What could Dettetcheny say? Even now what could he do? The knight had donned a cloak of fire, he’d broken out of the bonds and destroyed his bolas leaving Dettetcheny with nothing more than a single weighted cord and his knife. Before him the knight began to accumulate water vapor as raindrops seared against his armor that glowed, alight. Hardly able to stand and knowing defeat was imminent, he withdrew his knife, taking it in his only good hand.
Venneith gazed upon Dettetcheny and watched as, while he stood there, a smile began to break across his lips before he began chuckling, then lowly laughing to himself. Venneith had seen a few like this and knew this to be the final indication that he knew he had lost. This was just their way of coping, to smile in the face of death when given no other alternative.
With his armor blazing, they each gazed upon one another. Venneith stood neutral and calm as if he did nothing more then gaze upon a setting sun as it fell upon the Exanthian sea. Dettetcheny looked rather disturbed but jolly, as if he’d just drunk and was exceedingly merry, uncaring about anything around him, drama or otherwise.
As fast as the tension had risen, it was cut by the knife of Dettetcheny as he took the liberty of striking first, his laughter falling silent as he exerted himself upon one breath of an exhale.
Venneith’s armor then extinguished itself as he took a split second to analyze his attack. Dettetcheny had held the knife in reverse as he lashed out with a right hook, yet it wasn’t intended to strike Venneith as much as set up his next attack. He stepped forward once and struck out with his first and final true attack as he attempted to plunge the tip deep into the knight’s chest where he’d bury the blade once and for all.
What a futile, wishful, unrealistic desire of Dettetcheny.
Venneith’s gauntlet effortlessly took hold of Dettetcheny’s throat as his blade collided with and deflected off the knight’s dark armor, falling from his hand, just as much use on the floor as it ever could have been in the hands of any man. His hold was cold, harsh, unyielding, unrepreaving and unforgiving, yet Dettetcheny never resisted or furthered his offensive efforts. The knight pushed his back and knees over his armored legs, laying him down and back over as he kneeled above him with his right hand raised, containing nothing more than the essence of flame and embers.
Looking down upon Dettetcheny with his face undefended and his spirits all but lost, Venneith spoke evenly saying, “By the authority of my knighthood granted to me by our lord, thy king, I now administer justice in the fashion in which thee sees fit. Thy judgment being the long lasting desecration of thy face with fire.” Lowering his hand, alight with fire, he rested it upon the face of Dettetcheny, continuing in his words, “An act so done so all manner of men shall know thy transgressions against our nation, our lord… thy king.”
Venneith branded the man as he began to struggle and cry out as his skin burned and simmered to the liking of the knight’s gauntlet before a voice called out to the Armor Burnt Knight, shouting for his attention, daring to call upon him with the phrase, “Hey! Tin Can!”
Elevating his helmet, Venneith was revealed to the enemy scout as he stood there, bow pointed. Venneith had wondered if he’d stayed or retreated with the others. He shouldn’t have been so careless to assume such, yet he could command the man for his diligence and patience. Now, however, it seemed he was on the offensive and with no other alternative, his fingers began to loosen and fall from the string of the bow.
Could he truly make the shot? Venneith pondered as a counter arrow, fired by Amyth in his speedy coverage of the land, struck the scout directly in his chest the moment his arrow succeeded the archer’s paradox. It was a mortal infliction for sure, yet in his grand spirit he was given the strength to stand for only as long as his shot flew as he witnessed the final infliction he’d brought upon this world.
An infliction Venneith welcomed fully as it cut through the air, with the fletching keeping its path straight and true as it was aimed for the thin opening in Venneith’s visor. An ambitious shot with exponentially little margin for error, yet if Venneith be sought after by Vrueth, or it be the will of Teuse or seen by the foresight of Roughen, then Venneith had no qualm with death.
