by Liara Woo
"Meliara is as much attached to me as I am to her. Just as I'd die in defense of her life, she would give her life for mine as well. And though she's old, her hooves and teeth are sharp."
Joran's eyes glinted as he tried to smile. "Horses really are amazing, aren't they?"
Some distance away from the encampment twelve thousand elves sat astride their steeds, waiting for Joran to lead them to Kratchene. He walked to his silver-white mare, Shinar, and jumped lightly onto her back. She whinnied a greeting to him, tossing her sleek head. On his right, Relenthus mounted Meliara, a dark dappled-gray with a blond mane and tail. To Joran's left was Nelaara on her chestnut stallion, and on her other side was Lord Bloodthorne on a dark bay colt that was tall and strong despite his youth. The other lords of Kylaras were also present, mounted on their horses at intervals in front of their looked furtively at Relenthus. "What do I do now?" he whispered, feeling embarrassed.
"I haven't a clue," Relenthus answered regretfully.
This is going to sound stupid, Joran thought anxiously. "We ride for Kratchene!" he called out, urging Shinar forward. She charged into a gallop, head held high, and the elves behind the racing pair followed them, riding south with a thunder of hoof-beats. Joran led his forces through the misty pine forests, paying more attention to his riding than he ever had before. If I lead them wrong, what will they think of me? Where did my confidence go? Perhaps it's just gone because I'm nervous about fighting the demon king. Yes, that's why.
As he rode, a lump of fear rose in his throat, and he tried to swallow it down, but stubbornly it remained. He felt sick, and every muscle in his body was tense with anxiety. Shinar could tell; she twitched her ears back at him occasionally. "What is wrong?" she asked.
"I'm scared," Joran whispered, wrapping her mane around his fingers. "I think I might die."
"And if you do die, realize that there is no better cause to die for," the horse replied. "All of those elves and horses following you are willing to give their lives for each other, for you, and for all Light in the world. As their future king, you must be willing to do the same."
"I am," Joran reassured her, leaning forward and patting her sleek neck.
A small sparrow alighted on Joran's shoulder. "There is a herd of unicorns on your trail. They mean to join you."
Hope blossomed within Joran's chest. "Halt!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, and Relenthus, Nelaara, and the lords of Kylaras took up the cry. Thousands of horses gradually slowed to a stop, their riders looking around in confusion. "The unicorns are coming to assist us!" Joran yelled by way of explanation.
It wasn't long before thousands of snow-colored horses, their sleek heads held high, burst out from the cover of the trees like a thundering ocean of whiteness. They joined the ranks of the elves, almost doubling their numbers.
Relenthus raised an eyebrow. "They haven't lost their pride," he commented as one of the unicorns approached the prince. He had a jagged scar across one cheek and across his belly, and he transformed into a man clothed in white armor, holding a large spear. Joran recognized him instantly.
"Acinoron! It's great to see you!"
"Greetings, Joran," the young unicorn responded. "I've freed most of my kin and led them south. We are ready to fight for you and for Goodness."
"Thanks," Joran said gratefully. "What happened to Rune and Gorion, and where did you get that scar?"
Acinoron fingered the dark cut that went all the way from his forehead to his chin. "Rune didn't give up his kingdom without a fight. I battled him for what must have been an entire day, and he gave me quite a few…souvenirs. There's this one and another going from my right shoulder to the left side of my hip. But he and Gorion are locked up, and I am the king of the unicorns now."
"Good," Joran replied, and he meant it. "Do you know our destination?"
The unicorn's pallid face seemed to darken. "Yes. You go to fight the demon king to the death. When you win, all of the demons will attack. We are here to fight them with you."
"So you believe that I will win?" Joran asked, not meeting the unicorn's gaze.
"I do," Acinoron answered. "Your friend Halthren fought hundreds of unicorns at once. As long as the same endurance runs in your veins, I believe you shall be victorious."
