THE BLACKHAWKS IMPOSSIBLE QUEST
A Tale Never Told
A Fantasy Adventure Novel
By Michael John Siddall
Copyright © june 2011
All rights reserved
In the terrifying darkness of the silent night, there parades a carnival of lost souls – ugly, black, dreadful things – and even worse lurking in the shadows behind them.
In the world of the Blackhawks, the formidable and fearsome face of evil comes in many guises – all of them deadly.
Now the Warrior-Rangers' courage and cunning will be pitted against wickedness and harm. Will they survive to tell the tale?
Or will evil finally triumph over good?
Chapter 1
Once upon a time, on a primitive but exulted world almost identical to ours, in a galaxy not too far away, Loden peered out of his tent at the coming dawn. It filled him with dread as their worlds red-giant sun appeared on the far horizon. Pure raw panic engulfed him.
'We've suffered eternity of war against an ancient evil and unspeakable horror and survived,' he said, a tremor in his voice. 'But the ice-giants and shadow-warriors have taken their toll on us all, even though dwarfs, trolls, mud-giants and blue-blood heroes have thrown themselves into the violent mix against them. Now this will be our final battle. The terror of the Narok is upon us all.'
He drummed his fingers on his sculptured breastplate, watching Koki's army approach. It was huge. In fact, it was so vast that it shook the earth beneath his feet. And there were so many warriors and monsters that they had literally drunk a river dry. More of the army were creatures rather than men, most of them with souls as black as hell. And it was possibly the most awesome force ever assembled in the universe at any time throughout history. The sight filled Loden and his army with dread. Panic became fear. Fear became terror.
‘Since this war began it seems colder every day,’ announced Loden coming to his feet wearily. His gaze wandered out over the straw covered ground in his tent, searching for his enchanted spear. ‘Damn. Where is it?’ he snapped, rummaging amongst an array of silk banners, standards, flags and sashes, draped everywhere over gleaming armour. He turned, suddenly fixing Tor’s stern gaze. ‘My son, how many more hero-warriors will I lose this day, torn limb from limb, only to be devoured by ice-giants, gargolans and serpents?’
Tor shook his head, not knowing the answer, fear and fury bubbling inside, terror in his eyes. Chain mail, battle-axes, longbows, lances and swords lay in racks around the floor, and the bizarre caricature of a hulking warrior, axe in hand, stood to the left of the entrance as if to ward off great evil. A haunting silence prevailed, until Heimal pushed his way into his master’s tent, breathlessly.
‘What news do you bring?’ asked Tor, glancing out at a departing thunderstorm pinned against a blood-red sky. A dark, forbidding sight it was.
‘Calm yourself and speak,’ ordered Loden, beckoning for him to sit and rest on a stool. Tor handed Loden his spear from beneath a food-covered trestle table and he nodded his appreciation, squinting against the muted light of their giant sun.
Hedimar, a giant scarred warrior with dark eyes and silver hair passed Heimal a goblet of wine. He drank thirstily. Pursing his lips he sucked in the icy morning air, exhaling frosted breath. The other heroes and commanders sat speechless in the tent, awaiting his words with more than a little trepidation, their gaze wandering out across thousands upon thousands of brightly coloured flags, standards and banners, coming their way in a great confusion of noise. The air was freezing, the ground hard like a winter’s day, and thunder rumbled in the heavens overhead
Heimal sighed. ‘I bring grave news, High Lord. Ice-giants come in their millions. And their minions have already begun crossing Brayfrost by force. What is thy command sire?’
Loden gave a dark look, despairing, shaking his head. The others awaited their orders with baited breath. He placed a hand on Heimal’s shoulder. ‘Believe in me. And always believe we can win this war,’ he said stepping out of the tent, a steely determined glint in his eye. He swung his black sable cloak about his shoulders and placed his wide brimmed war helmet over his scarred face, concealing his missing eye. ‘So this is it. The day of reckoning,’ he murmured his mind racing.
The other heroes and commanders followed him out across the bloodied, bone-strewn ground, mentally preparing for their final encounter of the war. ‘Our warriors have learned their battle formations well, even though this day has come sooner than we expected,’ said Hedimar fixing Loden’s gaze, looking hopeful but full of fear. The air was thick with emotion and their hearts pounded in their chests so hard that they could hardly breathe.
