by J Battle
He hugged her to him, and he tried his best not to cry. He was not entirely successful.
‘There, there, my dear,’ he muttered into her long clean hair.
‘I never thought…I thought…’
‘Out with it, girl,’ he said, laughing. ‘Did you think it, or did you not?’
She released him and stepped back. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you, father, and I worried that you would never return. But whatever happened to your head? Are you hurt? You must be hurt.’
‘I’m better for seeing you, my dear, and there are stories to be told, but later, I think.’
‘I thought I’d lost you forever.’
‘I sent word. Several times I asked merchants to stop by and tell you that I was fine.’
‘If you sent them, they never arrived. I’ve heard nothing since you set off with Ferrooll.’
‘Well, my dear, it is a long way, and what might seem like a good idea for a small payment, well the road will wear away the best of intentions.’
‘And…did you succeed?’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Yes, my dear. The Trytor will no longer walk the land and strike fear into the hearts of all they pass. Your mother and sister…well, they shall rest easier for that, I think.’
She wrapped her arms around his waist once more, certain that with her father back in Misthaven, everything would be just fine and no longer would she have to bear the burden.
‘You’ve got fatter,’ she muttered, ‘what have you been eating whilst you’ve been away.’
Richard laughed. ‘I must confess that I have developed a fondness for tatoe pie, and, if you will believe me, I was a landlord for a time and ran my own tavern.’
‘A landlord? I’ve waited for a full year and you start off right away with your silly jokes!’
‘Begging your pardon, young lady,’ said Garraldi, popping his head around Richard’s side, ‘but he speaks nothing but the truth. And he kept a very fine ale, he did; I’d testify to that.’
‘Forgive me, my dear, I should have introduced you. This fine fellow is Garraldi, and he gave me aid and sustenance when I most needed them both. And this, Garraldi, is my daughter, Lady Alice,’ he finished, with pride bursting from his round flushed face.
Garraldi bowed and he took her hand in his. ‘Very pleased to meet you at last, my Lady, for your father has regaled us for hours without end with tales of your beauty, wisdom and kindness. I’ll admit that once or twice I thought bouncing a rock off his head might have encouraged a mite more variety in his conversation. Now that I have met you, I can fully understand his enthusiasm.’
‘You are too kind, sir,’ said Alice, with a little curtsey.
‘He’s hardly said so many words in the whole week we’ve walked together,’ observed Richard, with a stern look for Garraldi.
‘Well, now I’ve met you, my Lady, I’ll be off to the tavern to join my brother and a Giant to see if I can catch myself up with them, for the road gives you a thirst, for sure.’
With that, he turned, but he stopped at the doorway.
‘Watch him, my Lady, for he is some way from being healed, and he’ll need care.’
‘He is in the right place then, I think,’ said Alice, as she wrapped her arm around her father’s arm.
**********
‘No!’ he yelled, and his voice bounced back at him a dozen times. ‘Make no move, foul creatures!’
The teeming hoard moved from side to side, and up and down, but it got no closer.
‘We seek freedom,’ said one; he could have been the first or the second speaker, for all the difference between them.
‘Do I stand between you and freedom? All I see behind me is a wall.’ Lydorth was appalled that he was reduced to negotiating with such creatures, but there were so many of them, and he was so weak.
‘We were banished from the land many years ago, by the Trytor. We will see the sky once more, and feel the heat of the sun.’
A murmur swelled across the cave at the mention of the sun.
‘I say again, is the sun behind me? Am I blocking your way to the sky?’ He held out his hands as if to display his innocence.
‘We must be free.’
Lydorth shook his head and lowered his hands.
‘Then I give you your freedom. Go from this place and walk beneath the sky once more, and, if you see a man or a woman, or a child, then you know that they are flesh and nothing more than food for you.’
There was much twitching and blinking.
‘How do we know if you can be believed?’
‘I will remain here as hostage to your doubt. You can tear down the bridge behind you, and I will occupy your place, and you mine.’
There was a sudden flurry of scratching and he found himself alone once more.
Sighing, he lowered himself to the hard ground. The pain from his wound rolled over him in pulsing waves, but he would endure. He would recover somewhat and explore his new demesne, and what creatures he found would bow to him in due respect, or be nothing but food for him.
But for now, the pain was too much for him to do anything but curl into a ball and pit his will against its ferocious power.
Chapter 48 Trytor
The trail of blood was easy to follow, as it led from the back tunnels of the Trytors’ home.
‘Looks a couple of days old, I reckon,’ said BobbyJ, as he knelt to examine the stained path.
He slid his sword back into its scabbard as he followed the trail. ‘Don’t look as if he’ll be jumping out to surprise me anytime soon.’
He walked through the dim tunnels, with scant light from the fluorescent slime, but his eyes could still see the dark drops on the ground. Each time he came to an intersection, the way was easy to see, so he strode on.
He came to a narrow bridge that arced across a deep wide chasm, and he saw the stains, and he crossed.
