Feb. 4, 2009 - Towers of Iron: Chapter 1-5 (WARNING: Verrrrry Long)
Chapter 1: The Whisperer
The moon was just rising, and it’s mournful face gazed down on Noran Mir, the Tower of Hands. No face looked over the battlements, and there were no sentries at the gate, for this was the celebration of Minarasin Eve, when no one need fear danger. Even the wind seemed to blow gentler than usual for autumn. Within the walls of the Tower, the people feasted and danced.
A tall, thin person stood just outside of the surrounding woods, staring at the Tower with hatred in his eyes. Then he turned and strode into the wood.
The path he took was one that many people would have avoided; it was believed to be a haunt for wraiths and ghosts. But for this man, whose name was Imira, this path led to something that would change everything forever.
He was met by two Dokkalim, each with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. The Dokkalim resembled Humans, except they were taller and much stronger. The Dokkalim stopped Imira.
"Simiror," they said in unison.
"Simira," Imira gave the countersign. The Dokkalim let him pass.
Imira walked into the camp, and went straight to a tent that was set up in the center close by a great fire. He lifted the heavy canvas flaps and entered. Inside there was only a table with a plate of half-eaten food on it, and a cot in the corner. On this cot lay Mornan, the Annwyn prince of Linaar.
"Stand up, filth!" shouted Imira.
Mornan obeyed, but slowly. He stood still and smiled. "Lovely evening for a walk, eh Imira? Did you enjoy the sight of the great Tower of Hands lit by the autumn moon?" He tucked a strand of stray hair behind his ear as he noted the slight look of surprise on Imira’s ugly face.
"So you’ve been following me again have you?" questioned Imira after a while. "You must remember something, Mornan. You are a prisoner in my hands. It is time you acted like one."
"I guess, then, that you should set more than one guard outside the tent." retorted Mornan.
Imira frowned, but then he smiled scornfully. "I have some news for you," he said. Mornan braced himself for what was sure to come.
"Our troops," continued Imira, "Have taken all the ships in Linan Nor. The Tower of Faces has fallen, just as the Tower of Hands will. But there is a quandary," Imira paused, a slight look of annoyance crossing his face, and then he continued.
"Your brother, Naramir, has escaped, along with a very valuable weapon. With this weapon, he might, just might, be able to resist us. But luckily, we have something to bargain with." he pointed at Mornan. "Something very dear to him."
Mornan let this all sink in. Then he said defiantly, "My brother will never give you the Sarilan."
"Ah," Imira raised his eyebrows, "You know the sword. Then you will also remember that Sarilan has a brother, forged on the same day, in the same forge. Surely you know it’s name."
Mornan nodded. "Rimastan, the Whisperer."
Imira smiled. "Yes, the Whisperer," he said, throwing his cloak back, and drawing a sword from his belt. It was long and thin, almost delicate looking, but Mornan knew that it could hack through the thickest armor.
Mornan gazed at the ancient blade that was still gleaming as if it was new. For a moment he thought of all the battles that Rimastan had fought: the Battle at Mass Rin, at Noran Rimana, and the Scourge of the Frontier against the Dur'zac.
He thought of all the kings of old that wielded it. There was Mornsinil, and his son Sinana. Even Dore, brother of Saor, used it against the Dokkalim at Mass Rin. And now it was in the hands of the enemy.
All of a sudden, time stopped. Mornan’s senses dulled a little. He was no longer standing in the tent. He was on a wide plain. It was raining, and there was no sunlight anywhere. He noticed two people were fighting before him. He looked closer.
One of them he recognized as Imira, and the other was a boy, no older than seventeen, with auburn hair and the fair skin of the Huwyn people. His armor was that of the Saorlings, and his shield bore the markings of the family of Dain. He was wielding the sword Sarilan. The boy and Imira fought hard, each bringing the other within inches of death.
Imira and the boy stood apart for a moment to catch their breath. The boy said something to Imira, but Mornan could not understand what he said. Imira gave an angry shout and leapt at the boy. Sarilan and Rimastan met in a flash, and the blade of Rimastan was shattered.
