by Markus Heitz
The tension became almost unbearable when he realised the significance of the coming confrontation: My first ever clash with my sworn enemies!
And he did not have either his father or an army of veterans to support him in the endeavour. His fighting force comprised one giant älf, one female sorceress, and himself, a young priest. And they were about to meet a ship full of elves in full combat.
Phondrasôn, some time after the 5427th division of unendingness.
‘Look up! I’m up here!’
Tirîgon raised his head and saw Esmonäe hanging from a rope; her feet were just over his head. ‘How did you do that?’
‘You always underestimate me, don’t you?’ The älf-girl laughed and grabbed a second rope that swung past them; she transferred to it and slid down a little to be on the same level as him. They sailed through the air at a dizzying height.
Isn’t she amazing? When their ropes came together, Tirîgon put an arm round her and they kissed.
The elf ship was heading out of the cave through the narrow fissure at the end. The two älfar found the wind pulling at their clothing and their hair.
Tirîgon had no option but to trust the rope he was hanging onto. If the elves decide to haul us up we’ve got a problem. ‘We’d best stay down here and wait and see what happens,’ he told her, shouting over the gusts of wind. ‘If the wind gets any stronger we’re going to find it difficult to climb up.’
‘I can see it might be tough for you,’ challenged Esmonäe with a teasing flutter of her eyelashes. ‘But I am going to suggest we get higher up. Just in case we need to get on board quickly.’
If you say so. He nodded despite his better judgment and they worked their way up until they were about ten paces below the keel. They each knotted a loop in their ropes to give them a foothold. ‘When is the best time to attack?’
‘When they’re busy. When they attempt their next landing, I’d say.’ Esmonäe looked over at the cliff face that was coming closer.
They flew through the tight opening. The vessel had to correct its course several times to avoid the huge stalactites and outcrops of rock on both sides. When the ship manoeuvred, runes on the planks shone out brightly. The passage proved increasingly dangerous for the two stowaways, who were swung violently to and fro on their ropes.
‘What do you think they will do with Tossàlor?’ Esmonäe wanted to know.
‘They could easily have killed him if they’d wanted to, so I’m assuming they want to keep him alive. They must want to torture him and draw out his death.’ Tirîgon supposed they were heading for a place where more elves lived. ‘I expect they’re taking him to one of their floating islands.’ He told her briefly about his previous encounter with the obboona.
‘You ought to be a story-teller. You’ve had so many adventures and yet you’ve only been here in Phondrasôn for such a short time.’ Esmonäe gave him another kiss. ‘We’ll beat them, just you wait. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.’ She winked at him and then turned her head in the direction of travel. A rosy glow fell on her beguiling face and her hair swirled about her head.
I believe you there. He looked to the front, aware of the wave of heat that was rolling their way.
The ship entered a cave at considerable altitude. Below them lay a lake of molten glass, an island situated in the middle of the lethal waves. Four slender bridges led off from the island in different directions and connected with corridors capped by great gates.
The island itself was overgrown and desolate; the outlines of an abandoned garden were just visible still. There was a palace built on the highest point of the headland. It was not an elf construction but there was a banner hoisted with elven writing on it. It was not the usual sort of edifice that elves went for. It was all straight lines and corners rather than adorned with the decorative, playful elements they typically liked. The mottos chiselled into the stone over the entrance were in the älfar language, but they were still too far away to be deciphered.
‘What do you think that says?’ he asked, pointing.
‘Not for eternity but for a very long time,’ Esmonäe answered.
Wow, she’s got good eyesight. He could only just make out the shapes of the letters. Tirîgon had a closer look at their surroundings. The bridges were damaged, badly so. Those gates don’t look as though they’ve been opened very often. They’re all rusted up. Nobody’s looking after the entrances at all. This meant the only approach for the elves and anyone else must be via that fissure they had come through, about three hundred paces away from the island. You could only do it with a flying ship. ‘They’ve taken over the palace. It’s a perfect stronghold for them.’
‘And what about that älfar motto?’ Esmonäe was voicing his own thoughts.
