Avenger, page 10
part #2 of Swords and Skulls Series
The Thrule bit his lips. “Dead? Sunswatch fallen? So are the mines. We came from Maniswaning, and it was taken. Though we made a ruin of their precious Thorian rigs. It will take them weeks to rebuild it.”
Vetra shook his head. “Not the wisest move. Unless you plan to defeat them utterly, you have made your deathbed when they come after you. These petty skirmishes and acts of vandalism accomplish little.”
Nhfer rounded on the stranger in anger. “What do you know? Do you suggest we sit back and let those Behundrian pigs dominate us like serfs and take our land and our women?”
“I suggest nothing of the sort.”
“Then hold your tongue, outlander. Give him water.” He flourished a hand. “Cut him a piece of leather to tie around his cursed boot.” A Thrule snapped to attention and brought a canteen from his pack. Vetra snatched the canteen out of his hand and chugged warm gulps of water—nectar of the gods!
“Then we head north—to the fortress. ’Tis but eight leagues away. To Dragon Forge!”
An hour’s march later, with the dull ball of the sun arching a sweltering arc over their sweating skulls, they stopped at a low thicketed wall of foliage.
Vetra frowned, wondering what this place was.
Nhfer led them through the thicket, cutting bramble with his short blade, revealing hot springs camouflaged in a net of green alphanel fronds. A bubbling pool gave off an acrid sulphurous scent. Following with grinning anticipation, Vetra shambled on to strip down and clean his grimy skin and cleanse his wounds. Others bathed and took fresh water. It had a sulphury taste to it, but Vetra felt better.
They made camp shortly after. Though they had no packbeasts, the Thrules were efficient, but taciturn.
This company was not so merry as his own, and for this, Vetra felt a pang. No song, or merriment carried over the light wind, only grumbles, stares and solemn predictions by this crew of nomads. After a time, milling around a low, glowering fire, Vetra lay down to sleep. But Nhfer’s slightly slurred speech and fumes of mead from his breath caused Vetra to stir. “All this blood and fire, and woe. When will it end?” Other members mumbled their commiserations.
Vetra spoke, “Do you not feel satisfied with your accomplishments, Thrule?”
The leader mused for a long time. “When I was young I thought there might have been some purpose to it all.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Some cause to our fighting. But seeing the cruelty I have, the sorrow that man inflicts on his fellows, I started to lose hope. Now, I just scurry about like a rat in a cage trying to survive, to fight the cretinous swine who push over noses deeper in the sand and every day creep closer to my backdoor. Running, hiding, fighting... It seems an endless loop.”
“You think too deeply into purpose, Thrule,” grunted Vetra. “You expect too much from your neighbours. The bad ones are swine, and there are all too many of them. Things seem not what they are. They will not change with your restless expectations.”
The Thrule exhaled a breath. “You may be right, outlander.” He stroked his beard under the loose hood, and his thoughts were faraway, as were his eyes.
“Sleep easy, fellow. Tomorrow we will reach Dragon Forge, and then we will test this claw of yours. Maybe something will change. For all our sakes, I hope so.”
* * *
Dusk was well advanced and the stars twinkled like a web of sparkling jewels. The cicadas were out and chirping in the dry desert weed.
Vetra lay dreaming, and in his dreams came Jhara. She stood in a frost-glittering field, a maiden fair as the dawn, wielding sword, with a forest not far off, dusted with ice. He grinned, threw down his own crusted blade and caught her up and bore her down and they writhed in love in the welcoming onset of winter, and there was no feeling of coldness, only warmth, their combined heat melting the ice crystals around them.
He tossed and turned. A vague recollection gripped him of sleeping on hides under the stars with the Thrules, hearing the call of the jackals, and the answering howl of a rival pack. He woke in a sweat, the moon glaring overtop like a sinister runestone. His thoughts were heavy with the lingering question if any of his party had survived. He thought of Jhara again and a guilt pricked his heart. It left him with a sadness that had no relief—that he had failed to protect her and the others of the Thrule company.
