Light Of Loreandril (5 page)

“Short time? Omph! I plan on getting a decent nap, at least!” griped Gomel.

“I still don’t understand how you can interpret what that bird says,” Gaular huffed, wiping his sweaty brow. He followed the rest of the group, praying there would be some shade, silently cursing the fact they had decided to continue riding through hottest part of the day.

Sure enough, a scoured-out overhang in a small outcrop of rocks was found exactly where Jaidan and Khar said it would be. Quickly, Jaidan and Eilendan constructed a crude awning to provide some much-needed shelter from the sun, while the others immediately collapsed with tiredness. The horses, with their tack removed, gratefully roamed away from the camp, snapping at the dried tuffs of grass, rubbing their rumps against the rocks to rid themselves of the itchy sand in their coats.

Sipping on the remains of their warm, stale water, the comrades, in exhausted silence, munched on stale crusty bread and leathery strips of salted dried meat. It was not much of meal, but helped to fill their stomachs and renew their energy. More importantly, their bodies were given chance to rest from the persistent heat and the uninterrupted riding. They had all discovered that riding in sweaty breeches was very uncomfortable.

“How many leagues away do you think they are?” Nymril leaned towards Jaidan inquisitively, keen to receive some encouragement for their arduous journey.

Jaidan was lying back, stretched out on the dusty sand, staring high into the cloudless sky. “Hard to say,” he replied, sighing. “They travel fast, even on foot, but we are definitely gaining ground.” Jaidan hesitated once more, rubbing his tired, grainy eyes in dismay. “I haven’t been able to see them across the plains yet, but their tracks are fresh, possibly only hours old.”

The group felt enthused by his words, and a renewed tingle of adrenaline began pulsating through the veins. They were eager to complete their mission and return home. The resaddled horses ground their bits in annoyance, side-stepping just to be awkward as the comrades began to remount. Finally, they cantered off at a refreshed speed, determined to gain more ground.

Night was falling, with the first stars appearing in the dusky pink sky. The travellers speedily rode through the narrowing entrance of the Kandkhar Gorge, its steep, red, dusty walls rising imposingly on either side. Undeterred, the comrades pressed on.

“Stop! Look!!” Jaidan exclaimed, pointing into the distance. The clansman’s keen eyesight had finally spotted something. His horse reared as he halted suddenly. Peering into the growing darkness, standing in their stirrups, they saw ahead a faint, but definite line of lights snaking through the gorge ahead.

This was their chance. They paused only briefly to don their armour, and then, dismissing any faint glimmer of fear, they composed themselves. Mustering all their strength they spurred their horses on towards their foes.

Galloping at full pace, they caught up with the soldiers they had been tracking for so long. Forcing their horses onwards, they charged at the twenty heavily-armoured soldiers, hooves pounding on the gorge floor, echoing on the walls.

The guards did not have time to prepare. They scattered in panic as the horses rode through their columns, trying to avoid the stampeding animals. Crushed against the gorge walls, barely room to swing their lances and swords, the soldiers defended as best they could.

Gaular dismounted with a thud, making the ground beneath him tremble. The dwarf swung his huge flat-headed war hammer, easily crushing heads with a single blow. Soldiers fell to the ground dead, their shields in splinters and their bodies broken.

In eagerness, Gomel tumbled from the saddle and sprinted in a comical gnome fashion towards the closest soldier who was cowering behind his black tower shield. Clamouring in his native tongue, welding twin-headed axes in either hand, Gomel battered down the shield and unleashed his full wrath upon the cowardly soldier. The man visibly paled in the darkness, and let out a gurgled scream of blood as Gomel quickly hacked the life from him.

The two elves remained mounted, their swords singing skilfully through the dust-filled air, hewing limbs to the left and right. Jaidan rained down a torrent of accurate arrows, each picking off any soldiers straggling on the outskirts trying to flee the fray. He stopped only as a trooper came hurtling towards him, stabbing him through the chest with a dagger tucked down his leather boot.

As quickly as it had begun, the ambush was over. Breathlessly, Nymril and Eilendan dismounted, looking at the blood-soaked ground which was already drying in the dusty heat. The half moon had started to rise and cast her faint hue upon the scene of death. Jaidan stooped down, plucking any reusable arrows from the dead bodies. As the dust began to settle a silence fell in the gorge. Only the hot breeze could be heard winnowing through the nooks and crannies.