At the far end of the bridge there was a lot of blood, as if Lydorth had spent some time here. But the trail went on, and the path narrowed to just a couple of feet, with the hard wall on the right, and an unmeasurable fall on the left.
The wall curved and BobbyJ followed it for a few paces. Then he stopped. ‘What is that smell? Surely my father is not so far gone that he’s lost control of his bowels?’
He continued, and he very nearly missed the hidden entrance to the cave. If not for the unmistakable stench, he might have walked on.
‘Father, are you in there?’
There was no response.
‘It is only your favourite son.’
BobbyJ smiled. He could almost hear Lydorth’s mind working furiously.
‘Shall I come inside?’ he offered, as he eased his sword free.
‘What was that noise?’
‘Just me, Father.’
‘No, I heard something else. Your sword. You drew your sword. I heard it drag.’
‘Listen, Father. I’ll put it down.’ He rattled the side of his sword against the hard rock floor, but he kept a good grip on the hilt. ‘See, it’s on the floor now, you heard it. May I enter your…shall we call it your abode? Just to be nice.’
‘You can call it what you like, but if you enter, you will die.’
‘That’s not much of a welcome, Father, but if that is your wish, I’ll stay right here, I will.’
He stepped into the cave, placing his foot down carefully.
‘I can see you, you fool!’
‘Sorry, father, I wasn’t sure if you could. And, I can see you, hiding there at the back.’
‘I’m not hiding. I’m sitting.’
‘Looks like hiding to me.’
There were groans and grunts, and then he was standing upright, with his head held high and his red eyes glaring.
‘Why do you disturb my rest? And…who are you anyway?’
BobbyJ smiled at the taller creature standing before him.
‘Do you not recognize me, Father? Does my calling you Father not give you a clue?’
Lydorth shook his head, as
if that might clear the fog.
‘I had a son, once I had a son, but…’ he squinted at BobbyJ.
‘I have changed a bit since you sent me off after Cavour. As have you yourself.’
‘What was the silly name you chose for yourself?’
‘It is BobbyJ, dear father.’
‘And why are you here?’
BobbyJ moved a little to his left. ‘I’m only paying a visit to my father. Only what would be expected from a dutiful son.’
‘Speak and then be gone.’ Lydorth leaned his free hand against the rock wall for support.
‘Do you not want my help? You seem sorely hurt.’
‘I need no help from a half-human bastard creature such as you.’
‘Are you sure? Are you really sure? Mayhap I could support you back along the bridge and help you onto your throne? And stand by your side to guard you until you recover?’
Lydorth hesitated as another wave of agony swept over him. ‘Would you? It seems…I…, but, no. This is nonsense. You have not come to aid me, have you?’
BobbyJ’s face split into a wide grin. ‘I thought I had you there, Father. I was sure you were going to reach out and let me support you, with the prospect of a continuing existence beckoning to you.’
The rock that struck him came as something of a surprise. BobbyJ staggered backwards against the hard cave wall.
Before he could act, Lydorth was on him, grasping and biting, clawing at him with his long nails. The shock drove him back against the wall and his head struck the rock with a stunning blow.
His sword fell from his hand as he fought for his life.
He felt his father’s hand reaching for his own sword at his belt and he knew that he was in serious danger.
With a roar he drove his hands into the gaping wound of Lydorth’s stomach, and he gripped and he pulled and he tore.
The small cave was filled with the sound of the screams of the last true Trytor as he fell back, bent and clutching.
But BobbyJ would not let go. He pushed him on, ripping at the hole in his father’s stomach, and at last he forced his hand through the pulverized flesh and took a firm grip on his backbone.
Lydorth threw his head forward and gripped the side of his son’s neck in his powerful jaws, sinking his jagged teeth deep into the flesh before he shook his head from side to side. Then the bones in his back were torn asunder and blackness washed over him, and the last and the least of the Trytor breathed no more.
BobbyJ pushed the dead body to one side and he fell to his knees, with one hand clamped to his neck.
He knelt there for an age, with his chest heaving and the blood pumping from his torn throat.
I will not die here, he thought, for he could not say the words. I will leave here, for I am the last Trytor, and I will not be denied a seat on my own throne.
He braced a hand against the wall and he stood upright.
Yes, this will do, he thought, as he steadied himself. Then he shuffled his feet along the irregular floor of the cave, and he left the bloodied, stinking corpse of his father behind.
He walked upright for as long as he could, but then he feared falling to his death into the chasm, so he crawled across the bridge. He supported himself on two knees and one hand, with his other hand still pressed against his throat.
There is less blood now, he thought, and he chuckled; a sour humourless sound. Does that mean I am healing and will survive? Or does it mean I have little enough blood left to bleed?
He crawled off the bridge and struggled across the floor to the wall. Again, he was upright, leaning against the wall, and he looked back the way he’d come.
‘And so passed the least Trytor of all,’ he said, his voice croaky and guttural.
With that, he left the caverns and the dark places behind.
He wandered through the back tunnels for hours, because his mind was clouded by the pain and fatigue, and he couldn’t remember his way.
