The Clovel Destroyer

by Thorn Bishop Press

  “I see the body of a woman. This is sacrilege,” the old man yelled at them. “Get away from this holy pit. Only a noble warrior can be given to the gods.” When he reached the fighters, he tried to pull the bucket from Urith. It was a mistake. The Esterblud grabbed the man, throwing him to the ground.

  Still holding the bucket, Urith showed lightening speed as the Clovel Sword blade flashed, pointing closely at the priest's face. “You come near me again, and you’ll get to meet these gods you worship. I’m making this decision, and I don’t need the help of old men who know nothing.” Guthlaf jumped between the men, calmly telling the old man of their plan.

  “You cannot do such a thing,” the stunned priest shook his head. “You will anger the gods, bringing destruction upon all of us.”

  “Well, I welcome a chance to meet such gods.” Urith’s face told the man there would be no change of mind. “My dead wife goes to the Sky Realm. You will not stop that.” Urith walked to one of the torches and threw it onto the oil covered pile. Soon the flames spread and the satgert got to his feet. Urith stared at the blaze, and Guthlaf indicated the old man should stay, pointing to a spot next to him. He knew, given a chance, the man would summon guards and that was something he could not allow.

  “It’s time for you to earn your keep. Offer prayers to the great Esterblud warrior called Uolven and the noblewoman called Earmis.” When the man came next to him, Guthlaf leaned close to the priest, whispering, “I tell you to pray well. Otherwise, my friend might decide to use you as a living sacrifice to the fire.” He saw the man nearly buckle at the threat before the priest began chanting prayers. Guthlaf smiled to himself, hopeful his friend might have a chance to let go of the bitterness and rage he knew Urith felt inside. Word of this mistreatment of a temple would spread and could leave Urith branded as an outlaw. Despite their status within the Esterblud tribe, Guthlaf knew this action might bring the wrath of their king down upon them.

  The evening waned as the flames finally consumed the bodies, leaving only ashes and a few bits of bone. Urith remained motionless the whole time, unaware of anything but the flames as he repeated a prayer he remembered from his youth. The old satgert collected the remnants of Uolven and Earmis in separate clay vessels, placing them on the stone alter to give a final blessing. Guthlaf noticed the priest made no mistakes, following the ritual precisely. They followed the man to a nearby wall, watching the old man place the pots into the carved out shelves where their spirits would be blessed each day.

  Satisfied, they left the temple with Guthlaf steering his quiet, stone-faced friend to a tavern. However, Urith refused the offer of heathmead. Instead, the warrior laid a few koinons down for a room.

  “I’ll leave tomorrow for Cilgarran,” Urith told Guthlaf as he tried to go the quarters.

  His friend caught him by the arm, telling him they should go to their overlord first. “King Penhda should be told of Uolven’s funeral. He will keep the satgerts from making any trouble.”

  “You can tell him, I’m leaving. If you need sleep, there is another bed in the room.”

  Urith pulled away; his body suddenly swept with an overwhelming weariness. He slowly climbed the stairs and found the room which held two small beds. The warrior pulled off his weapons and started on his chain mail before giving up and laying face down on the bed. Urith inhaled the musty stink of the straw-filled bed, and his face ached from the disfiguring, drying scab that across his cheek. But, he fell asleep almost immediately.

  Deep in the heart of the Neewar Mountains, a giant young warrior carefully followed the tracks of the monster. Soft rays of the late day sun trickled down through the dense green and blue canopy of the low trees. The black helmeted warrior could smell the distinct odor of rotting flesh and sulfur. It was the creature he tracked for his sakreta, an ordeal quest taken by all Esterblud warriors. However, the direction of the monster remained uncertain due to the lack of wind. A deathly stillness gripped the forest. Nothing made a sound; the usual symphony of nature quieted, knowing something evil walked among them. Urith knew it only too well. A monster like the Clovel left only destruction in his wake. It was an intelligent beast, and the Esterblud warrior knew he would have only one shot at destroying the nearly indestructible monster.