Slowly, their gaze turned to the wrought iron chest that the guards had died defending. The black, studded metal glinted in the grey moonlight, the blood-splatter glistening like silver droplets as it dripped down its cold sides.

A large, hefty lock held it tightly shut. Gaular easily broke it with a powerful swing of his hammer. Smashed to smithereens, the broken metal fell into the settling dust. With nervous anticipation, Nymril and Eilendan stepped forward, both breathing deeply as they strained to lift open the heavy, iron lid. A piercing, bright light burst from the chest, filling the gorge, forcing the comrades to shield their eyes.

Carefully, squinting in the blinding light, Nymril reached inside and raised their prize: the Aeonorgal
.
From the very first touch she felt its power surge through her body. As her skin began to tingle and her toes curl, the female elf fell to her knees, overwhelmed with the sudden empowerment that swept through her. It had been several centuries since she last felt this magic. The Earth Spirit inside her began to awaken and she felt truly alive once more.

Uncontrollably, she was flung across the gorge, hitting the steep wall. In helpless bewilderment the comrades looked on as they watched her delicate body convulse and contort as the spirit dragon inside her uncontrollably broke free. It grew, spreading its wings, quickly filling the gorge. Instinctively, Gaular and Gomel fell to their knees in fear and awe. Jaidan’s automatic response was to string his bow, preparing to shoot at the strange apparition. He had heard of such magic, but had never dreamed of witnessing it. Eilendan calmed his friend’s hand, tilting his bow back down to the ground.

The dragon let out an ear-deafening roar and was immediately absorbed back into the elf’s body. The loud noise reverberated through the gorge, dislodging dust and pebbles that tumbled down from the steep cliffs.

“The horses!” Jaidan sprinted, his long legs quickly picking up speed to the catch the rearing, bucking animals.

“Pick up Nymril!” cried Eilendan, jumping into his saddle.

Gaular scooped up the crumpled body of the elf, and threw her, still unconscious, over Eilendan’s lap. Jaidan helped Gomel clamber onto his horse as boulders began cascading all around them.

As they galloping back through the ravine, the walls started to cave in from both sides, threatening to trap and crush them. The comrades escaped in a cloud of dust, and looking behind them, saw that the gorge entrance was now entombed in a pile of rubble. The horses stamped and snorted, shaking debris from their coats and manes. In relieved shock, the riders blinked in the settling dust. Nymril, however, did not stir.

The bony hands of the Rjukhan glided over the Map of Shadows. As the three Dark Overlords watched and waited, the grains of map sand shimmered with hues of black and grey. They began to ripple, brought to life by dark magic, taking the shape of mountains, woods, villages and lines of rivers and streams. The Empire was laid out before the Rjukhan, showing the positions of their loyal servants, where their troops marched and were fortified, even where trade routes moved. They saw everything, laid out before them in murky shadows and gloom.

To their horror this time the Rjukhan also saw an unmistakable grain of white light, piercing the dark void of their landscape. They knew instantly that the white spirit-magic of the Aeonorgal had somehow been released,
but how and by whom?
The Elves did not have the numbers to venture out of hiding into the Empire, let alone carry out an attack on Imperial troops.

The thin shaft of light emanated from the map for only a few moments, but long enough for them to note the position: the Kandkhar gorge, exactly where their small battalion and armoured chest should have been. Just as quickly as it appeared, the light was extinguished, as if a dark mist had enveloped it.

Their shrill shrieks filled the Chamber of Daam and echoed through the fortress of Damankhur’s multitude of corridors. This high, vaulted room was the main ruling chamber of the Empire. Here the Rjukhan made their macabre decisions on the fate of the Empire and its people. In this forbidding fortress, they hid their black magic and demonic secrets in the dank dungeons and high towers.

Tonight, they were overwhelmed with venomous wrath at the discovery of the catastrophe in the Kandkhar Gorge.
How could they not have foreseen this?
At their command, a group of karzon was set loose upon the Empire, riding upon gruesome khalit beasts, heading for the last known whereabouts of the precious cargo that had been stolen.

