Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  Although there were six Shaman there, the one that was Argutal was unmistakable. The Chief of the Zelgron was dressed in a long robe with a huge buckle, and he leaned on a white cylindrical staff—a perfect core of wood from a Winter Tree, which the Shaman grew in their sacred orchard.

  Durg snorted violently and yelled, “What is this painted bull doing in here? Do you propose to turn my great hall into a barn?”

  Ignoring the question, the Chief Shaman slowly approached Durg the Despicable throne, “Do you know who I am?”

  “You are some sort of Wizard or Shaman,” Durg lied. Although they had never met, the Rhinolon Commander knew who the Shaman was, and what his reputation was. Due to contact with the lord of the Hells, Argutal had lived for centuries. The Chief Shaman had struggled to get along with Northern Commanders like him for the entire time. Durg had heard about it all, and yet he doubted magic would be of any value in the current situation.

  The Chief Shaman raised his arms and slowly turned about, “I AM THE MOUTHPIECE OF THE RED HAND, LORD OF THE HELLS—OUR ONE AND ONLY DIETY!” the Chief Shaman declared proudly. “It is MY curse which is currently destroying the Valley Kingdoms!”

  “That is just a rumor,” Durg snorted in response. Yet the Rhinolon Commander had questioned enough human prisoners from the Six Valleys to know that Argutal’s curse was working.

  “Fool!” Argutal shouted. “Prisoners taken from the Six Valleys have said that the curse is having the desired effect. The human population is dwindling. Their numbers grow less, year by year—”

  “That is just a rumor,” Durg snorted in response. Yet the Rhinolon Commander had questioned enough human prisoners from the Six Valleys to know that Argutal’s curse was working.

  “Fool!” Argutal shouted. “Prisoners taken from the Six Valleys have said that the curse is having the desired effect. The human population is dwindling. Their numbers grow less, year by year—”

  Durg interrupted, “Yes, yes! What does this have to do with the current problem in the Raider Marches?”

  Argutal threw his hands in the air, and paced back and forth, finally saying, “Send part of your army after him! It is what they are for, Right? We have sensed a serious threat here, an actual disruption powerful enough to merit our visit, but it shouldn’t be our business! In the end, you want the Zelgron to deal with it since your weak response has failed.”

  Durg grabbed his axe and threatened, “I should strike your head from your shoulders for such insolence!”

  “You don’t intimidate me, Durg!” Argutal claimed. “I have lived many lifetimes. You are new to the Northern lands. The power in this region comes from MY tower, the Zelgron, and not the Northern Legion. Your cry for help proves it! Commanders like you come and go. I go on. *SNNNOOORRTT*”

  Durg could sense he was getting nowhere. He put his axe down and said, “I did not summon you here to discuss who is more important. Slaughter this painted bull and be done with your sorcery. Curse the man, or locate him, so a unit of soldiers can be sent to kill him.”

  “This may take some time,” Argutal said. “We have tried simple ways to find information about this man, but they did not work.”

  “I DON’T CARE about the details of your conjuring, Shaman!” Durg snorted loudly and spat once again. “Tell me what you can of him, destroy him with one of your curses, or find a betrayer among his rebels. Do this if you can. But do it quickly.”

  “I begin,” Argutal said and magical light radiated from the tip of his staff.

  “SERVANTS!” Durg called out across the hall. “Bring our dinner NOW or I will peel the skin from your bones!” Durg addressed his captains, “While this rite takes place we shall feast and drink to the accursed one’s demise! SNNORRTT!”

  Argutal wheezed and snorted, setting up the ritual, while Durg began pouring down bowl after bowl of Drommu porridge.

  Argutal’s ritual took some time, and required the ceremonial slaughter of the bull, but eventually the Chief Shaman of the Zelgron seemed finished.

  Barely looking up from his soup, Durg belched and demanding answers, “By the freezing hells, what a mess! Have you found anything of note?”

  Much to the surprise of every Rhinolon in the throne room, Argutal vocalized with a long—panicked—squeal of terror!

  “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Durg shouted, looking up from his meal in surprise. “Out with it, Shaman, or I’ll drink my next bowl of soup from your hollowed-out skull!”

  “*SQUEE!* I cannot say!” the Zelgron Chief Shaman whined. “My hexes will be useless! Kill this man now! Even if you must send a thousand to do it, hunt this accursed one and KILL HIM! Before it gets any worse!”

