Asgoleth The Warrior: A Modern Tale of Sword And Sorcery (fantasy fiction books) (17 page)

Demos snarled his anger as he hauled the heavy mass of the Deathbringer around to face his hated foe. If he could but unleash one bolt into the barbarian’s mighty heart then his looming defeat would not be complete.

The heavy weapon resisted his efforts and he turned to snarl at his aides for assistance. The words died on his lips as he saw that he was alone. All of his aides had fled or had been slain by the arrows of the enemy. Soon their cavalry and infantry would sweep over his position and he would be caught between two enemy armies. He felt the grim spectre of death hovering at his shoulder and he glared at the Calthian with murder in his heart.

‘You will not escape me, you dog!’ he cried and returned to his task with the strength of a madman.

He slowly forced the Deathbringers ugly snout around until at last it was pointed straight at his enemy’s heart. Gasping and giggling and with a froth of spittle upon his writhing lips he concentrated his mind upon it until once more it glowed a deep and menacing red.

Asgoleth chopped downward with his blood smeared blade, splitting the skull of the Akonite who had tried to unhorse him with a spear thrust. He tore his blade free and lashed out with his boot sending the man hurtling to the ground to be smashed to red ruin beneath the flashing steel shod hooves of his warhorse. As the powerful beast crashed back to Earth Asgoleth’s gaze met that of Demos.

He saw the hatred and insanity there saw the red glow of the Deathbringer that was pointing right at him and he snarled a savage curse. Death was about to reach out for him but he would not give the tyrant the satisfaction of seeing a Calthian warrior trying to flee for his life. With his blood chilling war cry on his lips he kicked his steed into a gallop and charged straight towards his madly grinning foe.

He knew that he would never reach Demos before he was struck down but, determined to die striking out at his foe, he drew back his powerful arm and with all the strength he possessed, he threw the great blade at his enemy. As the glittering sword flew from his grasp the Deathbringer pulsed brightly and spat forth a surge of deadly energy. Searing red agony filled him and wrenched him from the saddle sending him crashing to the ground.

He lay there, gritting his teeth against the waves of pain that ate at his flesh. Behind him he heard the ghastly shrieks and cries of horror as that terrible beam ripped through the battling warriors in its path. Above their death cries he could hear the insane voice of Demos laughing and cackling at the carnage he had wrought; laughing at all the death and destruction, laughing at him.

Fury gripped him then, a fury more intense than any he had ever felt before. How he had survived that hellish blast he did not know but he would not waste his luck. Somehow he would continue to live until this mad sorcerer lay dead at his feet.

Suddenly the tyrant’s laughter stopped and was replaced by a shriek of despair. Agoleth shook his head and looked over at his enemy and a grin touched his lips as he saw the hilt of his sword jutting out of the glittering entrails of the Deathbringer. Demos cried and shrieked with mad fury as he tugged at the sword but Asgoleth could see that his efforts were in vain. A flickering red aura enveloped the Deathbringer and jagged bolts of energy crackled and spat from it until, with a deafening concussion and a searing, bright flash, the Deathbringer blew itself into a million glittering fragments.

The blast of the explosion almost deafened the young barbarian as he hugged the ground with his hands over his head. The Earth trembled and shook beneath him and the air was filled with thousands of fragments of whistling death. The noise went on for a long, long time but at last the rumbling echoes of the detonation died slowly away to be replaced by a deep silence. Asgoleth rose slowly to his feet and stared in awe at the destruction that had been wrought.

Where the Deathbringer had stood there was now only a deep crater of charred, fused Earth. Dead men and horses lay all around and then the silence was dispelled by the pain wracked cries of the wounded. Ignoring his own pain, Agoleth drew his long Torran knife and started to walk towards the crater holding the weapon lightly in his hand ready for use.

His eye fell upon a burned and blackened heap lying limply at the craters edge and he spat as he realised it was Demos. It looked as if the tyrant had escaped his blade after all. The horribly burned and lacerated body gave a sudden harsh gasp and rolled over and Asgoleth watched in horror as this thing that should by all rights be dead, climbed slowly and painfully to its feet.

The flesh upon the tyrant’s skull had been burned away revealing the white bone beneath; so too the skin of his hands had been devoured by the flames and it seemed to Asgoleth that he faced no man here but a ghastly animated skeleton. Only demos’ eyes showed any sign of life and they glittered with madness and hatred as they looked upon the barbarian who had brought his dreams of empire to ruin.