‘Perhaps it used to belong to some älf. They must have killed him when they conquered the place.’ If I were to stay in Phondrasôn I’d want a castle like that one, to be safe.
The ship lost height and steered straight for the turrets.
‘What shall we do? They’ll see us if we hang about here like glorified wind chimes.’ Tirîgon could not think of what to do. Enveloping themselves in shadow was unlikely to help much because black shapes on the ropes would be just as noticeable.
Esmonäe took charge. ‘Climb down to the end of the rope.’ She undid the loop and slid down her own. ‘We’ll jump down as soon as we’re over the island.’
He slid down, and the warmth from the molten glass hit him. The waves seemed to behave exactly like normal sea water, rolling in towards the coast and up the beach. The rocks must be the same temperature, otherwise the glass would cool and harden.
The next thing he would encounter were the trees, with their blackish green leaves. The tree tops were less than ten paces below his feet. Still too high.
‘Do you remember what you said back there in the other cave?’ Esmonäe called to him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You said Follow me.’ The girl let go of the rope and dropped.
She is . . . Tirîgon followed suit and fell. This is utter madness. He landed in a soft tarpaulin of leaves. Spreading his arms he tried to grab at branches to break his fall, but they broke under his weight, whipping against his face and body.
Tirîgon crashed onto a thick branch and held on for dear life. Done it! His back hurt, his arms were shaking and his heart was beating fit to burst.
He clambered down cautiously and with great difficulty, finally jumping to the ground to find Esmonäe waiting with a smile on her inviting lips.
‘Well, look at you! The young warrior as a climbing bear, old before its time. Were you picking fruit on the way down? What kept you?’ She greeted him with a kiss. ‘There, that was your first reward. You shall have the second one when we’ve killed all the elves and saved Tossàlor. I promise you won’t regret it.’ She sped off.
‘How do you know which way to go?’ he asked, following her.
‘We’ve been floating over the island. Didn’t you work it out? We had plenty of time up there.’ She disappeared between tall fern leaves which hid her from view. ‘Stay close or you’ll get lost.’
Tirîgon followed, sword in hand, watchful now in case the elves had posted sentries. His right leg sent stabs of pain all the way up his spine if he put too much weight on that foot. And she’s absolutely fine, as if she’d just jumped off a little wall.
They kept close as they ran up the hill, grinning at each other.
It’s fun going into battle with her at my side. Her confidence was infectious. It did not matter which of them was in charge. He was keen to see the tricks she claimed to have up her sleeve.
Esmonäe gave him a sign to stop; she ducked down and crawled through the undergrowth up to the edge of the wood.
Tirîgon followed her, doubled over. Through the foliage he caught sight of the ship hovering above the palace. The trapdoor in the bow of the ship opened up and Tossàlor was let down in the cage. They could not see exactly where it landed. Th
ere don’t seem to be any elves on watch. They must feel so secure up here. All the better for us. He swapped glances with Esmonäe. ‘Do you have a plan?’
‘A very simple one. We go in and do away with every elf we come across.’
Her brown eyes shone with the prospect of killing. ‘There is one thing I want to ask for.’
‘What’s that?’ Anything, anything at all.
‘If we catch an elf that’s really, really old, please don’t kill him. Leave him for me.’
Tirîgon thought the request odd but he was happy to agree. ‘Sure. Let’s get going.’
Esmonäe smothered him with excited kisses before she wrapped herself in darkness and made for the building.
Tirîgon had not seen any weapons in her hands. He followed, admiring the intense degree of blackness she had conjured up to conceal herself. It’s as if she carried a piece of the night and has dressed herself in it. His companion seemed to have many secrets.
They hurried along the overgrown path and ducked behind a pillar to watch the entrance.
‘The gate is open,’ Esmonäe whispered and she slipped through before he could restrain her.
A stifled shout of surprise came from within, followed by a dull thud as a body hit the ground.