* * *
The company of Thrules trudged ever north up the valley. Vetra followed in their wake. Shimmering waves of heat hovered always out of reach, merging with the low shrubbery in the flat distance. The Thrules gritted their teeth to the growing heat, trodding on with single-minded purpose as the sun rose in the morning haze. There were few places to hide in this open, sweltering bowl of desert scrubland if enemies sprang upon them from behind.
A faint wind came from across a nearby salt marsh, carrying with it a dry, tangy odour. The pale green desert plants faded in the distance. It was not until noon that the ruin of a mighty fort loomed like broken teeth on the horizon. At first only jagged stumps or spears of rock showed themselves, then a domed mesa, grey and blue, thrust itself out of the haze like the molar of a prehistoric beast.
“Unexpected, isn’t it?” remarked Nhfer.
Vetra offered no comment.
A group of white-hooded Thrules moved about the plain, clearing rocks and arranging wooden totem forms. Vetra guessed they were preparing for a ceremony. As they neared, he saw that some were women playing with groups of children. Several of the clanspeople moved in a solemn line up the hills toward the caves to the left, dragging bundles tied with string or carrying baskets.
Twin hills ranged to the north, blocking access to the valley. On both hills reared Dragon Stones, huge megaliths, shaped like twin forks, which rose like enchanted spires in the yellow afternoon light. They glinted like ancient, cyclopean earth talismans. Casting long shadows down on the plain below, they intersected mysteriously to play mischief with the eye, as if defying natural laws, and held some astrological or zodiacal significance. At one time an ancient river had flowed between the hills, but now was dry. Stray boulders and seashells populated the pebbly earth.
Nhfer pointed to the hills surrounding the left flank of the valley. “There is water in those caves yonder. That’s why the temple Thrules go there—to fetch sacred water. It was a precinct revered by the dragon-lords.”
Dressed in flowing ceremonial garments, with colourful braided designs and brilliant white hoods, the temple Thrules were a stark contrast to the dark rags of the hill Thrules. Vetra noticed complex beadwork showing emblems of dragons on their breasts and backs.
He also saw the low sandy plain looked blasted as if by huge rocks hurled down from the hilltops. The whole area at their feet was a jumble of masonry and sprawling sand-filled ruins. Dragon-headed temples lay carved into the cliffs. At one time it had been a majestic city, that much Vetra could see. Metal doors and architraves had been forged by fiery breaths; he imagined such from their exotic tints. By such unusual means, metals had been melted and reformed into fabulous shapes: of dragons and giants and lords. Fluted columns and dragon-headed turrets rose like broken masts out of the ruins, teetering in drunken unison, and the lines of ancient walls and stone pathways were but the skeletal remains of what was once a great, flourishing centre under the rule of titans.
As for the actual fort, Vetra’s eyes strayed to a long white-washed limestone portico rising up the mesa’s front with a line of columns and four great dragon lord statues. Dragon Forge. There was an elemental beauty and stark vibrancy to this place which seemed incongruent with its age. So remarkably well-preserved it was for something so old.
Nhfer pointed. “It was cited that the desert giants built this fortress to protect their realm, though they died off as a race. They fought here and were turned into stone, by the mighty dragon-serpent Ermgen’s fire. It was said a star fell from the sky and became the avatar that was Ermgen. Dragons and their lords fought giants and took over the old kingdoms. Thus the giants languished. That is why everything is so monumental here. See there—those gleaming columns—” he gestured to the sprawl of massive pillars in the ancient city beside the fort “—they are intact—as is the great dragon hall.”
The Thrule approached the other curious clanmembers who blinked and stood gazing. Many dropped whatever they were doing. Nhfer lifted Vetra’s hand that held the claw. “All hail the finder of the Dragon claw!—the Claw Bearer!”
“What do you mean, Claw Bearer?” one Thrule cried out.
“Can it be?—the talisman to open the gates?” another hissed.
Vetra tensed in recognition of several faces, startled. A ginger-haired beauty with sun-bronzed limbs stood out like a beacon in a sea of shadows. Jhara! She was entertaining a group of Thrule children and had them enraptured, singing in her melodious voice of the legends of the lands that her father had told her.
Vetra exhaled an explosive breath, feeling the weight of days slip from his shoulders. She and others must have caught up with these temple Thrules.