Loden, a giant male with powerful broad shoulders, a fierce, dark, bearded face and savage manner nodded, striding confidently towards his army, a raven perched on each shoulder, his enchanted and infallible spear in his hands. And as he approached, spear held high, the army answered with a deafening war cry, chanting his name repeatedly, until finally he lowered his spear, silencing them. ‘Listen to me,’ he ordered, standing on the high ground surrounded by his special attendants and personal bodyguard – the Zalkyries – overlooking an endless sea of hero-warriors. ‘The mighty forces of evil are upon us. Ice-giants and their minions come. Creeping, snarling, hideous things that will drag you screaming into the Netherworld, and they are only a heartbeat away.’ He paused catching his breath, watching them lumbering across the ice-bridge in chaos. ‘Take heart and die well,’ he continued. ‘Death in battle is a joyous thing. As a Vindaluvian warrior, I've always had a ready acceptance of danger and a profound dislike for those who cannot endure hardship. We can. And will. So if our monstrous enemy come in millions, we will dispatch them in millions, back to an evil place where they will never again see the light of day. Now, you must use your courage and cunning before all else, if we are to prevail.’ He was aware of the impending bloodbath as he lifted his spear in a salute to his soldiers, spinning around, pointing at the oncoming army of giants with their large, unfaltering, perfect movements, and the hopping, shrieking monsters mustered there by the evil Koki, and led by Hymir, the ice giant chief.
‘Take no prisoners,’ ordered Koki, a fierce warrior clad in blood red armour. ‘Kill every last one of them.’ His army charged in an ominous thunder of hooves, steel and shattering ice. Standards, bright and polished were raised. Flags fluttered in the breeze and a web of neon lightning blazed across the sky.
Loden’s army answered with another deafening war cry, while Tor stood by his father’s side holding his magic hammer high above his head. He seethed with tempestuous rage, cursing Koki’s forces. ‘Damn you all to the Netherworlds and Shadowlands.’
‘Be calm my son,’ said Loden. ‘Today is the beginning of the end. So let anger betray Koki and his army, not ours.’ He waited. Then as the dark forces and harbingers of evil drew nearer, he lifted his spear again, signalling the release of a hail of arrows, blotting out the starlight. ‘For glory or death,’ he shouted amid towering flames and huge explosions as the two armies collided in a cataclysmic shuddering noise of breaking lances, falling axes and clashing swords.
All around him, ice-giants, monsters and man-gods fought desperately as he mounted and rode his enchanted eight-legged stallion through another hail of arrows, hacking and slashing with his sword and spear to keep the enemy at bay. But Koki came nearer. Ever ready to smite him down as the powerful stink of sweat and blood fused, lingering heavily in the air, fetid and raw.
Finally, the evil horde overcame mighty Tor, even though he battled bravely with his hammer and sword. He fell beneath their feet as they pushed onward endlessly, tirelessly.
Loden swallowed hard, his
throat bone dry, fighting with great tenacity, striking anyone or anything in his path. ‘Force the giants and monsters back over the bridge,’ he ordered in the hope of trapping them in the narrow pass. But even through another endless hail of arrows and spears they thundered onward, crushing all that stood before them in an even greater confusion of noise.
In desperation, Loden ordered Hedimar the magician to unleash his fearsome host of dragons against the enemy. The giants plucked them screeching from the sky, devouring them whole as the war raged on, bloody day after bloody day for what seemed an eternity. Then, one by one the heroes and men-gods fell in the greatest of all battles. And even though the Vesir and Aanir fought courageously together, slashing with their swords, chopping with their axes, they still found themselves hopelessly outnumbered in a tidal wave of bizarre creatures. Mutilated bodies littered the battlefield. Horrific screams of the dying filled the air.
Finally, Brayfrost began to crumble beneath the sheer weight crossing over the ice bridge.
Loden’s stallion stumbled, collapsing heavily, and he found himself toppling towards the ground. When he hauled himself upright, crawling hags, trolls and dwarfs surrounded him. ‘Go back to Purgatory,’ he snapped thrusting his spear at them. Swinging around quickly he froze, watching a familiar predatory figure approach, sword in hand.