  Durg snorted again, “Argutal, you charlatan! Some Rhinolon respect your age and *SNORT* connections. Argutal of the Zelgron, I warn you, speak plain or my axe will split your bones! Tell us, now! Is this accursed one an escaped servant, or simply a man from the Six Valleys?”

  In a trance, the Zelgron Chief Shaman ignored Durg. Argutal stood nearly transfixed, his shoulders drawn up about his ears, repeating, “Kill him, kill him!”

  Durg growled and threw his soup tureen at the seemingly paralyzed Chief Shaman. It smacked on his chest, covering his elaborate silken robe with the thick gruel.

  “What an amazing WASTE OF MY TIME! You and your kind ALWAYS fails the Empire.”

  Durg shouted over the angry growls of the assembled captains in the room. “If you didn’t have well-placed friends in Ograt and the Necropolis, I'd cut you in half.”

  Durg and most of the army hated the Shaman…it was always so, and now more than ever, Durg had no doubt that the leader of the Shaman was an idiot.

  Argutal repeated, “Kill the accused one, kill this human,” still stuck in a mystical fervor.

  Sweeping with his hand in frustration, Durg shouted, “Get them all out of my sight, and remove that bull’s carcass too!”

  Durg waited until the peals of squealing anger that came from his captains died down, and then he screamed, “SNORRT! Get me that other Shaman, the one who has been darkening my doorstep for the past six days and nights!”

  A few minutes later, a decrepit Shaman in rags entered the hall. Durg the Despicable said, “You've been begging to have your say all week, Shaman. You are the one they call the Doomsayer, is that not correct?”

  “Yes, my Commander!” the old Rhinolon said, throwing back his head in pride. “Now they listen to me! Now they heed my warning!”

  “I have heard that you claim to know who the accused one is. Do YOU need a painted bull to tell me about this man?’” Durg questioned.

  The aged Rhinolon Shaman known as the Doomsayer declared, “I have come to deliver a message of end times! The entrails of the painted bull only confirm what I know. Although I warned Argutal that this day was coming, I was denied! I warned the second in command of the Zelgron, and even now, he hunts the accursed one… Yet his efforts will be useless. *SQUEE! * The tide has turned against us—all of the Empire! The accursed one does not come from the Six Valleys under the Mountains. Nor is he an escaped servant. He was born in Fortress City!”

  Durg sneezed and gasped, blowing a fine mist all over all those in front of him. “Fortress City? Impossible! The place has been dead for over two-hundred years!”

  “There is more, Durg!” the Doomsayer proclaimed. “This man carries, as his weapon, the Sword of the Ancients! The very Sword that King Eshumé of Fortress City used two centuries ago when all the North was conquered!”

  “WHAAAT!!” Durg the despicable bellowed, rising from the chair at the head table.

  “Yes, Commander Durg, *SNORT, SNORT*” the old Rhinolon prophet proclaimed. “It is as I have said, but there is still more!”

  “What do you mean by that?” snarled Durg, doubtful of the veracity of the old Shaman’s words.

  “My Commander, I speak to the core of the Empire!” the Doomsayer declared. “What High Shaman Argutal is so afraid to tell you is the foreboding truth! I am not surpr
ised that the Zelgron leader did not wish to speak of this—but I am not afraid to declare it! THIS is the time of the Rhinolon Empire’s DUSK! The contract we hold with the lords of the Hells is due! Our destroyer will be this man, this human, who holds Uzet’s Draconian Bane, the Elvin Starstrike, Eshumé’s Doom—the Sword called Nightslayer!”

  All was quiet now in Durg's dining hall.

  After the few moments that it took for this all to sink in to the thick skulls of the assembly, Durg knew what he had to do.

  Durg pulled at his hair and furiously snorted, “What are you all standing there for! By the great Devils! Muster all our troops, NOW! The Northern Legion will mobilize and DESTROY this HUMAN! Sound the War Horns! WE RIDE TO THE RAIDER MARCHES!”

  * * *

  No longer in the Blasted Plain, Bladeborn and his Drommu were in hills covered in dead trees and dry brush deep in the Raider Marches. Their rag-tag warband was being followed by a relentless group of soldiers which they had tried to lose in a dust storm. They briefly rested at a watering hole, shaking the sand from their clothing and packs, when Swiftknife approached Bladeborn.

