The rest of the warriors were trying to calm their own mounts as Grundel was knocked to the ground by his own horse, unable to reach the struggling form of Tarral, now perched dangerously near the edge, his horse fallen on its side and scrambling wildly to regain its footing. Sarion looked on as the Glefin went down, tumbling forward and sliding towards the ridge, grabbing desperately for a handhold.
Sarion glanced back at the others and watched in horror as Tarral's horse plummeted over the ledge, the helpless warrior crushed beneath the animal's bulk. Grundel dove forward in an attempt to grab the fighter's arm but it was too late. Man and beast hurtled over the cliff, starting a small avalanche which threatened to undermine the ridge itself. A brief scream echoed from below, quickly stifled by the bellowing waters. The Glefin was gone as well.
"Tarral!" The captain clawed his way to the edge, Forlern holding the reins of his own horse and Grundel's. Sarion gestured for the warriors to move ahead, and some of them had controlled their mounts enough to take action. Sarion looped his rope around the bough of a rotten hardwood tree, and worked his way back to the captain's side. Forlern began to lead the others ahead, and Sarion motioned to them for haste. "Hurry. We have to pass this area."
Careful not to further loosen the ground, he reached Grundel, the captain laying face down and peering over the edge. "Look," said Grundel, his words filled with alarm. "At the lip of the rock."
Sarion gazed down the slope, afraid at what the captain saw. Several hundred feet below them another ledge jutted out, the front of what appeared to be an immense cave, resting directly above the raging waterfall. Huge clouds of spray swirled upwards, the rocky outcropping coated in a carpet of thick, green mold. And laying there were two figures --- Tarral and his horse.
"Is he alive?"
Grundel clenched his fists together, and Sarion squinted against the mist, hoping to find any indication that the man could have survived the fall. Tarral had his face turned skyward, but even from their distant vantage point they saw how twisted his body was, and he lay motionless.
"I don't think anything could have made it against the rocks from such a height," said Grundel. "He isn't moving, and the horse is dead." Sarion ground his teeth, peering over his shoulder at the retreating warriors. Rundin had now passed, hesitating as he waited for the two men. There was no sign of Chertron, and a shiver crawled Sarion's spine at the thought of the brave fighter, his fate unknown. Not him too, he thought grimly. Not Chertron.
"I can't leave him down there, unaware of his…"
Grundel's sentence was sharply cut off as a tremendous roar broke above even the turbulence of the waterfall, staggering in its magnitude and ferocity. They lay there in dismay, listening to the dreadful, angry call of something which could only belong to a greater predator of Grammore -- the Jurvech. The men stiffened, watching in cold horror for the inevitable approach of the awakened creature.
And the Jurvech came.
A huge shadow appeared below them, dwarfing the still forms of Tarral and the horse. Sarion was stunned by the sheer size of the monster. It was enormous, standing several dozen yards high, a creature of unimaginable bulk, like a walking monolith of stone resurrected from the dark bowels of the mountain. Its hide was a mottled gray, tough and hairless, the huge limbs ringed with crusted scales, dripping ooze and soil as if disturbed from a hidden grave. Great wings stretched outwards, webbed like those of an impossibly monstrous bat, leathery and black. The head was grisly, ridged with a pair of curved horns, both thick, and longer than a spear. Two cavities opened where ears should be, round and covered with a reddish membrane.
The Jurvech reared its snout back and snatched up Tarral and the horse with a swoop of one clawed arm. Sniffing them both, it swallowed man and beast whole, its wings flapping back and forth, crashing against the rocks and sending splintered fragments down the cliff. It roared once more, and the two men slunk backward out of sight, hoping that the creature would not look for the source of its disturbance any further. The warriors had fled along the slope, and even Rundin was beyond sight, needing no further urging after hearing the first howl from the monster.
The Jurvech was now awakened, the taste of flesh unsatiated, fresh in its maw. It crouched down for a moment then leaped forward, hurtling into the air with a mighty kick of its huge legs, through the heavy mist and vanishing with another cry. Then it was gone.
