The Ageless Giant

by B K Suitter

“Stop it!” Year screamed, pushing Drix away and standing between the cursing twin brothers. She was two summers older than the pair, so she was equal in size. “Enough!” she yelled in Haze’s face. “You are both acting like children and we have been given orders to take this girl…,” and Year pointed to the horse, and even though it was dark, the three could clearly see that Tris was gone.

  “Find her,” Year whispered urgently, and the brothers scampered off into the forest, looking for the small girl’s trail.

  ***********************

  Spirit Wind stood on a high bluff, catching the stinging cold winds in the face while staring out on the horizon and waiting for the sun to rise. His cold fingers rubbed at a small dragonbone arrowhead that hung around his neck from a thin strap of leather. The charm was lucky, and he wore it always.

  His dogs were harnessed and his packs were tied down and his sled ready to go. The animals whimpered and whined while he stood with Whitestar and watched as the soft glow of early dawn became a blazing sphere of morning sunlight. Spirit Wind took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold air to clear his head. He had slept little in the last few days and he could feel the weariness taking hold of him. But it had been worth it, taking advantage of the clear weather and staying on the trail longer had put him far into the lead. Even Teres and his exceptional snowdog, Avalanche, were far behind, and the band of Asarians that were hunting him had been lost from the trail for days.

  He mounted the back runners of his dogsled after harnessing Whitestar and gave the command to his snowdogs to begin the morning pull. They were eager to be on their way, as was Spirit Wind, but a tinge of sadness began to edge its way into his soul as the race came closer to the end.

  Spirit Wind and his team were now entering the Ice Pack Mountains – the most dangerous part of the race with its gusting winds and narrow mountain passes with high ledges barely wide enough for a dogsled. There were flash avalanches that would end as quickly as they began, and Spirit Wind was thrilled by the danger and relished the last two days of the race as much as he regretted them, for he was too close to the end and would have to wait another year to feel this alive again.

  The first part of the morning was smooth with a good hard pack covering the trail. The snow crunched as the dogs pulled the sled over it and Spirit Wind actually found himself humming during the enjoyable ride.

  By afternoon, however, conditions had changed and dark clouds with strong winds began to cover the tall mountains and an ominous weight fell heavy over the pass as the wet snow began to drop in blankets. By nightfall, the trail was buried, and Spirit Wind was pushing his sled from behind while Whitestar and the other snowdogs pulled with all their strength.

  He was forced to stop when the trail sloped up the side of a steep mountain while high winds and heavy snow blew hard against his face, and he abandoned his efforts until the mighty storm abated.

  Spirit Wind unharnessed Whitestar and the snow dogs and then removed his packs from the sled after anchoring it down as best he could so it would not be swept away by the shifting snows. He then forced his way against the blowing winds and through the deep snow to a large cave opening not far from where he left his sled. Spirit Wind sat his packs down near to the entrance and pulled out a long hunting knife before slowly entering the dark cavern. Whitestar moved past him, as well as Pepper, Thars, Smoke, and Thorn, and they spread out to search the grotto, sniffing and scampering around the dark cave, splashing through puddles and bounding over high rocks.

  After Spirit Wind was certain there was no danger to him or his animals, he gathered up his packs and brought them into the cave. He lit a small torch with his flint and steel and began foraging for dry sticks for a fire, but after searching the grotto extensively he was only able to find a few wet branches.

  He sat against a rock and held his torch for warmth while he stared at the opening of the cave and watched the snow fall continuously. He dug through his packs to produce small amounts of bread and hard cheese as well as dried meats, which he shared with his faithful friends, and it did not take long before he surrendered to his exhaustion and fell asleep.

  Spirit Wind woke to the sound of his dogs growling and found his torch had burned out and the cave dark. He sat against the boulder on the rocky floor and stared at the entrance as the silhouette of a man stood looking into the cave. Whitestar growled and bared her canines as she circled the cavern with Thorn and Smoke. Pepper and Thars stayed close to Spirit Wind and he slowly pulled his hunting knife free and sat quiet. The moonlight outside the cave leaked in and gave off a slight glow.

