King Of The North (Book 3) (20 page)

“The leader is in there!” Cannuck called to Thorgil. “I want him. He’s mine!”

“Fine!” Thorgil called back. “I’ll take the rest of ‘em!”

Cannuck laughed, proud to see his son enjoying what he did best. He happily smashed a Jindala skull as he chuckled, swinging again to catch another enemy in the chest. As the second man was knocked out of the way, the King saw a black-robed sorcerer struggling to crawl away. Cannuck leaped forward, landing with one boot on the man’s hips. He raised his hammer above his head as the man tried to turn over to face his executioner.

He never saw the hammer crush his head.

Thorgil thrust his axe at a rushing spearman, dodging the enemy’s own thrust. The head of his axe caught the man in the stomach, knocking him breathless. He dropped his spear as Thorgil’s axe came slashing across to gut him. The Prince spun around the spearman, launching a downward, skull-splitting attack at the man behind him.

Cannuck, surrounded by his men, charged through the ranks again, putting himself in the center. In the rear, he spotted an richly-dressed warrior bearing a white turban with gold decorations. The man was staring straight at him with wide eyes and a fearful expression. Cannuck grinned, pushing aside everyone in his way to get to the man that he knew was the leader.

“Devil scum!” he growled as he raised his hammer in the air and charged. The enemy drew his scimitar, taking a scorpion stance as the huge Northman barreled down on him.

“Release the Defiler!” Rahim commanded, stepping aside as the Northman swung. He barely escaped the massive weapon as it whizzed past his head. He was too slow to counter, and took a step back instead, tripping over a fallen Jindala soldier.

Cannuck recovered from his swing and raised his hammer again, bearing down on the prone Jindala leader. Then, a flash of blue light appeared before him, blinding him. Thorgil rushed to his side, pulling him away as a large, cloaked creature appeared.

“What is that?” Thorgil asked, expecting no answer.

The black beast raised to its full, towering height, roaring with an unearthly howl that sent chills up the Northmens’ spines. Thorgil, grasping his axe with both hands, shouldered his father away, raising his mighty weapon to attack the creature. He rushed forward as the beast’s black cloak swirled like dark fire around it. He swung, putting his full weight behind it, howling his father’s name.

Time seemed to run in slow motion as the axe barreled down at it’s target. The creature began its own attack at the same time, crouching down slowly and spreading its clawed hands out at its side. Thorgil saw the hollow eyes and the glistening fangs the creature bared as it summoned its devilish power.

The entire army of Northmen felt the impact of the attack. The creature had gathered them all in its attack radius, seizing them in its magical grip. They began to fall, screaming in pain as their life essence was ripped from their bodies. Thorgil release his grip on his mighty axe, tumbling toward the creature as his weapon continued its descent on its own.

The axe buried itself deep in the creature’s gut, and Thorgil fell into it, wrapping his arms around the beast as he crashed into its strangely warm mass.

“Thorgil!” Cannuck howled, seeing his beloved son tackle the beast. The energy field ceased as the Prince and his foe tumbled to the ground.

The Defiler’s black robes swirled around itself and Thorgil as the two crashed into the ground. Thorgil fell into his own axe, screaming in pain and rage as the edge cut into his chest. His weight, however, drove the weapon deeper into the beast’s body, and it howled in pain as well.

Freed from the spell, the Northman resumed their attack on the stunned Jindala. Cannuck rushed the Jindala leader, smashing him to a pulp with a wild swing of his hammer. The other Northmen crashed into the Jindala ranks, overtaking them and driving them back.

Thorgil, ignoring the pain of his mortal wound, let his own weight crush the dark beast. He wrapped his arms around it, crushing himself into the strange mass with all of his might. The black cloak swirled about, losing its integrity and disintegrating into the air in shards of dark energy. The creature’s own magic rushed around as it struggled to escape the Northman’s fury.

Thorgil loosened his grip, pulling himself off of his blade and tugging it free. He remained straddling the beast, weakly raising his axe above his head to deal a final blow. Cannuck turned from the battle, seeing his son’s courage reflected in the young man’s eyes as he looked to his father one last time. Cannuck raised his hammer in honor, and the father and son howled their battle cries together as Thorgil split the Defiler in two.

A blue explosion erupted as the axe struck, incinerating everything around it, and melting the ice instantly. Nothing was left but a crater, steaming and billowing with tendrils of dark energy and blue sparks. Cannuck swallowed as he turned back to the battle, knowing that Thorgil’s sacrifice had insured his place in Valhalla. His son had given his own life to protect his people, and he would be honored forever.

The King of Jotunheim, soon to be victorious, had never been more proud.

The Devourer’s strength had finally returned enough for it to begin its journey. For miles around the creature, the landscape had been drained of its beauty, and its life. The forests, plains, and crops had withered to the point of crumbling in the wind. The soil was lifeless, and offered no nutrients for the plants that struggled to feed. Even below the soil, the water had begun to shrink back as the Devourer’s presence put the elements in imbalance. There was no hope for anything to survive where the creature fed.

Eirenoch was dying.

The creature stood, its full height nearly twice the height of a man. It spread its arms in the wind, gathering the tiny specks of life that floated free in the cool breeze, and looked to the sky at the blazing sun. Its rays were uncomfortable, irritating the smoky black skin that was stretched over the creature
’s skeletal frame. It was, in a sense, a Defiler, but one of great, superior strength. It had once been the dominant one among its species, having given birth to the few of them that were left, and leading them in worship of the entity that had saved them all. The Lifegiver.

The Devourer’s back erupted suddenly with a mass of tendrils that swirled about it, plucking birds from the air, driving themselves into the ground, and collecting the energy around it. It began walking forward, its passing withering any plants that resisted its subterranean feast. As it passed into the valley before it, the many tendrils gathered themselves into a black cloak-like shroud that protected the creature from the sun.

