The Legendary Firestone. Book 2. Behind the Veils

by Reja Emran

  The wolf leader had been eyeing Cyrillon from afar with fascination as he had detected his superior aura and was in wonder at how a measly Elentian could possess this immense importance. However he knew that this man was bound to fall and it would be at the hands of him, he would not fail his Mistress for if the Elentian survived he could be the one who was feared in the prophecies. Then he bounded forward, hunger and victory just a bite away.

  Cyrillon rolled on the ground as he sliced a fairy that held a dagger and immediately thrust his sword into the body of another sprite but they seemed to keep coming. “Bloody fairies,” growled Cyrillon as he sliced another one watching as they turned to a shimmering dust before another dashed towards him, dagger raised menacingly. Before he could strike, Khazdul trampled on the creature, glee shining in its eyes as he glanced at his master for a fleeting second before turning to another sprite. In that second Cyrillon saw the lust that shone in the eyes of the russet stallion, a mirror image of his own feelings. Cyrillon relished combating with a blade, often doing so on encounters with various foes but yet the death gripped at him and he felt the grief for the casualties. Gray eyes scanning the field, the Elentian noticed the Guardian still on her mare, charging fearlessly towards the fairies and her superior swordsmanship gave her the winning edge. While Cyrillon was distracted, the wolf leader crept up behind him, the dark eyes glowing with victory and he lunged.

  Cyrillon turned just in time to see the huge black wolf pounce at him, teeth bared and with surprising alacrity, he side stepped the attack and the wolf landed on its feet snarling in anger for losing the kill. As Cyrillon raised Durandel to strike the creature above the head, the wolf barreled into him and threw him on the ground. With haste, Cyrillon moved out of the way as they wolf bounded towards him and he swiftly turned, his sword slashing the wolf at the neck. The wolf splattered blood but was not about to give up easily and he turned to the man with rage in his eyes but before it could attack again, an arrow caught it in the vein of its neck and a fountain of blood poured out of the wound. Struggling forward, the wolf was determined to end the Elentian not even bothering to see its attacker and it reached Cyrillon who had kept himself a mile apart and had somehow acquired another sword. With the last remnants of its energy, the huge black creature darted with increasing speed and there it met its end. Cyrillon swept the two swords in the opposite directions and sliced off the head of the wolf which fell at his feet. He wiped the blood on the swords on the hide of the still creature and raised a hand to Aniah who had fired the arrow. She acknowledged his thanks with a curt nod and galloped towards him as the forces of Aria overwhelmed the frontier of Sacred Glove.

  Vaulting on Khazdul, he turned around and motioned for the Guardian to hurry. “Turn back Aniah” said Cyrillon, “Retreat to Tyrendale!”

  Aniah cantered towards him, her face glowing with heat as blood trickled from the cut in her lips. In her hands was an intricate bow which was stained with the blood on her hands and her hair were clamped to her face. “Mankoi?” she asked, inhaling heavily as she shot an arrow at the head of an approaching fairy while Amazon killed the others with her kicks.

  Following suit, Khazdul reared and trampled a few fairies under his hooves while Cyrillon kicked an injured wolf away from the horse’s torso before turning back to Aniah. “There are too many, Lle auta yeste’6.”

  Aniah whipped her head sharply and signaled to a cluster of the remaining Elentian riders, “Retreat to Tyrendale!”

  Turning back, the land forces galloped to the safety of Tyrendale while the Sacred Glove forces kept the enemy at bay. But there in Tyrendale, there was another peril waiting.

  As the horses fled, Arkansage took command and was furiously kicking and trampling the swarms of fairies. Adrianna and Gorman were locked in the centre with the phoenixes overhead, and the power of the two was gradually vanquishing the enemy which dwindled in amount. The rest of the mystical creatures comprising of the tigers and the nymphs were practicing their magic on these creatures to some avail. They were now winning slightly but the forces of the Glove would not admit defeat, not as long as the phoenixes soared overhead... maybe not even then.

  Back in Tyrendale, Cyrillon and Eurofir were reassembling the troops to march back into the region of their allies while Aniah was gathering the rest from the outskirts of the valley who were chasing some routing enemies.