  “Spirit Wind,” called a strained voice and the figure took a small step forward. Whitestar and the other dogs growled and barked fiercely.

  “Spirit Wind,” the dark figure’s voice choked again.

  “Teres?” Spirit Wind asked. “Is that you?” Spirit Wind stood up and grabbed at his torch that was near with flint and steel.

  “It is me,” said a weak Teres as he stumbled into the cave with heavy footsteps. He pulled the hood of his heavy coat back as Spirit Wind’s torch flared to life. Whitestar continued to growl and bark, causing the other dogs to do the same, and Thars snarled viciously at the cave entrance.

  “Are you alright? Where are your dogs?” Spirit Wind asked. “Thars!” he called out, “get over here!” and he yelled it again louder as the large gray snowdog ran out of the cave barking fiercely. Spirit Wind started to give chase but stopped immediately when Teres went face first to the hard cavern floor with a long knife hilt sticking out of his back. Thars’ violent bark turned to a quick whimper of pain, and then there was only silence.

  Spirit Wind stood in shock staring between the lifeless body of Teres and the cave entrance only a dozen yards away. Whitestar barked ferociously at the mouth of the cave along with Pepper, Thorn, and Smoke as dark shapes began to materialize out from the raging storm to stand before the cave entrance.

  Spirit Wind came to his senses and quickly doused his torch in a puddle at his feet and scampered off into a dark corner while holding his long knife and gathering up small rocks along the way. He regreted leaving his trusty ash bow and arrows in the packs that sat on the rock floor in the middle of the cave, far from where he blended into the shadows against the cavern wall.

  Whitestar and the other dogs threatened menacingly, but that did not deter the large heavily dressed men as they slowly made their way into the dark cavern with long spiked clubs and glimmering swords. Spirit Wind’s animals moved away as they sensed the danger in the long weapons, but they continued to growl and bark as they scampered around the cave, staying well away from the large intruders.

  There were four of the bulky men and they began to fan out slowly, holding their weapons out and keeping the vicious snowdogs at bay while scanning the cave for Spirit Wind. One of the men pulled out a small hand crossbow and pointed it at Whitestar’s head.

  “Kill it,” said another man with a deep thick accent.

  “Gladly,” the Asarian replied and he pulled the trigger just as a small rock bounced off his hand, causing the steel bolt to misfire and shoot harmlessly into the dark. Immediately, Whitestar lunged for the man’s neck, knocking him down with terrific speed and power and pulling his throat out with a mouthful of his coat.

  Spirit Wind threw another rock and it bounced off the face of one of the other men as he moved to help his comrade, causing him to stumble and back away. The three men began swinging their weapons wildly while backing slowly to the mouth of the cave, keeping an eye on the other dogs while watching their companion struggle in the powerful jaws of the glacier wolf.

  Spirit Wind moved slowly, staying in the shadows against the dark cavern wall as the men waved their weapons and yelled out threats to keep the animals at bay. When Spirit Wind felt he was close enough, he dove out from the dark cavern wall and plunged his long hunting knife deep through one man’s booted foot, pinning him to the ground. Spirit Wind then jumped up hard into the next man to tackle the
large brute to the ground. It was like hitting a tree and Spirit Wind found himself caught in the strong embrace of the heavy man’s arms.

  The man who had his foot nailed to the cavern floor with Spirit Wind’s knife screamed out and dropped his sword as he reached down to pull the blade free from his foot. But before he could yank out the knife, the man took the full weight of Thorn’s snapping jaws and he went down to his back screaming underneath the fierce snowdog with his foot still staked to the hard ground.

  Spirit Wind could feel the crushing squeeze of the big man even through his heavy furs. He looked to the side as he groaned out with pain and saw the third man pulling his spiked club back for a swing at his head. Spirit Wind closed his eyes and struggled to break free from the man’s strong embrace, hoping not to feel the club when it smashed against his head.

