfully across his back.

The hot wetness of blood seeped into his shirt but the pain had not yet hit his brain. Despite the injury, his momentum helped him complete his roll, quickly jumping to his feet. Spinning round quickly he caught the man with a swift, deep slice under his arm and across his chest. The man was spun round by the force of the blow, and fell to his knees as he dropped his sword. Clawing at his bleeding torso, with anguish filling his eyes, he stared at his bloody hands and leather armour.

Even through the falling snow, Cradon’s eyes met the dying man’s eyes, filling his stomach with an unforgettable, gut-wrenching pain. His gaze fixed in horror upon the other’s face, the boy lowered his sword, unable to take his eyes off the soldier as he fell forward, his red blood staining the clean, white ground. Cradon had killed him.

The pain suddenly caught up with the young man’s senses. Weakened by loss of blood and exertion, Cradon slumped onto his knees, his breathing fast and laboured. His eyes seemed to blur and he became unaware of his surroundings, focussing only on the agony spreading through his body. Before him, the snow was already hiding the slain soldier.

Gomel shaking his shoulders jolted him back to awareness.

“Cradon! Speak to me, boy!” he pleaded urgently, his face visibly pale even in the whiteness of the blizzard. Gomel turned back, catching a glimpse of the dead body. “I told you that you were not ready for killing. Try not to look at it.”

The gnome realised his hands felt warm and moist upon Cradon’s shoulders. In dismay, he held up his open palms, gasping at the scarlet, steaming blood. In that moment, before Gomel could speak, Cradon passed out, toppling forwards into Gomel.

Survival instinct took over and Gomel dragged Cradon’s limp body to the soldiers’ floundering campfire. Hurriedly he added some dry wood that he found amongst a soldier’s belongings. Reluctantly, in the whipping snow and wind, the flames began to throw out more warmth.

He laid the boy as close to the fire as he could, and rolled him onto his side to inspect his wound. The gaping gash was long, but thankfully had not reached the bone. It was clear Cradon had already lost much blood, his clothes soaked. Tearing strips of cloth from the soldiers’ clothes, Gomel tried his best to staunch the bleeding, wrapping Cradon’s torso and shoulders in tight bandages. He then covered the boy with extra blankets and cloaks that were strewn about the camp. With nothing more he could do except hope and wait, Gomel settled down to warm himself by the fire, keeping a close eye on the young clansman.  

It was a long, bitter night, but morning eventually came, and with it more snow. Gomel had kept the fire burning until he finally ran out of fuel in the early hours of dawn. There was a moment of sheer bliss and relief when Cradon finally opened his eyes and spoke.

“What happened?” he asked weakly, his mind still hazy and his body stiff with cold. Cradon attempted to move but was abruptly reminded of his wound, gasping suddenly.

“Lie still. Your injury is severe,” Gomel said, tucking the cloaks and blankets back underneath the boy. “I have bandaged it as best I can, but I am no match for Jaidan’s healing skills. The bleeding has stopped though.”

“It’s still snowing,” whispered Cradon. “I’m so cold.” He closed his eyes again.

“It hasn’t stopped all night. I’ve run out of wood,” replied Gomel, apologetically.

“Did you find the horses? The should be some wood left in Sonda’s saddlebags.”

“No, not yet. I didn’t want to leave you in case you woke up. But, I should go now. Will you be all right?” Gomel leaned over Cradon, feeling his feverish brow.

Cradon nodded. “I’ll have to be!” He braved a smile.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” reassured Gomel, patting him gently on the hand. “They can not have gone too far, I’m sure.”

Gomel left Cradon reluctantly, knowing their only hope of survival was to find the horses. He knew he could not carry Cradon through the mountains. Besides, they needed their supplies. Gomel had spent time rummaging through the soldiers belongings, but had found little that would help them. They had obviously only been a small scouting party, and  had brought little surplus with them. If he and Cradon were going to make the trek across the Lopthians they would need the supplies Cradon had stolen from the village.

Both horses were sheltering under a nearby overhanging crag, huddled close together for warmth. They looked very bedraggled and sorry for themselves with muddy coats, and their manes and tails were a tangled mess from the wind. Sonda whinnied happily when she saw her rider, and trotted out into the snow to greet him. Danfur too, nuzzled Gomel, snorting his warm breath onto his bald head.

“Yes, yes! I’m pleased to see you both too!” Gomel reached up and patted their necks. He then heard muffled squawking from the saddlebags and gave a surprised laugh as he realised Khar had been trapped in there all night. Standing on his tiptoes, he was just able to reach the buckles. She flew out in an angry flutter of plumage and disappeared into the flurries of windswept snow.

Needing little encouragement, Sonda and Danfur obediently followed Gomel back to the camp. Cradon had fallen asleep again, so Gomel did not wake him. Instead, he found the dry firewood in one of the saddlebags and managed to relight the fire. The new flames spat and hissed, melting the falling snowflakes.

Cradon woke once again, pleased to find Gomel had returned, grateful for the warmth of the firelight gracing his face.  

“You found the horses then?” he murmured. “And Khar?”

Gomel helped him prop his body up carefully using some of the soldiers’ satchels. “They were easy to find, and very grateful to be brought back. Khar too! She was still in the saddlebag!” he laughed.

“Where is she now?”