  “Do you see something in the woods behind Tyrendale?” asked Eurofir, “my men have spotted some unnatural movement.” He wiped a hand to remove the sweat on his face and he grimaced as he noticed the dark blood. He ignored his filthy condition and unsheathed his sword, the bow Cyrillon gave him attached on his back.

  Cyrillon gazed at the rear end of Tyrendale for a while trying to discern if there was truth in the observations and then his gaze lingered on the back gate of Tyrendale: it was open. “Who opened the gate?” he questioned fiercely.

  “I do not know.” Eurofir scanned the perimeter, his ears straining to perceive danger and his lavender eyes were focusing on the plains beyond the open gates, alarm washing through his senses. Then his breath stopped and he grasped the hand of his friend, his own hand icy cold with dread. “Look!”

  Before they were able to close the gates, a multitude of demons marched through the gates, their spears raised and their gruesome red bodies clamped in chain mail. As the Guardian joined the shocked Elentians, her own heart fluttered in anxiety as she eyed the approaching threat. Without the full restoration of her powers she could not kill them all.

  “We cannot defeat them,” Aniah said in the thinnest of whispers, “one demon is a powerful as ten warriors put together.” She heard the men behind her gasp and cry out in fear as they saw the oncoming enemy but they remained in position.

  “Neither can we surrender,” said Cyrillon, a defiance in his voice but he could not hide the fear, “Aniah, inform Queen Sinardin at once!”

  The Guardian shivered as a gust of wind encircled her and then set off hastily, her cloak flapping wildly behind her as she left Cyrillon and Eurofir to ponder over the scheme of attack while Sacred Glove engaged the other enemy forces.

  “We could use magic on them,” suggested Eurofir quietly, “if Aniah, being a Guardian could…”

  Cyrillon hesitated as he thought of Aniah placing herself in danger. Even as his heart defied the suggestion of endangering her, he knew only her power could save them from this peril. Though not restored she was as powerful as any of the best spell casters, even greater than Sinardin.

  “It may have an impact but first we must attempt to destroy a few demons and reduce their numbers to some extent.”

  “The archers must come on land,” pointed out Eurofir, “I will arrange for fire arrows to be launched.”

  “Asca!” exclaimed Cyrillon as he himself mounted Khazdul to collect forces and stamp out the threat of the enemy, at least for tonight.

  The troops took their battle stations, the spell-casters lined up in the tower to perform protection wards, archers assembled on the ground a torch being circulated to light their arrows. They had been given the order to fire at will and often a few fiery shots were seen slicing through the air but one arrow was not enough to kill a demon. They would need to target one at least twenty times to injure the soiled creature to a great extent. But that was impossible for there were at least forty demons standing a few miles away and they wore mail which heightened their strength. Aniah was making preparations for the spell clearly perplexed at how the demons had sided with the Sorceress as no news had reached her despite the eagles scouting efforts.

  Cyrillon rode from left to right, passing in front of the row of Elentian riders who bowed their heads as they saw Durandel swirling in the air and listened to Cyrillon as he gave them a short but inspiring speech.

  “Do not show any mercy to the enemy warriors of Tyrendale! Destroy the demons and we will watch the bones of the enemy cake in the rising sun! Die in honor! Lye nuquernuva sen e dagor!”

 
On the other end, Iguana was commanding his fellow demons in the guttural tongue of the Onis’ and they too were filled with the lust and anger to kill, to slay.

  “Remember victory is ours! We are formidable! They are weak! We shall crush these maggots and they will fear the very mention of our name! For King Vien and for all Onis!”

  Then both masses charged forward and were locked into a fierce combat, ignoring all codes and rules of war as they were blinded by hatred. Amongst the pandemonium there were speeding arrows, clashing spears and blood spraying on the ground. The air was filled with cries of the resolute warriors and no wails of anguish or pain echoed within the field as the enmity between the forces instilled a thirst for defeating the foe.