  He stepped slowly through the underbrush, pausing between steps to intently look and listen for any significant movement. The odor grew stronger, and the warrior slowly pulled his new sword from its scabbard. He felt the unfamiliar grip of leather and wire, thinking of his pride when his father, Uolven, gave him the unique sword. A weapon unusual in the many layers of folds welded together with different metals and engraved with powerful spells. He remembered his father telling him how Dughorm, an unusually gifted seer, and good friend, used a particular method during the forging of the sword. Using the ancient spells over the blacksmith fire, they ground up a blue amulet stone, adding it to the metals used in the weapon. When Uolven presented the sword to Urith, he said he believed the sword was capable of killing a Clovel monster. They named it the Destroyer.

  Snap.

  He heard a footstep to the right of his position and Urith turned his head, his eyes alert to any movement.

  Rustle.

  Now, he thought he heard movement on ahead of him. Urith could feel the sweat trickle down his face. While he knew the monster to be tricky, the Esterblud warrior forced himself to remain calm. Panic could get him killed quickly. He decided he could be hearing other animals stirring around the forest floor. Suddenly, he sensed something close to him. Slowly he turned to see if the Clovel might be stealthily coming from behind. Seeing nothing, but still feeling something watching him, Urith carefully moved over to his left. As he placed his hand on the tree next to him, the warrior caught a glimpse of something near his hand. A single leaf, brown and curled, brushed his arm. The sight sent a chill through the man as he finally understood. The monster’s lair was above him.

  Urith jumped back from the tree just in time as a massive white creature landed where the warrior had just stood. Rebounding high into the air from its large, squat legs, the Clovel recovered from missing its prey by landing halfway up a tree on the other side of the scrambling warrior. The monster slid down the tree, dragging its claws through the tree bark to control it’s decent. With only a slight pause it leaped in the air again, trying to land upon Urith. The warrior held out the sword, trying to cause the Clovel to impale itself, but the creature moved too fast. It swept its long arm, knocking away the outstretched blade of the sword. The creature’s next leap nearly landed it upon the man who was just able to avoid the slashing claws. Urith dove to the ground, tumbling over into the dense brush. The young warrior knew he was at a disadvantage now. He heard the roar of the monster as it barreled into the brush after him. Urith scrambled back to his feet as the hairy creature advanced with a quad pedal gate. It roared again and this time, the warrior saw the long muzzle exposing massive black teeth as it charged him. He swung his sword into the face of the creature, but the monster shook off the blow, swiping its long arm which slammed into the warrior’s shield. The shield nearly shattered as the force sent the man to the ground on his side. Urith quickly spun under the brush, swiftly crawling behind a tree. He slid himself up along the rough bark, into a standing position as he heard the creature tear through the brush. Coming to a stop next to the tree where its prey scent was strongest, the monster remained hunched over low, sniffing the air. It looked over just in time to see the warrior strike at its neck, forcing the point of the sword into the white fur. Black blood spurted out, and the creature whipped its head and clamped onto the man's leg, trying to drag him down.

  Urith screamed, more from fear than pain, as he smashed the edge of his shield into the Clovel’s muzzle. The creature let the man loose, allowing the warrior to retreat. The monster came at him again, determined to rip the human apart. The Esterblud struck again at the beast, hitting it in the jawbone and opening up another wound. However, he saw the spot where he hit the crea
ture before was now healed, leaving only black blood stains. He understood this was why the monster was nearly indestructible; its’ wounds healed almost immediately.

  Feverishly considering his options, Urith continued to use the foliage to his advantage. He ducked into another dense area of brush and tried to catch his breath. The Esterblud knew the monster would fight him until he made a mistake. His mind raced as he thought of vulnerable spots of all creatures. Suddenly, instead of pushing through the brush, the Clovel jumped high above him, landing in the tree. Surprised, Urith ran around the tree, then stopped, observing the monster, readying for its next move. The Clovel suddenly leaped down, intent on landing on the warrior. Urith raised his sword in time to impale the creature. The monster howled in pain, as Urith stepped back, withdrawing his sword only to follow up with a hack into the beast’s side. The monster howled again, turning to face the warrior. Expecting the move, Urith was ready. He shoved his sword into the red eye of the beast. The young man’s aim was true, and the most deadly monster brought forth by the Guardians died at his feet.

