Tales of Cobardon

Chapter VI

Demzan

He had had three brothers and a sister. All had amounted to great things except for his ... his thoughts trailed of. His sister had grown gorgeous and graceful and had married a highborn Lordling. His eldest brother, Bavolan, had died a gallant death as a famed knight in a lost battle. Trevan had risen to become second-in-command, trusted counselor to Arthur and he had come he had come to be known as - the skin changer. People tremored on the sound of his name and dropped unconscious on his scowl. He was a man dreaded times more than loved, unlike Trevan. He had made a perception of an unrelenting assassin who stalked you till his prey's grave. Once he caught the scent of his prey, the prey would find no escape, except death, and would be assassinated, though by human body or animal that could not be said. He led the Skinchanger Brotherhood. He had never failed nor disappointed anyone except for that one time ... his youngest brother had been abducted and his feet and unknown and it had been his fault. He hadn't know it was a lie but, he had been so gullible back then; yet ...

His head ached and he returned to his wolf body to change his mind. The greenery ended and after a stunning twilight followed a depressing night. He had sped passed the lush green plains and had entered a forest. Which? Didn't matter. He metamorphosed back to his human form and decided to slump on a tree. In his dreams he slipped back into a wolf. The wolf, vile and gided, in penitence, ran wildly through the dark and murky woods. Everything around here was evil!

The wolf started panting but still could not even glimpse an end to this folly. The trees were same, the scenery montoned. It felt he was in an eternal orbit of ... yeah! These were the haunted forest, who started no where, ended nowhere but, always somehow lead us to our worst fears! He wanted to escape, scamper from this abyss, but he couldn't, no more than a stone could float. He had to let the nightmare run its course. With nothing to think his mind slowly drifted to his pensive thoughts of his iniquitous deeds. Grrrr! He snapped back from his dark and unjust world. The wolf had saved him. He had to be more solicitous or else he would fall into a well he wouldn't be able to climb out of. He observed his vicinity and felt something awry here. His fur stood up and when he glanced far ahead there were no woods. Yet, the wolf kept on going ahead to what seemed his ultimate fate. He felt the heat rising, heard oil hissing, fire crackling and mourning of the dying. The wolf came to a stop and suddenly ahead the land fell in a steep slope and rose again to make a valley. This was strange. What he saw was stranger or more close to bizare. This was no ordinary valley but one that burned. A figure fell out of nowhere and screamed so loud that it might have burst its own lungs. He tried to find from where the figure had fallen and finally made out thin hempen lines swinging in and out of the thick smoke. Soon, he could make out tiny clung to the ropes. He found a single figure creeping slowly to land, while clinging to the ropes. He narrowed his eyes and with his paw wiped away a sweat bead above his brow. He focused harder, his eyes stinging from the smoke and heat. The figure finally bounced out of the fog for a fraction of second and in that time he glimpsed the figure's face. The figure was ...

He woke up with a jerk, panting hard. He felt dizzy as if he was drunk and he was, drunk on grief and fear. He had to do something - his brother was in peril.

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Trevan

He leaped of the rope line and landed on the muddy ground, every bone and fibre of his body exhausted. The smell of ash, cinders, blood and above all - death was suffocating and he wanted to escape more than anything from, Fort Wingbearer,murder, butchery, politics, everything! Using his last grain of energy he peeped up in hope to glimpse his getaway. He gazed at the woods ahead - wet and glistening with an eerie, silver hue against the pitch black, starless night sky which had a speck of dawn within it.

His senses jumped as he heard clipetty-clipetty-clop din of a horse's hooves. He saw a shadow fall on the glimmering, green grass and trees. Odour of honour, duty and dusky formality assaulted his nose. His stomach churned, heart squeezed and toes tingled as he lay lifelessly in fear and queer lust for what he knew was forthcoming - his death! A sudden spatial reminder came to him and he remembered he was just inches from a precipice. His heart's squeezed further as he imagined himself plummeting into the fiery abyss below. His head crashed back into the ground as he tasted his own slick, salty tears .

Realisation dawned on him. Suddenly, he didn't want to die. He wanted to live; to live for his lord and his brother Demzan and for any good left in the world. A new strength surged through his veins, energy brimming his limited well of stamina.

He got up with a roar unsheathing and swinging his sword swiftly from hip to shoulder, ready to cut to pieces any enemy fate threw on him. He readied himself for combat from any danger, not wasting much of his newfound energy surge.

His blade's hilt was scorching and made his palms slept like a thunderstorm. He could smell the repugnant fumes of ash, molten flesh and fire and hear the agonised screams of burning men. He was also aware of the swelling hoofbeats and the sticky, heavy drop racing down his forehead and cheek to arrive onto his tongue as he tasted the rancid, lemon-like sweat bead. His blade shimmered a rudy scarlet, lighting of his surroundings. He could hear the rider approach. His grip tightened against the slick and sweltering hilt. His heartbeat quickened. The rider was 20 feet away, 10 feet, 5, 3...

The rider could have rode over him but rather it dismounted, and that would have been his end. He could sense that the rider was a man of honour. Trevan charged at him wielding his two handed greatsword with great burden. The rider simply swung round his sword and blocked Trevan's fatal stab at his gut. The sword already seemed to Trevan like a 50 pounds sack. The rider tossed his sword in the air and caught it again while detaching and donning his shield on his left hand, all at once. Trevan's back was yet to the ablaze ravine. The rider then started launching one stroke after the other, constantly driving Trevan backwards. Trevan was barely a foot away from his fall and couldn't even raise his sword while the rider should no slackening.

The rider delivered a lethal, hard blow to Trevan side. Blood started plummeting out of the deep gash. The rider raised his sword again to split Trevan's chest. It was met with a weak, exhausted counter strike. Trevan new his end had come. He knew there was no hope left; next time he wouldn't be able to lift his sword or might trip over the edge and fall into the cookfire. The rider's shield banged against his ribs, driving the breath out of him. His feet went beneath him as he collapsed to the ground and mud and asphalt filled his mouth. He was merely a step away from the precipice. He was based on his head by the shield as he was pushed another step behind. Only the slightest shove would mean his death.

The rider smirked and announced," Your treacherous life comes to an end by the nobel hands of Lord Micura." The mystical sword warped all light around it, creating flapping strands of tangible shadows. Trevan felt warmth on his side and glimpsed at the pool of blood that had oozed out. His eyes felt heavy. His vision darkened as black spots started to appear everywhere. His eyelids felt heavy. He could only see one, single spot - Lord Micura with his sword raised over his head and mouth wide open, roaring his triumph. Slowly that to faded into the unending darkness. He heard nothing, tasted nothing, felt nothing. Nothing but warmth and warmth and warmth.