  “Now that the storm has cleared, I’m sending a scout up that tree,” Swiftknife said. “He should have a good view from there.”

  Bladeborn asked his second in command. “Can we double back to the Northern caves yet?”

  Swiftknife looked worried. “If we lost them. I do not know, Bladeborn.”

  A Drommu scout climbed to the top of one of the dead trees near the water. He called down, “They still follow. They are just this side of the horizon, maybe four hours back. Swiftknife—I am not certain, but I think there is another group approaching from the west. Five, maybe six hours back.”

  “Our only choice is to continue south, Bladeborn,” Swiftknife said. “There is a Rhinolon Fortress to the southwest so we must go through this ridge.”

  “What lies beyond this ridge?” Bladeborn asked.

  “It is the foot of the Spiral Mountains where the humans of the Six Valleys live. I have never been there.”

  “I know you would not suggest it unless it was our only choice,” Bladeborn said. “All right! Get everyone on their mounts.”

  After travelling an hour through a series of ridges, Nightslayer spoke, ~~I do not like this, Bladeborn! Swiftknife is wrong! Turn around and try to outrun the Rhinolon in the open country!~~

  “What? We wouldn’t make it, Nightslayer,” Bladeborn responded. “They would be less than an hour behind us.”

  ~~You will lose them in the dark of the night! Listen to me, Swordsman!~~

  Suddenly, the canyon narrowed. A few rocks tumbled down from above.

  ~~Too late, foolish Swordsman! You have led your force into a Rhinolon trap!~~

  Bladeborn and the Drommu found themselves surrounded by a magically camouflaged unit of Rhinolon soldiers. On a hill above the canyon floor Rhinolon archers unleashed a hail of arrows, targeting their equipment-bearing mounts at the back. The scaly beasts of burden fell almost as one, blocking much of the way through the canyon’s exit. Following arrows killed several Drommu warriors. There were more than two dozen Rhinolon archers along the ridgeline. Bladeborn and his mount were filled with more arrows than any other target; only the armbands he wore saved him.

  “All of you! Flee!” Bladeborn called out. “Swiftknife, get them away from here!”

  With a look of deep regret, Swiftknife turned his mount. More Rhinolon soldiers arose from their positions around the sandy floor of the canyon.

  Climbing out from under his dead riding beast, Bladeborn faced his assailants.

  ~~There is a Shaman among them of great power. If you are to survive he must die!~~

  The Shaman had yet to reveal himself, but Nightslayer was certainly right. The illusion necessary to hide that many warriors was a striking feat of spellcasting.

  Two teams of Rhinolon threw heavy nets at him, but Nightslayer cut through them in mid-flight. Pike-wielding Rhinolon soldiers poked and slashed at Bladeborn, but he managed to dodge or block each axe-head and spear-point.

  Another powerful magic spell affected the dry ground where he stood, changing it to a thick, pasty mud. Bladeborn sank waist deep in the stuff, and he saw Rhinolon to the sides of him readying more nets, as if it was all a plan to take him alive. Several Drommu who were trying to flee were caught in the mud and slain. Bladeborn heard the Rhinolon soldiers growl in triumph as he sank into the sticky bog, unable to run and hardly able to move.

  ~~Grow, Bladeborn. Use your psychic power to grow large! Your psychic Essence will make it happen!~~

  Bladeborn began growing taller and larger, as a new latent mental ability he could now access of made his body, armor, and Nightslayer gain in size. Desperation and pure Essence, enlarged his form, until he stood over nine feet tall. It was an ability he had never tapped until the rage of battle descended upon him that day.

  His eyes changed to glossy black, and as he continued to enlarge, the Rhinolon around him stepped backwards. Now the Shaman’s magical mud was only up to his knees. However, Bladeborn imagined there was more coming from the hidden Wizard-Priest.

  Bladeborn stepped through the mud and kicked the nearest Rhinolon in the chest, knocking it down. With the elongated tip of Nightslayer, three quick slashes chopped the ends off several of the pikes that were aimed at him. Then he slashed back, cutting deep into Rhinolon flesh.

  ~~Three of them from behind!~~Nightslayer said. Bladeborn turned and dispatched them.

  ~~Two to the left~~ Bladeborn spun about, and two more of the Rhinolon fell.

