Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1)

by Nicolae Ovidiu Baiculescu

  The yelp she instinctively let out gave her away – it was the witch! I relaxed and exhaled, realising I was shaking. Her long, unconventional descent brought her right in front of me, on her bottom.

  “Naghnatë!” I leaped to her aid, making haste to replace the dagger back in my belt.

  “These cussed rocks…” her lengthy imprecation turned swiftly into a mumble I could no longer understand.

  “Are you well? Here, let me help you!” I said as I lifted her up with a hand on her arm and one around her back.

  Though as soon as she was up, she stepped away from me, almost pushing me to the side. Her quick gesture made me wonder if my touch was mistakenly perceived as too brazen.

  “I hope you haven’t compromised yourself just yet.” I ignored her confused face altogether. “I found Nuuk and we’ve escaped. Unfortunately, now they know about us. Not that we are here in the cave, they thought that we escaped through magic. But they do know it was a human; the orcs picked up my trail. And also…” I paused briefly, weighing the magnitude of my confession, “…I’ve lost your cloak! In the rush, I’ve left it on a chair and there was no time for me to go back. Nuuk was really hurt and I couldn’t risk…” I stopped myself mid-sentence.

  My words changed her face expression to a heavier attitude and she took some time before she replied. “I guess that is that then. First things first, now!” She darted quickly through the boulders and holes on the floor and moved towards the imp.

  I followed silently.

  “Oh dear!” she exclaimed as she knelt next to Nuuk, dropping her bag carelessly on the floor.

  Her thin fingers moved gently as she started inspecting the imp’s face, mumbling all along. With every new bruise she found, her voice hissed a bit higher or lower, based on the gravity of the discovery. I gathered that she had recognised the most urgent injuries when she stopped abruptly.

  “Wet a clean piece of cloth in fresh water and bring it to me. Soak it well!” she commanded.

  There was no point in mentioning I had already cleaned it; perhaps my efforts weren’t anywhere good enough, so I obeyed, happy to have her with us.

  Once satisfied with her cleaning, she made Nuuk chew on a root she pulled from a bundle in her bag and made him drink aplenty from her waterskin – one of the few sentences that she addressed me after our initial encounter, had been to return her waterskin so she could prepare more of the cleansing, cold herbal-brew. Besides the face the imp pulled when he had to masticate the dry root, which also made me grimace in sympathy, the help she provided seemed to have immediate, positive effects.

  Nuuk’s face was not knotted anymore, his body freed from the many grips of pain that had contorted it since his capture. He appeared reinvigorated and was now able to move more freely, without wincing or gasping for air, although some of the wounds still looked like they hurt. I wondered if the herb she had used was still Drakholia and how long its numbing effect would last, considering all along if I should ask for a tiny bit for my leg.

  I never got the chance, however, as Nuuk was eager to recount his adventures. His long recount took us back at the moment he had shifted and landed in her pots-and-pans’ trap in the mountain’s hut, which saw us all share a laugh or two. He then related about the moment he had lost his memory and had encountered Quick and finally had been rescued by me.

  It filled me with joy, hearing him voice what had appeared to me more like a clumsy intrusion and frightful escape. I had not for a second stopped to reconsider what I had achieved and what weeks ago could have been and unthinkable undertaking for one like me. The more he continued, the more I did not recognise the character he was portraying; a brave and bold version of me that did not flinch or falter against the danger of the citadel, while all I could think of was the raw sense of fear and shock, conveyed by those guttural Gholaks’ voices and growls. Even thinking back to those brutes made my blood chill. Why did they have that effect on me? I did not remember being that scared when I met Ghaeloden, I had passed out, sure, yet I still considered him less frightful; inexplicably so as he was a lot bigger and stronger and his capacity to fly and wield magic could tear apart an army of orcs.

  “That’s why I’m indebted to you! Both of you, but especially Lorian!” Nuuk’s voice was directed towards me, interrupting my momentary absence.

