Chapter 3

Chapter 3
    

    The demon crouched gazing down into the valley his sight hazed from the reflection of the moon cast from the river below.  Drumming his long taloned fingers on the stone with his focused attention on the village, alas he saw what he was searching for.  He leaped into the air and spread his black leathery wings over the starlit night.  His huge mass made a hole as dark as the Abyss speeding over the farming village.  A wicked attempt of a smile crossed his jagged teeth.  He knew the Queen would reward him well.
    A few hours later tiny figures lined the hilltop.  Istar was sitting in his den swallowed in deep meditation on his new spell.  The sharp howls of dread wolves splintered the door to his concentration.  Their screams twined together to produce a song of darkness - horror; and the shrieks of the goblin riders sounded of blood.  Then the small army of foul creatures stormed down upon the sleeping village.  
    Fear sprinted through Istar’s body peering out his window he realized the tragic fate that was about to befall these people, his friends.  
    Swiftly he opened a compartment in the wall and removed a crystal shard stashing it away deep in the pockets of his glimmering white robes.  Turning he pointed at a bell near the window then uttered a single word.  It rang out loudly sounding its warning.  Pausing for a moment to be sure he heard the cries to arm, he placed his hands together and with a puff of smoke he was gone.
    The morning dew blanketed the thick fields with tiny silver droplets of moisture that clung to the mist hanging around the marsh banks.  There was an odd oppressive weight in the air - an unnatural silence.  The sun had not yet peaked high enough to clear the tall trees so its warm light could spill down into the valley.  
    The dancing flames of a burning farm house tinted the mist with a soft red glow that highlighted a heap of lifeless - bloody bodies.  Little whiffs of smoke from the remains of the other structures already burnt completely to the ground, curled and shifted in the air.  The body of a woman was grotesquely displayed upon a fence, her lifeless limbs torn from her body, was now arranged in an inhuman fashion.  
    The Knight stood motionless, only the movement of his nostrils flaring as they sucked in the smell of burning timber and flesh and freshly spilled blood.  His face strong and powerful was absent of all emotion.  He was no stranger to this kind of scene.  He had witnessed the carnage of battlefields, the horrors of destroyed villages and the smells of war and hatred.
    It was a small farming village; mostly cows, goats and well cared for grain crops.  Its attackers would have gained nothing; it was done simply for pure pleasure.
Being a veteran he had no need to investigate the cinders.  He gathered, by the disfigured bodies, that this was the handy work of goblins.
    He turned the gathered reins in his hands and swinging into the saddle high upon the back of a sleek black battle horse, “Nothing can be done here by us.” He said. His mouth contorted into a thin hard line.  Beside him the hard dark exotic - yellow eyes shot him a troubling glance from the long silver haired wolf of enormous size.  
    “Shouldn’t we bury them?”  The wolf asked in a deep gruff voice, glancing around the clearing, “Or at least.....if nothing else, covers them?”
    Tyrell shook his head and gave a light kick to his horse.  “We need to get to Midhaven, or we’ll be seeing a hundred times worse than this scene.”  
    Odin still hesitated, fixing his brooding gaze on a broken wagon; the changing wind carried the frail scent of danger on its shapeless breath.  “Dreadwolves!”  He growled.  “Still lingering about.  Come on.” he said in a flat voice as he gave a nod in the general direction.  “There are only two of ‘em, we should at least kill ‘em for the sake of these poor souls.”  Odin’s nose wrinkled with a growl.
    Tyrell pursed his lips and blew out a short exasperated breath.  He knew the hatred his friend had for the hairless ghostly white creatures of rotting flesh, and understood his reasons.  
    “Look, I understand your feelings and desires on the matter; we just haven’t the time.”  Looking down into the huge beast’s darkened yellow eyes; he knew his friend was right.  “Fine, all right then, go get them - wait, also there’s an Abbey not far out of the way.  I’m sure somebody is there, we can stop and tell the monks what has happened.”
    The wolf nodded, licked his black lips and leaped forward.  Shortly Odin returned to Tyrell’s side, his back already turned on the devastated clearing.  
    “They are already dead, just died from their wounds.”  The wolf gruffed with disappointment.
