But Fil lifted the heavy blade and brought it downward with as much strength as he could muster, the sharp iron cutting deep into the boarg’s neck, causing the beast to stumble backwards, and ripping the sword from Fil’s hands. The animal wobbled on unsteady legs before finally falling to the ground, blood pulsing from the terrible wound.
A horrible gagging noise alerted Fil that he was not alone. He glanced against the wall, noticing a woman on the ground, her throat covered in blood. Fil ran towards her and knelt by her side. Blood had pooled all around her body and it was still slowly pouring from the lacerations at her throat. He noticed that it was Lorna, the mother of the cripple.
Lorna grabbed Fil’s arm with surprising strength, looking at him with the last of her life’s energy. “Jonas…..in the fireplace…..help him….protect him,” Lorna murmured quietly, her voice a soft gurgle. “Promise me, Fil,” she whispered, her strength finally leaving her.
Fil held her hand gently. Not knowing what else to say to the dying woman, he said what she wanted to hear. “I promise; I will look after him.” Fil stared down at Lorna as she died, her eyes glazing over and her blood smeared hand falling away. Fil did not know Lorna well, but the dying woman seemed to symbolize the entire town, the town that he had loved for fifteen years. He thought about his family and friends dead and dying, and tears began to fall, tears he could not stop as they cascaded down over the Lorna’s body.
He went on like that for a few moments, struggling to regain control of his emotions. The torrent of tears slowly stopped as Fil created a mental dam, a dam built of anger and determination. As the tears subsided, Fil gently used his hand to close her eyes. He got up and ripped the spear from the dead boarg. I’m going to survive this he thought; they will all pay for what they have done.
***
Airos and the Banthra clashed together, their blades creating a blur of magical energy. Airos’s skill with a blade was unrivaled, but he had never met a Bantrha in combat before. What Airos possessed in skill, the Banthra made up in magical enhancements. Airos’s blades spun faster and faster, creating a deadly barrage of steel that could not be stopped; so he thought.
But the Banthra was there, blocking every slash and lunge. The blackness of the creature began to suffocate Airos as they struggled together. He could feel the vileness seep his energy from him, the Bantrha hissing as he felt Airos begin to slow. Airos jabbed his long sword forward but fell off balance as the Banthra sidestepped the attack, slamming a spiked gauntlet into Airos’s side as the cavalier stumbled by. Airos felt the corrupt metal sink several inches into his unprotected side. The sting was unbearable, for the Banthra’s weapons were no ordinary steel. They were cursed weapons that created wounds that killed much faster and would not heal without magic.
“What’s wrong, cavalier? Does it sting?” the Banthra’s gravelly voice whispered. Airos was visibly struggling against the pain as the demon mocked him.
“Ulren, help me fight this abomination,” he prayed. As he focused on his prayer, the pain began to subside. His hands began to tingle and the black veil that seemed to cover him fell away and new strength shot through him. The wound in his side sealed itself as the pain mercifully faded away.
The Banthra felt his magic being countered and hissed angrily, swinging his blade down in an overhead chop. Airos flung up his sword and knife in a cross block catching the flaming weapon. He used his sword to slide the Banthra’s blade to the side while ramming his knife deep into the Banthra’s thigh. The Banthra screamed, lurching backwards, the magical knife ripping from its leg and falling from Airos’s hand.
Airos gripped his sword with both hands, and summoning the High One’s energy he released it toward the Banthra. “Ulren!” Airos screamed, pointing his sword at the Banthra. Airos’s body glowed bright blue for a second, then all the energy burst from the tip of the sword in a powerful bolt of God Fire that hit the Banthra square in the stomach, forcing it to stumble backwards. The Banthra snarled and looked down at a charred burning hole in its bowels, its legs wobbly underneath him.
Braal ripped his axe from the dying beast’s chest and looked up for his next victim. He had long ago exhausted all the energy of his physical body and was now fighting with his heart. His anger fueled him; the anger of his brother’s death many years ago, the anger of seeing the death and destruction of the town he loved. He knew this new energy would not last forever so he found his next victim quickly.