  When the blow did not come, Spirit Wind opened his eyes to find Smoke atop the man with the club, tearing at his throat and mid-section, fighting through the layers of thick furs until it reached blood, and another high-pitched scream echoed throughout the cave.

  Spirit Wind was thrown to the ground hard by the last of the burley men who then pulled his sword back to give the Dishoni his death, but before he could drop the blade, he cried out in pain and twisted around to see the blood-soaked Thars biting into the back of his calf. The large man roared as he brought down the sword on the animal, causing it to yelp out in pain.

  “No!” cried Spirit Wind as he sat where he was thrown. A gray shape sailed over his head as the large man in front of him turned with an upraised sword, and Whitestar plowed him over onto his back. The Asarian man fought bravely at first against the vicious glacier wolf, but eventually he joined his fellow comrades in a chorus of screams and death.

  *************************

  A cold wet night pushed the train of Riverwatchers up the main road towards Starcrest, where they would find lodging for the night in a cheap seedy tavern. The next morning, they would wake early and begin the arduous journey through the Timberlands on their way to Eight.

  Tonight, however, they would spend the long evening throwing back strong dark ale in a large smoky tavern while Simeon told stories of heroes and their spectacular deeds.

  “I did save Yamen the Darkhorse!” Simeon roared and all those around him burst once more into laughter.

  “I believe him!” cried the high whiney voice of Tye as he lifted his large mug of ale up for a drink just as Simeon slapped him hard on the back.

  “As should you all!” Simeon roared as he lifted his mug to down the last of his ale.

  “Then tell us the story!” many of the tavern listeners yelled as they laughed with disbelief.

  “No, tell the story of how Yamen took back Castle Lamourne and found Aliha gone,” another man cried.

  “You’re all fools!” yelled a bosomy tavern wench. “Tell the story of their love for each other!”

  “They were in love?” cried out an astonished Tye as he tried to take another drink of his ale.

  “Boy!” yelled Simeon as he cuffed the young man up the side of his head, causing him to spill the rest of his drink down the front of his shirt.

  “Everyone’s heard of them romancing,” Simeon continued angrily. “Now crawl out of that dad-blum hole ya keep yourself in and listen to the saddest of tales.”

  **********************

  Yamen the Darkhorse carried himself well on the field of battle. He moved with grace unlike any other that stood with a blade and although the tournament was festive, he still fought with an undeniable skill that left all in the arena amazed – including the newly queened Aliha.

  She sat next to her new husband, King Uriah. They had been wed that morning in a huge assembly of guests and entertainers with music and lavish decorations and mouth-watering food, but idle love, for it was an arranged marriage to help strengthen the ties between the kingdoms of Asaria.

  Aliha was the daughter of a rich Arani nobleman named Argus DeMoreath. She was kind and gentle and loved by all in the Arani kingdom. Aliha had been promised to an Arani prince and the whole of the Eastern Kingdom had waited many years to see that day come, but it never did. Aliha had been given to King Uriah in an attempt to make peace prevalent throughout all Asaria.

  Queen Aliha stared down from a high balcony in the arena that held thousands of spectators. They were in Asarian City for the grand event of commemorating the union of King Uriah and his new queen. The massive stadium was filled with Asarians and Arani alike and they cheered loudly as the brave men fought below.

  Aliha’s heart danced in her chest as she watched Yamen fight, and she marveled at his skill and grace. It seemed more like a dance as he wove his way through the melee of soldiers – all fighting for the right to be in the Queen’s Guard.

  Fifty men entered the arena with tournament swords and shields. The blades they carried were bronze and dulled, making it hard to receive any life-threatening cuts. The shields were made of a hard, breakable wood that could shatter on impact if the opponent’s sword fell true. When that happened, the soldier with the broken shield was eliminated from the competition.

