Chapter 7
Garandol, Mark and Jennifer had only been walking for an hour when Arrow swooped down to deliver a message to Garandol. The old man took the rolled up parchment from Arrow's talons then the bird flew away into a tree to rest as Garandol read the note.
Mark and Jennifer stopped and turned towards Garandol as he stopped to read.
"What is it?" Mark asked.
Garandol was stone faced, jaw set and eyes narrow as he read the message.
"Garandol?" Jennifer said hiding her worry as she stepped towards him.
"We must hurry," he said and began walking with urgency. They were heading for the cliffs to follow the river south. "What did the note say?"
"Broc has fifty men with him. Ten Forsaken included. He will stop near my home first then head in this direction."
"Why doesn't he just lead them the wrong way?" Mark asked.
"Because Arnath will know his thoughts. He has probably already seen that I put wards of protection up around Broc's mind."
"Then why is Broc still alive?" Mark asked confused.
"He may not be for much longer,” Garandol said sounding worried.
“We should go and help him then!”
Garandol smiled reassuringly and said, “Broc can take care of himself. He will do his best to misdirect them also.”
"Then we should be safe, right?" Garandol stopped, spun towards Mark and stared at him with a familiar glare. Mark shut his mouth with his jaw set tight and looked at the ground. Satisfied that Mark wouldn't question him any further, Garandol turned back in the direction they were heading and continued south.
The tension that had been created between them seemed to quiet even the birds in the trees. Mark didn't hear a single chirp for nearly fifteen minutes as they walked. The silence was eerie. He couldn't focus on anything. Jennifer's glances seemed to scream at him. He could feel every awkward stare she gave him, but thankfully she never brought up the exchange between he and Garandol.
Mark looked up at Garandol and saw him scribbling something on a fresh piece of parchment. Then he rolled it up and whistled for Arrow. Arrow flew down and took the note and as he began to fly away, Garandol told him where to go.
"Thern knows our situation."
"And what is that, Garandol?" Jennifer asked.
Mark's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly as he gawked at her. His glances bounced back and forth between Garandol and Jennifer like a ping-pong ball until finally, Garandol spoke.
"Broc has been sent to capture both of you and to kill anyone else who is with you. Arnath wants to kill you himself. Nothing has changed. Arnath's goals are still the same. With you two out of the way, he believes that neither Seth nor Serina will be able to stop him."
"Doesn't the prophecy say that we have the power to win?" Jennifer asked.
"Yes, but it doesn't mean you are necessary. However, Arnath believes you are."
"Maybe we're meant to distract him so Seth can do what he needs to," she suggested.
Garandol stopped, his mouth curved downward, his eyebrows raised, impressed by her statement.
"That is very possible. Regardless, we cannot allow you two to end up in his clutches."
Broc and his men were two hours out from Trondil after having ridden through the night. The Forsaken didn't bother with horses. Their strength and speed was much greater than any mortal man, especially these few. After Timberfoot had effectively destroyed the dozen or so Broc had led over a week ago, Engard increased their speed and strength to be able to withstand a single giant.
The sun rose over the Aontacht Forest, in which the border of Ashenland and Eranithia lies, to their right. The air was crisp and bit at their exposed faces as they rode towards Trondil. Broc's plan was to stop for a short rest and a meal, then ride on to the west and follow along the Gar mountains to the south in hopes of catching them.
"Tell me again, General, why we didn't just head for the Gar Mountains and cut them off there?" his second in command asked him as they settled their pace.
"Because, Margus, it was my decision to go this way. Do you question my judgment?"
"And if I am?" Margus challenged him.
Broc pulled on the reigns bringing his horse to a halt. His second stopped with him as the others rode on. Some looked back in confusion and began calling others back.
"Do I need to remind you that it was I who was held captive by these vermin?" Broc asked angrily.
"Of course not, sir, I only-"
"Do I need to remind you that it is I that Arnath put over this band of soldiers?" He interrupted Margus.
