The Clovel Destroyer (7 page)

“
Now that you have entered the
shrine, what other blasphemy do you have for me? There is no place
here to burn your father and your wife. So, do you come to give me
your tears?” The woman's gaze grew hard as she looked at Urith, and
he guessed the woman had heard of his outrage at the temple the day
before.

“
Such knowledge is citywide by
now, passed along faster than the ossanes can gallop,” replied the
warrior, trying to guess her indeterminate age as he paced slowly
in front of her. “And you know that
a fighter
sheds no tears for the dead. Now, give me something useful in your
visions.”

“
Did you not see the truth for
yourself? Why come to me?”

Her vague smoothness began to irritate the warrior.
“I don’t need your riddles, woman. Should I put some koinons in the
fountain to get your tongue to wag the truth?”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “You have no respect for me
or the satgerts. I will not help you.”

Urith stopped, “Of course I have no respect for you.
How would I know you would show up when I spoke sacrilege against
your visions? Because I know you have ears near the guards. The
echoes of your worshipers come to you before they enter the shrine.
It is a nice way to gather money and knowledge to use in your
visions for the masses.” The woman stood, appearing ready to storm
off. “While I’m just a lowly warrior of the Esterblud clan, I know
about the tricks used by oracles. I will be happy to tell others
about these.”

She turned back to him. “And I could have you
destroyed by King Penhda for such blasphemy.”

“
But I’m willing to risk this if
you are. If you know about my day at the temple, you
see
I don’t bluff.” The warrior’s deadly eyes watched
her. It was the same look which scared the farmer the day
before.

“
What do you want?” She
sighed.

“
The truth,” he replied. “I know
some
hakra’s
have the ability to see and talk
with the gods. If you cannot do this, give me the name of one in
Esterblud.”

The woman again seated herself at one end of a bench
nodding
for Urith
to sit by her. As Urith sat
next to her, she lowered her voice. “You know much of our way. For
this reason, I ask you to give your oath to me never to speak
against
the visions I give here.”

The warrior thought for a moment. It seemed a small
price to pay for what he needed. “Yes, you have my oath on
this.”

The woman looked around before telling Urith that
while she lacked many of the visions, she knew of a hakra who might
help. “The great seer is named
Joclac,
and he
is known to have great powers. He lives north of Esterblud, in the
lands of
Eernicia
. I hear he is a strange
little man, never taking koinons,” she confided in him.

“
Unlike you,” the warrior reminded
her.

“
The smart
satgerts
go to
him to help them with their overlords.” The woman let the slight
go.

“
Someone like
Feeral
?” Urith asked about the priest who advised King
Penhda. The woman just smiled, confirming the answer to his
question. Satisfied, Urith stood and began to walk away.

“
Don’t forget your oath,” she
reminded him as he neared the fountain. Her face turned to a frown
when she saw the giant warrior throw a koinon into the Fountain of
Destiny.

Guthlaf reluctantly stayed in Gramcan after Urith
told him of his meeting with the
Oracle
. They
agreed that Guthlaf would wait for King Penhda to arrive, and he
would explain Uolven’s wishes for the Esterblud clan to the king.
Urith thanked his friend and rode off on the busy road. He decided
to take the journey
to Eernicia and
discover
the truth behind the spirit of his wife. Since his journey would
lead him near Cilgarran, his home village, he would stop to inform
the elders of his father’s passing.

Traveling alone on his ossane on the main road
leading to Eernicia, the warrior rode his ossane hard, reaching a
tavern situated on the main crossroads just after the sun set in
the east. The
giant
warrior found a few men
sitting around the fire in the middle of the room, drinking and
singing. He recognized the tunes of the skalds. Warrior bards who
traveled the lands, the skalds recorded and regaled the exploits of
great heroes and their deeds. They held a place of reverence among
the Esterblud warriors.

Their leader was a medium sized man named Narslac
who sported biceps the size of most men’s thighs. The man
recognized Urith’s tunic and black helmet. He called for the Clovel
Destroyer to come over as the skalds cheered, reciting their tale
about the young warrior’s hunt against the last of the monsters. As
they offered him a place to drink heathmead, Urith felt at
home.

