The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3)

by K. J. Hargan

  Iounelle stared down at the glowing coals of the last of the vile ghaunt.

  "I was saved to finally cleanse this world of the evil of Deifol Hroth," Iounelle said. "I will turn no more from the fight, nor leave humans to their own battles. We must fight together, and we must prevail. We have no other choice"

  Chapter Seven

  The Lords of Bittel

  The Eastern Meadowland was cold and the wind whipped across the moving sea of stunted grasses. There had been virtually no rain since the thaw of the snow, and it was still bitterly cold. The day was a chilled cruelty, cloudless, but numbing. The vast emptiness of the meadowland was a perfect partner to the despair of the young humans sitting together on the wind swept sward.

  The young humans were thin and malnourished, but the Lords of Bittel wouldn't let them starve. They left them scraps. The faces of the young men were hollow and haunted as though they had lost the very will to live. They sat in a group, twenty or so, huddled together for warmth. Their clothing, although apparently once fine, was now tattered and dirty.

  The Lords of Bittel occasionally patrolled the edge of the meadowland, making sure none of the young humans dared to approach their home, a cluster of trees, set apart from the rest of the vast plain of grass.

  The meadowland, all the surrounding lands were devoid of stauer, auroch, deer, dodern and other grazing animals. The humans of Wealdland had no time to farm the previous year with the constant warfare against the invading garonds, and the only food for the remnants of the kingdoms of Wealdland had to come from hunting.

  The Lords of Bittel took their toll on the livestock all around the meadowland as well. There had been a pride of lions, but the Lords of Bittel made short work of them. The lions were not welcome or tolerated.

  One of the young humans, Geleiden, his face a twist of torment, rose. Geleiden was a wealdkin, and once a captain of the forces commanded by Arnwylf. His once golden curls were unwashed, matted tangles. His once impressive frame was now nearly skin and bones. He was once a Wolf Brother, matched with the pack of wolves that fought with Arnwylf and Conniker, the white wolf as their leaders. The other young men muttered for him to return and sit down.

  Husvet, dark haired and dark eyes, once Arnwylf's other captain, rose and put a sympathetic hand on Geleiden's shoulder. Geleiden paused for only a moment to savor Husvet's gesture, then he brushed his companion's hand away, and lurched forward towards Bittel.

  "Geleiden!" Husvet cried, and stumbled after his dear friend.

  Instantly, a Lord of Bittel, a huge timber wolf with yellow streaks along his jowls, set as a sentry along the tree line, yipped at Geleiden in warning.

  But, Geleiden continued stumbling towards the stand of trees that sheltered Bittel, once the village of Kellabald and his family. He moved forward with a determination he had not felt for moonths. He set his jaw and clenched his fists. If he was going to die, let it be at the hands of one he loved.

  The wolf sentry barked loudly three times to alert the other Lords of Bittel. The sentry danced and leapt in place with urgency.

  A hundred wolves curiously strolled out of the stand of trees.

  Among them, proud and larger than any other wolf, was Conniker, the white wolf, who stared at Geleiden with cold, indifferent, yellow eyes.

  Lanner, a grey, timber wolf, with bright eyes, moved close to face Geleiden. Lanner was once Geleiden's brother when human was bonded to wolf warrior. Lanner shivered with fear, still clearly bonded in heart and soul to Geleiden.

  Lanner yipped at Geleiden in warning, worried that his beloved human would be harmed if he tried to enter Bittel.

  "I don't care," Geleiden said as tears streaked his dirty face. "Tear me to pieces. Tear me to pieces, because I can't live without you." Geleiden fell to his knees, his matted hung all around his bowed head. His thin frame quaked with his sobs.

  Husvet gently walked up behind Geleiden and laid his hand on his shoulder. Tears streaked Husvet's face, too

  Farren, a black, grizzled timber wolf, yipped in worry at Husvet, the dark haired young man was once her brother, and she wished him no harm. But she had her orders from the Only Father. Lanner and Farren nervously stood together, shivering, as if the wolves so desperately wanted to run to Geleiden and Husvet.

  "Kill us," Husvet said loudly to Conniker. "I feel as Geleiden feels. I can't live without you." And Husvet opened wide his arms to Farren, hoping she would be the one, at least to end his life.