Yet, in that moment, death wasn’t his fate, for Vreuth must’ve been turned away or simply witnessed with pensive consideration and amusement, for the arrowhead collided with the knight’s helmet, the smallest of measurements separating the mortality of Venneith from tipped steel. His armor deflected the arrow across his pointed, sloped helmet, leaving the knight unharmed, with nothing but a thin scratch that liberated the ash from the surface of his armor, revealing the faintest line of silver, as thin as the silk of a spider’s web. The scout fell dead, having witnessed his final shot to be a miscalculated failure by an impossibly small margin.
If one were to have looked upon the face of Venneith they would have seen that his gaze never faltered, nor did he flinch as he kneeled, burned and reforged Dettetchny as a man of crime and misconduct, a judgment by fire, administered by the authority of the Armor Burnt Knight, Venneith.
Approaching from behind, bow lowered yet arrow ready to be expediently drawn, Amyth first addressed the knight saying, “My Knight, there seem to be no more. What shall I do?”
“Astregra has lost herself in the wilderness, yes?” he questioned as he laid Dettetcheny to the floor, not yet dead but inert for the agony of fire was too much to bear in such a wakeful manner.
Far off in the distance Amyth could see Benphal lingering by the wayside of the road, yet Astregra was nowhere to be seen. “Yes, my Knight,” Amyth answered. “She’s nowhere to be seen.”
“Well then,” Venneith muttered as he rose from his knee. “There’s still a bandit gang, and the two that retreated should have left a fine track for us.”
“If I take point I should see where they’ve gone.”
“Forward, then, so that we may be speedy in our task.”
Chapter fourteen
The smell of dew lingered in the air, faint yet proportional to the light sprinkling of rain that fell upon the infantrymen, Joshein and Maven, as well as the falconer Trent as they ventured through the forest, clamoring over logs and past trees as the thick canopy did nothing more to stop the rain as it did to stall it.
The mood resonated a somber tone as the infantrymen both empathised with Trent and Varrult, who he carefully carried within his arms. What horrible thing must it have gone through having to face that Centicada, they wondered as they expressed their sympathy and light worry often, assisting Trent over obstructions with Varrult’s comfort and security close to mind.
“How much further?” Maven asked as they took a brief moment of rest as the distant sky flashed and roared with thunder.
“Not very far,” Trent simply answered, indirectly spawning a new issue with Joshein and that vigilant mind of his.
“Trent,” he began as he took rest against a tree. “How is it that you can understand Varrult?” he asked, for at first they may not have realized but now it was at the forefront of Joshein’s thinking: they had basically been taking orders from a bird ever since the previous night. “Does you just…” he began by outlandishly speculating. “just… chirp differently? Have you worked out a method or do you just speak bird?”
“Oh,” Trent said addressing Joshein’s inquiry, understanding where his interest was coming from. “Hehe, I-I don’t speak bird. Perhaps it’s impossible to even if one tried.” Joshein only nodded as Trent continued, “No, I have trained Varrult to use particular head-gestures to indicate the state of a particular object or area. Like… the simplest one is asking Varrult directions, he’ll simply turn and point his beak, remaining fixated on that direction for a brief moment.”
“But Varrult understands your words and commands, yes?”
“Yes, I do use some general commands like fledge, which mind you is quite universal given the situation of course. Perch is really the only one where it simply means one thing and— Wait, we shouldn’t be distracted! We
have a task and Venneith entrusted us to carry it out.”
“The kid’s right, Joshein,” Maven agreed.
“Fine, you can tell me all about it later,” he muttered as he pushed away from his resting tree, waving his hand for them to follow. They were once again ready to brave the forest further north just as Varrult had indicated, given Trent’s interpretation.
Yet before he could take one step, Joshien began to hear a commotion from the east. A sort of…rushing…no, running, like a stampede; as if whatever was approaching was in dire distress or overly indignant as it bore down upon the group.
“Maven,” he whispered, taking to swift, discrete action as he drew his sword alongside his peer. “Stand with me. Trent, stay back!”
