Desperate Times (Fate of Periand Book 1)

by Ben Marshall

  The group reached the end of the incline, and the long awaited exit, as the barest edge of the sun lifted wearily above the line of mountains. They rested a while as the explorers ate their last meal with the Kuhiar, and wondered what would happen when they left the darkness and walked under a sky that wasn’t constructed of rock and stone. The silence seemed to hang in the air and it seemed to Lonariel that it was due, on the part of the Kuhiar, to two things: unease about being so near the surface world, which was understandable considering their subterranean lifestyle, wondering if they would ever see the Elf and human again, and if their homeland would finally be freed. Truthfully, the Loremaster was thinking along the same lines: would he and the Lebrusktan mercenary live long enough to see Brietrin’s hall, and if they did, would the Dwarf have enough warriors available to aid the rebels?

  In the time that was spent eating the selection of meats and roots provided by both parties, Farim gazed around at the intricate craftsmanship that had gone into the creation of the entrance to the Kuhiar kingdom. Tiny veins of gold and silver ore ran across the rock, spreading out from the supports either side of the opening. These supports were forged from the same black metal that was used in the armour and other doors of the Dwarf-kin hall, and even the faint light of a morning hardly born was reflected onto the precious ores. The many veins of metal ores had been meticulously carved around, leaving them jutting slightly form the rest of the wall and the ceiling, catching the reflected light to sparkle with beauty. The roof of the tunnel was left as bare rock, the sheer strength of the mountain holding it aloft. It had been carefully smoothed and rounded so that the pressure was distributed the entirety of its length, as well as passed down the walls and through the floor, much the same as the arch of a stone bridge performs the task of withstanding the pressure of countless steps by many people along the path above.

  The night had fully receded by the time the meal was finished, and the two different groups that had travelled to the exit made their farewells for what they all hoped wouldn’t be the last time. Though it was still early in the day the sun seemed harsh upon their eyes, especially Lonariel’s emerald ones, and he was forced to almost immediately bring his fair-skinned hand up to shield them from the glare.

  As the footfalls of the Kuhiar faded into silence within the caverns of their realm, the faint yet beautiful bubbled gurgle of a spring rising to the surface replaced it, and both of the explorers felt a deep longing for refreshment from its waters. Farim leading the temporarily blinded Elf, whose sensitive eyes had been unable to cope with the transition as easily as the Human, the pair walked tentatively around the jagged side of the mountain until the clear blue of the trickling stream showed them the way to the source. By the time the brief trip was concluded Lonariel had regained much of his vision, though he continued to blink back tears that had been produced to protect his sight. Cupping their hands, so that as little of the liquid perfection could be wasted, they satisfied their thirst with the gentle coolness, also taking the opportunity to use some of the spring to free themselves of the blood and dirt that had built up since they had originally entered the Kuhiar kingdom.

  So intently did they concentrate upon the chore that neither of them noticed a collection of shadows pacing the overhanging crags of the mountain, or heard the snarls of anticipation over the spring’s gurgling. Neither of them noticed the creatures form a loose circle behind the two of them, the trap ready to be sprung upon their seemingly hapless prey as they moved along the thin trail that followed the downhill course of the water. What Lonariel did manage to notice, however, was the large woodland a couple of miles below them upon the mountainside, the tops of the trees hidden by swirling mist as they extended down the rest of the mountain and continued towards the horizon beyond the plain. The Kuhiar kingdom had stretched the length of the mountain range and, judging by the position of the sun, they had exited upon the western boundary of the wooded region. Something stirred within his memory, and he felt that the forest was home to the elusive Forest Elves, who seldom ventured from the area. He had heard many tales of their culture during his time, both within his homeland and the hall of Brietrin, and every one hinted that he would be scarcely benefited by entering the land. Were they who King Farlan had hinted at? The danger?

  As if in answer to the Loremaster’s question to himself, a soft yet unmistakeably aggressive growl issued from one of the concealed sabre panthers. Wild and powerful killers, of a more savage inclination even than those that had been among the patrolling minions of the Fire Giants, the sight of a score of the night-coloured predators made both his and Farim’s blood chill, shivers running laps of their spines. Another snarl was heard, and the beasts covered the distance to their prey as if they were formed of lightning instead of flesh and sinew. Neither was prepared for the strike and, though his hand had started to bring his blade from its sheath, Lonariel was thrown backwards by the force of several hundred pounds of panther colliding with his slender frame. The loose rocks that littered the path gave way beneath his fallen figure, and he and his attacker slid down the steep incline, the beast trying to gain a death grip as the Elf fought to bring his sword out to fend off the creature.

