“All arts are interconnected. Landscape painting requires a strong grasp of the slightest details in order to capture the essence of the scenery. By the same token, a commander must know his surroundings inside and out if he is to stand any chance of victory. Far more battles have been won and lost because of how canny use of the terrain than such simple things as numbers and martial skill.”
Dannaron stood on the edge of a cliff that plunged straight down for thirty metres to white sand and jagged rocks. On the horizon the sea was grey and angry under a dark sky. Aside from a small and bitter stream not far too his right running into the foam there was nothing particularly notable about the scene but its emptiness. He knew he had to be missing something. He did his best to scan every rock and struggling bush while still listening to Telephus speaking behind him.
“Too many of our princes today revel in the glory of personal combat.” The swordmaster went on, a pace behind Dannaron. “They are so fixated on notions of courage and power that they forget the true art of war is to know when, where and how to strike. This is a greater science then the blow itself.”
Telephus reached out, grabbed Dannaron by the shoulder and spun him around to face away from the sea. “Now draw it,” he said, “and miss nothing.”
Dannaron picked up the brush that was lying in its ink-stand next to him, held it over the paper and tried to bring back the image of what he had just been staring at. It already felt like holding a fistful of sand. Not far in front of him, on a patch of salty grass hidden from both weather and prying eyes were his ‘cousins.’ Of them all, Olethus was the only one he was related to in any way he was aware of, and Dannaron never really thought of them as his kin. It was not difficult for anyone to see that the feeling was mutual. Olethus was the only one who spoke to him: all the others communicated only through grunts and signs. Their eyes were always hard and closed, they carried their bows with them regardless of where they were going and they never seemed to smile or talk. They were a pack of wolves; close-knit, territorial and wild and they cared neither for him for his civilised upbringing nor for Telephus in spite of the sage’s reputation as a warrior. Dannaron was the highest-ranking of them all by birth and officially the leader of these patrols, but their actual purpose was to give him a taste for military command while at the same time introducing him to the life his father had had.
He was the runt of the litter: the young, uneducated and shorter-limbed cub that always held them back. He had been expected for great things but as of yet was just a burden snapping between their legs.
In that way at least, Dannaron thought, they didn’t differ much from his other relatives.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The mouse was confused. Its whole life it had always had to be cautious and silent and full of guile in order to procure food and now there was a whole wafer here simply waiting for it. The mouse sniffed around it experimentally, looked at it sideways, remained ever alert for any signs of movement from anything. There was nothing nearby except the wafer…
It was too easy. Having come to a decision, the mouse acted on it immediately and ran from legions of invisible threats towards its home: a hole that had formed within one of the many alcoves in the walls. It led straight to a tiny, cramped space between the floorboards where the mouse stored its food and listened in terror to the giants walking above it.
Now with its mind full of confusion and fears of something that it could not see or understand, the mouse dove for the crack.
It was in such a hurry that it had failed to notice the spring which had been placed there during its absence today. Its foot tripped the catch as it ran, and the spring’s end was very sharp. It shot spiralling upwards, and the spiral did not pause for the fact the mouse had occupied the space it was spiralling through.
Cygnos smiled to himself as he watched the point shoot out through the spine of the rodent. It had taken preparation, but the reward was certainly worth it in the end. He straightened and snapped his fingers: his current favoured slave, a human girl from one of the western kingdoms, appeared by his side instantly. His eyes swept upwards over her ribs and then into the mass of her uncut black hair, because her face was focussed entirely on the ground. With one finger he delicately lifted her chin until she was looking into his eyes and held her gaze there. He handed her a roll of vellum.
“Hyllis.” He said.
The girl bowed in that way that people from her place did and then rushed away from his eyes as quickly as she could.
Cygnos had never met his nephew back in the mother country, and thought that perhaps it was time he sent a remembrance over.
He ordered another slave to remove the mouse.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There was no noise but the campfire and the soft moaning of the wind. There never was.
The pack of cousins all seemed to know exactly what was required of them and moved about the camp with their various duties. Dannaron and Telephus remained near the fire and out of everyone’s way. Olethus was with them, out of an unspoken obligation to ensure that they remained out of the way.
Olethus was the direct descendant of Dannaron’s great-great-grandmother’s brother, so it was hardly surprising that they bore almost no family resemblance to each other. But Dannaron did notice that Olethus had the same eyes. They were ice-blue; virtually white, such a pale blue that they seemed to be made of glass. He had been told it was a Nagarythe trait, the one thing that proved despite all doubts and arguments that he or any of his ‘relatives’ here could put forward that he was at least partially one of them.
Dannaron saw the jolt before Telephus did. Some signal must have been given from one of the watchers stationed behind Dannaron because all at once everyone was facing the same direction. Those ice-eyes of Olethus that had been staring vacantly into the fire suddenly looked straight up. In one motion he went from sitting to standing and by the time Dannaron had stood up and Telephus was aware of what was happening Olethus was already stringing his bow. Telephus mimicked Olethus’ earlier action and was straight onto his feet.
“What is it?”
“We are surrounded.” Olethus said in his habitual whisper, and Dannaron could hear the resentment seething in it.
“What? How?” Dannaron said, looking around frantically as the fire was stamped out and the pack grabbed their weapons. He could not imagine anyone being anywhere nearby without these people aware of it first. Olethus didn’t reply and Telephus put a hand on Dannaron’s shoulder.
“Regardless, it has happened. These men are under your command Dannaron. What would you have them do?”
Telephus was entirely calm, moving into the state that Dannaron recognised in him from practice. The prince took a deep breath and did not hesitate:
“I defer my command to Olethus.”
Dannaron sensed the grain of approval from both of the other men. He wondered if either of them had actually expected him to be stupid enough to try and take command himself. “My lord, I would suggest you stay well away from the fighting.” Olethus said. “Get behind that rock and remain hidden.”
With that Olethus was away, gesturing and whispering to the rest of the pack as they sprinted past, throwing covers over everything, grabbing quivers from the ground, tossing swords to each other. Telephus grabbed his own from where he had been standing and then caught another as one of the women of the pack throw it to him. He passed this one to Dannaron and then ran to the rock indicated by Olethus. Telephus ran across the side and Dannaron vaulted over the top, landing softly on the white sand on the other side and listening to his heart in his ears. Telephus sat, cross-legged, behind the rock and lightly closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Dannaron looked at the sword he had been thrown: it was a gently curved scimitar in a dark grey sheath.
“This is not mine.” He whispered. Telephus motioned with one hand for silence and Dannaron obliged, feeling like an idiot.
There was no noise but the gentle moaning of the wind. All the whispers and rushing feet had stopped. It was as if the whole pack had just vanished. Dannaron moved to peek over the front of the rock but Telephus’ hand was on him firmly. It was then that Dannaron heard the light, suggestive whiffling sound followed by an innocent clacking of metal against stone. A bolt hit the sand at his feet. It was black wood and fletched with black feathers, shorter than the distance from Dannaron’s wrist to his elbow, and its point was barbed and serrated. Dannaron had never seen one of the druchii weapons before but he had heard them described often enough to recognise one instantly. Dannaron turned back to look at the sand and strained his ears: now that he knew what to listen for, he could hear the whistle and clack all around him. He was lying on a battlefield. For the first time in his life, Dannaron realised that he was in mortal danger.
It was some time before there was a new noise: a cry of pain, but Dannaron had no idea whether it was an attacker or defender that made it. There was a short pause and then the clash of steel on steel, a grunt, another shout. Then quiet again.
After a time even the sounds of the arrows and bolts stopped. Dannaron turned to Telephus, who opened his eyes and glanced back but made no other movement. There was a sound of hurried footsteps over sand moving to their position, another clash of steel from right behind the rock, and the sound of a woman crying out in pain. Telephus motioned at Dannaron and then leapt to his feet, jumping over the rock with his robes whipping around him. Dannaron understood his intent and stayed where he was, holding his breath, his hand gripped tightly on the hilt of the strange sword.
With a heavy thump a dead body landed in the sand just to the right of Dannaron.
He turned and saw the face of the same woman who had thrown Telephus his sword earlier. She had green eyes, Dannaron noticed before anything else. They were staring vacantly at the world. It looked as though her neck had been torn open by some wild animal, and blood was running from it fast and free, its coppery smell filling Dannaron’s nostrils. The prince stared at the face, and then listened to the sounds of metal on metal on just the other side of his cover, not two metres from where he was. He couldn’t move.
There was a shout as from a woman and Dannaron looked up to see a figure back flip on top of the rock. She was wearing what Dannaron first took to be all black until he realised that it was actually very dark grey; the same colour as all of the rocks at night-time. There was an almost inaudible clinking as she moved that Dannaron recognised as the sounds of ithilmar mail and realised she was in full armour that had been blackened. She was holding a short sword in each hand and the both of them were shaped with hooks and barbs along their length: they were not designed to cut cleanly, but to rip. The lower half of her face was hidden under a veil, so that all Dannaron could see of it was her eyes: the same ice-eyes that he had.
There was a flicker of the end of Telephus’ longer sword that flashed from the other side of the rock, but the woman stepped over it as it arched past. Before she had properly regained her balance Telephus filled the air in front of her, launching into the sky with his sword already moving towards her neck. The woman somersaulted backwards from the rock and Telephus landed on it instead, while she ended up standing two paces back on the other end, looking directly at Dannaron. Recognition passed through all three faces and Dannaron unsheathed his sword, throwing the scabbard away with the same motion.
The woman was holding her swords parallel to her elbows, something the prince had never seen before. He saw the flash of realization in her eyes and tried to scramble to his feet, expecting her to rush forwards. She didn’t. Her eyes flicked over Dannaron and then upwards, to where Telephus was standing above him.
“My lord, run!” The swordmaster said, jumping down in between the prince and the attacker.
Dannaron, now standing up, moved to sprint off to the right and at the same time the druchii charged forwards at Telephus. She moved in a zig-zag, stepping first to the left and then suddenly to the right. Telephus saw this coming and slashed with his greatsword in a long arc from left to right at her neck-height. The woman bent her neck backwards to duck under the sweep without stopping, then bending further to strike with the sword on her right arm. Telephus stopped his swing and moved his chest out of way of the strike in time: the edge of the sword passed inches from his flesh. At the same time the woman’s foot had slid across the sand in between Telephus’ legs. As the two straightened, she hooked her leg backwards to take out Telephus’ left leg, but the swordmaster reacted just in time to take two swift steps backwards, putting distance between the two of them again. This was all Dannaron had seen before he turned his head to focus on where he was going. He’d never seen somebody fight on equal footing with Telephus before.
Dannaron ran, and heard cries around him as he did so but didn’t bother to look for who they came from or where. A whistle just behind his head told him he was being shot at, so he ducked his head down and began to head towards an overhang and shelter. Something then melted out from the shadows of the overhang and leapt at him with a flash of steel.
Dannaron had about enough time to recognise that he was being attacked before the figure was already right in front of him with his sword raised. It was a dark elf warrior in the same dark grey cloak and blackened armour with long spikes coming off from his greaves, a wickedly curved scimitar raised above his head. He looked about to make a swift, downward stroke that would cleave Dannaron’s head, but seemed to hesitate: long enough for Dannaron to recover his wits and stab at his opponent’s heart. Moving far quicker than the prince, the dark elf stepped aside and closer to the prince, spinning as he did so, and hitting Dannaron hard in the temple with his elbow. Dannaron was rocked by the strength of the blow and stumbled backwards but righted himself, the world still spinning, into a defensive pose that Telephus had drilled into him: his body sideways to present less of a target, his sword thrust in front of him to knock aside attacks, his left hand flung out for balance, his right foot forward.