Taking cover behind a particularly large tree, Trent watched and listened as both infantrymen fell into position, ready to defend themselves as the crashing and twig snapping anomaly of a beast ventured ever closer, threatening to finally be seen once it burst through the thicket of the forest. What would it be? What would it do? Surely attack, surely it was hideous like the centicada, yet judging by its loud, uncoordinated, unstealthy approach it was something much larger, stronger and imposing.
Grasping the holds of their weapons Joshein and Maven prepared themselves for the worst. So long as it wasn’t some arthropod Maven wouldn’t fall to fear turning the Euths away, like before with the Gypsy Synth and Centicada, for those images still haunted him. No, he’d destroy this beast, crush it with earth and bury it deep in Keuth’s cave, never to resurface or see the glorious light of Polgratheaan’s world ever again.
It approached ever closer beyond the veil of the forest. It was a beast, it was large, it was deadly it, was furious and indignant with an appetite for blood as it burst through the thicket, revealing itself to be…“A horse?”
“Stubborn mare?” Varrult weakly questioned Astregra as the two infantrymen corralled her, compelling her to halt in her retreat for she was confused and fearful.
“Unhand Me!” she cried out, rearing about as they struggled to grasp her reins. “Fiends of the forest, Unhand Me!”
“It’s The Knight’s Horse!” Joshein shouted as he struggled to keep her from running any further. “You think she ran off?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Maven urged Astregra as he stood back from Joshein with his hands raised as he attempted to calm her. “Please, Calm Yourself!”
“It’s No Use!” Joshein shouted as he continued to struggle with the mare, unable to keep her down even as he gripped the reins. “She’s too out of control.” Already he was beginning to lose his grip all through her thrashes, kicks and bucks. Where would she go if she were to run, what if her reins caught on something, trapping her in one place at the mercy of the forest and its creatures? What would the knight think of them; surely he too was out after the mare, for what is a knight without his noble steed?
Yet just when he thought Astregra would break away for good, a screech roared out. He looked to see it had come from Varrult himself. It wasn’t out of pain, nor was it fear but he compelled the horse, speaking in beast-speech as he said, “Calm Yourself, You Stubborn Dame! Can’t You See The Humans Only Try To See To Your Safety!?”
Only for a moment did she cease in her efforts to escape her captors to hear Varrult and his words before denying him, protesting with, “No! They’ve gone mad! The humans have gone mad! He seeks to destroy me, he tried before and he’ll try once again!”
“So instead you run off into the forest thinking this in someway is far safer and more secure than the care of your master?” As weak as his words may have been, Astregra could hear enough to understand as she began to consider what Varrult said. “Out here you’ll be destroyed. J-just look at me,” he panted as he pushed himself free of Trent’s arms to reveal the numerous bandages wrapped around his back, as well as the brace keeping his wings secure. “I could fly yet I’ve been caught and attacked. Nerr was in my care and I failed him. You were to serve Venneith, and by running you too have failed him. I may not know the context of your words or if it be true at all, but ever since I laid eyes upon you it was easy to see you were untrustful of him and you feared the land as well as man, yet man hasn’t gone mad…you have.”
Trent lunged forward over the gyrfalcon, worrying that Varrult might hurt himself if he did not remain in his good care. “It’s okay, Varrult,” he murmured as if the gyrfalcon were in distress. “Calm yourself.”
Yet it wasn’t Varrult who’d taken to calmness, but Astregra, for it seemed his words had had an impact on the mare. “I don’t need eyes to see,” Varrult then muttered as Astregra spied the blinds upon his eyes. “But I already know that something within you is at conflict with the things you have long known to be true.” Again Trent shushed his avian friend, thinking him to be uneased by the Mare’s actions. Before Varrult did, he muttered to the mare, “Another time and we shall speak, Astregra.”
Finally, after securing the horse, did Joshein say, “Whatever that bird did… at least it calmed this horse.”
“He’s a falcon,” Trent corrected.