  Farren danced in place, yearning to go to Husvet. Lanner tore at the turf with his paws in frustration. But, the other wolves yipped and growled in warning. Disobeying the Only Father brought severe consequences.

  A soft, pitiful wind blew across the meadowland, whispering of past loyalties and love, a pitiless breath softly crying for old love to be renewed.

  Then, Lanner broke from the pack and bounded towards Geleiden, who raised his head so his beloved wolf could tear his throat. But Lanner fell upon Geleiden licking and whining with love. The wolf had disobeyed the laws set forth for the Lords of Bittel, and now was in imminent danger.

  The Lords of Bittel began barking and growling in displeasure. They advanced in a closing circle to end the life of both trespassing human and disobedient wolf. Geleiden held his wolf tightly, weeping openly.

  A loud sharp bark from Conniker stilled all sound. The wolves looked to their Only Father with questioning eyes. Lanner lowered his head in shame, but did not leave Geleiden's side.

  Conniker huffed a command and then turned to silently return to the shadows of Bittel. The Only Father of the Lords of Bittel seemed sad and heavy with grief. There was One, he too, missed with all his wolfish heart. And, the huge white wolf did not have it in his soul to deny to those who still had what he so desperately wished he had once again.

  But the command was instantly understood as the wolves that were bonded to humans happily bounded to their brothers, licking and greeting with whines of love. All the humans who once had been bonded to a wolf warrior were welcomed into Bittel. The Brotherhood was reforged.

  The new wolves curiously sniffed at the young men who entered the stand of trees, with the bonded wolves nipping at any new wolf that was too brusque with their human brother.

  Every wolf in Wealdland had fled to Bittel.

  Husvet looked around with amazement.

  "Look," Husvet said to Geleiden, taking his arm almost to reassure himself that what he was seeing was real.

  There were even more wolves than he had ever suspected. There were as many as three hundred wolves combined into one extended pack leisurely lounging among the elms and oaks. The Lords of Bittel were mighty indeed.

  The Archer, cradling the Lhalíi, stood in the weak surf that splashed about his waist.

  Deifol Hroth stood on the sand, waiting.

  The Archer, without turning his head, looked down the shore. His bow and quiver, holding his last and only Arrow of Yenolah, was but a little distance down the beach, just too far out of reach.

  The Lord of Lightning began a pleasant, small laugh, and he held out his hands to receive the crystal the Archer had just recovered from the depths of the New Sea.

  On his right side, the Archer was only aware of a huge explosion of spray for a moment. From his peripheral vision he saw Grisn bursting up and out of the surf, massive head tilted back, horns held high for maximum impact.

  Then from his left side, another explosion of spray, as the Archer slightly turned his head, he saw Josr leaping high out of the water, her mouth wide with sharp, conical teeth, eyes aflame with fury. Although she was smaller than her brother, Josr's teeth were larger and longer.

  Without hesitation, the Archer thrashed through the surf towards his bow and quiver. The whole world seemed to be in slow motion for the Archer. He misjudged how long Grisn's body was, and was nearly kicked in the head by the creature's webbed hind feet, as the Kaprk-Uusshu vaulted onto the shore. Looking up, the Archer could see the enormous body of Grisn, although half of the b
east had already passed over his head, like a massive, angry storm cloud rolling towards the shore and the Lord of Lightning. The Archer quickly plunged down, and looked up through the light green water of the New Sea to see the long, lashing tail of the beast as it whipped past, scattering the water on the surface.

  The Archer fought up and gasped for breath as he pushed at the water with all his might, fighting to get out of the surf. In one hand he cradled the elvish crystal, in the other he still clutched the elvish sword, Bravilc. Violently swinging his arms back and forth, clutching the sword and the crystal, he fought his way to land.

  A sound paralyzed the Archer and made him turn. The sound was a deep, deep, honking, ear splitting, grunting scream of fury. Grisn came down on the Lord of Lightning with the power of an avalanche.

  At the same time, on Deifol Hroth's other side, a shrill, whistling, piercing cry came from Josr as she clamped down on the Lord of Lightning's entire outstretched arm.

