A Sacrifice for Varkanah: Chapter Two

Chapter II

 

        Saeran arrived at the bridge just as the golden sun faded into deep shades of red and purple. He was making great time! He had already covered the distance from Valdi to the Cantarian River, and in only four days!

        He, at he insistence of his Uncle, had taken the hardiest horse from the stables in Valdi, but even this powerful beast could hardly stand such a gruelling run. He dismounted and left the beast to graze and to rest.

As he gazed across the mighty river, Saeran Randsly saw the immense ranges of the Whitevale Mountains. They were the tallest mountains in Terrilor, and the largest and most difficult obstacle to cross on his way home. All he would need to do would be to go through the Pass of Frost, cross the Merripond River, walk around the Darkmeadow Forest, and then he would be within days of Rosehollow Village.

It was going to be a long journey. Saeran sighed.

He opened one of the saddlebags and pulled out a bedroll. After unrolling it on the ground, Saeran walked around and collected rocks and twigs. He made a little circle out of the rocks and piled the twigs inside of it. He started a fire and, after warming himself, took some dried fruit and dried meat from his saddlebags, ate it, and went to sleep.

       

        When morning came Saeran cleaned up his site, ate a small breakfast, the same as he’d eaten a few hours previously, and prepared his horse for the next ride. Above him, the heavy grey clouds threatened of a storm. It was not going to be a good day for riding.

        The area that Saeran was in had been in a state of unceasing, monsoon-like rains for several weeks by that time. The grass was green, but there were deep puddles everywhere. The dirt of the road had been reduced to mud. Thus, the river was flooded to its limits; water rushing by faster than it had ever done before, making the crossing of it difficult. Saeran prayed that it wouldn’t start raining.

Apparently, the Gods were smiling on him that day. It was only a few minutes later when the once-threatening clouds dissipated and the sun came out, warming Saeran’s smiling face.

Saeran dismounted and carefully inspected the bridge. He picked out the driest parts to cross upon, but they were very hard to find. The bridge had been built high above the water, to prevent a situation just like this, but these rains were absolutely unheard of in this part of Terrilor!

He took his first, careful step onto the soggy bridge, holding the reins of his horse and leading it slowly across. The wood creaked loudly as he stepped onto it, but Saeran did not stop. He tried to step in front of him, but the wood sagged beneath his weight. He couldn’t bring a horse across that!

It took some time, but Saeran eventually picked his way across the bridge. He sighed with relief. 

        Then Saeran gazed above him at the sky and saw that the bright sun was already straight above him! “Come on Derek,” that was the name he’d given to the horse, “We need to get moving quickly! That bridge took much longer than I’d planned!”

        Saeran speedily mounted his horse. He coerced the tired horse into motion. To make up for lost time, Saeran pushed his horse harder and harder. Its hooves pounded the sodden earth. Soon the poor beast was sprinting at top speed and Saeran lost notice of his surroundings entirely. He failed to see the small creature jump out of the brush and shoot something right at him!

        An arrow whizzed past Derek’s head, and Saeran forced the horse to stop. At Saeran’s side an undecorated short sword. He drew the blade and looked around for his hidden assailant.

He saw a nasty little goblin rushing towards him, brandishing a vicious-looking knife. Its skin was tinged with a slight bluish color. Its fangs, poking out of his mouth, were yellow and sharp. It screamed and yelled curses in the goblin tongue, a guttural and terrifying language. On its back was a white bone bow.

It was moments later when the Frostpass goblin reached Saeran, hacking and slashing at the man with its dagger. It was really only a sharpened rock, held to a thick cylinder of wood by a knot of twine.

Saeran blocked the knife with his short sword, a loud clang resounding around them. Then he sliced at the goblin’s hand awkwardly�"he was not the greatest swordsman�"and the little creature screamed and dropped the knife.

This made the Frostpass Goblin furious. It jumped at Saeran and bit him with his fangs, frothing at the mouth in its enraged state. Saeran received numerous bites before he thrust his short sword into the goblin’s stomach. Blood stained the goblin’s blue skin crimson.

Then Saeran heard something terrible. A horrible scream came from all directions, making his ears ring. Saeran put his hands over his ears to stop the horrible sound, but the screams kept coming.