‘Esmonäe!’ Tirîgon ran through the entrance, his sword ready. He saw the älf-girl kneeling over the bodies of five slaughtered elves. ‘By all that’s infamous! How . . .?’
‘Don’t overdo the admiration thing. Those ones were already dead,’ she said, nodding to four of them as she took her hand away from a dead elf’s mouth and removed his sword. ‘He came down the stairway and found the bodies at the same time I did. I had to kill him or he would have raised the alarm.’
Elves never killed each other as far as he knew so there must be someone else in the palace beside themselves. ‘Perhaps some of Tossàlor’s friends are trying to free him?’ That would complicate matters. It would be much better if he were obliged to us for freeing him. We need his help.
He could see from her expression that she was thinking along the same lines. ‘We’ll have to be quicker than the others. I don’t want them doing me out of my share of elves!’ Esmonäe bounded up the steps.
Or let’s find the others and kill them, too. Tirîgon picked up a shield from one of the slain elves and hurried after her.
They soon came across other corpses.
The elves had been dealt hefty blows with some type of blade, leaving broad cuts that couldn’t come from a sword or an axe. Other injuries had been made with conventional weaponry. Footprints in the dust led further into the palace and through two long hallways.
It occurred to Tirîgon that the attackers must have known exactly where to go. It did not look as if wild hand-to-hand combat had ranged randomly through the rooms. Perhaps the original owner of the palace has come back to get his revenge?
He and Esmonäe came up to a high set of double doors behind which the sound of fighting could be heard. ‘Let’s wait till they’ve finished fighting and then we’ll get whoever the winners are,’ was his suggestion.
Esmonäe shook her head. ‘Those elves will kill Tossàlor first. We must step in.’ She lowered her head, eager to attack. ‘And they’ve deprived me of two of the old ones I wanted to kill myself. They’ll pay for that!’ She pushed open the doors and was about to rush in, weapon raised.
I’ve got to show her I’m a decent warrior, too. ‘Stop!’ Tirîgon pushed past her. ‘You’ve made me follow you all the way here. Now it’s my turn to lead!’ He was never going to admit to her how fast his heart was racing.
Esmonäe smiled in response.
Tirîgon slipped through.
A tumultuous fight was taking place in the hall. Three älfar were facing down a whole host of elves. Tossàlor’s cage stood in the middle of the room.
A huge, heavily armoured älf was dealing out blows and jabbing with his spear. He had cut off the limbs of several opponents and was shattering helmets and breaking shields to bring death to as many as he could reach. An older älf-woman stood at his side sending out lightning bolts from the staff she held. Whoever she hit disintegrated in a puff of smoke and dust.
But the third figure, driving his sword through an elf’s neck and laughing triumphantly, he recognised immediately.
‘Sisaroth, it’s you!’ he cried in delight. Everything’s going to be all right! We’ll win! ‘I’m with you, brother! Hold on!’
‘Tirîgon!’ panted his brother. ‘Tirîgon! How wonderful to see you!’
The last row of elf warriors turned their fury on Tirîgon.
He mowed down three or four before finding himself wedged between a corridor and a wall made of shields. He was immobilised; there was no room to manoeuvre his sword arm.
A spiked spear tip jabbed at him and nearly grazed his chest.
‘Cursed pack of light worshippers!’ Tirîgon pushed against the shields wildly hoping to get through them, but had no success.
Another spear came hissing out of nowhere and would have slit open his belly if his armour had not protected him.
I can’t let myself get trapped. I’m not going down like this! With a shout he transferred his entire weight backwards, pushing with both feet on the shields opposite and forcing the elf behind him to retreat. Then he dropped down and swept about him with his sword, hitting at the unprotected legs of those who had surrounded him. The blade severed muscles and sinews.
The wounded fell on top of him and together they shielded him from the spear throws from the rest of the elves.
He slipped through the mass of injured elves as a snake would slither. He switched to his dagger to stab the bodies closest to him. Blood flowed all around. You shall die!
Tirîgon jumped to his feet, hammering the grip of his knife against the nearest elf’s nose-guard to blind him and then jabbing the dagger tip through the elf’s throat. ‘I’ll show you how an älf fights, no matter how he is outnumbered!’