    The knight already lost in his own thoughts didn’t respond.  He had dealt in death and war for over two hundred years now.  Too many years spent driving the demons and foul creatures from these lands.  The never ending battles, loss of friends, cries for help; too much...too much for any human-any man…or creature.
    Once as a boy he had cherished dreams but those had been shattered in one dreadful lightening split moment that cursed his life with its hideous revelations and his death.  Yet from the ruins of those visions, he had emerged; a man, strong invulnerable and with an unbreaking determination to free this world and conquer all that is evil.  His aspirations were no longer noble but still pure, yet cold and ruthless.
    Suddenly sensing his mind drifting, he shook his head to clear his thoughts.  “There now Odin, don’t look so down, there’ll be plenty of battle on the road ahead.”
    Having pledged an allegiance with King Brightblad, Tyrell had partaken in a dangerous mission to find evidence of a suspected traitor within the king’s court.  He had covered much of YouManeff and he had discovered the names of very powerful houses that had given secret allegiances to the Dark Queen.  He had even learned something- betrayal, allthough not as much as he would’ve hoped for; but it was important that he make haste back to the King’s side, perhaps to save his life.
    Tyrell was now conscious of the shortage of time, preparations would need to be made and a plan set in motion to undermine the evil plot.  However, Tyrell would not let it happen, he had every intention of reaching the palace in time to warn the King and claim his reward that Brightblade had promised him.  The pretty little brown eyed heiress.  
    Though this would make him a Duke of YouManeff and he would receive all the lands and riches of the bride, all the things that were every knight’s dreams that they fought for - that they killed for they pledged their honor to, these were not the things that interested Tyrell.  His purpose for marrying the fourteen year old girl was for a magical item, she possessed unknowingly.  Soon he would have it.
    Tracks from a small band of Goblins appeared to be traveling East with a few Orcs, following the river along the forests edge where more than likely another isolated village would unexpectedly meet its demise.
    Tyrell headed south then east towards an Abbey called Tier Glitermoon, a place of worship to the Goddess Thyracia, Keeper of Life.  The Abby was nestled close to the woods of oak and chestnuts in a green valley that stretched with endless rows of purple grapes, making it the largest vineyard in the kingdom, and the Glittermoon monks the finest wine makers.
    The sun stretched higher in the sky. Its fiery blur burning away the mist and chill of early morning that kept his cloak wrapped tightly around him.
    Tyrell estimated their little detour to the Abbey would only cost them a few hours.  Then they would ride till nightfall and in one more day they would reach Tinkerton, a busy little trader’s town filled with dwarves who brought their finally crafted weapons and goods from their home in the mountains during this time of year.    
    The angry shoutings of an unseen man shattered the calming thoughts that fluttered through Tyrell’s mind and snapped him to an instant attention.  The woods were thick, the undergrowth was tall and tangled and a wall of berrymoor made it virtually inpenatratable with its spiny gnarled limbs.
    Reining in tight, Tyrell heard the unmistakable snap of a bow string, followed by the neighing wincing cries of a horse in agony.  
    “S**t!”  He jerked about on his loyal steed.  “Quick....battle!”  He shouted to the enormous three hundred pound wolf that was half way across the river already.  
    In a single instant he spurred the sleek black flanks of the well muscled Battle mare, and it plunged headlong into the shallow of the river breaking its icy stillness.  Yelling out behind the silver streak of fur, “Don’t do anything stupid you hear me....Odin.  Wait for me”.  
    The mares hooves sunk soundless in the spongy - humus undergrowth, its muscles rippled and bulged with effort as it climbed the slope.  At the top the brush was sparse.  From his new position, Tyrell looking down on a small clearing could see fifteen - twenty scraggly well armed goblins circling and shifting a restraining - choking circle around a slim dark haired youth mounted on a snowy white Arabian.  Slowing his pace to come beside the wet bristled long haired wolf, ears turned forward and pointed up and it’s keen eyes peering down into the valley.  “Guess they found a rich chicken”.  