  Warriors fell from both sides but the loss of Elentian forces was much greater and Eurofir was filled with greater lust to vanquish the demons. A big burly demon charged at him, saliva dripping down his lips as he raised the spear. Eurofir ran towards the abominable creature and swiftly embedded the sword into its torso, piercing the mail and barely inflicting a wound. With a humorous roar at his effort, the demon punched Eurofir in the nose and hooted as he fell to the ground. Blood trickled down his nose and he tasted the bitter taste on his tongue before aiming a strong kick at the demons legs and grinned as he heard the grunt of pain. Jumping up, he took advantage of the minute in which the demon studied the wound on his torso, surprised at the idiocy shown by the large creature even during a battle. You would never catch an Elentian unguarded during a fight, they wouldn’t start examining their wounds thought Eurofir as he raced to the red mound of flesh and as the demon glanced up it saw the Elentian flip over his head. Eurofir landed behind the demon on his feet and plunged the sword in the exposed part of flesh on the back watching with satisfaction the blood oozing out. The demon growled angrily and stormed at Eurofir who had darted a few feet behind to smash another demon on the head with his sword. Eurofir was taken by surprise and a huge spear pierced his leg muscles sending a spasm of agony over his body as he fell to the ground. Two demons now leered at him, their eyes molten with victory as they eyed him and his gushing blood. Eurofir never expected it of these horrendous creatures but they did not attack for he was helpless. They waited instead till he rose and fought. It was astonishing that such noble laws existed in their races as well but at that time it was a costly mistake. Eurofir rolled back with agility ignoring the wound in his leg and jumped up as he grabbed his sword off the ground and faced the two demons that had lowered their lances to aim at him if he charged. That was foolish for in the next second, like greased lightning, Eurofir took a careful aim and threw the slightly curved sword at them. In the next instant blood was gushing from a deep wound in their lumpy throats and the demons fell to the ground dead. Allowing himself a thin smile of happiness, Eurofir picked up the sword next to one demon’s carcass and did not bother to remove the blood for it was a reminder of his small but significant victory though in the long run it would be nothing. Seeing the Elentian army outnumbered and winded by the fight he looked frantically for Aniah and spotted her as she raised a hand to indicate that she was ready. Nodding in acknowledgement, Eurofir grabbed the horn at his belt and blew as hard as he could into the aperture.

  The Elentian army flooded to base with Cyrillon in the lead, his face covered in traces of blood for he had been battling with the demon captain and now for over a whole night he had still not killed the vile beast. The Guardian emerged, a sword clasped in one hand and her horse standing tall. She advanced to the edge of a gentle slope, about a meter away from the demon army but none could attack fast enough for overhead Sinardin was casting a binding spell on their bodies which was held by all the other magicians on the towers.

  A bolt of thunder struck the dusky sky, illuminating Aniah’s hazel eyes which were flashing with energy. The air surrounding her was shaded blue, vitalizing her body as she spoke some words in the language of the Elentian people for she wanted them to understand what she was about to do. Silence struck the enemy as they were awed and stupefied.

  Ndengina kotyaerea, Hyandae en΄ luhta

  Templa en΄ tessa thaurerea, Hyandae en΄ luhta

  Amid the demon mass, dozens of pale blue misty, wraith like creatures appeared and passed through the flesh of the demons who could not even scratch these bodiless mists though they tried desperately and Iguana had a look of pure fury on his face as the demons gasped, their energy being sucked out.

  “Mallen pelu e΄ n΄alaquel en΄ sen!” commanded Eurofir and the forces again marched into battle but now the demons were weakened and drained of energy, which had been absorbed into the Blade Spirits that had started fading to an opalescent cobalt.

  Aniah recited the enchantment once again, with an added determination in her voice and instantaneously numerous Blade Spirits appeared replacing the others.

  By and by, the demon army was completely vanquished except the leader and a few others who had escaped- they had been sensible enough to utilize their wings. Victory was now theirs for the taking and they all cheered and rejoiced. Aniah had dismounted her paint and had locked Sinardin in an embrace while Cyrillon and Eurofir were congratulating each other and appreciating the efforts of the army and at that moment the bodies of the dead were forgotten. All the soldiers raised their lances in victory and yelled the name of the Knights. None paid heed to their words for they spoke of the Sword Durandel and of the great one who would wield it. They spoke of it but none gave any importance to their call except a few who then too joined in the shouts the rest dismissing them as fools in ecstasy.