Fear swam in Joran's stomach. But it doesn't, he thought. I have none of Halthren's strength. For a fleeting moment he wished that it was Halthren going to fight the demon king.
* * *
The elves grew uneasy as they reached the edge of the forest and arrived in a vast field. They could see the dark, jagged mountains of Kratchene in the distance; the sky was clouded by smoke and ash from the volcanoes. Nothing lived. Nothing grew. The land was desolation.
Gathered at the border in a sea of darkness were the demon armies, led by a massive beast three times the height of an elf, with bulging arm and leg muscles, and a dragonish head. He wore black armor over his chest and midsection and a leather skirt over his thighs. Lackluster black scales coated him from head to toe, and his hands and feet were disfigured by monstrously huge black talons. The beast's backbone and tail were horned, and there were two other horns on his head, just above his ear holes, devilishly curved. The dark face was a mask of pride and confidence, and the scaly lips were pulled back to reveal blackened, rotting teeth. His yellow eyes glared down at the watching elves, horses, and unicorns.
"I don't suppose that's the demon king's bodyguard," Joran murmured, his fear so intense that it threatened to choke him.
Lord Bloodthorne gave a strangled laugh. "N-no, I don't think so," he responded anxiously.
"Come out and fight, elfling!" the demon king roared, spittle flying from his mouth.
Relenthus smiled encouragingly at his prince. "Good luck," he said. "May the stars send you strength."
"Thank you," Joran managed to croak nervously, dismounting and walking towards the massive creature. He knew he was striding towards certain death, and that there was no way he could win this battle. The demon king saw him and laughed, and the watching demons joined in his laughter. Joran felt his cheeks grow hot with anger and embarrassment, but he forced himself to appear emotionless. I must fight as hard as I can, he thought. Though this giant is stronger and larger than I am, I have Goodness on my side. Even if I don't win, I can buy time for Katie and Halthren. I can help them.
The demon king looked down at him scornfully. "So this is the prince of the elves," he called in a thunderous voice. "I never thought you beings of Light would stoop to sending a mere child to fight me. Your foolish notions of hope and valor will lead you to certain doom. What will you say to that?"
"We won't let a great fat bully like yourself tell us what to do!" Relenthus shouted defiantly. "We value courage, love, friendship, and integrity! I doubt that a villain like you could ever claim such virtues!"
"Why would I want to?" the demon king laughed, bounding forward and clawing Relenthus from his horse. With a grunt of pain, the elf landed on the ground, clutching his side. Joran saw blood and a chill went through him.
"Leave him alone," he shouted in an icy voice. "Your fight today is with me alone."
"True words," the monster laughed. "But…I don't care if I take some other elves with me. Your so-called virtues mean nothing to me. Anger, cruelty, and corruption. Those are my merits." He looked down at Joran. Only one yard separated them. "Well now, little prince…you are strangely silent. Are you so terrified of me that you cannot speak unless I threaten one of your little friends?" he gestured to Relenthus, who had valiantly mounted his horse once more, gasping at the pain it caused him, clutching the gash across his stomach with bloodied hands. Joran felt sick at his friend's suffering. He drew his sword.
"I am not afraid," he said in a firm voice. It was as if a large bubble of courage had entered his body, and as he looked up in defiance of Darkness, he felt no fear. "I have a worthy cause to fight for. I have companions for whom I would lay down my life. The love I feel for them gives me strength. So come to
me, Nashgor! I am ready." As he spoke, he heard Treemoon's voice in his mind: Well done, my son. I am with you.
"You will die," the demon king hissed, reaching down to grab the prince. Joran rolled under the massive hand and slashed at the beast's thigh, the tip of his blade hardly nicking a single scale. The monster tried to kick him away, but Joran jumped to the right and counter-attacked by leaping up the demon's back, pulling himself up using the spikes that poked out of the black armor. Nashgor roared in anger, reaching over his shoulders and trying to grab the nasty elfling, but Joran stubbornly remained clinging to one of the spines.