Mornan came out of the vision smiling. Imira watched his face with uncertainty mixed with fear. He knew that when Mornan’s eyes were half closed he was seeing a vision, which the Annwyn people are renown for. "You will fall," Mornan said slowly, as if savoring each syllable, "Oh yes, you will surely fall. The strength of Lor is on our side."
Imira struck Mornan across the face with the back of his hand. "Don’t you say that Name again," he snarled. He then turned on his heel and stomped out of the tent.
"Hisarasin!" he called. A great Dokkalim came out from a group around the campfire and grunted a salute. "Hisarasin," said Imira, "is all ready for the attack?"
"All is ready," said Hisarasin, "The troops are assembled just outside the woods, as you ordered."
"Then," said Imira, "Remember your allegiance to Rastoran, the Maker of Shadows, the great Snake of Shades. Order the advance."
"Yes, master," said the Dokkalim. He drew his great scimitar and blew a great blast on his horn that he carried at his side.
A shout went up among the Dokkalim troops. The siege on Noran Mir, the Tower of Hands, had begun.
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Chapter 2: The Hunt and the History Lesson
Prince Sorrin rode up the hill with his shoulder length auburn hair flowing behind him and his hunting spear ready. Occasionally he would bend low to the ground to find what he was looking for. Boars run light, and this one was no exception. It seemed that though the ground was wet and soft, the hoof prints were becoming more difficult to make out.
He laughed softly to himself when he thought of the other hunters searching in vain in the woods for the animal that he was about to claim as his own. He fingered his trumpet hanging at his side and then stopped. No, he wouldn’t signal the others. He would bring it in himself.
His happy thoughts were short-lived, for when he arrived at the peak of the hill, he saw one of his father’s sows grazing contentedly at the grass. He dismounted from his horse, and picked up a small rock.
"What are you doing here?" he said, tossing it at the pig. "Go back home and stop ruining the hunt!"
He was suddenly aware of someone behind him. "Talking to animals now, are we, young Prince?" laughed a voice.
Sorrin turned and saw his manservant, Sordoin. "It’s not like that, Sordoin," he said. "I thought I was chasing a boar."
"Well then, it’s a good thing you know the difference between a boar and your father’s best sow," said Sordoin, still laughing under his breath. "You might have killed her and brought her to the dinner table all proud and victorious-like."
Sorrin said nothing, but turned and looked toward the west, where the sun was just rising up from behind the tall hills, casting a long shadow across the valley. Stories of this place filled his mind and he forgot all about the hunt.
"Sordoin," said Sorrin, "Remember the story that Ristan the Bard was telling last night?"
"'Twas no story, my prince," Sordoin answered, "Every word of it was true."
"I know," said Sorrin, "Could you tell it again?"
Sordoin sighed, but then nodded. They dismounted and sat down in the grass.
"In ages long past," began Sordoin, "Lor created the heavens, and set it in motion. And He also made His servants, the Vanir, of whom the most powerful was Toran. Then He created Middengarnë, and all the animals and plants. After all this was done, He made two beings He called Man and Woman, and they were the King and Queen of Middengarnë, robed with light and gifted with a healing power. But in the heavens, Toran and some weaker Vanir rebelled against the rule of Lor. So Lor banished Toran and his followers to Middengarne to be judged by Man. Toran's name was changed to Rastoran.
"But Rastoran did not appear before Man to be judged, and he took on the form of a golden crown. Woman found the crown one day and took it to Man. They wore it, and it made them feel powerful. The first few days went by normally, but after a while they became so obsessed with the crown and the feeling of power it gave them that they soon forgot to worship Lor, and all their admiration was for themselves.
"So Lor took away their robes of glory and their healing gift because of their idolatry, and sent them to work endlessly in the fields of Middengarne, from which they once ate freely from. Then Lor created two other beings to take the place of Man and Woman. One was called Annwyn and the other Annwyna. They were clothed in the light of stars, and the gift of prophecy and foresight was given to them. Their hair was golden-silver and their skin was white. But their glory did not last long, for soon they too fell to the temptation of the golden crown. So Lor sent them away to live with Man and Woman, but He allowed them to keep their gifts of prophecy and foresight.
