Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Fifteen: Rumbling Death

Maska quietly stared across the Plains of Delwar, cloaked in fleeing darkness as dawn’s first light made its presence known. High winds filled with elder spirits moaning hammered at takaet shelters, seeking entrance. The Centaur Chieftain knew their heavy felted roofs and walls, and durable wood beam frames would not yield easily. Their homes, like the rugged Menduwaka, People of the Wind, were meant to exist and endure.

The Centaur Chief heard a golden sheep bleat a short distance away. Their flock was tightly grouped, with backs facing the wind. Maska knew they would not stray. For their ram stood tethered there, the herd would seek comfort by remaining close by him. The animals were a valued source of income for Maska’s people. Their gold wool was used to make rugs, clothes, blankets, and felt for the walls and roofs of takaet shelters. Any extra sold quickly at the outdoor marketplace, where it commanded a high price among buyers.

Raising his steaming engraved silver cup to his lips, Maska took a sip and savored the spiced kemshai tea within. As always, its subtle flavor peaked in a pleasant rush of sweetness, tang, and spice. He would have to make sure and thank Lorne, the wizened old merchant, properly for his superb gift.

It had proven to be nearly impossible last night for Maska to get any rest. A sense of urgency mixed with nightmares had haunted him. Dark meanderings filled his mind with faint doomed men’s cries. The Centaur Chieftain knew beyond doubt that men had died. As if to prove him right, soft golden gleaming figures of elder spirits appeared and were pointing at something. Some hovered close by, speaking words of power and strength.

The sound of galloping hooves drew Maska’s attention to a lone Centaur racing towards him. The Centaur Chieftain offered a quick prayer to Elliana and his ancestors. Afterward, he stepped out to meet Emec, who was surrounded by others from the tribe.

“Maska, I was traveling near the Hills of Ette to hunt this morning. Someone ambushed one of our patrols last night. All of them are dead,” Emec said in anguish.

“We must spread the alarm and respond as quickly as possible. This attack mustn’t go unanswered, prepare for battle.” Maska drew forth from an ornately tooled leather bag he carried, a finely engraved horn inlaid with gold. Raising the horn to his lips, the Centaur Chieftain sent a haunting blast through the early morning air. The Centaur entered his shelter to ready himself for the journey. Before he could ask, his life-mate Cearne approached with his armor. The Chieftain donned his gleaming chest piece and leather armor with the assist of her deft fingers.

“What has happened?” Cearne asked as she stared into Maska’s eyes, seeking answers and reassurance.

Maska would have hidden the news of this tragedy, to spare her fear and uncertainty. But, he knew she could read him like a book. He did the next best thing by taking her in his arms to comfort her.

“One of our patrols was slaughtered last night near the Hills of Ette. Emec found them and says no one survived. Cearne-other than the patrols, make sure everyone else who remains behind guards the clan,” Maska said. He hugged her tight.

“My husband, please be careful,” Cearne said with a trembling voice.

Maska paused for a moment and kissed her softly before parting and stepping out of the doorway. Shortly afterward, Maska and one hundred Centaurs followed Emec across the gently rolling grassy plain. Even after an hour of travel, Emec still galloped powerfully ahead of them.

Far to the North-West, a dull glimmer attracted Maska’s attention. What had caught his eye was a Centaur’s polished breastplate, reflecting light from the cloudy sky. All fifteen patrol members lay before them upon the grassy plain. A whistle signaled the discovery of a twisting trail leading into the wasteland known as the Hills of Ette.

“Everyone, our enemy’s trail leads into the brush, and we’re going there also.” Maska adjusted the buckles of his gloves and started to advance. The Hills of Ette was an area one did not lightly enter. It was a veritable no man’s land, which extended for many miles along this edge of the plain. The wasteland was an almost impenetrable maze of tight tall-growing thorny brush and rocky hills.

With painfully slow progress, Maska and the others pushed forward for a quarter of a mile into the barbed tangle. The wind roared around the Centaur Chieftain, whipping the spikey brush into a frenzy of movement as it made his eyes water. Suddenly, a gust of wind filled the air with the stench of decay, making Maska want to gag. Its odor triggered memories of a hunt long ago when he was a young man, which had ended horribly. Before anyone could react, a rumbling roar from the Centaur Chieftain’s right announced the arrival of a monster in their midst. From a gap in a rocky hillside, charged a horror from his deepest-seated nightmares.

Maska drew his bow back and let loose with an arrow at one of its large golden eyes. The monster blinked and deflected the shaft. Again, he shot, desperately trying to drive it away. The bronze scaled raken stood eleven feet tall at its shoulder and charged through the dense brush without any sign of difficulty. The lizard’s scaled hide was impervious to his arrows, which merely bounced off.