    Tyrell narrowed his eyes to target in on the lad’s blue tunic, cap, and a deep surcoat trimmed in a gold and green braid and a gleaming jewel protruding from the pommel of a dagger fiercely clutched in his hand.  “A rich brat indeed”, he agreed, “he probably ran away or bribed this merchant to take him on a high adventure” he said coldly.  Referring to the small wagon with a gray tarp thrown over it’s top to hide its contents.
     It set nearby unmoving with a gray quivering mule and on the ground the slumping body of a man still holding the reigns beneath, his life force spilling from the holes of three bone spun arrows fletched with owl feathers sticking from his crimson soaked back.  
    “Take the wagon and the merchandise...but let me and my companion be on our way.” Yelled the youth in a husky but surprisingly calm voice.  But his mount could sense obviously the fear of it’s rider as Tyrell watched it dance and nervously move side leg, swaying it’s powerful forelegs in an arc that halfway kept the yellow snaggle toothed, gleaming red eyed goblins at a safe distance.  
    Just then one of the foul little wretches flung itself upon the mules back.  It pinned its ears back, its hooves flashed out and with a great kick it threw the little green monster to the ground where the quick sharp hooves left it in a bloody mess of putrid stench.  Some of the other goblins laughed and cheered in screechy little voices.  Only one creature stood apart unamused as it pulled an arrow from its quiver, the great ogre slowly set its notch on the string.
    Unable to think clearly Tyrell grinned at what he was about to do.  As the archer slowly raised the bow, Tyrell shouted in the goblin tongue. “Druth-na ru~ert gur Arn dughh!”  The archer froze and at that instant, Tyrell dug his heels deep and whipped the reins with a crack plunging into a deadly charge.  
    “Ride boy!”  He shouted at the surprised, wide eyed youth.      “Get out of here!”  He ordered.  He didn’t waste any more effort on the boy.  
    Drawing his sword midway, the confused swarm of goblins broke and regrouped snarling, spitting, and cursing at Tyrell who was charging straight for them.  As he closed in, the huge ogre repositioning himself to take aim, Tyrell stood in his saddle then like a flash of lightening he sprang from his horse, gripping his sword in both hands stretched far in front of him, ducking his head he hit the ground bringing his knees in close he curled into a roll; then kicking out he shot to his feet, lashing out with his blade his momentum carried him right past the shocked ogre.  His blade sliced through the bow and lobbed the creatures head off.  
    Rocking back on his heels Tyrell sensed the danger behind him.  Without a second thought he flipped the blade in his hand and swung out wide, feeling the thud of is blade sinking into flesh and bone he heard the gurgling of the creature choking on its own blood.  He knew he hit his mark.
    Instinctively before he could pull his blade free he spun around lashing out his fist catching a second creature square in the nose sending fragments of bone into its tiny brain.  The goblin jerked and quivered then fell backwards dead before it hit the ground.
    He then crouched dodging a fierce swipe, pulling the dagger from his boot he reached for his sword still hung in the goblins neck and pulled it free.  Scanning around briefly to get his barring, he saw the silver wolf clinging to the back of another ogre, his claws digging deep and his powerful jaws ripping the back of its neck out sending it into eternal darkness.  
    Suddenly Tyrell felt the sting of a wicked little blade cut deep into his thigh, with a snap he pivoted on his foot, swung out his left leg with a powerful snap, he caught the assailant square in the chest sending it into four more approaching goblins, knocking them to the ground.  Unfortunately the move had cost him dearly, before he could regain his balance one of the goblins leaped into the air baring a spear, its mark could prove deadly.
    Catching the attack from the corner of his eye, Tyrell shifted his weight in a daring attempt to grab the spear tip sending the goblin right on top of him, but a jeweled dagger whizzed through the air and embedded itself in the vulnerable thick neck of the startled, pointy eared creature that let out a gurgle of surprise...the last sound before it died.  
    Flinging his head back he met the gaze of the wide eyed youth, Tyrell shot him a quick grin then steadied his stance as two more attackers came in.  Hearing the screams behind him he knew that his companion had sent two more to early graves.  
    His new foes had seen the ferocity of their opponent; they slowly spread to force his attacks out wide.  Tyrell studied long and hard before initiating his attack.  Then with a cat like bounce catching them off guard his blades sang out together twined in the deadly dance.  