"Man and Woman had two sons, one was Ransinora and the other was Sasora. They also had a daughter named Sinana. And Annwyn and his wife had a son, Salimin and a daughter, Roara. Ransinora married Roara, and their descendants are called the Huwyn. Lor created wives for Sasora and Salimin, and all their sons till three generations lived. And Man, Woman, Annwyn, and Annwyna still lived during the third generation, having children. The Humans, Children of Annwyn, and the Huwyn built a city and called it Rismosia.
"And Lor created one hundred people called the Sartalim, who had sea water in their blood. They were a short, dark skinned folk, and stubborn in their ways. They fell to the allure of the Golden Crown sooner than the others, and Lor banished them to the Island of Shaddock. There were three chieftains over the Sartalim: Wila'ibah, Lida'iahn, and Lialoahn.
"And after this, Lor made two other races: the giant Gwyllion, and the strong Dokkalim. The Gwyllion worshiped neither Lor nor themselves, and because they didn't worship Lor, He sent them West-Over-Seas to the Island of Gwyll, and there put them into a deep sleep. The Dokkalim did not worship themselves as the others had, but immediately turned to worship Rastoran directly. And Lor punished them and sent them north over the Red River, and they built a city called Tewaron in the shadow of Mount Zarrmaiz. They have been an evil menace to all people to this day.
"The city of Rismosia was destroyed by an earthquake, and all the peoples dispersed. The Humans went north into the forest of Stillwood, and some went beyond to Rasnonia, which is named for the rasnon trees that grow there. The Annwyn went south and settled in a land of green valleys and hills, and they called it Linaar. And the Huwyn people stayed in the ruins of Rismosia, under the leadership of Siason, the son of Rian the Traveler, the son of Sarana, the son of Ransinora.
"Siason had twin sons, named Saor and Dore. Saor and Dore became the leaders of the Huwyn when Siason died, and they each led the Huwyn to build their own kingdoms. Saor and his followers went west and settled in a land they called Saorden, and Dore and his followers went east and settled in a land they called Dorea. Saor, Dore, and the Annwyn king Horanas, made a alliance with each other, and built the three Towers of Iron: Noran Rimana in Saorden, Noran Mir in Dorea, and Noran Risas in Linaar."
Sorrin once again scanned the horizon. The sun was just cresting the peaks of the far hills. "The name of this hill. . . What does it mean?" he asked.
"Mass Rin," said Sordoin gravely. "The Hill of War. Here, long ago, a great battle was fought between our ancestor, Saor, and the Rasnonians. There was ever a enmity between the Rasnonians and us Saorlings."
Sorrin nodded and looked west at a mountain, shining blue above the green hills.
"And that is the mountain where Saor is buried?" he asked.
"No one knows for certain," replied Sordoin. "Saor died right after the battle, and it is said that he was either buried there or he was set in a boat and sent down the Red River."
"And what became of his sword, the Sarilan?"
"It was given to Horanas, the Annwyn king of Linaar, for saving Saor’s son Raliminan, who is your grandfather."
Just then, a horn sounded. Sorrin slapped his forehead. "The boar!" he cried. "The others must have found it." Then, wheeling his tall bay around, he galloped off to find them.
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Chapter 3: The Visitors
Sorrin caught up with the rest of the hunters at the bottom of the hill. The lead hunter, Eltair, was standing over the dead boar with two of his own spears stabbed deep into its flank. He laughed when he saw Sorrin and Sordoin.
"Well now," he said, "Where have you been? You must remember, my prince, to follow the instructions of those more experienced than yourself. Did I not tell you that boars have longer strides than common pigs?"
Sorrin nodded. He was about to say something when a man rode up on a horse.
"Prince Sorrin," he said, "Your father wishes to see you immediately. All the rest of you, gather all you have killed and bring them back. Hurry!"
Sorrin and Sordoin followed the messenger back to Sorrin’s father’s castle. It was situated between two tall green hills, and behind it lay the Forest. Two great watchtowers flanked the entrance into the castle walls, and their tops were crowned with guards. Sorrin dismounted in the courtyard and a stable-hand took his horse. He immediately went to his father’s room.
