Achil & The Dragon Lord Of Osgaroth Read online

  Chapter IV

  Flight

  On arrival at their camp and without so much as a word being spoken, belongings were hurriedly packed together. At the back of their minds, they both had the feeling that that was not the last they would see of the Witches of Haven forest. And that if they did not make good the distance between them and the Witches home, then trouble would soon catch up to them. The horse fortunately had not wondered off during their absence, but had calmed and was grazing by the stream.

  Once astride it, Achil realised Nishga was shaking, "Don’t worry, I covered our tracks before we left, and besides those Witches will never catch up to the bear, not before we’re out of the forest at least.”

  He did not sound very convincing and Nishga noted how he had tugged on the reins quite forcefully to urge the horse to make greater haste.

  The forest had, after their ordeal, taken on a more threatening feel, so the sooner they were beyond that part of it the better. Nishga pointed the way once more, directing Achil to take a right turn here, or a left there. The time past slowly, though it was doubtful their pace had slackened any from their earlier frenzied hurried escape. During the night they heard a large shriek go out from the direction of where the Witch had lived. The hairs on the back of their necks stood on end at the icy fearful sound. The Witches sisters had surely discovered her body.

  It was only as the sky began to change to a deep azure cover that they approached the edge of the forest. The trees had started to thin and Nishga reassured by this felt that by the next day they would be at last free of it. Achil slowed the horse a moment, and was about to leave his young charge to scout out the prevailing lands, when she stopped him. She pleaded that with the threat of the Witches so close, he should remain by her side. He relented, even though there was no indication that at that moment they were being followed, there was always the very real threat that any foe might be hot on their trail, and since their enemy was more supernatural than natural, they might not even know it. And so with Nishga exhausted from their long journey, and Achil realising that he too was fatigued, they sought a place to rest that offered some shelter from prying eyes and the elements and soon enough they came upon such a place. Once they had settled into what was a small rocky overhang that lay in a shallow clearing surrounded by trees, they began to relax, Achil sat facing the dark shadow of the forest, and watched and listened for any sign that danger was near. Nishga fought to keep awake but her lids became too heavy to remain open, and weariness began to shroud the doubt and fear in her mind, before too long, drowsiness turned to a deep sleep. Achil took the opportunity to do what he had planned earlier. And making sure he did not stir her, he quietly slipped out of the camp, only to arrive back a few hours later. Nishga still oblivious to the fact that her companion had left her, remained, but for her gentle breathing, unaware of the world that surrounded her. Achil took the opportunity to rest a little and after he woke Nishga just before dawn, and quietly they had a small breakfast before they gathered their things together, and went on their way.

  Moving as quietly as possible throughout the day, they only stopped once briefly to eat and get their bearings. Both were quick to sense danger even if none existed, and would often startle at the slightest disturbance the forest had to offer, whether that was a stag passing, or a squirrel scuttling, or an owl hooting. Desperately they tried to avoid alarming the woodland creatures so that they would not give warning as to their passing. Finally just as dusk approached the timbered crop began to dwindle. It was at that moment that Achil sensed some unease, which was not brought on by their travels, so without arousing Nishga's suspicions, he hurried them along. The sky was turning to a deep mauve as the sun set, and just to add to their anxiety the shadows lengthened to take on more unnatural forms. Creeping along, close to the forest edge, Achil pulled on the reins and slowed purposefully, as though he were waiting for something. Nishga noticed that up ahead of them stood a hooded figure blocking their path; it was a shadow silhouetted in the deepening gloom; and was ominous to look upon. Achil either did not realise someone was there, or paid the person no attention; instead he dismounted to check one of the horses shoes.

  “Achil what are you doing?” asked Nishga, her voice trembling slightly.

  The hooded figure advanced. The stranger removed her cloak to reveal the person beneath. Long greying hair, eyes as black as pitch, blazed with an almost wild fury which could be seen even in the poor light of dusk. Her nose curved like a hanging branch in winter, her mouth pursed as though to prevent anything good escaping, she had some small bulbous hairy mass attached to her chin; that writhed in the breeze like so many wild snakes. As they looked at her neither could hide their distaste. Her faded blue dress was worn and frayed round the edges. The woman's skin crumpled round its discoloured neck line. Nishga fell silent, horrified by the ragged form in front of her, she gasped as she noticed the crystal around her neck. Also more terrifying still, was the bear skin the wretched hag carried beneath one arm which only became noticeable once she had drawn closer. Achil seemed to be unaware of the crystal or ignored its presence.