    The goblins deflected his blows, in a single blurred motion Tyrell parried with the dagger then flipped the hilt turning the blade down he thrust in low with both blades, then crossed them forcing the two unskilled goblins defenses to drop giving him the advantage he desired.  His pace quickened ripping and thrusting, crissing and crossing his blades searched for flaws in their crude armor, his feet moving in rhythm with his blades slowly turning him.  
    There it was, the goblin hesitated for a split second, surprise showing in its eyes as the thin slit across its throat opened spilling its blood.  The sword fell from the clawed hand as it clutched the wound.  The goblin to the right, distracted as its partner fell to its knees, made its mistake.  Tyrell spun around on his heels sending the dagger home, to the critical little space between the creature’s ribs, piercing its lung.
    The wolf howled, and the pale faced lad let out a “Hurrah!
They’re running...look, they’re running!”
    Tyrell spun and watched long and hard to be certain the rest were fleeing.  Biting his lip he debated whether to follow or not.  It was likely the same group that burned the village.  
    With a slight limp he strolled up in front of the clammy shocked man.  “He didn’t run?”  His head was up and Tyrell could see his chest rise and fall with the quick indrawn breaths of exhilaration.  
    “You saved my life.  I don’t know how to thank you.”  The boy said in a deep voice.  Urging his horse forward and holding out his hand, “I am...um.” He hesitated briefly.  “A....Gal....Galius.”
    Tyrell, half turning to speak to the approaching wolf that the boy eyed in disbelief did not remove his eyes from the boys.      “Odin, you all right - did you get hurt?”  He asked concerned.
Tyrell then reached out and took the hand of the young richling, which felt surprisingly soft and frail beneath his glove.  
    “My name is Tyrell Nacar.”  Looking at him Tyrell decided he was around 16 years.  Though he sat stern and tall in his saddle, his slumping shoulders and smooth face betrayed his youth.  His novice blue eyes and thick lashes like a girl’s and a thin jaw was feminine also if it hadn’t been for his deep voice the lad would have hopelessly looked girlish.
    Tyrell’s gaze fell to the gold chain hanging around the youth’s neck studded with jewels, then to his golden belt gleaming with tiny rubies.  “Rich chicken indeed” he mumbled to himself.
    Only the lad’s hair struck him oddly.  A dull dingy black nest of lifeless tangles clinging to his collar and the black around his ears led him to believe it was recently dyed.
    Any other time Tyrell may have been intrigued, but at this moment his thoughts were on the road, time was being wasted that he could not afford.  Pinching his fingers together and placing them between his lips he let out a sharp whistle.  His steed trotted over gracefully.
    Wiping his thin long, dull colored blade on his ragged tunic, he slipped the sword back into its scabbard and repeated the action with his dagger.  He then pulled a thin strip of cloth from one of his saddle bags and carefully tied it around his bleeding leg.  
    From the corner of his eye he saw the lad Galius slide from his horse and sink to his knees beside his fallen companion.      “Steven” whispered the youth in a dry cracked voice full of emotion.  
    Tyrell reached for his reins gripping them loosely in his gloved hand.  He groaned as he placed his foot in the stirrup and flung himself up into the saddle.  He let out an exasperated sigh, as he turned to urge his companion on only to see the wolf lying in the grass licking his paws.  
    Hearing a groan Tyrell fixed his gaze on the man who was amazingly still alive beside the boy.  
    “Oh s**t.”  He rolled his eyes in his head then turned back to the wolf.  “I suppose you believe we should help him...don’t you Odin.”
    Odin continued to lick his paws shooting a brief glance of his dark yellow eyes.
    “Oh come on now, this isn’t some fairy tale.” Tyrell said inadvertently.  “I’m not some fool in shining armor defending my honor and galloping around holding up to my code by rescuing damsels and rich chickens in distress.  I’m on an important mission from the King; I haven’t the time for this.”
    Galedian reached out a trembling hand and pulled the arrows from Steven’s broad back.  She then placed her hands upon his shoulders.  He was still warm, he may not die.  
