Urøk moved with cat-like speed and slid underneath the steed before it had a chance to react. One deft, almost fluid movement and the flying steed was disemboweled.
Urøk was delighted in the feeling of warm blood on his hands and he took a moment to appreciate its bright color in the sunlight.
The pegáonadann spread its wings in an attempt to fly away from the danger, but it was already too weak from blood loss.
The disembowelment had been the final straw to break the great beast. Its mouth opened in a silent cry of defiance and it tried to run away. Its legs buckled and it stumbled. Urøk dismissed the pegáonadann and returned his attention back to the Scout, who had been splattered in some of the pegáonadann's blood and visceral liquid. He was still lying on the ground where Urøk had left him. He seemed to be in shock.
Knowing that all Scouts were well-trained and adept warriors, Urøk was disappointed. The Scout only had eyes for his dying companion. They both watched as the pegáonadann stumbled on for a few more yards, its entrails dragging behind it, leaving dark stains on the grass in its passing. It wasn't long before the animal tried to utter a final painful cry. A torrent of blood exploded from its ripped throat and then it collapsed in a heap.
This seemed to break the Scout's spell and he leaped up with a roar, sliding his short sword silently out of its scabbard. Scouts were better known for their prowess with a lance, but they were just as dangerous with a sword.
Urøk relished the contest.
Edínu silvurn against his unnatural claws.
Instead of rushing him as expected, the Scout held back and reassessed his situation.
Urøk smiled, feeling his gums slide up his sharp, and now extended, teeth. He wanted his opponent to get a better idea of what he was up against and what the cost would be for losing.
Urøk fainted left and the Scout riposted as expected.
Most of the álvur had the same combat training and Urøk still remembered it all.
The Scout waited. Urøk waited. It was evident that the Scout didn't want to go on the offensive. He didn't know his opponent and he wasn't about to be baited.
Urøk sighed.
This was frustrating and boring. This was his first real proper fight with a warm-blooded creature outside of the Void and the Scout wouldn't engage.
“Pity about your flying horsey,” Urøk's voice grated in an attempt to get the Scout angry.
“He will be avenged,” the Scout answered as they circled each other, too intelligent to be lured into a trap.
“I remember you,” Urøk said, pointing a razor-sharp claw at the álvur. “You were still a whelp when I was at the academy.” The more he spoke, the easier it became to get the sounds out. He didn't sound like a bullfrog made of stone anymore. “I knew your sister, Lerínda,” he hissed.
There was a narrowing of the other’s eyes but nothing further.
“Ylándl, isn't it?” Urøk tried.
“You talk too much, Eíríc, always have.”
Ylándl surprised Urøk by charging him and stabbing at his midriff. Urøk managed to turn just enough for the short sword to scrape his natural armor and nothing more. It was the end for Ylándl though, as his surprise attack left his defenses open.
One claw lashed out at the arm with the short sword, and the other went straight for the stomach. There was a loud umph! As Ylándl doubled over and all the air was violently expelled from his lungs. Urøk stepped back and looked down upon the álvur with a smirk as the Scout staggered backwards, incomprehension on his face.
He dropped his weapon and both his hands tried to close the gaping hole in his midsection.
Urøk's incredible strength and sharp claws had gone through the Scout's hardened leather armor as if it had been made of cotton. Urøk's smirk curved upwards into a smile as the Scout tried to keep his guts from spilling out. Just like his pegáonadann companion, he uttered a soft “no” and went down on his knees.
Two quick strides and Urøk stood behind the dying álvur. He pushed the álvur's hands apart and laughed at the pitying whine that escaped the Scout's mouth. It had the promise of hopelessness and despair. It even had a faint reek of death that went out into the world, carried by the sweet breeze.
Urøk grabbed a handful of intestines in one claw and kicked the álvur onto the lush green grass. He kneeled down, a knee planted between the álvur's shoulders. With one hand he held the álvur's head up by the hair, and with the other, he proceeded to garrote Ylándl with strands of intestine. Urøk then leaned back with his considerable bulk and began to choke the álvur with his own guts. The álvur fought back and struggled, trying to throw the Dark Creature from his back. In response, Urøk leaned forward with all his weight on his knee. Something snapped and the Scout went limp. Urøk swore. It hadn't been his intention to break little Ylándl's back. He could only hope that the álvur would still feel something as the life was choked out of him.
It didn't take long before Urøk heard the álvur's heart beat for the last time. He kept applying the pressure for a long time afterward, before growing bored with the mundane task.
He stood up, licking his hands clean and then the hunger kicked in. It was time to feed. All the cellular transformation of the last few minutes had taken a toll on his body. It needed to be replenished.
He started with Ylándl before he moved on to the pegáonadann.
It was a feast, the likes of which had never been seen in the Void.
Once sated, Urøk took a saddle bag aside, meant for the beiier before he got creative. No one was going to happen upon him. Scouts were allocated a certain area to patrol for a certain period each day. Urøk was sure no one would come looking for the missing Scout and pegáonadann for a few more hours. By then he would have had time to be creative, fetch the beiier, and be long gone.
