Quest For The Dragon Soul Pt 02

I

The road to Videsh'Achar was proving to longer than anticipated. During the war with the Call of Skaelor, most armies converged onto the capital cities while many outlying territories were overrun by barbarians. The North of Ordeyirgoss had fallen to the Yarczian warlords, and their lines pushed south beyond the pastoral roads that crisscrossed the western forests, connecting the grazing fields.

Khaln had led his steed across the rough terrain as quickly as it could while an advancing Yarczian hunting party closed in on him - at night, under the thick, shadowed canopy of the trees, the doom drums announcing his impending demise resounded and it was meant to drown him in despair. But Khaln would spend the night sharpening his sword while his horse would graze. He had also heard the faint howls of wind wolves. Legends said their howls were the source of all wind. But the sounds carried far on the winds, giving rise to the legends - he felt an instinctual urge to answer their howls. Instead, as pulses of read light ignited his veins from beneath his skin, he would swing his sword and practised the forms taught him while he trained in the Ordeyirgossian volunteer army.

And with each swing of his sword, a plan formed.

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On the third day of the chase, Khaln had backtracked towards the north and began to follow the river Abaltir that acted as a natural border between North and South Ordeyirgoss. He also hoped the terrain would flatten and he could gain speed - his hope was to follow the river Eastward until he was close in onto where a gilded stag would stop to drink.

It would be the perfect bait.

When the steed Khaln had adopted after killing the Yarczian warlord Treczyius saw the water and the flatter terrain, it snorted happily and turned to the flowing river. Khaln tugged its reigns but the massive steed had eyes only for water - so Khaln slid off its saddle and watched as the horse drank greedily. The sun was high over the trees as midday reached its peak and Khaln laid down into the grass. If there was a time to relax, it might as well be now - his coming actions would require much energy and determination.

As he rested, Khaln let his mind wander until he slept and ultimately dreamed. He stood with his surrogate father, Yvrer, in the middle of the camp of the Ordeyirgossian volunteer army on the fields near the southern keep of Balangariss castle - home of lord Velastian the Red, the commander of the southern legions and cousin to the king of Ordeyirgoss. Everywhere rested the bloodied remains of the army while the Scything Souls of the call of Skaelor - their bodies looked like overlapping fold of nightmarish fabric that writhed and bulged as they moved - used the long, curved blades that hung from their extremities to remove the hearts from the cleaved and dead soldiers. Walking towards him was the Matron Sonorous. Her cloak was fully open and her body was exposed - her breasts were small and firm and her hips flared - Khaln responded to her more sexually than he expected. But the throb beneath his garments faltered when he say Yvrer Dharrec suddenly burst into flames - though his father burned, he managed to gently turn to him. Yvrer's lips moved silently until his body crumbled to ash, his lips still whole and moving without sound.

Khaln turned and faced the Matron Sonorous - she had removed her cloak and put her arms around his neck and she whispered.

"We are the emptiness made whole."

Khaln kissed the Matron and around him, transparent dragons spewed fiery venom on their embracing forms - behind the dragons was a sentience he felt reach down through the fire and cradle his burning flesh.

Khaln opened his eyes and shook - he then jolted to his feet and swung his head from left to right, scanning the area but he was alone. The sun had dropped beneath the treeline and the Yarczian doom drums had stirred. He also heard the mounting howl of the wind wolves as the moons assumed their sentry of the nigh time sky.

Khaln gripped the marble pommel of the long sword he was awarded after achieving the rank of field leader. His jaw set and his nostrils twitched - this merry little chase was about the come to an end.

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Khaln waited for the first lingering fingers of dawn before going in search of a gilded stag. The animals were sometimes called sun stag for the way their golden hides would catch the sun and make it look like they descended on beams of sunlight. And his patience was rewarded: after a few hours of tracking, he discovered a large buck - its single, intricate antler jutting from the top of its head - sipping water from a tributary brook to the river Abaltir.

But as he unfolded the makeshift spears and spear thrower he had confected when he first considered his plan, Khaln also noted the other tracks he'd hoped to find - wispy claw marks in the ground and turds. The pack of wind wolves he had been hearing in the night must have been following the stag trails like he had. The proximity of the pack would make the execution of the plan all the easier.