  “Would you like to trade this?” The stranger cackled throwing the bear skin to the floor.

  Her voice was shrill, and sent an icy chill down the spine. It was so threatening that it unsettled the horse, forcing Nishga to struggle with it.

  Achil gazed at her unmoved, “I don’t know, looks a bit tatty to me, it probably didn’t even keep its owner warm.”

  The woman's eyes flashed with contempt; there was a well-practiced sneer to her face, as she continued her taunting, “Well it certainly didn’t keep its owner safe.” Her laughter was a cold menacing threat, “But tell me why are there a young woman and man in the wilds on their own?" rasped the woman. "Surely you must know it’s dangerous?”

  As she spoke the crone managed a disdainful smile and drew her long knife, the crystal around her neck began to blaze. Achil whose hand had remained on the hilt of his sword at all times drew it, and in one movement struck, forcing the Witch back.

  Mocking and dismissive she cried out to him, “Hah! You missed me completely."

  Achil put his finger to his lips and then moved it further up into the air. The Witch looked up only to see a large log come thudding down on top of her. Crushing her, like a walnut between a hammer and anvil. She disappeared into the ground, flattened. In the same instance the crystal around her neck was flung aside.

  His blow had cut the vine holding the great log aloft. One of the traps he had set earlier had succeeded.

  Nishga shocked gave Achil a quick slap across the shoulder, “How and when? Why didn‘t you tell me?”

  Achil smiled bent down and picked the crystal up. To his surprise it was undamaged. “While you slept, and realising that our luck could not hold, I crept away and prepared a few surprises in anticipation that someone could be close on our trail. And sorry Nishga for the subterfuge, I couldn’t tell you because you were so fearful of our parting and also I needed you to behave naturally, so the plan would work better. I must say you played your part very well.”

  Nishga gave Achil another more playful cuff.

  “Anyway two down, one to go,” said Achil. “Let's be on our way.”

  They followed the forest as it stretched around the mountain range. And as the tree line faded, it became apparent that the land was finally beginning to open up. Soon there was a freshness on their faces that they had not felt for many a day. At last the stifling claustrophobic captivity they had endured had ended. They were in a different world to that of the tight nit community of unforgiving tree and brush. It was decided that they should not fully stop to rest again until they were confident that their journey held fewer hazards than those posed by the Witches, so they pushed on through what was left of the day and the next night, only briefly stopping to eat. Eventually as the sun rose, they came to a place that seemed far enough from the forest so as to assure their safety; and being so drained the small culvert they
had found took on the measure of something it probably was not, a secure retreat, and so it was that they stopped to rest and build a small camp fire and have a light supper.

  As the fire, half hidden came more to life, Nishga began telling stories of her childhood and the great smithy she would one day become. Achil listened with interest: it brought a smile to his face to hear all the things she intended to do when they got to Osgaroth. As the fire died and time past Nishga lay back and fell into a deep sleep; Achil dared not sleep and kept to a quiet vigil, watching the fire as it slowly died. The day past slowly, as it drew to its close he contemplated waking Nishga, when just beyond where they lay he heard a heavy scratching and the distant murmuring of voices. Seeing that Nishga was still asleep, he silently drew near her, placed his hand over her mouth and woke her. Gesturing for her to keep quiet, and to remain where she was, and placing his bow across his back, Achil rose to investigate. As he crept out of the small hollow, he crawled over to where he thought the sound was coming from and peered through some bushes. To his surprise, there just a few cubits away were two Mead raiders and an emaciated looking creature, taller than a man, with sallow skin, long protruding fangs, nails that were more like talons, in every respect it was a nether demon of the central plains, a Wendigo. They were dressed more for speed than for battle, in light armour. And the chainmail was uncommon for anyone from Mead. It was more tempered and sophisticated. A light breastplate of metal rings over a linen tunic, long breeches, heavy solid boots for trekking in, and cloaks fashioned in the manner of the east. And most notably the crest on their leather jerkins a moon within which was a wolf's head. The thing was, what did that mean, and what were they doing there? Achil took down his bow, but before he could fix an arrow to it, there was a commotion in their camp. It was the third Witch, she had come upon them and she was vengeful. Achil stared at the scene, momentarily mesmerised as, cut and thrust, the battle unfolded. Not waiting to see the outcome, he slowly withdrew. On arriving back at camp, he urged Nishga to pack everything away as quickly as stealth would allow, so that they might be on their way.

