Chapter 6 - Mordrith

Chapter 6 - Mordrith

 

Soon they came to the central chamber of the castle. Dread threatened to make them cower to their knees, but the thought of Selria and Bretho’s song let him venture on. A great figure clothed in black and crowed with a black helm looked up to meet them.

 

“Mordrith! Traitor to the peace! We challenge you!” Gildor yelled to the figure on the throne.

 

The figure slowly looked up. A cruel, cold laugh escaped the helm of the dreaded king.

 

“My own guards would wish to challenge me?” A voice seemed to whisper from the ground. At first Gildor did not comprehend, but then he realized he was still wearing the cloak of the guard. He unclasped the brooch and it slid to the ground.

 

A hiss escaped the helm. “An elf and a man, they wish to challenge me? I accept, but you must first pass my test.” And two guards with gold armor rushed out to meet them. They bore both sword and spear. The spear of Gildor’s guard gleamed with a deadly point as it rushed toward him. Gildor ran out to meet it. Istonul rang with deadly delight as it clove the spear asunder. The guard quickly pulled out his sword. The guard smiled as adrenaline rushed through the duelers bodies. Istonul found the foe-blade in midair, and sparks flew in its fury. Gildor spun around to see the guards back, but what caught his eye was an indention in the side of the man where the armor buckled.

 

A weakness

 

The guard whirled around, sword screaming through the air aimed for Gildor’s neck. Gildor blocked it just in time and sidestepped. He sliced through the black leather binding the armor and the chest and back plates rang on the ground. He quickly thrusted his sword through the heart of the man, and the guard smiled no more. His sword rang on the ground as Istonul gleamed red in victory. He looked over to see how Brethor fared and his breath was caught in his throat.

 

Brethor kneeled on the ground, his face pale, as blood rushed from a gaping side wound. He had obviously found the weakness in the elite guard’s armor but had failed to kill the guard. As the guard raised his sword for the killing blow, Gildor tackled him to the ground. He raised his knife and stabbed fiercly. The guard died with his mouth open in a silent scream.

 

Mordrith laughed coldly. Gildor felt a sudden hatred toward the dark lord. He surged up, Istonul ringing through the air. Mordrith’s jet black sword rang out to meet his. The sword of Mordrith was labeled with black runes that ran along the center of the sword, obviously something of great evil.

 

The elf and man faced off in the battle that would tell all for the land of elves and men. Sparks flew and rings echoed through the chamber. Gildor and Mordrith whirled and pranced about, bodies coming within inches of each other and then being whipped away in the deadly dance. Gildor’s elven sword danced in delight as it struck and withdrew from the evil tool.

 

The battle went on for what seemed like an age to Gildor. His eyes were trained on the metal of Mordrith’s sword. Suddenly he was forced back and was sent flying through the air. Mordrith’s cruel, cold laugh escaped the helm. Gildor’s blood ran cold. Mordrith knew magic.

 

“A weakness,” Mordrith laughed, “Finally. For a moment I thought you were evenly matched, but for the first time in a long time, I was wrong.”

 

He laughed again and again, and over and over black energy shot from his hands. Gildor was thrown back against the wall, and over and over pain seared through his body.

 

This is the end. He thought.

 

Suddenly the pain stopped, and Gildor looked up. Brethor stood there, his shirt stained with a dark red liquid. He held with a shaking hand his sword, pointed straight at Mordrith.

 

Again Mordrith laughed. He swiped at Brethor once, twice, and on the third time he knocked Brethor’s sword from his hand. Brethor kneeled down.

 

“Pray for my mercy.”

 

Brethor considered this for a second, then looked up into his eyes, and for a second Gildor feared that Brethor would beg for mercy. His fears were banished.

 

“You are evil Mordrith, and I will beg for nothing. But I will say one thing to my friend Gildor,” he turned to Gildor. “Where there is hope there is life.”

 

Mordrith had obviously heard enough, and he stabbed Brethor through the heart. Brethor shuddered, and went still. A sudden wrath flared up in Gildor, and he looked at the ring one more time, and was surprised to see two messages.

 

Follow your heart. And turning it over, I love you.

 

He smiled. He stood with difficulty and picked up Istonul from the ground. He yelled no word, but the anger of the entire Elven race flared through his mouth. The sword glowed bright white, so bright that Mordrith had to avert his eyes. Gildor sprang through the air and Mordrith raised his sword desperately. Istonul, with the wrath of the Elves flowing through it, clove through the evil piece of metal. He spun his blade around in a circle twice, and stabbed through the impenetrable armor of Mordrith. The scream of a thousand souls rippled out of Mordrith’s helm. Suddenly Istonul and Gildor were forced from Mordrith’s figure. Mordrith fell face-up on the ground. Fire ran along his frame.

 

Mordrith laughed no more.