Nightfall (Book 1) (29 page)

The horde master stepped toward his puppet, as if he could fix the damage I had done. “Stay back,” I commanded. “You already gave this fight up to him. You have no rights here.” I had no weapons in my hands, so he sent a couple of his men running toward me; they were dead within a couple of yards, a throwing knife sprouted from each man’s neck, and allowed blood to flow from their jugulars. “I warned you,” I reminded. After that the man stood in silence, watching angrily as his thus-far terrifying pet was reduced to clutching its knee and sprawling on the ground in agonizing pain.

I was glad to note that the narcotics the beast seemed to ingest did not remove from him any feelings
of pain. If that had been the case, he would merely be limping as he came on for the kill; as it was he had yet to get back to his feet. I checked the weapons I still had, just two throwing daggers in their pouch. I doubted they would do me much good. I wondered if the use of magic would count in that duel, but I doubted that it would; the cyclops had been using only the weapon he had with him, his brute strength and his wits, which he seemed to be low in. I cautiously stalked forward to my prey, whose writhing sent tremors through the earth, and whose bellows could have caused mountains to fall. His free arm was pinned beneath him, but the other still grasped his wound and happened to enclose my sword, still in his kneecap.

I walked to the front of the cyclops; he had his head back, and bayed in pain. I threw my remaining knives, and one hit the very top of his neck armor, but the other’s throw had been perfect; the flesh beneath his chin was soft and tender, and my knife sunk in with ease. I doubted it had even gone completely through the flesh and into his mouth, but it caused the distraction I needed as he brought his hand to his neck, trying to rid himself of what might feel like a splinter or an oversized-bee's sting. I leapt onto his knee and knelt down to grab the hilt of my sword, I moved fast and yanked it as hard as I could. If I could not get it on the first try then his hand would come down and likely crush me. I could not quite get it and the tug on his injured knee was far more painful than the annoying prick in his lower jaw, so the hand came down, but luckily, after crushing me flat for only a moment to make sure he had me there, he placed his fingers around me, and prepared to either pick me up, or squash me.

I held tight to the sword and he unknowingly lent me his strength, which was enough to get my sword loose from his kneecap. The strength behind his throw sent me entirely over the housetops of the village and on into the treetops of the bordering forest. No bones were broken, but I did incur a bloody huge number of cuts and scrapes; one was just above my left eye and I barely stopped myself before healing it with magic, instead I ripped off the bottom of my shirt and tied it securely around my head, and wiped away the blood that had already flown into my eye.

When I finished, I hurried back to the makeshift dueling arena so that I could finish the whole thing once and for all. As I paraded around the edge of the village and into the sight of the mob, I was met with cries of fury and disgust. “What are you, some demon warlock who can call himself back from the dead?” their leader asked, livid. He had been standing a close distance from Bittor, whispering his version of consoling words.

“No. I am only an elf.”

The man guffawed. “Oh he is an elf. Why do we not all just bow down to our pretty little elf prince, eh?”

“There will be time for petty insults later; in the meantime, I have your champion to kill, and my new village to save from Your Vileness. Back off.” He snarled but, again, backed off.

I walked back to my prey, and kept myself behind him, as I walked quietly toward his head. With a quick stroke I sliced open the hide from the lower half of his skull down to just below his neck, and revealed the place where there was a break in his armor. The cyclops rolled himself onto his left side to try and catch sight of me, but I stayed behind his head, and kept out of sight the entire time. Bittor’s master was situated somewhere in the direction of his feet; I could not see him, but he seemed to know what I was planning, so he yelled, “Bittor.”
Fool
, I thought as the cyclops bent his head forward, and made my target much bigger. I drove the sword in, the only bones I met were those of his spine, and the weapon drove on and into his brain. His body went limp when I severed the spinal cord, but I leapt away just to be safe, and left the sword behind. I tentatively touched the cyclops’ mind with my own and felt an immense wall of pain; I immediately dropped the connection.