Lehundr was conversing in excited tones with Thrules under the colonnade of the Dragon fort beside the great dragon door.
A circle of domed-shaped yurts stretched to the side, past the ruins and shattered columns and time-eaten stumps of masonry. This was once the dragon-lord kingdom. Houses? Dwellings? Communal halls? Vetra was undecided. Others came running from the small caves up the hills; several were hurrying down a well worn trail, tents and yurt tarps draped over their shoulders. Samos, the shaman, roved amongst them, directing, whispering blessings.
Knots of Thrules moved in and about in animated conversation and Lehundr had taken pains to gesticulate his theories about the dragon claws to the people who sat on the steps, their downcast heads in their hands.
When Jhara caught sight of the dustworn mercenary, she jumped up and raced over to wrap clinging arms around his neck. She hung on him with her knees bent and small feet angled to the sky. “We thought you were dead!”
“Good to see you,” he said with a smile. The familiar smell of her brought back pleasant memories. “I thought you were lost out there, or worse.”
Lehundr came sauntering up and gave him a brisk handshake. His cracked smile split his sun-browned features. “Old dog. How did you survive?”
“I found a hidden exit.” Vetra quickly told his tale. Others approached, Aus, Gefzad, Dunon, eyes blazing with surprise.
“Incredible! We’ve been looking for sign of you—and gave up, I fear. We failed in releasing you from the tomb as we had our own trials with the Guardian. But you have survived—”
“Everyone says that this must be the key to unlock the door.” Vetra displayed the claw trophy.
Lehundr gasped in astonishment. “So you found it. Small wonder the others failed,” he mumbled.
A low, soft female voice spoke from behind, “I am Sebju, leader of the Dragon Forge People. We are the Dragon-Thrule, keepers of the Dragon Lords. You claim to hold a relic. Let me see it—”
Lehundr grabbed the claw before the woman in the white robes could examine it, and caressed it avidly in his fingers. He passed it on to the middle-aged woman who frowned, her long greying hair curling out around her shoulders. A grunt of child-like disbelief passed from her lips. Tracing its contours with trembling fingers, she uttered a startled gasp and swept back her hood. “It seems genuine. Old beyond belief.”
“Then let us try the doors!” Nhfer cried with impatience.
Lehundr held up a hand. “Hold! You need this. The map speaks of three dragon claws. We have two.” He held up the other scored and ancient dragon relics.
“You brought them?” asked Vetra in a hushed whisper.
“Who is this?” barked Nhfer.
“The one who had the map that led me to this—” Vetra lifted the woman’s hand that held the claw.
Nhfer passed eyes over Lehundr with a frown. “What would a half Behundrian want with dragon claws, and why have half a care of our heritage? Except to steal our treasures?”
Lehundr objected to the accusation but Jhara clutched his arm. “He has everything to do with it, Thrule, and we would not be here, if it were not for him.” Her features clouded as if struck with a sad thought. “Besu didn’t make it,” she told Vetra quietly, hanging her . “He was snatched by something hideous and dragged off and mauled. It was horrible! The leopard-sphinx, or Guardian of the tomb, came to life. It got to him before we could—”
“I know,” Vetra consoled. “I saw the crimson remnants of the struggle.” He looked around at the hollow-eyed group. “Where is that rat, Zren?”
“Gone,” snapped Dunon. “Disappeared after our escape from the tomb.”
“You mean after all the trouble we went through trying to save his hide, he up and leaves?”
Dunon nodded. “He was ashamed of what he had done, particularly to you, and couldn’t stand our cold glares. I would have done the same thing, if I were in his shoes. We shan’t see him again.”
Vetra shrugged with indifference.
“The Behundrians will be coming up the valley before long,” warned one of Nhfer’s aides.
“Right, I heard that hound Cthan boasting that he would take an army up and strip every flab of flesh from our hides,” murmured Aus.
“Let him try. We laid waste to plenty of their mines,” rasped Nhfer. “Though many of us died in the doing. All of what you see is what’s left of us, barely fifty, when we were three hundred!”