Sarion was utterly horrified.
He stared deeply into the captain's eyes, the same unspoken thought riveted in their minds. The Jurvech was a living behemoth, a creature which defied rationality. How could anything be so impossibly large? Sarion's breathing was ragged, unprepared for the vision of the frightful monster. In all his experience in Grammore from his past venture and the current expedition, nothing compared to the hulking Jurvech, a beast of unsurpassed strength and violence. Something spawned only within nightmares and despair. If it had spotted the hiding men, they would have been annihilated. Nothing could defend against such power -- nothing.
They were fortunate.
***
Sarion felt a pang of bitterness at the loss of Tarral, the eldest of the fighters, someone he had barely talked to since joining the company. But there was no time for regrets at the moment. Not so close to the Jurvech's lair. They crawled away, waiting until they were a safe distance from the edge, both men looking fearfully to the sky for any sign of the hunting monster. No words were spoken as they went higher, following the trail of the departed warriors. They walked only a short hike before the alarmed face of Rundin appeared throughout the gloom, skin pale, his eyes terrified.
He had also seen the flight of the Jurvech.
"Is it gone?" he whispered. "Captain, in my blackest nightmares I could not have imagined such a beast. How can anything be so huge? We haven't a chance against something like that. This land is evil -- cursed." He spat upon the ground. The tough warrior's face was drawn, clearly shaken by the appearance of the dreadful Jurvech.
Grundel merely nodded, sighing deeply. Sarion held his breath at the captain's next words, hovering over each syllable. "What about Chertron, how is he?"
Sarion read the relief in Rundin's face before he spoke.
"He'll be fine, it was just a thick dart, although how the creature kept it within its mouth the entire time, and cut the bindings, I'll never know. Fortunately it wasn't poisoned, or so it seems. Chertron was more surprised I think than injured."
"That's good news, at least. Unlike Tarral." The captain sighed, bowing his head.
"It's my fault." Sarion's heart ached at the loss of yet another warrior. "I should have known, me of all people. The Glefins are ruthless, cunning and deadly. It should have been killed from the beginning. I'll take the blame for the loss of Tarral."
Rundin frowned, and Grundel snapped his head up. "It's no one's fault, Sarion. We're trained to anticipate anything, but no rules apply Grammore. You couldn't have suspected, and we were vigilant in our watch. If anything, it was my decision. I'm the leader of this expedition, and all blame rests on my shoulders. You are here voluntarily, and have as much to lose as everyone else. I brought you here. We would never had made it this far without your guidance."
Sarion shook his head sadly. "Regardless, I am the only one here who has faced these creatures before, and should have anticipated trickery. It was no accident that it waited until we were above the Jurvech's cave." Sarion stared towards the slope, and they all looked nervously into the sky.
"I'll hear no more of such talk," said Grundel. "Let's move ahead, we need to leave this region of terror."
They walked forward, Sarion looking regretfully behind them. They had started out a full company, fourteen men strong, and now their numbers were halved. But he was determined not to leave the Lowlands as the only survivor -- if he were so fortunate.
Not this time.
***
They shortly caught up with the others, who had resumed at a diminished pace at Rundin's orders. Chertron was walking
on his own, recovered from the Glefin's attack. There was no sign of the wicked thing after having fallen over the edge. Sarion hoped that the creature had indeed spoken the truth concerning its own race -- that it had been the last one.
Their trek became easier over the next several hours as they veered away from the lake and the Jurvech's lair. They had seen no other sign of the great beast, Grundel and Sarion both guessing that it hunted deeper into the lake region. The territory of such a creature would be vast, and with the ability of flight could travel for countless miles in all directions. Unfortunately, that meant they would be within its area of dominion for days at least.
Little conversation passed between the men, who moved once more into their previous positions, Chertron insisting on taking the lead again, Sarion at his side and keeping a close eye on the durable fighter. The landscape gradually flattened, the forest remaining thick yet, the vegetation lush and oppressive. Even to skilled trackers such as Sarion and Chertron it was difficult to pick a clear path. They had remounted the horses when the footing became certain, and the lake was now far behind them as they walked in a northwesterly direction.