  They silently rode out of the culvert and were away, riding hard across a sea of long grasses. It was not until the day drew to its close, and there was no sign of pursuit that, urged on by the rumblings of their stomachs, they dared to stop once more and make camp. Achil made a small fire in a deep earthen ditch, with Nishga quick to kneel down beside it, and warm her hands, the light glinted off her eyes like dancing fireflies. Achil, had dared to go in search of something to eat, and Nishga was too tired to make issue of his leaving. Thankfully he returned quickly with some wild fowl, which he immediately cleaned and put on a small spit to cook. The smell was sweet, dry, catching at the back of their throats, it was at that point that they both realised how parched their mouths were. Achil took out a water bottle and they both desperately drunk their fill.

  Nishga still a little disturbed by their earlier encounter with the Witches, and the more recent encounter with the Mead, would apprehensively cast her eyes toward the horizon in anticipation that there would be someone there.

  “Who were they that the Witch attacked them," she asked tentatively.

  "Undoubtedly they were Mead spies that much I believe is certain, and with them walked a most unnatural creature to these lands. Something I have not seen before and hope not to see again. And the fools, not realising the lay of the land strayed too close to the Witches lair to pass by unchallenged, which also means so did we. We must keep going until we are certain that we are no longer followed."

  "I hope they killed each other," cried Nishga.

  "I'm afraid we will not be that lucky; that Witch did not seem to be overly concerned by the encounter, and from what I saw she looked to be enjoying the sport of it."

  "On finding them, do you think she would have given up looking for us?” asked Nishga hopefully.

  "I doubt that, she would have realised that it was not them, that slew her sister, but you never know, she maybe far enough behind us, that she will tire of the chase."

  Achil stared into the fire when he remembered the crystal in his pocket; he took it out and offered it to Nishga.

  “Here,” said Achil, hoping to direct her attention away from their being hunted, for a short period at least. “You put this on; perhaps it will protect you, and at least help you to feel more secure.”

  Achil had heard of Crystals and their strange powers and knew that you needed a certain rare gift to make such things work. He also realised that a young woman born in the wilds like Nishga, probably did not have the abilities required to use them, but if the idea of it as a protective charm, gave her some inner calm, then that was good enough for him. Nishga looked at the crystal; each facet seemed to glow when touched by the sun. She attached a small slip of leather to the clasp and then tied it round her neck letting it drop comfortably to her chest.

  It began to pulse gently. Nishga felt a surge of energy within her. She became light headed and fell forward. Achil reached out to hold her steady.

  “Are you okay?” said Achil with concern. “What just happened?”

  Nishga shook her head, “I’ll be fine, I just felt strangely. As though someone had swung me round really fast, only to stop suddenly.”

  Achil looked worried; he had not anticipated the Crystal to have had any sort of affect on her. And the fact that you had to have a special predisposition towards them meant, they could prove unpredictable to the wearer. Baffled, he looked on with unease, it appeared that Nishga was particularly susceptible to its uses. She lay back and closed her eyes. Achil watched her settle, before he too sat back and began to mull over their journey, his mind strayed ahead to the meeting with the Dragon people of Osgaroth, but to get there he would have to avoid the Marsh, which meant he would have to cut across the Misty Vale.

  It was a small hidden valley where the people, or so the rumour had it, were considered un-dead. Not a lot was known of them, the story was that they could appear and disappear at will. The place was said to be murky, cold, harsh even hostile. Again the tales were more like fables, no doubt to scare little children in their beds at night so that they would behave, and do as they were told. Parents would often say, if you do not sleep the people from the Misty Vale would get you. But still the fact of the matter remained; a strange malady did surround that place, that kept strangers out and something else in. It was hidden, veiled by deep mists. Achil felt that perhaps if they were lucky they would simply pass through unnoticed and not disturb what threat lived there, though he was convinced within himself, that at some point they would be discovered.

  Achil looked over at Nishga whose blanket had fallen away. He leant over to cover her once more. He could see how susceptible she was to the night chill, as it crept over her bare arms caressing her skin forcing it to react so that little imperceptible bumps appeared. Like so many soldiers standing to attention, ready to hoist the white flag of surrender no doubt, in the hope that the cold, realising its victory, would attack no more. Once she was fully covered he threw some wood on the fire and then lay back down looking up at the night sky. He began to slide into a deep sleep his head flopped to one side, his breathing became shallow, his hearing faded, as nature locked itself out, then he shot up alert, something was wrong. He reached for his sword only to find it was no longer at his side.

