sk stretched across the autumn sky above Ardal. The fleeting azure blue of daylight was fading to the west and the inky darkness of night was creeping in from the east. From the north an icey torrent of wind carried the vanguard of a titanic front of deep purple grey cloud. Lightning flickered in the depths of storm, the distant concussion of thunder carrying furtively to the populace of the city. Citizens, hurried to the Accommodation sector or to their more private quarters in one of the other three main sectors, throwing anxious looks to the north. The pregnant air of the city was just beginning to feel the first tendrils of the chill north wind. The few people left on the streets pulled their clothes close to ward against the chill, hurrying to their destination. The River Ard, flowing through Ardal, gushed powerfully through the canals, heralding heavy rainfall to the north. A crescent moon hung high in the sky watching the storm rush forward, eager to blot it's light and separate it from the world.
Far beneath the half moon, a band of hooded and cloaked men quietly stole through the twilight. The wind was picking up, signs swinging gently outside shopfronts. The group of men turned quickly into a small side street, eager to be off the main cause way, the shadows cast from the well built stone housing enveloping them greedily. The faint light of the stars augmented the weak moonlight, illuminating the cityscape with a glimmer of silver light. A man slowly looked out the alleyway, stealing a look at the empty street, an eerie haunting groan emanated from a rusty sign swinging slowly. His eyes glinted with a cunning light as he surveyed the deserted area. He took a few secretive steps forward, his cloak shifting, as he looked further. Deep in the folds of his garb, the steely reflection of a blade briefly glimmered in the starlight. He disappeared back into the safety of the shadow and nodded to his crew, secrecy was paramount to their purpose. Quickly, the men flitted into the street, cloaks gently billowing behind them. Ahead of them the castle walls loomed, looming high above the surrounding city. To their left the river gushed loudly, laden with rain water,lapping high on the river banks. They hurried alongside the river, following its course as it flowed from the Royal Gardens. A low wall, unguarded, separated the city from the extensive gardens of the Castle. One by one, the men slithered over the wall, the only sound of their passing was the soft flutter of cloth on stone, quickly drowned out by the roar of the river. They stole through the shadowed garden, following a path alongside a line of trees, aiming straight at the Castle. The leather soles of their boots padded quietly. The wind breezed through the trees, gently swaying fen and bough. The beauty of the well kept garden was lost to the men, their eyes surveying an expanse of trimmed lawn and the castle wall beyond.
The Storm approached. The hooded, lightly armoured figure glanced skywards, the slightest hint of nervousness etched on his face.
“Careful now, with this wind, noise can travel in peculiar ways” he whispers to his entourage as they make their way towards the high castle walls. The service entrance they’d arranged to be left open, stood out starkly from the uniform stone walls, light pouring through the crack in the door, a beacon for the approaching men. Once inside, the men huddle against the walls, glancing warily down the passage. The passage was clear but for the detritus of passing servants, as it should be. If even the slightest bit of the plan goes awry, then the months of planning will all have been for nothing.
The men designated to lead the party edged forward through servants passageway behind the dining room. The first guard post isn’t far now. They crouch lower and unsheathe their blades, short silvery stilettos that glistened evilly in the candle light, a sudden burst of pace and the blade slashed wickedly across the throat of the sleepy guard, a gurgle escaped his throat but not much else. The weapon is cleaned off on his cloak, the body dragged out the way, and the group moves on treading over the growing pool of blood. Now the first flight of stairs, one of the more exposed part of their meticulously planned route. As they crest the top of the climb something is askew, the next guard isn’t where they had planned on, they regroup in a shadowed corridor and wait, they’re early. A drop of sweat falls from the brow of the bloodied thug, leaving a cruel stain on the floor. After a few heart pounding moments footsteps are heard approaching from further within. Seconds later the guard assumes his position and resumes his vigil, a yawn breaking across his face. The hooded figure steps towards the guard, standing tall, pushing back his hood while he stalks through darkened corridor. He reaches the man, he smiling jovially at him.
“What a storm this looks to be eh?” he says clapping the man on his shoulder. His smile shifts to a grimace as whips his arm out to send his concealed blade deep into his throat, cutting through gristle and bone.
He catches the falling corpse and drags him back to the corridor where the rest of the men await.
Shutters shriek in their hinges as they proceed warily onwards. The men look over their shoulders, casting worried looks at every door, as their nerves continue to build; they’re getting close. The now bare headed man signals them all to the side as he sees light pouring out of an opening doorway. A figure emerges and walks away from the men. Without hesitation the bare headed man draws his blade and with cushioned steps he creeps after the unsuspecting man. With brutal force he slams his fist into the man’s side whilst simultaneously plunging his blade down into the soft meat between neck and shoulder.
The bare headed man signals to leave the body. Wasting time on further stealth will result in missing their window of opportunity. Their leather clad feet begin to race through the stone hallways. The howling wind masking the noise of their footsteps and heavy breathing as they approach where the final guard should be posted. A long shadow is cast through the archway as they round the last corner. The inevitable rain lashed against the shutters. The group formed up and surged forwards, two armoured guards stood attentively by the door, their hushed conversation interrupted as the group erupted in a storm of confusion and violence. A low rumble of thunder registered dimly through the riot of noise.
✱✱
The Nursery was well lit, a roaring fire stoked in the hearth. A looming matron sat with a boy huddled in her lap in a plush chair drawn close to the blaze. Across the room amongst a medley of toys and the remains of supper, stood another young boy, two fearful looking handmaidens standing close by. Deep carpets were laid over the stonework floor, a futile attempt at keeping out the striking cold from the chill of the autumnal night. Royal drapes hung from the ceiling, a testament to the heritage of the young occupants. The wind could be heard whistling through the draughty corridors of the castle, but the heavy set door held the draughts firmly at bay. The boys were a treasure beyond wort lh to the royal household and nothing would threaten their safety or comfort.