  A wave of satisfaction swept across Urith as he limped away from the creature. He bent over to examine his wounded leg. The bite was minor, mostly bruised. His thick leather bindings were able to withstand the creature’s bite. As he caught his breath, he suddenly heard the soft sound of sobbing. The forest still remained deathly quiet as he followed the sound through the brush until he came upon a footpath. He followed the path, his nose picking up the smell wood smoke as he eventually came to a clearing. Pausing, he heard the soft chants of a death song in Esterblud. So deep in the remote areas outside of his lands, the use of his tribal language surprised him. As he walked to the sound, he heard the words which struck him.

  “Your hopes and desires will be silent understanding of the beyond. Release my spirit to the eternal world of bliss,” said a young voice. When Urith emerged from the forest, he saw, ahead of him in the clearing, a young girl with her back to him. Deeper into the clearing, he found a partially built wooden hut. The Esterblud realized the settlers must have made the unfortunate decision to settle near the lair of the Clovel. Taking a deep breath, he strode toward the lone figure.

  Lying on the ground in front of the girl were two bodies. As he got closer, he could see the mangled remains of a man and woman. Other bodies lay near the home, extended family to help on the farm. When he reached the girl, the young warrior reached down, then recoiled when the girl turned her head.

  It was the face of an old man who looked at Urith. With thick folds of wrinkled skin and bleach gray hair covering parts of the face, the apparition smiled a toothless grin.

  “Stare upon the hallowed dead, young hero. Are the deaths of my mother and father not worthy of eternal peace like your warriors?” The old face growled at him in a voice that seemed strangely familiar. The warrior could think of nothing to say. His mouth suddenly went dry when he saw the scar from the old man’s lip to his ear. “No, the worth of such peasants is meaningless to your world. These spirits must travel to the underworld, honorable in life, yet still not worthy of the Sky Realm. Spirits gathered by gods unworthy of the title. I would ask why must we worship gods who use our souls as fodder for their games?”

  The little girl with the old face rose to confront him The body grew in size, the skin now blackened and the face transforming to become a spare, birdlike face with large pointed ears. The foul creature floated above the ground.

  “You placed yourself above the gods, little man. You believe you can decide who is allowed into the sky realm. My brother does not take such dissidence lightly. Instead of Haligulf, you condemn your favored souls to play inside my throne of pain,” the voice of Caruun, master of the underworld informed the warrior. The ghoulish figure suddenly vanished, leaving the dreaming man to look upon the mutilated bodies at his feet. He suddenly recognized the faces. Uolven and Earmis stared back at him with open, dead eyes.

  Urith’s screams woke Guthlaf, who was sleeping in the room. He found his friend lashing out in his sleep. Finally, the man shook Urith awake after several tries, narrowly avoiding his friend’s massive fists lashing out at him. The giant blinked his eyes as he sat up, forcing himself to lean against the wall. He remembered the horrible vision and slumped at the thoughts filling his head.

  “The gods have told me their decision.” Urith’s voice was nearly a whisper.

  “What do you mean?” Guthlaf asked him, then fell quiet when he realized what his friend was talking about. He rose to his feet and found an overturned chair to sit upon, waiting for the warrior to continue. “Listen, you are not a seer. We all have nightmares.

  “No, I don’t have such visions like this.” Urith shook his head, wiping the sweat that stuck his sandy hair to his forehead. “I was there again, in the woods, taking on the Clovel. It was exactly as I remembered. After I had killed the creature, I came upon the little girl whose family was slaughtered by it, just like before. But, this time, her face was old, like a bitter old man. It was me, Guthlaf with my scarred face. Then, I saw Caruun, who showed me the bodies of my father and wife.” There was agony in his expression, tortured at what he remembered. His face felt on fire as if the dream embedded itself in his wound.