  I concluded there was no need for him to know how really scared I had been and still was. Maybe it was best to allow his aching eyes and mind think of me as the fearless redeemer he depicted. At least for the moment.

  “What’s important is that you are safe now and we’re all together. Yet I cannot lie, I’d like Ghaeloden to be with us as well.” I smiled at both of them.

  “He’s well alright! I saw him with my own eyes, flying about the lands with the white Drakhahoul. I suppose he was summoned to report back to the king himself, though I doubt they were alone!” Naghnatë’s mocking tone allowed little interpretation on what she meant.

  “I am sure he tried his best to delay Felduror,” I said, more convinced now than before. “Felduror had no intention to keep hurting me, not for a while at least. But…” Nuuk suddenly lifted himself to his feet, staring at me with his eye wide open against an obvious trail of pain.

  “What?” I asked nervously.

  “Lorian! It just came to me!” His tone and face promised nothing good. “Felduror gave me time to think and tell him the truth until his Gholaks returned from Sallncoln!”

  “What? Gholaks?” I exchanged glances with him and the witch. “Why Sallncoln?

  “That was supposed to be my bad news, and thanks to the imp it is not anymore! However, I didn’t think it’d be that bad news.” The witch tried to alleviate my tension. “I saw them leaving earlier, from my tree. I was on my way towards the main entrance, where I thought to distract the wizard by using a spell to disarm the guards at the gates. And when I heard the horns ringing I decided to wait. Not long after, I saw a host of orcs, daggers and axes at hand, leaving towards south.”

  Her words felt like needles in my heart. She continued talking, yet my ears were clinking with a sharp noise that muffled any exterior sound, making it impossible to understand a word. Like a strike that had been delivered well, I was accusing its devastating effects. My body refused to move and felt like it was trapped in a stream of drying-concrete and, while it kept me still, my mind could only focus on the words Gholaks and Sallncoln. I stopped seeing the witch and the imp, and the bodies of the three tall brutes that have chased us in the basements were foremost in my mind as if summoned from a nightmare.

  Why Sallncoln? What do they want with my village?

  “Lorian, are you well?” It was Nuuk’s voice that became clear enough to distract me from the cacophony of noises, smells and hallucinations I was surrounded by.

  I gulped and blinked repeatedly until I saw both of them staring at me.

  “Why Sallncoln?” I managed to say, wondering why had the imp had waited so long to tell me about it.

  “It must be the reason Felduror sent me and Ghaeloden before; to look for Naghnatë!” Nuuk felt eager to respond, while the face of the witch appeared clueless.

  “That would have been a good sign if you hadn’t forgotten the cloak in the cellars, Lorian, which I do not blame you for it, let’s be clear!” Naghnatë started.

  I was not following.

  “None would’ve done better than you without any aid nor magic. I’m only thinking out loud and stating the facts here. So, if he hadn’t found the cloak, it would’ve meant that he did not know about me and he sent his Gholaks to take a proper look.”

  “Are you sure he will know it is your cloak? Couldn’t it be just anyone’s?” I asked.

  “If he puts his hands on it, we better assume he knows than being unprepared,” the witch replied sharply. “So, assuming he knows about me, he most likely will think that I have ventured here. Then –”

  “Why is he sending the Gholaks to Sallncoln?” Nuuk and I said in unison.


  Naghnatë pondered her answer.

  “To wipe out every trace that a dragon had been there! And I’m afraid that’s not the only thing. The orcs are not travelling alone; a few acolytes accompany them. I counted at least four.”

  “Acolytes and orcs?” My empty words trailed faintly in the air.

  “Acolytes accustomed in wielding magic and Gholaks that are eager to prove what they are worth to their master and in desperate need of blood,” Nuuk added. “Whenever the wizard recounted such deeds, he behaved as if possessed, never once feeling any emotions of sorrow or sympathy towards those that perished. I doubt this will be any different, as orcs are not beasts of idleness, which is what they have been for quite some time now.”