  A young attractive woman was admiring its craftsmanship, as the glint of the sun high up in the sky reflected upon it.

  “You two have led me a merry chase,” said the woman, her voice was clear, each word pronounced with diabolical intent.

  As she leant forward on the blade, a crystal dropped away from her tunic and just hung there glowing in the sun. Her hair was ebony, her eyes dark. She reminded him of someone, but he did not quite know who. With unexpected surety in her eyes she fixed her stare upon him like a cobra about to strike, her next words were venomously spat out.

  “I’ve finally caught up to my sisters killers then,” she remarked c
oldly.

  Nishga jumped in front of Achil, as the witch thrust the sword forward swinging it round, slicing through the air and to the amazement of all, the blade, instead of striking Nishga down, bounced clear off her. It spun out of the Witches hand and landed close to Achil, who seized the opportunity to dive down and pick it up.

  The Witch was amazed and looked closely at Nishga, “Who are you that you have such powers?”

  Nishga felt a surge of energy within her. The Crystal around her neck began to glow. The Witch jumped over the remnants of the fire, now just a heap of ashes, landing, crouched down, as if ready to spring forward again. Nishga with a speed she had not shown before moved beyond her reach; it was as though she had disappeared and reappeared close to where Achil had gathered up the sword.

  The Witch stood up slowly and turned to face the two of them, “You are a powerful Witch indeed, and you must be her familiar.”

  Achil and Nishga looked at one another perplexed by such a revelation.

  “What do you mean Witch?” she asked open mouthed.

  “What do you mean familiar?” asked Achil resentfully.

  The Witch considered them for a moment; it was as though she were staring right through Nishga; her words this time more distant, less threatening, as though she were talking to herself.

  “Witches are neither good nor are we bad; we are what nature makes us, as we are one with nature. Though some, like my sisters, I acknowledge have at times abused their powers. We have tempers like hurricanes, can shine like the sun, be as mysterious as the moon, as beautiful as the stars, as fresh as spring, as distant and as dour as winter. And whether you like it or not, you are one. And if you do not accept that fact, others will force you to. The way they forced your mother to.”

  Now Achil and Nishga were truly stunned, “You knew my mother?” Nishga blurted the words out barely concealing her incredulity.

  “Yes I know who bore you by the type of power you wield,” continued the Witch. "Hence the reason why I tested you so though you did not realise it.”

  The Witch grim faced told them of what she knew. When she finished there was silence, Nishga stood dumbfounded by the tale she had just heard.

  “Tell me,” continued the Witch. “Did one of my sisters take something personal from you?"

  Nishga thought a moment, “Yes actually she cut off some of my hair."

  The witch seemed more disturbed.

  “Then my sister was a fool firstly for not recognising you and secondly for trying to Essenciate you,” said the Witch.

  “What do you mean by Essen, Essen whatever the word is?” asked Nishga.

  "Essenciate, it means to take from you the very essence of your being,” said the Witch carefully. “The way a leech would suck blood from you; the spell works in the same manner. Had I been there I would have prevented you from being harmed by whatever means possible.”

  Achil realising he still held his sword protectively in front of him, sheathed it.

  “You seem to know who Nishga is,” said Achil. “Who are you?”

  “I am Tirana. Nishga you can leave freely or you can come with me; I will teach you the full extent of your powers.”

  Nishga looked at Achil unsure of what to do.

  “I know,” continued Tirana, “I am asking a lot of you, to trust me. Especially after what you have just been through, but there will be questions that you may want answered.”

  Nishga was somewhat confused as what to do next.

  “I was told by my Uncle that my mother had died,” said Nishga.

  Tirana nodded. Her face saddened.

  “No,” said Tirana. “Your mother wouldn’t have died; she was probably driven off by those who were afraid of her powers.”

  All three stood in silence; this was a strange turn of events indeed. Achil could see Nishga was unsure of what to do and though he did not wish for her to leave, he also did not want her to miss such an opportunity.

  “Nishga, Tirana’s story is plausible,” said Achil. “You clearly have some extraordinary powers; the thing is what are you going to do with them? And will you be able to control them or will they control you. Some people go through their entire lives not knowing who they are seeking answers to that very question if this lady can help you find answers: answers that you've been looking for, then only a fool would hold you back from seeking such answers. There is a lot perhaps you need to discuss with her about your past, and let's be honest if she really wanted to harm us she could have done. If she can fill in the blanks and help you, then I think your journey with me ends here. I am after all headed for the Misty Vale.”

