Light Of Loreandril (33 page)

“They only took four horses, so there must be two riding one. This will help to slow them down.” Govan was thinking out loud. “It should be possible to catch them up, but we will need to leave right now………..Javil?”

“Sir, they only have three horses ready to ride. The others have not even been broken in yet. What do you want to do?” Javil reported, anxiously.

“I need two men to ride out with me. Who among you are the most able riders?” Govan looked impatiently at the small gaggle of ragged soldiers before him. They all shrugged their shoulders nervously, looking at each other, waiting for someone else to volunteer. Two men eventually stepped forwards.

“Javil, take the rest of the men back to the fortress. We will start following the convicts, you follow on behind as soon as you can.”

“You heard him, let’s move!” bellowed Javil hoarsely. The remaining men jumped to attention, forming two columns and began a quick-paced march back to the fortress. The farmhand brought out the remaining horses, already wearing saddles and bridles.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Mount up, men!” Govan pulled himself up into his saddle. The horse bucked nervously several times, but he quickly got the animal under control and spurred the horse on in the direction the convicts had fled.

The two men mounted and followed reluctantly behind Govan. Neither of them was thrilled with the prospect of riding with him. This captain had a nasty habit of turning on his men when he was in a foul mood, and today was such a day. They knew they would have to watch their step and words around him.

“Do you think they will catch up with them?” The first farmhand leaned on his pitchfork, pleased to see the back of the soldiers.

“I just hope they are able to bring those horses back unharmed. They were nice animals!” replied the second lad, shaking his head and chewing casually on a blade of grass.

They both picked up their wheelbarrows, returning to their routine as if nothing had happened. As long as they were able to keep the Empire happy by supplying horses they knew they were out of harm’s way.

Jaidan had hung onto Nymril for hours. She had collapsed, exhausted from the escape and the riding, and had now fallen into an uneasy sleep. Jaidan was growing more and more concerned, knowing her Inner Light was fading.

“We need to stop!” Jaidan rode up alongside Eilendan, who was also showing signs of fatigue and fever. He nodded in agreement and signalled to Gaular and Nechan.

Finding a small knoll of old ash trees they halted, taking shelter under their bare boughs, the leaves now scattered and windblown about the floor. There was nowhere else that could offer better cover in the vast, barren landscape of the arid plains.

“Let me take her,” Gaular offered, reaching up to lift Nymril gently from the horse. Jaidan eased her down slowly, guiding her head. Her body was completely limp and she did not stir. They laid her in the thick leaf litter, the cold, biting wind whipping round them.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Nechan, peering over their shoulders as Jaidan and Eilendan examined her. They were both shaking their heads, their faces wearing a look of grave concern.

“She is dying,” Eilendan whisperedgravely, wiping her pale, feverish brow.

“What? Why?” demanded Gaular. He too knelt on the ground next to her lifeless body.

“We need to remove this neck brace. It’s draining her body’s energy and light,” Eilendan replied, carefully sweeping Nymril’s silvery hair out of the way to inspect the brace. Its blackened metal and inlaid stones were icy to the touch, emanating a strange darkness. The elf could not stand to touch it, feeling n shiver run down his spine. His hand flinched instinctively.

“We must be able to unlock it somehow.” Jaidan inspected the elaborate clasp.

“It’s bound by Dark Magic. I doubt we will even be able to cut it off.”

“Let me try! My hammer and hand are both strong!” Gaular patted the sharp, pointed end of his hammer fondly. “It’s forged from the strongest metal we Dwarves know!”

Eilendan and Jaidan looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Neither of them had an alternative suggestion; it was worth trying. They rolled Nymril over, still unconscious, and lifted her hair out of the way, revealing the neck brace to give Gaular a large area to aim at. He stood over her, measured the distance with his pick, estimating the force he should use, resting the tip on the black metal.

Inhaling deeply, he flexed his shoulder muscles and lifted the hammer high above his head. The dwarf brought it down with immense force, producing an ear-splitting, resonating ring of metal upon metal as it hit its target.