Koki strode towards him hacking and slashing with his blade – chopping off arms, cutting bodies in half and splitting heads down to the eyes, until all who stood before him came to a bloody end. He snarled. His sword sliced through Loden’s spear almost splitting his head in two.
‘You traitor! Why have you betrayed me and your own kind?’ snapped Loden, his feet suddenly slipping on the crumbling bridge, finding himself on his back.
‘The other men-gods have shown their bitter dislike of me, and you have always favoured them over me,’ scolded Koki. He stood over Loden ready to deliver a killing blow.
Heimal, cursing colourfully charged through the evil swarm, sword held high. ‘You've killed Tor. Brothers Alder and Hodrak are dead. But you won’t kill me so easily,’ he said with a snarl. He leapt over Loden and pounced on Koki, who disappeared in a flash of light, leaving them surrounded by hulking behemoths and creeping monsters.
‘Impossible,’ said Heimal watching him vanish.
‘No,’ replied Loden looking around him. ‘But our situation is.’
The bridge finally collapsed sending all to oblivion, blackness engulfing them.
Koki sat in the darkness of the eternal abyss, laughing madly. The trickster man-god who had saved the great Loden and Tor from their own folly on many occasions had spitefully brought about their downfall. Then for what seemed an eternity, there was darkness and cold in the abyss.
TEN THOUSAND YEARS LATER... no one expected the birth of Rogan, the dragon-son of the all-powerful magician, Hedimar, or the dawn of a new order of warriors known as The Blackhawks, who would eventually lead the Blue-Bloods back into the light. Loden, reborn as prophecy foretold, sat on his throne once more in the great cloistered halls of Llallana with Tor and the other trusted man-gods by his side, wiser, more powerful and more enlightened after the apocalyptic events of the Narok invasion. But Koki’s mirthless laughter still resounded for many years to come.
Chapter 2
TWENTY EIGHT YEARS LATER...
An ice cold wind whispered into the cavern as Rogan made his way over to a crystal throne, flexing his numb fingers, trying to get the feeling back into them. He was freezing, wearing only his thin forest greens and calf length boots, which concealed a hidden dagger. His tall, broad shouldered, mightily built frame flickered through the shadows almost ghostlike with a cocky swagger as the dimly lit cavern groaned, echoing eerily. He glanced across at Kira with anxiety in his eyes. The stench of death lingered heavily in the air.
‘It all makes sense now. Koki's the one who’s been trying to kill us. But if he thinks he can stop me, he’s wrong,’ he said with a dark look. His face was shadowed. Snatching the hidden dagger from inside his boot, he pried the sixth enchanted Firestar free of the throne.
The frosted jewel fell into his palm. He swung around, solidly fixing Kira's gaze. His face was pale, worn and twisted with resentment, eyes haunted, cheeks covered in stubble. ‘Nobody’s going to make a fool out of me, not even a man-god after all we’ve been through to get this far. Koki is an immortal, but death would actually improve him,’ he said with a hard edge to his voice. His tough but handsome features now looked beyond his twenty-eight years.
‘Hush Rogan, don’t speak ill of a man-god, not even an evil one like Koki,’ she whispered. Her skin was pale, her red lips chilled. She trembled. ‘We’ve been through enough already and the man-gods can make things even worse.’
Rogan stared at her. ‘How much worse can it get?’
No sooner had the words left his lips when she screamed. A sword scythed through her back, opening up her chest. Blood gouted from the wound, spraying out, flecking his face, chest and arms. His eyes widened with horror in a state of shock and disbelief as if caught in some terrible nightmare. She fell to her knees as the sword was withdrawn and felt an agony she had never known before. A searing, endless, acid fire exploded in her body, filling her. And an agonized groan burst from her lips. She sagged, falling backwards. He caught and held her. Eyes fever bright, shining with fear, her mouth was hanging open as if she wanted to scream but couldn’t. She trembled, blood gushing from her wound like wine from a cracked jug, staining the ice.
‘The man-gods help me,’ he whispered. But the prayer went unanswered. His whole body stiffened and a sob caught in his throat. She slumped to the ice dead, still in his arms. Cradling her, the cavern shook, echoed and seemed much darker than before. His eyes misted and filled, watching her for several heartbeats, noticing her skin becoming pale, taking on an almost translucent quality. Closing her eyes with trembling fingers he kissed her cold lifeless lips, his face grim with torment and unimaginable anger.