Tenir turned his head fitfully as the wind slammed into the shutters. Illirin hushed him, soothing the young Prince’s fear. Across the Nursery, Kali and Hari watched over Hanir as he struggled to walk. The twins bore little resemblance. Tenir had a head of wavy golden hair with a pair of bright blue eyes while his younger twin, Hanir, was dark haired and dark eyed. Illirin cast her eye doubtfully over her two handmaidens, evidently dubious as to their ability to look after her youngest charge. The boys were to remain in her charge up until their submission to the city Factories, as was usual for all the children of Arduin. The storm outside continued to pick up momentum; the first sound of rain beginning to strike the window panes.
“Close the shutters Kari, you’ll scare the boys” Illirin commanded.
“What do you think of the wind, young prince?” she crooned to Tenir. He squirmed in her arms and glanced fearfully at the window in response. A bolt of lightning seared through the tumultuous night, a blinding gash shooting from the heavens. Tenir shrieked in delight, his eyes alight with wonder, no apparent fear at the incredible show of nature's might. Hanir too, had his dark eyes locked on the window, his face mirroring his brothers. Kari hurried to the window and close the shutters, muting the storm’s fury.
“It’s been awhile since we had such a-” A peal of thunder snatched away anything she had thought to say in an earth shaking growl. Hanir’s eye glinted in the light, a fierce joy shining through his youthful visage. The women showed no such delight in the face of such weather. Illirin eyed her assistants and the dwindling supply of firewood.
“We shall have to send dear Duncan to fetch us some more wood my dears, it simply shall not do for the boys to catch a chill.” She grasped the iron poker, muscles bunching on her forearm as she reorganised the fire to a more satisfying arrangement.
Lighting crashed once more, causing bolts of white light to sear through the gaps in the shutter. The thunder rolled and rumbled even more deeply than before. Tenir began to cry, a piteous wailing. Hanir’s accompanying cries followed like thunder after lightning, a deeper sob, a sound akin to grief. Illirin was struck the a profound sense of unease. A tension built within her; like the calm before a storm. She unconsciously rolled her broad shoulders, born from her gift of prescience, inherited to her through her distant royal lineage. She was charged with looking after the two royal boys but, more importantly, she was charged with defending them. Her royal blood, inherited through her grandmother, had caused her to grow taller and broader than all but the most uncommon of women. The potency of her prescience meant that not only was she strong by the standards of women, she surpassed the strength of most men.
Illirin leant the poker against her chair, shifting Tenir into her arms.
“Hush”, she crooned, brushing back a golden lock. The clap of thunder sounding again. The feeling of unease heightened; she felt as though she could hear the sound of the Gods themselves fighting amidst the sea of noise outside.
“What is that sound?” Kari asked.
“Fighting!” Yelled Illirin, her voice saturated with alarm. She leapt to her feet, placing Tenir on the chair behind her, sweeping up the poker. Lightning flashed. The rain and wind swelled in intensity. The thunder broke and the door was flung open, crashing into the wall.
✱✱
Two solid kicks and the door swung in on its hinges, joyfully harmonising with the thunder’s roar. The bare headed man surveyed the scene in front of him, what a cozy little suite the royal brat had been set up with. Three women stood aghast in the room, shuttered windows and rug draped floors, an army of toys haphazardly spread out near the remains of the evening’s supper. The brat hunkered down in amongst them gurgling along to the thunder. Another crash of lightning and a shriek of pleasure erupted from somewhere further into room. With a searching look his eyes settle on the eldest and largest of the three women who has taken up a fire poker in a laughable attempt of defiance in the face of hopeless odds. Orders are barked and two of the men head towards her while the bare headed man and his comrade march towards the two younger women and the helpless child. With a swift, devastating blow to the head, the matron sends the first man to reach her buckling to floor with a spurt of red mist settling in the air, red hot iron hissing as it hits the man’s skin and bites the tissue beneath. The second man on his approach is frozen in place, lifting his blade into a defensive position. An uneven battle as the poker and the wizened lady’s reach far surpass that of the man and his short sword.
Away from this, the two handmaidens failed to put up such a staunch defense, though bravely putting their bodies in between their oncoming attackers and the young boy, cloth and sinew is no match for steel though, as they are quickly and ruthlessly hacked up, dismembered limbs falling helplessly to the floor.
“Have away with that haggard old trollop!” the bareheaded man bellows to be heard over maelstrom of sound around him. He swoops down to pick up the brat, who's staring without comprehension at the violent scenes surrounding him. He makes his way out towards the entrance, holding the squirming little creature in the crook of his elbow.
“You two! in here, put that fat bitch down before she bites anyone else” he barks at the men standing idle by the door. Holding by the door he watches as his four men descend upon the sullen wench. As the first moves into strike a blow he is halted mid swing as the poker smashes out through his back, he’s flung bodily into the other men as the poker is instantly returned to its previous position, dripping blood down the length of its shaft and pooling around the white knuckled grip of this iron lady. The three remaining men fan out, her piercing gaze locks onto the bareheaded man clutching the brat and a grimace sets upon her face. This time two attempt to attack at once, one blow is met by the iron of the poker and the other merely bites thin air as the woman gracefully maneuvers the three away from one another, changing tack she goes on the offensive, slamming her hulking frame into the chest of the man she just blocked sending him off balance and crashing to the floor, impaling his arm on one of the toys as he scrambles his arms for balance. Without a moment’s pause a second man is thrown to the floor, his knee audibly cracking out of its socket and leaving him to fall over himself at a disjointed angle. At this the bareheaded man decides to flee, but from the sound of the next crack, his head start isn’t quite what they had planned for. Thunder booms around the corridor as he breathlessly flies past doorways.
**
Illirin watched in horror as blood spattered men poured into the nursery. Kari screamed at the sight of the men, gore spilling through the doorway from the body's lying beyond. Three men advanced upon Hari and Kari, blades held casually by their sides. Illirin felt a calm settle, her prescience giving her a sense of calm and readiness. She picked up the poker, the only form of weapon to hand, feeling the reassuring weight in her palm. Two of the rough looking men advanced upon her, weapons held with deadly intent. Their obvious disdain for Illirin, a woman, gave her an advantage she would sorely need. The first attacker swung in a lazy arc, steel whistling like the wind itself. She inhaled, taking a small step back, the blade sang past, inches away from her. She whipped the poker up towards his unprotected face, the poker crushing through skin, bone and tissue as it sank deep into his head. Illirin twisted and rolled her shoulder, freeing the poker, returning to a position of balance. His companion stood frozen in place, blade held protectively in front of him, his comrades blood spattered over his torso and face. Illirin, flicked her poker down onto the man's outstretched hand, bone crunching. The man screamed.