The dark elf half-turned to face his opponent again and briefly grinned. He raised his own sword in a quick, sarcastic salute. He moved to knock aside Dannaron’s sword and step forwards but the prince had expected exactly this to happen and moved his sword downwards to avoid the . His opponent knocked aside air and was momentarily surprised, while Dannaron did not stop moving, leaning forwards and flicking his sword up towards his enemy’s chin. The dark elf took a quick step back to avoid it and Dannaron capitalised, moving forwards at the same time, his sword pointing straight at the dark elf’s heart. The elf quickly stepped to the right side of Dannaron’s sword and advanced towards the prince again. Dannaron slashed sideways to hit him, but this was exactly what the warrior had wanted. He caught the prince’s sword in between two spikes on his greave and then grabbed the prince by the throat with his other hand.
The dark elf’s foot slipped in between the prince’s legs and bent them backwards at the knee, bringing him to the ground. As Dannaron fell backwards the elf flicked his wrist and jerked the sword out of his grip. The dark elf slammed his head hard into the ground and stars filled his vision: the fingers around his neck were tight and he couldn’t breathe. Before thoughts were aligning in his head again he had been flipped around and his face was being pushed into the dirt. His arms were bent behind him and as he now began to have enough presence of mind return to him to struggle he felt a thin chord slip around his wrists and tighten, binding them together. The dark elf was now kneeling on his back, pinning him to the ground, and he felt his legs be pulled back and trussed in the same way with a speed that could have only been born of long practice. He was helpless.
The sound of clashing steel was drawing much closer: he was surrounded now by the sounds of combat. He shouted for help and heard Telephus shout something in response, but couldn’t make out what over the noise. He tried to shout again, to roll over, but there was more than one set of hands on him now. Someone drew a gag tight into his mouth. And then he was lifted into the air and watched the white sand rush by under him. Someone not far from his head laughed, and the sounds of battle faded away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez: More is to come!
Blood Ties
Moderators: The Heralds, The Loremasters
Blood Ties
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
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Arellion Sapher
- Posts: 106
- Joined: Mon Dec 08, 2008 6:40 pm
- Location: Albion
Thankyou kindly, sir. I'm glad I managed to catch your interest this time around, and thanks for taking the time to read my second little piece here.
...
Well, not exactly little. It's far from finished yet. So, without further ado, on we go!
PS: No, he certainly doesn't make the best Shadow Warrior. But to cut the poor guy a little slack, he is only half Nagarythe and hasn't been brought up to hate everything properly
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dannaron could only watch sand and rocks pass beneath him. They had been moving for some time now. He had no idea how long exactly, but it was sufficient time to think. To be taken alive was something even his dreams had not dared conceive. The tortures that he had heard whispered of by other children were only the ones that they had been permitted to hear. There was nothing that the druchii held for their distant kin but hate. Certainly no mercy but not even any empathy, any guess at common feeling, any recognition that these things they punished were fellow sentient beings that felt pain the same way as everything else did. They were limited only by their imagination.
Dannaron heard them hiss to one another over the sound of their feet and clinking weapons. It was a matter of course that princes be taught the language of their enemies when young, but as to whether it was remembered was a different matter. In Dannaron’s case it was similar enough to the Nagarythe dialect that he had to learn for lineage’s sake and in any cases different tongues came to him naturally. It was an open door.
“You promised me rain, Agis.” A female voice said from somewhere close by, “You said our tracks would be covered.”
“If mistress would care to look up, she will see the clouds.” A soft male response bit back. From the panting and the placement Dannaron guessed he was one of the ones carrying him.
“I can see the clouds. What I cannot see is the rain. We are moving through sand. A drunk could mark our progress!”
“If we were closer to the sea-”
“We would be in the open, and there would be no need to track us, only to watch. This has gone perfectly so far, and I am watching it fall apart because of you. Where is the rain, Agis?”
“Well maybe her ladyship would do well to command the skies to fall.” replied the voice of Agis, all teeth. There was just a grunt as retort. Dannaron offered a silent prayer of thanks to Loec for this fortunate chance.
“We cannot now afford to rest,” the woman started again, “We are straight on until we arrive.”
Dannaron knew the time had come to play his hand. He felt the harshness of their speech snarl from his mouth “So that when they do catch you, you will have no strength to fight.”
The silence changed character to be full of irritated unsaids. “Who gave the lamb a tongue?” Agis muttered in between breaths, but the woman hissed at him for silence. Dannaron’s soul flared with a desperate spark of hope, but his face did not twitch. This was politics. He could do this.
“A lamb has only the tongue that it is permitted to have.”
“Out of the mouth of babes.” Agis growled, “I will strike it out.”
“No.” The woman replied, “Cygnos asked for his prize unspoiled.”
The name Cygnos shocked Dannaron into brief silence, but he was not far gone enough to miss the harsh exhalation from Agis that must have been frustration. Keeping all traces of surprise from his voice, the prince voiced what Agis and probably the others must have been thinking: “And his bitch will obey him in this as in all things.”
The woman said nothing. Dannaron wished he was facing the right way to read their faces, but silence was a response as well. The prince carried on his assault. “Cygnos is famous even here for skill at murder but also for his cunning. It is a shame his favoured does not share all his talents.”
Again, silence. Dannaron imagined the applause of his bearers and the others nearby. “She cannot read the Earth, she cannot read the heavens, and she cannot make plans but rather steals them from others and claims they are her own. For beating a milksop princeling into submission and taking him from his far more dangerous wardens she will receive a king’s welcome while her subjects are left free to loan their glory to another head for next time. That is, of course, assuming that burdened as they are they can outrun the warriors whose wrath they have stirred by means of an exit plan still in its infancy when in execution.”
The party came to a sudden stop: once Dannaron recovered from the jolt and resulting dizziness he guessed that the leader had signalled them to halt. Another signal he didn’t see and he was dropped onto the ground. A foot rolled him over and he looked up into the face of the woman that Telephus had been fighting earlier. She looked tired (all of them did) but she didn’t have a scratch on her.
“Gag him.”
Dannaron smiled. “We cannot now afford to rest,” he said, “We are straight on until we arrive.” The woman’s face twisted suddenly into a grimace and she stamped hard on Dannaron’s gut, forcing the air from his lungs. If he could, the prince would have laughed further: she was pulling apart her position so well, he barely had to help. He could see the hard eyes of the other dark elves watching her. She looked back up at them.
“Gag him!”
One of them tore a strip off from his sleeve with help of his knife and then forced it around Dannaron’s mouth. The prince made no effort to resist. He’d done his job. He stared into the eyes of the elf gagging him and noticed that they were ice-blue.
“Good. Now get him up again. We keep going.”
Just as Dannaron was being lifted up again there was a sound that prompted all the elves to turn their heads to the rocks behind them. A faint whistling, followed by a soft thud. A single white-shafted arrow stuck bristling out of the sand, only two feet away from the leader.
Dannaron saw the woman sink into a crouch without realising it, her hand held like a claw in front of her face. He noticed for the first time that her nails had been cut into serrations, like carving knives. “They can not have caught up that fast!” One of Dannaron’s bearers shouted. A second arrow flitted from the rocks behind them and straight at the woman, who knocked it out of the air with her free hand. The arrow pin-wheeled away from her face and landed in the dust. She snarled. “Agis, Kshayarsha, Perse, take him and get to the ship! Leave as soon as you can! The rest of you, we hold them here.”
Dannaron lurched forward as his bearers started running again, and could not help but cling desperately to hope. They were catching up.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Olethus allowed himself a thin smile when he saw the dark elves in the distance. He motioned to the swordmaster behind him and then pointed. Telephus slid down a steep dune to meet him.
It had taken every trick swordmaster trick Telephus knew to conserve his energy well enough to keep pace with the wolf pack. They seemed to flow over the landscape, as if they never actually touched the ground. Every now and then Telephus had turned to take an obvious route to have one of them tap him gently on the shoulder and point out the secret path which was actually much more efficient. Ever rock that he passed they knew just how to vault, ever hill just how to climb, every cliff just how to descend. This was their country.
“Our guess was right.” Olethus hissed. His breath was coming short and sharp, and Telephus couldn’t blame him, but considering they were moving towards a combat it was beginning to become a liability. “They are headed to the cove.”
The two of them continued at a walking pace even as they watched the fleeing figures, not wanting to lose sight of them. But then the whole party stopped, and Telephus see two of them lower something onto the sand…
“There! There is the prince!”
Olethus nodded and pointed to the figure standing just apart from him. “And that is the woman.” He made a slight motion with his hand and the wolf pack took their bows in their hands and began to fan out, shuffling quickly from cover to cover and closing the distance towards the other party. “We will get as close as we can now, while they are stopped, and strike as soon as opportunity permits.” Olethus whispered. Telephus nodded and ran lightly down the slope he was on to duck behind a rock, while the Shadow Walker scraped forwards on his belly. Part of Telephus was insistently wondering why the druchii had stopped. Had they scented the pursuit? Were Olethus and the others moving into a trap?
Telephus risked a quick look over his cover to see where the dark elves were looking. The moment they had stopped the ones that were not carrying the prince had fanned out and were scanning the hills for movement. A few were currently looking towards the hill that the shadow warriors were. Telephus saw that they had all noticed this as well and were frozen in place. He looked across at Olethus, pressed into the ground with his grey cloak about him, partially out of sight because of the slope and then back at the dark elves. His lips pressed together. They were still out of range and as Telephus looked he could see that they were hoisting the prince back up again to keep moving. He shared a quick glance with Olethus. They were not getting any closer.
Olethus took an arrow from the quiver at his side, knelt down and held his bow diagonally. The muscles on his arms stood out like knots in string as he drew the arrow back to his ear and angled it upwards to accommodate distance. It was a very long shot: probably three hundred paces, and in less than ideal light. Telephus frowned, and began to move. There was no chance he could make this shot, and they needed to get close to stop the enemy from pinning them before they could catch up. But none of the other shadow warriors were moving!
There was a deep thowng from behind him as Olethus released the bow. Despite himself Telephus turned to watch the arrow whistle through its wide arc. In half a beat he was amazed to see that it was actually on target. It turned at the height of its arc and came thundering down straight towards the woman who lead the dark elves… But at the last moment Telephus saw his original instinct had been right. The arrow landed in the sand less then one step from her. Now the warriors were moving, without a sound or cry, as the druchii all scattered for cover, raising their crossbows to their chins as they did so. The leader barked a command that was lost to the distance and the two bearers who had been carrying Dannaron picked him up and again ran off, with a few others following. Olethus remained kneeling where he was, only half-hidden behind a low stone and fired another arrow. This one skipped just past one of the running dark elves’ ears. Shocked, the druchii dived into the sand and crawled to cover. Another fired a bolt while running back at Olethus. The bolt landed far short. A second one dropped into place automatically from the magazine on the elf’s crossbow but this time he had more sense then to fire again.
Telephus sprinted down the slope, his feet sending a spray of grey sand and loose stones before him. It was a steep hill and almost grass-less, and moving down it was a balancing act. His eyes darted from dark elf to dark elf at the bottom, watching them as they ran or crawled from cover to cover to get in range with their crossbows. A shriek signalled the first success of the Olethus’ pack as their targets came closer. Telephus saw one of the dark elves stop dead in his tracks, a grey-fletched arrow sticking out of his chest just below his heart.