  ~~Point me at the left ridge~~ Bladeborn did this, and a storm of lightning electrocuted a dozen Rhinolon archers, killing them.

  Stunned at the electrical display, the Rhinolon captain and the sergeants began shouting orders. The captain screamed at his troops, “Do not fear him! We are the Rhinolon! He is just one human!”

  Bladeborn understood what the captain said, and responded, “One human, yes, but I can do this!”

  Bladeborn extended Nightslayer and a stroke of lightning shot out at the captain, knocking him back and killing him.

  A Rhinolon sergeant squealed orders, “Encircle him with pikes! Cover him with the nets! *SNNNORRT!* Archers, fill him with arrows!”

  Another group of pike-wielding Rhinolon charged at him. Bladeborn used his Essence-based psychic attack to stun them. Most of them fell to the ground, dropping their weapons.

  Bladeborn blocked with swipes of Nightslayer, and struck at the two nearest Rhinolon, cutting the horns off their noses. The two ran off, holding their faces, squealing in pain and gushing blood.

  The rest of the Rhinolon nearby seemed to be afraid and astonished…half of them were down!

  ~~You must stop that Rhinolon Shaman before he finishes his spell or you will die! I cannot protect you!~~

  “Can he kill me with a single spell?” Bladeborn asked. “What kind of Shaman is he?”

  ~~The second in command of ALL Rhinolon Shaman. He will use the killing spell and capture ME!~~

  “Where IS he,” Bladeborn said, kicking another Rhinolon in the chest.

  ~~The Shaman is behind the rock to the left, on the ridge! You have mere seconds before his killing magic is complete!~~

  Bladeborn pointed Nightslayer at the large stone and a massive bolt of electricity struck the boulder. The rock shattered explosively, and when the dust cleared not one Rhinolon was left standing on either side of it. The sound had been deafening, and even Bladeborn took a second to recover.

  His height increased by another foot and Bladeborn now towered over the tallest of the Rhinolon soldiers, advancing into those that remained.

  Right in front of Bladeborn, a badly injured Rhinolon archer dropped to its knees and threw his hands to the sky. It squealed—in a voice louder than the snorts and squeals of the wounded Rhinolon: “OOEEE! Dark Devils of Hell! Aid us in destroying this man, the accursed one!”

  Hearing this plea, Bladeborn laughed and called back th
underously at the Rhinolon archer, “Where are your dark gods now?” And, with a powerful downward strike from Nightslayer, Bladeborn cut the archer nearly in two.

  In the next moment, as if in answer to the Rhinolon archer’s prayer, the ground violently quavered, followed by a massive upheaval of rock and sand. The ravine buckled under Bladeborn’s feet, and broken stone fell from the high reaches of the canyon’s walls.

  Bladeborn desperately struggled to get to the top of the ravine, for he could tell that those at its bottom were going to be buried alive. He got free of the mud caking his boots and scrambled to pull himself up over the loose, falling rocks.

  Behind him, a huge section of the cliff face collapsed into the canyon. He avoided being covered in stone and earth, but the hulking trunk of an uprooted tree hit Bladeborn’s head and he was knocked senseless. Several large stones landed on his chest and yet another tree smashed down on his leg. He lay there as the rumbling earth subsided, barely alive, covered in powdered rock.

  Chapter 16: Deocarla and the Six Valleys

  Bladeborn lay there several hours, barely alive, reeling from the many wounds he had received. He heard several voices but he was so stunned that he could not focus enough to tell if they belonged to Drommu or Rhinolon.

  He sensed that the soil and rocks covering him were being removed by gentle hands. Stabbing pain startled him when they moved him.

  He could make out a distinctly human voice with a strange accent, “Careful moving him, men, he’s got several bad breaks.”

  A voice said, “He’s been poisoned by Rhinolon arrows, Sir Rodon. He won’t last the night.”

  Another voice said, “I think this is his weapon, Sir Rodon. Perhaps he is the ‘Man of the North’ the Rhinolon so fear?”

  The first voice said, “Yes, it appears so. What a dangerous-looking Sword it is. Let’s take him to the Queen. If he is the ‘Man of the North’ as we suspect, she’ll want to see to him personally. Bring his weapon.”

  They bound some of his worst wounds, and laid Nightslayer on his chest in its scabbard. They laid him in a sled behind a pack-beast and took him on a long journey, during which Bladeborn was in and out of consciousness many times.