The afternoon passed with little event, and Sarion spoke to Grundel during a brief halt, the last one before nightfall. "If anything, we might not see as many larger beasts within this area. I'm sure a monster like the Jurvech has hunted them all down by now."
They both were quiet, contemplating the close brush with the fantastic creature. Sarion was still amazed as he recalled looking down upon the gigantic beast, unable to wipe away the terrible vision of Tarral's broken form laying before the cave entrance. A better thing that he was not able to see the Jurvech before the end, he thought.
"I think you speak the truth, although Grammore holds many other unpleasant creatures as you have so warned us. This land surpasses all my expectations, in both its wondrous beauty and savagery, the vastness of its boundaries, the changing terrain of water and hill. It's an untamed wilderness, and man has no place here. Our best hope in Trencit is for isolation, and vigilance. This country has always been wild, at least for countless centuries. The elder race of giants may have been a dominant species at one time, but I don't see how any species could hold mastery over such chaos and terror."
Sarion sharpened his knife against a stone, and he glanced at the borders of the small clearing in which they'd chosen to pause. The sky was overcast, the air moderate. The forest was vocal, a number of insects droning from the concealing bushes, several brightly-colored birds whistling in the lofty branches overhead. Cerestin and Areck stood guard at opposite ends of their perimeter, the horses tied to a blackened tree stump close to the center of the glade.
"You speak the truth." Sarion's voice was low, and he felt tired, his heart longing for the gentle fields of his home. It was not so much a physical sensation, but more an emptiness, a void left within his chest caused by the loss of the brave warriors who had fallen victim to the horrors of Grammore. Men he had barely known, and some whom he felt he did know, sharing the trials of the dangerous venture, men who gave their lives to protect Trencit from the surrounding evil. Sarion wondered about the families they would never have a chance to see again. How many children would be left fatherless, how many women would find themselves the widow of yet another courageous soldier? He recalled Halgur's red beard, the man killed by the ogre. The brave Kalen, the weathered face of the newly-fallen Tarral, and the other warrior who had succumbed to the wrath of the ogre -- Sarion had never even known his name. He hoped Barthuk and Lerion had found safe passage back to the fortress of Nighton, and were without a doubt in a much safer place than the company of warriors. And how far would their quest take them now?
"Thinking about Tarral yet?" Grundel's words were more a statement than question, and Sarion nodded. "It's not your fault. Don't dwell on it. If I took the time to linger on all the men who have been lost while serving under my command, I would despair, and go mad. It is the age of sacrifice, and all our borders are under siege in some form. The arm of evil reaches into the far corners of the world, terror threatens us at every turn. My thoughts are constantly on the eastern front, and I wonder how the war goes."
"You've seen a lot of battles, I'm sure." Sarion sighed, kicking restlessly at a small clump of dirt. The reddish color reminded him of the rich soils of his farm land, and he missed his nephew Edward and the familiar surroundings of home. The boy was quickly growing into a man, and a fine one he would become, possessing the qualities of his father -- honesty, reliability, and an inherent sense of right and wrong, with a far-reaching vision of how the world should be, and might be, if the efforts of good men prevailed. But would Sarion ever see him again? His stomach churned at such a grim thought.
The captain rubbed his hands together, then reached for his water flask before responding, Sarion looking up at him as he spoke, breaking from his drifting reverie.
"Too many." Grundel sighed deeply. "More bloodshed than any man deserves to see in a dozen lifetimes. I speak of despair? We can ill afford to tread that road, and there are thousands of people who rely on our servitude, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I love Trencit and its people, the rolling fields, rich meadows, fertile valleys and wooded hillsides. The great fortresses in high places and low. King Gregor is well-loved, and puts all his energy into fighting -- and winning, this war. He has entrusted me with discovering the nature of the threat from the west, and I will not let him down."
"And you still think to go further into Grammore, with our numbers sorely reduced?"
