by Peter Hall
He burst from the waves and gulped in a huge breath. He was floating down-stream at a swift pace, armor and horse both gone. He reached to his waist and felt Nightclaw still on his belt. He was staying afloat now that he was only wearing the thin black shirt and pants that he wore under his armor... armor that was now lost somewhere at the bottom of the river. The edges of the canyon were high and formed of smooth rock so there was no chance of climbing up from here, even if he could get himself over to the edge. There was nothing he could do now but go with the current.
The river dipped down and continued west in a fairly straight line as Durandal drifted along helplessly. He heard a noise in the distance, like a waterfall getting louder and louder and it was coming from upstream. He turned his body around and saw water spraying up into the canyon from something... something big. It was coming down the river straight towards him. What in the name of… As the noise reached the dip in the river, a gigantic, shiny black Sea-Slug burst from the surface of the water, launched into the air and crashed down into the waves with a mighty splash. Sweet Esra!
Durandal unsheathed Nightclaw and held it up as the beast surfaced behind him, its gaping jaws wide open and bearing down upon him. Its mouth was filled with huge, sharp teeth and its breath smelled of rotten fish. It roared as it reared in the air then came crashing down on Durandal’s blade. He buried the sword in the rim of the beast’s mouth and it squealed, spinning around as it crashed through the canyon and down the river. He held on to his sword which was buried up to the hilt in the eel’s maw and found himself on top of the beast.
It dived underwater and Durandal held on to the hilt of his sword, still jammed in its mouth. It burst up from the surface and launched out of the water. Durandal felt his feet flying up behind him as he soared through the air. He took a deep breath and grabbed on tight as the giant black slug slammed back down into the raging river. It surfaced again and skimmed along the waves with it’s unwanted passenger. We’re really picking up speed now he thought as the water sprayed in his face.
The walls of the canyon became lower and lower as Durandal barreled down the river. He squinted and saw the silhouette of Iliad drawing near on the horizon, the magnificent golden sun setting over the Great Western Ocean beyond. With all of his remaining strength, Durandal pulled himself up onto one knee as he rode the monster towards the city.
The river became shallow near Iliad and the horde of undead were still crossing over, shambling up the hill towards the northern wall. The soldiers were still fighting for their lives at the outer wall when they saw him coming. As the giant slug approached the shallows it ran straight over the horde, crushing them to pulp. Durandal wrenched the hilt of the sword to one side and the beast made a sharp, left turn. With great speed it slid up the hill towards the city, crushing the horde of gathering draugr under its enormous weight. Durandal yanked the sword from the beast and jumped off just as it slammed into the northern wall, sending hundreds of limp draugr soaring into the air in an explosion of black sludge, blood and rock.
Durandal landed on his feet and rolled as the monster writhed around in agony. The archers on the wall began concentrating their fire on it, the gates to the city opened and soldiers came streaming out towards the action. Durandal ran in and stabbed the dying Sea-Slug as the rest of the soldiers came in to assist until finally it wailed loudly and stopped moving. Durandal pulled his sword, covered in slimy black blood, from the dead beast’s side and looked around. The whole area was covered in the sludge, the beast was dead and the horde had been demolished. The soldiers at once cheered and surrounded Durandal, praising him for his bravery.
“Three cheers for the hero of Iliad! Three cheers for the Slug Rider! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” the soldiers cried.
They lifted Durandal upon their shoulders and carried him down the main road back to the castle as the people of the city cheered and waved. He smiled awkwardly at the people crowding around but his mind was elsewhere. He needed to get back to Brynhildr.
The King stood up as Durandal entered the throne room.
“Excelsior my boy! Excelsior!” he said. “Sir Durandal of Greymoore was it not?”
Durandal bowed and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Yes my lord.”
“I hear Greymoore is fallen.” the king said and drew his thin sword. “Kneel.” he said, pointing the blade at his face. Durandal got down on his knee.
“I hereby knight you, Sir Durandal of Iliad.”
The king touched the sword to Durandals head and sheathed it back at his side.
“You have defeated the foul scourge that was plaguing this fair city and Iliad is in your debt, Sir Durandal. Please, allow my servant to show you to your quarters so you may get yourself cleaned up and rested!”
The king smiled and clicked his fingers. A young servant girl came from the shadows and bowed, then walked over to a staircase leading to the knights quarters.
“Please my lord,” Durandal said, “I was separated from my companions on the journey to Drogan. I need to catch up to them, and I need men.”
The king clapped his hands together and smiled. “Yes yes my boy all in good time. It is late and I must retire. We can discuss these matters tomorrow.” he said and left the throne room with his advisors and guards.
Durandal gritted his teeth and was about to protest when the servant girl called out, “Come my lord, let me show you to your new quarters.”
He was on the brink of passing out from exhaustion, so he decided to follow her and rest for the night. They walked up the stairs and down a wide corridor with a red carpet, lined with wooden doors. She walked up to one of the doors and opened it, gesturing to him to enter. He walked into the room and she held the door open.
“My name is Sophia. If you require anything Sir Durandal, just let me know.” she said and closed the door behind her as she left.