The others flinched, turning their heads, wincing at the possible harm he may have caused Nymril. Composing themselves, they turned back to inspect the metal collar. To their dismay it was still intact, and much to Gaular’s surprise totally unscathed. There was not a scratch or the slightest evidence to show how hard he had hit it. More, his pick head was now notched, scarred where it had struck the neck brace. Gaular ran his fingers over the jagged edge, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

“Whatever can we do now?” asked Nechan, as the others sat back, daunted. Jaidan hid his head in his hands.

“We have only one option. We have to return her to Loreandril before she dies, and hope the Elders magic can unlock it!”  Eilendan removed his cloak and placed it over Nymril’s cold body, stroking her face tenderly. She still did not stir. “Jaidan, is there
anything
you can do to help her? Can you buy us more time?”

“I can try.” Jaidan raised his head slightly. “There is a variety of herbs and plants that grow in the regions we will be passing through. They may revive her slightly, but it will only be postponing the inevitable.”

“Then we have no choice: we must ride through the night. They are sure to be following us anyway,” scowled Gaular, his brow deeply furrowed as he still studied his notched weapon, disappointed it had not worked.

“But how far away is it?” Nechan piped up.

“Even if we were to ride continuously, day and night, it will still take six days. The horses will not withstand that, and it is hard terrain to cross,” Eilendan answered, looking over at the horses. “But we have no option.”

“There is the other concern.” The comrades looked at Jaidan, waiting for him to explain. He stood up and looked into the distance, his hand raised, shadowing his eyes from the orange hue of the setting sun. “They are sure to be following us. We need to decide whether we can afford to go straight to Loreandril and risk leading them there, or whether we confuse them by back tracking.”

“But that will only take us longer!” exclaimed Nechan.

“We should go straight there. Even if they do follow, they will not be able to enter. They will not bring their whole army, so as long as we do not allow a scout to return and report, Loreandril will remain safe,” Gaular advised.

“I agree! We will travel straight there.” Eilendan decided, raising one hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow.

“So be it. But we must leave now and put as much distance as we can between ourselves and our pursuers. With any luck, wind and rain will hide our tracks.”

Jaidan strode over, untied the horses from the trees, and mounted. Gaular helped Eilendan lift Nymril onto Jaidan’s horse, trying to make her as comfortable and secure as possible, and then mounted their own horses. Nechan was the last to mount, distracted as he looked up into the sky that was starting to darken, black clouds looming heavily on the distant horizon.

In silence, with great haste, they galloped off into the growing night.

It was a cold night, with flurries of snow dancing in the air, skimming through the encampment.

Try as they might, Gomel and Cradon had been unable to light a fire. The howling wind blew out the new embers before they could take hold on the damp wood. Despite their dismal circumstances, Gomel had still forced Cradon to practice his sparring. They had finally moved onto real swords and Cradon was now easily able to dodge and defend against swings and lunges. He still needed to work on smaller movements, although Gomel agreed he had shown a marked improvement.

They now huddled together in a small hollow dug into a soft snowdrift with their bare hands. There was nothing they could do to improve Sonda and Danfur’s night who were forced to stand with their rumps against the biting wind. Khar had wisely found herself a small nook between two rocks and was huddled close to the ground, her wings pulled in tightly to keep herself warm.

After their fourth day of riding they had finally reached the Lopthian Mountain chain. The high, snow-capped peaks loomed over them, sending their howling, bone-chilling wind whipping down their sides, warding off all strangers who might venture there. Neither Cradon nor Gomel was looking forward to the arduous trek that now awaited them. With little in the way of supplies it would prove to be miserable, but there was no other option.

The faint warmth of the rising sun woke Cradon. Gomel was already up, grumbling about his lack of sleep, although his incessant snoring had kept Cradon awake most of the night.

“I’ve been scouting round this morning. We may have a small problem.” Gomel was rolling up his blanket in preparation to leave.

“Why?” yawned Cradon, as he tried to stretch the cold cramps out of his back muscles. “What did you find?”

