Previously in The Tale of Jarthen, Bertronius gained more insight into the mysterious McNab and Jarthen and his party were left to defend themselves against some of the more evil denizens of the Dark Lands.
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“Finally,” Bertronius thought to himself, “my chance has come!” He was glad that McNab had given him and his comrades very loose instructions on how to spend their afternoon: "Split up," he told them "and try to get a feel for the city. Ye've got to know the place afore ye can hope to get anything useful," and, after pausing for a moment, "actually, Lem, Nel, ye two stick together...I don't trust the two of ye yer own."
Though he had enjoyed his lunch with McNab and Scrudton, his urgent and burning desire to find Larthon Ractor had been an overwhelming distraction. All he knew was that Larthon Ractor had been assigned to Susselfen several months ago. It was an open question, he knew, whether the scoundrel was still there, or if he had ever arrived there in the first place.
Where would could he even begin? He couldn't just waltz into the army personnel office -- not that he knew where that would even be -- and brazenly ask for the whereabouts of a particular soldier without a very good reason. Bertronius sighed, and furrowed his brow, trying desperately to come up with some feasible course of action. Suddenly, inspiration hit! “Of course!” though Bertronius, as a smile, sly grin spread across his face, “the gambling houses…”
As the beast descended, Rethnaki turned impossibly fast and let out a stream of arrows. Mortally wounded before hitting the ground, the creature attacking Safir let out a ferocious cry: one that grew more bloodcurdling and deafening as the others of its kind joined it, one by one. “It’s their war cry! They’re going to attack us all! There’s so many of them…” cried Jarthen, his eyes widening and hands beginning to tremble with a pervasive sense of impending doom. Jarthen realized quite suddenly that he was woefully unprepared for this – after all, in his only prior battle he had been knocked unconscious and captured by the enemy early before even recognizing what was going on around him.
“Aye lad, ye best ready yerself. Get yer bow and put yer trainin’ ta good use!” Jellihondor said with reassuring calm, giving the lad’s shoulder a small, comforting pat as he watched the evil desert creatures ahead grouping together and scuttling across the path towards them. The red elves had shaken off their weariness and were strapping on their weapons with alacrity and what little they had brought with them that could be counted as armor.
Safir picked himself up and nodded gratefully at Rethnaki before running off to help Glothnafar erect makeshift barricades in front of the red elvish archers. “Come on! Help us build these up while there’s still time!” said the felintark. As Jellihondor and Jarthen pitched in, heaving rocks and wedging thick, deadly spines snapped off the nearby brambles into the open spaces, Jarthen saw Rethnaki positioning the remaining elves around in strategic spots. Jarthen wondered how his friend could be so collected, so focused at such a time when he himself could barely lift stones.
Jarthen helps build the deadly barricade
The terrible apes were getting closer now, and Jarthen could feel the blood pounding in his ears. “Jarthen, lad, how’re ye feelin’? Feel like ye’ll be able ta use yer bow?” asked Rethnaki, taking stock of the boy’s wan face and clenched jaw.
“I think so, yeah.” Jarthen replied, steadying himself.
“Good, I’m goin’ ta have ye stand right o’er here. Shoot any o’ them damned apes ye see driftin’ away from the center column they got headin’ this way, alrigh’? Helkint here’ll be helpin’ ye out.” Rethanki paused a second and with a light grin added, “make sure you two hit them and not each other.”
"Cry havoc, and let slip the monkeys of war..."
Across the way Jarthen saw that Helkint’s best friend, Tlin, had been stationed in a similar flanking position across the way along with a couple of elves Jarthen did not know well. Tlin waved at Helkint nervously and nodded bravely at Jarthen before fiddling nervously with his quiver. Just behind the center of the barricade were the four swiftest and most deadly archers in the group: Rethnaki, Jellihondor, Elcrona, and Sellior. They had arranged themselves in two rows, with the tallest two, Sellior and Jellihondor, standing just behind Rethnaki and Elcrona.
“Alrigh’, lads, we’re not made o’ arrows here, so don’ shoot the bastards till you can count their teeth a-gnashin’ at ye! Shoot ‘em through the eye if ye can, it’ll knock ‘em down fastest. Now ready yerselves, and whate’er ye do, remember we’re lost without the barricade!” called Rethnaki, his eyes narrowed and bowstring pulled taut with its deadly projectile.