‘Hanir!’ she thought to herself in alarm. Fear for her youngest charge caused her gaze to search the room. Her eyes locked with a man observing from the doorway, under his arm, Hanir wriggled and screamed. Her face fell into a grimace, deadly purpose filled her. She must not fail her young Princes. She dispatched the keening man with a devastating blow to the chest, ribs crumpling like paper in the face of her iron strength and resolve.
“Have away with that haggard old trollop!” the man in the doorway shouted as he backed away.
His two companions leave his side and advance on her, two more slinking in from outside the door. Illirin’s face set into a mask of fury. Her Prince was being taken further and further from her, these men block her way, and worse, threatened the safety of Tenir. She cast a glance behind her, seeing young Tenir bravely hefting a log, his face set in determination. She pushed him behind the chair, and breathed deep. A man was already upon her, leaping forward with his blade held aloft. She stamped forward, exhaling sharply, ramming with poker straight into his chest. The poker slammed out his back in an explosion of gore. She tossed the man off her makeshift weapon, his body soaring across the nursery. She inwardly thanked the Gods that they had seen fit to grant her this gift of strength. The rest of the men fanned out in front of her, finally respecting her as a threat. Attacking together from either side the men look to cut her down. Pivoting left, she meets a blade in the air and,turning with unnatural speed and grace, dances out the path of another. Using her momentum, she barreled into the man to her right, sending him sprawling amongst the debris on the floor. She continues to twist, like a dancer, and the poker sings in a deadly song as it whistles into the left man's knees. A grisly crunch is followed by more screams of agony. She drops onto one knee as the third man attacks. It catches her high on the arm, biting deeply. Illirin screams in rage and agony, her arm swinging uselessly at her side. The man eyed her warily. Fatigue burned in Illirin’s right arm and shoulder at the unaccustomed weight of the poker. Her vision began to blur as the man advanced. Her fury flickered like lightning at the thought of failing Tenir. She keened in fury, lashing at the man with her poker in all her considerable strength. The blade wrenched from his grasp, skittering across the room. Illirin brought her poker cascading down in a thunderous blow, crushing through the crown of the mans head, tearing it asunder.
She whipped around towards the door, the thirst to pursue coursing through her. But she was falling, her vision fading. The room spun, lurching uncomfortably. She could see Tenir stood in front of her protectively, his small frame casting a long shadow as he held his log like a Paladin of old hefting his hammer.
“No Child..” she murmured sluggishly, her hand reaching out to him. The storm raged harder. Lighting cut the night like the blade of an angry god, the thunder beat the earth. The blood seeped into the rugs.
**
The cries of men echo in the abductors wake, as he continues to bound down corridors and hallways to make good on his escape. The brat still worming around in his hold. Momentary flashes of brilliance flicker through the slants in the shutters causing the man to become disorientated. He bounded down the a stairway and found his bearings once more. He knew he was nearing the relative safety of the rest of his men and their horses. He flew down the last step and around the corner only to lose his footing on a slick stone causing him to cascade into the wall with the brat slipping from his grasp. He gasped in pain as he smacked his elbow on the hard floor. The sound of the storm was replaced with the footsteps and clangour of armoured men gaining ground. He bent down and picked up the brat once again making his way back to the service entrance. The alarm had yet to reach this far out of the castle, to his good fortune, and he hurried to open the service exit through which he had previously gained entry. He careened into it and bounced off. It didn’t budge. The wind. Regaining his breath he allows himself a moment to gather his strength. With a great effort he managed to force it open an inch and get his foot into the gap. The storm now drowned out any noise from within the castle, the hue and cry lost in the sound of the tempest. Not far now. He forced himself on through the battering wind and sheeted rain, his body aching from the long evening of slaughter. The adrenaline that had been coursing through his body ever since they had entered the castle was beginning to fade, fatigue setting in its place. The man found himself in a dark alley, just a few streets away from the inn where the rest of his men awaited the return of his company. He repositioned the fidgeting child to wrap his cloak around it and give off the air of father carrying his son through the harrowing weather. The streets were empty. With the raging storm bearing down upon the city and night firmly set in, the populace were huddled in their homes for the night. Only the most desperate of traveller dared brave the storm. Or those with more devious intent.
The man, slithered out of the alley, hugging the walls, hiding in the deeper shadows cast by the eves of the buildings. He pulled his hood deep over his head, hiding his visage so that even the most observant watcher would see only a vague figure hurrying through the night. Anonymity was his ally from here on out. His mission couldn't be compromised through the risk of being marked and recognised. Dimly he could hear activity surging out from the castle, the faint scream of a horse being urged on. He quickened his pace to a shallow run, to be caught was to be killed. He rounded the final corner, the sign of the Rider’s Rest swinging violently in the wind. Adjusting the ever moving child to cover his face, he pushed through door. A wave of sound and smell hit him as he entered the packed taproom of the tavern. He pushed and kicked his way past bawdy drunks and ghosted up the stairs, all but invisible. He pushed open the third door on the left, meeting a wall of bristling blades.
“Fuck me Tal, you were almost a gonner!” exclaimed one of the men.
Tal brushed aside the levelled baldes, “We’re leaving. Right now.” he commanded.
“Where’s the others? They waiting downstairs?” voiced another.
“They’re all dead, some crazy bitch with a poker did us in.” Tal responded shortly
“Dead?! some bitch you reckon? How could one wench do away with 5 fellas like you had with you?”
“Dead. Yes, dead like we’ll all be if you don't start fucking moving” he shouted in the face of the incredulous man, spit punctuating his anger.
Impetuously Tal turns and walks back towards the stairs, not waiting to see if his men have followed. As he reaches the bottom and turns towards the stables he bumps into the flushed faced innkeeper.
“So sorry about that, leaving already? Who’s this little guy? Off to the factory soon I bet!” he commented jovially.