Narslac told Urith that he and his men fought with
Uolven during the last battle, providing several lines of poetry
about his father’s heroic stand in the fighting. The skald, having
heard that Urith’s father was wounded, asked after the elder
warrior’s health. He first showed surprise, then offered his
sympathy at the news of Uolven’s death. He promised the young
Esterblud that he would sing great songs in his honor. Standing,
the rough man
slammed his fist on the table which
quieted
the group. He then began to belt out a poem in
tribute to Urith’s father. The skald’s voice left much to be
desired, but it was heartfelt and moving. The giant man smiled as
he looked over the group. The skalds reminded Urith of a warrior’s
destiny and the great honor of heroic deeds. He took some comfort
in their words as he drank the heathmead.

The next morning, Urith found a polished piece of
steel and used it to look
at
his wounded face.
He knew the jagged
blackened
line which ran a
cross his cheek, along with the sneer it
created, would eventually form into a permanent reminder of his
battle against a great warrior. It was something to be proud
of;
he told himself. However, the thought
could not convince him. As he reflected on the
wound,
he decided it appeared to be healing properly, and
he had no strange, fever-induced dreams during the night. For that
he was thankful.

Leaving the tavern where he had taken a room, Urith
retrieved his ossane from the stable then met the skalds as they
readied themselves for their journey. In the trading of stories and
general talk of the previous night, the skalds had learned they
planned to travel the same road to Eran as Urith. It was still
quite early when they met up with him outside the stables, then
leading their mounts to the road to begin the day's ride. Their
long night of drinking and conversation left the giant warrior
tired and bleary eyed. Yet, the men he traveled with appeared
unaffected as they rambled on about the great heroes like Heptarc.
He quietly listened with some fascination at their uncanny talent
to remember
significant
details of ancient
battles and warriors.

As they rode along, Urith listened as the tall, thin
man, who called himself
Arvim
, played the
flute to the beat of the ossane’s cloven
hoofs.
The young man with auburn hair had no beard, unlike
his comrades. As they drank around the fire the night before,
Arvim’s
keen interest in Urith's battles and
the killing of the Clovel had struck the young warrior as curious.
This morning, the young man played tunes which mimicked the singing
of the birds as they guided this mounts along the road. The sounds
lifted Urith’s spirits.

The sun began falling to end the
day,
and Urith grew quiet, weary from the long journey.
The group came upon a line of trees where a narrow bridge crossed a
stream. When they reached the bridge, they saw men on ossanes
filling the road on the other side. Out of the forest on the
skalds,
flank came others, men wielding spears
and swords. They wore dark robes of brown and gray with little
armor, most of them sporting leather helmets. It was
evident
they were bandits, leftovers of the Aberffraw
army who had been joined by thugs and ruffians.

Across the river, the leader rode up to the bridge.
Several of the bandits followed behind him, dragging along bound
women and children along using ropes around their necks. Slaves to
be used or sold. One blonde woman who struggled to keep up with the
ossane reminded him of Earmis. An ember of hate flashed inside the
Esterblud when he saw this.

“
You skalds will have a new tale
to add to your stories.”
A stone-faced
man who
had stopped at the end of the bridge ahead of the
others
spoke in a challenging tone. The leader of the
bandits wore armor and the helmet of the Aberffraw. “My men rule
over this forest. Do you have koinons to assure your passage
through my land?”

“
I would take care with such
boasts,” stated Urith. “King Penhda controls this land.”

“
And who are you, little giant?
The boy servant to this king?” The bandits laughed at the man
mocking Urith for his green tunic. “Well, we will relieve you of
your ossanes and weapons. You must pay a toll when you enter our
forests.”

Urith pulled his Clovel Sword, his anger rising.
“You will learn to kiss the feet of Caruun, little man.”

The man laughed. “You are
outnumbered,
and your friends don’t look so willing to
fight.”

