The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (46 page)

Fenrel raced forward with the pike head extended. Again the giant’s quickness was surprising for his great size. Granu reacted, slapping the steel away with a flick of his staff. Fenrel allowed the head to be diverted and spun the handle beneath Granu’s defense. The solid oak shaft of the pike slammed into the priest’s lame leg with a loud crunch.

Granu nearly fell but caught himself. His teeth clenched in agony and he scrambled away from his brother. Fenrel heaved from his exertion and smiled.

“That weak leg of yours appears not to have healed properly,” hissed Fenrel. “You should have been more careful. A man’s body is his temple.”

 Granu did not reply, but instead readied himself. Fenrel attacked again with a feint of the pike head. Granu’s staff whistled through the air, missing the pike as Fenrel drew it back and sent the head low. Granu tried to hop from its path but it found the injured leg. His black robes tore as the razor edging slashed into his shin. Crimson blood flowed from an open wound and the abbot clamored to put distance between himself and his attacker.

Fenrel edged forward smiling.

“Your weakness will be your downfall, monk,” whispered Fenrel. “All those months ago, I created my advantage on this battlefield when I crippled you. That hammer blow in front of the palace was the first of many death strokes I will rain upon you.”

Fenrel continued his advance. Again the barbed tip shot toward Granu’s chest only to be snatched away as the handle rounded and hammered the exposed left leg of the giant. Granu was unable to counter the maneuver.  He needed his staff to protect his body but was too slow to keep his leg free from assault. Fenrel repeatedly punished the leg.

Fenrel lunged once more, but this time Granu anticipated too greatly and took his attention from the pike head. Hooked barbs locked on the priest’s staff and forced it to the ground. Fenrel lurched forward and an iron-shod boot slammed down upon the thick staff of wood, shattering it in two.

Granu stumbled forward as the staff was forced down. He released it and leapt backward as the pike handle split the air where his head had been. Fenrel roared in triumph as Granu backed away weaponless.

“You are mine now, brother,” barked Fenrel.

Granu went rigid and calmly stared at Fenrel as the sweating, wild-eyed beast advanced. Granu edged toward Cefiz, but Fenrel quickly interspersed himself between the monk and his second.

“Oh, no,” laughed Fenrel. “I make no such allowances. I’m not as big a fool as you!”

Cefiz removed the bundle from his back and moved toward Granu. Fenrel turned and aimed the pike at the Zodrian. Shouts of protest arose from the Guard and a few from the Anvil as well. The Ramsskull turned on their troops and tried to shout them down, but the din grew. Fenrel’s lips curled in disgust as he eyed his army. He still needed their allegiance.

“Arm yourself so I may finish this,” snapped the younger brother.

Granu remained frozen. Fenrel grumbled and stepped away from Cefiz’s position. The abbot struggled forward, blood coating his exposed shin. Black swelling bulged about the knee and ankle. Cefiz moved to him and held out the bundle. Granu smiled to his friend and took the protruding handle firmly in his right hand. With his left hand he unfolded the cloth encasing the ax. Granu slowly lifted it on high and stared at the simple blade, its head glistening red with the blood of Amird.

“What is this?” scoffed Fenrel. “You mock me. Do you bring a common woodsman’s ax against a Keltaran warrior? What have you been doing with it, slaughtering the Zodrian’s pigs for them?”

The Ramsskull delighted in the slight and laughed in approval. Granu’s expression betrayed nothing. He looked past Fenrel to the Anvil. He held the ax aloft.

“Behold, descendants of Awoi. I hold the ax of Gretcha the Beautiful, still fresh with the eternal blood of the Deceiver,” shouted Granu to the Keltaran. “With this simple tool she banished Amird from the world.”

Animated discussion broke out on both sides of the battlefield. Even the Ramsskull stared at the hobbled priest in awe and dismay.

“Now one of her sons aids in bringing the evil one back amongst us. Take heed to what scheme you are a party. Avra’s forgiveness is infinite but his punishment is eternal. Repent now from your folly for this will be your only chance.”

Granu turned and in a low voice spoke only to his brother.