In front of him, Saeran saw another goblin coming, and another, and another still! Soon they were coming by in groups of ten or more, slowly but surely making their way towards the helpless villager. On their chests, painted in dark blue, was what looked like an axe.

Then Saeran turned around to see another army of goblins coming towards him, just as many, if not more goblins than the first group. They too screamed their fury. Painted on their chests in crimson red was the symbol of a red hand, claws coming out of the three fingers that it had.

Saeran did not know what the symbols meant, for he was not a goblin, but even he realized that these two armies meant to make war. The Blue Axe goblins, or so Saeran called them, raised their bone shields and smashed their crude weapons against them, chanting in unison.

The Red Hand goblins did the same.

Then the warring tribes of the Frostpass goblins came charging towards each other, one on either side of the helpless villager. The goblins let loose their fierce war cries as they flung themselves into heated battle.

        Without realizing it, Saeran had found himself right in the middle of one of the most violent goblin wars in the history of all of Terrilor.

All round him, Saeran saw goblins killing one another in disgusting ways. One goblin grabbed the thin hair of another and bit into its throat, drinking the scarlet blood that poured out. Saeran saw a Blue Axe goblin hacking an arm off of a Red Hand goblin and then start smacking the Red Hand on the head with the arm.

        An immense goblin, obviously the war-chief of one of the Blue Axes, who were closer to Saeran, approached Saeran and gripped him by the throat, tearing him off of Derek’s back. He screamed words at Saeran that he did not understand, all the while letting spittle and other less than savory things fly into the young man’s face. He threw the man behind the lines of the ferocious goblin warriors.

        These goblins, for the most part, ignored him as he lay on the ground. Every once and a while a goblin would kick him in the stomach or spit at him, but they did not kill him.

Saeran lay absolutely still on the ground, trying not to grunt when they kicked him. In the distance he could see the Whitevale Mountains. I’ll never get across them and back to Rosehollow if these horrid goblins kill me here, Saeran thought worriedly, and I’ll never see Rosehollow again!

It was a few hours later when the battle finally ceased. The sun had long since set and Saeran could hardly see a thing. But there was an almost overpowering stench of goblin blood and putrid, sun-dried flesh. Saeran gagged as he lay motionless on the rocky land near the Whitevales.

A single, unarmed goblin came near him, looting the spoils of his fallen enemies and companions alike. When he saw Saeran lying on the ground, blood coming slowly out of numerous bite wounds, he assumed the man dead and rushed over to him. Humans always had great things to steal, and it was not often that he got the chance to loot a fallen man.

        He came near Saeran and looked greedily at the short sword lying on the ground. It was not a great blade, nor did it have any features to make it very valuable. Except that it was made of steel and forged by men. It would fetch an excellent price back at the goblin’s home, where they made weapons of stone and rocks. He rushed over to pick up the sword.

        But Saeran was, as you know, not dead. When the goblin reached down to grab the sword, he took the blade instead, getting a hold on the goblin’s neck as he did so. He put the tip of the sword to the pathetic looter’s throat.

The goblin thrashed weakly at him, attempting to break free, but Saeran’s grip was too strong. “What does you wants from me?” screamed the little goblin in the common tongue of the men of Terrilor. “Gratznig be nice to human! Gratznig no hurt anyone!”

This gave Saeran a shock, but he still held onto the creature. “What has happened here?” Saeran asked firmly, shaking the goblin. “Why do you goblins fight each other? Tell me!”

Gratznig whimpered. “Gratznig no hurt anyone! Raskert King stoles the Framtring King’s flag. Framtring King want flag back, so goblins fight! Human no hurt Gratznig! Gratznig no hurt human!” The poor creature had given up its attempts to escape, and now just hung limply from Saeran’s hand. “Human set Gratznig free?”

It was a disgusting creature, covered in filth built up from years of wallowing in the dirt and never bathing. It had likely been shunned from either of the goblin tribes, and so took to looting the goblins after they died. Saeran pitied the poor thing. “Are the mountain passes safe? Do not lie to me, now, or this blade will taste your filthy goblin blood!”

Gratznig nodded furiously. “Mountains safe for human. Human go through mountains, lets Gratznig go free.” The creature grinned, showing all of its brown, rotted teeth.

Saeran shook the goblin again, harder this time. “Don’t you lie to me! I will kill you!” he boomed. “Are the mountain passes safe?” he asked forcefully.