The powerful buck was still lapping water when Khaln placed a spear in the notched end of his less than perfect spear thrower. His breath seized when the buck's ears quivered and began to rotate, seeking the source of whatever sound alarmed it. When Khaln had notched the spear, the conjoined pieces of wood creaked ever so slightly - more than enough to catch the attention the gilded stag sensitive hearing. It raised its head slowly from the water, its pelt just capturing the sun rays that dripped through the leafy canopy of the forest.

Khaln was struck by the majesty of the animal - the sun made its hide seem to glow with deep, yellow flames while its single antler sparkled with a dizzying array of colours. Yet, for all the colour that haloed the buck, its eyes remained as deathly black as polished opals - Khaln met the buck's stare and an understanding seemed to pass between them. Khaln had never before felt this kind of intimacy with an animal, and as it stood solemnly while he raised his spear thrower, he cursed himself for the strong throw of the spear and its accuracy when it hit the buck in the neck, severing the majestic creature's spine.

The buck riled on its hind legs and grunted when they gave way and it crumbled to the ground. Khaln wasted no time and sprinted to where the animal had fallen and he drew a dagger from a sheath in the small of his back.

"I'm sorry," Khaln whispered as he slipped his dagger beneath its breastbone and in the stag's heart. For the second time in almost as many days, he had taken the life of a being whose beauty he had only truly seen in its last breaths.

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It had taken a few hours but Khaln had finally emptied the gilded stag's carcass and he had piled the viscera on top of a bed of interlocking branches and leaves. Removing the hide from the animal proved more difficult as the daggers he used for fighting were not designed for separating skin from underlying connective tissue. Khaln was covered in sweat and the blood of the stag that splattered his face, arms, and bare chest. The exposed muscles of the animal glistened with mucus and blood as Khaln cut tendons and scraped the muscles loose and tossed them onto the pile of organs.

Once the beast was completely butchered and piled up, Khaln used a heavy woollen blanket to wrap the moist matter together and tied the top with a strip of thick leather. He then used two long poles and tied them to the sides of his mount's saddle and looped parts of the blankets to the poles.

Birds had become silent as they watched Khaln prepare the carcass. He looked up at the trees and pondered how the rising sun leaking through the foliage was like eyes, judging him. His nostrils flared as he was immersed in the smell of dead flesh. He patted the flanks of the horse when it felt him mount the saddle - Khaln was wearing the stag's fresh hide. Its skull had been emptied and he wore it as a head dress, the long sole antler protruding from his head.

The wind had shifted and blew eastward so the scent of the butchered stag would be shielded from the pack of wind wolves. Khaln spurred the steed forward - the sun was breaking below horizon and he heard the Yarczian doom drums behind him and the rising howls of the wind wolves before him.

II

Wind wolves were secretive animals, even if they moved in packs of over a dozen individuals. At rest, their bodies were blurry but recognizable, yet as soon as they moved, their silhouettes became lost in the winds and they moved with the fleetness of the breeze while their flesh shimmered like a fading dream.

Khaln had ridden a half league before he even realized the wind wolves he thought he had been seeking had been tracking him just outside the pool of light of his makeshift torch. The minute he realized it, the wind wolves descended from all sides - the predators swarmed around an easy meal and tore the sack of meat and organs apart and began snapping at his horse's heels. He looked about, but all he could see were wispy afterimages of the wind wolves - yet, as the powerful horse reared up on its hind quarters, Khaln untied his package and pulled the reigns and the horse followed his commands and came about and sprinted. It trampled the pile of meat and pressed forward as the wind wolves attacked the scattered bounty.

But some of the more experienced wind wolves chased after the steed and its gilded rider - they were intrigued by the scent of stag and man. Younger wolves also joined them, drunk on the thrill of the chase after this large prey that moved more swiftly than any they had encountered before. And there was those possessed by blood lust - full of meat and their faces smeared with blood and gore, they had turned on their brothers and sisters until the galloping horse caught their attentions and the joined the chase.

Khaln gritted his teeth and drove his heels in his steed's flanks as he heard the mad wind wolves chase after him. He pointed his horse eastward and the steed dug it hooves into the soft soil and became the focus of a growing pack of wind wolves while the torch Khaln held flickered and danced.