“You have only one chance to ask for his mercy, my brother,” said Granu. “I give you this last opportunity to amend what wrongs you have committed in your fruitless struggle for power.”

The Anvil crowded past their Ramsskull commanders, drawn by the sight of the ax. The commanders glanced at one another in uncertainty then shoved back at their soldiers.

“Fenrel is your master, fools. Back in line!”

“More trickery from the Zodrians.”

“Do not be fooled by the false heir. Fenrel is your master.”

The Ramsskull picked up the chant.

“Fenrel! Fenrel!”

It sounded weak and hollow emitting from so few voices in such a massive space. However, Fenrel took power from the chant. He straightened his massive frame and moved forward. His witless second raised his hands in exhortation of the chants. The Ramsskull roared and beat their weapons on their shields.

“The conquerer asks not for mercy, only the conquered whimpers in shame,” barked Fenrel.

Immediately the younger giant raced forward, pike extended. Granu blocked the thrust with the head of Gretcha’s ax. The sounds of clashing iron echoed off the Bear’s Knuckles.

Fenrel commenced a series of rapid blows using both the handle and point of the pike. Granu spun and flicked the ax first left then right, deflecting every stroke. Fenrel cursed then lunged with the long handled pike. Its length afforded him a distinct advantage and Granu was forced on the defensive.

The pike’s hooked barb latched onto the ax head several times. Each time the pike locked into place, Fenrel yanked on the weapon with a tremendous amount of force. He twisted and ripped at Granu’s weapon, but the abbot felt infused with the power of his ancestors and refused to yield the ax.

Fenrel heaved in frustration and exhaustion. Granu edged to his left, leaving his injured leg behind him and protected. Sweat poured from both men as the battle progressed.

“Your resolve leaves you, brother,” stated Granu. “A house built on sand cannot stand, just as a faith built on lies will never sustain a man in time of need. Look to your heart and see the folly of your trust. The Deceiver turns us all against our own best interests.”

Fenrel whipped the pike across Granu’s torso, but the priest easily dodged the tired attack.

“Amird weaves a tale of power and knowledge, but at its center it is pure treachery,” continued Granu. “Let us end this and return home to the king as allies.”

Slowly Fenrel’s wicked snarl softened and he backed away from Granu toward his second. Granu relaxed as well, but eyed his brother cautiously. Fenrel extended the pike toward his Ramsskull guard as he directed a broad smile toward Granu. He removed his helm and let it fall. He slowly unhooked the cape draped over his shoulders and tossed it to the ground.

“There is no need to return to Keltar to see the king,” smirked Fenrel as he stripped the golden breastplate and black under garments from his body. “You stand before the king now, and he is anything but your ally, Abbot of Awoi!”

Fenrel stood before Granu naked from the waist up. His long, flaming red hair cascaded over his thick, massive frame. Granu’s jaw went rigid as he beheld his brother’s body.

“Now I will force their hand,” growled Fenrel in a low voice to his brother. “Now is the time for this charade to end. They will follow me or not, but they must make a decision. I will hide my allegiances no longer. Your death will be the catalyst for change in Keltar. We will abandon foolish notions of peace and brotherhood and embrace power.”

Chaotic symbols and messages of obedience were tattooed and burned into the flesh of the huge man. Granu was taken aback by the character of his brother’s body. Fenrel had always possessed an unusually large physique, but this beast before Granu was unlike any man the priest had ever beheld. Corded muscles bulged beneath scars and symbols.

“The Lord of Chaos infuses me with power. He feeds my body with his strength,” sneered Fenrel. “Since I fully embraced my lord, I find little use for sleep or rest. I worked tirelessly honing this body into a weapon. A weapon I prayed to Amird would see this day come. I am crafted to destroy you, Granu, and you possess no hope. If we were ever equals once, we are no longer.”

“What says the true king of these allegiances? I would be interested on his thoughts concerning your new master?” questioned Granu in a low, controlled voice.

Fenrel laughed and spun to his troops.

“His mind is still clouded by the visions of morality his god imbedded there. He asks for his king!”

Anvil regulars and Ramsskull alike stood gaping at the creature before them. Fenrel turned back to his brother as he retrieved a huge double-headed ax from his second.