  The Guardian then walked to the edge of a ridge, staring at the cramped forest beyond: a forest in which dwelled beings of the unknown and were death always hovered nearby. She prayed silently for the safety of the Annoxonum, sending swirls of magical fire to enlighten her path.

  “The firestone will be recovered. I trust the Annoxonum.” Cyrillon stepped close next to Aniah supporting her for he knew she was drained of energy yet she hid it. The toll of Fiera’s wound was still to fade.

  “I hope so,” she said softly, turning as Cyrillon draped an arm round her; holding her close. Together they gazed out into the early hours of morning, both thinking of the separation they would have to face as Cyrillon had revealed the facts of his lineage to Aniah and the path he had chosen. During that while, Aniah felt a burning sensation on her shoulder where there was an engraved emblem and she understood what was to come. She knew her father’s predictions were unraveling and soon the time for the last stand against evil would arrive. She listened to Cyrillon as he told her where he was to go and when and she could only acknowledge it with a heavy nod.

  The path which led away from his love into a forgotten land, grey and marked by bleak shadows as the Kingdom of the Elentian Knights had fallen into disorder and chaos.

  Behind him the riders exclaimed his name. They would follow him to the ends of death and that he did not know. He was just surprised at their shouts and gave small smiles of amusement. It would break his heart to part with this land, a land in which there were so many whom he loved. His gray eyes became somber as he stared at the darkness, a darkness which had been defeated at least for now. It was a darkness which would not quell. A thirsty darkness.

  ~ Chapter Ten ~

  In the corners of the shadowy cavern, sat a young girl; her long fair legs were sprawled in an awkward angle and strands of loose hair fell over her pale face. The clothes she wore were a frayed black and there were silver bracers on her forearms and legs, the spiky edges scarping the ground. In her long fingers she clutched a gleaming ruby, the firestone at which she gazed intently; her eyes tingling with greed and fury. What appalled Xia the most was the appearance of the creature’s skin for bone was enmeshed in rubbery veins that coiled round her body and the colour was a terrifying white, the white of the dead and her hair were long and coppery with faint traces of red. The Annoxonum grimaced as she eyed the creature as her skin was deathly pale and lips a faint pink, bare
ly visible as they were stamped into the stretches of skin. The eyes were the most striking feature of this deathlike beauty for they were of an iridescent cobalt colour framed by thick black lashes that highlighted the intensity.

  Xia cautiously approached the girl- or the creature who had once been a girl. Her every step brought her closer to the inevitable. However her efforts to remain completely silent were shattered when she accidentally shuffled, the tip of her boots hitting a shard of glass. She caught her breath but knew it was too late. She had been heard.

  The girl looked up and her heavily outlined eyes narrowed menacingly, spurting the fire of hatred. Xia gasped as the girl revealed her long gleaming teeth and as her eyes turned to a bright azure, always fierce and flashing.

  “Who are you?” demanded the Annoxonum.

  “Who am I? Who are you and why do you trespass?” she asked her voice like the icy whispers of the harsh wind.

  Xia steadied herself inwardly and exhibiting surprising calm, she answered the girl’s questions. “I am the Annoxonum and have come to retrieve the firestone which you hold in your hands.” Xia tightened her hold on the dagger, her veins contracting. In other circumstances she may have laughed at her method of plunging straight to the point instead of babbling but now her concentration all was focused on the fiery stone.

  “Annoxonum,” laughed the girl in a throaty whisper, “well it may surprise you that I too am an Annoxonum, my name is Kashya.”

  Xia stood stunned as the facts registered in her head, “How can it be?”

  Kashya now stood up, revealing the view of her whole face to Xia and then she looked quite human: quite a beautiful human if she lost the tint of anger and her blazing eyes that raged with ferocity of an animal. “I am not human. I was turned into another creature, a soulless creature during the last hours of my mortal life. I have dwelled in this abandoned cave since then.”