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Many warriors were seated on the cold ground as the air was heated by the massive bonfire. They had mixed crushed leaves and berries and dried insect shells with their piss and river water and had used the mixture to paint each other's skin in greens and blacks and yellows.

One of the painted men stood and danced around the fire, pausing to mimic stabbing an enemy with a spear or reaching into a chest and removing a heart and biting into it. He wore a wind wolf skull as a headdress. Outside the circle of men seated around the fire, a ring of drummers began to rhythmically beat their simple drums.

"Brothers," the dancing warrior bellowed. "Brothers! Hear the beating heart of our vengeance! The one who killed our chieftain Treczyius wallows in despair as the pounding of our doom drums scream we will soon feast on his bones!

"I am Thelczyius, brother of Treczyius - I am bound by the blood oath tho avenge him as you are bound to follow me into this hunt. Together we will have Vengeance!"

At that word, Thelczyius disappeared from the fire and the painted men stood and chanted to the gods of the mountains and woods for the good bounty to find their prey and kill him well. Thelczyius retreated to his tent and found and older painted man waiting for him.

"Good speech," the older man said as Thelczyius sat on a lamb skin mat on the ground and ran his fingers across his long beard. The night outside echoed with drums and chants. "Did you mean it?"

Thelczyius snorted. "My brother was a fool to think the south would be so easily taken. If this nameless boy had not killed him, then the Call of Skaelor would have. We would be next. Once the men have had their blood vengeance and the boy is dead, we return North past the river Rhuss and we forget Ordeyirgoss and the Call."

The older man moved to the lamb skin next to Thelczyius and patted the younger man's knee. "You could have dispatched a hunting party. You are chieftain, now."

Thelczyius touched the older man's trimmed beard and smiled but also shook his head. "I had to come - to not avenge a brother would have weakened my claim. But I would wipe his name from our stories if I could."

Before the older man could speak, screams grew above the thumping doom drums.

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Khaln had seen the flickering lights dancing between the trees as the pounding drums rang so loudly that they camouflaged the bristling sound of Khaln's oncoming answer to their doom drums. When he broke from the edge of the clearing, some of the drummers stopped and turned in time to be knocked aside or trampled by his steed.

The pack of wind wolves was right behind Khaln and they emerged from the woods with a sound similar to a thunderstorm. Their teeth found the throats of many drummers and the ground was splattered with the blood of severed jugulars.

The Yarczian warriors seated around the bonfire gawked at the showers of blood that rose into the sky and fell like a scarlet rain onto the virgin soil. Many threw themselves to the side as Khaln rode into the encampment and lead his mount to leap over the crackling bonfire. Khaln watched as the Yarczian hunters scrambled for their iron weapons and spears. But before they could mount a threat, the wind wolves pushed into the glow of the firelight and their jaws tightened around unsuspecting limbs and the night filled with the clang of dropped weapons and screams of pain and the snarls of animalistic rage.

Khaln cut the binds that held the gilded stag hide to his wrist and shoulders with one of his daggers and he tossed the hide over two Yarczian rushing him and they were immediately set upon by three wind wolves, their bodies solidifying momentarily as their long teeth tore the hide apart. Khaln, still seeped in gore from the stag hide, hopped off his horse and drew his finely crafted steel sword - a reward when he was promoted during the war with the Call of Skaelor - and his dagger.

Some of the warriors had gathered themselves from the initial confusion and had grabbed shields and began to counter the wind wolves, their experience in hunting the predators giving them confidence. But they had not counted on Khaln striking from the rear - his sword and dagger quickly brought the unarmoured Yarczians to their knees as he severed legs and spines. The blood he letted sizzled on the bonfire - until a large Yarczian launched himself through the fire and tackled Khaln to the ground.

Winded, Khaln struggled with the Yarczian as the barbarian knocked his sword from his hand and fought to mount Khaln's chest and land powerful blows upon his head - but Khaln managed to hook his hands behind the huge Yarczian's back and hugged his body close to his enemy's, limiting the damage the Yarczian could do. With his head tucked close to the barbarian's chest, Khaln raised his hips and slid his arms along his foe's body until he reached the shoulders. The Yarczian was unsettled and Khaln managed to slide his right arm between their bodies and grab the barbarian's opposing right arm and yank it, forcing the Yarczian to twist his upper body - Khaln then hooked two fingers from his left hand in the |Yarczian's mouth and raised his right shoulder off the ground. The Yarczian's rolled away from Khaln and as they both rose to their feet, knife in hand, the Yarczian's throat exploded in a spray of arterial blood as he heavily fell forward and struggled under the weight of a wind wolf. The predator's gaze met Khaln's as it held its jaw firmly around the dying Yarczian's neck.