A giggle escaped the tyrant’s mouth and a dribble of bloody saliva ran down his ruined chin. Finally he croaked,

‘You fool; did you really think you could defeat me? I who hold the power of a god? You cannot defeat me fool. I shall rise above you and I shall destroy all that you have fought for and all men shall be my slaves. I shall repair this ruined body and I shall live forever and all men everywhere shall worship me. Did you really think you could destroy a god, barbarian?’

He began to laugh wildly, waving his blackened arms in the air and Asgoleth knew that he was truly insane and he had no desire to learn if his magic was indeed as strong as he claimed. A snarl ripped from his lips.

‘Let me see you replace your head, God!’

A savage sideways slash and the mad laughter cut off abruptly as Demos’ head leapt from his shoulders atop a surging spray of blood. The body took a step forward then stiffened and fell to the ground. Asgoleth shuddered as he saw that life still held a grip upon the severed head of the tyrant. A thrill of unease ran down his spine as he stared at the writhing lips, saw the light of madness blaze undiminished in the dark eyes. Could this evil creature really restore his body? Was his magic that powerful? Then to his relief he saw the tyrant’s eyes go wide with shocked surprise as death reached out to claim him.

For a moment their eyes locked together and Asgoleth saw the full horror of realisation in the tyrant’s eyes. All of his dreams of power and great ambition for empire had come to naught, ended by the stroke of a barbarian’s blade. His mouth opened in a silent shriek of unbelieving despair, then, finally, the light fade from his eyes as death closed its tight grip upon him.

For as long moment Asgoleth looked down upon his fallen foe then he reached out and skewered the tyrants head on his blade and held it aloft for all to see. Ragged cheers reached his ears, growing swiftly to a roar of victory. At long, long, last the Akonites had been defeated and Torr was free once more.

Agoleth sat astride a fine stallion, saddlebags filled with provisions and gold. He glanced behind him at the walls of the city of Torr. They were being rebuilt by an army of willing workers and he smiled as he watched. Soon the city would stand tall and proud once more and he knew that the people of Torr would survive and flourish. The war was over, their enemies destroyed and they had no more need of him. At last he felt free to take his leave.

The call of distant lands was strong upon him and he felt compelled to heed its cry. He was weary of responsibility and longed once more to wander free upon the face of the Earth owing loyalty to no one but himself.

He looked down at Amira and smiled. She gazed back at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and her royal dignity forgotten. She stepped forward and took his hand in both of hers.

‘Must you go, my love? If you leave I shall have no choice other than to marry a noble of Torr. The people will demand an heir to the throne. Stay and let that heir be our son.’

Asgoleth hoisted her easily to his saddlebow and kissed her with fierce passion. He held her gasping form close to him for long moments then he looked deep into her eyes.

‘We both know it would not work, Amira. I am a warrior and the soft and civilised life of the royal court is not for me, I must go. You on the other hand, know no other life. Marry your nobleman and live the life that was intended for you, it is for the best.’

Amira sniffed and looked into his eyes; she knew he spoke the truth. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘I shall never forget you, Asgoleth.’

‘Nor I you’ he replied. They kissed once more and then he set her gently down.

‘Trust Bal Shoteb's judgement, Amira. He is a true and loyal friend. Let his wisdom guide you and Torr will flourish under your rule.’

She smiled and nodded not trusting herself to speak. Asgoleth tore his gaze away and took Bal Shoteb's hand in a firm grip.

‘Farewell, my friend, look after her for me and look after yourself. Perhaps one day we will meet again and share a tale or two about the old days eh?’

Bal Shoteb's voice was thick with unaccustomed emotion as he replied,

‘Farewell, Asgoleth. Know that there will always be a welcome awaiting you among the huts of the Agar Hillmen my old friend.’

Asgoleth stared down at these people who had come to mean so much to him. For a moment as he looked into Amira’s lovely eyes he was tempted to remain. The moment passed and he raised his hand in farewell. The wanderlust was on him and he had to go.

He kicked his heels into the stallion’s flanks and turned its head towards the distant mountains. Ahead of him lay strange lands and new adventures and that, for the moment, was all that he required from life.

THE END.