“I am the king, you ignorant fool,” growled the beast. “The old simpleton you called our father rots in the grave.”

Fenrel lunged forward at Granu. The monk ducked to his left and drove the double bladed ax from his head. Fenrel laughed and squared his position to Granu. His revelation made him giddy and filled him with power. The beast slowly circled left.

“He asked about you near the end,” said Fenrel as delight danced in his eyes. “He wished to know how both of his children could abandon him so!”

The double-headed ax cut through the air at the head of Granu. The abbot raised the ax of Gretcha and met the blow. He threw all of his weight into the weapon to prevent himself from being knocked over. Granu’s knee buckled under the pressure and in an instant the iron boot of Fenrel hammered into it. Granu screamed out in agony.

The monk tumbled toward the ground but recovered, rolling free of a ferocious down stroke by Fenrel. Granu scrambled to his feet and brought the handle of his ax around into the face of his brother with a sharp crack. Fenrel reeled backwards and brought his hand to his face. An inhuman roar issued from the beast. Blood sprayed between Fenrel’s fingers and down his face and chin.

Granu limped toward Cefiz, his face in anguish. The guardsman inspected his friend. Granu was exhausted. His face was sunken and his right leg hung at an odd angle beneath the knee. His eyes pled to Cefiz for this horror to end. The guardsman glared back into those eyes.

“Faith, son of Grannak.” barked Cefiz. “Avra provides for his children.”

A bellow of laughter erupted from behind Granu. Fenrel removed his hand from his face. His nose was snapped and pushed awkwardly across his cheek. Blood continued to pour across his mouth and chin.

“Avra never provided for the Keltar. Only Amird offers us the power we deserve. Only Amird shows the way to our rightful place as rulers of this world. Amird gives us the power we need to conquer all. All these years wasted when all we need do was call upon Amird for this power. Now it is mine and none shall stand in my way!” roared Fenrel raising his powerful arms to the sky.

The giant threw back his head and chanted the name of Amird. The scars carved into his muscled body pulsed with a red glow. Granu looked on in horror at the thing his brother had become. The abbot awkwardly stood and hefted the blood-covered ax of Gretcha before him in an attempt to shield himself.

Fenrel’s stature grew as the red glow enveloped his body. His head snapped forward and he glared at Granu through pulsing red eyes.

“Now you will see what Amird provides his followers,” snarled Fenrel.

The warlock continued to chant as he moved toward Granu. The double-headed battle-ax burst into red flame.  Granu edged backward from the menace, raising his own ax even higher as Fenrel loomed over him.

Suddenly, the glistening blood of Amird hissed and smoked upon Granu’s weapon. Fenrel plunged forward, swiping downward with his ax. The weapons met and locked in midair. Immediately, Granu’s blade ignited with the red crackling flame that surrounded Fenrel’s ax.

Fenrel recoiled and a look of dismay spread across his twisted features. The flame on his cruel weapon far eclipsed that of Granu’s wood cutting ax, but what devilry transferred the power?

Fenrel doubled his efforts. He slashed and hammered at Granu and the abbot was forced to give ground. However, each attack was met by the flaming ax of Gretcha and with each clash of steel the simple woodsman’s ax intensified. A red inferno danced atop the blood of Amird and the metal head grew white in its heat.

Panic entered Fenrel’s eyes and the Ramsskull commander called on Chaos and Amird for more power. His own ax flashed brighter as it became infused with that power, but Granu’s ax doubled its intensity as well.

Granu encountered difficulty looking toward the brilliance held in his own hands. Its power emboldened him and he turned from defender to aggressor. He stalked forward slashing toward Fenrel. Their steel met and flame spilled, igniting the dry grasses beneath their feet. Sound and smoke filled the air about them as they exchanged blows.

Utecht stepped from amongst the Anvil.

“Lord Granu, restore honor to the house of Stormbreaker and the line of Hrafnu,” called the old sergeant. “Remove this villain from his corrupted throne!”

A few Ramsskull moved on the sergeant, but soon stood down when they received no support from their comrades. Slowly, those wearing the black skull of Fenrel’s personal troop disappeared from the forefront of the Anvil and shrank into its midst.