Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Cold Steel

Maska considered what happened to him previously. “Memories are funny things; they always seem to return when you least expect it,” he mused. An intense search fifteen days ago had yielded nine little black leather bags. The clan had gathered around a fire to witness Changa destroy the evil.

Maska had watched his son spear one of the evil talismans and shake it off into the flames. He spoke the words the elder spirits had taught him. A thick black oily-smoke with a heavy stench snaked into the air. Darkest sorcery filled each of the evil talismans; they were anathema to all creatures aligned with the light. Even though the small bag had burned, the fire seemed to take forever to consume it.

One by one, Changa had disposed of all nine bags. Finally, it was over, much to Maska’s relief, for the evil which had filled the air was gone. The Centaur Chieftain inhaled while trotting around his people. The constant heavy feeling of oppressive doom was no longer present. He walked over to speak to his son while breathing in deeply. The only thing he felt was pure cool air filling his lungs.

“My son, can you sense it? The evil has left this place,” Maska said while spreading his arms wide.

“Runners must be sent to the other clans to spread the word,” Changa said with a smile. In less than an hour, Centaur messengers were galloping across the Delwar Plains, spreading the word to every clan of the Menduwaka.

Maska stopped his wandering thoughts while looking down upon the great Thunder River. He needed to keep his thoughts on the job at hand. The henna falcon from Donovan’s patrol had arrived five days ago. King Tarran, filled with desperation and anger, had argued to lead the search for his son.

“The enemy has slain your brother. If you leave to search for Donovan and the enemy kills both of you, Etmindor has no ruler. Let me lead the search for our son and bring him home safely!” Maska had requested in the calmest voice he could muster.

King Tarran had finally reluctantly agreed.

Traveling day and night for six days and resting only when necessary, their force now gazed upon the Gurgin Bridge. Maska started to cross the massive wooden structure, leading his men in the search for Donovan. Before them lay the ruins of Flaysen’s Bend. Other countrymen had buried the dead before Maska arrived. Those same men were now upon their horses, approaching at a trot. Leading the group were Girard and Sir Alfred.

“Maska, good to have you here. We have attempted to search for Donovan, but the enemy vastly outnumbered us. During the last attempt, we lost nine men and decided to wait for more reinforcements to arrive,” Sir Alfred said. He scratched at a blood-stained bandage on his right thigh.

Without further ado, Maska raised his right arm and whirled it around. The men spread out, in an offensive arm four deep, to either side. “Sir Alfred, have your force form-up with my men. It is time we show the enemy what true strength is!” Immediately afterward, the drawing of sheathed steel, crossbows, and short laminated horn and wood bows, could be heard.

Cautiously, Maska led them downstream, to look for any sign Donovan still lived. The dark morning skies commenced unleashing a steady downpour. From the looks of the clouds, it appeared as if it would be an all-day rain. Only by chance did the Centaur Chieftain spot a Kang upon horseback ride out of a valley before them. As the rider slowly angled in their direction, a feathered shaft from the Centaur’s bow pierced his enemy’s heart.

With a small gasp, the Kang fell from his horse. Maska and Changa peered over the edge of the valley before them. Someone hundred and fifty Nyen and Kang were slowly advancing across the valley, combing every foot of the way searching for Donovan. This news meant the enemy had not managed to find Prince Donovan, which heartened the Centaur Chieftain greatly. The rain had softened the leaves, making their travel a lot quieter. Maska split their force into two groups, with himself heading one group and his son, a Wind Walker would lead the other. Motioning with his hand, he directed Changa to lead his group in a half-circle to approach their enemy from the front, while Maska’s force would attack from the rear.

After a lengthy wait, the sounds of fighting drifted through the trees to them. Maska and the men he commanded charged into the valley yelling at the tops of their lungs, to create confusion and terror. The enemy panicked. Maska hurled a spear at a Nyen attempting to escape. The spear slammed into a savage’s back, causing him to fall from his horse. Without hesitating, he drew his sword and galloped toward a muscular Kang. The brute had struck one of the men in the back with a two-handed ax. The stricken soldier fell from his horse, with eyes wide in shock. Instinctively, Maska charged the ax-wielding Kang, trying to thwart the final blow. He was moments too late.

The ax descended, striking the doomed man’s neck. Crimson sprayed the air as the man crumpled limply to the ground. With cold deliberation, the Centaur chief closed with the ax-wielding Kang. The brute must have noted Maska’s swift approach, for he was already bracing himself for the attack. By the brute’s stance, he knew this was an experienced fighter. The Centaur Chief cut to the side, evading the gleaming ax head by a hairsbreadth.

