Deathsworn Arc: 02 - The Verkreath Horror

by Martyn Stanley

  Ramon called again, “Three!”

  Vashni shook her head, “You cannot beat him, I cannot help you... Except perhaps by fortifying your mental defences with a whisper. Be aware though, to all watching it will appear to be a sword fight, but as he lashes out at you with his sword, he will also attack you with his mind.”

  “Four!”

  Korhan looked from Kyla to Vashni, then cast a glance over his shoulder at the sea of torches below them, “I have to try, there are too many lives at stake!”

  Vashni snorted, “Hmmph, too many short, meaningless lives. I have lived for several thousand years, and intend to live for several more... This town, these people - they will all be dead within fifty to a hundred years whatever happens today.”

  Korhan’s jaw dropped, he’d known she was old, but thousands of years? Was it true? Part of him felt disgusted that any person should be entitled to such a long life, while others withered and died after only a few short decades, he felt jealous. At the same time he empathized with her point, “Vashni, I can take him. Trust me.”

  “Five!”

  Vashni rolled her eyes, “You had better Ri§ine, or I shall find your soul in Kirkfell, then drag you from the feasting hall of the dead and cast you into the abyss!”

  Korhan turned and shouted, “You can stop counting Dagon, we’re coming down!”

  Before Ramon Hern could answer, Korhan started down the stairs, followed by Vashni, Kyla and her troops. Climbing down the steep spiral staircase, Korhan began to feel the adrenaline build as it did before a fight. Vashni’s words had filled with a cold dread about fighting Ramon Hern, but at the same time he felt anger towards the Dagon, an anger which could fuel his skill, if tempered. As they neared the bottom Korhan fumbled in his tunic for the little vial of slipperin oil Saul had given him. Alas when he held it up, there was barely a drop in it. The staircase opened out onto the town interior side of the gate, as walked into the moonlit night Kyla gestured to her troops. “Open the main gate.”

  Vashni at this point rested her hands on Korhan’s shoulders and whispered into his ear, “Open your mind to me Ri§ine, I wish to shore up your faulty mental defences.”

  He nodded and she began her whisper, “§ira, alala roth, ro§, ini §ome, §arara §ithish al§a.”

  She repeated the mantra several times, each time she did, he felt his mind closing in, and focusing. It went from feeling like the cloud of consciousness that most humans feel, to feeling like a steel sphere of focused, impenetrable, singular purpose. Her whisper died down and she sagged from the expenditure of energy. The gates were nearly open now, so Korhan tightened his belt, and adjusted his pauldrons. His armour was light, as was typical for barbarian warriors, consisting mainly of fur and leather. As a final preparation he altered his leather headband to hold his hair well back behind his ears, so it could not obscure his vision.

  Kyla and her troops followed Korhan and Vashni out. Some troops stayed to man the doors. Ramon pointed to Vashni and beckoned two of his followers, “Bind her arms behind her back, bind her feet together, and gag her - Then position her at the edge of the pit.”

  Two cultists approached with lengths of rope at the ready. Vashni allowed them to stand behind her and bind her arms, then feet. She resisted the temptation to whisper to them, or to initiate a mental attack, partly because of concern for Ramon Hern’s formidable abilities, if she extended her mind to attack, it could leave her own mind vulnerable and undefended. Partly she didn’t resist, because of Korhan’s confidence. He seemed, confident, rested, focused; she actually felt despite her initial feelings about this contest, Korhan could win.

  The final insult for Vashni came as one of the thugs rolled up a thankfully clean rag into a ball; she opened her mouth to receive it and felt the cord cutting into her cheeks and neck as it was tied tightly, forcing the gag to fill her mouth, making it hard to breath.

  Content that Vashni couldn’t interfere with the outcome of the duel, Ramon pulled his blade from its scabbard on his back. It was a strange, black, almost organic looking blade with a hand and a half handle, a double curved edge, giving it a sinister, imposing appearance. If Korhan was fazed by it, he didn’t show it, drawing his own sword, ‘harbinger’ and adopting the ready position Vashni had taught him as part of the first sword form.