I stepped back to my sword and pulled it from the beast’s neck and then drove it into his brain a second time. When I checked his mind again, there was nothing. I walked around and retrieved from his throat, that time with magic, my throwing knives. I cleaned off the weapons and returned them to their pouch, before I turned to confront the master of the dead Bittor.

He and his men had fled across the valley; none had made it anywhere near the tree line, though, so I easily froze them all where they were, mid-flight. Each of the followers refused to be servants to the villagers, in penance for the crimes they had committed against them, so I easily disposed of them. The leader was a different matter entirely; when I got to him, I unfroze him and marched him straight back to the village square.

When we got there, I froze him again in the center of the clearing. Then I proceeded to courteously knock on the doors of each home, and welcomed the people to come and choose the fate of the man who had been their tyrant for so many years. While I waited for the parents to all gather in the square, I built a number of fires to keep them warm in the cold, morning air. Finally I was told, after a timid tap on my shoulder, that they all had been gathered.

After a moment I could no longer hold my tongue, I could not believe that, after all those people had been through, they wanted to let the tyrant roam free. “Please, hear me out a moment,” I said. They willingly turned to listen—after all, I had just saved them. “As your Champion I cannot easily let this man wander the lands freely. I would never believe that he had changed his ways and would no more tyrannize another village he might come across, or even come back here for retribution of the humiliation he has just suffered. I would ask none of you to do the deed, nor would I force you to agree with me, but I suggest that his life be ended. Let the Abyss and its demons give him the just reward for the evil deeds he has done here.”

“That would still be murder,” one of the people cried out.

“Yes, it would; I will not deny that, but he has already killed so many of your loved ones and, you,” I placed my hand on the shoulder of the man who had confronted the horde leader, “You know what he would have done to your daughter.” The man hung his head, as had all those who had lost family members to the man who stood frozen before us. “I have looked into this man’s thoughts,” I said softly. “He will not change; not now, not ever. He survives off the pains he inflicts on others.” I paused a moment before finishing, “Do not ask me to let this man go, that he may continue to destroy lives.”

An old, feeble woman walked forward with the help of one of her grandchildren. “My friends, my family,” she said quietly and everyone kept silent to be sure that they could hear her. “This young man is right. I do not see in him the desire to kill for the sake of killing, so his words are true and honest. It would be better that we let this one man die, than to let many souls be destroyed by his treachery.” She grabbed my hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong for one so old, and raised it as far as she could. “Behold, our Champion.” Though the words were quiet, they were full of feeling.

The villagers raised their fists toward the brightening sky and shouted, “To our Champion.” I bowed my head in gratitude of their praise, and then I spoke quickly with them concerning the disposal of the bodies that were now littered without the village. The ground was frozen so they agreed that I should burn them, near the forest so that the ashes would not contaminate their planting grounds. I then had to tell them that I was already on a quest and could not stay with them, but I swore to return as soon as I could and then I made a chant, laced with magic, that they could say to call me to their aid.

“What is the name of this place?” I asked in parting. The reply was that it had no name and so, it became The Lost Village and I, the Champion of The Lost Village.

~ ~ ~

I disposed of the bodies as had been decided and then I left with no further word to the villagers, to let them enjoy their first few hours of freedom with uninterrupted slumber. I climbed the hill I had been hiding atop at midnight, and found the dagger I had forgotten about through the course of the morning’s events.
Seriously,
 I thought.
All of that just to get my dagger back?

I turned to face the small village and whispered a spell of safekeeping over the inhabitants, and one to hide it from the eyes of those with ill intentions. I raised my hand in farewell, even though I doubted that anyone could see me, even if they had been looking in my direction.

~ ~ ~

When I returned to camp the sun was still a couple of hours from coming up over the horizon, but everyone was already awake, waiting for me. “What took you so long?” Balendin asked. I was too tired to think of an excuse, so I gave them a straight account of how I had woken up and continued on, until I was hiding at the top of a hill, overlooking a large valley with a small town cradled in its center.

“And so you became the Champion of the Lost Village,” Izar interrupted.

“What?” I was surprised to hear those words come from her mouth; I had not yet said anything about the battle and the villagers.