  The Archer could only gape in awe.

  Deifol Hroth held up his left hand, and a blinding flash repelled Grisn with the sound of a mountain exploding. Grisn was thrown back. His huge body was limp and seemingly dead as he flew back towards the New Sea. The beast's mighty carcass landed with a titanic splash.

  The Evil One simply turned to stare at Josr clamped down on his right arm. The Kaprk-Uusshu was breathing hard. She began to twist her head to tear his arm off. But, the Dark One lifted his arm, with no apparent effort, as though it was a toddler clinging to his forearm. As Deifol Hroth lifted his right arm, Josr's body went up with the motion, her large body extended, stiff with paralysis.

  Josr was held in the air, perpendicular to the sand, for just a moment. Seawater dripped off her shaggy white hide like a soft gentle rain, pattering on the sand. A sound started from Josr as though she were about to scream.

  Then, Deifol Hroth violently brought his arm down, and with it, Josr came down to the earth, smashing with a resounding thump, so strong that it made the Archer unsteady on his feet. Dry sand leapt with the concussive force. The Kaprk-Uusshu lay still and unmoving on the sand.

  The Lord of Lightning turned to look at Derragen.

  Any other man would have been frozen with fear, but the Archer from Kipleth steeled himself, turned, and sprinted for his bow and quiver.

  Halfway there, the Archer flinched with a burst of unnerving energy that cascaded over his body and made him stumble. He turned to look over his shoulder.

  Deifol Hroth held his hands out and down as he hovered over the sand. The Archer could see ripples of energy shimmering from the Dark One's body. The sand just under the Dark Lord's feet melted and fused instantly into a green glass. The Lord of Lightning, body stiff, arms thrust down, began to float towards the Archer.

  The energy emanating from the Lord of All Evil Magic hummed over the Archer's flesh, numbing his muscles. As Derragen turned to run to his bow and quiver, he could feel Deifol Hroth's energy pulling, dragging at his legs. The Archer yelled in anger and desperation, willing his body to move forward.

  A hollow, dead, evil laugh echoed behind him. The Archer could feel Deifol Hroth getting closer. He would never make it to his bow and quiver.

  Derragen could feel the energy of the Great Darkness pulling him down to the earth. He fell to his knees, but began to crawl through the sand, on his hands and knees, towards his bow and quiver holding the last Arrow of Yenolah.

  "Just give me the Vananth Indelune, Archer," a chilling voice buzzed from just behind Derragen. The sound of the Dark One's voice was strangely modulated as the words traveled through the shell of energy haloing him. "I have no wish to kill you."

  The Archer clawed at the sand with all his might, as he inched closer and closer to his bow and quiver. Derragen looked back and for a moment, and saw, back by his shack, the Old Man crossing behind the Lord of Lightning. He wanted to shout, cry out to the Old Man, to run for his life. But he knew his own life hung in the balance and turned, and struggled with all his might towards his quiver.

  "You could become one of my Great Ones," Deifol Hroth purred through the ripples of energy distorting his voice. "I could make you one of my Dark Generals," Deifol Hroth's voice was nearly directly over the Archer.

  Derragen grimaced and moved his heavy limbs with all the strength he had left.

  "Don't you want to be filled with power?" The Dark Lord whispered in Derragen's ear.

  "Not from you!" Derragen cried rolling over on his back to swipe at the Lord of Lightning with Bravilc, his sword.

  Deifol Hroth moved back with a blur. But, he had to stop hovering and gently stepped to the earth.

  "The only other choice for you," Deifol Hroth said with cool anger, "is to die." He raised his hands.

  With a subtle gesture, lightning cracked from Deifol Hroth's hands.

  The Archer swung Bravilc up at the flash. The arc of energy resounded off the blade with an enormous ring. The sand, in a halo around the Archer was melted to glass. The Archer was pushed back along the sand, but he was still alive. The impact of the lightning bolt against the elvish sword had felt like being rammed by a stauer. The Archer's whole body was filled with pain from the violent shock of the lightning bolt, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to even raise his arm to deflect another.

  Deifol Hroth stepped close, so that he was but one pace from the Archer.