  Vashni watched Korhan approaching the Dagon, he could do it... She felt her eyes inextricably drawn to the plague pit before her, a mass of pasty, white mangled limbs and hollow eyes. It smelled of death and the sound of flies buzzing about the corpses only added to the effect. She tried to avoid looking at the faces, their death grimaces staring lifelessly at her, as if in perpetual agony. There were men, women and children, thrown higgledy piggledy into the pit - Korhan could not fail, she dragged her eyes away from the pit, fighting the urge to look at Callen, who was being held some distance away. He looked terrified, his face was swollen and his lip was cut, he was shaking with fear. She still felt a pang of sympathy for Callen, an almost cold, logical, emotionally detached sympathy, but sympathy nonetheless. She tested her bonds, she’d been tied tightly and securely, she could hardly breathe, let alone whisper. Korhan could win, but she had to be prepared for any eventuality, in her head she began silently reciting a series of whispers to herself, and continuing this mantra she cast her eyes to the fight.

  When Vashni looked upon Korhan and Ramon, they were circling each other, if anything Korhan appeared to have a size advantage, clearly taller and more stockily built than the Dagon of the servant of the flame, Ramon Hern. Ramon’s armour though, cast doubts on Korhan’s advantage, if it was dragonscale as it looked, then it would be very difficult to penetrate.

  The helmet hid Ramon’s face utterly, when he spoke his voice simply echoed out from the dark slits in the helmet, “Well dragonslayer, I am surprised, here we are about to fight to the death and you appear to preparing to perform a beginners sword form, that is taught to elvish children to keep them out of mischief. Are you sure you are the one who dealt the killing blow to beloved Thrax?”

  Korhan instinctively dropped his sword to his traditional grip, vertical, at his side. Ramon raised his blade in an arc and stepped forwards slashing diagonally from Korhan’s neck to his feet. As he swung, Korhan shifted his weight and blocked the blow, as he blocked, Ramons blade sprung away and whipped around in the opposite direction attempting to slice Korhan’s leg off at the knee. Again, Korhan shifted his weight and whipped his sword around to meet it. This time though as the blades met, Ramon threw his weight forward, and released his right hand from his sword, swinging it into Korhan’s face.

  Korhan saw the blow too late, he’d started sliding back, but the armoured glove struck him with a modicum of force, not enough to bloody his face, but enough to sting. As he reeled, he felt Ramon’s mind probing, seeking, searching for a way in, a weakness. Vashni’s whisper had solidified and focused his mind to an edge though, and Ramon was forced to withdraw, clearly surprised at the failure of his mental attack. He squared up to Korhan again, “Impressive Northlander, perhaps you are not as unskilled and weak as you look?”

  “You strike with the ferocity of a handmaiden Hern, I slew your ‘prophet’ as I will slay you, and your god, if ever I should face him!”

  “Hah! I very much doubt that Northman. I have not even warmed up yet, I could have skewered you on my sword the moment you were in range - but what would be the fun in that? I wish to play with you, punish you, and punish you slowly.”

  As Ramon spoke he moved in with a flurry of blows, high, low, mid-riff, a back slash to catch Korhan off guard. Korhan blocked every shot, shifting his weight and giving ground as the blades clanged together in front of the watching crowd. As he blocked the back slash he changed stance and whipped around with a spinning neck-chop, perfectly placed to separate Hern’s head from his shoulders.

  As the blade whipped through the air Hern ducked, waited for it to pass then rose and slashed horizontally at Korhan’s belly. Korhan had expected to meet som
ething, neck or block, and the carried momentum disrupted his balance, he felt the razor sharp blade of Ramon Hern carve into his flesh, and threw himself backwards with all his might.

  The last minute evasion had lessened the damage, but he was left with short, but deep bloody wound. He grunted as he felt warm liquid running from the burning cut in his belly.

  Hern was approaching again, but rather than cower or sag Korhan stood up tall and raised his blade to meet the challenge. Vashni had sagged when she saw him cut; now she was willing him, willing him to move faster and to use his cunning.

  Hern’s faceless, soulless helmet approached, he was chuckling to himself, “Your elf friend has taught you well, not well enough though it seems... You are a slow, lumbering oaf - you are no threat to me.”

  “Hah! We shall see...”