  Farim fared no better, just managing to plant his feet as two of the creatures struck simultaneously, their claws digging into his shoulders as he instinctively brought his hands up to block the gaping jaws as he was pushed across to be pinned against the rock that rose beside the trail they had been walking just a few minutes before. He brought his hands against the throats of his attackers, his entire body shaking as the beasts writhed to free themselves and lock their powerful jaws around his jugular to bring about a swift demise to the mercenary. Arching his body to prevent the panthers’ hind legs from raking him, as the tamer variation of the species had done to Daruil, he kicked out with his booted right foot. Knocking one of the creatures away, he felt its throat wrenched from his grip, and reached down to draw his broadsword before it charged to strike him again. He just managed it, bringing the tip up to pierce the beast’s chest, passing through flesh to strike a lung. The panther’s momentum carried it on, the blade biting deeper and deeper into its body as blood filled the struck organ. Drowning in its own blood, it could only glare with hatred at the human before attempting a feeble swipe with one paw. The strength of the sleek creature exhausted it collapsed to the ground, but the swipe still jolted the Lebrusktan, and he barely held onto the other snarling cat.

  Drawing his sword from the black corpse he turned the blade to face him before driving it through the back of the other held panther, barely scoring a hit before a third hunter pounced, just missing him as he moved the struck beast to act as a shield, the weight of the attacker forcing the blade deeper while the thick fur of the victim cushioned his arm against the outstretched claws. He withdrew the bloodied blade sideways, allowing the keen edge to slice across the third panther’s chest and matting the still-grasped beast’s fur with its companion’s blood as its eyes glazed over permanently. Striking quickly against the wounded third attacker, Farim slashed a deep wound across the creature’s neck, and watched it sink to the ground before burying his sword in its flesh, the final strike ending its short life.

  Watching the display, their ears fattened against their heads, the other panthers seemed to think better of attacking him, and five loped off down the slope in pursuit of the tumbling Lonariel, while ten deemed the human too powerful to bring down and withdrew to reconsider their choice of prey, or wait until a better time. Just one of the beasts faced him, a burly male that must have been head and shoulders taller than the others, and every inch of his sleek body rippled with muscles as powerful as steel as he tensed for the pounce. Bringing his broadsword before him in a defensive posture, Farim barely registered the glint of anticipation in the yellow eyes of his opponent before it charged. Expecting a leap to his throat, the Lebrusktan raised his weapon, only to feel a surge of pain erupt from his abdomen as the beast moved under the weapon, his claws slash
ing the body of the human as he raised his head, intending to strike against his victim’s now unguarded throat. Off balance from the unexpected direction of the strike, the warrior barely held onto his weapon, trying to kick the snarling shadow that was blocked solely by the position of his arms as they still held the broadsword. Removing his left hand from the hilt of his blade, Farim tried to reach around to one of his daggers, but felt the powerful jaws of his foe close around his wrist before he could find the blade within its sheath. Wrenching his arm around, he felt the unmistakeable pain of his shoulder dislocating as he twisted the panther off him, using the angle to bring his sword back into position before driving it through the creature’s heart. He withdrew the weapon and plunged it in a second and third time, each strike causing the beast to issue a high-pitched cry of pain, a plea for mercy from the torment it was suffering. Seeing the creature writhe on the floor as he raised the blade a fourth time, he brought it down across the creature’s throat and severed the jugular vein. Pain overwhelming him as well, the Lebrusktan sank to his knees grasping his shoulder before he remembered his companion, and limped gingerly down the trail, hoping he would not find the Elf dead.

  Lonariel’s fall finally came to a halt upon a narrow ledge where the trail turned sharply, and the Elf’s head landed over the edge, his fiery red hair falling out into the nothingness below him. A small updraft wafted the strands back up occasionally as he turned his blade diagonally across his body, cutting across the panther that had struck him over a mile higher than he was now. Every part of his body ached from where the sharp rocks, as well as the occasional claw, had caught his flesh during the tumble with his opponent, and he could barely turn himself to throw off the predator before slashing the Elven-wrought blade across its flank and then over its back. While the first of these two attacks cut deeply, the second glanced off as the beast twisted to face him, its maw dripping with saliva as it licked its lips to taste the blood that had seeped through the Loremaster’s clothing from his superficial yet numerous wounds. He swiped across as he dodged the charge, slashing against the other flank as the creature passed. Twisting on the balls of his feet, he struck across the panther’s face as it turned to attack again, following the hit with another that cut across the back of its neck and shoulder. The swiftness of the attacks surprised the feral hunter, and it paused for a fatal second, and received an upward slash that slit its throat.

  Lonariel didn’t have time to register the minor victory, because his position had been reached by the other panthers. Time seemed to slow as instincts revealed and honed by his mentor kicked in again, and he saw two of the beasts leap mid-stride towards him. Ducking the high attacks, he swung his blade up to slice across the belly of one before bringing it down against the side of the other, the force of his blow making the slender blade cut through a rib, tearing through a lung as it did so. Turning the blade over, he brought it vertically down tip first to pierce the creature’s heart before blocking another panther’s charge. His weapon shook with the impact, the beast receiving the blade through its skull though it was carried on by its momentum, knocking him over so that his head and shoulders hung over the ledge, his sword held by a grip that had made his knuckles whiten. The remaining panthers closed slowly, seeming sure of the kill as the Loremaster struggled to shift the heavy corpse that lay across him, or at least draw his blade out to fend off the advancing hunters.