  Nishga shook her head, such a revelation regarding her past would take time to digest, and even longer to accept; however she still wished to go to Osgaroth.

  “Please try to understand,” said Nishga, hurriedly turning back to Tirana, “My future lies in Osgaroth amongst the Dragon people, although I cannot explain it. It is a feeling I have had for so very long. So I choose to go with Achil, even though the journey may be difficult and the road uncertain.”

  Tirana smiled, “I know of the Dragon People. They are very resourceful. I will make my way over to the lands of Osgaroth in the season to follow. And you never know our paths may someday cross again.”

  Tirana took hold of the crystal around Nishga’s head and murmured some barely audible words. It was as though some energy passed into it. Tirana then backed away and disappeared. It was as though she had opened some invisible doorway to another realm and passed through it.

  Achil and Nishga stood still for a moment, amazed by this further example of her powers; they then gathered their things together in silence ready to depart. Nishga had not thought of herself as having any ability other than that of a smithy, and yet here she was confronted with the apparent fact that she had unknown powers.

  Achil helped her onto the back of the horse. He could see by the look on her face that she was troubled.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” asked Achil. “You can still change your mind you know.”

  “I know. I’m okay it's just a lot to take in all at once, that’s all,” said Nishga, relieved to be starting their journey again.

  Achil tugged at the reigns of the horse, directing him to the pass that led to the Misty Vale. They would be there by dusk and then it was hoped their progress through it would remain unseen. Achil tried to recall what he had been taught of the Nashvilly but unfortunately it was not much.

  They were the remnants of an ancient tribe of people who came from the east and had settled in the valley; between the Nash and Villy mountains that were also known as the Crystal peaks of Suberia. The words were the names of two giants of history. It was thought that each mountain was a prison for each giant, the legend spoke of them displeasing the Gods and as punishment they were locked away for all time in those rigid fortresses. Beneath those mighty peaks so the legend went, were lay lines that gave off a strange form of energy which had had a remarkable effect on the people that had settled there. Also beneath them were rich crystal deposits that had an effect of enhancing an individual's other worldly abilities. Slowly as time passed the words Nash and Villy were combined making the word ‘Nashvilly’ which meant ‘people of the mist.’ The Nashvilly at first had struggled to come to terms with the magic they had inherited. They had powers others could only dream of, that dramatically altered their perception of life and the Gods. Gradually over the eons as they became one with the land, and the outside world changed, to their eyes it had become wild; their association with it lessened. They were treated by troubled desperate peoples with suspicion, and superstition grew up surrounding them. It had only taken a few of them to venture out into the world, and to show their powers for sinister ends, for them to become misunderstood. The abuse of such powers by these few resulted with the Nashvilly being treated fearfully by others; they were avoided by peoples that did not understand them. Eventually their non-association with the outside world meant that they b
ecame thought of as a mythic race, an unreal undead people that only lived in haunting tales.

  The Nashvilly eventually became an inward looking people. The reaction to them by others was that of distrust, this was then reflected back in a hostile manner at the societies that grew up around them. A cycle occurred that pride would not allow to be broken. They were thought strange, so chose to be strangers. They were feared so became fearful. They felt offended by other peoples, so became secretive. The more powerful they became, the greater the conviction that they had been blessed by the Gods. The more their ideas were challenged, the more they felt without question, their beliefs should remain unaltered. They were a race not interested in expanding their understanding of a barbaric world. This had meant that their society had become isolated and enclosed. They cut themselves off from a hostile world, and so they made their own so called virtuous world, not realising that a society that is unwilling to accept new ideas stagnates in a mire of old ones. Those that had the courage to leave, out of curiosity and a desire to learn more about the world outside, had on their return been shunned. And outsiders seldom ventured close to the mountains, which was helped by the fact that they were on no particular trade route. Though this was changing, as the world beyond their own grew, small settlements turned into large cities. Findolin had not even existed when people first settled in the valley between the Crystal Peaks. And though a few Nashvilly did trade with other peoples, it was usually in secret, which meant those they traded with did not know who they were.

  Such outings would only reinforce and confirm to them that the world outside was a hostile place, best left to its own devices. All in all, they just wanted to be left alone in peace. To their credit with their undoubted powers they had had no desire to engage forcefully with the world at large nor did they wish to bend it to their will. Their key philosophy was, ‘Wisdom is not found in knowledge, but is found in the understanding of knowledge.’