His father was standing beside an open window, gazing northward with his hands folded behind his back. His sea-grey eyes, usually proud and strong, now were troubled. Beside him stood a tall person whose long black hair and pale skin told Sorrin that he was an Annwyn. Sorrin cleared his throat.
"Ah, there you are," said Sorrin’s father, "How went the hunt?"
"One boar was brought down," answered Sorrin, "But not by my hand."
"Hmmm," said the king, "You must pay more attention to Eltair’s instructions from now on. Sorrin, this is Naramir, the King of Linaar. He will be staying here for a while."
Naramir bowed, and then extended his hand to Sorrin. Sorrin shook it, but when he looked at the hand he almost dropped it. The hand was bright red, as if it had been burned. Naramir saw his look of surprise.
"It was like that when I was born," he said, "My name, Naramir, means Red Hand." Then he turned to Sorrin’s father. "You have done a good job raising him, Dain. He looks fit enough to fight a battle."
"Yes," said King Dain smiling. Then his smile faded. "He may have to in troubled days like this."
Sorrin looked at his father. "What trouble?" he asked, "Have the Dokkalim been sighted?"
King Dain laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. "You will find out tonight, son," he said, "Now, go you and see to it that the preparations for the feast tonight are being made. Or have you forgotten it is the night of Minarasin?"
"I have not forgotten," said Sorrin smiling. Then he bowed to his father and the Annwyn king and left the room.
The whole castle was busy with the preparations for the feast, and Sorrin had to go outside to keep out of the way. He sat by the road, just a little way from the castle gate with Sordoin. He wondered what his father meant by ‘troubled days’. No messengers from the borders had reported any trouble, and no Dokkalim had been seen for more than half a year. But then there was this Annwyn king, Naramir. Maybe there had been trouble in Linaar and he was asking Dain for help.
A shadow fell across the ground where Sorrin was looking. He looked and saw two little black-skinned men who barely came up to his waist. They both had long, black, braided beards and swords in their belts that would have been a dagger to Sorrin.
"Excuse me," said one of them, "Is that the castle of King Dain?"
"It is," said Sordoin, still looking curiously at these strangers, "Who are you?"
"My name is Ganail," the little man answered, "And this is my brother Halthinil, the king of the Sartalim."
"Sartalim?" repeated Sorrin, surprised.
"Sartalim, yes," laughed Ganail. "What is your name, boy?"
"He is Prince Sorrin," answered Sordoin.
"Ah," said Ganail, "So you’re King Dain’s son."
"Yes," answered Sorrin, "What brings you to Saorden?"
"My brother received an message from the Annwyn king, Naramir, to come here at the time of Minarasin. We also have some important news for King Dain."
"I will take you to the castle, then," said Sorrin standing, "Follow me."
King Dain was just as surprised as Sorrin was when he saw the two visitors, and he asked them many questions about themselves. Halthinil could not speak anything but his native language, but his brother and Naramir acted as translators.
"What is it you wish to tell me, sir?" Dain asked Halthinil.
"Linan Nor dil dahm a’iyahm dil a’idah Dokkalim innil."
"He says that Linan Nor has been taken by the Dokkalim army." translated Naramir.
Dain started at this, but then motioned for Halthinil to continue.
"Nil sahoslah bitahill am a’idah binymahill og Rastoran. A gahin Rastoran tall thonah dahinah mahicha’i."
"He says his people live in the darkness of Rastoran," translated Naramir, "And that he fears Rastoran will come here next."
Dain groaned."It is all too true," said Dain, "Too true. And even the Tower of Faces has met it's end."
Naramir laid his hand on Dain’s shoulder. "It is time, Dain." Then he turned to Sorrin. "You must come with me," he said. And then to Halthinil and Ganail. "You also must follow me."
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Chapter 4: Trouble in Bear Tor
"Where are we going?" asked Sorrin. He was riding his tall bay beside Naramir on a great grey stallion. Lialion and Halthinil were just behind them on two small ponies from King Dain’s stables. Everyone had a sword from the armory of Dain hanging at their sides.