"No, sir but-"
"Then why do you doubt me?"
His second looked too afraid to speak but he found his last bit of courage inside and asked, "Do you not think it's possible, sir, that they altered your mind so that you wouldn't use logic?"
"Are you saying my mind is poisoned?"
His second only stared at him. It was exactly what he was thinking.
"King Arnath searched my mind himself upon my return, yet he still found me fit to lead you. Are you questioning your king's judgment?"
"Of course not, sir, but if we know where they're going, and it is very possible they're already on their way, then we should have sent men along the base of the Gar Mountains to cut them off." Broc stared hard at his second. Even though he couldn't remember the last ten years he knew these men had served under him for quite a while and he would have chosen them himself. Margus was right and the old Broc would have done exactly as he was suggesting.
"So we should split up then. Three groups."
"Three, sir?"
"Yes, one to attempt to catch Seth before he crosses into Ashenland, another to go on to the west of Trondil, and the last to cut Garandol off at the southern point of the Gar Mountains."
"Why should someone go on to Trondil?"
"Because then we can pin them to the mountains and take them easier."
Margus seemed satisfied with his response, so Broc turned from him to look at the rest of his men surrounding them.
"Lindrell, you take ten and continue north towards Trondil. When you are a mile south of the town, head west for the Gar Mountains and follow them south. Hopefully you will help pin Garandol and the twins to the mountains."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant barked, then took ten men with him and rode off.
"Margus," Broc said and his second moved his horse closer to him.
"Sir?"
"Take one man and the Forsaken with you towards Ashenland. Catch Seth. If he has already crossed into Ashenland, then head for Kushen to meet us. If you are able to capture him, take him straight to the king."
"Yes, sir," he said, then nodded to another soldier to follow him. The Forsaken followed.
"The rest of you come with me," he commanded. When he turned his horse to head towards the southern end of the Gar Mountains he thought he saw something disappear into the tall grass. He stared at the spot he saw the object disappear into for a full minute before one of his men interrupted his concentration.
"Sir?" a strong, young man said pulling his horse up next to Broc's. Broc looked at him. He had a young, hard, squared face. His sharp green eyes searched Broc for a moment, then he looked in the direction Broc had been looking.
“Did you see something, sir?” He asked in his deep voice.
Broc looked back at the tall grass for a moment, then said, “No. My eyes must be playing tricks on me.”
The young soldier nodded, seemingly satisfied with Broc's answer, much to Broc's relief.
"Let's ride," Broc said and the rest of the men followed after him.
That night as they camped, Broc reclined, propped up on one elbow as he stared at the campfire. He pulled at a blade of grass, ripping small pieces off as he thought about his role in the scheme he was a part of. The ultimate goal was to put Seth and Serina on their thrones. But part of his motivation was also to atone for the past ten years. Broc thought that if he could help put Seth and Serina in their rightful place in the kingdom, he may be able to make up for unwillingly supporting Arnath. He knew that he had been under Arnath's mind control the whole time, but he also knew he could have been stronger and resisted Arnath's power.
"Broc," came a deep voice.
Broc sat up suddenly and twisted around, searching for the source of the voice. All he saw was his men, sound asleep. "Follow my light, Broc," the voice spoke again.
Broc looked west where the cliffs stood. But there was a soft glow coming from that direction. His stomach clenched and felt as if it shrunk to the size of a small rock. He feared it was Garandol's camp with the twins. However, the light seemed to be growing. That relieved his fear of it being Garandol, but it brought a new fear. They were in the path of a wildfire! "Come to me, Broc," the voice commanded.
Broc stood up slowly, knees shaking. He didn't know why this soft glow, which grew brighter and larger, or was it nearer, caused him so much fear.
