Oct. Contest Entry #7

[Aredhel]

The stories submitted to Vanguard Spheres have not been edited, unless done by request to the author. We encourage responses to the content, as they will be taken into consideration in the judging. Enjoy! ~A~

Beta-Slot Entry #7

The Divide

It was an early spring morning, and the village was still sleeping. Vlanion stepped outside his house and took a deep breath. It was going to be a good day. He could feel it. It was the first day of Meyanian, and the farmers would begin planting their crops soon.

In the morning haze, Vlanion glanced back at his house. He had done well these past few years, protecting his village from threats. For his work, he had been given the grandest house in the village, with the exception of the village elder of course. He was a paladin, a warrior of the light, and he cherished his life.

A cry came from inside the house. It was Rhan, his son. No doubt Sheldra, Vlanion’s wife, would be padding her feet through the house toward their son’s room. A smile crossed his face.

The Beranid River was not far off, so every morning, before many people woke, Vlanion would wash himself in the river. The water was warm most days, but was cool today. Fish glided underneath the surface and touched his shins every now and then.

When he was finished, Vlanion went to see the village elder, like always. He would surely be up by now. While he was walking back he spied the city of Targonor in the distance. Its spires glinted in the sunlight, looking as though they were a beacon of hope and purity, an example for all to follow.

The village elder, never one to sleep long, met him halfway between the village and the river. A scowl was etched into his rough features.

“We have a problem,” said the village elder, his tone morose.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve heard rumors of a pack of vulmane near here. I’d like you to investigate.”

“Certainly.”

Without another word, the village elder and Vlanion walked back into the village, which was now bustling with people rushing to the river to wash. They parted ways and Vlanion headed to his house. The door creaked open and he walked in. Like he predicted, Sheldra was rocking in her favorite chair with Rhan in her arms. She was smiling at his attempts to grab her nose. She noticed her husband and looked up.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“A pack of vulmane.”

Her expression grew somber. “I know. I’ve heard the rumors.” She watched as Vlanion picked up his sword and shield from the corner by the door. He disappeared into the back rooms for a few minutes then came out in his suit of chain mail armor. The frown on Sheldra’s face deepened. “Good luck.”

Vlanion nodded. “I will return, as always.”

“As always,” she said, appearing to have been cheered up.

Then Vlanion left his house once more. The people that passed him gazed at Vlanion with great bulging eyes. For if the village guardian was in armor, something must be wrong. And so, Vlanion marched out of the village and into the surrounding plains. Patches of forest dotted the region. The Vulmane would be in one of them no doubt. They were dog-like creatures that hunted in ravenous packs, slaying all they encountered, even each other. He had fought them before, but combat with a Vulmane was nothing to scoff at. They were creatures of single-minded brutality.

Combat was not his first priority, however. Vlanion was to scout the pack’s whereabouts and their troop strength.

He had barely reached the first patch of wood when he heard a piercing howl coming from the north. It was a vulmane. The sounds of snapping branches and disturbed brush rose up from the wood. Vlanion drew his sword. The beast came out of the brush-line and charged without a moment’s hesitation. Its claws weaved through the air and struck his shield. They skidded off the steel an instant later. The vulmane became enraged at having his attack blocked.

“Be gone creature!” Vlanion bellowed. The creature charged again. The two became locked in a steady rhythm of agonizing combat. Trading blow for blow, Vlanion began to wear down.

Bless this blade lord, Vlanion’s mind echoed. He held up his sword into the cloudless sky and it began to burn with righteous light. Oozing blood from its teeth, the vulmane circled around Vlanion, preparing for the kill. Then it leaped. Like a dart it came at him, but his sword was swifter. It plunged into the creatures fur, and soon its ferocious eyes glazed over and dipped into darkness.

“A scout,” said Vlanion as he stood. “But that would mean….”

The village.

He whirled around, and his heart sunk. “No!”

Pillars of black smoke were rising up from the village. Across the grassy plains and the lines of bushes he sprinted. The sky, the land, Targonor, and his village all spun around him in a giant blur as he scrambled back. He could hear the screams of women, the crying of babies.

Hold on just a little longer…both of you.

When he arrived, the sight was nearly unbearable. Men and women lie dead in the village square. The survivors were running for their lives with vulmane close on their heels. Vlanion’s brow dipped.