“We scried you when you were found missing and saw everything from when you were sneaking up on the village, until you waved goodbye to your new little flock of charges,” Erramun said. “That was quite the touching element,” he added. I grunted and they all laughed.

“Let us give our little Champion a quick respite before
we head on,” Kepa suggested.

“And all of us who have been kept awake for his little show,” Arrats demanded.

“Aye,” the dwarf agreed.

I laughed. “If we let you fall asleep now, you shall not wake until nightfall and we will all have to carry you,” I said to the dwarf. He grunted but smiled, humored.

“I shall keep watch then.”

I gladly dropped to my blanket and pulled the cloth from my forehead scrape down over my eyes, to keep the sunlight at bay. I would heal my wounds after I woke.

~ ~ ~

I sat up, rubbed my eyes and tried to decide whether or not I thought the night’s events had been real or just a dream; I still had cuts everywhere and the one on my forehead had reopened and was dripping blood down toward my ear—it had been real, alright. An eerie mist covered the ground, emanating from the forest, and surrounding the sleeping bodies of my companions. A faint singing tinged with mourning sounded far off in the distance and brought my senses sharply into focus. Those still sleeping seemed to be pulled further into the realm of sleep by the faint sound. I heard a grunt from under the layer of mist, which was nearing my waist and slightly to my left, so I swung my arm at whatever it was that created the noise.

“Ouch, you bloody, blundering idiot,” the voice was that of Kepa, who was still on watch duty. I was glad to hear that someone else was awake, hopefully hearing and seeing the same things I was, which would mean that I was not hallucinating.

“Kepa?”
I said. “What is going on?”

“It is the ghouls; they come to feed on our souls.” The rhyme in the dwarf’s words sent a shiver up my spine and I asked how we were to defend against the ghouls he spoke of.

“Help me pull everyone into a closer circle and we shall put wards around us, then I will sing over their bodies, hopefully to keep their spirits anchored to them.” I quickly obeyed the dwarf’s orders and helped him pull the sleeping bodies of our companions into a tight circle, around which I followed the dwarf’s directions in placing a strong ward against the approaching ghouls.

As soon as the complicated wards were set, the dwarf and I knelt where we could, amongst our companions, and the dwarf began to chant in a language known only to his people. The words of his song
were haunting and fleeting, and the tune to which he sang, unlike the chorus of the ghouls, did not leave a taint of dread in my heart. As the song progressed, the pace picked up and from the forest around us came the sound of a wooden flute, then the tinkling of small bells, and then humming, followed by the soft sound of drums melded into the harmony of the strange song.

Suddenly the music and Kepa’s singing cut off, with a swiftness that had been practiced over centuries; the sudden end caught me completely unawares and I was crouched, ready to flee, within the second. I slowly relaxed as my sleeping companions began showing signs of waking, and the sunlight of a somewhat older morning broke through the treetops and dispelled the gathered mists like a wolf set loose on a flock of sheep.

No one really seemed to notice that they had all been piled on top of one another while they were asleep. All that seemed to matter was why we had not awakened them until now, a few hours past when we usually started traveling. I was glad to find that none of the packs had been touched, and that no weapons had been taken. After a quick, late breakfast, we headed on toward the icy mountains, the peaks of which we had caught a glimpse the day before, from the peak of a small hill surrounded by stumped and scraggly trees. Not too long before noon we reached the edge of the forest and started across a wide stretch of dying grassland. After crossing that, we arrived at the foothills of the Mountains of Ice.

~ ~ ~

The foothills themselves were not covered in ice, but a chill wind that bore ill tidings of the stuff blasted us from the mountain heights. The stretch of foothills was completely barren without a single green, or living, thing to break the monotony of them. Without the roots of plants to hold the dirt of the mounds in place, it was often whipped up into our unprotected faces by the howling winds which seemed to be trying to turn us back from our course. When we finally reached the last of the foothills Sendoa led us to the lee of a small, but protective mound, which kept the chilling wind off us and our campfire, which we greatly needed to warm ourselves and restore the knowledge that not everything was frozen. “As you noticed, when the sun was out, we were constantly having to lower our gaze so that we were not blinded with the reflection of the light off the snow covered peaks ahead,” Sendoa said and held out straps of leather to each of us.