In the handful of eerily silent, still seconds that passed, Jarthen saw that each of his comrades was frozen in place, ready to strike, looking for all the world like a fearsome tableau. He, too, was standing perfectly still, every muscle tensed and ready as he held his bow tightly against his heaving breast.
the Rebels prepare themselves for the impending battle
Jarthen felt the adrenaline kick in and override his nerves just as the first wave of hideous, snarling creatures flung themselves at the barricade. Several of the creatures speared themselves on the spines in the process and howled in agony as they struggled to free themselves and bled out thick, black fluid. Jarthen shot one terrible beast through the mouth, causing it to fall backward and writhe in pain. Jarthen shot the next evil ape straight through the eye. He saw it instantly go rigid and fall heavily in the Dark Lands’ dust.
“Ugghh….what’ tha’ horrible smell?!” asked Helkint under his breath between shots.
“I don’t know, but I think it might be their blood.” Jarthen responded, feeling calmer and more confident now that he had shot another ape through the eye. Still though, a quick glance at the quartet behind the barricade reminded him just how far his archery skills had yet to go. The pairs were alternating killing sinister apes and had established a deadly rhythm: Elcrona and Rethnaki would fire off a round of arrows, then, as they ducked down to reload their bows, Sellior and Jellihondor would fire off their arrows with ghastly efficiency. They continued in this manner in perfect harmony at an incredible speed, unperturbed as they became covered in the beasts’ foul-smelling blood. Meanwhile, Safir and Glothnafar tried to recover as many of the arrows from nearby corpses as they could to replenish the foursome’s quivers rapidly depleted.
“AHH!” cried Helkint at Jarthen’s side. Jarthen turned and saw that his companion was being bitten in the forearm by an especially resilient creature with arrows protruding from its face and neck. Without a second thought, Jarthen grabbed a handful of the creature’s fur and yanked its head backward in one surprisingly swift, strong motion. With the other hand, he took an arrow and plunged it as deeply into the brute’s throat as he could, causing a spray of that thick black blood to spray him across the face and chest. As he felt the viscous, malodorous discharge oozing down his front, Jarthen could not help but reflect, though just for a moment, that this, truly, was combat. None of his youthful idealizations of war came close to preparing him for mortal struggle’s brutal reality.
“Thanks, mate,” said Helkint with a slightly awed tone, looking at Jarthen as if just seeing him for the first time. Picking up his bow and quiver, Helkint gestured at Jarthen’s blood-covered chest and smiled slightly and said, “don’t know how you’ll e’er get tha’ stench out, though.”
Jarthen looked out in front and got chills when he realized that sea of dead bodies strewn on and around the parapet was matched by another wave of snarling, ferocious apes running towards the barricade. Jarthen was worried that the handful of soldiers behind it, low on ammunition and feeling the beginnings of soreness and fatigue, could not withstand it. He notched another arrow and braced himself for the onslaught.
The small band held its own for some time, but then a strange and unforeseen thing happened which suggested that the strange apes were capable of being clever and cunning, even as they were brutal and bloodthirsty. The twenty or so creatures bringing up the rear suddenly split off from the column of creatures rushing to the center of the barricade and headed towards the far side of it as a group, viciously attacking the elves positioned there.
Jarthen heard Helkint’s weapon drop to the ground and turned to see that the elf had gone pale and was shaking slightly. “Oh, not Tlin…” he whispered. Jarthen noted that none of the beasts were heading over to their side and without concern for his own life or limb sprinted across to aid his fellows. The quartet of archers in the center were still busy fending off the bulk of the apes, but Safir and Glothnafar had stopped recovering arrows and picked up whatever heavy melee weapons they could find to help fend off what would hopefully be the beasts’ last desperate attack.
As Jarthen pulled one of the injured elves to safety, Glothnafar threw his formidable frame and prodigious fury into the fray. He galloped about slaying the marauding horde of apes with more deadly efficiency than the most practiced cavalryman. Jarthen observed the enraged centaur shatter one creature’s skull by simply kicking it with one of his massive hooves and decapitate another with one swing of a heavy steel axe the group had been using to chop firewood. Safir, meanwhile, had found a pair of cleavers and was wielding them like swords, cutting through the throngs of the evil creatures with an ease and grace Jarthen admired.
As Jarthen helped another elf to safety, this one very badly wounded, he heard a scream of blinding rage behind him. He spun around, fearing it was a creature lunging at him while he was unarmed and realized that it was Helkint. Still deathly pale, but now unfrozen, the young elf was tearing across the battleground. Jarthen saw suddenly what had unhinged him – Tlin’s still, lifeless face and the beast that was tearing into the poor dead elf’s throat.