A bolt fired from elsewhere landed at Telephus’ feet: he was much closer than the shadow warriors and now at the limits of the enemy’s range. With a deft move from long practice, Telephus undid the buckle that held his sword-belt in place, lifted up his sword and scabbard so it was in front of his chest, dived to the sand and rolled down the hill until he was lying behind a low rock and out of sight. With luck he had drawn some of their fire. There was another cry of pain from somewhere close by: the longer range of their bows gave the pack a distinct advantage now, but if their enemies could close then the faster rate of fire from their repeating crossbows would swing it the other way. Both parties were tired from the chase. It was touch and go.
Telephus grabbed the end of his scabbard in between his boots and pulled it off his sword with his legs. He waited for a beat, hoping that anyone who had shot at him earlier would now have their attention diverted elsewhere, and then rolled backwards and sprang to his feet, sword in hand.
There was a figure hurriedly crab-walking across the sand with a crossbow braced against its shoulder, only a few paces from Telephus and making for the same rock he had been hiding behind. He saw the swordmaster jump up out of the corner of his eye and swung around, surprised, levelling the crossbow at him at near point-blank range. Telephus had started moving the same time that he had seen the figure, and was already running around the rock when the bolt launched with a dull thunk. It sailed past Telephus’ ear by what could only have been a margin of a few inches. Anything less then the reaction time of a swordmaster and he would have been dead. But already the last bolt of the magazine had dropped into place; the dark elf drew back the string with speed from long training and was ready for another shot. Telephus’ eyes widened and for one blink his entire world was the point of the bolt that was about to end him.
The arrow was slow and almost graceful as it slid into the dark elf’s throat. He gasped the gurgling noise of one who will never gasp again and fell to his knees, pawing instinctively at his throat. Telephus breathed again. He risked straightening and casting a glance around to asses the situation.
The druchii were pinned behind cover. Already Olethus and two others of the pack, one with silver hair and another with black, were making their way down the slope to where Telephus was, every now and then diving to the ground as one or another dark elf shot from around a stone. Olethus caught Telephus’ eye.
This was perfect. If the rest of the pack could keep the dark elves in place, then the four of them could split and retrieve Dannaron. That is assuming they could just get past the dark elves on their way over.
As if in response to this thought, Telephus marked the veiled woman again. She had both of her short swords out and was crouching so low that she might have been lying down behind the one bush that was growing around here, together with another druchii. The swords possessed an eager, oily gleam even in the failing light. Olethus was heading straight for the bush on his way down.
There were three dark elves and many paces between Telephus and the bush. The swordmaster ran.
He unsheathed his sword as he went and shouted out for Olethus to stay back. The shout turned the heads of all the dark elves, who all began to raise their crossbows.
Telephus pushed himself as far forwards as he could, and swung his sword at the same time. The blade was just long enough to hit the crossbow of the nearest dark elf and knocked it aside just as she fired the bolt. Another whirred just over the back of his neck. Telephus stepped right up to the first dark elf and jabbed the first two fingers of his left hand into her throat, just over halfway down. She bent over immediately and gagged, but Telephus was already moving. He jumped from here he was to the right to make himself a harder target and then back over the slight trench to land in between the other two dark elves.
Both spun their crossbows around to aim at him. One had just slammed in a new magazine and was raising it; the other almost had his finger on the trigger. As he landed Telephus drove his sword into the sand, which was too long to be much use in the cramped space, and pushed the already loaded crossbow away from his body with one arm, while driving his other elbow into the neck of the elf holding it. At the same time he kicked aside the recently reloaded crossbow. Continuing with the momentum of his kick Telephus spun around behind the elf he had elbowed and pushed him into his companion. With both off balance he grabbed the hilt of his sword, pulled it free of the dirt and spun it right around in a wide arc, letting enough momentum build that it took both of their heads off.
The black-haired warrior who had come down with Olethus landed in front of the druchii-woman that Telephus had left gagging and shot her. Olethus and the other elf he had brought with him now stood between Telephus and the bush. The dark elf leader looked briefly from one to the other, then rushed (crouched low as she broke cover) from the bush straight at Telephus. The other dark elf drew a long sabre and stepped before Olethus and his companion in a defensive stance.
“Olethus! The prince!” Telephus shouted, even as the druchii woman came upon him, as silent as the grave.
Olethus shared a glance with his fellow on the other side of Telephus, who rushed off. The other shadow warriors were coming down the hillside, ready to loose an arrow at the first sign of movement, well aware that most of the druchii were now dead or otherwise occupied.
Olethus and the elf beside him both ran past the dark elf in their path, jumping past on both directions. The dark elf spun quickly, cut across the back of silver-haired warrior’s leg in one smooth motion and then with two steps was in front of Olethus, who stepped back and took a curved knife from his belt.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez: Is there any hope left for the young prince Dannaron? Can the children of Nagrythe take their vengeance upon the elite dark elf shades? And what will be the cost?
Stay tuned!
Probably one or two chapters left in this.
...
Well, not exactly little. It's far from finished yet. So, without further ado, on we go!
PS: No, he certainly doesn't make the best Shadow Warrior. But to cut the poor guy a little slack, he is only half Nagarythe and hasn't been brought up to hate everything properly
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Dannaron could only watch sand and rocks pass beneath him. They had been moving for some time now. He had no idea how long exactly, but it was sufficient time to think. To be taken alive was something even his dreams had not dared conceive. The tortures that he had heard whispered of by other children were only the ones that they had been permitted to hear. There was nothing that the druchii held for their distant kin but hate. Certainly no mercy but not even any empathy, any guess at common feeling, any recognition that these things they punished were fellow sentient beings that felt pain the same way as everything else did. They were limited only by their imagination.
Dannaron heard them hiss to one another over the sound of their feet and clinking weapons. It was a matter of course that princes be taught the language of their enemies when young, but as to whether it was remembered was a different matter. In Dannaron’s case it was similar enough to the Nagarythe dialect that he had to learn for lineage’s sake and in any cases different tongues came to him naturally. It was an open door.
“You promised me rain, Agis.” A female voice said from somewhere close by, “You said our tracks would be covered.”
“If mistress would care to look up, she will see the clouds.” A soft male response bit back. From the panting and the placement Dannaron guessed he was one of the ones carrying him.
“I can see the clouds. What I cannot see is the rain. We are moving through sand. A drunk could mark our progress!”
“If we were closer to the sea-”
“We would be in the open, and there would be no need to track us, only to watch. This has gone perfectly so far, and I am watching it fall apart because of you. Where is the rain, Agis?”
“Well maybe her ladyship would do well to command the skies to fall.” replied the voice of Agis, all teeth. There was just a grunt as retort. Dannaron offered a silent prayer of thanks to Loec for this fortunate chance.
“We cannot now afford to rest,” the woman started again, “We are straight on until we arrive.”
Dannaron knew the time had come to play his hand. He felt the harshness of their speech snarl from his mouth “So that when they do catch you, you will have no strength to fight.”
The silence changed character to be full of irritated unsaids. “Who gave the lamb a tongue?” Agis muttered in between breaths, but the woman hissed at him for silence. Dannaron’s soul flared with a desperate spark of hope, but his face did not twitch. This was politics. He could do this.
“A lamb has only the tongue that it is permitted to have.”
“Out of the mouth of babes.” Agis growled, “I will strike it out.”
“No.” The woman replied, “Cygnos asked for his prize unspoiled.”
The name Cygnos shocked Dannaron into brief silence, but he was not far gone enough to miss the harsh exhalation from Agis that must have been frustration. Keeping all traces of surprise from his voice, the prince voiced what Agis and probably the others must have been thinking: “And his bitch will obey him in this as in all things.”
The woman said nothing. Dannaron wished he was facing the right way to read their faces, but silence was a response as well. The prince carried on his assault. “Cygnos is famous even here for skill at murder but also for his cunning. It is a shame his favoured does not share all his talents.”
Again, silence. Dannaron imagined the applause of his bearers and the others nearby. “She cannot read the Earth, she cannot read the heavens, and she cannot make plans but rather steals them from others and claims they are her own. For beating a milksop princeling into submission and taking him from his far more dangerous wardens she will receive a king’s welcome while her subjects are left free to loan their glory to another head for next time. That is, of course, assuming that burdened as they are they can outrun the warriors whose wrath they have stirred by means of an exit plan still in its infancy when in execution.”
The party came to a sudden stop: once Dannaron recovered from the jolt and resulting dizziness he guessed that the leader had signalled them to halt. Another signal he didn’t see and he was dropped onto the ground. A foot rolled him over and he looked up into the face of the woman that Telephus had been fighting earlier. She looked tired (all of them did) but she didn’t have a scratch on her.
“Gag him.”
Dannaron smiled. “We cannot now afford to rest,” he said, “We are straight on until we arrive.” The woman’s face twisted suddenly into a grimace and she stamped hard on Dannaron’s gut, forcing the air from his lungs. If he could, the prince would have laughed further: she was pulling apart her position so well, he barely had to help. He could see the hard eyes of the other dark elves watching her. She looked back up at them.
“Gag him!”
One of them tore a strip off from his sleeve with help of his knife and then forced it around Dannaron’s mouth. The prince made no effort to resist. He’d done his job. He stared into the eyes of the elf gagging him and noticed that they were ice-blue.
“Good. Now get him up again. We keep going.”
Just as Dannaron was being lifted up again there was a sound that prompted all the elves to turn their heads to the rocks behind them. A faint whistling, followed by a soft thud. A single white-shafted arrow stuck bristling out of the sand, only two feet away from the leader.
Dannaron saw the woman sink into a crouch without realising it, her hand held like a claw in front of her face. He noticed for the first time that her nails had been cut into serrations, like carving knives. “They can not have caught up that fast!” One of Dannaron’s bearers shouted. A second arrow flitted from the rocks behind them and straight at the woman, who knocked it out of the air with her free hand. The arrow pin-wheeled away from her face and landed in the dust. She snarled. “Agis, Kshayarsha, Perse, take him and get to the ship! Leave as soon as you can! The rest of you, we hold them here.”
Dannaron lurched forward as his bearers started running again, and could not help but cling desperately to hope. They were catching up.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Olethus allowed himself a thin smile when he saw the dark elves in the distance. He motioned to the swordmaster behind him and then pointed. Telephus slid down a steep dune to meet him.
It had taken every trick swordmaster trick Telephus knew to conserve his energy well enough to keep pace with the wolf pack. They seemed to flow over the landscape, as if they never actually touched the ground. Every now and then Telephus had turned to take an obvious route to have one of them tap him gently on the shoulder and point out the secret path which was actually much more efficient. Ever rock that he passed they knew just how to vault, ever hill just how to climb, every cliff just how to descend. This was their country.
“Our guess was right.” Olethus hissed. His breath was coming short and sharp, and Telephus couldn’t blame him, but considering they were moving towards a combat it was beginning to become a liability. “They are headed to the cove.”
The two of them continued at a walking pace even as they watched the fleeing figures, not wanting to lose sight of them. But then the whole party stopped, and Telephus see two of them lower something onto the sand…
“There! There is the prince!”