There was no doubt that they would send a Tracker after him. Trackers were relentless monster hunters with almost supernatural hunting abilities. It didn't faze Urøk in the least. He welcomed a worthy opponent.
Might as well leave him something, Urøk thought. A little welcoming gift to set the tone for the hunt to come.
Urøk wanted the Tracker to see that he wasn’t afraid of him. That he wasn’t afraid of anything. He also wanted to show the world what would happen to those unfortunate enough to cross his path.
Small animals scattered in fright and birds took to meaningless, uncoordinated flight as his laughter rang out across the clearing and through the stand of ash trees.
CHAPTER 5
“Jöanth,” the call came. “You are needed.”
He was looking up the tunnel towards one of his brethren who was standing with an álvurn solonese lantern, beckoning him to come closer. Jöanth heard the dwergálvur approach several minutes ago, and knew exactly who it was by the álvur's gait.
Dwergálvur were still álvur, but they simply went by a different name because of where they lived. When standing next to each other, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
The lantern wasn't usually needed, but they were deep within the old side tunnels of the mine. This deep, there was very little light, except for the odd, delnarium that grew wildly down here.
There goes my night vision, Jöanth thought wryly.
Even though his eyes had time to adjust to the new intruding light, they still blinked in random, rapid fashion in the harsh light cast by the lantern. Jöanth had been inside these tunnels for a week now and his eyes had grown accustomed to the perpetual darkness. Anyone without a lantern, except for a dwergálvur or Tracker, would have experienced complete darkness and found themselves in a disorientating space of sense deprivation. The mines beneath Mount Del was a place where one could end up getting lost for months. But as a Tracker with heightened senses, Jöanth had become accustomed to this dark world well enough.
Not all the tunnels were dark though, only the latest tunnel expansions, or those not used anymore were shrouded in darkness. Most tunnels were well-lit by a series of intercon
nected lines of solonese, a rock known for its ability to store sunlight for long periods of time. Jöanth however, found himself searching primarily in the dark tunnels.
The intrusion didn't make a difference to his progress. There was still no clue as to what could have caused two dwergálvur to have disappeared without a trace.
As a Tracker, he had been the obvious choice to come in and investigate. Dwergálvur didn't just disappear. Especially down in caves and tunnels of their own making. They were the most experienced miners in all of the worlds and they knew their tunnels better than the back of their hands. For one of them to disappear, was unheard of. For two within the space of a couple of weeks, was downright suspicious. Something else was at play here, but after more than a week in the mines of Del, Jöanth was still no closer to any answers.
It was strange being back home. Trackers usually spent the bulk of their lives off-world, not here on Edínu. A Tracker was a monster hunter and they went wherever they were needed to chase Dark Offspring.
Being on Edínu was downright weird. There weren't many monsters here, apart from those imprisoned in the eternal dusk of the Void. Most could get out if they wanted, but they couldn't wander far. Either the Stone Guardians halted their progress deeper into Edínu or the twin suns melted them to smoking puddles of boiling tar.
Yet, here he was, on Edínu his homeworld deep inside the bowels of Mines of Del looking for two missing dwergálvur. It seemed as if they had really just disappeared without any clues. Jöanth wasn't even able to pinpoint the exact locations from where they were supposed to have disappeared. He knew in general terms where they had been working, and he was able to find places in the living rock where they had done their last extractions, but apart from that, there was no sign of them.
Nothing.
No signs of a struggle. No sign that they could somehow have wandered off and gotten lost. No indication that they had suddenly, perhaps, decided that mining was not for them anymore and they simply packed up and left for greener fields.
They were simply gone.
Dwergálvur were a special kind of álvur. They were stockier and much broader in the shoulder than regular álvur who spent all their time outdoors, weighed down by nothing more than the sky.
Down here, Jöanth was acutely aware of where he was at all times. He was constantly stooping, even though there was no reason for it. The dwergálvur had dug their tunnels wide and high enough for several álvur to pass each other and not ever having to worry about hitting your head.
And yet, it always felt to him as if the earth was pressing down on him. He was aware of the billions of tons of rock above his head and he couldn't help but flinch every time there was a crack as the rock expanded or contracted. It made him nervously conscious of his mortality.
The dwergálvur however, seemed to be completely content in the humid depths. They even had a city inside the bowls of Edínu, right at the tip of the inverted Mount Del.
Mount Del; Jöanth shook his head at the wonder of it.
As a Tracker, he had been to several worlds in pursuit of the Servants of the Dark, and in all those worlds, none had an inverted mountain.
Mount Del was a special place. Even after all his travels to different worlds, Jöanth had never heard of rock being able to grow minerals. The dwergálvur were the only known race that were able to grow and harvest delnarium, the rarest of metals that served as a powerful energy source. And then there was silvurn. Not only was it near indestructible, it was also a source of protection against creatures of the Dark. The dwergálvur, therefore, did important work that benefited several civilizations, spread out across the cosmos.
That didn't change the fact that Jöanth didn't like being down here. He might have been born in the City of Un and his parents still lived down here, but as much as he understood the importance of the dwergálvur's work, he wouldn't be able to do it. All álvur were bound to honor and duty above all else, but living underground, like a scuttling, hunched creature would have driven him mad. The dwergálvur were a special breed, suited to these conditions and their tasks. Their work was important to the well-being and continued harmonious existence of Edínu, and therefore it was important for him to find out what had happened to the two missing miners, despite his unease underground.