Stepping around his men, he walked straight for the light, never taking his eyes off of it. As he got closer, the light took shape. It was a beast of some kind. Broc couldn't tear his eyes away from the glowing beast if he tried. He was hypnotized, no, mesmerized, by this beast of light. He wondered why the term Beast of Light sounded so familiar to him. Like something learned from his childhood.
"Do not fear, my son," the glowing beast said.
As he heard these words the light dimmed, allowing Broc to look upon it. Broc looked at the ground, too afraid to look the beast in the face.
“You fear your creator who loves you?”
“Who are you my lord?”
The beast sighed and lowered its head; Broc felt his heart begin to break.
"You don't even know the one who created you?" Sol asked Broc sadly.
Tears welled up in Broc's eyes.
"You don't know the voice of the one who loves you?"
The tears spilled down Broc's cheeks.
"I see your heart breaking," the beast said.
Broc could see the full shape of the beast now. Less than ten feet away stood a lion! Broc remembered the old stories of Sol coming to people in the shape of different animals, and this terrified him. Broc hit his knees and buried his face in his hands. Heavy sobs erupted from deep within Broc as he realized who approached him.
The lion stopped a foot away from Broc. He could feel the warm breath on his back.
"Why do you weep, child?" the lion asked.
"Because I have denied your existence for so long."
The Lion didn't respond.
"I walked away from you and killed many who loved you. Please forgive me."
"You were not in your mind," Sol stated. He wasn't giving Broc an excuse, he was merely stating a fact.
"But I could have fought it. Arnath isn't as powerful as he believes he is."
"But sometimes a little faith is all it takes. He believes in his power and that makes him powerful."
Broc dared a peek at the lion. The first thing he noticed was the lion's paws, as large as Broc's head. He knew one swipe from the lion, and he would lose his head. He sat up slowly, still on his knees and looked into the golden eyes of the lion. This was Sol. God and creator of Eranithia and all around it. His fur matched his eyes perfectly. But Broc could see a fire burning within those eyes. It was a fire of compassion, though, not of anger. Broc's trembling settled as he stared at Sol, connecting with him on a level he never had before. There was so much love in Sol's eyes, Broc didn't know if he could ever look away again.
"You are being followed," Sol warned Broc.
Broc shook his head suddenly. He hadn't expected to hear this from Sol.
"A spy?" Broc asked as he entered defense mode. He thought about the object he had seen disappear into the tall grass earlier that day.
Sol nodded his head once.
"Arnath doesn't really trust me does he?"
"He fears he doesn't have full control of you, so he sent someone to watch you and report back to him."
A new reason to fear came over Broc. His inability to convince Arnath he was still loyal was compromising the mission. Broc knew the kind of men Arnath sent to spy on his own people. They had mental abilities as strong as, if not stronger than, Arnath.
"I have to stop him."
"Yes, you do. If he lives, he will compromise everything we are working for. Seth and Serina must be put on their thrones. Together they will bring peace back to Eranithia."
"Where is he?" Broc asked with determination.
"Camped near the cliffs. One hundred yards west."
Broc knew he had to kill him. He stood and leaned to the side to look past Sol. He saw the orange glow of a fire.
"He is sleeping, go now and you will catch him off guard. When he is dead put out his fire and push his body over the cliff. I will take care of the rest from there."
The instructions surprised Broc. Sol was actually telling him to kill someone and dispose of their body. Was this really Sol? "But don't you hate murder?" Broc asked, confused.
"Is it murder for me to destroy what I've created? And am I not allowed to use whatever tool I wish? You are mine, and I love you. You love me and will obey. Now go, do as I command."
"Yes, Lord," Broc said bowing to Sol. Then he walked towards the campfire near the cliffs.
Sol's words kept ringing through his head. You are mine and I love you. You love me and will obey... He had denied Sol's existence for so long, but now he would never be able to again. Garandol had put up protection around his mind, but knowing that he belonged to Sol, that was all the protection he would ever need.