The Banthra was standing with its back to him not more than twenty paces away. As he looked at the devil warrior he saw Airos launch a dazzling bolt of flame into the demon’s stomach. Braal shielded his eyes from the brightness, gripping his axe tighter. He looked back at the staggering demon and his eyes burned with hatred. Braal lifted his axe, charging at the personification of his fury, at the very thing that had destroyed everything he held dear.
Airos saw the charge and screamed inwardly, knowing that Braal’s weapon could do nothing. Airos moved in like a striking snake just as the Banthra turned to meet the charge that he sensed behind him. The Banthra held up his sword to intercept the powerful chop of the axe. When the two weapons met the axe exploded in a shower of metal and wood and the Banthra reversed the parry and struck the enraged human in the side, the magical flames of the sword cutting through the man’s body as if it were made of air.
Airos saw Braal’s body fall away in two pieces just as he leaped forward and rammed his own sword through the body of the distracted Banthra. The blade pierced the black knight through the heart, erupting out the other side in a shower of black blood.
The Banthra lifted his head and screamed into the night. Airos twisted the blade, and called on the power of Ulren again.
“Burn you Forsworn spawn!” Airos yelled through gritted teeth, his power surging through the sword into the body of the Banthra. The Banthra, screaming louder, dropped his sword and grabbed Airos’s head with both hands.
“I will take you with me, cavalier,” hissed the Banthra. The Banthra’s hands began to glow red as he sent his magic into the cavalier. Airos clenched his teeth and continued to pray and channel his magic into the body of the Banthra.
The demon knight lit up like the moon as the blue flame began to flow through it, burning him with fiery pain. As Airos screamed, the demon’s dark magic continued to attack Airos’s body. They were locked together, fused in a searing struggle for survival. Airos arched his back and screamed louder as the magic burned his core…but he could not let go. If he let go of the sword then the link that was channeling his magic into the demon would be severed and he would be incinerated.
All the men and boargs that were still alive stopped fighting, slowly stepping further away from the glowing combatants. Airos’s body became translucent and the red fire filled him and burned from the inside out. They both continued to scream, sending one last burst of energy into each other.
The magic flared and exploded out over fifteen paces before it receded and disappeared. The men and boargs nearby fell to the ground to shield themselves from the blast. Those closest to the battle ended up as charred burning husks. The ground was scorched black around the two dead warriors, their bodies nothing more than burnt and blackened forms, unrecognizable from their previous selves.
There were fifteen men left, barely standing, holding onto their bloody weapons. The remaining fifty boargs advanced on the men, paying little attention to their dead leader, for food was standing right in front of them. The men could barely move, let alone stop the charge of the hungry beasts.
Three
Survival
Fil gripped his spear tightly as he hid under the bed in the baker’s house. He did not know that the Bantrha and the cavalier were dead, but he could still hear feeding boargs outside. He had never been more terrified. Fighting and witnessing the massacre was traumatic enough, but sitting and waiting for boargs to feed on his friends and family while he hid, not knowing if a hungry boarg would find him and eat him alive, was more frighteni
ng than he could possibly imagine. He wondered how many survivors there were and how many people were hiding like he was? He knew that the cripple was in the baker’s oven. Lorna, the boy’s dying mother, had told him so. He would honor her wish and do his best to get the boy and any other survivors to safety.
His mind was swarming with questions. Once the boargs left, would the survivors be safe from them? Would the boargs return to feed? Were they better off hiding out in the mountains? Was his family alive? The last he’d seen of his father, Jorm, was at the north gate, fighting as part of the reserve line. His sister, Lara, who was only six, was hiding out with the other children and elderly at the grange. He did not know the whereabouts of his brother, Colson, nor did he know what had happened to his mother, Mell, who he had last seen helping with weapons at the south wall.
