:: Death Colony: Survivors :: Molthru :: Fatality Avenue ::

MOLTHRU
Chapter 12: The Northern Path

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    They plodded along for some time without rest. Southwards, Eldernas faded out of sight, and the dim fog of Molthru drew closer, yet they were still some way off. Brethren and Asgoth rode side by side, telling each other tales of their homes, equally fascinated by one another’s stories.

    'You speak the common tongue well.' said Brethren. 'Are many of your people educated in our language?'

    'Nay,' replied Asgoth. 'Few know the common tongue, though I have tarried for many a year with Valeer and through him have learnt what his father knew of your speech. Tell me, how does your friend know of Olden? He is elf, indeed, yet of the second kind. It is most unusual to hear our tongue spoken with such an accent!' he laughed.

    'Myron the Great taught Harmon all he knows of the world.' said Brethren, proudly. 'Including Olden as you call it. Be not mistaken, my lord Asgoth, Harmon is as much a first elf in mind as you are in body.'

    'I've no doubt.' replied the soldier, glancing back at Harmon, who rode slightly behind in silence with his head bowed low. He ached to look back to get one last look at Eldernas. Tears welled up in his eyes as the burden of his quest lay heavily on his mind. Harmon glanced eastward where he could see the Plains and the Arkan Forest, separated by the Mote of Relda which ran around the Forest.

    ‘We shall have to cross the Mote again!’ cried Harmon, interrupting Asgoth, who was about to speak. The three pulled to a halt and Harmon spoke again, absently. ‘What if the horses will not cross? I do not fancy taking my chances with another bridge, if there is one that is.’ A silence fell on the group as they pondered this. Asgoth was next to speak.

    ‘My Lord, King Fithíl has passed on fine steeds. They will take you where you please. Thought it is to say we may have no need to cross the Mote at all, the Northern way leads around such paths. Come, we must make haste, I am unfamiliar with this Path and do not wish to linger. A fell stench is in the air.’ There was a stench. The foul odour of Goblins. Riding at a faster pace, they now all fell silent and continued to walk, hands on the hilts of their swords, eyes shifting about for the first sign of danger. But what befell them was not Goblin. A familiar dark shadow passed like the wind over Asgoth’s head. It then begun circling them.

    ‘Black Dragon!’ he cried, his horse rearing up, Asgoth drawing his sword. Brethren and Harmon drew their swords and watched as the dark creature circled above them.

    ‘Should we not fly?’ pleaded Brethren. ‘We are fools to stay!’

    ‘We will be fools if we run!’ shouted Asgoth. ‘Black Dragon’s are quicker and swifter than any horse ever will be. If we run, we will not make it far. We must destroy it!’ he swung to the left as a whip of fire came lashing at him from the Dragon’s mouth. The Black Dragon then landed with a rumbling thud infront of them, blocking their path. The horses, with every will they had, drew back, rearing and whinnying in fear. Harmon, gaining control of his steed, strode up to the dragon that eyed him hungrily.

    ‘Tar neer daemon afe Molthru! Be gone, and trouble us no more!’ then galloping forward, he drove his sword into the Dragon’s throat. It shook it’s head, shaking both Harmon and the sword to one side against a jagged stretch of rock, the horse backing away behind Asgoth and Brethren.

    Asgoth strode forward and pulling out his Elfen bow, fired three shots consecutively into its forehead. It squealed and breathed fire into the sky, filling the air with an thunderous roar. It then drooped, hesitated, and darted off heavily into the sky, heading back to Molthru, blood pouring from its wounds. Brethren clambered off his horse and ran over to Harmon, who was lying unconscious on the floor. He propped Harmon’s head up with his hand, only to find seconds later that a layer of blood appeared on it. Blood was also on the rock Harmon was thrown against.

    ‘The demon!’ cried Brethren, putting his Masters head on his lap. ‘I think he is breathing, but he is hurt for sure. Asgoth dismounted his horse and crouched by the two young Elves. He then undid the first few buttons of Harmon’s shirt and felt for a heartbeat.

    ‘He is certainly alive,’ sighed Asgoth, relieved. ‘Yet he is badly injured. Look here, his shoulder has been dislocated. We must find some Kinsbrush and Willow Leaves and make a strong remedy, or the wounds may never heal.’ Brethren looked puzzled.

    ‘What are Kinsbrush and Willow Leaves? I have never come across such things.’

    ‘If we spare some of the water we have and make a mixture from these flowers, we can make an ointment that we call Tailka and treat him. There, look, on the rock face. Those small bushes carry Willow Leaves. I will look for the Kinsbrush.’ And so they searched. Brethren cut off a handful of Willow Leaves and walked over to Asgoth who was searching for the remaining ingredient.

    ‘This is a foul journey and no mistake,’ Brethren uttered, absently. ‘We should have stayed in Elfen and sent some real Warrior’s to fight the battle. Perhaps Men? No, they are selfish and care not for the likes of Elves. Then who? Aye, this is a foul journey.’ He muttered to himself. Asgoth overheard and chuckled, though made no response.