Maska struck downward with his sword. His blade deflected harmlessly off the Kang’s iron-studded leather bracers, throwing sparks. Before his opponent could react, the Centaur Chieftain swung his backside around to crash into the Kang’s back, sending him tumbling. His muscular opponent rolled easily back onto his feet, with his ax at the ready once more. The brute’s weapon became a blur snaking towards his forelegs, attempting to topple Maska to the ground. The Centaur reared up on his hind legs, striking out with his front hooves at his enemy’s face. Jerking his head back, the enemy warrior evaded one and received a glancing blow from the other.

Blood flowed down Maska’s staggered foe’s face, from a gash above his eyes. Maska closed with him, thrusting his sword deep into his chest. With a wet gurgling gasp, the Kang collapsed onto the ground, twitched once or twice, and lay still. Maska whirled around searching for more enemy, only to find the battle was over. Morgan had dispatched the last of the enemy and was lowering her bow. He nodded to her and reached for his water skin.

“Did any manage to escape?” Maska noted the still forms scattered around him.

“Two tried to cross the river but didn’t make it,” Morgan said with a grim smile. She pointed at a couple of bodies floating in the shallows.

“How many men did we lose?” Deep inside, Maska dreaded the answer he was about to receive. He expected to lose men. “It didn’t make losing the men any easier; it was the way of the world.” Maska thought.

“Give me a minute.” Various people responded from different places in the valley, as it was the first thing done after a battle. “Five—Gaven, Darent, Starnes, Red, and Kenneth,” Girard answered. With a snort of disgust, the swordsman wiped his bloodied blades clean and sheathed them. He turned to face Maska. The Centaur Chieftain quietly nodded, he recalled Gaven this year had come of age and had taken his place among the clan. Darent had answered the king’s call, leaving his farmstead to join the much-needed army. Starnes, Red, and Kenneth had served in the Militia.

Maska strode to where others were digging graves in the stony soil. Chief Maska said a silent prayer on their behalf and a short while later, watched as the five men were laid to rest. Immediately afterward, their force set out once more to continue the search for Donovan. The rain, poured down in sheets now, whipped about by the wind, which buffeted them heavily.

Abruptly, many Elder Spirits gathered around Maska, whispering warnings of approaching danger while pointing up the hill. “Prepare for battle!” Maska shouted. The Centaur Chieftain drew his sword and faced into the wind. Darkness descended upon them, turning everything into shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a horn sounded. Its haunting mournful blare made Maska’s body grow cold. For a few minutes, he fought to control his rising panic. Humans and Centaurs alike, gathered around him tightly, while struggling to regain their courage.

“The enemy has a Dark Binder,” Maska shouted.

When the Centaur Chieftain had been younger, he had encountered one of the black priests. Trained in the dark arts, they were cruel and deadly. He had barely escaped with his life during the confrontation. He prayed Donovan had not fallen to one of the evil priest’s spells. From out of the darkness, charged forms wreathed in shadow. With blood-curdling screams, those figures became numerous Nyen and Kang charging on horseback and foot.

Maska rallied his men, as one they whirled around to face the approaching threat. Only the warning given by the elder spirits had prepared them for this attack. There was a mighty roar, where Changa had stood there now reared a massive silvery bear. In moments, it charged and swatted a Kang off from its horse. Before the stricken enemy could recover, the bear ripped out its hairy throat.

Moments later, savage chaos erupted in their midst. Maska deflected a spear thrust and quickly ended the spearman’s life by slashing his throat. In less time than it took to contemplate, he chopped at a charging Nyen and saw his opponent fall without a head. In a rush, a blood-spattered Nyen charged at him brandishing an old iron hand-ax. Moments later, the keen-edge of Maska’s blade slashed through black leather armor and the savage’s arm above the elbow. Both limb and ax fell to the ground as his enemy screamed. The scream became a gurgle, as the Centaur Chief’s blade slit his pale throat.

With grim determination, Maska’s men continued to press forward. Somewhere ahead of him, balls of fire were exploding amongst the trees. Someone had located and was attempting to deal with the dark priest.

“Get the Dark Binder before he can do more damage. Kill him, or he will burn this forest down and us with it!” Maska bellowed.

The Centaur Chieftain turned to go around a tree. He prepared to close with another Kang when he felt a sickening thud under his right shoulder. Numbly—he looked down upon the crude spear point impaling him. The Kang ripped his spear free with a cruel smile and prepared to finish him. Girard charged in from the side. In a blur of polished steel, the swordmaster swiftly dispatched the spear-man and stood there, defending him. Maska tried to rally what strength he possessed and failed in the attempt.

Maska’s strength seemed to have left him, no doubt, an effect of both his wound and the Dark Binder. The Centaur Chief collapsed on the ground in a heap. Around him, the world had turned black and was swiftly closing around him. Struggling to stay awake, Chief Maska felt himself drifting away to a peaceful place. Somewhere close by, a voice spoke to him. More distant now, the voice repeated itself. Strange, it no longer mattered anymore.