  This time Korhan went on the offence, using a series of diagonal slashes and chops, short and sharp, forcing Hern to give ground, as he did Korhan lunged forwards with more weight and followed through. He was overpowering the Dagon, their blades were locked together but Korhan was pushing Herns blade towards his own neck. Hern showed no sign of strain but was clearly losing the battle of strength, he dropped his shoulders and pushed harder, pushing Korhan’s blade back, sensing the change Korhan shifted his weight to the side and rolled Hern’s blade around his, slamming the pommel of harbinger into Hern’s face, and smashing his helmet up and off his head.

  As Hern staggered back Korhan gasped at what he saw, a deformed, animalistic face with a snout like nose, deep sunken eyes and sharp jagged teeth, like those of a dragon.

  Seeing Korhan pause momentarily, Hern took the offensive, a slice to the mid-riff, then an upward swing followed by an overhead chop. Korhan blocked all three shots but as his blade rose to meet the last Hern slammed his boot into Korhan’s already wounded belly, making him grunt, stagger backwards and sag to his knees for a second.

  Seeing Korhan down Hern leapt forwards, poised to skewer him with his black blade as he landed. Seeing the move Korhan threw his weight desperately to one side and into a roll, as he rolled he whipped harbinger around at knee height exactly where the Dagon would land. His timing was perfect, as Ramon Hern’s feet planted themselves Korhan’s blade struck cleanly just below the knee, however the armour held and the blow simply knocked his legs from under him, making him land awkwardly.

  The Dagon grunted as he hit the ground. As both warriors climbed slowly to their feet, Korhan felt Hern jabbing, probing at his mind, looking for a way in. It was strange, feeling such a strange force attacking one’s mind, trying to rip its way in. He was sure if not for Vashni’s whisper Ramon would have succeeded easily. As it stood, the Dagon made several attempts, failing each time and becoming increasingly frustrated with every attempt.

  To the onlookers it seemed like a lull in the fighting as both warriors stood and squared up to each other. In reality Hern was throwing everything he had within his mental arsenal and seemed in disbelief that Korhan was withstanding it. Korhan couldn’t attack either, despite Vashni’s whisper; he could feel the Dagon trying to tear his way into his mind and was reeling mentally from each attempt.

  The clear stalemate eventually subsided as both began circling each other again, Hern made the attack this time, high to the left, then right, then the right mid-riff, then high to the left. Korhan gave ground and blocked every shot, as the last shot was met though, Hern changed his grip, grabbed harbinger, and span around swinging his opposite elbow at Korhan’s face. He moved like lightning. Korhan was losing blood from his earlier wound and couldn’t move fast enough - the elbow struck him square on the nose. It exploded in a gush of blood, forcing his head to roll back as he staggered from the impact.

  Hern was chuckling again now, Korhan’s front was covered in dark crimson blood and his steps were laboured. Still he held his sword up and wiped the blood from his eyes with his wrists. Hern’s deformed features twisted into a grin, “Not so cocky now barbarian? Have you lost your formidable wit as well as several pints of blood? Come now, surely you have something to say to me?”

  Korhan looked at the creature before him, he hated him, he wanted to lash out and slice him in two - yet somehow he knew it was not that simple. He’d faced orcs before, bandits, rival tribes, men of the south, and even a dragon, yet never had he felt so outmatched before.

  He grinned, and spat out a mouthful of blood, “We’re not done yet Dagon.”

  ”Hah! Good, I like your fighting spirit, I knew I would enjoy slaying you, I wish I could toy with you all night, but alas I have more pressing matters to attend to. Preparing the way for Thrax’s replacement! Ellen of course will have the honour of being our new prophet’s first sacrifice, so all the hardship you have faced will be in vain. All the deaths you are responsible for on your foolish quest will be for nothing, nothing will change, the people will see the truth and the message will spread. The one true, creator god will return to claim his kingdom and there is nothing you, or your lady elf can do about it - accept your fate northman, it is time for you to die.”

  Korhan grinned through his bloodied face, “I’m going to kill you Hern.”