He could see the weak spot at the back of the demon's neck where the scales were small and fragile. He raised his sword, ready to plunge it downwards and into the beast's neck—I can end it right now—
The demon king gave a violent shake of his shoulders and Joran flew off, landing hard on something made of stone. He lay on his back, dazed and winded, his head aching where it had hit the rock, his skin stinging. Nashgor was charging, taking advantage of his breathlessness; Joran rolled to the side just as a massive black fist slammed down on the rocks where he'd been only moments earlier.
Where's my sword? Franticly he looked around. There it was, lying half-buried in freshly ground rocks that had been pulverized by the demon king's fist. He ran towards it, and Nashgor chased him, quickly overtaking him and resuming the fight. Joran rolled in between the beast's legs and raced towards his sword again, and Nashgor swung his tail to hit the elf directly in the face. Joran was knocked to the ground; he felt his face stinging and bleeding. Before he could recover, the large foot smashed down on his torso. He felt several ribs crack, and pain burned in his chest. He couldn't breathe; the demon king was stepping on him so hard that he couldn't inhale. The long black claws were on either side of his bloodied face, and he reached up and pinched the soft bare skin between the toes as hard as he could. The demon king jumped away with a cowardly yelp.
Get up! You must get up now! His father's voice sounded in his mind. Joran staggered to his feet, gasping and enduring sharp pain in his lungs that came with each breath. The monster was raising his fist to punch the prince to the ground; just in time Joran ducked and continued towards his sword with the demon king hot on his heels. He dived for the weapon and held it above his head just as the giant tried to step on him. It was Nashgor's own strength that sent the elf's blade all the way through his foot. Howling, the demon fell back on his haunches, and Joran shakily got to his feet, breathing heavily. Coughing, he watched as Nashgor's puppet rolled onto his knees and pushed himself up.
The demon limped towards him. Joran sheathed his sword and charged, running around the demon, leaping over the tail, and climbing once more up the horned back. He drew his blade and stabbed it into the soft skin at the base of the neck—the demon king howled in pain and grabbed the elf by the feet, hurling him to the ground.
Joran lay motionless for several seconds, fearing that he would lose consciousness. Thousands of black dots swarmed his vision, and his head throbbed painfully. He thought he might retch. Something pulled him up by the ankles, and he suddenly found himself upside down and staring into the eyes of the demon king. "Nice try, elfling," he snarled, plucking the sword out of his neck with a grimace. It took Joran only a moment to realize that nothing could stop the monster from killing him now.
There is one way out of this. Your shoes. Untie your shoes and your feet will slide out. You will be free. His father again, guiding him to safety.
Meanwhile the demon was debating how the prince's life would end. "Eat him? No; it would be over too soon. Grind him into dust? Perhaps…"
All the while, the elves and the unicorns were ashen-faced, fearfully awaiting the outcome. When the demon looked away, admiring the terror-filled anticipation on the faces of his enemies, Joran reached up and began undoing the horse-hair thread lacing his boots, and after a while, his sides ached from holding himself up for so long. But his father's idea was working. His bare feet slid out of the soft leather shoes, and he crashed to the ground next to his sword. Nashgor gasped in shock; rolling to his knees, Joran grabbed his sword and raised his shield to deflect the demon king's claws. He slashed Nashgor's leg and, this time, removed several black scales; the beast roared in anger and pain. Why wasn't I able to kill him when I stabbed his neck? Joran wondered while rolling under the horned tail.
Because the neck muscle is too thick. Try somewhere less muscular, his father advised.
Joran nodded, thinking quickly. The eyes, mouth, or ear-holes. If I throw my sword just right, I could win this! New strength flowed through his weary limbs as he dodged Nashgor's angry blows, trying to get into a position where he could throw his sword. But it wasn't as if the monster was slow from fatigue; he was nearly fast enough to catch Joran. They circled each other, each staring the other in the eye. Demon and elf moved simultaneously in a dance of death.