Maven raised his hands to pat Astregra’s snout, but she pulled back, still quite a bit timid, distrustful of his touch. Yet she began to understand that these recognisable strangers had no intent to harm her. Seeing this she gave Maven the freedom to pat her lightly. He said, “My, I don’t think I’ve mentioned what a beautiful mare this horse is.” Glancing off down the side of her, he spied quite the tool hanging about the length of her and he fell to it in awe. “Whoa…this is the Poleaxe of Venneith the Armor Burnt Knight! They say it’s the most versatile weapon of its kind!” he marveled as he looked over its make. “A crescent, concave axe-head that peeks into the pike head with a balled point hammer as its distinguished tertiary function and design.” Giving into his urge to take the weapon in his hands to feel its weight and power, he muttered, “It was said the crescent axe was curved in such a way to cleave off the limbs and heads of all those who opposed the knight. The only question that remains is how many men he cut down with this thing…”
“That’s not what we should be concerned about, Maven,” Joshein said as he placed an arm before Maven, barring him from the weapon altogether. “Right now we should be asking ourselves where Venneith is and how Astregra had gotten away.”
“Do you think we should travel back to the road?” Trent questioned.
Joshein shook his head. “No, we don’t know what happened and we could jeopardize ourselves or him if we do.” Looking to the sky, clouded by ever increasing stormwinds and rain, he glanced to Astragra before saying, “We should continue north and carry out the rest of our task. Then I’ll make the next call, given the circumstances of our discovery. Agreed?”
“Aye, a better plan then I would’ve thought,” Maven chimed as he took Astregra by the reins, ready to guide her through the forest.
Trent only nodded in approval.
“Good,” Joshein muttered. “Let’s not make Varrult’s sacrifice in vain.”
With Astregra in tow they braved the forest once more, through the rainfall and storm over the skies that only brewed as time gradually passed. All they could wonder was how Venneith had been keeping and if he had been fortunate enough to overcome whatever had compelled Astregra to run astray into the forest directly to them, with Nerr strapped into the bag at her side fearful and afraid as he made no noise and kept silent in hopes that danger would pass him by.
They traveled North where, across the tree-filled land, lay the valley which they sought. The same valley that held the criminals and bandits of interest. Two retreated as fast as their legs would allow to warn one man in particular of the knight’s arrival.
“Voros!” one yelled once he was sure this man would hear him. “The Knight Comes! He slayed all that staged the ambush. Only he and I remain and we survived because Dettetcheny stalled the knight, entangling him just as he was about to finish us!”
“Who was this knight?” a voice, Voro’s voice, calmly whi
spered as if there were no dire situation at all.
“V-Venneith?” he quickly answered.
“Venneith,” Voros pensively repeated before resting a mighty hand on the one who had spoken. “Return to the city,” he said as he stood high above them. “Return to the city and tell them to gather round the outskirts for our messenger will surely arrive.”
To the north Joshein whispered above the wind as he laid his belly to the dirt in an effort to avoid detection from those below, “that bird, Trent; I don’t know how you could’ve trained such a thing, but by Lythre he led us here to a city…of stone.”
“Look!” Maven pointed. “I see no construction equipment and the buildings are solid stone. Who do you think could have raised such a thing? The only buildings like this are those at the capital. Look, the layout is reminiscent of it too. The way the buildings are made in blocks with a center lane and four-way major conjunction, with smaller routes all throughout. Also if you look close enough you can see waterways for the rainfall. No doubt it has some sort of artificial reservoir. No, wait…a river in the back is where they obtain drinking water. It all makes sense from a cityscape point of view, if you are to understand.”
As Maven continued on his his mumbling, Joshein only grinned as he shook his head saying, “My friend, you’ve always had an eye for the mundane things.”
Maven only snickered, retorting with, “It’s the mundane things that would drive people crazy if they were to disappear. Most don’t like to admit it, but take away even the smallest, most insignificant quality of life and plenty would find themselves going mad without even knowing it. Regardless, I want to know the people that raised this city. Surely it couldn’t have just been the doing of a single…”
“If it was it must’ve been a man of great control,” Trent suggested, prompting Joshein to nod in approval. “Yet it was more likely the combined efforts of many.”
Dragon Kindred_And The Gyr Worshipers Page 25