Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 13 – The Shadows of Marek

Note: I thought I was a little overdue for an action sequence for a Fantasy story. It's been awhile since I tried fighting sequences like this, so I wasn't entirely happy with the wording an such, but I think it got the point across. Enjoy.

Disc 1
Track 13: The Road Leads Where It Has Led – The Secret Machines

“Uncertainty fails”

Ten days past after leaving the Rock Garden Of Manta before Oan and Nestor reached the foothills of the mountains. The vegetation consisting both of tall, thick proud leaf-bearing trees and the beginnings of the wide, low to the ground needle-bearers that ruled the mountainside mixed with a dense wall of bushes and shrubs, which made travel difficult. There were trails carving through the terrain, some made by deer, bears and big cats. Others were made by the strange race of men and dwarves known only as the Shadows of Marek.

The trails were narrow and crude, forcing the two travelers to dismount and lead the horses through. The steeds did not go willingly. The foothills were a dark place with shadows and wild beasts. Animals could sense danger as well or perhaps better than men. Oan, more sensitive than most, could feel eyes watching him from deep in the thicket. He had been in the foothills when he was a boy with the protection of the witch, but that had been a long time ago.

Nestor mumbled a lot, the suffocating nature of the place made the old man dream of being back out in the wide-open skies of the desert.

That night they camped at the base of a large hill where three trails converged to form a rare, flat open spot. Oan supposed it was foolish to camp on the trail, but he knew the dangers of the forest would find them just as well in the thicket as they would on the trail. Besides, he knew the shadows were watching. He just wasn’t sure they’d be brave enough to attack.

Nestor insisted on doing the hunt that night in an attempt to be more than just a burden to Oan. The Aldroubi had provided a spear for Nestor when they left camp, but the man was awkward with it. He tended to carry it as staff, and Oan guessed, the man intended to use it the same in action. Oan unsaddled the horses and gave them a good rubdown followed by a handful of grain mixed with some herbs to settle their nerves. He laid the heavy sword Kekur down near where he built a small fire. With those tasks completed, he laid down using his blanket roll as a pillow and nodded off to sleep. They had done nothing but travel since Nestor fully recovered in the Rock Garden and it was beginning to catch up with him. Even on hunts with the Aldroubi, there was a day or two of rest between trips out.

He wasn’t sure how long he had dozed before a loud crack forced him to his feet with his spear ready in hand. The thicket to his right was shaking wildly, and he cursed himself for being so foolish.

“Come out, Shadow,” Oan sounded out. “Come meet my spear.”

Grunts came for the thicket and it started to shake more. Oan kept his feet wide, his knees bent; his entire body was wound for the attack.

“Come out, Shadow,” he shouted, jabbing forward.

Finally, the bushes opened and a wild boar’s face was staring back into his eyes. For a moment, Oan was stunned to see a boar tall enough to reach his eyes before he realized the eyes were very much dead. The boar was riding across Nestor’s shoulders. Oan let out the air he was holding tight.

“What was all that you was yelling,” Nestor asked while panting? Sweat was pouring down his scarred face, but a grin was beaming out from him jaws. The man had meant to get a rise out of Oan. “I’ve caught us a feast, now give me a hand.”

“This is too much for just two,” Oan said reaching up to lift the boar from the man’s shoulders. The beast had to weigh as much as half a man. “We can’t eat it all tonight and it will spoil before we stop again.”

“We’ll dry it and salt it my boy,” Oan winked. “It lasts us longer than those furry critters you catch stay in my belly, that’s for sure.”

“Salt? Who has salt?”

“I am a man with many surprises boy,” Nestor winked again. Oan tensed at that admission.

“I doubt that not.”

Nestor and Oan spent most the night butchering the beast, cooking it down and wrapping up long dried strips in bits of cloth from a pack that Nestor had brought with him from the camp. By the time they were done, Old Moon was high in the sky with New Moon falling near behind, and each man had a stomach rounded out and full. It didn’t take long for both to fall asleep, Nestor first with long snores and a whistle from his one open nostril. Oan was too tired and his stomach too full to let it bother him. He would come to regret that.

The thing that Oan did not know, nor Nestor for that matter, was that the Shadows of Marek received their name for several reasons. One was that no matter their girth, and some of them were three times the size of a normal man, they could move as shadows without a sound moving among the dark like the wind between branches. Oan didn’t hear them when they came upon the path at the top of the hill.