"Yes. A larger host would assuredly attract more notice, although I wouldn't turn down an army if I had one now at my disposal. But I still would not feel secure here."
"Hmm, you would be wise to think such," Sarion answered. "Arrows and swords are no match for a creature such as the Jurvech. I'm astounded that something can grow to such size. We were fortunate those seven years ago to have avoided anything so dangerous. If we would have suspected the existence of such monsters, things might have been different. It is beyond bravery to risk confronting one of Grammore's greater beasts. It would be seeking one's own death…Imagine the devastation something like the Jurvech could rein upon Trencit? Entire villages would be destroyed, regiments of fighters vanquished. It could lay siege to our larger cities. What protection could King Gregor offer against such an attack?"
"He is not without weapons, my friend, but few eyes have ever looked upon their likeness. Another time, maybe." Grundel gazed around the clearing, gesturing at the men to break the light camp.
"One day you may see for yourself," he whispered, a glint in his eye.
Sarion held that thought for a long time.
***
They rode onward until nightfall, entering a region of tall trees, the species strange and ominous, towering well over a hundred feet above their heads, the upper boughs shrouded in a perpetual mist. Sarion felt uneasy in this area as they traveled in silence, the forest unusually quiet, lacking the incessant chirping and buzzing which filled many parts of the Lowlands. Sarion found himself peering upwards into the gloom, remembering the earlier encounter with the deadly tree-dweller which had snatched up Chertron's horse with blinding speed. The variety of creatures living in Grammore was incredible, and he'd discussed the matter many times with Grundel during their travels. It was a land filled with stark beauty, wondrous plants and creatures, and also a haven for the most ghastly and monstrous beasts in the known world. No one really knew the expanse of the region, and what lay past its borders. Trencit was a sizable kingdom, but Grammore was far larger, and much more deadlier.
Twilight was nigh, and Grundel let out a low whistle, signaling for a halt. They had not passed any clearings for what seemed like hours, so it was up to Chertron and Sarion to find a suitable spot to make camp. They spoke in hushed tones for several moments, deciding to push further. Sarion rode back to the captain, conveying his fears that there would be no ideal site for them that evening, and they would continue onward for
a short time to find an area where the brush was thinner.
After several minutes they managed to stumble onto a region of fallen trees, and here they stopped for the night. A pair of vast trunks lay in upheaval, the disturbance looking to be fairly recent, and the men tied their horses in the middle, spreading out in careful formation as was their usual routine. Sarion and Forlern were the first to stand watch, finding positions at opposite ends of the chosen area. They lit a small fire, both men carrying brands with them for light.
As their numbers continued to dwindle, it proved to be a greater strain on the seasoned fighters, and the demands placed on every man became more strenuous. Five men slept, two men stood guard -- and the nights could be terrifying. Countless times since entering Grammore the entire company would be awakened, placed on alert, as possible dangers lurked nearby, or someone heard anything unusual. But as powerful as the physical horrors were, the psychological aspect could be even more horrific. The deeper they traveled inside the lowlands, the more visible the land left its mark upon the men, an imprint of resounding terror that could never be completely wiped away or forgotten in their lifetimes. Sarion read the concern and doubt within the eyes of the warriors, the only exceptions being himself and Grundel. Seven years ago Sarion had faced the perils of the wilderland -- faced them, and survived. He emerged a changed man, but in a positive way. The experience was always fresh in his memory, and he walked the world with a higher level of awareness, caution, and respect. His abilities and instincts were uncanny, his prowess as a fighter and tracker unmatched in the west, and perhaps beyond. Sarion now pondered the enigmatic captain, who was another survivor. The qualities he had displayed both in leadership and combat placed him among the highest possible echelon of officers, enabling him to obtain the rank of a Captain in Trencit's elite Home Guard, a position of unequaled prominence and confidence. The titles were impressive in their own right, but Sarion was more taken by the man's determination and spirit. Grundel was someone who demanded allegiance, not just because of his ranking, but in his mannerisms and understanding -- and even more so, his vision.
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