“Something's come up, in a rush” Tal barked “Here's the coin for the room, good night”
Tal hands the now puzzled innkeeper a small purse that jingles lightly as it's passed over. Ignoring the shocked look on the innkeeper's face, his men now hurrying to keep up he strode purposefully towards the stables. The man called Tal mounted his horse, careful to keep the child firmly in his lap.
“Bron, Grit and Fin take the spare horses we’re going to need them with the shitstorm that’s coming our way” Tal ordered.
“Shitstorm that's coming your way, you mean” muttered the man called Grit.
Lighting crashed, illuminating the look on Tals face as he sidled over towards the man.
“Take that tone again and you’ll have your own private shitstorm, sunshine. Got it?” Tal growled menacingly as the thunder boomed and rolled. With a hint of a smile playing across his lips he turned his back to Grit, shifting his unwilling cargo. Kicking his horse into motion he leapt once more into the cyclonic winds and pouring rain. The men hastened to follow, their horses kicking up sparks as they flew like phantoms into the night.
**
“How in the name of all that is just, could this have happened?!” Almir said sorrowfully.
“My King I take full responsibility” Illirin bowed her head.
“Nonsense you fought valiantly, you singled handedly bested 5 men!” Almir exclaimed.
“I failed.”
Illirin lay in bed, her body swaddled awkwardly in bandage and gauze. The King sat next to her, her hands in his. The Queen had yet to appear from her quarters after receiving the news.
“Look at Tenir and tell me that again.”
“But Hanir…”
“I know, we’ll get him back, we have to get him back. Captain, in here now!”
“What can I do, my King?” Captain Fenway asked snapping to attention
“Rouse fifty men and have them armed and mounted, ready for a long pursuit, by the time my horse is readied.”
“My liege you can’t mean to come with-”
“Why of course” Almir snaps across him
“But what if this is an attempt to lure you out?”
“They have my son!” Almir barked.
“I know my liege, but you also have Tenir to keep safe, and a kingdom to rule. Trust me and mine to return Hanir to you, and I personally want to repay them for the loss of my men.”
Almir sighed heavily passing a hand through his fair hair, a deep set weariness sunk into his features. “As you will. But Fenway, please bring him back” Almir strode off in the direction of his chambers.
Almir eased open the door to his quarters, where his wife and Queen, Katrana, sat mournfully watching Tenir play with a small wooden sword. “Any word?” she whimpered as their eyes locked.
“Nothing yet, Fenway will have fifty of our best on their tail within the hour” Almir said heavily.
They sat watching Tenir battle imaginary foes with his sword, Katrana’s shoulders heaving in silent sobs, Almir’s steely gaze locked onto something no one else could see. Outside, the storm continued to crash across the sky and lash the earth. Almir absentmindedly stroked Katrana’s jet black hair back from her tear stricken face.
“Maybe with everything he shouldn’t go to the factory? At least not as soon as we planned.” He suggests finally.
“But tradition demands all children be raised-”
“To hell with tradition, tradition didn’t accommodate for our son to be stolen from our own castle.”
Katrana closed her eyes, tears squeezing out, unable to bear sight of her son playing alone. The stark absence of her dark haired Hanir created a hollow feeling inside her breast, the wrongness of it all was overbearing. Golden haired Tenir seemed only half himself without his brothers companionship. The balance was out of kilter, the twins were not One without the other, they were bound together by blood. Tenir seemed somehow duller, lost even, without his brother.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“No it doesn’t” She answered eventually. She held one of Almir’s hands between both of her own, barely able to cover the most of it.
“So then why must we-”
“Because we are who we are my love, my King.”
“Be damned by who we are! I am a man, you a woman and Hanir our son. It won’t be too long until Tenir notices the void either, how do we tell him that we lost his brother?”
“Tenir is young and once he is in the Factory it won’t be out of place that Hanir isn’t with him. And it won’t be too long until Fenway brings back our other son and this will all just be a horrible nightmare.”
“So why must we part with our remaining son when we have just lost one?”
“The world doesn’t know we had twins, to bring Tenir up outside of the Factory would cause more questions than we can answer and cast your leadership into question, tradition drives our society.”
“You’re right, of course you’re right.” Almir said resignedly “He’ll go to Factory as planned, Hanir will simply have to go in as soon as we have him back.”
“I pray that the gods will look after my baby, i couldn’t bear to lose him Almir… not like this.” Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks, her beauty marred by the sorrow of a grieving mother. Almir gazed at his wife and son, his face graven in a visage of regal ire.
“I just can’t wait to have my hands around the throat of the person who put this all together, they will pay for this act of treason.” Fists and jaw clenched.
“When we find them they will face justice” she said, mouth set into a stern grimace. She turned to her husband, eyes bright with the feverish light only a mother can produce.
“Find them, and make them pay.”
Fenway stared at the map intensely “They must be going North East, if they’re the group spotted leaving through the eastern gate.”
“They might be headed for the woods?” his second in command said
“No one would try it. No one.”
“So we’re to go into Ulrin territory?”
“They can’t be going anywhere else.”
“God help us, and the young prince!”
“If only they were coastward bound, I’d sooner deal with pirates than the dangers we’ll face on this mission. Still send word out to the surrounding countryside that any information about a party of five, possibly riding with extra horses to be brought to the castle immediately.” He traced his gloved fingers along the coastline working his way towards the hellish lands that lay to the north; their destination. He set his cloak and hood tight and walked out to where the rescue party were gathered and ready. A satisfied smile crept onto his lips at the display of efficiency. “We ride hard and fast, we have no time to waste and plenty to make up. For the King!” he shouted as he mounted and made his way to the front of the party leading them out of the curtain walls gates.
**
Tal kicked his tired mount to the top of the small rise, examining the surrounding country. His instructions dictated that he find his way northwards, to a meet point at the base of *name of mountains* where he was to offload the troublesome Royal Prince. Tal and his men had escaped Ardal and the vicinity free of any immediate pursuit, although it was sure to follow. The calamitous storm has subsided as they rode north, thanks to a strong north wind. Now, as the icy wind howled down from the north, he and his men travelled as fast as their tired horses would allow them to. Already two horses had been forced to be left behind as they'd been ridden to beyond exhaustion, the spare mounts taking their places. The next stage of their journey seemed relatively simple to Tal. The countryside they faced was clear of any large town or village for miles, with only the odd farm tending the land. The only problem for Tal was the reason for the lack of urbanisation; land this close to the border and the mountains was prime raiding ground for the Ulrin.