Arvim and Narslac suddenly pushed up next to Urith.
“I don’t believe you know the skalds of Esterblud very well. We
like the idea of Haligulf.” Narslac grunted his agreement, saying
he would enjoy singing for the sky gods.

The bandit nodded to his men, “Then, prepare for a
slow death.”

Immediately, spears
were
thrown,
and the warriors clashed with bandits.
Urith charged at the
stone-faced
man across
the bridge. The two met near the center of the wooden structure,
swords striking as each man tried to get an advantage. The leader
of the bandits
hit
at
Urith,
who defended himself with his battered shield.
However, several of the thugs behind their leader threw spears
which struck the ossane, sending the animal down. The Esterblud
jumped off his wounded ossane, landing on the long neck of the
bandit’s mount. His weight forced the animal’s head down to the
wood planks, causing the bandit leader to fall awkwardly and
sending the warrior down on planks. The ossane immediately climbed
to its feet, forcing the Esterblud to move aside as the panicked
animal ran by him, jumping over the dead ossane which blocked the
path. His quick glance over to his friends revealed savage fighting
with the bandits. Arvim took on two enemy fighters attempting to
come onto the bridge from behind Urith.

Three
thugs
faced
Urith,
and he charged them, yelling the wild cry of his
clan. His first sword strike missed its target, but he managed to
parry a counter-stroke from one of the bandits. His momentum
carried the warrior into the enemy, knocking him flat. Urith kicked
him in the
groin. However
, the
fighter
was forced to throw up his shield as another
attacker came at him with a battle ax. The Esterblud deflected the
ax, but his arm took the jarring
energy
as the
shield broke. Fortunately, the enemy’s momentum sent him to the
edge of the bridge. Urith swung his sword into the back of the man
who fell away into the stream below. Coming back to the bandit
holding his crotch, the Esterblud swung his sword down, sending his
enemy’s head tumbling along the bridge.

The leader of the bandits was on his feet, striking
at
Urith,
who was able to parry the stroke.
While younger than his opponent, the Esterblud knew he held an
advantage on the Aberffraw and he quickly exploited his knowledge.
The leader tried to come in close against the larger Esterblud,
striking at his neck with a
long-bladed
dagger. Urith saw the move coming and threw up his battered shield,
striking the man in the mouth. The blood poured from his
lips,
and the leader fell back, slicing his
sword into Urith’s shield which finally shattered, sending wood
pieces across the area. The flying wood distracted the bandit for a
moment,
but the young Esterblud seized the
advantage, coming around with a long sweep of his Clovel
Sword,
which struck the man in the throat. The
blood spattered across both men as the leader of the bandits
grabbed his neck in a doomed effort to staunch the wound.

Urith pushed the dying man to the side, picked up
the
battle ax
and dropped his shield, then
strode toward the two men who still sat on mounts, holding the
slaves. As one of the bandits tried to escape, the ossane began
dragging the slaves, strangling them as they were dragged along the
gravel. The Esterblud sprinted forward, sending his battle ax into
the back of the bandit. The Fates were on Urith’s side that day for
the ax embedded in the thug’s back. The Esterblud caught up with
the ossanes just in time to cut through the rope holding the
struggling women and children who gasped for air like fish out of
the
water
. He glanced down at the girl who
bore a distant likeness to his dead wife. He saw the
blonde
hair girl’s eyes widen with fear as she stared at
his blood covered face and scar. The look enraged the
warrior even more,
and he turned back to the last of the
bandits on his side of the river. He saw the fight across the
stream was coming to a close as the remaining bandits had begun to
give themselves up to the warrior skalds. The thug in front of
Urith smiled nervously throwing his hands over his head after he
came down from the ossane, deciding it was better to be branded a
bandit than to die. The thug showed the warrior, his intentions as
he let go of the rope holding the captives who quickly loosened
their bindings and scattered. However, the Esterblud was not in a
forgiving mood as he plunged the tip of his massive sword into the
short man, the blade exited out the surprised man’s back. Urith
stood observing the man die like a skewered rat, feeling no
satisfaction, just stone cold emptiness. It was a bitter taste
which he tried not to enjoy the moment.