His body and mind were exhausted, but he didn’t want to risk falling asleep in case a boarg arrived looking for more food. Despite his efforts, his eye lids became heavier and heavier as he struggled to stay awake, the stress of the night taking its toll on the young man. The grunting and growling of feeding boargs grew more distant in his mind as he got sleepier and sleepier. Fatigue finally won the battle. His eyes closed as he fell into a deep sleep, still clenching the blood covered spear in his hand.
***
Jonas did not know how long he had been asleep. He awoke in the dark confines of the oven, soot covering his cramped body and the smell of charcoal and baked bread overwhelming him. He listened intently for several moments, trying to hear sounds of fighting outside. He had no idea if it was morning or still night and he was very frightened. No one had come for him and his heart ached to see his mother, or Gorum, or someone to tell him that everything was going to be fine. What had happened outside? Not knowing and feeling helpless filled him with a deep despair. He had to move, to get out of the tight confines of his hiding place, to get some answers to what had happened.
Slowly he used his wooden crutch to push the wood away from the opening. The wood landed heavily on the floor and light reached into the oven as he knocked more logs out of the way. It must be morning thought Jonas, the room lighter than it had been. Slowly he inched his way forward, feet first, until he got to the lip of the oven. He was about two paces up from the ground and he knew he’d have a small fall since his legs probably couldn’t catch him. Pushing his body all the way out of the oven he landed heavily on his legs, stumbling to the ground.
“You okay?”
The voice came from in front of him as Jonas struggled to look up and grab his crutch at the same time. He stood up slowly, his cramped legs shaking and his back aching from the tight confines of the oven. Fil stood before him, a long bloody spear in his hand. The boy’s face and body were splattered with blood, and at his waist he carried a hunting knife. Fil did not look like the boy he remembered, he seemed to have aged many years in one night.
“I think so,” Jonas nodded slowly, solemnly, his eyes huge as he tremulously voiced the question, “Wh-what happened?”
Fil didn’t know how to tell the poor boy that his mother was dead and that their town was destroyed. He was never great with words so he just kept it simple. “Everything is destroyed, Jonas. Our town is gone. The Banthra and the cavalier both died in the fight.”
“And my mother?” Jonas asked, although he knew the answer even as he asked the question.
“She is dead. Everyone is dead. My family…everyone is gone.” Emotions finally claimed Fil for the first time. Tears poured down his face and he didn’t fight them, he let them come. He allowed grief to overwhelm him, for he knew that this would be the last time that he would grieve. The tears spilled forth, as he wept unabashedly for each member of his family and for all his friends and neighbors who had perished.
Jonas fell to his knees, his grief grabbing him roughly and weighing him down. He crumpled to the floor and cried in anguish. Fil stumbled towards him and held him in his arms as they both wept, trying to break the dam of pain and grief with a torrent of tears.
***
Jonas didn’t know how long he had laid there; time seemed to stand still. The tears were finally gone, replaced with numbness. He was empty, his mother was gone and there was nothing left.
He got up and slowly hobbled into the main room. He looked around at the carnage and saw two bodies against the wall, both with wool blankets covering their forms. Jonas stumbled past them in a daze, walking through the destroyed door into the fresh air.
All around him was blood, death, and despair. The carnage was beyond belief. He had never seen a dead body before, and now they were everywhere, torn and ripped, blood splattering the churned up snow and mud. Some had been eaten beyond recognition. He had to step over bodies, boargs and townsfolk both, some cut with swords and others killed by teeth and claw, the images burning in his mind, finding a permanent spot on his shelves of memories.
Jonas made his way to the south wall and saw two charred forms seared together in death. The snow had been melted in a perfect circle around them that must have been thirty paces in diameter. Jonas saw the cavalier’s dead horse, its underside burned horribly and its leg broken at an awkward angle.