At last he walked through a doorway into the rulehall and he sighed. With the last of his strength he staggered to the low plinth that held the throne and he stepped up. The dizziness almost overcame him then, but he gripped the ornate arm of the throne and pulled himself forward.
With a sigh of satisfaction, he twisted and planted his bottom in the broad seat and he leant against its tall carved back.
‘There we are,’ he said, as he placed a hand on each arm of the throne. ‘I’ll have food!’ he called, for it seemed like the sort of thing the last Trytor should say.
But his voice was weak, and he could hardly expect a response.
He couldn’t know that the myriad little furry creatures who’d left his father to his own devices in the caverns were even now swarming up the stairs from the dungeons where they’d made their new home.
They were curious and excited, but most of all, they were hungry.
‘Bring me food. Now!’ roared BobbyJ, and the strength drained from him.
As his chin dropped on to his chest for the last time, he heard the clicking of thousands of rushing claws.
But he couldn’t wait for them to arrive, and soon enough, the very last Trytor passed from this world.
Book III
Cry and cry again, for no aid will come
Chapter 49 Fleur
She might have slept and dreamed, but she wasn’t sure. The pain and the darkness were pretty close to her waking state and it would be hard to tell the difference.
She stirred and moved her head a few inches to the side, just about all the room she had. Her baby was keeping himself to himself, which was just fine as far as she was concerned. But it was only a matter of time before his spiteful, evil voice would resound in her head once more.
What had he done to the Giants? She’d been only too aware of the slaughter of the Elvenfolk, but she had neither heard nor saw the Giants. Had they ignored his call? Turned their broad backs and went about their own business with not a thought for her child? It could have happened that way, for sure. But her son had been too satisfied when he explained his plan.
She closed her eyes for a second, because the time was now. If she was going to take action, then she must do it now, for she’d been putting it off for too long. One quick movement, a moment of agonising pain, and it would all be over. As simple as that. All it required was the strength to do it.
She gripped the long spine near her head, and she snapped it free. Without hesitation, she drove it into the bloated skin of her belly. Again and again she stabbed, uncaring of the pain. In truth ,it was hardly much worse than the pain she was already suffering from her ripped and torn flesh.
‘What!!’ He was back in her head, and she quailed at the ferocity of his anger. ‘What are you doing you stupid woman? Stop it at once. Do you really think that, if you could harm me so easily, we would have taken refuge in a place so replete with weapons? Stop now; you are making a fool of yourself.’
Fleur sobbed, but she didn’t stop. There seemed to be blood spurting everywhere, but she kept right on stabbing herself, until the spine was little more than a limp bloody mess.
She dropped her hand and hung her head, sobbing and cursing.
‘There, there, Mother. No need to fret so, not when it is not yet time for me to emerge into the world.’
She was silent for a long time, distraught that her plan, her only plan, had come to nothing. Nothing but an increase in pain and the end of hope.
‘What did you do...with the Giants?’ If he’d been standing before her, his flesh would surely have been stripped by the ferocity in her eyes.
‘I told you. I called them all to their deaths. And they all heeded my call.’
‘So, you killed all the Elvenfolk and now you killed the Giants?’ she spat.
‘And not even born yet. Just imagine what I will achieve when I am free.’
’I’ll kill you, I will. The world has to be saved from your...’
‘Malice?’
‘Ay, that’ll do for now. I’ll strangle you
with your own birthing cord, and I’ll laugh, I will, as you breathe your first and you breathe your last.’
‘Oh, Mother dearest, I don’t think you realise that when I am born, you will be in no position to harm me.’
‘You’ll just be a baby, a weak helpless baby. I’ll kill you just like that.’ She snapped her fingers.
‘There’s time yet for you to develop your plans, Mother. But for now, can you guess who I will call next?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Elvenfolk came of their own accord, and they perished. The Giants answered my call, and they perished. Can you see a theme here? So, who is next? Can you tell me who I will now call to their deaths?’
Fleur closed her eyes and fought back the sobs that wracked her body. There was no need for her to answer the question, for the answer was clear.
Chapter 50 Esmereld
Esmereld didn’t know which way to look when she’d planted the double brace of tankards on the main table.
In the corner was the Lady, young Lady Alice, smiling and fairly glowing with happiness.
She was clinging to the arm of her father beside her, and he smiled despite the blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head. It was Lord Richard, she knew, though he’d not been seen for a year.
Opposite them sat a pair of tall, dark-haired men, with far too few meals inside them in her opinion. Brothers, she thought, though one smiled and talked and the other frowned and listened.
But the member of the group who kept dragging her eyes towards him was the great Giant, sitting in the middle of the floor by the table, with his loud voice bouncing off the walls.
‘I’ll take a hogshead, if that is at all possible,’ he said, turning his blind eyes to her.
‘Sorry, sir, but I can’t carry one of them. I could roll it to you, but that would get it all frothed up, I reckon, and you wouldn’t want that, unless I’m as wrong as a week full of Tuesdays.’
‘Mayhap I could help you with that, my dear,’ said the talkative brother as he stood up.