The Prince of Tabor

BROTHERHOOD OF THE BLACK ARROW-BOOK 1

CHAPTER 1

He would die if they caught him. The older man half ran, half slid down the snow-covered game trail, trying hard not to fall. He had to warn them to get the news out to protect the prince. His heart raced with the pace, and his chest heaved with the exertion. His adrenaline kept him moving as he heard the howls and yells from the creatures behind him. He rounded a curve in the path and slid to a stop over a small patch of ice next to a small oak. He held on for support, trying to keep his balance. I’m too old for this, he thought, as he panted for breath like an over-heated dog. He balled his fists, “887 years is just a spring rooster”, he mumbled to himself.

 He was sure the enemy didn’t know of his exact location. But he worried the two groups searching for him might catch him; one made up of mountain goblins, the other human wolf men called Lupine Rangers. They would join up soon, all extraordinary trackers, making his chances of escape drop severely. He wouldn’t stop again and pushed off the oak and continued to scramble down the snow-lined game trail. The information he had gathered about the coming danger was too important. He must press on, no matter the obstacles.

The path was narrow and treacherous, winding along the edge of a high ravine. The older man moved as fast as he could, though, chest burning from the thin cold air, sloshing through the snow and ice patches while trying to keep his balance. Hurry. Hurry was all he could think. The enemy was moving south, and every soul in their way was in terrible peril. He had to get the word out.

He had been trailing the group of mountain goblins for several days when they had stopped the previous night. The older man had long years of experience hunting and tracking prey. They called him by many names; Old One, the Aged One, and the Green Traveler, but most knew him just as Traveler. He appeared old in his human state, with grey-white facial hair and beard and long white hair braided down his back. He always wore a green tunic, under which he hid a shirt of Lla’dir Ellyn, elven mail, and he often had his pet raven, Bromme, perched on his shoulder. He always carried a short blade in his belt and a long wooden walking stick. The only distinguishing mark of his true nature was his leathery bronze skin and eyes. His eyes were slightly wide apart, a deep golden color, piercing and bright as the morning sun. His pupils were linear slits, like a snake, giving him an unnatural reptilian aura. Few knew the secret of his origin or history, and he’d left fewer alive to speak of it.

The group he followed were mountain goblins, at least twenty, and led by more powerful things. He had followed their footprints on the snowy trail until they finally stopped late in the night. The moon had been mostly full, which made getting close to their camp without being seen difficult. He had moved stealthily, making no sound as he approached a large clearing in the wood. A goblin sentry stood just beyond the tree line ahead. The older man belly-crawled behind the guard, who had his back turned. Like a specter, he rose silently from the forest floor. He covered the goblin's mouth with one hand and drove his short blade under his ribs. The goblin gave a muffled groan in surprise, then slumped to the ground. The older man left him where he fell, blood pooling around him. It was risky, but time was short, and he needed to get closer to see what the sentry was guarding. He quietly moved forward, as silent as a drifting cloud. He quietly climbed a large sycamore at the edge of the clearing to see and hear better. As he ascended, repulsive nausea swept over him, and the stench of death and decay bathed him. This was no battlefield, and he saw no dead bodies. Yet, malevolence radiated from the center of the lea, bringing with it a nauseating sickness. He wanted to wretch but swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. He settled in and witnessed the meeting of the evil ones.

In the clearing center, two enormous creatures took over a crackling fire, brightly lit within a ten-foot radius. First was a hairy beast with a wolf’s head, its rugged mesomorphic form portending massive strength. Sanguine fur covered his face, and he had a long snout with a crescent scar over his left cheek. He was well over 6 feet tall and wore dark chain mail under a tunic with the mark of the Black Paw.  The older man had seen the insignia of the Lupine Rangers, a mercenary tribe of warrior wolfmen known for their vicious predatory nature. Blood Coat, their notorious pack leader, had a legendary reputation for being a rapacious killer, making the Lupine Rangers one of the most feared groups in Curth Talam.