The Ulrin are a fighting race of goblin like creatures with grey skin and grotesque ridges of bone lining their muscle clad bodies. The intricacies of their culture and land was all but unknown to Humankind. The Ulrin and Humans had been fighting for as long as any could remember, any information gleaned about either party was taken forcibly. That being said, the Humans knew that the Ulrin were an essentially violent race, with fighting being a core concept to their culture. It appeared that the Ulrin hierarchy of power was based off physical prowess and fighting ability. Typically, the type of Ulrin who would cross into Human lands were not the strong powerful Ulrin. Instead they were the weak and the young, the ones trying to earn prestige amongst their people.The Ulrin came into Human lands to raid and pillage, the more loot they brought back the more the glory.
Tal’s brow furrowed as he considered the possibility of running afoul of a roving band. If they came across one, Tal would be forced to outrun them or fight them off. They were not frequent but it was foolish to rely on luck but he had little choice. The only alternative was a circuitous route that took him over the well maintained roads of the Kingdom. Tal wished he had that luxury but with the description of he and his men likely to be widely known, there was no chance he could risk it. He sighed inwardly at the prospect of riding his tired mounts across rough ground. He kicked his horse onwards, riding down the gentle rise, heading for dead ground.
Night was beginning to show the first signs of falling as Tal and his remaining men finally reached the campsite. Two days of hard riding, with little rest, was beginning to take its toll. The prospect of warm food and some shelter was all too appealing. Eight more men awaited Tal. Eight more to bolster his tired force and get to the rendezvous. Tal was reassured by doubling his number but thirteen men and a vulnerable charge wasn't much of a defence against a big band of Ulrin.
“Who approaches?” The question rang out from the camp
“It’s us, we’ve got the young prince.” Tal shouted back, as they carried on their approach the men at camp gathered in at the edge. As they drew closer the faces of the men became grave and nervous glances were exchanged as Pat, the man Tal had left in charge at the camp, stepped forward.
“Where’s the rest of you?” He asked quizzically
“Long story, tell you over some food” Tal replied in a tone that didn’t beg further questions.
The child was a burden he wish he didn't have to deal with. He and his men could make this journey, slow and steady but with the Prince, he didn’t have the luxury of time. The young Prince had remained quiet after a few hours of crying at the start of their flight from the city. Now the boy watched everything with an unreadable look on his face. He was young still, couldn't be older than 5. He’d occasionally speak a word or two but he seemed to spent most of his time crying and sleeping. Tal was worried he wouldn’t be able to take the hard travelling. Gods curse his employer! Who would want a Royal Child taken to the fuckin mountains! Tal leant against a tree, dark eyes surveying his camp.
Vin and Fin were inviting everyone to come and play cards and have what they called, a friendly bet. Of course no one did, those brothers had a reputation blacker than night itself.
“Do you think he understands?” asked Grit leering down towards Hanir.
“I don’t care, let’s just get this done. After tonight I’ll be one step closer to never having look at your ugly mug again.” Tal hissed.
“Do you have to be so fucking serious all the time?
“I’ve warned you runt, don’t push me.”
“Look, we’ve been going for days and you’ve done nothing but spit venom at anyone who’s opened their mouth”
“Seeing the 5 men I handpicked slaughtered because I didn't anticipate a threat doesn’t tend to put me in the best of moods! It’s fucking cold and I hurt all over. I need some sleep, Grit you take first watch. Wake me in two hours.” Tal got up and made his way under the makeshift canvas tent. He picked up the royal worm and put him down in his pallet. It didn’t take long before darkness gathered and sleep took him like a blow to the head; instant oblivion.
“Get up!” Grits voice seemed to come from far away
“mhhhhh?” Tal blearily replied, as a warhorn filled the air. It wasn’t until the lid next to him squealed loudly that he came fully aware.
“I said get the fuck up! They’re coming our fucking way!” Grit hissed out. Tal scrambled up out of canvas cover to see a blur of lights making it’s way south across the valley.
“Shit! Are they flying the royal standard?” Tal said, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“Its fucking dark you idiot!” Vin shouted
“No royal men use a horn like that though” Fin added.
“Get mounted up, we’re leaving anything you can’t pick up by the time I have the brat on my horse.” Tal commanded as he swung back towards the pallet, pulling away the canvas cover. Once again he picked up the infant and mounted his tired beast. There were no complaints or satirical quips at his order, tension hung in the air. He kicked his horse into motion, pointing his men South and West. A sheer drop faced him directly south, forcing him in the direction. As he and his men set off, Tal turned his head to try and assess the oncoming party. Judging from the lights, there must have been at least four scores maybe even one hundred of them making hard ground directly towards the camp. Dawn was edging its way across the sky, a grim grey light. A roiling grey blur revealed the Ulrin. This wasn’t the way Tal had wanted things to go, this route led them away from their goal and towards the forests of *name* , a place no sane man dared venture. Legend and myth shrouded those woods like mist on a moor. But, one thing at a time.
“Careful along this ridge. It’s not a shortcut I’d fancy taking” Tal warned his band.
He arched his neck round to check on his small band, just in time to see Bron’s horse stumble on some loose rocking and send them both down the cliff edge, his screams and the horse’s whines setting a chill down the spine of all the men. Until it came to an abrupt stop. At a glance, in the predawn haze, all Tal could make out was an unmoving dark mass sprawled out about sixty feet down. The remainder of the group took the descent at a slower pace, dreadfully aware of the drop. Behind them fell horn blasts sounded. The chase was on.
As they rode on through the smaller valleys and towards the endlessly large tree line, just visible on the horizon, the warhorns continued to echo after them. Clearly the Ulrin didn’t waste much time tearing apart their small camp. They were on the hunt. As they rounded the crest of another hill in their frantic game of cat and mouse, Tal saw the only thing that could have made the situation worse. In the early light the royal standard was easily distinguished on the top of the next hill. The standard accompanied by a good fifty or so mounted soldiers.