"We must go across the River into Dorea," answered Naramir, "And then to Narcourt, the king of Dorea’s castle."
They rode on in silence for a while. Then Sorrin suddenly remembered something.
"That doesn’t mean we’re going through the Sundering Plains, does it?"
"Yes."
Sorrin shuddered. The Sundering Plains was a wasteland, dry and bare, with no water for miles in any direction. The Plains were surrounded by high cliffs where a robber band called the U’tolga lived and swept down on travelers. "Is there no other way?" he asked.
"No other way."
"What about the U’tolga?"
Sorrin thought he saw Naramir smile. "They will not harm us," he answered, "Though I have no doubt they will try to."
Sorrin wondered how this Annwyn could be so calm. The stories he had heard of this place still scared him. But he decided to trust Naramir.
Looking westward, Sorrin saw the sun setting behind the distant hills. "Shouldn’t we stop somewhere for the night?" he asked.
"Good idea," said Ganail from behind, "My brother and I are getting tired of riding. Sartalim were not meant to ride horses, for we are a sailor folk."
"Bear Tor is not too far ahead," said Naramir, "We will stay the night in an inn that I know of there."
It had grown dark by the time they reached the town of Bear Tor and the lights of the town in the distance made them realize just how tired they were. They spurred their horses on faster.
The inn Naramir had spoken of was directly in the center of the town. The light streaming through the windows and the good smell of roasting meat made Sorrin forget all about the U’tolga.
Inside a great fire was blazing in the fireplace at the far end of the building. There was a two rows of tables on either side of the room, and they sat down at the one closest to the fire. A group of men were sitting at the further end of the table talking and glancing around at them. Sorrin guessed that they were Northerners by their olive colored skin and slightly slanted eyes, probably from the small border-kingdoms around Rasnonia. Ganail glanced at them.
"I like not the looks of those men," he said quietly, "It seems I saw them mingled in the ranks of the Dokkalim at Linan Nor."
"I share your feeling," replied Naramir, "And I think it would be best for us to keep our true identities secret." He raised his hand to signal the innkeeper.
It was then that Sorrin noticed a long leather-bound bundle that Naramir carried under his black cloak. Naramir saw what Sorrin was looking at, and he quickly drew his cloak over it. Sorrin decided not to ask about it.
As they ate the food that the innkeeper brought them one of the Northerners, who obviously had quaffed one too many mugs of the innkeeper’s best ale, yawned loudly and said he would go up to the room he rented and sleep. The innkeeper heard this and reminded the Northerner that he must pay for the food and drink he bought.
The Northerner grumbled as he dug in his money belt and handed the innkeeper two copper coins of Rasnonian currency. The innkeeper looked at the coins disgustedly and demanded to be paid in Saorden coin. The Northerner scowled and drew a long dagger that he had at his side. The innkeeper, who was a small timid man, shrank back.
When Naramir saw this he stood and drew the sword of Annwyn make that was given to him by Dain. "Come," he said to his companions, "We must not sit idle while foul deeds are done in Saorden!"
At this Lailon and Haltinil sprang up from their chairs with their swords in hand and attacked the Northerner without warning. Sorrin also stood beside Naramir and drew his sword.
The other Northerners sat speechless for a moment watching the two Sartalim fight while their comrade did his best to keep them away. But he was drunk and they were of a race who despised any evildoer terribly, and within a moment the Northerner was dead.
There was a flash of steel, and Sorrin saw that the other Northerners had come to their senses and were advancing towards them. The innkeeper ran and hid in a corner.
Sorrin studied the Northerners. There were about six of them, and although two of them were a little unsteady on their feet they were for the most part strong warriors and battle-worn. Sorrin had rarely ever been in real combat, and he knew that this would be a hard test on his strength and skill.
He sent a silent prayer upwards to Lor, the King of the Universe, and recalling a trick he learned from Eltair the hunter, he thrust his blade without warning behind the leader’s shield and into his stomach.
The Northerners watched in horror as their leader crumpled to the floor. Then they gathered themselves together and rushed at Naramir and Sorrin, not noticing that Ganail and Halthinil had crept up behind them. The two Sartalim attacked with the ferocity of wolves, and before any blow had been struck two Northerners were down.