Olethus nodded and pointed to the figure standing just apart from him. “And that is the woman.” He made a slight motion with his hand and the wolf pack took their bows in their hands and began to fan out, shuffling quickly from cover to cover and closing the distance towards the other party. “We will get as close as we can now, while they are stopped, and strike as soon as opportunity permits.” Olethus whispered. Telephus nodded and ran lightly down the slope he was on to duck behind a rock, while the Shadow Walker scraped forwards on his belly. Part of Telephus was insistently wondering why the druchii had stopped. Had they scented the pursuit? Were Olethus and the others moving into a trap?
Telephus risked a quick look over his cover to see where the dark elves were looking. The moment they had stopped the ones that were not carrying the prince had fanned out and were scanning the hills for movement. A few were currently looking towards the hill that the shadow warriors were. Telephus saw that they had all noticed this as well and were frozen in place. He looked across at Olethus, pressed into the ground with his grey cloak about him, partially out of sight because of the slope and then back at the dark elves. His lips pressed together. They were still out of range and as Telephus looked he could see that they were hoisting the prince back up again to keep moving. He shared a quick glance with Olethus. They were not getting any closer.
Olethus took an arrow from the quiver at his side, knelt down and held his bow diagonally. The muscles on his arms stood out like knots in string as he drew the arrow back to his ear and angled it upwards to accommodate distance. It was a very long shot: probably three hundred paces, and in less than ideal light. Telephus frowned, and began to move. There was no chance he could make this shot, and they needed to get close to stop the enemy from pinning them before they could catch up. But none of the other shadow warriors were moving!
There was a deep thowng from behind him as Olethus released the bow. Despite himself Telephus turned to watch the arrow whistle through its wide arc. In half a beat he was amazed to see that it was actually on target. It turned at the height of its arc and came thundering down straight towards the woman who lead the dark elves… But at the last moment Telephus saw his original instinct had been right. The arrow landed in the sand less then one step from her. Now the warriors were moving, without a sound or cry, as the druchii all scattered for cover, raising their crossbows to their chins as they did so. The leader barked a command that was lost to the distance and the two bearers who had been carrying Dannaron picked him up and again ran off, with a few others following. Olethus remained kneeling where he was, only half-hidden behind a low stone and fired another arrow. This one skipped just past one of the running dark elves’ ears. Shocked, the druchii dived into the sand and crawled to cover. Another fired a bolt while running back at Olethus. The bolt landed far short. A second one dropped into place automatically from the magazine on the elf’s crossbow but this time he had more sense then to fire again.
Telephus sprinted down the slope, his feet sending a spray of grey sand and loose stones before him. It was a steep hill and almost grass-less, and moving down it was a balancing act. His eyes darted from dark elf to dark elf at the bottom, watching them as they ran or crawled from cover to cover to get in range with their crossbows. A shriek signalled the first success of the Olethus’ pack as their targets came closer. Telephus saw one of the dark elves stop dead in his tracks, a grey-fletched arrow sticking out of his chest just below his heart.
A bolt fired from elsewhere landed at Telephus’ feet: he was much closer than the shadow warriors and now at the limits of the enemy’s range. With a deft move from long practice, Telephus undid the buckle that held his sword-belt in place, lifted up his sword and scabbard so it was in front of his chest, dived to the sand and rolled down the hill until he was lying behind a low rock and out of sight. With luck he had drawn some of their fire. There was another cry of pain from somewhere close by: the longer range of their bows gave the pack a distinct advantage now, but if their enemies could close then the faster rate of fire from their repeating crossbows would swing it the other way. Both parties were tired from the chase. It was touch and go.
Telephus grabbed the end of his scabbard in between his boots and pulled it off his sword with his legs. He waited for a beat, hoping that anyone who had shot at him earlier would now have their attention diverted elsewhere, and then rolled backwards and sprang to his feet, sword in hand.
There was a figure hurriedly crab-walking across the sand with a crossbow braced against its shoulder, only a few paces from Telephus and making for the same rock he had been hiding behind. He saw the swordmaster jump up out of the corner of his eye and swung around, surprised, levelling the crossbow at him at near point-blank range. Telephus had started moving the same time that he had seen the figure, and was already running around the rock when the bolt launched with a dull thunk. It sailed past Telephus’ ear by what could only have been a margin of a few inches. Anything less then the reaction time of a swordmaster and he would have been dead. But already the last bolt of the magazine had dropped into place; the dark elf drew back the string with speed from long training and was ready for another shot. Telephus’ eyes widened and for one blink his entire world was the point of the bolt that was about to end him.
The arrow was slow and almost graceful as it slid into the dark elf’s throat. He gasped the gurgling noise of one who will never gasp again and fell to his knees, pawing instinctively at his throat. Telephus breathed again. He risked straightening and casting a glance around to asses the situation.
The druchii were pinned behind cover. Already Olethus and two others of the pack, one with silver hair and another with black, were making their way down the slope to where Telephus was, every now and then diving to the ground as one or another dark elf shot from around a stone. Olethus caught Telephus’ eye.
This was perfect. If the rest of the pack could keep the dark elves in place, then the four of them could split and retrieve Dannaron. That is assuming they could just get past the dark elves on their way over.
As if in response to this thought, Telephus marked the veiled woman again. She had both of her short swords out and was crouching so low that she might have been lying down behind the one bush that was growing around here, together with another druchii. The swords possessed an eager, oily gleam even in the failing light. Olethus was heading straight for the bush on his way down.
There were three dark elves and many paces between Telephus and the bush. The swordmaster ran.
He unsheathed his sword as he went and shouted out for Olethus to stay back. The shout turned the heads of all the dark elves, who all began to raise their crossbows.
Telephus pushed himself as far forwards as he could, and swung his sword at the same time. The blade was just long enough to hit the crossbow of the nearest dark elf and knocked it aside just as she fired the bolt. Another whirred just over the back of his neck. Telephus stepped right up to the first dark elf and jabbed the first two fingers of his left hand into her throat, just over halfway down. She bent over immediately and gagged, but Telephus was already moving. He jumped from here he was to the right to make himself a harder target and then back over the slight trench to land in between the other two dark elves.
Both spun their crossbows around to aim at him. One had just slammed in a new magazine and was raising it; the other almost had his finger on the trigger. As he landed Telephus drove his sword into the sand, which was too long to be much use in the cramped space, and pushed the already loaded crossbow away from his body with one arm, while driving his other elbow into the neck of the elf holding it. At the same time he kicked aside the recently reloaded crossbow. Continuing with the momentum of his kick Telephus spun around behind the elf he had elbowed and pushed him into his companion. With both off balance he grabbed the hilt of his sword, pulled it free of the dirt and spun it right around in a wide arc, letting enough momentum build that it took both of their heads off.
The black-haired warrior who had come down with Olethus landed in front of the druchii-woman that Telephus had left gagging and shot her. Olethus and the other elf he had brought with him now stood between Telephus and the bush. The dark elf leader looked briefly from one to the other, then rushed (crouched low as she broke cover) from the bush straight at Telephus. The other dark elf drew a long sabre and stepped before Olethus and his companion in a defensive stance.
“Olethus! The prince!” Telephus shouted, even as the druchii woman came upon him, as silent as the grave.
Olethus shared a glance with his fellow on the other side of Telephus, who rushed off. The other shadow warriors were coming down the hillside, ready to loose an arrow at the first sign of movement, well aware that most of the druchii were now dead or otherwise occupied.
Olethus and the elf beside him both ran past the dark elf in their path, jumping past on both directions. The dark elf spun quickly, cut across the back of silver-haired warrior’s leg in one smooth motion and then with two steps was in front of Olethus, who stepped back and took a curved knife from his belt.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez: Is there any hope left for the young prince Dannaron? Can the children of Nagrythe take their vengeance upon the elite dark elf shades? And what will be the cost?
Stay tuned!
Probably one or two chapters left in this.
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
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Arellion Sapher
- Posts: 106
- Joined: Mon Dec 08, 2008 6:40 pm
- Location: Albion
I'm liking this... Dannaron's talent for wordsmithery is clearly the counterbalance to his martial ineptitude... I was very pleased with his verbal skirmishes in this instalment.
The one problem with your writing is that you use some very elaborate, florid language to describe absolutely everything. While this makes your scenes detailed and well-observed, it also means they lose pace - it feels like a scientific study, not a battle, in a few places;
There is nothing wrong with elaborate language - the principle is great, and your writing is very skilled. However, you need to know when to switch it off. Describing every individual flex of the muscle is not necessary - it distracts the brain from the action. Observe the same quote above, but cut down:
To summarise, your writing style is marvellous and atmospheric, but at times it is heavy going. Always re-read everything you write two or three times, and each time think about what is necessary and what is superfluous.
For example, your dialogue is excellent and entertaining. Your battle-scenes less so. Just something to think about...
The one problem with your writing is that you use some very elaborate, florid language to describe absolutely everything. While this makes your scenes detailed and well-observed, it also means they lose pace - it feels like a scientific study, not a battle, in a few places;
It's just a bit too wordy.But already the last bolt of the magazine had dropped into place; the dark elf drew back the string with speed from long training and was ready for another shot. Telephus’ eyes widened and for one blink his entire world was the point of the bolt that was about to end him.
There is nothing wrong with elaborate language - the principle is great, and your writing is very skilled. However, you need to know when to switch it off. Describing every individual flex of the muscle is not necessary - it distracts the brain from the action. Observe the same quote above, but cut down:
That's half the length, twice the pace. I'm by no means attempting to make you adopt my own writing style, but I often have the same problem of over-writing sentences and actions. It just isn't as engaging.The final enemy bolt fell into place with a harsh clack. For a moment, Telephus' universe was centred on the steel shaft.
To summarise, your writing style is marvellous and atmospheric, but at times it is heavy going. Always re-read everything you write two or three times, and each time think about what is necessary and what is superfluous.
For example, your dialogue is excellent and entertaining. Your battle-scenes less so. Just something to think about...
Arellion, you rock. Seriously. I wasn't expecting any critiquing, let alone one that thoughtful. Much kudos!
I must confess that I've comitted the mortal sin of posting these before proof-reading them at all, but I shall make haste to correct this and to take your advice. It may well be that the depth of the description is just what has made this so hard and lengthy a thing to write (six weeks so far)
Again thanks, and the next chapter will head up sometime tomorrow, hopefully edited.
I must confess that I've comitted the mortal sin of posting these before proof-reading them at all, but I shall make haste to correct this and to take your advice. It may well be that the depth of the description is just what has made this so hard and lengthy a thing to write (six weeks so far)
Again thanks, and the next chapter will head up sometime tomorrow, hopefully edited.
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
And here it is.
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Dannaron’s heart had never beat faster. He moved over the broken land like a dream, with the sigh of the waves now filling his ears. His bearers had doubled their pace and now seemed to be going more like horses than elves, but their grip was tight and their breath ragged. Even without doing anything, he was slowing them down.
This was just as well, since Dannaron did not think he could speak a word, even if they removed the gag. His own breathing was unpredictable and short since Hyllis had brought boot to him earlier. Regardless of how he gasped he still felt like he was drowning.
But his relatives had caught up! Even now they might be hot on their heels, if Hyllis and the rest hadn’t already killed them. Dannaron, who had always felt a keen sense of his future, now felt it stronger than ever. His whole destiny hinged on the next few moments of his life.
One of the dark elves, a sharp-faced youth wearing a deep read bandana, turned his head back towards the cliff-face they were running under; “Agis, we are being followed.”
“Earth swallow him! How many, Perse?”