  Orcs and acolytes.

  “Felduror has grown careless of what the others think and is too keen on showing off his brutes again. If that is the case, it can only mean he will soon make his move on seizing the throne for himself!” Naghnatë added.

  My family, Elmira!

  “As I feared, we are too late! Perhaps he has already found enough tokens and stones to bind them and reach for the power that would secure his place.” Naghnatë’s voice was passionless.

  If that was true, then the people in Sallncoln were not the only ones in danger; every human and creature that stood in the wizard’s path was equally threatened. Perhaps the dragons too, if they dared not rise up against him in an attempt to aid their king. And most certainly Ghaeloden, who nurtured fervent hatred towards the old wizard.

  The thought of the young, spiked dragon made me imagine an improbable airborne fight between him and his mother, Sereri, who, according to the witch, would serve Felduror until her death. An imaginary fight I could not comprehend and in which I could not see a positive outcome for Ghaeloden.

  Gholaks, Drakhahouls and wizards! My mind continued to convey and balance the possible ends that innocent people and creatures might have to suffer.

  I did not know what would be worse and what I could do, if indeed there was anything in my power to do at all. The face of the tall orc from the basement kept returning in my mind, tormenting my soul with a blusterous cacophony of heartbeats.

  If a few of those warriors were marching for Sallncoln there would be no one able to respond to their rage. None of our people had the skills and the weapons to fight back at such soldiers of death; we might have some brave, strong men, yet unfortunately, they were not people accustomed to fighting. Besides, they don’t even believe the existence of those they would fight against. Who would? Everyone knew what the old stories recounted, and nobody believed them to be true. Not even me, the hopeless, daydreaming boy, who always hoped for something to be true. And even now that I was in the middle of it all, it felt overwhelming and unreal at times.

  How would someone in their right mind believe such nonsense?

  People’s lives were already hard enough, with little to drag them on and add sense to their modest existence. Too many years had passed since the age of elves, dwarfs and dragons had turned into legends and legends into bed-time stories. None would spare a second thought that orcs, wizards, imps and dragons still existed. And certainly no one would be able to face them.

  One thing was certain; the boldness of Felduror seemed to have overwhelmed his desire to keep his existence hidden. Ready or not, no one would stand a chance. It seemed plausible that he felt ready to reveal himself to the world. His move for Sallncoln would not only show everyone that the forces of hell were once more walking the earth, but would also expose him as a new ruler, a wizard nonetheless – a wizard, right hand of a Drakhahoul king. It would shatter the frivolous stability that existed among human clans of all regions. The north and the south would see a new challenge; one they could not overcome.

  It was worse than I feared. There was one thing I could do and one alone; I needed to return home and warn them and get ready, ready for war.

  “Naghnatë, I need you to shift me back to your hut in the mountains that surround the Lament Valley. From there I can walk a day towards Sallncoln and still be ahead of the orcs. At least I can try and make the villagers aware of what is coming!” I spoke fast and agitatedly.

  “But –” Nuuk tried to argue.

  “Naghnatë, you promised!” I enforced my demand, my nails digging achingly inside my blistered fists.

  “And so I will,” she replied, “although, I warn you, lad, this is bigger than what you can achieve on your own. You are not ready for such an endeavour.”

  “Probably I won’t ever be ready!” I did not care how weak I was. “What I do know however, is that I shall not stay idle while my family and those I care about are being butchered!”

  “What about the tokens? There will be no better opportunity for us to come back here and surprise the wizard?” said Nuuk with concern.

  “Nothing has changed from what we discussed, except it’ll only be me and you. We shall both stay, Nuuk. I will take Lorian back and return here promptly.” She shot a strict look at the imp, allowing no space for argument even though their chances had been drastically reduced now that the wizard was alerted to our presence.

  “I hope you understand, Nuuk!” I tried to pacify the imp’s confusion. “I wish I could stay, but not while my village is in danger. I can’t let them die because of those artefacts, not now, not ever!” I placed my hand on his shoulder and crouched in front of him.