  Yamen the Darkhorse ducked a hard cut that was meant to crash against his shield and he came up spinning fast, swinging his own sword out wide and catching the other man’s shield square, causing it to explode in a shower of splintered wood while knocking the soldier to the ground. Yamen then jumped up and kicked out hard to the side with his right foot, catching another man’s shield which stopped his advance. Then he dropped down low while spinning out his leg and he swept the other man off his feet and onto his back, knocking the air from his lungs just as Yamen’s sword crashed down onto his splintering shield. The crowd roared and Aliha’s heart skipped a beat as she watched the Dishoni monk fight against a sea of brave warriors, besting each man quickly and with ease.

  It reminded Aliha of another time not so long ago. She was in Arani City, in a stadium similar to the one she sat in now, only she was with Prince Allenmar and other Arani nobles.

  There was jousting at the three-day competition, and a knight dressed in the finest armor defeated all challengers throughout each day and he soon became the crowd favorite. At the end of the festivities and games, the knight rode around the arena on a large black charger to the cheers of thousands as they threw down flowers and articles of clothing.

  At one point, as he circled the large arena, the adored knight swooped down and grabbed a fresh bouquet of roses from off the ground and then rode around to the other end and stopped below Aliha and her fellow nobles. The knight removed his helmet and the crowd roared as Aliha took three quick steps to stand at the balcony edge and look down at the famous Dishoni monk. Yamen stared up at the beautiful Aliha and he tossed the bouquet of flowers up to her and she nearly fell over the edge as she reached out to grab them. The crowd roared with approval, chanting Aliha’s name along with Yamen’s, and Aliha smiled and waved to the crowd as she threw down an exaggerated kiss with her hand to the handsome knight. Aliha then turned around laughing to see Prince Allenmar sitting with a dark expression clouding his face.

  Later that night, after fighting with the Arani prince most of the evening, Aliha walked alone in her wondrous garden at her father’s large estate. She took time to stop and whisper to her favorite gathering of purple dragon lilies and laughed as if they spoke back to her.

  “What did they say?” came a voice from out of the dark and Aliha jumped and held back a startled cry.

  “Who’s there?” asked the Arani girl of seventeen summers. It was late and she wore only her night clothes under a silk white robe.

  “Just me,” replied a casual Yamen as he stepped out into the torchlight. The Dishoni monk was only a year older than Aliha, but he seemed ages ahead of her in experience and knowledge, giving him a much older demeanor and it made Aliha feel like a little girl as she stood there acting shy.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked while blushing and batting her eyes.

  �
��I was out for a midnight stroll and I found myself lost in your garden,” Yamen replied in a cool manner, taking a small step forward. He was just over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a thin muscular frame, which he covered in a black silk shirt and trousers that tucked into high leather boots. His hair was jet black and straight and it fell long down his back and bordered a young handsome face with dark eyes that reflected a world of experience.

  “My garden is not for just any boy to roam freely about,” Aliha said in a superior tone, but with just a hint of flirting and teasing.

  “I am not just any boy,” replied a confident Yamen and he took another step towards the girl who in turn took a step back. It was true; Yamen was unlike any other boy in the world. His father was a powerful Dishoni Chief and Darkhorse was rewarded with all the extra privileges that came with that status. By the age of ten he was well trained by the best Dishoni warriors in the entire West, and at the age of thirteen, he was living and training with the monks at the Temple of Carami, where he donned the name Yamen the Darkhorse.

  “If you come any closer,” Aliha started to say, and Yamen did come closer. “I will scream for help,” she whispered as Yamen backed her up against a tall flowerpot, and they came together in a long passionate kiss. When Yamen finally pulled away, Aliha whispered “Help” in a tiny high voice. Yamen smiled and reached out to gather her hand and they walked together through the garden and spoke in hushed tones, recalling the past and the first time they met several years earlier at the grand Temple of Carami.

  Aliha had made the journey with her father and the king of the Arani people, as well as his son, Prince Allenmar. They sailed from Warmwater to the southern tip of Asaria where they docked at a small port and traveled on horseback to the wondrous temple. Once there, they took the guided tour and relished in all the breathtaking sights of the ancient structures, as well as the amazing courtyards and gardens. Wide streams with exotic fish wound their way throughout the entire temple complex and there were small bridges along the pathways for crossing.