Chapter Twenty Seven
Teltibane led the others to the five Kilon birds that were assembled outside the castle. They mounted the beautiful birds and were off, soaring over the beautiful scenery of the Realm of the Light.
They flew south. Before long they spotted a band of creatures, moving through a wide path that cut through the forest. Teltibane pointed at the band. Then he veered right, towards the path. The others followed. He flew to a spot on the path some two miles ahead of the band of ulthars.
They landed. Finor, Greybeard, and Andrew dismounted.
"Into position!" said Teltibane.
They hid behind the trees that lined the path. Andrew on the south side, Finor and Greybeard on the north.
Teltibane and Kiara took off again into the cloudy sky, with the other three Kilons in tow.
A few minutes passed, and the sounds of whinnying horses and arguing ulthars could be heard. Then the ulthars became visible. Andrew counted more than twenty riders.
Finor stepped out from behind the trees into the middle of the path. He stood tall and proud, like an elf.
"Halt!" Finor called. "I command you stop, in the name of the King!"
"What is this?" sneered the lead ulthar, his yellow-skinned face twisting in contempt, large cut-up ears flapping in the breeze. "What do you want with such fine, law abiding citizens as us?"
The rest of the ulthars laughed.
"A relic has been stolen from the Townhouse at Stockweather. Orders are to search all passer-bys. You know the law. You must all dismount, immediately. Cooperate, and there will be no trouble."
"And what if we don't?" the ulthar sneered.
"Then I will report you."
"And what if I arranged for you to be missing you head? What will you do then?"
The other ulthars laughed uproariously.
"You know that retaliation will be swift from the King upon the Wan-mli clan," Finor answered calmly.
The chief ulthar grudgingly dismounted. The others followed his lead. Finor approached, to search him.
The ulthar muttered something about 'elves' and 'filthy'.
"What was that?" asked Finor sharply. "Speak up!"
"Nothin'" said the ulthar.
Finor came closer and started to pat him down.
"Why if it isn't Finor Naskul Mus!" the ulthar drawled in a loud voice. "Been to see your daddy lately?"
The ulthar company roared with laughter.
And that was the last thing that he ever said, as Finor plunged a knife deep into his heart. His front darkened with blood, as he slumped to the ground.
That was their cue. The point of Finor's act was to get the ulthars to dismount. Now Andrew and Greybeard sprang out from their hiding places. Greybeard rushed directly into the heart of the ulthar company, battle axe swinging, war cries screaming from his mouth.
Andrew advanced more warily, blunt brez staff out against the better armed ulthars. One wrong move, and he was dead.
"It's a trap!" cried one of the ulthars. They were all shouting in confusion.
"Some trap!" boomed the new leader. "Three against twenty-three. Ha! Kill them all!"
Finor threw his knives with deadly accuracy. As soon as they struck, he magically drew them back to his hands. Like metal to a powerful magnet. He used four long, thin knives with great skill and dexterity. As two of the knives flew away from him towards their targets, the other two soared back. It appeared as though he was juggling the four knives horizontally.
If the elf kept it up he would decimate the ulthar company in a matter of minutes. And Andrew would fail to be tested.
"Hold off Finor!" called Teltibane from above, his voice magnified by his primitive megaphone. "Leave some for our Champion to battle."
Finor complied. He sheathed two of his knives, and ceased to throw the others. Instead, he stood his ground more or less, fighting any ulthar that dare challenge him with the remaining unsheathed knives.
The screams of wounded and dying ulthars filled the wooded battlefield as Finor, Greybeard and Andrew sunk their teeth into them. The ulthars first arose from Darkness. When they die, Darkness reclaims them. A horrible fait, one even worse than their wretched lives.
Andrew crept deeper into the fray. His objective was to kill the ulthars. Not wound, not render unconscious, but kill. Which meant that he would need to execute his strikes with great strength and precision, if he was to be sure to deal a killing blow.
Two of the ulthars, seeing the black bloodshed, decided that flight was preferable to fight if it allowed them to keep their lives.