The elf tied his own leather strap around his eyes. “These have slits for you to see through. Though they are somewhat constricting of your view, they will keep you from going blind or, in the least, from losing your sight for a while and receiving the most horrifying headache possible.” I tied the leather strap around my head and saw firelight through the two mentioned slits, though I had secured them a bit off-center. The sun was already approaching the Western horizon, so after a warm meal everyone wrapped themselves in their blankets and we drew as near to the fire as we dared, to keep from freezing in the bitter cold that Sendoa warned would come that night.

~ ~ ~

The next day we began our long anticipated hike into the icy crevices amidst the glazed peaks of the frozen mountain range. From the time we entered the labyrinth of frozen mountains to the time we departed it, the only thing we ever seemed to see was this: ice, ice, ice, and even more bloody ice. Throughout the first day I walked mainly in the lead next to Sendoa and we talked about the possibility of running into a basilisk. He was unsure if we would be able to kill it if we did happen upon one, because
the mere sight of a living one would turn you to stone, while direct eye contact with one would immediately kill you, no matter how strong you were with magic—it seemed.

When I was not in the lead with Sendoa, or wandering further back in the line, talking with the others or finding some other way of keeping myself entertained, it was because I was too busy concentrating on climbing nigh vertical walls of ice. Once while we scaled one of the ice walls—which Erramun was lucky enough to be able to fly to the top of—Alaia lost her grip and fell on Mattin, who almost lost his own hold on the slippery ice before she passed him by and continued falling toward me. I was too intent on getting one of my woolen gloves unstuck from the ice to even hear Alaia’s scream, and she was nearly upon me before I realized that I sensed her falling toward me. I immediately stopped her midair and she came to a sudden halt less than a foot above my head.

I looked up and let out a relieved breath of air. I sent the dragonlady carefully up to the top of the cliff, where Erramun was waiting for those climbing, and after I finally freed my glove I continued the long and tiring climb, continually on the lookout for a loose hand—or foot—hold which could easily spell disaster. When I finally reached the top I insisted on fixing Alaia’s wings; she had been born with wings and, so, was not meant to climb with her arms as much as she had done.

~ ~ ~

While climbing another of the many ice walls, I again came close to falling, but that time as I helped Arrats onto a ledge which we were using as a stopping point midway up the cliff. I had knelt next to Mattin and each of us were pulling on Arrats’ arms, hoisting him onto the ledge. As I reached for my pack, ready to continue upward, my feet slipped out from under me and I toppled over the edge.

Mattin reacted swiftly and was able to grab my leg. While he took off his pack, I swung hundreds of feet above the treacherous valley floor and I realized that I could sense the exact distance between me and the frozen ground, far below. Mattin finally relieved himself of his pack and then we maneuvered me around so that he and Arrats were holding my hands, and with our combined effort, I was hauled back onto the ledge. “I have had enough of this ledge, get moving,” I said. I ended up in the back again, and as I reached the very top of the wall, an earsplitting crack rang through the air. I looked down just in time to see the ledge break away from the wall and tumble to the valley floor, where it shattered into millions of tiny shards.

The noise started an avalanche on one of the side slopes of the valley and I got to watch, from a safe distance, its devastating force as it swept swiftly along the jagged slope of ice. Someone above me whistled and I knew we were thinking the same thing, as the swirling cloud of snow settled into a fifty-feet-deep and two-hundred-feet-wide sheet of snow blocking the path we had so recently taken. We were lucky not to be buried alive under all that snow.

In nearly falling from the cliff I had learned that my sixth sense had grown sharper, so from that point on I concentrated often on honing it even further so that I could see my surroundings without the use of my eyes. I occasionally even enlisted the others’ help; they would throw snowballs at me—it was not a hard thing to ask of them—and I would defend myself while I had an uncut piece of leather tied over my eyes.