Grizzly (13 page)

“Good, because we need you as much as you need us.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you possess a power the evil Queen wants. If we deny her, you will grow and she will fade. It’s in our interest as well as our loyalty to get you home. Beyond those mountains there is never-ending darkness. She lives there with her creatures of doom and destruction. She wants all of this land to be in darkness.”

“And if she got her way?” Sorscha looked at Óengus.

“She will cross the wall and start a war on earth.” Tethur patted her leg. “But we won’t let her. Not gonna happen! Take this.” He handed her a twin scabbard attached to a belt. The blade grips rested at each hip as he fastened it on.

“I won’t use them.”

“I hope you don’t have to, little one.”

“That fucking bird needs taking care of; it will tell the orcs we are coming,” Domnall suggested.

Ryken walked to Tethur and looked up. “He’s right. Diarmait, still think you can get it from here?”

“One way to find out.” Before the spy in the sky had time to react, an arrow pierced its belly and it fell like a rock, landing fifty or so feet from the group. Tethur went to it, picking it up by its scrawny neck. It still lived, its eyes twitching from side to side. It opened its beak, with hundreds of tiny sharp serrated teeth lining the edges, and hissed at him. Carrying it back, he handed it to Ryken.

“Can you use it for anything?”

“A stew.”

Tethur smirked.

Now resting at the edge of the ice field, he scoured the landscape. Muirch flew overhead, planning their route. The great black bird descended and landed like a delicate flower on the frosty earth. It bounced and jumped before coming to land on Ryken’s shoulder.

“Do you have to work out in order to carry that bulk on your shoulder, Ryken?”Domnall said.

“Better a raven than a six-foot-tall naked Celt,” Diarmait suggested.

The bird seemed to whisper in the warlock’s ear as Tethur watched.

“Well?”

“Some three thousand orcs are gathered on the other side of the plain, ready and waiting for us. The forest too is riddled with them. We have to go that way; it’s the quicker route.”

“Just orcs?” Tethur asked.

“Of course not, that would be too easy. They know we are coming.”

“So we can meet them head on or charge them. Any wolves hereabouts?” Óengus asked the bird.

Muirch squawked aloud.

“Well, let me call and see if they will help.” He put his hands to his mouth, tilted his head back and howled for all his worth. Nothing came back as they all waited.

“Guess not. Sorscha, whatever happens, hold on to me. If you wish you can close your eyes. I wouldn’t blame you.” Tethur climbed on the horse in front of her, feeling her arms wrap around his waist. “Fly high, Muirch. Watch the way.”

The raven flapped its wings and rose quickly.

“What now?” Sorscha whispered in his ear.

Tethur gripped her clasped hands.

“We ride and we ride hard.”

The horses knew. They snorted and with the words echoing on the breeze, they ran. The six of them rode like the wind itself, covering ground at a great pace. The horses were like ghosts, their hooves barely touching the ground. Hard and fast they went. Tethur felt Sorscha hold him tightly as the trees in the distance seemingly appeared from nowhere. Out of the dense woodland came the orcs. These ugly beasts outnumbered them five hundred to one and moved quickly, cutting them off. To the side they came, from behind too, surrounding them.

The Celts halted their stride at Tethur’s raised hand. The orcs ran, a hundred feet out, closing, threatening with their array of misshapen weapons, forged from the pits of darkness.

Ryken jumped down as the others circled him and Tethur, protecting Sorscha from impending doom.

Raising his palms, Ryken’s fingers formed cup shapes. As his fingers rose, he spoke ancient words. Stones of all sizes appeared, from pebbles to boulders lifted from the earth and from its very crust. With each movement, stone after stone mimicked his hands. The orcs still ran, yet the flying rocks intimidated them.

Ryken’s voice had a deep tone; it carried and commanded. As he twisted both hands, the stones began to spin and fly in the same direction. They flew at head height in huge circles. The smaller ones hit with great ferocity, piercing helmets, shattering eyes and cutting flesh. The larger stones and boulders moved slower, yet crushed and hit, killing and maiming the oncoming orcs. Thousands of them were rendered useless even before they got close. Those that managed to get through ran on. The Celts jumped from their horses. Only Tethur stayed mounted, both his swords at the ready.

