A Different World: Part 1 - The Siege of Penthorpe Keep - 14. Chapter 14

The rabbit scampered through the snow, a flash of brown fur in an expanse of snowy white and twisted brambles. Skold saw the diamond shaped spots of white fur on its back, the frantic black of its eyes. He stood under the branches of a tall tree, the hood of his jacket pulled over his head. He stood perfectly still, the arrow knocked back. The only sign of movement was his eyes tracking the rabbit’s every step. He blinked once and released the arrow.

The arrow shot through the frigid air, punctuating the silence of the woods with a sharp hissing sound. The rabbit made a small hissing sound and fell over. The arrow had pierced through its side and angled all the way up so the tip of the sharp arrowhead pointed out of its neck. Its chest heaved up and down rapidly. Its right foot twitched spasmodically. Skold marched over to it, brittle snow crunching beneath his boots. He picked the dying creature up and snapped its neck without a second thought, enjoying the familiar sound of bone breaking. He pulled the arrow out easily and put it back in the quiver strapped to his back.

Skold turned, ready to head back in the other direction where Konstantine was setting up camp, and stopped. A shiver went up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

He was being watched.

He stood stock still and did not move. He held the rabbit’s limp body in one hand; the other hung at his side like a piece of rope. His eyes scanned the tops of the trees, searching every branch. He listened for the snap of branches, searched for the slightest hint of movement in stillness. Though Skold saw nothing instinct told him there was something there, something close by - years of fighting and barely surviving by the skin of his teeth had taught him to trust what his gut was telling him and not his eyes. It was not an orc: they only restrained themselves when ordered to and even then only for a short period of time.

He didn’t think it was the necromancer. If whoever the watcher was was using a glamour spell he couldn’t pick it up. Sensing no intermediate threat Skold moved on after a moment. The presence did not follow.

It was a short walk back to the spot where Konstantine and Skold had camped. It had been two days since they left Stautinger and they were making steady progress towards Chateau de la Maubvin despite Illyum’s warning about the level of snowfall. While Skold had been out hunting for their meal Konstantine had made good time in collecting wood and getting a fire going. Neither had gonerun far for fear of running into trouble. Should trouble arise one needed to be able to get to the other quickly.

The two horses had been tied to a tree and were standing around patiently, not a care in the world.

“You were quick,” said Konstantine.

“So were you,” said Skold. He strung the rabbits up on a tree branch and pulled the long bladed dagger he kept sheathed in his boot. He went about the familiar chore of skinning the rabbits. Over the past few hours he had built up a heavy appetite and was looking forward to food.

The tension between Skold and Konstantine had faded since leaving Stautinger though Konstantine still expressed doubts about going to Chateau de la Maubvin.

“I think we’re being followed,” Skold said later as the two elves sat around the fire watching the rabbits roast above the flames.

Konstantine glanced over. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Did you see them?”

“No.”

“Glamour spell?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t sense one but that doesn’t mean anything.”

After a moment’s hesitation: “Do you think it’s the necromancer?”

Their eyes connected. Skold’s jaw clenched. For a moment the tension that had arisen between them back at Stautinger was back. Skold sighed and the tension died has quickly as it had appeared.

“No,” he said. “I don’t know who it is but we should keep an eye out.”

“Aye,” Konstantine agreed.

Once they’d finished their dinner, Skold and Konstantine buried the signs of their camp under snow and continued on north. As they traveled Skold continued to feel as though they were being watched and followed.

“I feel it too,” said Konstantine.

They retrieved the two horses and moved through the wood carefully, keeping their eyes on the trees, scanning the crevices where danger might potentially hide. At all times Skold kept one gloved hand on the handle of his sword. It was a tense moment yet he found himself looking forward to the prospect of danger - anything to break up the monotony.

Hours passed and still their follower did not present itself.

As the shadows began to lengthen they went about the tasks of finding dinner: Skold hunted and Konstantine set up camp. It wasn’t long before Skold found himself tracking a doe. The creature was quick and graceful and Skold found himself enjoying the hunt. At long last when he was tired of the chase and felt he had wandered off far enough from Konstantine he took the doe with a volley of arrows.

He had just snapped the creature’s neck when he sensed movement behind him. Within the blink of an eyes, Skold whirled around, an arrow knocked, only to come to face-to-face with a familiar figure.

It was Eloyse, the seer.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t let this arrow go,” said Skold.

She smiled. “You’re quick and very skilled for one your age, Skold, but not skilled enough to kill me.”

“I would certainly like to try. It would be nice to have a challenge other than rabbits and deer.”

Her smile remained on her face. “I’m here because the necromancer sent me.”

Skold lowered his bow. HIs mouth upturned into a frown. “The necromancer?”

The seer nodded.

“You’re in league with him?”