The remaining three threw away any thought of death and fell upon the Southerners. Sorrin found himself face to face with a brutish man who seemed twice his own strength, and Naramir was busy with another. Sorrin found that although his opponent was strong, he was also full of ale and was beginning to get careless. The moment he let his guard down Sorrin’s sword was between his ribs.
Sorrin saw that the Sartalim brothers were doing well with their man so he turned to help Naramir. But he stopped when he saw that Naramir and his foe had ceased fighting. The Northerner smiled grimly.
"Tired, friend Annwyn?" he sneered.
"No," answered Naramir. But he was breathing hard.
Still smiling, the Northerner shed his cloak, revealing an iron breastplate. "It seems you’ve underestimated my armor," he said, "No weapon, however sharp, can pierce through this."
"Nay, friend," said Naramir straightening, "It seems you’ve underestimated my blade!" And with that he lunged forward with his sword and hacked through the armor. As the Northerner lay dying at his feet Naramir said, "So shall it be to anyone who dares challenge an Annwyn blade."
The innkeeper came out from where he was hiding. "Now," he said trembling, "You must go immediately. There are many more Northerners about. You must fly quickly!"
"Right," said Ganail as he wiped his sword which was sticky with blood on his dead opponent’s tunic, "But first we must clean up this mess, lest our worthy innkeeper be caught with dead Northerners under his roof."
They wasted no time in straightening up the tables and chairs. Then they dragged the bodies to a nearby lake, and there threw them in. The innkeeper met them with their horses. It was late, but no stars could be seen because of the clouds that had gathered. The rain was beginning to fall.
"I’m sorry things turned out the way they did," he said, "These Northern monsters are all over the place these days."
"It will be hard times for everyone," said Naramir, "It is no longer safe anywhere. I advise you to get to the White Tower as soon as you can."
"No," said the inkeeper smiling, "Bear Tor is my home, and here I will stay. Farewell, now!"
And he stood there in the thickening rain, watching them as they rode away.
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Chapter 5: The Sundering Plains
The sun rose and shined down upon the four travelers at the edge of the Sundering Plains. The air was stagnant and foul. Sorrin looked over the great rocky expanse that lay before him with dread. Even the horses stamped uneasily and chomped at their bits. At their feet run a small, narrow stream from which they had filled their water skins. There was enough to last for three days.
Ganail was the first to speak. "It seems like a sea," he said, "A sea of land."
"And from what I hear," said Sorrin, glancing at Naramir, "We can expect storms. Called the U’tolga."
"Now, Sorrin," said Naramir, "You must not fear the U’tolga. We will be safe." He looked up, as if studying the sky. "Alright," he said, "Let us be off." And so they began.
Now, I will not try to tell you what happened over the course of the next two days, other than that Sorrin saw nothing of the U’tolga, because the days were long and nothing happened. The Plains seemed to go on forever.
On the morning of the third day, Naramir was the first one to wake. Halthinil had been on watch all that night and had fallen asleep. Naramir went to the saddle packs and got out a water skin. He began to measure out the water rations for the four of them when he realized that there wasn’t enough water in the skin. He turned back and searched for another one, but it was nowhere to be found. After looking some more, he was forced to face the truth: They had run out of water. Their food supply had diminished the day before.
Naramir sighed and measured out half rations for each of them, using up all the water they had left. Then he stood and looked north. In the distance the Cliffs of the U’tolga loomed high, and to the west of the Cliffs Stillwood spread out in a green expanse. Naramir knew their only hope was to reach Stillwood before sundown without being caught by the U’tolga.
Naramir saw Sorrin was stirring from his sleep. Sorrin sat up and blinked. Naramir handed him the cup of water. Sorrin looked at it.
"This is the last of it, right?" he asked grimly. Naramir nodded. "Shouldn’t we better save it?"
"We’re no further than two miles from Stillwood. If we can make it there we’ll be alright."
"Stillwood? I thought we were going to Narcourt."
"We can’t go directly to Narcourt," answered Naramir, "To do that we would have to cross the U’tolga Cliffs. The safest route runs between Stillwood and the Cliffs. The closer we are to Stillwood, the safer we are."