“Use your dagger, Sorscha, if they get close.”

The others cut down three and four orcs at a time as if they were wheat stalks, paying no mind to insult or injury. Tethur watched, waiting, but no orc came close and no orc lived.

“Is that it? Ryken, you bastard, you spoilt my fun. It is a good job we are in a hurry or I’d be pissed big time,” Óengus roared.

“You’re welcome.”

Óengus rewarded him with a huge, toothy grin.

“Mount up. There are more in the forest. Be on your guard.” Ryken mounted his horse.

They rode on. The forest edge was on them in no time, the dark canopy holding unknown dangers. Behind them came the sound of thunder and hundreds of pounding feet at their backs. Tethur looked to see what hunted them now.

Wolves in their hundreds pounded the plain.

“Looks like your call wasn’t in vain after all, Óengus.”

“What, you doubted me, bear?” Óengus laughed out loud.

“Watch the trees. Stay close.”

The horses ran into the forest, jumping and twisting over the unforgiving earth. The tree trunks gave them no quarter; dodging them was an art form. Ancient mounds rose up and they went high, hooves like a drum beat. Orcs jumped from the trees. Celtish swords cut them down, wolves pounced and bit, breaking arms, severing heads and killing the enemy. Clearings offered short respite; orcs were vulnerable and fell easier under the charging horses. Back into the trees, daylight appeared to fade as thick trunks hugged each other, offering narrow paths. These horses knew how to move, running hard until the sky and the branches offered more light.

The orcs still came. Among them was a tree demon, a huge, hulking form. His skin was made of crackled wood, eyes blazing red and sharp horns like thorns. Trolls too thundered, knocking down the smaller trees.

Tethur rode on. Sorscha held on for dear life.

The wolves fought for their alpha, Óengus, but were no match for the trolls. Larger orcs appeared at the back, riding hard, cutting down anything in their path. They sat on the backs of great hulking boar-type creatures with curved tusks and long, thick black fur. The wolves left the chase at Óengus’s call. They had served them well. Now the riders were at the mercy of their enemy, six riders, five horses and one raven.

Running through another clearing a loud rumble rocked the earth behind them: a tremor, some form of earthquake. Tethur looked back. The tree demon was on the ground, head pinned by a huge panther. It cried out as its neck was cracked. The panther turned and pounced on a troll, its whipping form taking out several orcs before the troll fell dead.

Out of nowhere came a woman, running after the other troll. She was dressed head to toe in black. A hood covered her face. With true grace of movement she spun, jumping over the twelve-foot monster, her blades severing its head. It explained a lot.

The horses sped on as Tethur looked forward, pushing his steed.

*****

M
arok went through the wall. Osmaldis followed him, coming out to the devastation of dead bodies. He could hear the sounds of war far in the distance.

Walking slowly amongst the dead, Osmaldis shook his head.

“I need better orcs, Marok. These are no better than turds in the wet. Look at them. Five bloody Celts did this.”

Marok said nothing. Out from the wall came the shuraqui, six and seven-foot-tall orcs, stockily built, made for war and built to kill. Even Osmaldis doubted their ability after seeing this mess.

“Well, what the hell are you standing around for? Get after them.”

Marok started running, the shuraqui at his heels, five hundred of them. They were out of sight in minutes, lost to the trees.

Osmaldis reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a drawstring pouch. “Today is your lucky day, you adorable shits.” He tipped some powder onto his palm and blew. It spread like a mist over the battlefield, floating further on the breeze until all the dead were engulfed in it.

“Rise in the name of the dark Queen. Dubheasa calls you from the regions of death, calls you for servitude in life and in death. Come! Rise!”

The ground shook as body after body rose up. Dead orcs, heads cut, chests open wide, and dripping in blood, all stood and started to march. Osmaldis walked to the front, looked to his side and paced himself as the dead followed him.

*****

T
he light faded and the darkness crept in. The riders moved on. To stop would be to fight. All the while they were hounded and hunted. Screams followed behind them, fires and horrid dreams threatened them. Light returned and more skirmishes. Dead orcs were left in their wake. They rode on through beautiful plains and heather lands, rocky outcrops and farm land. Malandria’s borders offered hope.