Gratznig screamed. “NO!” it whimpered. “Goblins fight in mountains! Goblins kill in mountains! Human no take the passes!”

Saeran dropped the pitiful creature to the ground and kicked it. “Get out of here!” he yelled. “Away from me, now!”

Gratznig did not require any further urging. He lifted himself from the ground quickly and sped away from Saeran as fast as he possibly could, not even bothering to pick up the loot he had already plundered.

This left Saeran standing alone on the battlefield, surrounded only by the festering carcasses of hundreds of goblins. The only sign of life that he could tell, other than himself, was the crows and the carrion-eaters.

        He started walking around, searching for his deceased horse. He needed the supplies that were in his saddlebag or he would never survive the journey back to Rosehollow Village.

        When he finally found Derek lying in a pool of his own blood, he took what he needed and then, saying a quick farewell to the faithful beast, he turned away and restarted his journey, carefully picking his way around the bodies of the dead goblins. It was the only thing he could do.

        It took weeks, but Saeran trekked all the way around the Whitevale Mountains and crossed the Merripond River. He had a small supply of gold in his saddlebags, and so he stopped at small villages along the way to restock his supplies and to sleep.

        It took still more weeks, but Saeran eventually hiked over the Amber Hills, went north to the small Heyterhill Village, and arrived at the Narrow Road, the road that led into Rosehollow Village. Saeran nearly collapsed of weariness. He couldn’t remember how long ago the goblin’s war had taken place. The days were all melding together.

        He was almost home. He could see familiar sights all around him. The trees, the hills, the ponds, Saeran knew them all. There was a new excitement inside of him. He broke into a run.

        As he ran along the dusty, dirt road the trees became thinner, more spread out, and small buildings, barns, and sheds started appearing in front of him. Saeran began to see people, people he recognized. There was farmer Ragon, shovelling animal waste into a wheelbarrow. And there was old Master Leriton, the village cobbler! His expression was sour, just like it always was, as he opened the door to his workshop. Life in Rosehollow Village, it seemed, had progressed rather normally while he was gone. 

Now there were houses and shops on both sides of the road and people bustled about, casually ignoring Saeran, just like they always did. Saeran did not stand out much among the people of Rosehollow. Smoke was coming from the forges of Master Sarrow’s blacksmith. There was a loud clang as the heavy-set smith hammered a piece of steel into shape.

Saeran recognized every sight, smell, and sound. And he loved it all. He, after months of being away, was finally home. Was that fresh-baked cake that he smelled?

“Welcome home, Saeran,” came a sweet, melodic voice. Saeran jumped. “I hope you’ve had a nice trip?”

“It wasn’t the best trip I’ve ever been on,” Saeran said with a shudder as he remembered the goblin biting into the throat of the other. “It’s nice to see you, Hathien,” he said, turning around to face Hathien Nerid.

“I should hope so, I spent an hour this morning making myself beautiful,” Hathien replied. At this she pushed her long, honey-blond hair over her shoulder. Saeran inhaled and noticed that she smelled of lavender.

Hathien Nerid was widely accepted to be the prettiest girl in Rosehollow Village, and also the daughter of the Mayor. Since Saeran had come to Rosehollow Village eight years ago, he had taken a fancy for her. “Well?” she asked. “What happened on your journey?” Her large green eyes showed genuine interest.

Saeran recounted for her the whole of his journey, omitting only those sights in the goblin war that he wished he had not seen himself. “And here I am!” he concluded.

Hathien nodded. “Here you are,” she repeated. “I have missed you, Saeran.” She stepped forward for a moment and put her arms around him. Hathien, despite her good looks, was rather short, and it looked rather awkward hugging Saeran, who was much taller. She took her arms back so fast, though, that Saeran wondered whether or not anything had actually happened.

“I have missed you too, Hathien.” Saeran smiled warmly at her. “There have been good times and bad over these past months, but I have never felt so good as to be back here with you. It is wonderful.”

She looked as though she was going to say something when, “Saeran!” It was Lark Elford calling, his closest friend. He ran over to where Saeran stood with Hathien. “I hope I’m not interrupting something here,” Lark said, lying. He didn’t care about interrupting; he just wanted to talk with Saeran.