  It was said in a matter of fact way, so casually that even Hern shuddered. Korhan lifted Harbinger and pointed it at Hern, approaching slowly. Hern slashed at Korhan one handedly, forcing a block, as Korhan blocked Hern threw a hooked punch at Korhan’s face with his spare hand. Korhan saw it coming this time and released one hand from harbinger, grabbing Hern’s approaching arm, then he slammed his forehead forwards into Hern’s face.

  The headbutt was brutal and delivered with weight and force. It caused Ramon’s face to errupt with blood and his knees to sag, as he dropped though, he rolled away, whipping his black blade around at thigh height. The wild slash caught Korhan unawares and it sliced cleanly through his thigh, severing blood vessels and muscle tissue. He grunted with pain and Vashni turned away, unable to watch.

  He’d been effectively lamed, he struggled through the pain, trying to stay on his feet, but his leg couldn’t physically take his weight anymore. As he crumbled to his knees Hern climbed to his feet and approached triumphantly, kicking Harbinger from Korhan’s hand then pressing his blade into Korhan’s neck. To avoid having his neck pierced, Korhan leaned back until he fell onto his back. His entire front was covered in blood, his face, his belly his legs, he looked a mess. He’d also lost a lot of blood and was very weak.

  Hern hovered above him, wiping the blood from his deformed face and glaring at Korhan, “Bravely fought dragonslayer, you proved more entertaining than I expected. However you have failed, I will not deliver a coup de grace though, I want to you die slowly, contemplating your failures and mulling over the fates of your fallen comrades, Callen and your elf friend, as you slowly bleed to death.”

  The blade was lifted then pressed on the right side of Korhan’s chest, “Now northman, I am going to deliver your final injury, I am going to pierce your lung deflating it, you will experience severe pain and breathing will become difficult. Try not to choke on your own blood, enjoy your death.”

  Korhan groaned as Hern threw his weight down sliding the sword deep into his chest, then pulling it out. He then gestured to the thugs holding Callen, who drew the knife deep across their captives adams apple, carving into his neck, causing him to scream, then gurgle and gasp for air as he collapsed to the ground, choking on his own blood and bleeding to death, laboured gurgling sounds coming from his neck.

  Finally the Dagon gestured to the pair holding Vashni; she’d been whispering and whispering to herself in her head. She showed no emotion as she was lifted up and thrown onto the pile of bodies. As she landed she grunted softly to herself. The stench was vile, the feeling of mangled corpses beneath her, pressing into her face, it made her feel sick, she began to retreat into herself, shutting herself away from the physical world. She whimpered softly, a tear finally escaping the elf’s eye as she felt a cartload of bodies tipped on top of her, then another suffocating her in the
pile of corpses.

  She felt cold, being so close to the dead, buried amongst them, made her feel close to death, in desperation she started using whispers to retreat deeper, deeper into herself, shutting out her senses and escaping into her own mind.

  Korhan meanwhile could hardly breathe, he could hardly move. He felt a raging anger at Hern for defeating him. If will alone could succeed, he would have torn Hern’s head from his shoulders, there and then - yet his body lay broken. He lay still; he could feel himself growing colder as the warm ichor of his own blood seeped out of his various wounds. Eventually the two thugs who had thrown Vashni into the plague pit and buried her in bodies appeared in his view; he looked up at them quizzically, unable to speak.

  The taller one, a balding brute with a sadistic grin, leaned over him, “We’re just going to stay here, and watch you bleed to death, not that there’s any chance of saving you, but we’re not to let anyone help you.

  Kyla watched Hern walk back into the crowd, gathering up his fallen helmet as he walked. Soon the mass was marching back in the direction of Brunwelt, leaving only the two thugs to watch Korhan die, and a young man, possibly a runner ready to be sent to inform the servant of an attempt to help Korhan or rescue Vashni. She walked towards Korhan, flanked by two guards, intending to apologize, but as she approached one of the thugs held up an outstretched palm, “No closer! He dies alone!”

  She spoke loudly, almost shouted, “I’m sorry Korhan son of Brian, I wish this was not how it had to be...”

  Then she turned and strode back towards the town fighting back the tears. She couldn’t look at the plague pit. The thought of Vashni, buried in rotting corpses, it made her feel sick to her very soul... Yet she couldn’t intervene - or risk the sacking of the town. She whispered almost under her breath as she passed the plague pit, “Sorry...”