It added to his frustrations. Here he was, after nine days and still no clue as to their disappearance. It was more than frustrating; it was unacceptable to him.
As a Tracker, Jöanth had an affinity for seeing small details that others missed. He even had a supernatural ability to find hidden things, to sense their presence or their passing. Once honed in on a target, he was able to Track it, no matter how far away or what the prey did to try and confuse its scent or its trail.
A Grimdark Tracker had an unerring and unfailing ability to get the job done.
Always.
Except, it seemed, here in depths of the Mines of Del.
Jöanth was at a loss and it showed because he was short-tempered and irritated. For an álvur, this was out of character, but most understood that Trackers were under additional pressures that other álvur didn't experience.
Being responsible for helping people and finding Dark Creatures that had murdered loved ones, always came with a heavy burden. The survivors demanded justice and expected results. Quickly. Trackers couldn't dawdle, especially since lives were always at stake.
Grimdark Trackers were, however, a sure thing. Incorruptible servants to the Light. Unstoppable in their determination. Unequaled in skill. They got the job done. Always.
It might take a little time to hunt down the monster and bring it to justice, but Trackers always found their beast.
The fact that Jöanth couldn't even ascertain what had happened to the two missing miners perplexed him immensely. They had families, friends, and loved ones wondering where they were and what could have happened to them. Not knowing was even worse than being presented with death.
This made his current mission almost unbearable. There were no clues left behind in the rocky tunnels below Edínu.
Jöanth was about to call it a day (or was it night? It was never clear down here), when he was hailed by the dwergálvur with his lantern. As Jöanth neared him, he recognized him as Gandrin, one of the miners who had shown him around on the very first day of his investigation. Gandrin was a likable fellow, and even with two of his fellow miners missing, he had been in high spirits ever since Jöanth had met him.
The face that greeted him now however, was far from the free-spirited and friendly dwergálvur he had come to know. This was a face reserved for funerals.
“Did they find one of them?” Jöanth asked, immediately expecting the worst possible fate for one or perhaps both of the missing miners.
Gandrin merely shook his head, eyes downcast. “It's not them,” he mumbled.
“What then?” Jöanth asked.
“A Scout has been murdered,”
“Murdered?” Jöanth asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.
Scouts very rarely died and would almost certainly live out their long days, despite being one of Edínu's very first lines of defense against the Dark. They were some of the best trained and sharpest fighters, in both reflexes and intellect, in all the worlds. They didn't take chances and when confronted with an adversary that was too powerful for them, they were trained to get assistance. For a Scout to be killed was rare.
“His pegáonadann, as well,” Gandrin added, finally meeting Jöanth's gaze.
His eyes were moist. An unnatural death to even a single álvur was felt by all. They were a close-knit community and Gandrin's reaction reaffirmed this. Even though álvur and dwergálvur had very little contact with each other, they were still kin. A blow to one was a blow to all.
“A Scout and Steed?” Jöanth asked for confirmation.
Gandrin merely nodded.
“Where? How?” The news was preposterous. It was unheard of.
Gandrin shrugged his broad shoulders and Jöant
h could sense a jitter in that movement. There was more to this than a mere death.
“It happened out by the Pascuos grasslands. Near the edge of the border,” he paused for a second. “It happened during their patrol. They were only found an hour after the rotation. They never showed up and search parties were sent looking for them.” Gandrin swallowed, his clean-shaven face sweaty, but somehow paler than usual. “They asked that you go there immediately,”
“And this?” Jöanth asked, his hands indicating the tunnel around them. “I'm not finished.”
“You're the only Grimdark on Edínu. The Patrol's murder takes precedence. King Eludríen has ordained it.”
Jöanth nodded. A Grimdark was needed for dark work.
This was unprecedented though. It was unheard of. A Tracker always finished a task before moving onto another.
But if the King so ordered, then Jöanth had no say in the matter. He would go where he was needed, without question and without fail.
“A pegáonadann is waiting for you at the Pascuos céatacöch. The Steed will then take you to the,” Gandrin floundered, lost for words, “site.”
The site, Jöanth thought. It sounded wrong. So clinical. He always referred to it as a scene. Like part of a play. A series of events that gave rise to a particular outcome. A site referred to a place. It sounded so impersonal. Something was definitely wrong.
CHAPTER 6
Urøk exited a giant red maple in the middle of a large city park in New York City. The moment he crossed over, he could feel how different it was. As an álvur, he had traveled to Terra before and he had seen the human cities nearly 400 hundred years ago. This however, was something to behold and it took his breath away. He never thought he would be in awe of the human race, but their progress was astounding.
This was a city for the ages. A huge, sprawling metropolis that dwarfed everything around it, even the sky. From this vantage point in the park, where he couldn't see the foot of these man-made mountains, he could see them reaching towards the sky. The tops of some were obscured by clouds.
Stirring Embers: An urban fantasy action adventure (The Light and the Void Book 1) Page 4