The dense brush, once a hindrance, had become a trap. Before anyone could react, the raken became a rumbling blur, charging Sarent, who attempted to dodge to the side. A mighty blow from its foreleg hurled the Centaur screaming to land in thick brush. Moments later, the raken loomed above its struggling prey. Its massive scaled head with golden eyes lowered with jaws spread wide. In one great snap of its heavily muscled jaws, Saren died instantly with a sickening crunch.

The beast dropped its prey and quickly turned with blood- smeared maw raised high. The monster was in a hunting mood with plenty of food nearby. With a great roar which made Maska cringe, the raken whirled about and fixed its gaze on its next victim.

“Pull back; we have no chance within this heavy brush. Get out of here. Flee for your Lives!” Maska bellowed. He drew a weighty spear and started racing toward the raken.

Again, the monster charged. Its powerful clawed feet dug in, throwing dirt and rocks behind it. Agile for its size, the raken butted Berent with the side of its head, catching him in mid-leap over a slab of weathered stone. The Centaur’s battered body was hurled through the air to land upon a pile of rocks where he lay motionless.

Maska charged across a small clearing to attack the scaled behemoth closing in on Berent. His muscles burned from the effort. The Centaur Chieftain knew he must draw the ruthless killer’s attention away from the others. They needed time to make good their escape. With great mental clarity, Maska closed with the beast, silently mouthing an ancient warrior chant. His mind was utterly focused, as he concentrated on matching the raken’s movements. Time seemed to stand still, allowing the Centaur Chief to flow beside the scaled horror. The Centaur ran alongside the monster yet could respond instantly to any threat it presented.

Maska danced beside the jaws of death like the Wind Walkers of old. Beside him galloped many Elder Spirits who whispered words of power, to give him protection and courage. Using all his strength, Maska darted in and hurled the weighty spear at the cavernous mouth of the beast approaching Berent. The missile thudded home inside the mouth of the raken, which abruptly changed course towards him. Powerful jaws snapped shut, shattering the hardwood spear shaft into splinters. In a fit of rage, the predator roared and shook its head, spraying gouts of blood to either side.

Now a flurry of spears and arrows filled the air to drive the predator away. By chance, in mid-roar, another hefty spear hurtled through the raken’s gaping jaws. The razor-sharp spearhead plunged deeply into the soft lining at the back of its throat. Shrieking bellows filled the air, as the raken raised its massive head in agony. Abruptly, the beast withdrew, raising its head towards the sky as it filled the air with bellows of pain.

Maska used the opportunity to check on Berendt’s condition. Amazingly enough, the young Centaur though profoundly shaken, once more stood upright. Maska signaled everyone to withdraw with a silent flurry of his hands. Berent limped painfully in the lead. The Centaur Chieftain watched as the raken approached the still form of Saren. With a quick movement, the beast retrieved its meal without hesitation; with a snort, the monster vanished into the rocks and wind-whipped brush.

The journey back to the plain seemed to take forever. Carefully, Maska inspected the still forms of the dead scattered around him. Something tugged at his mind, drawing him back to their bodies. It was a feathered shaft of an arrow that had slain the Centaur before him. He knew the crowning and fletching style well. The Etmindorian army used it on their arrow-shafts. The Centaur Chief slowly turned the arrow, searching for any sign of imperfections. If the chieftain hadn’t known better, he would have sworn it was genuine.

Other Centaurs were now arriving from more distant clans. One Centaur separated from the crowd and approached with muscles rippling beneath his chestnut posterior. It was Dendros, Chieftain of the Daewyn clan of the Cenekawk Tribe. His muscular upper body overshadowed the presence of those near him. His reddish-brown hair bound behind his head shone in the early morning light.

Silently, Chief Dendros inspected the arrow shaft Maska was holding for a moment before his brown eyes looked at him questioningly. His quiet demeanor barely concealed the anger, which he kept in check.

“Maska, tell me why this patrol has the arrows of Etmindor sticking from their bodies?” Chief Dendros demanded hotly.

Now was not the time for a war of words; this Centaur Chieftain would attempt to cause a stir. Chief Dendros would try to assert himself as a more powerful leader, to gain more influence within the Menduwaka. Maska chose to diffuse the situation by remaining calm.

“This arrow is not from Etmindor, of this, I’m sure. It’s a good copy. Someone wants us to believe our allies and friends plot against us,” Maska explained calmly.

“You say this, Maska? How can you be sure? These men lie dead and cannot tell us,” Chief Dendros ranted angrily.

“Dendros, I’m telling you King Tarran ever remains a steadfast ally. He is a brother, and I swear he stands strong beside us,” Maska answered. “I say our enemy plots our downfall! Let us discuss this matter with all members of our people present at a Great Council in ten days.”

“In ten days,” Dendros agreed while glaring to one and all.

Maska could no longer consider his people united. He watched as Chief Dendros talked to a gathering of chiefs and shook his head sadly. What had been their alliance’s strength, was now a nightmare which the enemy had cunningly devised.