One of the Thrule women consoled a crying child in her arms. “Why do you bring this evil upon us?” she wailed. “We don’t want your wars! This is sacred land to us, and the old ones—they ruled the dragons.”
A chorus of sympathetic protests went up amongst the clan women.
“War is war, woman!” Nhfer shouted back at them. “We cannot control or predict what and where it will strike. Pack your belongings. Delhas! Nesthu!” he snarled at his assistants. “See that the children are prepared for travel. At dawn’s light they will go north with you, to seek a place of safety. The Behundrians must pay for their insolence!”
Shocked murmurs rang amongst the women. “This has been a peaceful haven for years! We are the caretakers of the dragon lords.”
Another hissed, “If you force us, so be it. But why not flee to the hills with us?”
Nhfer snorted. “And tuck our tails between our legs like whipped dogs?”
“At least you’ll be alive,” returned one of the more influential women. She was taller and more composed.
“Do you have that little faith in us?” Nhfer asked with sad incomprehension.
“No, it’s because I have too much faith in you, captain. You will give your life to support our independence. Knowing that, I’m sad that you will spill your life blood on sacred soil, if that is what is asked of you.”
Nhfer growled, but he curbed his tongue. It was clear in his gaze that he saw the possibility of it and was moved by the genuine concern in the woman’s eyes. His lip firmed into a sullen scowl. “No matter. If death is to be my fate, then that I must accept.”
Vetra saw the hopeful faces vanish and the feverish whites of their eyes glint underneath their monkish hoods.
“Take the girl with the others.” Nhfer jerked a hand toward Jhara.
Jhara stepped back, steel flashing in her palm. “The first one that touches me, dies,” she hissed.
Nhfer blinked, raised brows in surprise, as did others of his company. Low, nervous chuckles spread through their ranks.
“The girl stays with me,” grunted Vetra.
“As you like, outlander,” muttered Nhfer. “But her blood will be on your hands.”
“Let us focus on the effective things we can do,” said Vetra. “If the Behundrians fall on us, then those high pillars over there are an ideal place to put your best marksmen. We can dig pits to ensnare careless invaders. This narrow tract of sandy plain is a perfect ambush ground.” He snarled. “The Behundrian host must pass through this vulnerable neck to get to the dragon hall. We will trap them here! Pick them off like ripe fruit. We will hide up in the crags with our spears and bows and rain holy terror down on them. We used tactics like this when I was stationed in Sarnhill, on the Sahir border.”
A flicker of resentment passed across Nhfer’s face, as if he disliked being counselled on strategies of war, but he held his tongue. Perhaps the Thrule was afraid of looking inexperienced in his men’s eyes. With a wave of his fist, the Thrule leader ordered his men to comply with Vetra’s wishes and assist him in any way they could.
Despite the unhappy faces of the retreating group of women, and the crying children, and the wails of the angry wives, Vetra closed his ears to their tears and sobs. Many would not see the men of their family again. He had witnessed this all before.
“I need a sword,” he muttered.
Nhfer motioned to Euth who pulled an extra blade off his packbeast.
Vetra examined the weapon. It felt light in his grip. The blade had a wide end—too wide for his tastes—but it was a wicked instrument, nonetheless. The broadsword was always his weapon of choice. But the curved falchions of the Thrules would do just as well if it came down to a fight.
Down wide avenues of fine sand, Lehundr and the temple Thrule leader, led Vetra through the ruined city over to the Dragon fort, accompanied by various other Thrules. Dunes sculpted by winds curled over the gleaming white vertebrae of dragon tails. Vetra and others pushed deeper into the ancient sprawl of tumbled blocks and walls. More often than not, his keen eyes saw more: scattered bones, a monstrous skull tilted in barbarous fashion, half submerged in sand, or shattered by a broken column, or an elongated snout protruding out from a grave of sand. It was a place that snakes and lizards made their playground, scuttling amongst the scattered stones and dried earth.
They mounted the steps of Dragon Forge and began a long march down a marble terrace, a few hundred feet. White limestone, buffed smooth as glass, glistened in the intense sunlight. Tall, proud statues of dragon lords stood in a long line at intervals down the court with austere dragon faces and arms cupped in offering in front of them.