“No! No, you’re not interrupting anything,” Hathien said, a trace of disappointment in her voice. “I’ll just be heading home, then.” She turned and began walking away.

“Let me walk you home, Hathien,” Saeran spluttered. He ran to catch up to her, but she just shook her head.

“Don’t let me keep you,” she said. “Catch up with Lark, here.” She took a few more steps away.

“Hathien,” said Saeran.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Lark said. Better get going then, as we’ve got much to talk about!” He took Saeran by the arm and started to lead him away.

Hathien smiled briefly at Saeran and whispered a farewell. Saeran said it back, then she walked away and he went with Lark.

“Thanks for that, Lark,” Saeran complained. “I was having a nice conversation with her, before you barged in and scared her off!”

Lark shrugged. “You weren’t going to get anywhere with that one, anyway. She’s got every lad in the village chasing after her, even the little ones who’re too young to know what they’re doing!” Lark patted Saeran on the shoulder.

“She hugged me, Lark,” Saeran stated.

Lark’s eyes went wide. “Did she, now?” Saeran nodded. “Well done, my lad!” Lark chuckled. “You’re finally learning how to get a woman. I’ve always been the one the ladies liked. They seem attracted to me for some reason. I’m…exotic.”

“Oh, nobody likes a braggart.”

Lark gasped. “It’s not my fault for being born an Elf! I’d suggest that you blame my parents, but they’d likely have you killed for it.”

Lark was a loud, obnoxious person, who Saeran had met many long years before when he first came to Rosehollow Village.  He was a Forest Elf, and as such towered over Saeran, who wasn’t small, by almost a head. Saeran did not know for sure why he was a friend of Lark’s, but he was.

 “It is good to see you, my friend,” Lark said.

“Good to see you, too,” replied Saeran.

        Lark scratched his head, ruffling his loose blond hair. Or was it brown? Saeran and Lark had had many an argument on this subject, without ever coming to a conclusion. “Now, then. Tell me all about your holiday.”

        So Saeran told Lark about the river flooding, the goblins’ war, and about his return without a horse. He didn’t leave out a single gory detail this time. “Goblins really are disgusting creatures aren’t they? I was wondering why it took you so long to get home. All this time I thought you had decided to stay in Valdi permanently!” Lark Elford laughed.

        Saeran shook his head. “No matter how much I may love Valdi�"which is quite a lot, I might add�"I love Rosehollow Village twice as much. And that is saying something!” He smiled broadly. “And I couldn’t leave you here alone, now could I? You’d likely die without me!”

        “Oh, I am sure,” Lark replied. There was a sudden burst of raucous laughter to Saeran’s right, and as the two friends looked to see what had happened, Lark saw that it was coming from the tavern. “Now that I think about it, would you care to join me for a drink? Cuthric’s ale is as good as it’s ever been.” Lark nudged Saeran.

        “As much as I’d give for one of Cuthric’s icy drinks, I would give even more for a nice rest in my own bed. I am bone-tired, Lark.” Saeran yawned.

        Lark sighed disappointedly. “Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be about it, there’s no point in arguing. More beer for myself, I suppose!” He laughed and patted Saeran on the shoulder again. “Have a nice rest, my friend. Promise that you’ll join me tomorrow?”

        “I promise.”

        Lark nodded and ran off towards the tavern.

        Saeran walked down the bustling street towards his home on the other side of town. He revelled again at the familiarity of it all, half wishing that he would’ve gone with Lark. As he passed by the market he saw merchants peddling their wares to passers-by. “Fresh cake, just from the oven!” shouted Mistress Learandy, the town baker. “Come and get it!” There were several other merchants shouting, competing for Saeran’s attention, but Saeran just laughed and graciously declined their offers.

He took in all of these sights with pleasure remembering his home as if he had never left it. Though, when he passed by the cooks’ stalls with their massive stores of delicious looking fresh food and drink, he realized that he was ravenously hungry. He bolted over to one of the stalls and bought himself a juicy slab of steak.

He stabbed a fork into the meat, stomach growling as blood seeped from the newly made hole. He ripped a piece off of the steak and quickly placed it in his mouth, savouring the juiciness of it.