    A shadow rose beside her, she turned her gaze upward to find herself staring into the vivid deep blue eyes of Tyrell Nacar.
    “Habbuku, protect me.” She prayed.  Although Galedian was young she had heard numerous rumors and stories of the man.  Without further interruption she turned her attention on her friend.  She pulled her thoughts and courage together as she concentrated on the journey inside herself placing one hand upon his head and the other over the wounds.  
    Tyrell stopped short of speaking, he had seen this before but it had been many years now.  Surely not he thought.  Then soft hues of blue light enveloped her hands and began to pulse spreading like a ripple of water filling the wounds.  
    Tyrell stared in astonishment, how could this be?  Interest for the young Lord sparked inside him, after a long moment the light faded.
    Galedian slumped over drained from the use of healing magic.  Aware of the look that must be on his face Tyrell hardened his jaw and drew in his eyebrows to pretend he had not witnessed the act.
    Galedian drew herself to her feet and turned to the man, but before she could ask him for help, Tyrell laid a hand on her shoulder.  “I’ll help you get him someplace lad.  Somewhere he can heal.”  
    Galedian was tall for a woman yet this man still towered above her, he was larger than any man she had ever seen.  She could sense that he was powerful and from the exhibition earlier, he was a brutal man at that.  Her thoughts began to run wild. A battle-hardened warrior with lean bulky muscles that knotted and rippled in his arms, thick broad shoulders and wide strong hands.  His reddish-brown skin backed with the suns burning light, was evidence he had spent several years wandering the country side.
    Travelers say he has done dark terrible things.  Hushed whispers of peasants say he hunts monsters.  Among the knights, they say he has no honor or code, others like her father say he is not a knight for he is poor and has no lands.  However most were leery about him, saying his fighting skills were razor sharp and his tactics were ruthless and merciless.  The village traders of Tinkerton say the dwarves call him Nymf~alar: meaning something like desperate-crazy or insane.  Commoners and local villagers and farmers thought him almost heroic, saying he kept the roads safer for travel.
    Galedian was still staring hard at his handsome face, an odd sensation - something disturbing, his eyes; and then feeling her fear she averted her eyes to the wolf which was not less frightening.
    Her gut ached as the fear pitted in the hollow of her stomach.  He may have saved her, but Tyrell Nacar was not much better than a filthy mercenary, in fact that’s what he was.
    He wandered killing and plundering giving his steel to the highest bid, living off the purses of the dead and prize money from tournaments.  For a man he was far more dangerous than any band of goblins and orcs.  
    “Here, let me help you put him in the wagon.” he said brisk and impatient like.
    She stared at him, speechless, his brows lowering to a frown.  She felt oddly, as if the encounter had not really endangered his life but was instead an inconvenience to him.  Now he seemed annoyed she was delaying him further.    
    Galedian found his presence so intimidating that when he stepped near her it was all she could do to keep from drawing back.  He squatted down on his haunches then lifted the man carefully and easily.  She then recalled the unexpected gentleness in his strong large hands, when he accepted her greeting earlier.  
    “Is he your servant?” Tyrell asked casually wiping the blood on his hands.  
    Galedian nodded.
    “He’ll live- well, has a good chance of it any way.”  The knight shrugged, “And there’s an abbey-Glitermoon just up the road, they’ll take care of him there.”
    In an athletic motion filled with power and grace, Tyrell turned and tied her horse to the back of the wagon.  Galedian thought of being left here with the goblin corpses and wondered if perhaps the ones that fled would return.  It then occurred to her there could be more, her mind flooded with all the stories of the dangers in traveling.
    She concluded that no matter how rude, annoying or disconcerting he was, or the dark rumors of his reputation, Tyrell Nacar’s company would be better than not.
    She bound up the side of the wagon and plopped down in the drivers seat,
    “Sir.”
    His head swiveled to the sound of her voice and slowly he fixed his gaze on her as if he’d forgotten she was there.  “What!” he snapped
    “I was wondering if.... perhaps your travels take you beyond the abbey to Midhaven.... and if so.... might I travel with you?”
She saw his eyes narrow as he studied her; the corner of his mouth curled into something- not a smile.