After several moments, the monster grew tired of waiting for Joran to make a move. He turned, jumped into the air, and spun so that his tail could skewer his opponent—but Joran deflected the sharp thorns with his shield before running and attacking, thrusting his sword into the pit of the beast's knee. His sword pierced and sank deep into the flesh, and clouds of darkness billowed out of the demon's body instead of blood.
Howling in pain and rage, the demon sank to the ground, clutching his knee. Now's my chance! Joran raised his sword above his head with one hand, aiming carefully, but just when he threw his weapon, the demon king lowered his head, and the blade bounced harmlessly off of the beast's hard skull.
No! Joran thought. Now I've lost my sword again! He backed away as the demon king staggered to his feet with a grunt.
"I've been too easy on you, elfling," he groaned. "No longer. Now you shall see my full strength unleashed." He launched himself at the prince; Joran ran to the left to escape, but the demon's long, black claw grazed his calf, enough to slow him down a bit. He raced away as Nashgor's puppet charged again. Joran rolled under the demon and lunged for his sword, but just as he had it in his grip, the demon's tail hit him in the side and sent him once more hurtling through the air.
Joran coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled and he collapsed face first to the ground. The demon king's tail had pierced his side; now blood trickled from the wound. It was shallow, but incredibly painful. The demon king approached him, cackling.
"You cannot hope to beat me," he growled, and as Joran rolled onto his back the monster placed one foot on the elf's middle. Joran couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes, his strength spent, and tried to think of some way to save himself. He still had both his sword and his shield, and both of his arms were unhindered by the demon king's foot. Holding his sword with his blade pointed towards the monster's ankle, he raised his weapon and stabbed, pushing harder when he felt it hit the beast's scales.
Through some stroke of luck, his blade sank between two scales and severed the tendon at the back of the foot.
The demon king's eyes widened. Dark clouds spewed from the wound. "No!" he shrieked. "Noooo!" Black smoke continued to pour away from the wound, and the spaces in between scales glowed a fiery orange, burning fiercely. The scales themselves cracked and issued Dark steam before disintegrated into glittering black dust, and moments later the rest of the beast also crumbled into tiny black particles that swiftly blew away.
The demon king was no more.
There was a brief moment of silence as both sides stared at the space where the Demon King used to stand. Then—
"Charge!" yelled a Dark commander. The demon army was attacking.
I have to get up, Joran thought, panicked. His desperate need drove him to try to stand, but his knees buckled and he collapsed. I'm going to die! He tried to crawl away from the oncoming horde. He'd never make it.
Strong, lean arms lifted him off of the ground, swiftly carrying him away. Joran looked up and saw that it was Relenthus, despite his injury, who held him.
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br /> "Go!" came the voice of Lord Bloodthorne. "Get him to safety! We'll hold them back as long as we can!"
"Right," Relenthus panted. He lifted Joran onto the back of his horse, Meliara, and began leading her forward at a swift, yet smooth, canter. "Try to hold on, Joran!"
In a daze Joran clung to the mare's silky mane, watching the edge of the forest in the distance grow closer and closer. The yells of elves, unicorns, and demons, mingled with the whinnies of horses, ripped through the crisp morning air. Above it all, Joran heard a sharp twang. Relenthus cried out in pain, missing a step and tripping, falling to the ground. Instantly, the loyal Meliara slowed to a stop and walked back to him, nudging him with her soft muzzle.
"You must get up!" she whinnied, just as Joran lost consciousness.
Relenthus knelt in the field, an arrow buried in his shoulder. Joran tumbled off of the mare and lay at his side. The demons were coming. All that they wanted was to kill the elven prince. "Go, Meliara," he grunted through clenched teeth. "Find a healer for Joran. I'll meet you in the woods."