‘You were wrong bowman. I never lose an advantage,’ announced Morbious, a scarred, hunter-killer giant, wiping the blood from his blade. He licked his fingers fixing Rogan’s gaze defiantly. ‘And her blue-blood tastes good.’
‘No!’ Rogan shouted shaking his head, unable to believe what was happening. The Netherworld cavern burst to the sound of his cry, echoed and shook again.
‘I can smell your fear,’ sneered the other, smiling a crooked, pitiless smile, his wild, cruel eyes remorseless, ‘and taste death.’ He punched Rogan in the face and seized him by the throat in a vice-like grip, hauling him up into the air. He slammed him against the throne and his feet hung in space above the dark, shadow-haunted abyss. It burst with the sounds of terror. ‘The enchanted Firestars, I’ll take them now, all of them.' His voice was deep, harsh and resonant. Viciously he twisted his black bony fingers around Rogan’s windpipe, strangling him. Bats fluttered uneasily, squawking around them.
Rogan spat blood in the giant’s face, grinning defiantly. ‘Never,’ he said his tired dark eyelids stark against pallid cheeks. Jerking the quiver from over his shoulder he hung it out over the endless drop to a backwash of more deafening sound. ‘Let go of me or I swear you’ll have to fetch them from the Netherworld,’ he warned, shaking the contents of the quiver, staring into Morbious’ hooded eyes.
‘No. Don’t drop them!’ snapped the giant, cursing colourfully. He pulled the bowman back, throwing him onto hard ledge.
Rogan fell clutching his throat. ‘You killed Kira in a cowardly way, from the back and without mercy. So if you want the Firestars you can have them, all of them. But you’ll have to kill me first,’ he said glaring murderously.
Morbious' eyes narrowed. ‘A slight miscalculation on my part,’ he said stepping back, raising his sword. ‘I should have killed you first and then pleasured myself on the female warrior afterwards. But, your offer is acceptable. I’ll take great pleasure in cutting out your blue-blood heart and eating you, after I’ve cut off your irritating
head.’
Rogan crawled – clutching his throat – to where Kira’s broken body lay. He ached inside with a pain far worse than any physical pain he had ever experienced as a warrior. He felt her pulse. There was none. Gripping her lifeless hand he kissed her lips and smelt her distinctive rosewater scent. Drawing her fine edged sword from its scabbard he hauled himself upright, pointing it at the giant. ‘It’s only fitting that I kill you with her blade,’ he announced darkly. ‘And I will kill you, no matter what it takes.’
The giant stared. ‘I admire your courage, misguided and foolhardy though it may be. But have you not noticed that I’m three times your size. What chance do you really think you have? I can see fear in your face, hear dread in your voice, smell terror in the air and soon I’ll taste your blue-blood and eat your lily-white bones.' He loomed over the bowman, flickering hazily in and out of view like the night heat, his invisibility faltering.
Rogan placed his quiver down by the side of Kira’s body. ‘I’m a skilled bowman and have never paid much attention to the sword even though I've carried one most of my life, but I know they have their uses,’ he said gritting his teeth, gripping the leather bound hilt securely.
Morbious’ sneering smile turned into a snarl, his mad laughter booming out. ‘Then I'll be delighted to give you free tuition in how to use the weapon to chop someone to pieces,’ he announced lunging forward.
Rogan parried the giant’s blade clumsily, but only just. There was no riposte from him. The giant spun around quickly, stopping short of removing his head by a hair’s breadth. Their eyes ablaze locked instantly and Morbious laughed, circling the other as more bats fluttered into the cavern to the clattering sounds of swordplay.
The giant lunged again, attacking with the speed of thought, aiming his blade at the others face. Again, the bowman blocked the blow clumsily. Again there was no riposte. Now his adversary spun around in the opposite direction, his sword coming to rest a hair’s width away from Rogan's nose. The giant’s wicked laughter boomed out again and their eyes locked. Rogan’s seemed larger and darker than ever before. Fear shone in them. The giant warrior circled again, his mouth contorting into a sneer. ‘You’re not doing too well, are you bowman?’
The Blackhawks Impossible Quest Page 1