    “M-may I ride with you then?” she asked hesitantly reaching for the bloodied leather reins.
    He turned his attention to the wolf. “We’ll see you as far as the abbey, no further.”
    She felt the lump of disappointment form in her throat with the surge of new fear.  “You mean you are going to stay at the abbey.”
    “No... Only that you are not going with me.” He replied.
    “Why NOT?” she asked a bit demanding.  She realized her mistake as his narrowed eyes burned in her gaze.
    “I’m in a hurry!”
    “I won’t slow you, please I’ll pay.”  She begged.
    “NO!” he growled “I haven’t any need for you or your money.
    She began to persist then saw his jaw tighten and a dangerous light leap into his blue eyes.  “Conversation ended” he snapped, nudging his horse forward.   In a trot, the wolf leaped beside him, he started for the abbey.
    Annoyed and irritated at his treatment of her all she could do was whip the tethered reins and push him to agree.
    Pulling beside him she held out her hand containing the medallion and chain of gold.  “I’ll give you this if you promise to be my escort.”
    “Sorry, No.”  He replied sternly rubbing his hand through his hair.
    “You didn’t even look.” She said impatiently while flipping the medallion in her hand. “Arggh he’s so barbaric.” she thought angrily.  “Its value is great” she added in desperation.
    Tyrell snapped his head around.  “I told y-” his sentence broke, his gaze narrowed on the medallion in her hand.  Light shimmered from the inlayed shape of a unicorn peering up at a crescent moon inlayed with brilliant blue sapphires, the outer rim studded in precious diamonds.  Suddenly he plucked the medallion from her outstretched hand and held it up to the light of the sun.  Then he turned his disturbed - intense gaze to Galedian’s face.  She couldn’t imagine what raced through his thoughts.
    “You-u are a Moonspur!” He declared suspiciously.
    Galedian swallowed hard, her surprise at his recognition of her family crest left her unprepared for the inquisition that was about to begin.
    “Yes.” She managed.
    His mouth hardened as he clinched his teeth together.  “Hauken Moonspur; has only one surviving son and you, I’m afraid my young friend are not he!”
    “I.....ahumm” pretending to clear her throat to buy valuable seconds, “I...I am the child not of his wife.”
    “Hmmm” the large man tilted his head.  “Well, it seems your father is very generous with his..........b******s.”
    “He a- He loved my mother very much before...um... she died.”  She retorted to the insult.
    “I see.”  He said, rubbing his chin. “Then why exactly is it you are so anxious to reach Midhaven?”
    Galedian glanced about wildly searching for an explanation.  She sensed he was reading more than she wanted.  She realized the web of lies she was weaving, would catch up with her before long.
    “My uncle.”  She said not lying. “I’m going to be his squire.  I was traveling with a family friend carrying supplies to his castle, where I would remain.”  She took in a deep breath thrilled with the clever lie.  
    “Oh is that right.”  Tyrell crossed his arms.
    She got the sudden impression he was on to her ridiculous ploy.  Then giving a sniff, “And exactly who is your uncle?”  He asked challenging her.
    She panned her thoughts for a name then thought if he were to escort her there, he would find out any way, so she told him the truth.
    “Why he is the Grand Protector, Braxon Reinhold”, she said proudly.  However this posed another error.  His piercing blue eyes darted at her in a mesmerizing fashion locking her gaze.
    “Your uncle is Braxon Reinhold.”
    “Yes” Her voice still full of pride.
    “And he is to take you as his errant.”  He continued.
    “Correct”
    He tossed the medallion up and down in his blood stained glove, Knowing Reinhold’s passionate hatred for impure blood; he baited her with his final question, “So your uncle must love you very much.”
    “Yes he does.” She said carefully.  
    He clasped his fingers around the medallion as it hit his palm, then with a jerk he moved his clenched fist down and placed the medallion in his saddle bag.
    “So... you are going to escort me?” She inquired upon his accepting the payment.
    “Yes, I believe I shall.”  He said raising his eyebrows, and leaning back in his saddle.
    Galedian had expected to feel relieved but instead came a sinking disappointing sensation, that she had made a grave error.