  "So this is how the hero who was to kill me will die," Deifol Hroth said with a frightening face devoid of emotion, his body relaxed, impassive. "Pathetic," Deifol Hroth frowned.

  He again raised his hands.

  The Archer struggled to raise Bravilc, which seemed to emanate a dull glow.

  But before the Evil One could make the killing gesture that summoned the power of the sky, Grisn's mighty rack of horns slammed into the Dark Lord's back throwing him forward.

  Deifol Hroth was tossed like a rag doll over the Archer's head. Grisn dug in his hooves and came to a sliding stop at the Archer's feet, spraying him with sand and bits of melted glass.

  The Archer turned his head to see what had happened to Deifol Hroth. He saw him twisting, turning in the air from the impact, then right himself, hold out his hands and begin hovering once more, again haloed by an aura of intense energy.

  "Run!" Grisn creaked to the Archer.

  Derragen needed no other prompting. He scrambled to his feet and reached his bow and quiver, just as Josr vaulted past him.

  The Archer set down Bravilc and the Lhalíi, and readied his bow. As he was drawing his last Arrow of Yenolah, he saw Josr duck under a lightning bolt arcing from Deifol Hroth's hands.

  Josr cut into the water like a knife. But Grisn was right behind her to take advantage of the feint.

  Deifol Hroth quickly put his hands up, and a flash lit up the darkening sky as he repulsed another titanic blow from Grisn's massive rack of horns.

  As Grisn flew back to land with a thud on the sand, Josr burst up from the water, mouth open, and clamped down on the Dark Lord's legs. She quickly pulled him under the water, with a terrifying spray of agitated foam.

  The sea just off the shore bubbled and steamed with the fierceness of their battle under the water.

  Then all was quiet. The Archer looked to Grisn, but the huge animal was unconscious, lying very still.

  "Get up!" The Archer kicked at Grisn. He held his Arrow of Yenolah ready, nocked against his bowstring. "I need you!"

  Grisn lifted his large head, shook it, and began to rise to his feet.

  Out on the water, all was still. Then Derragen saw the top of Deifol Hroth's head as he walked to the shore.

  Grisn got to his feet.

  "I need you to help me get a shot," the Archer said to the Kaprk-Uusshu. Grisn grunted in understanding.

  As Deifol Hroth rose further out of the water, the Archer could see that he was dragging something. Then the Dark Lord swung his arm, and Josr's body came flying up out of the water, with a blinding wall of spray, landing on the beach with a sickening thud.

>   "I am becoming impatient!" The Lord of All Evil Magic angrily shouted.

  The Archer looked to Grisn who was shivering with emotion at the sight of the motionless body of his sister.

  A blast, a scream, a cry, so loud that the Archer took a step back, ripped from the great hairy throat of Grisn as he charged Deifol Hroth.

  The Archer moved to his left, never letting Deifol Hroth leave his sight, bow held high, looking for his shot.

  Just before Grisn reached the Dark Lord, he stopped, which momentarily confused Deifol Hroth. Grisn furiously whipped his tail up and over his body, letting his whole weight follow the colossal flail his body became.

  Grisn landed on Deifol Hroth with a gigantic splash.

  A raging foam began to churn up as Grisn tried to hold the Lord of Lightning under the water.

  Derragen wondered if Deifol Hroth could drown. Most likely not, he thought to himself as he readied his bow.

  The Archer could see Deifol Hroth rise up from the water as he struggled hand to hoof with Grisn.

  Now, the Archer thought to himself. He calmed his emotions. For an imperceptible instant, the Archer worried about the Old Man, hoping he was clear of the melee, but Derragen quickly banished any and all thoughts from his mind. He regulated his breathing, slowing it. He pulled the Arrow of Yenolah tight to his cheek. The smell of the New Sea was suddenly very intense to the Archer. He realized all his senses were heightened to their maximum ability. Good, he thought. The bowstring was taut. Grains of sand on his hand sparkled like jewels with the errant light of the ending day. The Archer felt his hand waver for just a moment.

  Nearer the shore, Deifol Hroth gripped the Kaprk-Uusshu's hooves, holding Grisn back from the vicious bites the animal snapped at him.