  Guthlaf attempted to reassure him. “Listen, you are worn out from infection with your injury. You know such things create mad ravings. Don’t let a dream throw you. Remember, the hakra told your father a great destiny awaits.”

  Urith thought about his words, thinking back to the prophet who told Uolven of his son’s fortune many seasons before. According to his father, the seer said Urith would have a great destiny. Great fury was foreseen by the seer, along with a terrible burden Urith would carry. This was a prophecy not even known by Guthlaf. His dream about the gods and their world came back to him. Under his breath, Urith cursed the gods, while wondering if he had actually condemned the souls of his father and wife. Then, he came up an idea and scrambled to his feet.

  “I must find a hakra,” he told Guthlaf as he grabbed his weapons. His friend followed him out into the narrow hallway, trying to put on his own weapons.

  “The Shrine of Duwdamon is where the Oracle resides. They say she is challenging to see. What makes you think she will allow you inside the shrine?”

  Urith turned to his friend, painfully removing the covering stuck to his face. It began oozing a bloody pus. “This will be my way in,” he mysteriously told his friend.

  The Esterblud warriors went into the morning light, heading to the main square of the city. The cut stone streets smelled from the open sewer running down the middle. The dry spell left much of the rubbish from humans and animals rotting. Usually, the rains would wash such trash away into the sea. On either side of the streets were low, squat buildings of timber and clay construction, their thatched roofs bleached light brown from the sun. By the time they reached the shrine, the city was springing to life, with dozens of carts and wagons arriving. Traders and merchants began opening their buildings around the square to those suddenly filling the area from nearby homes.

  At the end of the street, the two men turned to the raised platform where the Fountain of Destiny sat. They heard the water coming from the fountain as they climbed the steps of white and gray stones. At the top, they met two guards dressed in blue robes with hard leather helmets. Each was armed with a long pike as the stood sentry behind closed iron gates. One of the guards ordered them away.

  “It is probably best,” Urith suddenly confided to his friend, bellowing. “These oracles are nothing more than a fraud. They prey upon the weak minded.” Guthlaf gave his friend a look of shocked disbelief. Such words were dangerous in the lands of Kamin.

  “You cannot say such things against the Oracle. Your blasphemy will be punished by death,” one of the guards told them. “Now get out of here.”

  “You see this wound,” Urith pointed to his grotesque cheek. “No hakra told me about this. Why is that? It’s because your destiny comes only when you pay enough. Take my
words to your master, if you are no eunuch.”

  The guards leveled their pikes at the Esterblud, who held his ground while Guthlaf took a pace back, unsure what his friend was doing. For a tense moment, he wondered if he would have to fight alongside his friend. Suddenly a figure appeared behind the guards. A woman with dark skin, dressed in a long white and gold hooded robe clapped twice, catching one of the guard’s attention. Both turned, immediately bowing as she strolled silently to the gate. She looked over the warriors carefully, paying particular attention to Urith. She nodded to the lead guard who reluctantly opened the gate.

  “You may enter Urith of the Penhda clan,” she turned, walking away. The giant warrior gave the guard a sneer, despite the pain in his face, confidently entering the shrine. Guthlaf tried to follow, but he was cut off by the guard who slammed the gate shut. Resigned to waiting, the young warrior sat on a step, turning to watch over his shoulder as Urith walked out of sight.

  As the giant warrior passed the fountain, he resisted an urge to reach out and touch the cooling water. Despite his blaspheming talk, he still held some respect for the beliefs of his land. However, he was well aware of the underhanded ways of those who mislead followers for their own benefit. He followed the woman to a shaded spot under a large, twisted lellowtere tree. The woman sat on a bench, pulling back the hood of her robe to reveal her short cropped white hair while she looked at the warrior again. She was a lovely woman with high cheekbones and a blue tattoo of a star under her bottom lip.

  “Now that you have entered the shrine, what other blasphemy do you have for me? There is no place here to burn your father and your wife. So, do you come to give me your tears?” The woman's gaze grew hard as she looked at Urith, and he guessed the woman had heard of his outrage at the temple the day before.