“How much longer, Tethur?” Sorscha whispered.

“We’ve covered a lot of ground. Do you see the mountains?”

“Yes.”

“The castle is at the base, not far. Maybe another hour and then you can rest.”

Her arms held on but he could feel her getting weaker. On they went. The land became greener and lush, with ancient oaks and sycamore. The sun shone and mist hung at the mountain tops. The enemy was behind and seemed to halt as the castle came into view.

“We are home, Sorscha, Princess of the Earth.” Ryken said.

Tethur felt her chin come to rest on his shoulder.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

––––––––

S
he blinked.

Why wouldn’t she?

The reality that shone back at her, built into the majesty of the surrounding mountains, was a castle. Huge, majestic, glowing from its humble landscape, it felt warm, inviting. As it was she could barely contain the urge to run to her new found home. Her weak muscles and light-headedness seemed to fade under the engulfing shadows of the castle. Tethur marched them forward. The battle-pressed men were all looking eager to get inside. The movements increased. Half the men dismounted and nearly jogged up to the fortress that stood over them, welcoming them into its loving safety.

Sorscha breathed in the world around her. The fragrance that was Tethur nudged at her senses and mixed with nature. Even after a long journey and heavy battle, he smelled like that amazing spice and man. She buried her nose in the curve of his neck. He looked back at her, a smile on his lips. That mischief in his eyes made her nuzzle closer and giggle.

She could feel her heart thudding against her ribcage. The ache gave her comfort.

This is it. This is when I meet my real parents
.

The huge stones that created the hulking mass wrapped her in a state of euphoric comfort she hadn’t felt in so long. The structure was bright and inviting. The welcoming spill of light that filtered through the parapets made the smile on her face ache. The walls were tall, the outer gate swung open and they ventured in. Two further walls with equally high gates opened to them as the ones behind were closed. The castle had a small town within its final inner wall. Shops lined streets, houses behind them with small gardens lined the main thoroughfare which led to the lake surrounding the castle itself. The townspeople were busy and curious about the warriors and—the Princess?

Still getting used to that term, she flushed bright pink, she knew, because her face felt hot. Before she could hide in the bulk of Tethur again, he released her and she slowly slid from the horses back. Her hands instantly locked around his bicep. Her nails cut into the flesh. A low rumble drew her gaze to his ruggedly handsome face. His eyes burned into hers. His warm, moist lips brushed over her own.

“No fear, little one. You’re home,” he rumbled.

They all stopped before a long, wide road, some half a mile in length which rose from the lake. It led up to the massive structure before them.

I was born here.

A man strode out. Confidence oozed from each swaggering movement. Sorscha had a sudden image of Hollywood actors. Too beautiful, handsome, and devastating to be real. Yet this man taking quick steps down the along the road towards her was just that. Devastating felt like an epic enough word for him. He was tall, well over six feet, maybe even reaching closer to seven. His dark hair was cut short and had a natural wave that was shiny and glossy in the late-day light. His glittering eyes were only accented by his powerful features. A strong, square jaw, full lips that had a slightly lopsided smirk. His nose was sharp and matched his face perfectly. The arms of his shirt were rolled up, revealing intricate tattoos that disappeared under the fabric. Tight leather pants shoved off firm muscles in his thighs.

Sorscha gulped.

He gave her pause about being with Tethur for a moment. Leaning into him, she whispered.

“Who is that?” She enunciated the last word.

She heard a snort. Then, deadpan, Tethur answered. “Your father.”

Sorscha looked between the man eating up the distance between them quickly and Tethur, who looked at her with a possessive rage.

“I thought. I mean. No. Oh, my god.” She pressed fingers to her now throbbing head.

She had a DILF. How the hell did she end up with a DILF?

Still stunned, Sorscha didn’t expect the approaching man to wrap her in his large, powerful arms. Instant comfort, love, and security melted her interior and she found herself hugging him back. Sorscha’s feet were lifted from the ground and he swung her around. His laughter filled the air and she smiled against his shoulder.