  He seemed lost and confounded. A sad sight that made my determination waver. I did not want to leave him; he was too weak still. But, I could not stay either. I had to attempt and deliver the news to my people. As awkward as they might find it, I was their only hope of survival, if they agreed to abscond.

  “I’m ready when you are!” Naghnatë interrupted our moment.

  “I understand, Lorian.” Nuuk overcame his sorrow to offer his compassion and support. “You do well to look after yourself. I hope to meet you again sometime!” He gulped with sadness and placed both his hands over my shoulders. His big, green irises pierced through to my soul.

  I lifted myself rather quickly, the sight making me feel uncomfortable.

  “Very well then, I’m ready!” I said to Naghnatë.

  She then took my hand and fixed my eyes and, before I could even look back at Nuuk, we were gone.

  I felt dizzy upon landing, yet I was standing, and most importantly, I did not feel the urge to puke this time.

  “You are getting better at this!” Naghnatë offered a sincere smile.

  I let out a small smile too, weakened by how miserable and torn I felt. I was happy to breathe the comforting air of home’s vicinity, coldly tinged with autumn’s arrival. Alas, I felt abnormally sad for having to leave the witch, the imp and the dragon to their unknown fates.

  The sight of the multitude of pots and pans scattered about the wooden-floor, brought back the humorous, imp’s recount which lifted my spirits a little.

  “Would you tell master Ghaeloden I wish him well?” I thought how much I would have liked to see him one more time.

  “I will!” she replied coldly.

  “And would you look after Nuuk?” I continued, my eyes wet already.

  “I will!” she said with the same soft but cold voice.

  I took a long deep breath then and without her consent I pulled her into a hug. I expected at any moment to be pushed away. Though she did not do it this time. She allowed me to linger for a moment.

  “Do not fret, young Lorian, we shall meet again!” she said as she pulled away with a wry smile upon her face, keeping her eyes on mine.

  A nodding moment and she was gone.

  She vanished from between my arms, making me vacillate feebly back and forth. Her last words turned to a deafening silence and I found myself smiling at an empty space, surrounded by pots and thinking how I would have liked this to end another way. But, perhaps, this was already a better way; I had met a witch, I had met a dragon, I had met an imp and I had wielded magic.

  With a strong grip around Winterhorn’s h
andle, I was ready to return home and ready for whatever else fate might bring.

  About the Author

  Ovidiu Nicolae Baiculescu is the author behind Winterhorn, book I of the epic fantasy series Tokens of Benevolence. He is a Romanian-Italian traditional artist and a 3D/Vfx computer artist, that lives between Romania, Italy and UK.

  Graduated in Traditional Arts of the Academy of Fine Arts and Master in Product Design (Firenze, Tuscany), Ovidiu works keenly across multiple platforms and disciplines, both digitally and traditionally, fact which allows him to envision fantastic sceneries and characters that are a vibrant proof of his ancient history passion.

  www.oxhid3.com

  Character Map

  Lorian Garr – Human

  Naghnatë – Human/Witch

  Nuuk – Iprorim/Imp

  Felduror – Human/Wizard

  Quick – Iprorim/Imp

  Henek – Human – Lorian’s brother

  Kuno – Human – Lorian’s brother

  Allarea – Human – Lorian’s grandmother

  Dhereki – Human – Lorian’s grandfather

  Elmira – Human – Lorian’s promised love

  Alaric Eamon Beorth – Human

  Bilberith – Human/Wizard

  Medoris – Human – owner of the first token, the Blood-Stone

  Takahok – Human – owner of the token Rose of Ice

  Ghaeloden-Three-Horns – Drakhahoul/Dragon

  Belrug-The-Black – Drakhahoul/Dragon – King in the present

  Sereri-The-White – Drakhahoul/Dragoness

  Jaro-The-Venomous – Drakhahoul/Dragon