The gazed they shared made the world seem to slow down as they were surrounded by individual struggles of man versus wind wolf and the wolves were winning. A body fell into the bonfire and scrambled away as it burned agonizingly with wolves snapping at its still cool feet. The wolf holding the dead Yarczian growled as it seemed to look beyond Khaln's shoulder.

Khaln felt a hand grip his shoulder and yank him around. As Khaln turned with more speed than his attacker expected, he had time to see an older but healthily muscled Yarczian with a greying beard and small, brown eyes. Khaln wrapped his right arm around the Yarczian's left arm and dragged him forward - he also bent his left arm at the elbow and struck the Yarczian directly on the jaw while bracing the barbarian across his chest. The leverage allowed Khaln's blow to snap his attacker's back and send him crashing to the ground.

"No!!" another Yarczian cried - he wielded an axe that would have connected with Khaln's neck had he not thrown himself towards his sword.

Khaln managed to grasp his weapon as the Yarczian was a few steps behind him. The axe fell but Khaln had already sidestepped the blow and used the flat side of his blade to glance the axe aside and he landed a heavy punch to the Yarczian's jaw. The Yarczian grunted as Khaln felt bone shatter beneath his knuckles and the naked barbarian fell to his knees, blood dribbling from his mouth. Khaln placed his blade beneath the Yarczian's chin and readied his killing stroke.

"Please don't!" the ageing and wounded Yarczian Khaln had fought earlier pleaded and grasped at Khaln's britches. Khaln hesitated when he looked down at the old man's eyes - they were dulled by the fear of loosing the only thing that mattered anymore.

Khaln then looked over the chaos that reigned over the camp site: limbs and entrails lay scattered across the ground or were roasting in the roaring bonfire. A few had likely escaped but would later be run down by the wind wolves. Some of the ethereal predators were still feeding on the dying, would be hunters while the largest on them, the one that had gazed into Khaln eyes, stood rigidly a few feet from him and the prostrate Yarczians. The wind wolf's still form raised a small dust storm where it stood, seemingly awaiting Khaln's next decision.

"Who is he?" Khaln asked as pressed his sword in the kneeling Yarczian's throat.

The old Yarczian yanked his younger counterpart away from Khaln's blade and they fell to the ground - the elder cradled the younger Yarczian. "He is Thelczyius - brother of Treczyius and now, by your hand, the new warlord of the Mountain Bear clan. He would have thanked you for ridding us of his fool brother but the blood oath of vengeance could not be denied."

"His blood oath has just been squashed," Khaln said as he speared the ground with his blade. "If he presses it - I'll drown him in him it."

"No worry ..." Thelczyius muttered as he spat blood and sat up next to his elder companion. "This night will become the legend I need to pull my men north of the Rhuss river."

"I'm no legend."

The two naked Yarczians stood on trembling legs. Thelczyius said: "The survivors will speak of the man who rallied the Rai`Cha - the wind wolves - to fight for him. They will speak of his glowing, blood red eyes and how the Wolf god stood by his side."

"That's the legend you'll feed them," Khaln said flatly.

"This is how we depart Ordeyirgoss," Thelczyius said. "Bloodied and beaten, but alive. With the Call of Skaelor ruling the south ..."

Khaln sheathed his sword and gazed coldly at Thelczyius. "You made a deal with them. North of the Rhuss is yours."

"At least we live," the Yarczian warlord and chieftain said as he answered Khaln's gaze defiantly. "We are no threat to them."

Khaln whistled and his massive horse joined him - its ears darted back and forth at the snarling and moans that peppered the night. It bobbed its head nervously. Khaln touched the flanks of its sinewy neck and cooed reassuringly in its ear.

"How long do you think they will honour your deal?" Khaln asked as he mounted his steed.