“I am not sure. I can only see the one. He is atop the cliff over there, and making good speed. Should I deal with him?”
“No, not until we are sure he is alone. Head towards the cliff wall everyone; there is no cover out here.”
Once Agis and the others had started moving Perse shouted out a warning and a white-fletched arrow landed amongst them, without hitting anyone. “I hope that Khaine himself steals Hyllis away. She has led us to death here!”
Dannaron was proud that he managed not to smirk underneath his gag.
“We are not dead yet. If there is only one of him then we may forget him. Once we are through here we shall be covered or the way to the boat.”
As Agis was speaking they came to a place where the cliff leaned out and over them. A pillar of rock was to their left, but directly in front of where they stood it opened into a circle like a great gateway that a stream probably flowed through once before the breaking of the land. Now there was just a tunnel of smooth, water-worn rock leading to a narrow path sheltered by the overhanging cliff. It was barely a cart-length wide, between the sheer wall of rock and the angry grey sea.
“We are not far now. Tantalus and Sisyphus will be waiting for us at the ship. We shall launch immediately, and with the prize. Home and victory is just through here.”
Dannaron screwed his eyes shot as his gaze was full of rock that shielded him from the view of his rescuers. If he could just be dropped, if he could slip free of his bonds, if he could do anything… Was his grand destiny to be a burden to his family until his death?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Telephus stepped a half-turn to the side and back and Hyllis’ swipe flashed past him. He stabbed forward at her calf but Hyllis was no longer there. Telephus stopped the motion of his sword instantly and readied it in front of him as Hyllis pirouetted and came back at him, one arm and sword held before her face and the other at her side. Making the most of his longer sword, Telephus swung in a short arc at her head as she came on: Hyllis hit the ground, rolled under the blow and sprang to her feet again closer again to Telephus. She let her momentum carry her arm towards his neck, but found the sword master’s sword was already there. It caught her shorter sword by one of its barbs and with a sharp twist sent it out of her hand. Telephus continued with the motion, bringing his sword up above her shoulder and then down towards the base of her neck. Before he could finish the strike, Hyllis’ other sword swung for his neck and Telephus was forced to step back to avoid it. Hyllis stepped back at the same time, slipped a foot under her blade where it had landed and flipped it into her hand.
Olethus jumped backwards again, out of reach of the sabre as it tore past him. His pale eyes burned bright as he spun his knife in one hand and then threw it to the other. Fooled by the feint the dark elf moved his parry in the wrong direction, but then seeing Olethus’ actual thrust ducked his head under the move and made to slash at Olethus’ leg. But the highborn of the Nagarythe wear more than cloth when on the hunt, and the dark elf’s sabre clanged as it hit his Ithilmar mail. Olethus turned, torn clothes whipping around him, as the dark elf raised his sabre for the final blow. Olethus moved to parry, but before the strike came the dark elf screamed: Olethus’ silver haired companion had drawn his bow and shot the dark elf in the thigh. Not losing a beat, Olethus stepped forwards, grabbed the druchii’s sword arm by the wrist and moved his face right next to the elf as he cut his throat. His warm blood steamed into the air, and the dark elf could see nothing but hundreds of years of fear and harsh living in the wilderness passing through his foe’s eyes.
Hyllis was now the only dark elf left alive. As Olethus watched, his silver-haired companion and saviour pitched backwards onto the sand in a dead faint. The sand was drenched with his blood: he would never get up again.
Olethus turned towards Hyllis and saw that she and Telephus were locked together: both of her blades pressed against the swordmaster’s longer one, and neither seemed to be making progress. “Go!” Telephus shouted, giving way to the woman as she swung past. Olethus gritted his teeth, wished the fury of Khaine on the dark elf woman and all her kin, and rushed past. The remaining four of Olethus’ cousins closed down on Hyllis, their bows drawn.
A short, businesslike stroke from Telephus was parried with a ringing clang by Hyllis, who continued her spin only to have Telephus duck under the blow. While facing the other way the swordmaster attempted to kick out Hyllis’ legs, but she jumped over his foot. Both spun to face each other again. Telephus thrust upwards but his blow was knocked askew and ended up slicing a long, clean gash along the side of Hyllis’ neck, tearing through the strap of her veil as it did so. At the same time Hyllis’ sword snarled a tear in Telephus’ opposite cheek. With the veil falling from her face, Telephus saw that the woman’s lips were a deep crimson, as if coloured, and in stark contrast to the blinding whiteness of her teeth. A predator’s face, now curved into a predator’s smile.
“Oblivion awaits” She whispered in the high tongue before jumping away from Telephus and sprinting up the hill, towards the oncoming shadow warriors. An arrow flew harmlessly just past her shoulder, while another hit her torso and bounced off the hauberk beneath her cloak.
Telephus turned and was straight after her. He could hear the pack before him shouting like hounds on a scent. The first of the pack she came to didn’t have time to fire his arrow before she was before him, her blade ripping through his neck. Telephus missed his stab as the next shadow warrior’s torso was laid open before he could draw his sword. Hyllis spun as she ran, and knocked an arrow out of the air before it struck her face.
The last two members of the pack stopped and shared a glance.
Hyllis’ legs coiled like springs. For a moment she was nothing but a smear of black, and then she stood on the other side of both shadow warriors who fell before they could shout out. Telephus leapt forwards, swinging his sword down with all his momentum behind it, but seemed to be moving through water. Hyllis stepped to the side with a laugh, and then skipped away from him, in the same direction that Dannaron had been taken.
Telephus fought to his feet and went after her, but as he ran his limbs seemed to get heavier and his cut began to catch fire. The ground rushed up to meet him as the sky turned black and the sand turned to powdered bone. Telephus looked up at his foe but now everything seemed obscured behind a flaming veil of blood.
Oblivion awaits.
Telephus felt his heart melt away as he remembered the oily sheen of the dark elf woman’s swords. He was damned.
Desperately the swordmaster tried to make a motion, some sign, though what he wanted to convey and to whom he was not sure. Perhaps just denial.
All the years of Telephus’ life did not pass before his eyes, but instead he began to see a succession of faces: pale, bloodied, surprised. Pawing at arrows, looking down in horror. All of the deaths he had brought, the souls that he had sent on. He could feel them now, waiting. He could feel their claws pulling at him as his body was consumed in fire and tried to flee, to move, but nothing would respond.
The last thing Telephus heard was the arrival of the crows.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez:
With Telephus dead, what hope does Dannaron have of rescue? Is there any elf or beast that can stand before the monster that is Hyllis?
This is as far as I've written the story so far, so there might be a bit of a delay before the next chapter. Stay tuned!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dannaron’s heart had never beat faster. He moved over the broken land like a dream, with the sigh of the waves now filling his ears. His bearers had doubled their pace and now seemed to be going more like horses than elves, but their grip was tight and their breath ragged. Even without doing anything, he was slowing them down.
This was just as well, since Dannaron did not think he could speak a word, even if they removed the gag. His own breathing was unpredictable and short since Hyllis had brought boot to him earlier. Regardless of how he gasped he still felt like he was drowning.
But his relatives had caught up! Even now they might be hot on their heels, if Hyllis and the rest hadn’t already killed them. Dannaron, who had always felt a keen sense of his future, now felt it stronger than ever. His whole destiny hinged on the next few moments of his life.
One of the dark elves, a sharp-faced youth wearing a deep read bandana, turned his head back towards the cliff-face they were running under; “Agis, we are being followed.”
“Earth swallow him! How many, Perse?”
“I am not sure. I can only see the one. He is atop the cliff over there, and making good speed. Should I deal with him?”
“No, not until we are sure he is alone. Head towards the cliff wall everyone; there is no cover out here.”
Once Agis and the others had started moving Perse shouted out a warning and a white-fletched arrow landed amongst them, without hitting anyone. “I hope that Khaine himself steals Hyllis away. She has led us to death here!”
Dannaron was proud that he managed not to smirk underneath his gag.
“We are not dead yet. If there is only one of him then we may forget him. Once we are through here we shall be covered or the way to the boat.”
As Agis was speaking they came to a place where the cliff leaned out and over them. A pillar of rock was to their left, but directly in front of where they stood it opened into a circle like a great gateway that a stream probably flowed through once before the breaking of the land. Now there was just a tunnel of smooth, water-worn rock leading to a narrow path sheltered by the overhanging cliff. It was barely a cart-length wide, between the sheer wall of rock and the angry grey sea.
“We are not far now. Tantalus and Sisyphus will be waiting for us at the ship. We shall launch immediately, and with the prize. Home and victory is just through here.”
Dannaron screwed his eyes shot as his gaze was full of rock that shielded him from the view of his rescuers. If he could just be dropped, if he could slip free of his bonds, if he could do anything… Was his grand destiny to be a burden to his family until his death?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Telephus stepped a half-turn to the side and back and Hyllis’ swipe flashed past him. He stabbed forward at her calf but Hyllis was no longer there. Telephus stopped the motion of his sword instantly and readied it in front of him as Hyllis pirouetted and came back at him, one arm and sword held before her face and the other at her side. Making the most of his longer sword, Telephus swung in a short arc at her head as she came on: Hyllis hit the ground, rolled under the blow and sprang to her feet again closer again to Telephus. She let her momentum carry her arm towards his neck, but found the sword master’s sword was already there. It caught her shorter sword by one of its barbs and with a sharp twist sent it out of her hand. Telephus continued with the motion, bringing his sword up above her shoulder and then down towards the base of her neck. Before he could finish the strike, Hyllis’ other sword swung for his neck and Telephus was forced to step back to avoid it. Hyllis stepped back at the same time, slipped a foot under her blade where it had landed and flipped it into her hand.
Olethus jumped backwards again, out of reach of the sabre as it tore past him. His pale eyes burned bright as he spun his knife in one hand and then threw it to the other. Fooled by the feint the dark elf moved his parry in the wrong direction, but then seeing Olethus’ actual thrust ducked his head under the move and made to slash at Olethus’ leg. But the highborn of the Nagarythe wear more than cloth when on the hunt, and the dark elf’s sabre clanged as it hit his Ithilmar mail. Olethus turned, torn clothes whipping around him, as the dark elf raised his sabre for the final blow. Olethus moved to parry, but before the strike came the dark elf screamed: Olethus’ silver haired companion had drawn his bow and shot the dark elf in the thigh. Not losing a beat, Olethus stepped forwards, grabbed the druchii’s sword arm by the wrist and moved his face right next to the elf as he cut his throat. His warm blood steamed into the air, and the dark elf could see nothing but hundreds of years of fear and harsh living in the wilderness passing through his foe’s eyes.
Hyllis was now the only dark elf left alive. As Olethus watched, his silver-haired companion and saviour pitched backwards onto the sand in a dead faint. The sand was drenched with his blood: he would never get up again.
Olethus turned towards Hyllis and saw that she and Telephus were locked together: both of her blades pressed against the swordmaster’s longer one, and neither seemed to be making progress. “Go!” Telephus shouted, giving way to the woman as she swung past. Olethus gritted his teeth, wished the fury of Khaine on the dark elf woman and all her kin, and rushed past. The remaining four of Olethus’ cousins closed down on Hyllis, their bows drawn.