"Why are we safer close to Stillwood?" asked Ganail who had just awakened and was studying the outline of trees which was faint in the distance.
"Because," explained Naramir, handing a tin cup half full of water to Ganail, "The men of the wood are enemies of the U’tolga, and I am a friend of their king."
Ganail looked ruefully at the small amount of water in his cup. "I would give almost anything to see the ocean again," he said, "In Shaddock we have more water than we know what to do with."
"I would give almost anything for the cool pools back at my father’s castle," said Sorrin as he emptied his cup and held the water in his mouth, savoring it.
"Ha!" exclaimed Ganail suddenly, "I saw your great pools the day we started out. Young prince, some day you must come to Shaddock. Then you will see real pools! Oceans and oceans of them!"
"Stop!" laughed Naramir, "There’s no use in making us thirstier than we already are. Now wake your brother. We must be off soon."
A minute later they were mounted again and on their way. Sorrin looked around anxiously. In the two days that they had been traveling in the Plains he had not seen any sign of the U’tolga, but he was half expecting to be caught between the shoulders by the javelin of an unseen enemy. But, aided by hunger and thirst, he soon stopped thinking about the U’tolga and turned his thoughts toward Narcourt.
"Control your horse, Sorrin!" shouted Naramir.
Sorrin was brought back to the present and he realized that his horse was tossing his head and trying to turn away from the path. Sorrin tried to correct him, but soon all the horses were doing the same. Sorrin looked around to see what could have made them panic. At first he could see nothing but when he looked in the direction of the cliffs, he saw a great cloud of dust rising.
"Is that a dust storm?" he shouted to Naramir, pointing in the direction of the cloud. Naramir looked.
"No," Naramir answered, "There’s no sound of wind. I do believe, Sorrin, that we have a storm of U’tolga on our hands!"
"Then we must make haste!" shouted Ganail, "But how do we get these thrice cursed horses under control?"
"We must blindfold them," said Naramir. He quickly tore off a piece of his cloak and tied it around his horse’s eyes.
Sorrin, Ganail, and Halthinil followed his example, and soon they were galloping towards Stillwood. Although they were exceeding any speed they thought the horses capable of, the horses of the U’tolga were mountain bred, and if they were fast in the rocky cliffs and canyons they were even faster on the flat Plains, and soon the shouts of the U’tolga could be heard over the galloping of the horses.
Sorrin saw Ganail looking back to him and yelling something, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then he heard a harsh yell from behind him. He turned and saw a U’tolga warrior just behind him on a small horse. He was swinging a large iron studded mace in his left hand.
Sorrin turned and tried to spur his bay on faster, but the poor animal was going as fast as it could. Sorrin’s heart skipped a beat when he heard a loud crack and felt his horse sink down. He was thrown forward over the horse’s head and landed face first into the dust.
For a moment he lay on his back senseless, but he revived just in time to dodge a blow that was meant to crush his head. He stood and drew his sword. The others had been unhorsed also, and their horses were struggling to their feet. Several mounted U’tolga circled round them.
The man who had unhorsed Sorrin was now dismounted and came at him at a slow pace, swinging his deadly cudgel with deft skill about his head. Sorrin drew back steadily, keeping his blade between him and his enemy. Behind him he could hear the sounds of steel clashing against steel as his companions battled enemies of their own.
The warrior looked at Sorrin, as if measuring him up. Sorrin tried to swallow his fear and look unafraid as possible. Then he realized that the he was facing a boy probably no older than himself. He also realized that the boy had an almost scared look on his face.
For a moment Sorrin felt pity for him, but when the boy leapt at him he shook that thought out of his head. The boy was his enemy, and he meant to kill him.
Sorrin parried the blow and turned it aside. Then he thrust his sword forward, but the U’tolga blocked that with equal skill. Then their fight began in earnest. Many blows were dealt between them, but none of them were more than mere scratches. The U’tolga wielded his mace with such strength that Sorrin worried that his sword would shatter in pieces.