“Help me!” a woman’s voice screamed to the left of Vlanion. A scrawny Vulmane was closing in on her. She was trapped in between two houses. Vlanion’s legs exploded into action. He drew his sword in an instant and sped toward the woman. She cringed. The vulmane lifted his arm high in the air. Vlanion bit his lip and prayed he would be in time.

The sound of bone on steel resounded throughout the village. When the woman opened her eyes, she saw Vlanion standing in front of her, his shield up holding the creature at bay. He pushed the monster back and with one slash sent the creature to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Turning back to the woman, Vlanion said, “Flee to Targonor. Take anyone with you that you can find.” The woman nodded and they parted ways. Vlanion rescued three more villagers from the Vulmane. The screams and howls from the village had died down, but the flames still burned on.

Finally, Vlanion made it to his home. The curtains were pulled closed and the door was shut tight. A glimmer of hope swirled within him. He kicked in the door. A scream came from the living room. Sheldra had a dagger and looked like a tigress ready to pounce. Her eyes were feral and wild.

“It’s me,” Vlanion said quickly. “Gather the child and follow me.”

“To where?” she asked.

“The river, there is a raft there you can escape on. Hurry.”

She did as her husband asked. They met in the living room. Vlanion had put on his set of full plate armor. His expression was grim. Dried blood was caked on his sword. He was still panting.

She looked at him with soft eyes and said, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

They emerged from the house moments later. Sheldra gasped at the burning buildings around them. She squeezed the baby tighter. It stirred within the array of blankets she had assembled. Vlanion led her through the town square and out of the village. His heart pounded inside his chest. They were almost there.

A howl emanated from the village. It was unlike anything Vlanion had ever heard before. It chilled his blood. His stomach did somersaults. Vlanion stopped.

“What is it?” asked Sheldra behind him.

“I….don’t know.” He found his legs unable to move. His body went rigid.

What…is this? Is it a spell? No, it couldn’t be. There are no sorcerers near me. Then what is it!

Finally, he was able to free his body. They made it to the river with no vulmane in sight. The raft was right where it should be: tied up on a makeshift dock that he had helped the village elder build two years ago. The current was slow but steady. She would be out of harms way in no time.

Vlanion turned to Sheldra. “Get on.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

Vlanion shook his head. “I have to make safe this village.”

It was clear that Vlanion had made up his mind. So Sheldra nodded and walked onto the dock. Her feet made little wet footprints on the wood as she walked toward the raft. A fraction of a second later the footprints had vanished. She looked back one last time and her eyes widened.

“Vlan!” she screamed then pointed behind him.

Vlanion spun around. The largest Vulmane he had ever seen was walking toward him. This beast was clad in dark plate armor and carried a large polished claymore on its back.

Over his shoulder, vlanion yelled, “Go!” Sheldra cut the rope tying down the raft and it began to sail downstream. He turned back to the beast and readied his blade.

The vulmane appeared unhurried. He slowly took his claymore into his paws and walked to within a few yards of Vlanion.

In a garbled, throaty voice, the creature said, “You…the guardian of this village, I challenge you.”

“You will not get past me creature—“

“I have a name!” barked the vulmane. “It is Hargoth, now tell me yours human!”

“Vlanion,” he said, disgusted.

They stood still for a moment. The world around them vanished. Only each other remained as they gazed into their enemies’ eyes. They held the pose for what seemed like an eternity. Minutes dragged on for hours. And then they charged.

The claymore slammed down onto Vlanion’s shield with crushing force. Hargoth seemed to have the strength of the giants flowing through him. Again and again Hargoth came at Vlanion, and every time the paladin would block the vulmane’s viscous attacks. Vlanion’s eyes glanced toward the river. He cursed the slow current.

Just a bit longer…Lord bless this blade.

He held it in the air like before. Then he thrust the sword at the midsection of his opponent. The sound of a deft parry made Vlanion swallow hard. His limbs were getting slower. He was tiring. But something else was there, in the back of his mind, like a growing disease. He couldn’t explain it or even locate the source, but it was there inside his head. It had something to do with this vulmane, Hargoth. He knew it.

Other vulmane had begun to emerge from the village. They crept closer to get a better view of their chieftain in action. Vlanion felt the darkness closing in all around him. He stood defiantly and gripped his sword tight.

“This is my last stand, here and now we finish this!”

Hargoth’s face drew up in an odd smile. He snorted. “Then finish it human.”