The pair leaped onto a wagon, snapped the reins, and were off. In the heat of the battle they were hardly noticed.
"Don't let them get away!" called Teltibane from high above.
The wagon picked up speed. Andrew ran after it as fast as he could. In just three seconds it would be beyond his reach. He made an almighty leap, and miraculously managed to grab on to the end of the wagon, staff held by his teeth.
He heaved himself up to the top of the speeding wagon. The ulthars didn't notice a thing. He crept forward until he was at the front edge of the wagon top, right behind the driver's seat, and looked down at the deformed, scarred heads of the ulthars.
Andrew laid a vicious blow onto the scarred, bruised head of the driver, who promptly dropped like a sack of potatoes out of the speeding vehicle.
But now the other ulthar was aware of the 'stowaway'. With great agility, he leapt onto the top of the wagon as he drew his wicked looking notched scimitar. This greenish tinged ulthar had an extra eye on his chin, and only one ear. He glared at Andrew, rage flowing out from his eyes. Andrew glowered back with hatred just as equal.
The ulthar made some unintelligible noises and hissed, "Aaah, uungh, pawn of Ruyoloth!"
"All bad things must come to an end," Andrew quipped.
The scimitar met Andrew's staff with a great CLANG! that sent strong vibrations down to his wrists.
The driverless wagon careened this way and that along the wooded path. Andrew struggled just to stay on his feet. An offensive was all but out of the question. Slowly, the powerful ulthar backed Andrew down to edge of the wagon....
Then Andrew saw his chance. He moved to the left. The ulthar copied. THUNK! His head struck a low hanging branch at high speed and he toppled to the floor.
Andrew ducked, and felt the branch zoom right over him.
"Good bye, friend. If only that extra eye of yours would have been on the back of your head, and you would still be alive!"
Andrew jumped into the driver's seat. He slowed the wagon, and turned it around like he had learnt to do on Jonah's farm weeks earlier. He raced back to the main battle.
By now, only six ulthars remained from the original twenty three: A huge brute of an ulthar, his skin white as snow with a glenvin tattoo on his left bicep, who wielded a large spear; a thin, swarthy one, his yellow eyes darting around the battlefield, who was armed with two, two-and-a-half-foot-long sticks with short blades connected to their tops; a fat, slow ulthar, who had an extra nose below his normal one. He was covered in so many tattoos, that his light colored skin appeared black. He carried a wicked looking long blade. Another ulthar, about seven foot three, with rippling muscles, and a nasty burn mark running across his face, who packed a mace. And two more similar looking ulthars, with above average builds, dark grey skin, and long white hair, streaked with yellow. They were armed with short swords and square shields.
Andrew dropped the staff. It was time for his trial in empty-handed combat. Much of his training and studying of the past few weeks would be put to the test.
"Distract the others!" Andrew called to Greybeard and Finor. "I'm going in for the darker grey skinned one!"
Andrew approached. The ulthar slashed. Andrew dodged. He slashed again. Andrew blocked with his forearm to the ulthars wrist. He caught the ulthar's wrist and twisted. His grip loosened, and he dropped the
sword. A punch to the mid section, followed by a vicious chop to the right spot on the ulthars neck, and he was down for the count.
Andrew advanced on the yellow-eyed nervous ulthar. This time he didn't even bother with disarming. Before the ulthar could strike, Andrew jumped high and kicked him in the chin. He stumbled backward. Andrew seized the chance with a powerful three punch combo to the head. Two down, one to go.
Andrew decided to take on the huge, hulking white ulthar for his last empty handed kill. The ulthar regarded him haughtily.
"So you think that just because you killed Guz and Lugo, that it will be easy to kill Pahsgrath Hammerhand, most fearsome of the Wan-Mli?" he sneered. "Let me introduce you to my little friend, 'Deathspear'."
The ulthar swung the blunt side of the spear towards Andrew like a staff. This unorthodox move took Andrew by surprise, and he didn't calculate that Pahsgrath would possess such speed for his great size either. The spear handle caught Andrew hard on the side of the head and sent him tumbling to the ground.