She nodded again. “I have been the whole time. Why else do you think I was on that hill where you found the scouts? Because he sent me to you. He’s waiting for you Skold. He’s been waiting for you for a very long time.”

“I don’t understand,” said Skold.

“Come with me and you will. But we must leave Konstantine - he can’t come with us.”

Skold shook his head and turned around. He went over to the fallen deer and picked it up, draping it over his shoulders. “I can’t.” He began to head back in the direction of camp.

“Skold,” said the seer.

Something in her voice made him stop, made him turn around. He looked at her and sensed her age. Though her appearance defied her age, as did Skold’s, he knew she came from a time when the world was young. Beneath the glamour spell she cast around herself her flesh was wrinkled, hanging loose off the bones. Yet he thought he saw a weariness about her. How long had she wandered the earth, scheming, watching civilizations and kingdoms fall? In that moment he almost felt sympathy for her.

“Why do you fight against your desires?” she asked. “Why do you fight against your destiny?”

“I have no destiny,” he said. “My life, such as it is, has been shaped by the desires of another.”

“Solomon,” she said, nodding. “Your father, I know. But he is dead now and your whole life you have hated him. Yet even after his death you did what he wanted and fulfilled his wishes without thought.”

“And the necromancer, can he offer me a better life?” Skold asked. Though his voice was soft his eyes burned, challenging her.

“You know he can. You’ve seen his power.”

Skold could no longer find the words to challenge her. His mind was a spinning funnel. He was torn between heading back to camp and the ever growing desire to give himself to the necromancer. And when he thought about leaving Konstantine and Sonja and the life he’d always known behind he felt nothing...but relief. Yet as he’d done so many times before, he turned his back on his secret desires and on the seer and walked away with the lifeless deer draped over his shoulders.

Before he could make it far a shape came at him from the right. Skold threw the deer onto the ground and turned just in time to see an orc charging towards him, a mace raised above its head. Skold reached for a dagger but there was no time - the brute had caught him completely off guard. He managed to grab the handle of the mace before the orc grabbed him by the throat with a massive hand and slammed him up against the trunk of a tree with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs.

The orc’s breath was humid against his face and rancid. It was impossible to breathe. Already the world was starting to darken at the edges. Skold had no choice but to draw in the energy around him and form into a solid burst of energy that exploded from all around him. It slammed into the orc and sent the brute flying into the air.

The ground threatened to rise towards Skold’s face but somehow he found the will to remain standing. He staggered forward and almost tripped over something. It was the mace the orc had dropped. Without thinking Skold grabbed the mace and marched towards the orc. Before the orc could fully get to his feet, Skold raised the mace above his head and brought it down on the brute’s head with all his strength. The blunt end of the mace connected with bone, caving in the orcs skull. Shreds of grey flesh and brain matter fell into the snow.

There was no time to ponder the scene. Skold burst into a run. For the moment the seer’s words were completely forgotten. He thought of the sudden premonition he had back in Stautinger and hoped he wasn’t already too late. One name repeated in his mind over and over again: Konstantine, Konstantine, Konstantine…

He was too late.

The horses had been slain, their bellies slit from end to end, laying on a bed of their own guts and intestines. Skold counted several orcs and they were all armed. The largest one in the group, the leader, had Konstantine by the hair. The elf knelt at his feet. One eye had been swelled completely shut. His face was an unrecognizable mass of bruises. A flap of skin hung from one cheek showing blood and bone. One arm hung limp at the ground, bent in an awkward position. Looking at the state of his comrade, Skold was surprised by the level of murderous rage it ignited in him...the only thing that stopped him was the doubt he could kill all of them in time before he got to Konstantine.

I can’t risk it.

“Drop your weapons,” the leader of the orc said.

Skold didn’t move but stared at Konstantine. The elf was wheezing, half unconcious. Even as part of his brain told him it was futile Skold tried to think of a strategy, timing how quickly he could get to Konstantine. Even with his skills he was not all-powerful. There was no spell he knew of that could take them all out at once. He wondered if Eloyse was seeing this, if she would do anything to help.

I can’t rely on her. We’re alone in this.

Now the orc was pressing the blade of a dagger to Konstantine’s throat. “Drop it - or I’ll slit his throat and you can watch him bleed out.”

Every bit of Skold’s training fought against the order. The orc would most likely do it anyway - Konstantine was good as dead. But Skold watched his own hand drop the mace, pull out his sword and throw it to the forest floor, and unstrap his bow and quiver of arrows. It was like watching a stranger to do all these things.

The orc laughed.

Konstantine looked at Skold with one good eye. “Skold,” he said in a raspy voice, “I love you.”

Then the orc drew the knife across his throat.

Skold felt his grip on reality fall away. This has to be a dream, he thought. Please let this be a dream. The orc leader had stepped back, joining his group in laughter. Konstantine’s one good eye bulged out of his head. He had his good hand pressed to his throat to staunch the bleeding but there was blood everywhere. It spewed from under his fingers, soaking the front of his robes, staining the fabric crimson.