Vlanion burst forward, his blade held high. His vision shook and wavered as his plate boots pounded across the plains toward Hargoth. He lunged forward, plunging the tip of his sword through the air. The second seemed to last forever. In slow motion, Vlanion saw his blade skim off the surface of Hargoth’s breastplate. Then he watched as Hargoth whirled around to his rear. A sharp pain erupted in his neck and Vlanion fell to his knees, unable to move. His body was completely frozen.

“What….what did…you do to me?” Vlanion sputtered out.

Hargoth circled back around, appearing before Vlanion’s eyes. “Did you really think we would let your family go, after you have killed so many of my brethren?” He pointed toward the river. Straining his neck, Vlanion could see the raft, and the vulmane approaching on both banks of the river.

“Let them go! They’ve done nothing to you or your kind!”

Then the scream came; the blood-curdling scream that came from Sheldra’s lips. Vlanion didn’t want to look, but his instincts forced his head around and his eyes onto the scene. Splashing water, a shattered raft, ravenous creatures. It was too much to bear. He shut his eyes. Tears began to sprinkle down the sides of his face.

There was nothing left. Everything he had ever lived for was gone in a single day. Something stirred within him. Something beneath the sadness. He couldn’t explain it. But his body was still frozen, and Hargoth was still standing over him, the victor.

Hargoth snarled at one of his lieutenants. A large vulmane stepped forward along with three others. Hargoth turned.

“Feast on this one’s hallow flesh,” he said over his shoulder. Then Hargoth strode back into the burning village and out of sight.

In their native tongue the four left behind argued about how to eat Vlanion. As they argued, growling at each other, Vlanion’s body started to respond. His finger twitched. Then his arm came to life. Before long, his entire body was usable. Vlanion rose to his feet and the four creatures snapped their heads toward him.

His body shaking, Vlanion knelt down and grasped his sword. He disregarded the shield and held his blade with both hands. It didn’t matter if he lived anymore. All he knew was what was in front of him now.

“You took everything from me…” whispered Vlanion.

The vulmane tilted their heads in confusion.

Vlanion glared. “My turn.”

Not one creature escaped that fight alive. Some tried, but the enraged paladin ran them down like mere stray dogs. A veil of red smothered his vision when he was finished. His opponents lay dead by the river. What was left of the vulmane in the shattered village were dispatched as well. But no sign of Hargoth.

The village elder had sent for help when the attack began. When the knights of Targonor arrived at the village, their stomachs turned. Only one survivor was found among the wreckage that day. The knights came upon him in the town square, on his hands and knees, destruction all around him, bawling. They took him away from the devastation and brought him to the city Targonor, grand keep of the humans of Thestra.

The iron gate of the jail cell that was to become Vlanion’s home clapped shut with an ominous clang. Gripping the bars, he slowly slipped downward into a sitting position. His crying was done with, but the sorrow remained. He didn’t care anymore. Dying in a jail cell would be just as well as dying in battle. It didn’t matter.

For months he laid there on the straw mattress in the dank cell. Prisoners, murderers, escapees, horse thieves, and even mercenaries came to and fro, but he remained. Finally after many sunrises and sunsets, a guard came for him. Through the darkness of the jail, the guard led him up and into the light with his hands bound behind his back. Shoving him violently forward, the guard barked unintelligible orders and insults at Vlanion.

They came to a court outside. The king was seated high on a balcony and a small stand was positioned in the center of a large ring of soft dirt. The audience sat all around. Hard faces and mocking taunts jabbed at Vlanion as he made his way towards the stand. The sun was rising; it was morning. Vlanion stepped up onto the stand and arched his head back so he could see the king.

After a moment, the deep voice of the announcer resonated throughout the outdoor court. “Vlanion Carr, you are charged with negligence in the defense of your village, the king’s village, how do you plead?”

With a solemn bow, Vlanion said, “Guilty.”

A gasp ran throughout the on-lookers.

King Targonor leaned forward. “Paladin, surely you must have some explanation as to what happened. Give us your answer.”

“My Lord, I have no excuse. What happened to my village was my fault and I bear the weight each day. I pray only that justice be done for the needless deaths.”

“Very well,” said King Targonor, standing. “Negligence does not condemn one to death, but you will hereby be stripped of your rank and military status. Your weapons and armor will be given to another paladin. May God have mercy on your soul.”

“But sir! You must kill me! I have nothing left!”