“Fuck. We head east. With any luck we can get the two of them to collide and double back before we hit the trees” Tal reasoned, more to himself than any of his men. Though as they continued east, the Urlin came out about a mile to the north, traversing down a hillside. “Get to the woods, we’ve no choice now. And pray to whichever god you pray to, we’re going to need all the help we can get!”
After commanding them to dismount, Tal and his eleven men bounded on through the thick brush. They streamed past row upon row of thick moss laden trunks, with heavy branches hanging low. A myriad of small animals darting away as they disrupted the early morning tranquillity of the sheltered woodland. With their hearts hammering the their chests they slowed down at Tals command to assess their situation.
“Right. In this terrain our smaller size can be an advantage, we find a choke point or higher ground and their numbers don’t count for much, or better yet; escape.” Tal explained “They can’t come at us in full force, not through this many trees. It’s also unlikely they’ll be able to come from more than one direction so we should be able to face them head on.” Turning his head to encompass the entirety of his small band as he spoke they each nodded sharply back to him. They all knew the odds weren’t good. They progressed further into the woods keeping their eyes open for anything that could help stem the inevitable tide of enemies that were going to be facing. The hooting of an owl diverted their attention momentarily skywards, simultaneously out for the darkness lept one of the hellish ulrin. Eyes dark and wide it crashed bodily into one of the men, before anyone had a chance to help its blade sunk deep into his chest with ribbons of blood streaming out of the crimson wound. Tal and his men whirled around, blades whipping out of sheaths, as another Ulrin loped out of the darkness. They made for an odd pair; one wearing a pot helmet and very loose chainmail wielding a shortsword with both hands, the other in an archer's coif and leather jerkin brandishing a small mace in each hand. Grit and one of the other men stepped up to where their fallen comrade was taking his final breaths, blood bubbling from his lips, facing down this mismatched pair. The Ulrin didn’t seem phased by their lacking in numbers as they haphazardly charged towards the two men, weapons raised and ready. Grit and the man next to him exchanged a glance and a smile as they deftly raised their blades and beat away the wild strikes of the on rushing foes. With their height came a greater reach so they easily slipped their blades through the poorly protected flesh of the poorly armoured creatures. The Ulrin screamed as the men found their marks, writhing in agony, pushing themselves inadvertently deeper onto the blades. A smirk etched itself on Grit
“Well that didn’t seem too bad!” He boasted.
“You seem to be forgetting that we’ve lost two men now and still have near enough 100 more to face” Tal admonished him. The smirk quickly disappeared. “Form up, we need this brat to make it and we can’t risk having our backs unprotected.” Their small band now formed an arch interspaced by the tall trees, each man's eyes darting to every snap of a branch or rustle of leaves.
“More approaching” the call rang out. “Six or so, by the look of it!”
They were spotted easily enough as the rising sun shot beams of light through the sporadic breaks in the canopy above. The Ulrin picked up pace as they advanced, eyes bright with malevolence and wide grins on each grotesque face. They brandished an array of weapons, some with shields, some without, some with mail armour some with leather. There was little formation or strategy to their advance, this was more like a brawl than battle. As they clashed, and weapons rose and fell, all order amongst them ceased. Somehow Grit found himself between two and as he cut powerfully through one, the other’s blade bit down into his calf. He yanked his blade free and, with terrible force, all but split the second in two, the blade of his sword shearing down between it’s neck and shoulder, the creature jerked in a short fit then fell limply to the floor. Fin and Vin made quick work of another two, standing side by side, taking turns to dash a blade forward and always finding their mark. A man went down to Tal’s left, a damp smack preceding the fall. Tal found himself face to face with one of the largest Ulrin he’d seen that day. The beast had a large bloodied club in hand, a leering grin across his face. Tal adjusted his body to put himself between it and his young charge. This would make fighting harder. As the brute swung its club at chest height, Tal stepped deftly back half a step, allowing the club to pass half a foot in front of him. The momentum of the swing took his foe off balance and Tal’s blade slashed over the back of the brutes shoulder, biting into sinew and tendons. With a roar of pain the Ulrin reversed it’s swing, Tal realised there was no way to dodge a blow like this. He spun his body in towards the hulking body of his opponent, with his momentum Tal drove his sword hard and deep into its spine. With a shudder the Ulrin fell to the floor, the force behind it’s swing causing the fall to twist its body around Tal’s legs causing him to stumble. When Tal found his feet he looked around and saw that once again his band had overcome the last of the Ulrin.
“Report!” Tal ordered his small band.
“One of the bastards stung me.” Grit replied through clenched teeth.
“Fin, help him bind it. Anyone else?” Tal waited a moment and when no one else replied he cast his eyes around to survey “We move away from here, the sounds of battle are bound to draw more.”
“What about the bodies of our men?” Pat asked.
“They’ll slow us down. Here and now, we are the one’s who are alive, and I sure as hell don’t intend for that to change any time soon.” Tal said as he began to move deeper into the verdant woods. The recent storm causing droplets to hang on in brushes and shrubs, making it damp and tiresome going for their battle weary bodies. As they carried on deeper through the woods, they came up behind a group of three Ulrin. The snap of a twig beneath the hobbling Grit caught their attention but Tal, Pat and another man reacted too quickly for them to mount a serious attack. As they felled the three, one managed to let out an ear piercing cry. Pat and Tal exchanged a wide eyed look as a deep growl of an Ulrin warhorn echoed in response.
“Run” Tal commanded as Pat reached back to put an arm round Grit. The group picked up pace and darted deeper into shadowed forest, more horns erupting from almost every direction.