It was now shrouded in the darkness that created it, and it could begin its quest for life. It would walk the land of Eirenoch, absorbing all life it encountered, and would draw strength from The Dragon himself. Eventually, when the ancient, life-giving Firstborn was drained, the Devourer could move North onto the mainland. There, it would attack the Firstborn Kronos in
his
prison, drawing his life until he, too, was nothing but a memory. With the Firstborn weakened or dead, the Great Mother had no hope of standing against The Lifegiver, and the world would fall.

The Withering could now begin.

“I don’t understand, father,” the farmer exclaimed, angrily kicking the wilted bean plants that he had worked so hard to grow. “Everything was fine a few days ago. And now, this.”

The old man leaned against his rake, perplexed like his son. Never before had he seen such a crop failure. Despite the heavy rains that had blessed them during the summer, the crops were now useless and dead. Not a single bean could be found on the withered plants. Not even a beetle was found crawling on the stems.

Everything, it seemed, had passed away before the crops even had a chance to be fruitful.

“I don’t know, son,” the old man said. “It don’t make any sense to me. You did a fine job keepin’ the crops tended. It seems Fall came a bit early this year.”

“What will we do for food?” the farmer wondered. “How will we survive with nothing to sell?”

“Well, son,” the old man replied. “We’ll have to find other ways to make a livin’ this winter.”

The old man looked up at his son, who was staring off to the South. He turned to look, as well, wondering what had caught the younger man’s attention.

“What are ye lookin’ at, boy?”

The farmer pointed, his face scrunched up in confusion. “The trees there,” he said. “Look at the trees. They’re dying before our very eyes. Slowly, but surely.”

The old man squinted as he looked at the tree line. He could not see anything at first, but the realization came to him gradually as he stared. The trees were indeed wilting; their leaves curling and turning orange and brown ever so slightly. They began to drop their cones, seed packets, and nuts in great numbers. It was as if winter were approaching all at once.

“What’s goin’ on here?” the old man said, dropping his rake and going to the edge of the wooden fence. “This must be
The Lifegiver’s doing.”

“The Lifegiver,” the farmer repeated. “An ironic title, to say the least.”

“Son…” the old man stammered, suddenly slumping as he leaned against the fence.

“What’s wrong, father?” the farmer asked, going to his father’s side. “You don’t look so well.”

The old steadied himself with a hand on his son’s shoulder. Still, his demeanor became increasingly dark, and the young farmer was shocked as he looked at his father’s face. The old man’s eyes were dull. His skin became pale and sickly, and the wrinkles that lined his features deepened.

The old man was aging before his eyes.

The old man turned back to the forest nearby, seeing the trees becoming even more deathly and skeletal than before. The leaves were almost completely gone and blowing in the increasing wind. The trunks were pale and lightening with every passing second.

“Something is coming,” the old man said weakly.

The farmer looked to the trees, seeing the same strange devastation his father saw. A pestilence seemed to be overtaking the trees and spreading toward them. Amidst the skeletal woods, a lone figure appeared out of the growing dusty fog. It was unbelievable tall, black, and sickly. It exuded darkness, withering the wildlife as it passed. It was as if death itself was approaching.

“Go, son,” the old man said, pushing his son away before he, too, succumbed to the blight. “Get Celia and the children out before it’s too late.”

“Come, father!” the farmer protested, trying to pull the old man with him as he backed away.

The old man fell to one knee, too weak to stand and get away. “Go!” he yelled. “Get away!”

The farmer backed away, feeling the sting of death surround him as well. He increased the distance between he and his father, looking straight at the horrifying creature that approached them like a nightmare vision. He looked back to his father, who struggled to stand again. But the blight overtook him, and he turned one final time to gaze upon his son.

His face was corpse-like. The cheeks had sunken in, and his lips had shrunken to the point of stretching over his teeth. His skin continued to darken as his sad eyes pleaded with his only son to escape without him.

Clenching his fists, the farmer turned away, rushing to get into his house to gather his family before the beast could get to them.

“Celia!” he called as he ripped open the door. “Celia! Get the children! Go!”

The young woman came out of the back room, her eyes wide with horror. “What is it?” she asked, carrying a young child in her arms.

“Where is Tam?” he asked. “We need to get away!”

“What is happening? Where is your father?”

“Just get the children out!” he demanded. “Go out the back and run as fast as you can! Get to the inn!”

The child in Celia’s arms began crying. Celia held her close and rushed away to find the couple’s other child. The farmer ran to the window to look out where he had left his father. The old man was on one knee, still leaning against the fence. But he was no more than a husk. His body had been desiccated by the coming evil that was now mere yards away from the fence.

“Go, Celia!” he pleaded. “Get out now!”

The darkness approached as the farmer watched, horrified, out the window. The figure stopped near his father’s body, and the black cloak that billowed about transformed into hundreds of tendrils that swirled around it menacingly. Some of them wrapped themselves around the old man’s body, drawing it toward the creature for it to consume with its aura of death. When it had finished, the cowled face, the terrible, unearthly face, turned toward him. It stared into the farmer’s soul, it seemed, and he was frozen with terror. His heart pounded rapidly as the creature locked his gaze, the tendrils dropping the bones of the old man to the ground, where they crumbled to dust.

The farmer turned to gather what he could as his wife readied their children for the escape. Though Celia knew not what had frightened her husband, the look on his face told her that it was something terrifying. She didn’t question him.

“Go!” he said. “Out the back. Do not wait for me.”

“But, Gar,” she pleaded. “I can’t go without you.”

The farmer slung the bag he was filling over his shoulder, and pushed Celia toward the door. “Go now,” he said, rushing into the next room. “I will be right out. I’m just going to grab my sword.”