Without a word, the guards came and hauled Vlanion Carr away to make room for another criminal. He kicked and screamed and then was thrown from the jail’s door out onto the streets of Targonor. He landed on his face. Dirt, stone, and saliva mixed in his mouth. Coughing, he was finally able to spit the paste from his lips. Then he looked up. A horse carriage nearly ran over him. He scuttled to the sidewalk and put his back against a wall. Breathing heavily, Vlanion eyed the people walking by. They never noticed him, any of them. He was invisible. He was worthless now.

And so he became a beggar. Huddling in the alleys for warmth at night. Scrounging for food in the day. His life had become simple: food and shelter. He met other beggars and had begun to get to know a few of them. Most of them lived in the sewers, but Vlanion would never go that low as to crawl around with the rats. So he was alone most of the time. His thoughts wandered to Sheldra and their son. He cried often.

One day when it was especially cold, Vlanion emerged from his favorite alleyway to find some food. Hardly anyone was out on the streets. The familiar clop, clop , clop of the horse carriages had vanished.

Then a voice came from the right. “You there,” a burly man said, “I remember you. Yes, yes…”

Vlanion turned on his heel to face a giant of a man. He had to tilt his head back just to look into his eyes. With a raspy voice, he replied, “So what.”

“Some fire left in you I see.” The man chuckled. “I like that. I see what you’ve hidden beneath your sorrow. Even you probably can’t see it yet, but I do.”

“Leave me be. Let me die in peace.”

“You know—“ The man started. Vlanion started to walk away. “I was wandering through the villages south of here and came upon another that was devastated like your own. I also caught a glimpse of Hargoth.”

Vlanion stopped. He whipped around. “You know where he is?!”

With a wry smile, the man said, “I may…”

Grabbing the man’s shoulders, Vlanion shouted in his face, “Tell me! Tell me where the beast is! Now!”

“Calm yourself my friend. You are in no condition to fight a vulmane chieftain. Even when you were in top condition you were still no match for him.”

Hopelessness again lashed at Vlanion’s heart. He slumped his shoulders and hunched his back. “I know…what good am I to anyone anymore.”

“Would you do anything to defeat him?”

“Yes!”

“Even die?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.”

The man took Vlanion to his mansion in Targonor. His name was Galadar. He was an outcast from his village in the Widow’s Viel Mountains. He became into a renowned craftsman while in Targonor, a great feat considering the humans’ disgust for barbarians.

Sparring rooms, recreation areas, and tiny arenas were all within his extensive plot of land. After days of rejuvenating his body with rigorous exercise, Vlanion stood before Galadar refreshed and with a newfound vigor. His eyes burned with life once more. Everything he did was for a single purpose: to defeat Hargoth.

Galadar circled around Vlanion with an inspecting eye. “Your body isn’t too scarred from the captivity. That’s good. What I’m about to teach you has never been taught to one of your kind before. There are many styles like it, but none so pure as the fury you have inside you now. You lost to Hargoth because of fear…”

“I was not afraid,” snapped Vlanion.

“You were. Your unconscious mind was terrified. To defeat him you will have to shatter any doubts that you have and purge your fear once and for all. You must walk the slim divide between life and death. Never truly alive, always seeking death. To do this will make you greater than both, a force of nature you will become. A Berserker.”

The servants and squires outfitted Vlanion with the best chain mail money could buy. An elven axe was placed in each of his hands. He trained day and night, pushing his body and his rage to their limits, and beyond. Then, exactly a month later, Vlanion stepped from the mansion with Galadar at his side. They shook hands.

“Goodbye my friend,” said Galadar, “and may luck be on your side.”

“You saved me. I will not let you down.”

Vlanion walked away. The wind whipped past him, billowing his cloak wildly and exposing his armor and axes strapped to his belt. He quickly covered them. The guards at the gate didn’t seem to recognize him.

“Be careful out there,” the youngest of the two guards said, “we’ve had reports of orcs and goblins in the area.”

Vlanion nodded and left.

For days he walked the lonely roads between the villages, slaying monsters and nightmares in the deepest caves and the darkest forests. Death as his companion, Vlanion slew all evil before him. He met many vulmane during his travels, but none from the tribe that had attacked his village. If he would have, he would have known it. Their scent, their fur, and their chieftain were burned into his mind. The townspeople of the various villages stayed clear of him when he bought provisions. They were just as scared of him as they were of the monsters that carried them off in the night.

One starry night, Vlanion smelled a fire burning. He was dreadfully close to the forests where the elves dwelt, but decided to go in anyway. Making his way through the foliage, he caught a glimpse of the fire, and its builders.