  From somewhere overhead, the Elf thought he heard a harsh cry, and turned his head slightly to see Farim, drenched with blood from his wounds and those he had inflicted, stumbling down the trail towards him. The panthers turned to regard the oncoming mercenary, snarling in frustration that he still survived, before one of them leapt for him, receiving the outstretched broadsword through the roof of its mouth as it attempted to bite his throat. Finally freeing his blade, though he was badly hampered by the dead panther that still lay across him, its weight pressing heavily on his legs and chest, Lonariel struck upwards at the last attacker. His weapon pierced deep into the creature’s belly as it passed over him to attack the wounded human, and the beast stumbled with surprise as the pain coursed through its entire body. Farim, his mind cloudy from the efforts of ignoring the nauseating agony within his own frame, barely managed to strike the creature. He needed only to have dodged the falling creature, however, because it was dead before it reached him, and it sank under the feeble blow he landed.

  Breathing heavily, both from the exertion of dragging himself along the trail and from the fighting, the mercenary could hardly walk over to Lonariel and help him move the dead panther from across his body, where it was making it difficult for the Elf to breathe due to the weight pressing down on his lungs. Finally the two of them just sat there, too exhausted to do anything save reflect upon how close they had both come to death. It was the continued snarling of the withdrawing panthers, though they were far off within the mountain range, which drove them on. The woodland was near and, whether dangerous or not, for the two of them it was the safest place they could reach. Supporting each other, neither able to fully function from the injuries they had sustained, the pair moved towards the trees, hoping that the forest wasn’t as forbidding as the deep shadows made it appear.

  Lady of the Forest

  September 8th, 1190

  Night was just arriving as the pair reached the tree line, their pace less than snail-like due to the extent of their injuries, and the sun sank beyond the mountains in a blaze of red and gold. The shadows had lengthened until there was no definable patch of light between them, and it reminded Farim of the tunnels. While they had been walking he had turned feverish, and Lonariel could feel him shivering although it was unusually warm within the sheltered forest. Since the scent of their blood and the sound of their laboured breathing would attract any predators, particularly the panthers they knew were close at hand within the range of mountains, the Loremaster had conjured a small fire across the blade of his weapon, so that he had a defence as well as a source of light since the moon and stars were obscured by heavy cloud.

  As the pair walked the last handful of metres of a mile inside the edge of the forest the glow from the dancing flames glinted off a highly polished plaque of yew wood, highlighting a series of carved letters. The words were written in a flowing hand, and appeared to be in Common Tongue, the universal language of the intelligent races of Naturien:

  Death comes to all who would desecrate this Holy Land!

  Leave this place, or be buried beneath it!

  “The rumours are true,” Lonariel whispered to himself as he finished reading the passage, which had clearly been carved by the Forest Elves, “yet we cannot turn back.”

  “We’ll camp here, and allow our bodies to heal,” he told Farim in a louder voice, though it wasn’t discernible whether the human heard him or not.

  “If only my pack hadn’t been lost during my fall, then perhaps I could…” He stopped speaking as he helped his friend to sit, because the light from his blade had just shone over the burden he wore. In addition to his own equipment, the only knapsack Lonariel had believed him to be carrying, the mercenary had slung a second pack upon his broad back; that of the Elf. How he had kept the presence of mind to retrieve it during his stumbled journey in pursuit of the panthers the Loremaster couldn’t even begin to guess, but he had nonetheless. Pulling both bags from his companion’s shoulders, wincing as he saw the grimace of the Lebrusktan as the wounds were put under pressure, he reached into his own pack and withdrew his potion vials, surprised to find them still intact considering the beating they must have received during the attack by the panthers.

  Selecting the vials he had used when treating Daruil a few days earlier, Lonariel had soon recreated the concoction and started to apply it to the shaking Farim, noting the heavy bruising that covered his friend’s recently dislocated left shoulder. The joint had been popped back into the place before they had left the bare mountainside for the shadowy and silent woodland, but the flesh had remained in torment thro
ugh the tortuous two miles they had travelled since. The salve was applied thickly to the deep slashes from the claws, each touch from the gentle fingers of the Elf drawing deep grunts and groans as the torn tissue was agitated. Despite the pain that arose from the applications, the mercenary felt the cool balm begin to sooth the wounds and soon began to doze a little easier under the comforting glow of the fire. Lonariel couldn’t settle, his own injuries more bruising than actual cuts, and the salve was hardly effective at easing the discomfort, especially since many of his injuries weren’t in places he could easily reach unaided. Thankfully the grass was very springy underneath him, and the pain was less than it otherwise would have been, but he had barely laid his head upon the turf when a melodic yet angry voice sounded from the darkness beyond the fire’s glow cast by the blade as it lay beside its owner, the enchanted flames having no effect upon the greenery beneath the steel.