“Tracks!” replied Gomel.

Cradon was wide-awake now. “Tracks? Whose?”

“They look like troops. Deep tracks made by heavy boots. They are ahead of us. They must have passed us in the night,” Gomel said, rubbing his bald head anxiously.

“Could you tell how many there were?” Cradon was packing up his belongings hastily, sensing they would have to move on quickly.

“My tracking isn’t as good as some folk, but I think I distinguished six different tracks. They lead up into the mountains,” he replied gruffly, pointing ahead.

“Let me guess - In the same direction as we need to go!” muttered Cradon as he untied Danfur’s bridle from the picket.

“Unfortunately, yes! We have no other way of travelling through the mountains. We can catch up with them and fight, or try to stay behind them. They appear to be moving hastily.”

“Do you think they are looking for us?” Cradon asked as he helped Gomel struggle into his saddle. He could not help wondering how someone so small could weigh so much.

“I’d like not to find out if we can help it.” Gomel settled himself into the saddle, squirming about awkwardly.

Cradon jumped nimbly onto Danfur’s bare back. “But I can help you fight. You said I have learnt quickly, that I have a natural talent.”

“It’s one thing to be good at sparring with a friend, it’s another having the skill and mindset to kill someone. You cannot learn that lesson and you should not be too eager to find out about it.”  

Cradon did not know what to say, not quite sure what Gomel meant. Surely he had been teaching him to sword fight for that very reason. He followed Gomel apprehensively up the track that would lead them into the mountains. Feeling the growing coldness, Cradon looked back longingly at the fading, green plains upon which the sun still seemed to be casting its warmth. After a few more strides the landscape slipped from view as they entered the ravine.

It was a dead place. The dull grey rocks emanated a barren coldness that sapped their energy as the pair rode deeper into the mountains. The track grew gradually steeper, and stonier, making the horses trip and stumble. Gomel and Cradon were soon forced to dismount and lead the horses.

It was clear that they were still following the same trail as the soldiers, evidence of their passing easy to read, but they could not tell how far they were in front. With the possibility of each step taking them closer, they followed cautiously, taking great care with each winding turn of the track.

Gentle flurries of snow began to skip over the trail as the darkness of evening closed in around them. The icy wind sent shivers down their spines as it wheedled its way through the seams in their clothes. It rapidly became impossible for Khar to fly or even sit on Cradon’s shoulder. Instead, they rearranged Sonda’s saddlebags, emptying one, and after some encouragement Cradon managed to persuade her to hop in. Khar settled down, once she knew it was safe, quite happy to have been given some shelter.

Heavier snow began to fall, with large flakes settling on the cold ground, covering it quickly.

“We need to stop!” Gomel shouted back towards the hunched up Cradon trudging slowly behind him. The whistling wind whipped his voice away so he could hardly hear the gnome. They were nearly blinded by the snow, fighting with each step forward. “We need to try to find some shelter from this wind. Perhaps it’s better around the next corner?”

Cradon nodded, pulling his cloak closer around his neck, trying to block out the biting chill. His mood had sunk to its lowest point. They trudged on through the deepening snow, now soaked to the bone. Even the horses were struggling to lift their hooves and wade through, their manes and tails matted with snow and ice crystals.

They fought their way to the next corner and were pleased to find the force of the driving snow lessened slightly, but they were not alone. Before them sat a small huddle of soldiers, congregated around a pitiful campfire. They had accidentally stumbled across the troops they had been following.

The sentry peered through the blizzard of snowflakes. He did not see Gomel or Cradon at first, but caught a glimpse of Danfur, his dark brown coat easily visible through the snow. The soldier paused for a moment, double-checking what he had thought he had seen. Then he caught sight of the two hunched figures approaching. Drawing his sword, he alerted his colleagues and charged towards the pair, knowing they had no business being there.

“Stand back, boy!” ordered Gomel, pushing Cradon behind him and pulling out an axe. They had stumbled unwillingly into the soldiers and now they had been spotted there was no option but to fight.