Orcs…here?

They were speaking in their native tongue, a rough and throaty dialect. There were four of them near the fire and about ten goblins preparing tents farther out. Vlanion strained his eyes to see through the smoke of the fire. Something was moving. It was bound to a pole. It was Hargoth. His black plate armor was unmistakable. Vlanion let out a short gasp. The orcs whipped their heads around. No sense hiding now. They knew he was in the bushes. Vlanion unbelted his axes, let his cloak float to the ground, and stepped from the brush.

The goblins immediately grabbed their spears and created a wall between Vlanion and the orcs. They inched forward, jabbing and prodding. Vlanion spied Hargoth in the distance. The vulmane chieftain had nearly freed himself with his claws. When he had finally cut the ropes and grabbed his claymore, Vlanion charged. From behind and in front, howling battle cries filled the orcs and goblins’ ears. Like before, Vlanion’s vision turned red. His entire body shook. He clamped his hands around both axes and cut a swath through the goblin line. A slender spear penetrated his shoulder for only a moment before he cut down the goblin responsible. The wound burned, but his rage burned brighter.

Meanwhile, Hargoth, having the element of surprise, cleaved one orc and injured another. He fought with the remaining two while Vlanion was dispatching goblin after goblin. The orcs were a match for Hargoth, but the vulmane’s blood-roars began to take hold in the greenskins’ minds. Before long, they doubted every swing, every parry. They soon fell in a heap with their brethren.

And then, the two stood face to face. Both were panting and exhausted. A fireball split the moment. It struck the ground between them and they jumped backwards in unison. Sparks of molten light sprayed outward in all directions. A cackle came from the side. Out of the darkness shambled a tiny goblin. He had many necklaces of teeth hanging from his body and carried a wooden staff that was twice his own height. The goblin shaman gave a toothy grin and waved his hand. Another fireball came screaming down into the ground. It would have struck Vlanion in the chest, had he not rolled out of the way. Hargoth appeared beside Vlanion.

“My pack will never join your cause goblin!” Hargoth bellowed. It had no effect on the goblin.

Vlanion grimaced. “After we dispatch this creature, you and I will settle this once and for all.”

“Agreed.”

They exploded forward. The goblin’s laughter continued and rose above the sounds of the forest. The ground began to shake and the trees started to tremble. When they were nearly to the wicked shaman a blaze of light shot outwards from the goblin’s body. Vlanion threw up his arms to protect his eyes. He could feel the searing heat on his face. Soon a low whistling sound entered his ears. And then he saw them. Fireballs were crashing into the forest floor all around them. Flame danced along the once-green petals. Vlanion looked up. The goblin was running.

They had a hard time catching up. Comets struck the ground and seemed to follow their movements. Running the gambit, building his rage into an unstoppable maelstrom, Vlanion pumped his legs faster than humanly possible. He leapt onto the goblin and brought his axes down. The fireballs stopped. The flames withered and receded.

The goblin rolled over, breathing its last breaths, and said in the common tongue,

“What befalls one, so to shall befall the other.” It waved its hand one last time and then was still. Hargoth fell in agony, clutching his shoulder. The same shoulder that Vlanion’s wound was on. Then Vlanion felt a surge of pain in his waste. He looked down. No blood had been spilled from there. And yet it felt as if he had been slashed. His eyes widened.

A spell.

Hargoth recognized it as well. “Yes human. It seems as though we’ve been put under a spell. If I kill you, I too shall die. Would probably be a blessing now.”

“Why’s that!” Vlanion snapped.

Hargoth stood and wiped the blood from his snout. “The gathering storm is nearly here. Maybe it would be better just to die here, killing you. Your city will soon fall anyway.”

“Targonor?” Vlanion chuckled. “I think not.”

“The orc army will destroy your city. Believe me, I have seen many of my brethren run off to join them. So let us die here and be rid of all this.”

If I kill him and die…no one will warn Targonor.

Hargoth spoke again. “Well human?”

And yet if I let him live…I’ll betray the memories of everyone that died that day.

“Vlanion?”

Looking up, Vlanion’s brow dipped. He had made up his mind.

[Raolinx Aeromancer]

Bahhh Cheated. Robbed. I want the Vulmanes Blood. Stupid Goblin castng a curse like that. Stomp his head and make some jelly. Hehe Dang those twisted endings. Good read.

Rao

[Taronn Anvilmarr]

LOL good read indeed, leaves you wanting more. I like.