    ‘Ah ha!’ he said at length. ‘Here we are, Kinsbrush. Bright as the morning sun, not difficult to find at all!’ he reached into a small crack, careful not to prick himself on the nettles and thorns that surrounded it. He pulled a handful out and passed it to Brethren. ‘I take it you collected the Willow Leaves with no trouble?’

    ‘Aye, Sir.’ answered Brethren, still a little confused as to how flowers and leaves are going to help Harmon. Asgoth knelt by Harmon putting his cloak underneath his head as a pillow and removed Harmon’s shirt. The bruises were beginning to show. His left shoulder was limp and bruised black and purple. Down his left side nearing his ribs, softer bruises were beginning to show and small scratches and cuts started to bleed.

    ‘He has been injured before?’ Asgoth noticed, pointing to the arrow wound in Harmon’s left shoulder. The wound was healed and left nothing now but a white scar. ‘What sort of brute monster impaired him?’ This description of Old Mr. Abbot made Brethren laugh.

    ‘Twas no Monster, Sir, it was an old Second Elf, as you would call him. Old Abbot we named him. Didn’t like Harmon standing around his house too much, I suppose,’ he guessed. ‘Still, a foul thing to do, in my mind!’

    ‘Indeed,’ Asgoth agreed. ‘Pass me some water, I shall have to mend his shoulder, and the pain will be less if he is unconscious.’ Brethren passed a canister of water over to Asgoth who poured some into the lid, crumbled up some of the Kinsbrush and Willow Leaves and mixed it up with his finger. The sweet smell floated up Brethren’s nostrils and his eyelids drooped. Asgoth then rubbed some into his hands and begun spreading it over where Harmon was wounded. Harmon flinched but did not wake up. ‘I shall need you to sit by him and hold his body as still.’ Brethren did as he was told.

    ‘If you’ll pardon my asking, Sir, what are you doing? Some kind of magic? Have you made a potion?’ he asked as he placed Harmon’s head back on his lap and held his body still. Asgoth took Harmon’s left arm in one hand and his shoulder firmly in the other.

    ‘Tis no Wizardry, my boy. It is what we call Medicine. Have you not heard of it back in Elfen?’ Brethren shook his head. ‘How then did you treat the sick and wounded?’

    ‘Wizardry, as you call it, Sir,’ he replied. ‘Myron the Great aided us. We rarely had use of any Medicines as you say.’

    ‘To you it may have appeared to be Magick. But I can assure you it was probably no more than natural healing. Come now, hold his body tight!’ Brethren held Harmon completely still whilst Asgoth held firm on his hand and shoulders. With a sickening crack and a forceful push, Harmon’s shoulder was back in place.

    ‘What now?’ asked Brethren.

    ‘We wait for him to wake up. We will not get far carrying a sleeping soul. Here, I will make another batch of Tailka for your journey through the Caverns, should you need it.' said Asgoth as he made another mixture, placing it in his own water pouch and slipping it into Brethren's pack.

    Harmon’s eyes gradually opened. He winced and cried out as he sat up, his hand flying to his shoulder to support it. As he slowly blinked away his blurry vision, he looked around to see two sets of worried but relieved faces looking upon him. Glancing over to the East, he could see the sun setting. He startled and tried to stand.

    ‘It is almost dark! We must leave, immediately!’ he cried, tripping and falling back into a sitting position. Brethren helped Harmon stand and eased him back onto his horse. The rest of the company then mounted their horses and began ambling once again along the Northern Path .

    ‘Asgoth suggested we wait until you awaken, lad.’ Brethren said. Asgoth bowed the best he could whilst on his horse. Rage and dread fumed in Harmon’s eyes.

    ‘I beg your forgiveness young Master, but you were injured in battle. For a moment we feared you may have been dead, you were cold and did not stir nor make a sound. Again, forgive me. Forgive us both, if you will, for we both laid you still and would not move you until you awoke.’ Harmon’s expression softened and he bowed in return, flinching.

    At length they began riding once more along the Northern Path. No one spoke, all they did was listen. Every sound around them seemed louder than was normal. Animals that lived in the rocks would grind every stone they touched as they scurried out of the riders’ way. The wind blew softly, but hit the ears like a pounding drum from a far off land. Harmon inhaled and his brow furrowed.

    ‘The air has changed,’ he said softly. ‘The air comes from Molthru now, it is not fresh, I do not like it.’ Asgoth and Brethren too inhaled deeply, wrinkling their noses, nodding in agreement. ‘Let us hope we can move quickly to the end of the path without further danger. Grangor is even watchful, he has many spies in many forms.’ He trailed off muttering inaudibly to himself, a look of angst and worry embedded upon his face as they continued riding.