It was a rather large room with a generous bed and wardrobe to one side. On the other side of the room sat a wooden table and chair and there was an arched doorway to a balcony across from him. He walked across to the arched doorway and there was a wooden dummy adorned with an exquisite suit of silver armor with a blue cape attached.
He studied the fine craftsmanship of the armor for a moment and moved over to the balcony. The traders in the marketplace were packing up their goods and retiring for the evening, soldiers marched the streets and the town seemed to be returning to some kind of normality. He turned and walked over to the bed. It was made with fine linen and a blue velvet blanket over the top with feather pillows. Durandal had never seen such luxury, nor did he care for it. He turned back the sheets and retired for the night.
The following morning, Durandal woke to the sound of knocking on his door. “Yes?” he called out.
The door opened and Sophia stuck her head around the corner. “The king is expecting you in the dining hall.” She said and gently closed the door.
He got out of bed and walked over to the wardrobe. It was full of fine clothes and a pair of fine black leather boots. Durandal grabbed a black shirt and pants out, along with the boots. After getting dressed he made his way down to the dining hall. The king was sitting on a throne at a long table surrounded by guests. Durandal noted there were eight men at the table wearing the silver armor and blue capes. They hardly noticed him, seemingly too busy drinking and womanizing. Every one of them was enjoying the feast and had at least one scantily clad woman on their knee. There was a bard in front of the table singing a cheerful rendition of his latest song, ‘The Slug Rider of Iliad’.
When the king saw Durandal enter he stood and raised his arms. “ Sir Durandal! Welcome! Come, come! Sit! Eat! Enjoy!” .
Durandal approached the table and sat down at a vacant seat. A beautiful woman dressed in revealing silk garments sat on his lap and a servant girl brought a plate of food over and placed it on the table in front of him. He felt sick. Would this fool just shut up and listen to him for one moment? He could feel his frustration starting to boil o
ver into anger.
“My lord I must leave for Drogan immediately.” Durandal said, lifting the woman off his lap and placing her on the ground.
“Immediately?” the king said “Ha! Don’t be so impetuous boy! You have only just now returned victorious from battle! Now is the time for celebration!”
Durandal stood up and slammed his fist on the table. The bard stopped playing and the room went quiet, all eyes were on him.
“My lord have you forgotten the urgency of my quest? I must leave for Drogan immediately!” he said, gritting his teeth.
The king looked confused. “Quest? What is this quest you speak of?”.
“The creature in Asgard! Commanding the armies of darkness! Have you forgotten?” Durandal said, his frustration building with each passing moment.
The king stared at him, confused.
“Eir Honeydew?” Durandal said and the king’s eyes lit up.
“Oh yes! Of course! Miss Honeydew! What a wondrous little creature she is!” he said and laughed.
“Yes!” Durandal said “and do you remember what she told you?”
“Oh yes! The quest! Of course! You must complete this quest Sir Durandal! The fate of the three lands depends on it!”
Durandal closed his eyes and sighed. Finally the old fool remembered. “My lord, now that the undead have been vanquished I ask for a battalion of soldiers to accompany me to Drogan.”
The king’s eye’s darted around and he seemed to ponder on this for a few moments. “One hundred men.” he said. “I cannot spare any more, to do so would be to compromise the safety and security of Iliad.”
One hundred. That would have to suffice. “Thank you my lord.” Durandal said and headed back to his quarters. The bard started playing again and the king and his knights resumed their festivities.
The cage rocked and shook violently as the caravan moved across the barren outer wastelands of Siera. There were around fifty of them, slavers from the Sand Kingdom. Steig could tell from the plated steel armor and black cloth they wore, not to mention the huge curved blades they carried at their sides. He could only see all this from the one eye that wasn’t covered by the blood soaked bandage around his head. The sun was bright and he felt warm although he had no clothes on except for a loincloth. We must be getting close to the desert.
A large man wearing black furs rode up and cracked a whip on the side of the cage as he passed, making Steig flinch. His lips were cracked and his mouth was dry. Water. He grabbed the side of the cage and called out to the closest slaver “Water”, but it only came out as a whisper. No one paid any attention to him. He tried to ask again but nothing came out. He coughed up some blood and collapsed into the corner of the cage, resting his head on the side and watching the men riding alongside him. The throbbing pain pulsing through his head started to make his eyes close. He felt the warm sun on his chest and drifted away.
They were in the desert now, without doubt. He could feel the sand start to whip across his face and slowly, he opened his eyes. He raised his hand to shield his face and looked around. The land was flat in all directions into the horizon, broken up by a dead tree here or a spiky plant there. The cage wasn’t moving around so much now, at least. He grabbed the side of the cage and a whip came cracking down on his fingers. He pulled back and sat in the corner holding his hands. Where are they taking me? What will become of me now? Galadon was gone. Bryn and Durandal were most likely dead by now and who knew the state of things at Iliad.