Not content with this, fearing the khalit would possibly be unable to get there fast enough, they conjured up one of their darkest, most fearsome fiend. It was a new breed, a more evil creation, designed for just this type of mission. Combining their black magic, the three Rjukhan awoke one of their uzgen that slumbered in the blackness beneath the fortress. Only one was released, more than enough to dispatch their so-called justice.

A creature of their own malignant minds, this monstrous, winged beast was formed from the sacrificed blood of Empire slaves and tortured enemies, the black magic binding its form together. Its foul, scaly skin was etched with the black language. Needle pointed, dark spines ran down its back to the tip of its tail, forming a cruel, lethal mane. Black horns twisted and curled from its head, framing a face with soulless eyes and grimacing jaws filled with rows of chiselled fangs. Standing as tall as a house, it spread its black, leathery wings, and clawed at the ground with its cloven feet.

Under the mind control of the Rjukhan, the uzgen left the stronghold of Damankhur, and flew silently into the night towards the Kandkhar Gorge.

Since their successful ambush and miraculous escape from the gorge, this was the first time the comrades had stopped. After travelling many leagues across the barren Kanash Desert they had entered the relative safety of the Karakhul Woods, concealing themselves amongst the trees as they rode, once again, under the cover of darkness. For the sake of their horses they had been forced to halt in a small, sheltered clearing. Jaidan had reluctantly made a modest campfire. They all needed hot food to restore their energy and the night wind was cold, chilling them to the bones, a shocking contrast to the merciless heat of the desert.

They might have stolen the Spirit Star back from the enemy, but they had not yet successfully returned it to Loreandril. This could perhaps prove to be a far more dangerous task. Releasing the magic of the Spirit Star would have alerted the Rjukhan to their plans. Now the precious orb lay hidden in Eilendan’s saddlebag, wrapped in a thick cloth woven with Elven magic and silver, a parting gift from the Elders. It was hoped this would conceal the Aeonorgal’s magic from the enemy’s roving eyes and spies.

Eilendan gently lifted Nymril down from his horse, laying her on the bedroll Jaidan had placed next to the fire. The elf was icy cold to the touch and her breathing shallow, but thankfully, she was still alive. A blue-black bruise, a gift from the gorge wall, was swelling down the side of her small, pretty face. Concerned, Eilendan stroked her pale hand, whispering Elvish words of healing.

Jaidan crumbled leaves of the lorndan plant, which he always carried with him in a small leather pouch on his belt. After casting them into the fire, he could not resist smelling his tanned, dirty fingers, taking in the fragrant aroma of the sap. These leaves were known for their healing, rejuvenating power. The flames spat and crackled, and the pungent essence was released from the burning leaves, filling the small clearing. They all inhaled deeply, feeling their aching muscles and tired minds relax.

Silently, huddled around the pitiful fire, the comrades ate the stew hastily prepared from a pair of stringy, tasteless, black squirrels native to this part of the Karakhul Woods. They were forced to rely on the hunting skill of Khar, as the animals had been far too quick for even Jaidan’s accurate bow.

“Will she recover?” Gomel queried, anxiously looking across at Nymril’s limp body, her ghostly face illuminated by the dancing firelight.

“It’s more a question of
when,
” Eilendan responded solemnly. “It’s been two hundred years since her earth spirit was released. It was an unexpected shock to her system.”

“Can she control it?” Gaular demanded, flinging his empty bowl to the ground. “We need her to be able to use it. Without that power this quest is all but finished.”

“We all knew when we set out that this would be a difficult, dangerous mission. Yet we took it.” Eilendan, irritated at Gaular’s outburst, found his calm demeanour starting to crack under the tension of the day’s events.

“Can she?” Jaidan continued.

“Yes, I believe so, but only with time.” Eilendan moved over to Nymril’s side, pulling the grey cloak up tighter around her chin, ensuring she was warm. “But her body needs to get accustomed to its strength again. It’s hard for any Aeon elf to master.”

“But I don’t understand. I thought this thing was always in her, a part of her body and soul. Our stories say Aeon elves were great warriors,” stated Gomel, demanding an explanation.