 

    ‘The dragon has not returned, I fear the worst has happened!’ growled Hòstalk, a tall and burley Goblin, prodding his sword against Malrec who leant against the rocks, indifferent.  A third and fourth Goblin, the same height and build of the first stood silently. Malrec was shorter but equally built. ‘Be on your guard. The enemy may be afoot.’ Malrec shot a heavy lidded eye down the path and yawned. Hòstalk fondled the handle to his axe.

    ‘Nothing heads this way, that foolish Dragon probably fell asleep. We have no business in these parts. Three days have we been here and not so much as a rabbit has crossed our path! We must look like fools!’

    ‘While you be a fool whether you look it or no,’ Hòstalk snapped. ‘We have a job to do. I say that dragon should be back here by now.’ He then squinted and blocking the sun from his view he saw three riders trudging down the path on horseback. Two in front, one lagging slightly behind. ‘Ho!’ he shouted. ‘The enemy is ahead!’

 

    Asgoth raised his hand furtively and the company drew to a halt. ‘Goblins!’ he hissed. ‘Keep your hands on your swords and be on your guard, they are watching the path no doubt. I will ride ahead and request that we pass.’

    ‘Why not just slay them?’ asked Brethren.

    ‘Fithíl’s people have always shown mercy to even the foulest of foe,’ said Asgoth. ‘I shall only do battle with them if they bid it.’ Harmon and Brethren watched with bated breath as Asgoth wearily strode forward.

    ‘Merry meetings!’ he charmed. The four Goblins stood staring at him, fire in their eyes. Asgoth dismounted his horse. ‘We wish to pass.’ Hòstalk cackled and spat on the ground.

    ‘You cannot pass through here! You are the enemy, we would be fools to let you through!’ Asgoth drew his sword. The Goblins flinched at the shimmering light it gave off like rabbits infront of a headlight.

    ‘Allow us to pass, or you shall die before your axes are removed from your belts.’ There was a deafening silence.  ‘Will you allow us to pass?’

    ‘Tel naak! Tel naak!’ bellowed Hòstalk, drawing his axe. The other Goblins mimicked his actions, also shouting, ‘Tel naak! Tel naak!’

    ‘What do they say?’ shouted Brethren, drawing his sword.

    ‘It is the battle cry of their people!’ replied Asgoth. Swinging his sword, his was able to take Malrec out with a single blow. Harmon and Brethren dismounted their horses and ran to Asgoth’s aid. The battle was long and tiresome.

    Every shot made by the elves were aimed well but missed the target by only a hair. Asgoth slew the two Goblins at the rear whilst Harmon and Brethren fought Hòstalk, who almost instantly threw Harmon to one side, for he was still weak from the encounter with the dragon. Brethren held his own quite well. Asgoth ran to aid Harmon.

    ‘Help Brethren! He cannot fight alone!’ he shouted. Asgoth nodded and ran to Brethren’s aid.  Hòstalk was able to fight them both well. Brethren was growing tired.

    ‘Aid your friend, I will kill this beast!’ Asgoth demanded. Brethren ran to Harmon’s aid, helping him out of harms way.

    All they could do was watch as Hòstalk cut the blade of Asgoth’s sword in two with his mighty axe. Unarmed, Asgoth stepped back, drawing his Elfin bow. With one fell swoop Hòstalk brought his axe down upon Asgoth, who fell to the ground, blood seeping through his mail that had failed to protect him. Hòstalk reeled in morbid joy and held his sword aloft.

    ‘Tel naak!’ he bellowed, his breathing hissing through his yellow-brown, chipped teeth. He glared at the two remaining Elves. Harmon scrambled to his feet, pushing back the pain. Together, the two young elves lunged into battle, their swords flying this way and that, Hòstalk skillfully blocking every blow. However, in spite of his strength, he could not keep it up for long. As Harmon and Brethren surrounded him, circling him, he spun quickly, trying to determine their next move. Their strokes fell simultaneously, and Hòstalk knew no more. They stood for a moment, catching their breath.

    Asgoth lay slain on the ground in the middle of the four Goblins. Carefully and slowly, they dragged Asgoth’s body to the side of the rode. Harmon bent down and kissed him lightly on the forehead, and closed his unblinking, dull eyes. Tears ran freely down both of their cheeks. Harmon stood up and turned to Brethren.

    ‘Hand me your sword.’ he said. Brethren did so, confused. It soon became clear why Harmon had taken Fithíl’s sword from Brethren. He laid it across Asgoth’s breast and wrapped his hands around it. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll not need your sword again, I’ll not let anything harm you. Or, if it would comfort you to have a weapon, you could take a Goblin axe.’

    ‘I’ll do no such thing!’ said Brethren, disgusted, frowning upon the blood stained weapon. ‘I heard a saying once that one should never use the weapon of a foe that slew a friend.’ Harmon smiled warmly and his friend and to Brethren’s surprise he embraced him tightly. Confused, but moved, Brethren returned the embrace and the two stood for a moment, still.

    ‘We must be going.’ Said Harmon at length. ‘Grangor may wield the orb soon, if he has not done so already.’