The first was a dwarf whose height barely came up to Oan’s thighs. The dwarf was bald with a long blonde mustache. He had strong arms and legs and carried an old, rusted ax.

His partner was what the old people called a Gargola. They had been used to carry boulders from the caves of Marek. The man was easily twice the height of Oan, his arms nearly as wide as Oan’s waist. He carried two clubs that could have past as trunks for trees. He had the face of dullard, because he was. They both were. Like the rest of the Shadows of Marek, they were stricken with the lunacy and idiocy passed down by their ancestors when Tarek Grandar cursed them and banished them from the mountains. They were from a line of traitors living out an eternal punishment.

Despite that, they were dangerous and lethal. The dwarf had his ax’s blade at Oan’s throat before the man could open an eye. If Nestor had not screeched when the Gargola wrapped its meaty paws around his throat, then Oan would not have awoke at all. Later, Oan wondered if the witch’s curse could heal a head separated from a neck. It was a question that he never wished to have answered.

Oan caught the ax in his palms, feeling it dig nearly all the way through before stopping when it hit bone. The dwarf’s eyes widened in surprise and Oan pushed up against the blade. Oan felt his blood dripping down onto his chest. With a great shove, he sent the dwarf sprawling onto his back. Oan felt for his spear, found it and went on the attack.

The dwarf was quick, dodging Oan’s first thrust and then cutting the spear in two with his ax. Across the fire, he could hear Nestor gurgling caught in the Gargola’s grasp. Oan held the two ends of the spear and without a second thought, threw the pointed end across the fire. The spear whistled as it crossed the distance, then struck with a wet thud in the Gargola’s shoulder. It let out a hollow moan dropping Nestor without a care to the ground. Oan admired how the old man started crawling toward his spear even while gasping for air.

Oan’s hands tingled as they healed, but he soon he forgot the sensation as the dwarf cut deep just above his rib. Oan dropped to a knee. The dwarf pulled the blade out and swung again at his head. Oan rolled away still grasping the dull half of the spear. Getting back to his knees, his entire back burned as dirt stuck in the wound before it fully healed.

The dwarf charged, Oan thrust once with the spear, but the dwarf fended it off with the ax sending it sailing away in shards. Oan rolled away again. He caught a glimpse of Nestor landing a few hard strikes with the dull end of the spear, but they barely fazed the muscled Gargola. The monster thrashed once with his arm knocking Nestor the ground. For a moment, the man’s one good eye caught Oan’s and then flashed to the ground near the fire. Oan looked over to where the long bundle rested on the ground.

Lying on his back, Oan saw the dwarf cross his field of vision. He kicked the dwarf away giving him a moment to think. He crawled backward on his elbows toward the bundle. He was looking for any other defense other than the sword. He had grown up detesting the blades that had brought the world to its knees. Despite that, Kekur was ungodly heavy. How could a man fight with such a thing?

He kicked again at the dwarf, but missed. The dwarf was getting too close, raising the ax well over his head. This was Oan’s only chance. Reaching over, he pulled at the hilt. The cloth gave away as Old Moon’s pale light reflected off Kekur. At first, Kekur was too heavy for him to lift from his back, but as he strained the sword changed, almost as if it were giddy for battle. Oan’s hands fit perfectly in the groves as he brought Kekur up to meet the ax blade. Oan thought he saw a glowing light follow the blade’s route. When it hit the ax, it tore into the blade making a deep cut all the way down to the handle. The dwarf dropped it before it reached his hands.

Seeing the sword for the first time, the dwarf’s face contorted into a vast mix of rage, fear and shame. The sound the dwarf made then came from deep inside it’s muted, cursed soul. It knew very well what that sword was. Soon the Gargola joined in the inhuman chorus before both bounding away into the thicket. Their shrieks could be heard for miles. It was not long before other voices joined in. The Shadows of Marek were awake and frightened. The King they had betrayed long ago had returned for retribution.

Oan finally tore his eyes away from the blade to see that Nestor was sitting on his knees across the fire also staring at Kekur.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing a spear any more, my boy,” Nestor’s voice was hoarse. Oan’s frown went from the old man back to the blade.