        Once he had eaten to his full Saeran further along the dusty cobbled road to his own modest house. It was made of local stone, brought in from a nearby quarry. The only thing odd about this house was that in the front there was a window made of clear glass. It was the only window of its kind in all of Rosehollow Village and the surrounding area. It was Saeran’s pride and joy, the only thing that set his house apart from the rest of the Village.

Saeran walked into the house, after admiring the glass, and looked fondly around. There was all the furniture he remembered, five cotton-padded chairs around a hard oak table. In the corner was the kitchen, pantries stocked full of random food items, with a cooking stove against the wall. In the opposite corner there was a wardrobe, full of the clothes he had not brought with him to Valdi�"those that he did bring with him were now lost on the plains in front of the Whitevale Mountains�"and there was his large, comfortable bed.

He walked over to the bed and, after stripping out of his clothing and leaving it on the floor, climbed into it, pulling soft, brown blankets up to his neck.

That night, Saeran dreamt. He dreamt of fires, unquenchable fires. He dreamed of blood, flowing through the fire and making it stronger. In the smoke he saw the face of a man, dying and weak, but he did not cry out. Saeran could not recognize the man. Riding through the flames was a black horse, being ridden by a black-shrouded rider. Everything was dark.

 

        Saeran woke hours later to a repeated knocking sound on the door. He grunted, pulling the blankets over his head and groaning, “Leave me alone.” The knocking continued. “What do you want from me?” There was another knock, louder than any of the previous knocks. Then the knocking ceased.

He threw the blankets off of him and sighed. He was never one for being interrupted mid-sleep. Saeran pulled on a tunic and a clean pair of breeches and half walked, half dragged himself over to the door, pulling it open and snapping, “What, in the name of all the Gods, do you want from me?”

Hathien Nerid stood flabbergasted in the doorway. “Well, you’re a grumpy one this morning, aren’t you?” She pushed Saeran aside and marched into the house. “I’ve got a message for you. Once you’ve regained some semblance of cleanliness and sanity I will give it to you.” She looked Saeran up and down.

Saeran ran across the room to a mirror and saw himself, ragged and unkempt after weeks and months of travel. His hair was matted and greasy, and dirt covered his face. He ran outside for a moment, fetching a pail of water from the well. He filled a washbasin in the only other room in the whole house, and washed his face off with icy cold water.

When he ran back into the main room of the small house, he saw Hathien cooking a pan of eggs over a small fire. She had the table set for two people. “Oh, you don’t have to cook for me, Hathien,” Saeran said.

She looked at him confusedly. “What gives you the idea that I’m cooking for you? This is all for me!” she joked. Saeran took a place at the table and waited for her to finish.

When she did, Hathien took the pan and crossed the room to the table. She pushed a single egg onto Saeran’s plate, leaving two more for herself.

“Oh, that’s fair!” Saeran said sarcastically.

“You are lucky that you get even one of my eggs, Saeran Randsly!” she replied, laughing sweetly.

The two of them ate the eggs Hathien had made. When they finished Saeran gave a contented sigh. “Now, then. What was the message you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh!” Hathien said, shocked. “I had almost forgotten!” She set down her fork. “You’ve got a visitor. Someone from the south has come to see you, calls himself Drennan Randsly. He must be related to you somehow. Cousins, maybe?” She looked at him curiously.

Saeran nodded. “Yes, he is my cousin. From Valdi. I can’t imagine why he would come all this way. Did he mention his reason for coming?”

“No, he wouldn’t say.”

“Where is he right now?” Saeran asked.

She thought about it for just a moment. “I believe that he is waiting in the town square,” she said surely.

Saeran rose from he chair. “Well, I must go to see him.” Hathien reached over to take Saeran’s plate. “Do not worry about that. I will take care of the washing when I return home. Goodbye.” And with that he turned, pulled on a pair of leather boots, and marched quickly outside of the house.

        As Saeran walked to the to the town square, he pondered the reason for Drennan’s coming all the way to Rosehollow. It could not be for a casual visit, for Rosehollow is hundreds of leagues from Valdi, and Saeran had just been in Valdi, besides. Whatever the reason, Saeran knew that it could not be good.

        As Saeran stepped onto the bright, clean cobblestones of the town square and saw Drennan sitting on a wooden bench, he knew one thing. Whatever happened after this moment, his normal life in Rosehollow Village was leaving, never to return again.

Author's Note

Again, please give helpful, constructive criticism. Thanks!