“More arrows! We need more arrows!” Jellihondor suddenly bellowed. Jarthen glanced once more at Helkint and the lifeless body of Tlin and ran off to pull arrows from the carcasses all around him. He was working so fast and so hard that it barely registered how grisly this job was: he pushed the arrows through the eye socket and out the back of the head in order to preserve the arrow head, in the process covering himself with more of the stinking blood and bits of flesh and brain.
Jarthen heard a sharp, loud crack but did not look up from his messy labor, until he heard a deep, menacing voice say “Dammit hu-man, be careful!. I’m not always going to be around save your worthless neck!” As he looked up, Glothnafar tossedthe limp body of an ape with a freshly broken neck at his feet. Jarthen bit his tongue, knowing that had Glothnafar not killed that creature with his bare hands, he would most likely be sharing Tlin’s gruesome fate.
Jarthen dropped the arrows he’d collected into the waiting quivers and ran back to tend the wounded as best he could.The lad knew little of medicine, having had nothing worse than the scraped knees and bruises that are the inevitable result of all boyhood tomfoolery, but he washed and wrapped the wounds tightly to staunch the bleeding and hoped not to inadvertently cause a nasty infection in the process. While tending the wounded, Jarthen watched the four archers, still moving with mechanical precision, shoot down the last remaining creatures one by one.
Jarthen fought the urge to yell in triumph, half expecting yet another wave of the terrible apes to appear. Looking around at the tense faces of the others, he realized that none of them were sure it was quite over. The air was still and soundless again, save for the quiet weeping of Helkint.
Helkint mourning the loss of his best friend
After several minutes, Safir sighed and relaxed. “I think it’s over now, I am certain that if there were any more of them in the area they would have already attacked us. They don’t like to wait. But we should move on quickly.”
“Wait, firs’ we need ta take stock o’ the situation. Wounded? Casualties?” asked Rethnaki wearily.
“These two are wounded, Naki. I bandaged them, but someone who knows more about such things should probably make sure I didn’t mess that up too badly,” said Jarthen.
Sellior walked over to the wounded. Patting Jarthen on the shoulder, he said “I’ve been trained in our medicines a bit, I’ll take o’er from here.”
Jarthen nodded at Sellior. He turned back to Rethnaki and cleared his throat, not entirely sure how to deliver the terrible news. “Naki, there’s something else.” Jarthen took a deep breath to steady himself. “Tlin…is dead. He died in the battle.”
Rethnaki’s eyes widened. “Helkint! Is he - ”
Jarthen, seeing the fear in Rethnaki’s eyes, interrupted. “Helkint’s alive, he’s been wounded, but he’ll be fine I think. He’s…with the body, over there.” Rethnaki nodded, and walked over to Helkint. The two talked quietly for a moment and Rethnaki exchanged a look with Jellihondor.
“Alrigh’, lads – er, lads and Elcrona – I know yer tired and I know yer achin’, but we need ta catch up ta the guide an’ his lot sooner rather than later. Elcrona, Jarthen and Safir will come with me to find the others. Naki and Helkint will bury our dear Tlin who lost his young life here.” Jellihondor paused to collect himself, clearly emotional at the loss of the young elf. “May he guide and nurture us from the other realm with the grace and wit he did in this.” He said quietly.
“May he welcome us with grace and wit when we are on the other side with him,” replied the other elves and Glothnafar in solemn voices.1
Jellihondor took another moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Sellior will stay her ta tend ta the wounded till they’re able ta travel again. Glothnafar says he’s willing ta carry ‘em if need be.2 Glothie’ll also be able ta track our movements back ta the rest o’ the group. We’ll make camp an’ wait for ye ta catch up ta us when we find ‘em.”
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1This is the traditional call-and-response of mourning red elves, which references their belief in a magickal and mundayne realm, and that death passes an elf out of the mundayne and into the magickal realm.
2This is an unusually generous offer on Glothnafar’s part, as centaurs consider it incredibly demeaning to carry another being on their backs.
1 comment:
"viscous, malodorous discharge"
This sounds more like something that should come out of a diseased vagina than a fantastical monster. Therefore, in my thoughts I shall always think of these ape-like creatures as Rotting Vagina Monsters, or RVMs for short.
Thank you, dear Author, for enriching my life in this way.
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