Panting Tal finally halted the reckless sprint “This will have to make do.” He said as they reached the top of a slight slope, ten foot drops to either side of the verdant ramp. “Form up. Fin, Vin I want you on either side of me. Pat you stay with Grit. If we do enough damage hopefully they’ll decide the loss isn’t worth it.” Tal said. It was a lie, and they all knew it. After a few tense minutes, the Ulrin came into view, a score of them and seemingly drooling with anticipation. Their advance was slowed when they realised the band was making a final stand. They had their prey. Weapons waved menacingly at them and mocking howls lifted into the air, a jarring sound in contrast with the buzzing sound of life in the woods. Sweat rolled down the faces of the men as they waited in suspense, to stand any chance of surviving they had to hold this ground. As the Ulrin drew closer they finally sped up into a charge, breathing heavy from the exertion of the pursuit, weapons like lead in the arms. A deadly wall of steel clashed against the group’s defence, madly slashing and hacking through the air trying to find gaps. One launched itself through the air laughing manically up until it found itself impaled on a raised shortsword. As the Ulrin pushed past each other trying to gain ground, the men's swords rose and fell hacking and slashing away at the tide of grey bodies. Tal’s confidence grew as he saw the men standing strong against this latest wave of attackers. A short lived moment, as a brute of an Ulrin starts to swing a rusted iron mace. It swung high through the air, impacting against one of his mens sword and ending with a bonecrunching collision. The brute instantly steps up into the gap in the defence, roaring as he batters his mace side to side, laying waste to anything standing near.
“We’re done here, you boys with me.” Tal says to the brothers battling at his side. As they finish off their closest foes the three turn and make a run for it. Cries of dismay rose high into the air from the men left behind. A horn called brazenly through the trees..
**
Fenway and his men rush through the bushy thicket towards to the sounds of battle. What kind of hell have they landed in? No one wants to be in these woods, let alone in a skirmish with Ulrin. Another hurdle they had encountered pursuing the group of vagabonds. Dimly they could hear shouts and the sound of clashing steel. They pushed their way through the trees and undergrowth and came upon a rise with a battle taking place at the top of it. Ulrin were clambering over their dead, trying furiously to get at the desperate men. Angry shouts and throaty roars, echoed through the trees. Fenway’s heart pound in his chest, the men were all but slain; what of Hanir!
“Charge!” he commanded.
The Royal soldiers charged raggedly through the trees, shouting their challenge. A war horn sounded in harmony with the men’s cries. Ulrin and men turned to the sound of their onrush, a mixture of shock and anger placing across the faces of the grey monstrosities. As they crested the ramp and slew the remaining Ulrin and pressed back the men. “Where’s the prince?” Fenway growled down at them. Before he could continue his interrogation, a call sounded from one of his men. Turning his head, he saw a swarming mass of Ulrin beginning to engage with his men.
“Hold this position!” He ordered to his men. “Now, one of you is going to tell me where they are.” Sneering back at the disheveled and injured men in front of him.
“Where’s who?” Smirked a man with a tourniquet on his leg.
“You’re not the only one left, if you want to play dumb,my men can leave you to these beasts.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“Enough Grit.” Another of the group interjected. “They left us here for dead. You promise to keep us alive, I’ll show you the direction.”
“Agreed” he said tersely.
“They went that way, past that giant Oak.”
“Good. Kill them.” Fenway turned to assess the situation. His men were holding but they needed to get after the prince. “Keep them at bay. You and you come with me, we go after the prince. Company, retreat slowly after us, hold them back.” Fenway ordered as he started off past the giant Oak tree.
Following the directions he was given Fenway emerged into a clearing, the sun now high in the sky. After so long in the shadowy undergrowth the bright light was almost blinding. Half way across the clearing three figures could be made out heading away from them.
“Stop there!” Fenway yelled at them. “Your men are dead, you will be too soon in these damned woods. Give me the prince before he’s put in any more danger.”
“And have all this be for nothing?” Came the reply.
“What can you possibly achieve from this position?” Fenway questioned as he started across the clearing.
“Not another step or this brat will suffer.”
“That brat is the prince. It’s been one long fucking day, if I leave men this side and you leave yours that we can meet in the middle and talk.”
“I’ll humour you that far.” The two men made their way towards each other, Fenways heart leapt to see Hanir still moving, even in the arms of such a man. As he studied the man he’d been hunting, Fenway wondered if he looked quite so ragged and worn out.
“Clearly this isn’t how you planned everything. Give me the prince and you’re free to go.” Fenway suggested with a calmness he didn’t feel.
“Fuck you. You know full well Me and those two aren’t getting anywhere without you. We’re already further into these fucking woods than any sane man would dare go.”
“You want protection? You, who not only abducted the prince but killed some fine and innocent men in the process?”
“It was a fucking job. One that paid very well. Help us out of here and I’ll give up the man who hired us.”
“A job? Who in their right mind would want one of the princes?”
“Get us out of here and you’ll find out.”
“Just the three of you left now?”
“Frankly I couldn’t give a shit about those two, get me out and you’ll have your name.”
“Give me the prince and I’ll consider it.”
“Throw away my my only advantage?”
“I’m not giving you a choice. Give me the prince and We’ll get you out of these…” Fenway was cut short as the other man looked past him and grimaced. Fenway turned to see the rest of his men entering into the clearing, still fighting the Ulrin.
“How can you offer protection when your lives aren’t even safe?” The man snarled at Fenway.
“We’re trained members of the royal army, even outnumbered we can handle raiding Ulrin. Give me the prince now!”
“So you’ll protect me?”
“If you give me the prince, and give us the name of your employer once we get back to Ardal.”
“I ain’t fucking going back there.”
“Those are my conditions; either die here futily, or accept your arrest and hope the information you hold reflects well.” The man couldn’t take his eyes off of the battle taking place behind Fenway.
“Fuck it. Here take it, my backs killing from carrying him all this way anyhow.”
The man presented Hanir to Fenway. The captain afforded himself a small smile as he gladly collected the small prince into his arms. He gave the prince a once over to make sure he had not suffered any ills on his journey but nothing was immediately apparent, aside from the beggar's clothing they’d dressed him in.
“Bring your men over I’ll see you have men to guard you.” Fenway said as he turned back to rejoin his company, not so much as glancing over his shoulder to see if he’d been obeyed.
**
Fenway moved to the back of the line “Hold fast and fight well, you’re doing your king's work here!” He calls to his men. “Don’t let them bre-” he’s cut short in his next rallying cry as an arrow head punches out through his chest, centimetres above the head of the young prince. Shock played across Fenway’s face as he looked down and saw the arrow head protruding from his chest. As he falls to his knees he wraps his body protectively around the young boy.