As he scanned the destruction he saw faces that he recognized. Braal was dead, cut cleanly in half, many dead boargs surrounding him. Jonas stumbled to his knees and heaved uncontrollably, the contents of his stomach splattering the bloody ground. He knelt there panting for a few moments before he could stand back up, scanning the carnage again. There was Galen the hunter, Mason the leather maker, Jhol, the son of Bain, and many others. Everyone was dead.
As he looked around and made his way through the many bodies, he caught flickers of sunlight reflect off of something. He moved towards the shining object and saw a beautiful hunting knife about as long as his forearm lying on the ground. The handle was carved bone and the blade was so shiny and polished that it almost blinded him, the sunlight sparkling off its mirror like finish. Jonas recognized the blade. It was the cavalier’s.
Reaching down he picked it up. It seemed wrong to leave it resting in all the destruction. It was warm to the touch, as if it were alive. He slid the blade into his belt just as he saw Fil move toward him, his face hard and determined, carrying a huntsman’s pack on his shoulders.
“We have to go, the boargs may come back and all this blood will certainly attract animals and who knows what else.” Fil had a short sword strapped to his side and a bow and quiver was lashed to the pack that he wore. He still held his spear in his hand.
“Where are we going? I can’t walk fast enough to keep up with you,” Jonas said with apprehension.
“I know. But I will not leave you. We are all each other have now. My plan is to head into the mountains. My father has a cave that he uses during the summer for hunting. I know its location and a mountain lake lies near. The cave has dry wood and a few supplies that are kept there for emergencies. We need to hide for a while and let the winter snows subside before we can travel.”
“How far away is it?”
“A half a day’s walk. Don’t worry, we will go slowly. We have no other options,” Fil replied firmly, leaving no room for discussion.
Jonas looked around at the town sadly and then looked back at Fil. Fil’s eyes were determined and Jonas knew that he was right. They could not stay here. They didn’t even have the time or strength to bury their loved ones. “Okay, Fil. Let me get my things.”
***
The long walk was grueling, probably the hardest thing physically that Jonas had ever done. Not to mention the weight of emotions that he carried as an additional burden. He could not stop thinking about his mother, the only person who ever cared for him. His body felt drained, every step weighed down with sorrow. He had walked with his mother in the woods before, but usually no more than an hour or two, and they generally stuck to the game trails.
The first half of the hike went gradually up hill, but they used the game trails available to them which made it a little easier for
Jonas. As they climbed higher into the mountains, parts of the terrain became so steep it was almost impossible for Jonas to use his crutch. His hands and feet bled from several blisters and he began to despair that they wouldn’t make it by nightfall, for the sun was just starting to set.
“How much longer, Fil?” asked Jonas, exhaustion evident in his voice.
“We are almost there, not much longer. You’ve done well, but we need to get there before dark. Can you do it?” asked Fil.
Jonas, knowing the sacrifice Fil was making for him, somehow found the energy to reply, “I can.”
The sun’s comforting light began to recede behind the massive pines as they dropped down towards a beautiful small mountain lake. Fil led the exhausted Jonas to a cave that was nestled on the north side of the lake. The cave was small, about thirty paces deep and fifteen paces wide. In the back corner was a pile of dry wood, some cooking pans, and a tinderbox. Near the entrance was a circle of soot covered stones surrounding several dry pieces of wood lying atop dried moss and small pieces of tinder. The supplies were the same that Fil and his father had left several months ago. Fil’s father always taught him the mountain way of leaving the makings of a fire when you left a home, whether it was a cabin, a simple shelter, or a cave. It could make for a comfortable return on a cold day or save the life of some weary traveler in bitter conditions. Fil was thankful for that lesson now. They were both tired and Fil didn’t think that he would have the energy to hunt the snow-covered forest for dry wood.
Jonas was exhausted, falling to the ground to rest. Fil quickly lit the fire and the welcome flames leaped up, chasing the cold mountain air away. The heat from the fire bathed Jonas and soothed his tired body, and within minutes he was asleep. Fil gathered up Jonas’s wool blanket and covered his body.
The Cavalier Page 7