Steig had never been out of the city in his life. This was by far the furthest he had ever travelled. He always hoped to see the world someday, but never got the opportunity. He had grown up in Galadon, an orphan, never knowing who his parents were or what became of them. He lived as a child on the streets, begging for food and sleeping under the city bridge. When he was around the age of ten, a soldier walked by and saw the young wretch hiding under the bridge. He managed to coax him out with some food and he took the orphan child back to the barracks.
The soldier was the Captain of the Galadon Guard, a kind yet fierce man by the name of Tarnn. He gave the child a home at the barracks and gave him duties to perform. The child eventually joined the Galadon Army when he came of age and trained harder than any of the other soldiers. Tarnn taught the young man battle tactics and the art of warfare.
One evening Tarnn called Steig to his quarters and gave to him his prized sword, the mighty Venom. It was a thin steel longsword with an incredibly sharp blade and ornate silver handle, embedded with a green emerald. Steig held the sword aloft with wonder and tears rolled down his cheeks. He would treasure the gift from his teacher, always. That night Tarnn passed away in his sleep and Steig found him the following day. He carried the body out to the courtyard and the soldiers cremated their fallen leader. On that day, as the green flags of Galadon were lowered to half-mast, the men unanimously voted for Steig to take over as Captain of the Galadon Guard and he took on the role with great pride. He would always remember Tarnn and the kindness he had shown him. He would honor his memory until the end.
Steig stared at the man riding beside his cage. The slaver untied a deerskin flask from his waist and guzzled down the water within, some of it dripping down the side of his mouth. Steig moved over to the side of the cage and held on, looking at the man drinking the delicious, cool water. He tried to ask for water but again all he could do was cough up blood. The slaver looked over at him and laughed. Steig sat back down against the cage and again, his eyes felt heavy and he drifted away.
The next time he awoke it was night. He felt a cold breeze and opened his eyes. The landscape had changed. He still felt the sand whipping his body and in the darkness he could see rolling dunes in all directions. They were deep in the Great Desert now. It was quiet, apart from the howling of the wind and rattling of the caravan. Occasionally a whip would crack to break up the silence, but it didn’t make Steig flinch anymore. He just stared at the sand as it passed by underneath.
Three days of solid riding later, Durandal and his men had crossed the marshes and come to the treeline at the edge of the Black Forest. The soldiers wore heavy steel armor and rode upon beautiful white horses adorned with blue embroidered blankets and ornate leather saddles. Durandal rode a storm grey horse, his silver armor glistening as the rain poured down.
“Sir Durandal!” one of the soldiers called out, “a campfire.”
Durandal turned his horse and rode over to the soldier. He dismounted his horse and kicked the remains of the campfire. He looked up and saw something on a nearby tree. He walked over to it and kneeled down running his hands across the carving. It was an arrow pointing north with EIR carved underneath. Durandal smiled and returned to his horse.
“We keep riding until nightfall.”, he called out to his men and they charged north into the forest, weaving through the trees in the swirling mist. They saw the dead draugr littering the forest floor and when they crossed into the Hinterlands that night they stopped for a brief rest. The wind and rain was hammering the vast open grasslands ahead. They took shelter at the treeline until morning and then continued on across the plains all day without respite. As night fell, one of the soldiers called out.
“Sir Durandal! A light up ahead!” he said and pointed towards a tiny light flickering in the distance. As they rode towards the light, Durandal could just make out a small village ahead in the darkness and the tiny light was coming from a window. The light went out and one of the soldiers shouted “Undead!”.
Durandal shifted his gaze and saw the horde of undead shambling towards the village from over a hill to the east. “Charge!” Durandal shouted and the soldiers dashed for the village, unsheathing their swords as they approached.
Durandal saw the cabin door open and Bryn stepped out. A draugr grabbed her from the darkness and she fell back inside the doorway. There was a group of undead about to get in the stables and Durandal steered his grey horse towards them, unsheathing Nightclaw and raising the legendary sword high in the air. He
swooped in and cleaved the handful of draugr clean in half, their body parts flying into the air as a tidal wave of blood sprayed across the stable.
The soldiers crashed into the horde at full speed, swords flashing in the darkness and hacked them to pieces within moments. The small abandoned village road was a sea of dismembered bodies and blood. Durandal approached the cabin and dismounted as the soldiers gathered in formation again.
After the commotion outside stopped, Bryn looked at the others who were all still frozen in place.
“What in the name of Shi’lum was that?” Starcaller said.
Bryn stood up and slowly walked over to the door. Starcaller moved back and got in front of Eir, drawing her bow. Cerberus stood to the side and gripped his battle-axe as Bryn slid the wooden latch on the door open. She gripped her sword and swung the door open and her heart jumped. It was Durandal. He found them. She dropped her sword and ran to him. They embraced each other and shared a long kiss as the others emerged from the cabin, stunned at the sight of the army surrounding them.
Eir’s eyes lit up. “Durandal!” she yelled and ran towards him.
Bryn and Durandal eventually stopped kissing and looked down and laughed.
Durandal picked up Eir and held her on his hip. “I saw your sign on the tree.” he said and kissed her forehead.
“I knew you would find us.” Eir said and smiled up at him.
Bryn embraced them both as Starcaller and Cerberus came over and joined them.