"Now that you two are introduced, perhaps you'd like to get better acquainted," laughed Pahsgrath.
The ulthar jumped high in the air, spear gripped with both hands above his head. Andrew rolled at the last second as the spear plunged into the ground, where moments before Andrew's heart was. But it did manage to nick Andrew's side, and his red blood poured out of the wound, to mix with the dirt and black ulthar blood already on the battlefield floor.
The ulthar lifted Deathspear for another strike. Andrew twisted out of the way again, but this time with his left hand he caught the spear by its shaft, preventing Pahsgrath from pulling it from the ground. This was perhaps Andrew's last chance. In a moment Pahsgrath would simply kick his hands out of the way. He scrambled to his knees and delivered a swift chop to the shaft of the spear.
The top snapped off and Andrew flung the blade into the forest. "Oops. Looks like I killed your little friend. Better not let them talk to strangers in the future."
Pahsgrath was visibly angry about losing his prized weapon. "You kill my friend, I kill you!"
Pahsgrath tossed the spear handle aside and went into a boxer's stance.
They did battle. Pasgrath was quite skilled at unarmed combat. They traded blows. Andrew was quicker, but Pahsgrath fought much harder, with much greater strength. Andrew felt over and over first hand why Pahsgrath was nicknamed 'Hammerhand'. He wasn't sure how much more of the beating he could take. His entire face and arms would probably be black and blue before it was over.
Then Andrew saw his chance. Finor turned and walked, his knives out. He would be at the right spot in just a second... the world froze for a second, and Andrew saw everything clearly. Yes, it would all come together just perfectly. He backed up, took a running start, and executed a mighty flying kick to Pahsgrath's chest. The brute flailed his arms and stumbled backwards, impaling himself on Finor's exposed knives.
"May Bunotah avenge me," he whispered. The ulthar was finally dead.
Andrew swayed, weakened by the battle and his loss of blood. He sat down heavily on a nearby wagon.
Teltibane and Kiara landed amidst the carnage. Teltibane ripped away Andrew's shirt, exposing an ugly wound to his side. "I'm going to apply some Wegaline Pulp. It will clean the wound and jump start the healing process."
Andrew just nodded, too tired to talk.
Teltibane poured a thick purple goo onto the cut. It burned briefly, and the bleeding slowed. "We will patch you up better when we get to the castle, Andrew. Congratulations. You will ride back with Ganvian. Ganvian, hold on to him tight. See to it that our Champion doesn't fall off."
"Yes sir."
"Did I pass the test?" Andrew asked.
"Of course you did," said Teltibane. "You did well."
"But I used Finor's knives for the final one."
"Oh, that's nothing. You didn't wield those knives. You were empty-handed. That's just a case of utilizing your surroundings, a valuable skill in any fight. It is like throwing you enemy into the ground, which is akin to using the ground and gravity as a hammer, correct? Yet it's still considered empty-handed. It is merely using your surroundings. In that case, the ground, in this case, a bystander's knives. Now you have been tested in real combat, and your training is nearly complete. You are almost ready to take on the full title of Champion."
"What of the stolen goods?" asked Finor.
"Yes, I nearly forgot about them. Thank you Finor, for reminding me. Let's see...which spell to use...yes I think I've got it. Okay. Seliem, Selumba, Sorvient," Teltibane drew a rectangle in the air with his finger, and a silver door with a black doorknob appeared. Teltibane opened the door, and a golden horse stepped out.
"Where to?" asked the horse lazily.
"Pelkut town center," said Teltibane.
"Right away," drawled the horse, and it set off for Pelkut, the town whence the ulthars had come.
"If you see my mother, tell her I didn't do it!" called the horse over his shoulder.
Teltibane chuckled. "I will, Corian."
"Take care now Corian," called Finor.
"All in a days work."
"They will follow him home," said Teltibane. "Come, let us fly back to the castle. One of our spies awaits us there to give reports of troop movements in the vicinity of Blue's fortress. We must attend to this at once."