From the corner of his eye he saw a thin-bladed axe thrust coming. There was no way to fend it off with his knife and no time to dodge out of its path. No!
Before the axe-blade could strike home, the handle was seized by a mighty hand. The huge älf reared up in front of him.
‘You need to watch out for yourself better,’ he grunted, stabbing with his spear. The elf’s head was struck from his shoulders.
‘That would be my advice to you, too,’ said Esmonäe, fighting next to Tirîgon now. She drew her long-bladed dagger out of the back of an enemy’s neck and watched him collapse at her feet, his cudgel tumbling harmlessly to the floor instead of stamping a hole in Tirîgon’s head, as intended. ‘We’ve still got a lot to do when the fighting’s over, you know.’ She nimbly avoided the corner of a shield and dealt with its owner.
How lucky I am. Tirîgon wiped the elf blood from his eyes. There were no enemies left near him now. The final struggles were taking place in the middle of the room around the cage that held Tossàlor. I have killed masses of elves but I’ve only survived thanks to that huge älf and Esmonäe helping me. He was embarrassed at this, and his excitement at having killed his foes disappeared. I wasn’t taking sufficient care. He watched how Sisaroth wielded his sword. I’m either not careful enough or I’m a rotten soldier. Everyone here seems better than I am. Even the bloody elves.
Suddenly the fighting stopped. Tirîgon had not seen exactly what had happened.
There were heaps of corpses piled on the floor. Groans betrayed the wounded, whom Esmonäe cheerfully finished off, slaughtering them like animals.
Sisaroth rushed over and embraced his brother. ‘Tirîgon! So brave! My brave brother! We were in the same battle without knowing it and together we’ve won!’
He clapped Tirîgon on the shoulder. ‘It is so good to be with you,’ Tirîgon replied, no less moved than Sisaroth. His sibling had emerged pretty much unscathed, with only superficial injuries.
I’ve found him! We’re together again! ‘Who are your friends?
’
‘Crotàgon and Marandëi. I’ll fill you in on the whole story later. But let’s get our sister first.’
‘Firûsha? She’s here?’ Tirîgon was not ashamed of the tears that welled up. The three of us together again!
‘We’ve got her with us, but . . . she’s in a bad way.’ Sisaroth shot his companions a fierce glance. ‘Get Tossàlor out of that contraption and see to the ship.’ Then he ran off. ‘Come with me. We will collect our sister.’
He’s the one in charge. As usual. Nothing’s changed. Tirîgon addressed Tossàlor: ‘Didn’t I say we’d be meeting again soon?’
He and Esmonäe hurried off with Sisaroth and as they moved, he briefly introduced them. Apart from that they did not talk; they needed their breath and their concentration for running.
The battle and the journey beforehand had demanded a lot of him. Tirîgon’s arms were weary and the cuts he had received were smarting badly and needed attention. However, the thought of holding his beloved sister in his arms made him forget his discomfort.
They hurried across the bridge that was still intact. Firûsha lay on the mantle where she had been left: her breast rose and fell regularly.
There she is! Tirîgon sank to his knees at her side and threw his arms around her. It’s as if she were asleep. He let tears of joy run down his face, unashamed, but he was extremely concerned at her state. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Sisaroth gave a swift summary of what he had learned. ‘Marandëi will find a remedy to stop this terrible decay. That’s why we came here, to her old palace.’ He motioned to his brother to get up. ‘We need to get her inside, now.’
‘Of course! We must get her to safety. I’ll take her head and you take her feet. That’ll be the best way to carry her.’ He placed his arms gently under her shoulders. Together the brothers carried her across the transparent boards over the raging molten sea.
They saw the elf ship attempting to move away but a glistening bolt of lightning shot up from the palace roof and lodged in the stern of the vessel, cutting it in half.
The shimmering runes in the ships side ceased to glow; the craft plunged to the waves and erupted into flames before sinking to the bottom.