“I’ve got you Hanir, don’t you worry, you’ll be back with your brother before he even notices you were gone” Fenway whispers softly to his young prince, “I’ll look after y-” He crumpled forward, the light fading from his eyes. His body cast a lonely figure, unnoticed by the roiling melee raging just scant meters away. A cacophony of animal roars and screams erupted from behind Tal as his head sweeps round to try and find where the arrow which felled Fenway had come from. He sees a figure stalking out from the brush, bow in hand, and his eyes widen in horror. Elves! He knew that he was doomed. None managed an encounter and lived to tell the tale. The tall figure burst into vision with an ululating war cry, loosing an arrow with unerring accuracy. The long shaft took him low in the stomach causing an explosion of agony.
A sleek black animal leapt from the undergrowth in front of him, jaws locking onto his throat, teeth ripping cruelly. The war cries turned to shrieks of terror. Death stalked these woods.
**
The elves rustled through the trees and undergrowth like a breeze upon a meadow. Some leapt from branch to branch, high in the canopy while others prowled along the forest floor like their beastial companions. Distantly the mournful hoot of the night owl drifted from ahead. The folly of the intruders would soon be realised, as the net of Huntress’ and their Aspects closed. Rathrir ran her hand over the head of the panther at her side, her Aspect looking up at her with dark, intelligent eyes.
“Seek them” she commanded it. The mental pulse sent the animal skulking forward, head cast low, its figure set into a predatory stance. Along the line of Huntress’, other warriors were doing the same with the chosen Aspect of the Hunt. Rathrir mimicked the shrieking cry of the Nanjin hawk up into the canopy. The hidden Huntress’ above her ghosted their way forward through the treetops. The softest rustle in the boughs of the treetops marked their passing. Rathrir pushed onwards, high pointed ears alert for her Huntress’ signals. The clash of arms and the alien shouts and screams of the unwelcome guests reached the silent sentinels clearly now. The low thrum of the bows hummed and sang as the Huntress’ high above the unawares brawlers found their marks.
Rathrir paused, watching a curious exchange between two humans. Their posturing was aggressive and violent but they stayed their weapons. She cocked her head to the side, considering idly what this might mean. A bundle was exchanged between what she supposed to be the two Leaders of the Hunt. The bundle moved. Her eyes narrowed and she stalked around, keeping her vantage point of the Hunt Leader in armour and colours. The man clutched the bundle reverently, pulling men to form a defensive position around him. He cast furtive glances around at the fight and set off away from the fight. Rathrir whistled keenly, flickering hand signals to her archers. Instantly a shaft plunged into his retreating back, driving him to his knees. She pulsed to her Aspect, the panther coming swiftly to her side. The other Hunt Leader saw the dying man and turned away from the fighting, eyes flickering around the clearing, searching for the hidden archers. Rathrir cooly leveled her bow, knocking the long shaft, getting her aim. The man paused, finally seeing her partially hidden figure. She loosed and the arrow slammed into his midriff. She pulsed to the Panther, her Aspect marks glowing with an alien light, high on her shoulder, as the creature stalked forward.
“End him” she commanded.
The Panther prowled forward, hidden beneath the dense underbrush. The man was gaping at Rathrir, a look of horror etched on his face. The Panther leapt, maw agape, taking his prey in the throat.
Ahead, the fight raged on, but no longer a organised melee. Instead, fear and panic ran rife as Man and Ulrin fell prey to the invisible attackers hidden high above and all around. Rathrir ignored the fight, confident in the protection afforded to her by her Huntress’ and the Aspects that screamed and roared all around. Her Panther returned to her side, blood streaked across its face and neck in a grisly visage of violence.
“See” she commanded it, sending it to the fallen Hunt Leader who had tried so desperately to defend this bundle. She remained hidden in the brush, unseen by the aliens before her. Through the eyes of her Aspect, she padded past fern and bough towards the tang of blood and meat. The fallen prey was folded in a strange pattern, like a mother protecting her cub. Rathrir, pushed the lifeless man-prey with her muzzle, revealing the bundle beneath. She pawed at the bundle, revealing a small face, curiously unafraid. Brow furrowed, the prey reached towards her with tiny man-paws. Bemused she stood frozen, the cub-man’s dark eyes narrowed. The man-cub placed its paw on her nose. Suddenly the clearing was returning, the unfamiliar cub retreating further from her vision. The child was Awakening! The child was attempting to control her panther! She asserted her will and commanded the panther to Obey. Once more shimmering light rippled over her exposed bicep, covered in a mosaic of Aspect markings, and suddenly the man-cub paw recoiled. It started to cry, like an cub for its mother.
“Return” the command came through.
Rathrir stalked forwards, past her panther and gently lifted the small child, staring in wonder. She reached down and brushed his head, gazing curiously at his alien features, dark eyes staring back. A shout of alarm jerked her from her reverie as some of the armoured warriors saw her holding the child. Her lips curled in disdain.
“Hunt with me” she crooned to her Aspect.
Laying the child down softly, she turned to regard the charging men. She breathed deeply. The wind kissed her skim like a lover’s breath. The scent of the forest mixing with the salty tang of blood and the stink of fear filled her lungs. The multitude of Aspects played over her arm and shoulder like an animalistic mosaic, lending her the strength of a bear, the speed of hawk and the agility of prowling panther. She watched the lazy arc of a mace wending its way through the air, the sunlight played upon its surface like moonbeams on a lake. She shifted her foot, gliding it to the left, twisted her torso with exaggerated ease and poise. The head of the mace passed above her like the passing of a cloud over the moon. She flipped her stationary foot, wending it up and over his steel clad torso, up around his neck and with the speed of a striking snake, whipped her torso down. The man's neck snapped with a wet crack, his body slamming into the ground as if falling from a great height, his armour crumpling like paper. His comrade stood aghast at his friend. He curled his arm back, futilely attempting to cut her down. She stepped forward, palm shooting forward, exhaling sharply. The man’s chest piece pealed like a gong and he was cast back a dozen feet into the bole of a great Oak, leaving a trail of bloody mist and gore..
“Feast” She purred to her Aspect.
The beast padded forward.
Rathrir returned to the curious child. She picked it up and walked slowly away from the carnage, a thoughtful expression playing over her elfin face.