A short, businesslike stroke from Telephus was parried with a ringing clang by Hyllis, who continued her spin only to have Telephus duck under the blow. While facing the other way the swordmaster attempted to kick out Hyllis’ legs, but she jumped over his foot. Both spun to face each other again. Telephus thrust upwards but his blow was knocked askew and ended up slicing a long, clean gash along the side of Hyllis’ neck, tearing through the strap of her veil as it did so. At the same time Hyllis’ sword snarled a tear in Telephus’ opposite cheek. With the veil falling from her face, Telephus saw that the woman’s lips were a deep crimson, as if coloured, and in stark contrast to the blinding whiteness of her teeth. A predator’s face, now curved into a predator’s smile.
“Oblivion awaits” She whispered in the high tongue before jumping away from Telephus and sprinting up the hill, towards the oncoming shadow warriors. An arrow flew harmlessly just past her shoulder, while another hit her torso and bounced off the hauberk beneath her cloak.
Telephus turned and was straight after her. He could hear the pack before him shouting like hounds on a scent. The first of the pack she came to didn’t have time to fire his arrow before she was before him, her blade ripping through his neck. Telephus missed his stab as the next shadow warrior’s torso was laid open before he could draw his sword. Hyllis spun as she ran, and knocked an arrow out of the air before it struck her face.
The last two members of the pack stopped and shared a glance.
Hyllis’ legs coiled like springs. For a moment she was nothing but a smear of black, and then she stood on the other side of both shadow warriors who fell before they could shout out. Telephus leapt forwards, swinging his sword down with all his momentum behind it, but seemed to be moving through water. Hyllis stepped to the side with a laugh, and then skipped away from him, in the same direction that Dannaron had been taken.
Telephus fought to his feet and went after her, but as he ran his limbs seemed to get heavier and his cut began to catch fire. The ground rushed up to meet him as the sky turned black and the sand turned to powdered bone. Telephus looked up at his foe but now everything seemed obscured behind a flaming veil of blood.
Oblivion awaits.
Telephus felt his heart melt away as he remembered the oily sheen of the dark elf woman’s swords. He was damned.
Desperately the swordmaster tried to make a motion, some sign, though what he wanted to convey and to whom he was not sure. Perhaps just denial.
All the years of Telephus’ life did not pass before his eyes, but instead he began to see a succession of faces: pale, bloodied, surprised. Pawing at arrows, looking down in horror. All of the deaths he had brought, the souls that he had sent on. He could feel them now, waiting. He could feel their claws pulling at him as his body was consumed in fire and tried to flee, to move, but nothing would respond.
The last thing Telephus heard was the arrival of the crows.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez:
With Telephus dead, what hope does Dannaron have of rescue? Is there any elf or beast that can stand before the monster that is Hyllis?
This is as far as I've written the story so far, so there might be a bit of a delay before the next chapter. Stay tuned!
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
-
Arellion Sapher
- Posts: 106
- Joined: Mon Dec 08, 2008 6:40 pm
- Location: Albion
I just noticed the Greek Myth names... something should have clicked with Telephus, but... damn. Good job.
This has far better flow to it. It's just fast enough to keep me interested, but not generalised, so not removed. We're still in there, but not in bullet time. An improvement.
If I am to make any critique, it should be that the Dark Elves are a little wishy-washy. They don't feel like the hateful, bitter individuals that you portray so well in the Shadow Warriors. I mean, they're shades. These guys spit on Ulthuan's soil whenever they arrive. They're in a raw situation now, but they would still remain vicious... I don't know, something to think about. Maybe it's me.
Poor Telephus...
This has far better flow to it. It's just fast enough to keep me interested, but not generalised, so not removed. We're still in there, but not in bullet time. An improvement.
If I am to make any critique, it should be that the Dark Elves are a little wishy-washy. They don't feel like the hateful, bitter individuals that you portray so well in the Shadow Warriors. I mean, they're shades. These guys spit on Ulthuan's soil whenever they arrive. They're in a raw situation now, but they would still remain vicious... I don't know, something to think about. Maybe it's me.
Poor Telephus...
For a moment the rock cleared and Dannaron was looking up at the near-black sky. The tunnel had ended and now he was on the brink of a small C shaped inlet. Sheer cliff walls rose on every side as if the land had been broken apart long ago by the wrath of some ancient god.
He couldn’t see the sleek black galley sitting at anchor as if standing to attention. The waves seemed to slip around it sides almost as if giving it a wide berth. There was little decoration from stern to bow, and indeed the whole thing looked like it had shaped out of one piece of obsidian, if stone could float. The harbour was so small that even this compact, economical beast took up all the available room. There was no convenient landing point: where the dark elves stood with Dannaron led straight onto loose rocks and then into the ocean with no beach in the way, but it had served well enough.
The prince was dropped onto the rock unceremoniously. It was slimed with salt water that he could feel soaking through his fine robes. He saw the bearer at his feet double over to catch his breath and heard the one at his head (who he’d now identified as Agis) take a few steps forwards.
“Sisyphus! Send out the plank, we are coming aboard.”
Dannaron blinked hard as he tried to stop his head from spinning. When he could see straight again he was hoisted up and felt a brief twirl of vertigo as he was carried up a slope and then laid down again on a hardwood deck.
“Lash him to the mast!” one of Dannaron’s bearers said, kneeling before him and smiling. “We have a long journey ahead of us, and a noble sacrifice to the waves will not do.”
A new voice from behind the prince laughed as he was picked up by the hair. “Ha! This young foal? Being pitched into the waves is a death for Phoenix Kings, not milk-blooded saplings like this one.”
A thin chord was looped quickly around Dannaron two times as Agis moved to stand before him. Dannaron saw with a start that he was the same elf that had caught him in the first place. Agis held the spikes on his greaves up to the prince’s neck. “One move out of place and there will be unavoidable damage.” He said in his native tongue. His ice eyes were barriers over what Dannaron could see was a raging fire seeking a chance to be loose.
“I would be careful, Agis!” said the elf behind Dannaron as he tied the chord fast, securing the prince to the mast-head, “This is a high-born son of Ulthuan! I hear their tongues are razor-sharp.” To illustrate his point he licked the back of Dannaron’s ear before lightly biting his ear-lobe.
“Tantalus!” Agis barked, “That is not your toy! One discolouration is worth more than your ear. Now haul anchor and hoist sail! The dregs may be here any moment.”
“What of Hyllis?” Asked a female voice that Dannaron did not recognise, all hard stones with sharp edges.
Agis allowed himself a smile, something that seemed to almost pain him. “Our intrepid leader fell behind. As she would no doubt say herself, the objective is worth more than the lives of any member of this party.”
The curled lips turned quickly to a snarl again; “Now move! Perse, Khsayasha, take up the sail. I will take the helm, everyone else is on oars. Row until the sea drags off your arms!”
As the others jumped below deck to the oars, Tantalus cast a glance behind him. He bowed with a flourish at the cliffs. “I leave our broken home to the pale wretches! But Khaine will grant me the chance to call it my home again.” His triumphant smirk turned to a quizzical glance downwards as an arrow punched through his left breast. He lightly tapped the end, as if trying to work out what it was, and then stumbled two steps backwards, falling over the railing and into the sea.
“Kaela Mensha Khaine!” Agis swore, looking up to the cliff face where, a dark shadow against a darker sky, Dannaron could make out the form of Olethus with bow drawn. Agis drew his sword and held it to the sky as a splash signalled the first sweep of the oars.
“Go ahead and shoot, you ghost!” Agis shrieked, “We have your lord, and the souls of your brothers! You have broken rocks and forgotten dreams! We have WON!”
There was a shout from Perse and Agis spun around to see that the black-haired shadow warrior draw himself out of the water, Olethus’ curved knife between his teeth. The galley rocked as he clambered aboard, unsettling Agis while he drew his sword. With one stroke the shadow warrior tore through the bonds tethering Dannaron to the mast, and with another he slipped off those that held his feet. Then Agis was on him.
“Look to the prince!” He shouted, waving Perse off while he shouldered the shadow warrior to the ground, “And get us away!”
The shadow warrior’s legs spun as he pushed himself back to his feet, the knife held out before his face warily. Perse drew his short sword and pressed Dannaron back into the mast when an arrow burst through his neck. The dark elf slumped over the prince, who turned to catch the short sword with his bound hands. The prince took two hurried steps backwards and tried to twist the blade so it faced the right way as Khsayasha drew a knife but then she hesitated, looking back towards the cliff.
The shadow warrior stepped behind the mast to keep it between him and Agis. The dark elf turned towards Dannaron instead, keeping the mast between him and Olethus. The ropes came loose and Dannaron clumsily flipped the short sword into his hand and slipped into a defensive stance, but his fingers had gone numb from being bound and the blade slipped from his hands. Agis shook his head and smiled, his ice eyes never looking more alive then with a high elf before him and a sword in his hand.
An arrow thudded into the deck just by Khsayasha’s feet as she leapt towards the pack member and cut a gash through his left arm with her knife. The warrior barked in pain and stepped quickly away as the oars bit through the waves and the ship began to cut out of the harbour.
Agis raised his sword in a sarcastic salute to Dannaron. The prince felt all of his future coalesce onto the point of that blade. Then, try as he might, it was perhaps not surprising that he couldn’t stop the flicker of relief passing through his face as he glanced over Agis’ shoulder. Being a trained warrior, Agis could not help himself but turn his head to look. He realised the mistake too late. Dannaron shoulder-charged into the elf while he was distracted and Agis was thrown backwards over the railing. The prince jumped onto the rail himself, balanced for a moment, and then launched himself into the dark water.
It was cold and quiet when Dannaron opened his eyes again. There was little enough light to see by above the water and below the surface he was all but blind: the only thing he could make out was the threshing shape of Agis as he sunk, fully armoured, to the bottom of the deep. Dannaron’s long robes and hair felt like hands pulling him down, but his arms threshed through the water with the strength of one who has everything to gain. He could hear muffled shouting above him, followed by another loud splash, but he put it from mind and made for the direction he hoped the landing was.
When at last his lungs could not hold the pressure any more Dannaron broke the surface and gasped. He was just at the lip of the inlet, much further from land than he had intended and much closer to the rocks. The tide was going out, pulling him to sea along with the ship. Dannaron took note of the wall, took another deep breath, and dived under again. He was tired and cold and numb, but there was no alternative now. Dannaron tried to concentrate on what would await him on the shore, but found he could only focus on what would await him if he was caught again.
It had the desired effect.
By the time Dannaron surfaced again, his efforts had brought him little progress. He was now just inside the inlet and closer to the centre. He was already panting, and could swear that the sound of crashing waves about him was much louder than it was before, as if the sea had turned against him along with everything else. Dannaron cast his gaze heavenwards as he treaded water, begging to the gods for some sort of relief, and saw at that moment a dark figure leap down from the top of the cliff and fall into the water with barely any splash. Dannaron turned his gaze downwards, and found the tunnel that he had come through. He ducked his head under the water again, and swore to make it to that entrance if it took the last of his life in the attempt.
It was three more breaths and a hundred years before the sea pushed him the last few yards and he scrambled onto the slimy stone that he had been lying on just a few minutes ago. Dannaron turned to see the black sail of the dark elf ship already fast shrinking on the horizon, then lay back on the ground and looked at the stone above him.
He was drenched, freezing, could not fill his lungs with enough air and he could no longer move for the pain in his limbs, but this was the most torture he was going to suffer. He was free.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez:
Half the size this time, cause I was feeling antsy about putting it up. But we're nearly there! Just an epilogue to go now.