Broc thought more about the kind of man he was about to kill. These assassins knew Sol, but they rejected him completely. They followed the ways of Turmna, the enemy of Sol. She had once been a servant of Sol's, but fell when she wanted his power. Sol banished her from his land but gave her the freedom to do as she pleased, knowing he would destroy her one day. Turmna did her best to turn Sol's people away from him. There were times she was successful, but it was only because Sol allowed it to happen. He allowed her to have power for now, but in the end Sol will wage a great war on her and imprison her for a thousand years.
How all this came back to Broc's mind so quickly, he had no idea. But he took comfort in knowing that he now belonged to Sol and had no fear of Turmna any longer.
Before he knew it he was standing before the assassin's fire. Broc stepped around the fire without a sound and knelt before the sleeping servant of Turmna. He slipped his dagger from his belt. The slight sound of metal grinding against the hard leather woke the assassin. Broc had to move quickly. He dove on top of the assassin before he could reach his sword. They wrestled, rolling toward the cliff. The assassin got a punch into Broc's gut, knocking the wind out of him. Distracted by the sudden pain in his stomach, the assassin was able to shove Broc off of him.
Broc heard the sound of the assassin's sword coming from its scabbard. He moved quickly, rising to his feet and rushing for the assassin. The assassin hadn't expected Broc to rise as quickly as he had. When he turned with his sword to finish Broc off, Broc was already on top of him. The sword flew from the assassin's hand, bouncing once off of a rock by the hilt then over the edge of the cliff.
They were on the ground again. This time Broc got the upper hand, pinning the assassin to the ground. He punched the assassin in the face, knocking him unconscious. Looking around for his dagger, he caught a slight glimpse of it in the firelight, laying five feet away in a patch of shorter grass.
He left the unconscious hired killer and walked to his dagger. Exhaustion began to overtake him as much as the assassin had. Stumbling closer he heard a rustling in the tall grass behind him. Panic attacked him as he realized it must be the assassin rising from unconsciousness. He dove for his dagger, rolled once and popped back to his feet. As he did a small knife caught his shoulder. He looked at his shoulder, which was his most costly mistake. Rushing footsteps came towards him. Looking back just in time he was able to shove his dagger into the assassin's belly as he was being tackled.
Broc rolled over putting him on top of the assassin. His face was already going pale. To end his life without suffering, Broc grabbed the assassin's head and twisted it with one quick jerk. The loud crack of bones announced the assassin's death.
Broc rolled off of the man and wept. Never had taking a life affected him so much. He didn't know why this made his heart so heavy. Maybe it was because Sol was changing him. He no longer found pleasure in taking the life of a man, regardless if the man was going to eventually kill him. He no longer cared about his life like he had before. He no longer feared death. Broc knew that when he died, he would be with Sol forever.
The assassin he killed had already made his choice and it was against Sol. The assassin would be waiting in the place Sol prepared for him in Underworld until his mistress joined him for eternity.
Broc stomped out the small fire. He didn't know how he'd been able to see it from so far away. It must have been through Sol's eyes. Then he pulled the dagger from the assassin's belly, cleaned it in the grass then returned it to his belt.
Moving the dead body wasn't as easy as he thought it would have been. The weight felt as if it grew in his death. It was only ten feet to the edge, but it might as well have been a hundred. When he finally reached the edge he let the body fall and sucked in heavy breaths of air, relieved that the task was finally complete. When he heard the faint thud of the body hitting the bottom he closed his eyes and prayed.
"Thank you, Sol, for giving me the strength to do what you asked of me."
Then Broc stood and walked back to his camp. He took his time to allow strength to come back to his limbs. He still couldn't figure out why it took so much out of him to kill a trained assassin. They were both trained to kill, but this felt different to him. It was like an extra weight had been added to him in the process. When he laid back down in his place around the fire, he closed his eyes and fell immediately to sleep. He had no thoughts and no dreams. Only restful sleep.
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