“She flew off in a hurry. Probably hunting. Hopefully she will bring something back for us!”

Sure enough, Khar soon returned clutching several small rodents in her yellow talons. She dropped two at Gomel’s feet and then landed on a flat boulder to eat hers.

At first Gomel turned his nose up at the thought of eating rat, but then realised his foolishness, amazed Khar had found anything to hunt at all. Gomel set about skinning and chopping up the rats to make a stew. Balancing a small metal bowl above the fire, he managed to melt some fresh snow, and helped Cradon drink several sips. Cradon was still very pale, but after some stew he found some strength return. The dizziness also lessened, but he was uneasy about attempting to walk or ride. The smallest move sent sharp shooting pains through his body.

“Cradon, do not worry.  I have a plan,” Gomel reassured him. “Get some sleep. I am not too concerned about leaving today. It’s unlikely there will be any more soldiers nearby.”

“I killed him.” Cradon grasped Gomel’s rough hand, filled with the shame of his actions, images of the dying man still haunting him. It was the look in the soldier’s eyes that lingered.

“It’s never easy to kill someone. I am sorry you have had to learn that lesson so soon. But it was self-defence!”

Cradon nodded, understanding, but inside he knew he could not forgive himself quite so quickly.

 “Now sleep. You need your rest.  We will make a move again in the morning if you are strong enough.”

As Cradon slept, Gomel spent the evening constructing a crude sledge to drag the boy on given that it was unlikely he could walk or even ride. The chance of wound infection was high, so they could not afford to delay getting to Ghornathia. Using the soldiers’ shields tied together with belts and anything else he found he eventually pulled the flat sledge together. After finding some strong rope Gomel attached the sledge to Sonda’s saddle. Finally, after several hours, he was finished and gladly fell asleep.

The next morning greeted the travellers with faint sunlight piercing through scattered, grey clouds. The snow had finally abated, for a while at least.

Cradon was still as weak. His fever had worsened, and he could not shake the coldness that filled his body. His wound, however, no longer caused him pain, which made Gomel worry all the more.

Sonda patiently waited as the gnome gently helped Cradon lower his body onto the sledge, wrapping himself up in the blankets once more. Once he was comfortable, Gomel took Sonda’s reins and began leading her up the winding track, higher into the mountains, pulling the sledge behind them. Danfur faithfully plodded close behind, with Khar flying high above.

With Eilendan leading, the comrades had travelled continuously, pausing only briefly to allow the horses to feed, and to tend to injuries. Nymril was still unconscious and had been for the past few days. Eilendan’s burns and mutilated ears were healing quickly and with the help of Jaidan’s herbal remedies had not become infected. Despite having endured the torture bravely, the elf felt humiliated at his appearance. He attempted to hide the shameful evidence under his silver plaits.

By the fifth day the horses and riders were flagging and were finally forced to stop. They had crossed the grasslands, riding through the barren Valley of Kanash and its surrounding hills and ravines until the plains of Andkhuin were behind them.

It had been a long, hard ride, with little shelter from the howling winds that brought with them treacherous thunderstorms. Thankfully, they travelled without incident and no trouble from Imperial troops. After finding a scooped hollow at the base of a gentle hill the group mutually agreed to rest for the night, knowing that this was the most shelter they would be likely to find.

The group dismounted, Gaular helping Jaidan lower Nymril’s cold body to the ground. The horses shook their bodies gratefully as their tack was removed. After several failed attempts a small fire was lit, the previous efforts quickly blown out by the wind before the flames could take hold.  

“How much further do we have to go?” asked Nechan, shuddering next to the small fire, hunched up, rubbing his arms.

“We should reach Loreandril tomorrow,” replied Eilendan, as he gently stroked Nymril’s head, removing the hair that kept blowing into her face. “I just hope that it is soon enough.”

“How can you see anything?” Gaular joined Jaidan who was looking out across the darkening plains. The setting sun draped long shadows of the surrounding mountains across the plains like cruel jagged fingers. The clouds had broken a few hours earlier, giving them a rest from the cold drizzle that had followed their travels most of the day.

“I not looking, I’m listening and feeling,” Jaidan whispered.

Gaular looked at the Brathunder and saw his eyes were indeed closed.

“For what?”

“Anything untoward. Indications of being followed.”

“But how can you
feel
if we are being followed?” Nechan now joined them, scanning the dark line of the horizon also.

Jaidan was intriguing. He looked like a normal clansman, one that could inhabit any village, but there was more to him, something deeper that Nechan could not put his finger on. If he did not hold the appearance of a man, Nechan would have said he was more like an elf. Jaidan certainly carried himself with a similar air of grace and intelligence, as if he too wielded an alluring kind of unfathomable mysticism.

“Everything on this earth emits an energy; a force that influences everything around it. Some things emit
dark
energy, others,
light
, each inflicting a different effect.” Jaidan stood motionless, his eyes still closed.

“So what can you
feel
now?”

“The enemy,” he whispered.

“So, we are being followed?” Gaular said, breathing in deeply.

Eilendan joined the trio. “Jaidan, the memories of great darkness envelop these plains. Perhaps that is what you are sensing?” The elf stood beside Jaidan, and closed his eyes as well, hoping to sense what Jaidan was feeling.

“No! There is something new here. Approaching fast behind us. This darkness has been growing in my mind for days.”