Skold was jerked away by the sense of unreality, by a storm of emotion unlike anything he’d ever felt: Despair, regret, and guilt. It hit him with such force that he forgot who he was and where he was. Then, beneath it all, a rage that engulfed everything. A howl of rage erupted from his throat.

He didn’t remember picking up the mace or sword in each hand; one second he was watching Konstantine die and the next he was charging towards the orcs. It would have been quicker to kill them with magic but he wanted to sever their heads from their shoulders; he wanted to feel their blood on his face. They moved to flank him but there was nothing the orcs could do to stop him. Skold was driven by bloodlust and it only added to his strength and speed.

Two orcs came at him from his left and right. The elf slashed with his sword, nearly severing the orc on the right’s head just as the one on the left swung his spear. The barbed end connected with Skold’s cheek, splitting it open. A mixture of adrenaline and rage diminished the pain. Skold’s face contorted into a monstrous look of utter fury. Like an animal he snarled and hammered at the orc with his mace. He crushed the brute’s face with an uppercut.

He spun around, narrowly dodging around the third orc and lashed out with a kick at the fourth. His foot connected with the orc’s diaphragm and sent him staggering back. A series of slashes from his swords took them out. The fifth and sixth he dispatched in the blink of an eye. In less than fifteen seconds he’d taken six out of the seven orcs. Now he charged at the leader, leaping over Konstantine’s lifeless corpse.

They dropped to the ground in a collision of flesh, muscle, bone, and armor. Even as Skold felt orc hands enclose around his throat once more, he straddled him. He pressed his fingers to the orc’s eyes and pushed with all his might. The rush of blood and the deafening drumwork of his own heart deafened the orc’s scream. No matter how hard he thrashed Skold clung on. His fingers crushed the orc’s eyeballs, digging deeper into the sockets. His lips were peeled back from his teeth. His silvery steel-colored eyes were narrowed down to slits.

It seemed an eternity passed before the orc finally stopped moving altogether. Slowly sound bled back into the world. The adrenaline drained out of Skold’s system. He sat on the orc’s chest, too exhausted to get up. For a moment consciousness slipped away and when he came to his entire body was numb.

The wound on his cheek stung but it was the only injury he’d sustained. Soon it would heal - there wouldn’t even be a scar. However there were no words that could describe how he felt internally. He crawled over to Konstantine’s body and rolled the corpse over. The face was a false mask of the elf who’d been his greatest ally, the one and only being who had loved him despite his many faults. His neck yawned open, dark with blood already beginning to dry.

There was no getting away from the despair and guilt Skold felt. The ice wall he’d built so carefully around himself was blasted away. He now felt vulnerable, helpless. The sudden swarm of emotion was a mind-numbing shock. He found himself remembering all the times he’d slept in Konstantine’s arms, all the times he’d laughed at his advances and mocked his proclamations of love. How unabashedly cruel he’d been.

I should have told him, Skold told himself. I should have told him back at Satutinger not to come with me but I didn’t. Why didn’t I tell him? Now it’s too late. It’s too late to tell him I’m sorry - it’s too late for anything.

Night was falling rapidly now. The sky was almost completely black, the moon almost completely out. He gradually became aware of the seer’s presence - how long she’d been standing there, watching him grieve he didn’t know and didn’t care.

“I’m sorry, Skold,” she said softly.

He didn’t look up. “Where were you? You could have helped him. Why didn’t you help him?”

“No one could’ve helped him.” She said nothing else. It was the only explanation she seemed willing to give. Her words or lack thereof did not anger Skold; he was too tired to feel angry.

“So it was his fate,” Skold said.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Just as it’s mine to meet this necromancer.”

“Aye.”

Skold sighed and rose slowly to his feet. He turned to face the seer. “I will go with you to Chateau de la Maubvin.”

“Do you plan on doing anything foolish?” Eloyse asked.

“I will hear him out - and then after that we’ll see. But first I’m going to bury Konstantine.”

She nodded. “I will tell him. He will be pleased.” Then she disappeared in a flash of green light and Skold was alone amongst the dead.

The night had come and gone by the time Skold finished digging the grave. He buried Konstantine with his sword. Skold stood off to the side, studying his work; his hair was matted and tangled. His cheeks and forehead were smeared with dirt; there was dirt under his fingernails. The grave itself wasn’t perfect - he didn’t have a shovel so he’d had to use the mace has a sort of crude hoe - but it was the best he could give Konstantine. “I’m sorry,” he told the grave. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted - I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you deserved.”

He grabbed his own sword and sheathed it. He was ready to go to Chateau de la Maubvin. He didn’t think there’d ever been a time when he’d been more ready for anything in his life.