He couldn’t see the sleek black galley sitting at anchor as if standing to attention. The waves seemed to slip around it sides almost as if giving it a wide berth. There was little decoration from stern to bow, and indeed the whole thing looked like it had shaped out of one piece of obsidian, if stone could float. The harbour was so small that even this compact, economical beast took up all the available room. There was no convenient landing point: where the dark elves stood with Dannaron led straight onto loose rocks and then into the ocean with no beach in the way, but it had served well enough.
The prince was dropped onto the rock unceremoniously. It was slimed with salt water that he could feel soaking through his fine robes. He saw the bearer at his feet double over to catch his breath and heard the one at his head (who he’d now identified as Agis) take a few steps forwards.
“Sisyphus! Send out the plank, we are coming aboard.”
Dannaron blinked hard as he tried to stop his head from spinning. When he could see straight again he was hoisted up and felt a brief twirl of vertigo as he was carried up a slope and then laid down again on a hardwood deck.
“Lash him to the mast!” one of Dannaron’s bearers said, kneeling before him and smiling. “We have a long journey ahead of us, and a noble sacrifice to the waves will not do.”
A new voice from behind the prince laughed as he was picked up by the hair. “Ha! This young foal? Being pitched into the waves is a death for Phoenix Kings, not milk-blooded saplings like this one.”
A thin chord was looped quickly around Dannaron two times as Agis moved to stand before him. Dannaron saw with a start that he was the same elf that had caught him in the first place. Agis held the spikes on his greaves up to the prince’s neck. “One move out of place and there will be unavoidable damage.” He said in his native tongue. His ice eyes were barriers over what Dannaron could see was a raging fire seeking a chance to be loose.
“I would be careful, Agis!” said the elf behind Dannaron as he tied the chord fast, securing the prince to the mast-head, “This is a high-born son of Ulthuan! I hear their tongues are razor-sharp.” To illustrate his point he licked the back of Dannaron’s ear before lightly biting his ear-lobe.
“Tantalus!” Agis barked, “That is not your toy! One discolouration is worth more than your ear. Now haul anchor and hoist sail! The dregs may be here any moment.”
“What of Hyllis?” Asked a female voice that Dannaron did not recognise, all hard stones with sharp edges.
Agis allowed himself a smile, something that seemed to almost pain him. “Our intrepid leader fell behind. As she would no doubt say herself, the objective is worth more than the lives of any member of this party.”
The curled lips turned quickly to a snarl again; “Now move! Perse, Khsayasha, take up the sail. I will take the helm, everyone else is on oars. Row until the sea drags off your arms!”
As the others jumped below deck to the oars, Tantalus cast a glance behind him. He bowed with a flourish at the cliffs. “I leave our broken home to the pale wretches! But Khaine will grant me the chance to call it my home again.” His triumphant smirk turned to a quizzical glance downwards as an arrow punched through his left breast. He lightly tapped the end, as if trying to work out what it was, and then stumbled two steps backwards, falling over the railing and into the sea.
“Kaela Mensha Khaine!” Agis swore, looking up to the cliff face where, a dark shadow against a darker sky, Dannaron could make out the form of Olethus with bow drawn. Agis drew his sword and held it to the sky as a splash signalled the first sweep of the oars.
“Go ahead and shoot, you ghost!” Agis shrieked, “We have your lord, and the souls of your brothers! You have broken rocks and forgotten dreams! We have WON!”
There was a shout from Perse and Agis spun around to see that the black-haired shadow warrior draw himself out of the water, Olethus’ curved knife between his teeth. The galley rocked as he clambered aboard, unsettling Agis while he drew his sword. With one stroke the shadow warrior tore through the bonds tethering Dannaron to the mast, and with another he slipped off those that held his feet. Then Agis was on him.
“Look to the prince!” He shouted, waving Perse off while he shouldered the shadow warrior to the ground, “And get us away!”
The shadow warrior’s legs spun as he pushed himself back to his feet, the knife held out before his face warily. Perse drew his short sword and pressed Dannaron back into the mast when an arrow burst through his neck. The dark elf slumped over the prince, who turned to catch the short sword with his bound hands. The prince took two hurried steps backwards and tried to twist the blade so it faced the right way as Khsayasha drew a knife but then she hesitated, looking back towards the cliff.
The shadow warrior stepped behind the mast to keep it between him and Agis. The dark elf turned towards Dannaron instead, keeping the mast between him and Olethus. The ropes came loose and Dannaron clumsily flipped the short sword into his hand and slipped into a defensive stance, but his fingers had gone numb from being bound and the blade slipped from his hands. Agis shook his head and smiled, his ice eyes never looking more alive then with a high elf before him and a sword in his hand.
An arrow thudded into the deck just by Khsayasha’s feet as she leapt towards the pack member and cut a gash through his left arm with her knife. The warrior barked in pain and stepped quickly away as the oars bit through the waves and the ship began to cut out of the harbour.
Agis raised his sword in a sarcastic salute to Dannaron. The prince felt all of his future coalesce onto the point of that blade. Then, try as he might, it was perhaps not surprising that he couldn’t stop the flicker of relief passing through his face as he glanced over Agis’ shoulder. Being a trained warrior, Agis could not help himself but turn his head to look. He realised the mistake too late. Dannaron shoulder-charged into the elf while he was distracted and Agis was thrown backwards over the railing. The prince jumped onto the rail himself, balanced for a moment, and then launched himself into the dark water.
It was cold and quiet when Dannaron opened his eyes again. There was little enough light to see by above the water and below the surface he was all but blind: the only thing he could make out was the threshing shape of Agis as he sunk, fully armoured, to the bottom of the deep. Dannaron’s long robes and hair felt like hands pulling him down, but his arms threshed through the water with the strength of one who has everything to gain. He could hear muffled shouting above him, followed by another loud splash, but he put it from mind and made for the direction he hoped the landing was.
When at last his lungs could not hold the pressure any more Dannaron broke the surface and gasped. He was just at the lip of the inlet, much further from land than he had intended and much closer to the rocks. The tide was going out, pulling him to sea along with the ship. Dannaron took note of the wall, took another deep breath, and dived under again. He was tired and cold and numb, but there was no alternative now. Dannaron tried to concentrate on what would await him on the shore, but found he could only focus on what would await him if he was caught again.
It had the desired effect.
By the time Dannaron surfaced again, his efforts had brought him little progress. He was now just inside the inlet and closer to the centre. He was already panting, and could swear that the sound of crashing waves about him was much louder than it was before, as if the sea had turned against him along with everything else. Dannaron cast his gaze heavenwards as he treaded water, begging to the gods for some sort of relief, and saw at that moment a dark figure leap down from the top of the cliff and fall into the water with barely any splash. Dannaron turned his gaze downwards, and found the tunnel that he had come through. He ducked his head under the water again, and swore to make it to that entrance if it took the last of his life in the attempt.
It was three more breaths and a hundred years before the sea pushed him the last few yards and he scrambled onto the slimy stone that he had been lying on just a few minutes ago. Dannaron turned to see the black sail of the dark elf ship already fast shrinking on the horizon, then lay back on the ground and looked at the stone above him.
He was drenched, freezing, could not fill his lungs with enough air and he could no longer move for the pain in his limbs, but this was the most torture he was going to suffer. He was free.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez:
Half the size this time, cause I was feeling antsy about putting it up. But we're nearly there! Just an epilogue to go now.
Last edited by Dannaron on Fri Dec 19, 2008 1:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
-
Arellion Sapher
- Posts: 106
- Joined: Mon Dec 08, 2008 6:40 pm
- Location: Albion
A darker shadow made its way through the grey-black foam, trailing a red mist behind it. Over time it drew level with the galley and clambered aboard.
Soaked from head to toe, her short hair clinging to her head, bleeding from her neck and her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, Hyllis rose from the waves and rolled onto the deck.
* * *
The promised rain had finally come. Blood was washed into the fine sand where it made a deep brown mud. The three Nagarythe stumbled back the way they had come in the near-total darkness, their heads downcast and their minds numb.
By night or day this was the country of the shadow warriors and their feet needed no direction to lead Prince Dannaron back to the carnage at the hill. He had almost stepped on top of Telephus before he realised he was there, curled into a foetal position face-down in the sand with his sword beside him. His veins stood out black against his skin. His lids were open but his eyes were missing. Small strips of flesh were also missing from his face and arms.
The prince’s knees gave way and he fell onto the ground before his tutor. He looked upwards and could just make out the vague shapes of Olethus and the other shadow warrior walking from corpse to corpse, trying to identify which were dark elves and which were their own kin. The words this is the price for your life ran through his head over and over. He had nothing left in him: no thoughts, no feelings, no energy.
As the rain fell over the Shadowlands, Prince Dannaron his head to touch that of Telephus and cried.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The physician snipped off the chord and sat up. Torches set into sconces in the walls flickered quietly to provide light, but did nothing to take the edge off the intense cold of the land of chill at night-time.
“I will go and fetch a bandage: you will need to be very careful not to move your head suddenly or you may tear them free again.” He said in a bored tone, laying the scissors down. “I would be especially cautious while sleeping. You will have to cipher that on your own.”
As he got up and walked to the other end of the room there was the marked sound of boot on stone as Cygnos kneeled beside the girl. Hyllis swallowed but did not trust herself to look at him.
“I expected success, Hyllis.” He said softly, “I am disappointed.” Hyllis mind was churning at every tone and pause, trying to find what words that he wanted to hear. “I am sorry my lord. That was not my intention.”
“No? Then it was a blunder. That is unfortunate. If it should get out that my favoured scion is fallible, then it could be supposed that I am also fallible. This is not a favourable position for one of the favoured of Malekith’s court. Do you understand?”
“Yes, lord.”
“You do?” Cygnos asked, almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, “Then explain to me why you did it. Was it disloyalty or ineptitude? Were you trying to make me look foolish?”
“No! Lord! My lord, I love you!” Hyllis screamed out, forgetting herself and turning to look at Cygnos. His blue eyes were entirely blank: she could make out nothing behind them.
“Ah. So it was ineptitude then. That is unfortunate. Disloyalty can usually be cured.”
Hyllis screwed her eyes shut and began to mouth a silent prayer to any god that was listening, regardless of what they’d demand.
“However…” Cygnos said. Hyllis eyes shot open.
“However, you did also kill the swordmaster that was hired to be his tutor. And most of his guardians. This was not what I asked you to do, but the fact remains that having an attendant who can kill a swordmaster is a useful asset. So you have not yet outlived your use as a favoured pupil.”
Cygnos reached out and gently stroked Hyllis’ hair. “But, my brave cat, I would warn you that one of your lives is spent. Now all of your time is borrowed from me.”
Cygnos leaned closer.
“My, my, physician, I am disappointed! Some of these sutures are of different sizes! This is not fit for one of my favoured attendants!”
Cygnos’ nails were sharp, long and immaculately cared for. He made one swift, economical motion with his hand and tore out all the stiches. Hyllis screamed as the physician came back over, smiling. Cygnos looked up at him, his face a picture of grave concern.
“Better start over again.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez:
So that is that! I know this doesn't seem worth the wait: I was at a folk festival for the last week, and they tend to include rather few computers.
This ending is open to changes, by the by. If there's something else you'd like to see in it, feel free to make mention and I shall write it in. I feel tis a little short.
So! What did you guys think of the story all up? A trifle long I guess, but I'm glad I finally managed to tell the tale I came up with all those weeks ago.