Then, when Sorrin felt that his strength would give out, he sent a prayer up to Lor, asking Him to guide his hand. At that moment Sorrin swung his sword with all his might at his enemy. There was a loud crash and a shower of sparks as Sorrin’s sword shattered into pieces. One of theses pieces struck the U’tolga in the eye, and he fell backward, dropping his mace on the sandy ground.
Sorrin seized the mace and stood poised to strike over his fallen enemy. The U’tolga stared up at him, his right eye closed and bleeding. Sorrin raised the mace. The U’tolga stiffened, waiting for the blow. Sorrin hesitated.
He remembered the night at the inn when he had killed the Northerner almost without thinking. But afterward he had remembered the look of stricken horror on the Northerner’s face as Sorrin’s blade bit deep. Then he knew what he had to do.
He flung the mace away from him. "I cannot kill you," he said to the U’tolga, "Thief though you be, I cannot kill you."
The other U’tolga were coming closer and Sorrin turned away and ran to where his companions were calling his name.
But before he left he heard the U’tolga warrior call out: "I will not forget!"
Sorrin and the others mounted their horses and quickly galloped toward Stillwood. The U’tolga were very close behind them by now, and black javelins sped past their ears. Stillwood loomed closer and closer. They were almost among the trees when a thick, dark cloud of arrows sailed over their heads. Looking back, Sorrin saw many U’tolga fall from their horses with a white feathered shaft sticking in their hearts.
Sorrin, Naramir, Ganail, and Halthinil all brought their horses to a halt. Out from among the trees marched a group of men, dark and tall, all dressed in grey with black cloaks, and each had a bow of yew with a quiver of white yard long arrows slung on their backs. The leader stood in front. The only thing that set him apart from his followers was a silver chain with a sapphire set in it hanging from his neck. He stepped forward with his right hand outstretched.
"Ea linaim," he said sternly in his native speech, called Stilltongue, "Who are you who brings the Rats of the Cliffs to the very gates of Stillwood?"
"Why, Midas!" exclaimed Naramir dismounting, "Do you really not remember me?"
Midas looked hard at Naramir for a moment. Then the stern look on his face softened. "Naramir!" he cried, "Either the years have changed your appearance or they have changed my eyesight! By the stars, we’re both getting old. Come, you are welcome in Stillwood. But who are these with you?"
"You should know Prince Sorrin, the son of Dain, already," said Naramir as they were led down a wide path among the tall, grey oaks of Stillwood, "His mother is your cousin. These other two are King Halthinil of Shaddock and his brother, Prince Ganail."
"And what business have you in the Sundering Plains?"
"None whatsoever. We are on our way to Narcourt and the Plains happened to be in the way."
"Narcourt? Is there trouble on the borders?"
Naramir hesitated. "There is trouble," he said, "Linan Nor has been taken by the Dokkalim."
"What?!" This came from a man who walked alongside Midas. "Those sons of maggots!"
Midas looked sharply at this man. "Sarlaim!" he said, "Even Dokkalim are creations of Lor. Do not talk so evilly about Lor’s creation." But even he looked terribly angry.
"We will see that you get safely to Narcourt, Naramir." he continued, "And Sarlaim my son will go with you wherever you go afterward. He has been rather restless for the past two months."
Sarlaim said nothing, but Sorrin could see that he was smiling.
Comments
Feb. 4, 2009 - Good!
Posted by Barrie the Disinheirited Knightess
I read the first chapter and I liked it a lot. I'll continue to read this!
~Barrie the Disinheirited Knightess
Feb. 12, 2009 - Wow.
Posted by tearsfromtheheavens
I read all 5 chapters in about 15 minutes. I loved it! Adventure and fantasy books are what I really crave the most. You're a great writer. You've got talent. Have you ever thought of publishing this? If not, I really think you should. It'd be cool. I'd be the first to buy it I can tell you that.
Apr. 14, 2009 - <em>Untitled Comment</em>
Posted by MeekatHeart
Nice first chapter! I am writing a story somewhat like this one. Except it is about a Woodelf.
~Drea Grace Darcy, Lady Of Words~
Edited by MeekatHeart on Apr. 14, 2009 at 10:29 AM
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