Soaked from head to toe, her short hair clinging to her head, bleeding from her neck and her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, Hyllis rose from the waves and rolled onto the deck.
* * *
The promised rain had finally come. Blood was washed into the fine sand where it made a deep brown mud. The three Nagarythe stumbled back the way they had come in the near-total darkness, their heads downcast and their minds numb.
By night or day this was the country of the shadow warriors and their feet needed no direction to lead Prince Dannaron back to the carnage at the hill. He had almost stepped on top of Telephus before he realised he was there, curled into a foetal position face-down in the sand with his sword beside him. His veins stood out black against his skin. His lids were open but his eyes were missing. Small strips of flesh were also missing from his face and arms.
The prince’s knees gave way and he fell onto the ground before his tutor. He looked upwards and could just make out the vague shapes of Olethus and the other shadow warrior walking from corpse to corpse, trying to identify which were dark elves and which were their own kin. The words this is the price for your life ran through his head over and over. He had nothing left in him: no thoughts, no feelings, no energy.
As the rain fell over the Shadowlands, Prince Dannaron his head to touch that of Telephus and cried.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The physician snipped off the chord and sat up. Torches set into sconces in the walls flickered quietly to provide light, but did nothing to take the edge off the intense cold of the land of chill at night-time.
“I will go and fetch a bandage: you will need to be very careful not to move your head suddenly or you may tear them free again.” He said in a bored tone, laying the scissors down. “I would be especially cautious while sleeping. You will have to cipher that on your own.”
As he got up and walked to the other end of the room there was the marked sound of boot on stone as Cygnos kneeled beside the girl. Hyllis swallowed but did not trust herself to look at him.
“I expected success, Hyllis.” He said softly, “I am disappointed.” Hyllis mind was churning at every tone and pause, trying to find what words that he wanted to hear. “I am sorry my lord. That was not my intention.”
“No? Then it was a blunder. That is unfortunate. If it should get out that my favoured scion is fallible, then it could be supposed that I am also fallible. This is not a favourable position for one of the favoured of Malekith’s court. Do you understand?”
“Yes, lord.”
“You do?” Cygnos asked, almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, “Then explain to me why you did it. Was it disloyalty or ineptitude? Were you trying to make me look foolish?”
“No! Lord! My lord, I love you!” Hyllis screamed out, forgetting herself and turning to look at Cygnos. His blue eyes were entirely blank: she could make out nothing behind them.
“Ah. So it was ineptitude then. That is unfortunate. Disloyalty can usually be cured.”
Hyllis screwed her eyes shut and began to mouth a silent prayer to any god that was listening, regardless of what they’d demand.
“However…” Cygnos said. Hyllis eyes shot open.
“However, you did also kill the swordmaster that was hired to be his tutor. And most of his guardians. This was not what I asked you to do, but the fact remains that having an attendant who can kill a swordmaster is a useful asset. So you have not yet outlived your use as a favoured pupil.”
Cygnos reached out and gently stroked Hyllis’ hair. “But, my brave cat, I would warn you that one of your lives is spent. Now all of your time is borrowed from me.”
Cygnos leaned closer.
“My, my, physician, I am disappointed! Some of these sutures are of different sizes! This is not fit for one of my favoured attendants!”
Cygnos’ nails were sharp, long and immaculately cared for. He made one swift, economical motion with his hand and tore out all the stiches. Hyllis screamed as the physician came back over, smiling. Cygnos looked up at him, his face a picture of grave concern.
“Better start over again.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author sez:
So that is that! I know this doesn't seem worth the wait: I was at a folk festival for the last week, and they tend to include rather few computers.
This ending is open to changes, by the by. If there's something else you'd like to see in it, feel free to make mention and I shall write it in. I feel tis a little short.
So! What did you guys think of the story all up? A trifle long I guess, but I'm glad I finally managed to tell the tale I came up with all those weeks ago.
Last edited by Dannaron on Mon Jan 05, 2009 3:20 am, edited 2 times in total.
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
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Ruerl Khan
- High Executioner
- Posts: 1318
- Joined: Mon Jun 07, 2004 4:43 pm
- Location: Århus, Denmark.
I do not have the skill on the technical issues that other posters here have, so I'll just keep to the parts I think could use a small bit,
Overall: Its rare to read a story that gives both sides so much credit, thats very well done, most stories just tend to describe X killing Y incredibly fast and it gets boring, your story tells a lot more as the fight progresses, as for the ending of the story I have only one comment as to the epilogue: What about Cygnos and his reward for the failure to capture Dannaron?
I have a special fondness of the way you describe the swordmaster in the first part of the story as well as the personality of Dannaron, it is good to see a character who's not the be all and end all of a story, and good to see that he can win without having to kill the enemy, win despite all the losses, that if anything exemplifies the high elves: being able to go on, despite everything.
Sidenote:
On swords and using them: A two handed sword tend to be faster than a one handed, not slower, the reason for this is the second hand placed on the pommel of the blade helping to pull the blade around the center that is the blade that held by the primary hand. On the same token you can fight with even a large sword in very small and cramped spaces.
-But thats really a minor issue.
Overall: Its rare to read a story that gives both sides so much credit, thats very well done, most stories just tend to describe X killing Y incredibly fast and it gets boring, your story tells a lot more as the fight progresses, as for the ending of the story I have only one comment as to the epilogue: What about Cygnos and his reward for the failure to capture Dannaron?
I have a special fondness of the way you describe the swordmaster in the first part of the story as well as the personality of Dannaron, it is good to see a character who's not the be all and end all of a story, and good to see that he can win without having to kill the enemy, win despite all the losses, that if anything exemplifies the high elves: being able to go on, despite everything.
Sidenote:
On swords and using them: A two handed sword tend to be faster than a one handed, not slower, the reason for this is the second hand placed on the pommel of the blade helping to pull the blade around the center that is the blade that held by the primary hand. On the same token you can fight with even a large sword in very small and cramped spaces.
-But thats really a minor issue.
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Arellion Sapher
- Posts: 106
- Joined: Mon Dec 08, 2008 6:40 pm
- Location: Albion
*bows*
Many thanks for the kind words sires, it does writer's heart good to be appreciated.
I did try my hardest to make good druchii: a victory is much sweeter if its over an evenly-matched enemy. Good to see it apparently paid off!
As for the request, I had originally been planning to end the story that way. I think I decided against it when I couldn't decide how to do so, but then I had an idea and thus the epilogue has been edited to include a heart-warming scene with Cygnos once again.
Many thanks for the kind words sires, it does writer's heart good to be appreciated.
I did try my hardest to make good druchii: a victory is much sweeter if its over an evenly-matched enemy. Good to see it apparently paid off!
As for the request, I had originally been planning to end the story that way. I think I decided against it when I couldn't decide how to do so, but then I had an idea and thus the epilogue has been edited to include a heart-warming scene with Cygnos once again.
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
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Ruerl Khan
- High Executioner
- Posts: 1318
- Joined: Mon Jun 07, 2004 4:43 pm
- Location: Århus, Denmark.
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Si'anelle of Avelorn
- Dreamer of Worlds
- Posts: 463
- Joined: Tue Jun 08, 2004 11:00 am
- Location: New Zealand
- Contact:
Re: Blood Ties
Amazing. Truly Dan, amazing; love your stories, as always.
Just a question, regarding the fighting; is it just my lack of observation, or did our wonderful swordmaster not actually kill anyone before his death? Rather a sad way to go in my mind, poison, but those Dark kin are quite the bastards aren't they?
Extremely well done, ten out of ten. Can't wait for a sequal
Just a question, regarding the fighting; is it just my lack of observation, or did our wonderful swordmaster not actually kill anyone before his death? Rather a sad way to go in my mind, poison, but those Dark kin are quite the bastards aren't they?
Extremely well done, ten out of ten. Can't wait for a sequal
[i]'Though the darkness grows stronger each day, we still shall fight it, with hope that it will sometime fade. For hope is our shield against our unimaginable foe, and for as long as we live, our hope will never die...'[/i]
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Illidan Hellforge
- Posts: 317
- Joined: Sun Mar 05, 2006 6:32 pm
- Location: Dutchland
Re: Blood Ties
Last time Dannaron visited the forum was the second of november, 2009 (Profile). I don't think he'll be answering your questions or making more sequels.Arcsheild wrote:Amazing. Truly Dan, amazing; love your stories, as always.
Just a question, regarding the fighting; is it just my lack of observation, or did our wonderful swordmaster not actually kill anyone before his death? Rather a sad way to go in my mind, poison, but those Dark kin are quite the bastards aren't they?
Extremely well done, ten out of ten. Can't wait for a sequal
[size=75]Illidan:I can't do anything about it! It's a proven fact that men think of sex at least every 20 seconds. >_>
Mel'Reyna: hehe
Mel'Reyna:i only think about it every 21 seconds
Mel'Reyna: :D[/size]
Mel'Reyna: hehe
Mel'Reyna:i only think about it every 21 seconds
Mel'Reyna: :D[/size]
Re: Blood Ties
Oh, I dunno...he just might come back here, even if it is to say he's far to busy to make a sequel 
[i]'Though the darkness grows stronger each day, we still shall fight it, with hope that it will sometime fade. For hope is our shield against our unimaginable foe, and for as long as we live, our hope will never die...'[/i]
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Illidan Hellforge
- Posts: 317
- Joined: Sun Mar 05, 2006 6:32 pm
- Location: Dutchland
Re: Blood Ties
You can always send a pm I guess, some people have 'email me on pm' activated.
[size=75]Illidan:I can't do anything about it! It's a proven fact that men think of sex at least every 20 seconds. >_>
Mel'Reyna: hehe
Mel'Reyna:i only think about it every 21 seconds
Mel'Reyna: :D[/size]
Mel'Reyna: hehe
Mel'Reyna:i only think about it every 21 seconds
Mel'Reyna: :D[/size]
Re: Blood Ties
Ping!
I am still around, by and by, though I haven't been able to write a proper story for some time and haven't been on the computer much at all for the last month.
In response to your question, Arcshield... I'm not sure I entirely understand. Immediately before his death, when Telephus was just fighting Hyllis alone, no he didn't kill her. But prior to that fight he killed at least two and probably three.
I am still around, by and by, though I haven't been able to write a proper story for some time and haven't been on the computer much at all for the last month.
In response to your question, Arcshield... I'm not sure I entirely understand. Immediately before his death, when Telephus was just fighting Hyllis alone, no he didn't kill her. But prior to that fight he killed at least two and probably three.
AndWith both off balance he grabbed the hilt of his sword, pulled it free of the dirt and spun it right around in a wide arc, letting enough momentum build that it took both of their heads off.
May quite well have been a touch-of-death scenario :pTelephus stepped right up to the first dark elf and jabbed the first two fingers of his left hand into her throat, just over halfway down.
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
Re: Blood Ties
*Re-reads the story*
Hmmmm. Now that you mention that, I did totally neglect those two points. My bad. Guess I'm just not a person who's used to that subtle style of writing, and those bits I just kinda glazed over. Sorry about that. Fantastic anyhow
Hmmmm. Now that you mention that, I did totally neglect those two points. My bad. Guess I'm just not a person who's used to that subtle style of writing, and those bits I just kinda glazed over. Sorry about that. Fantastic anyhow
[i]'Though the darkness grows stronger each day, we still shall fight it, with hope that it will sometime fade. For hope is our shield against our unimaginable foe, and for as long as we live, our hope will never die...'[/i]