Next to him, two heads taller, was an enormous, hulking man with hair of white silver and a long beard braided in three long chains. He was herculean, even taller than his compatriot, with bulging muscles punching out of his white bearskin vest. His legs were the size of tree trunks, covered in spotted seal skin and heavy black boots; his only weapon was a large ax, forged into a screaming face, mouth open in a death howl. A tattoo of three red stripes on his forehead marked him as Ice Beard, clan chief of the Ice Giants.

“We are here, but where the demons is He?” the giant asked in a rumbling voice.

“One can smell his rot a bow shot away, “growled the ranger. “But I can't see the monster.”

The third figure stepped forward with an odd gait, staying just on the edge of the shadows. The silhouette was tall but thin, with a wiry frame lined with lithe muscle. The humanoid stepped into the torchlight, revealing a scarecrow wearing a black vestment, half covered by a cloak

marked with runes, and a red sickle, dripping blood emblem on the breast. Its head was too large for his body. Straw-colored hair stuck out in all directions from under a black top hat. His face was indistinct, like melting wax that never set, and his eyes were a striking, bright orange with an intensity that burned. Traveler knew him—the malignant, undead lich-mage from the Crypt Burrows to the north, Ravenite! Even from fifty yards away, Traveler’s skin tingled and burned, reacting to the vileness spreading from the creature. Even with his innate magical defenses, the older man’s stomach turned from the aura. He listened quietly, hoping to hear them before nausea overwhelmed him.

"Getting impatient, Blood Coat?" came a condescending voice half hidden by shadow.

“My men are eager for the kill, Ravenite. And so am I,” the wolf man growled. He didn’t bow, an intrepid glint in his yellow eyes.

"And you, Ice Beard?"

“I’m here, lich. And my giants are ready.", bellowed the giant. "But before I commit my warriors to your plan, I want what you promised.” The undead sorcerer’s eyes burned brightly. 

“Demanding as always! And foolishly arrogant. But I am generous tonight. I promised you revenge, your blood vengeance satisfied.” He paused, then continued, “Remember, I alone know the secret of destroying the kingship of Tabor. I can give you that gift,…or deny it. Don’t forget.”

Ice Beard felt the blood rush into his head. Who in Loki's name did this stinking scarecrow think he was, wizard or no wizard? My father, King Snowfist, died on Tabor's fields 20 years earlier! King Aarmon of Tabor had struck him down like a coward, mortally wounding his father with a brutal stab to the back while his father engaged two others. Ice Beard had been only ten when the news reached the Frost Mountains. He felt King Aarmon’s sword rip into his heart at the news. His father had taught him the Ice Giants' old ways and the Frost Mountains' mysteries. He was his mentor and his friend, and suddenly he was gone. The hole that was left in his life and his heart was immeasurable. That’s when he vowed the blood oath, Di’oth’u Cru’el, in front of his mother, the tribal elders, and the entire Clan to avenge his father, the King. His blood revenge would only be complete when he eliminated every member of the bloodline of King Aarmon of Tabor. That alone was his mission, his destiny, and no sorcerer would deny him.

His fury, a trait of all Ice Giants, surged through him like a wildfire on dry timber, and he pulled his ax to cut down the mage. But a flash of orange came from the eyes of the lich, swallowing the giant in a gripping light. Ice Beard felt the tremendous power squeeze through him, like a massive hand crushing the air from his lungs. He tried to cry out, but no air could enter his chest. The giant King dropped the ax as he struggled to breathe. He reached out to strangle the mage, but he had no strength and fell to his knees, his lips turning a dusky blue. This was powerful magic, and Blood Coat stood mesmerized as the giant fell to the ground like a massive redwood. 

He decided quickly and stepped forward to intervene, urging reason. “Lord Mage, the giant's a fool but needed. One must admire his blood passion, …and those of his warriors."

The invisible grip on Ice Beard’s neck lessened, and as air rushed into his lungs, he gasped and coughed, holding his throat. Stars were in his eyes, and the giant’s head hurt like a club had hit him. The mage stepped close to him; his face was no longer formless but now a skull, still carrying half-rotted flesh. His lips never moved, but Ice Beard heard him whisper, "Don't test me again."

The lich mage waited for the giant to stagger to his feet, still breathing hard. "Now, get your warriors together. We march on the City of Spires at the new moon. I will send word to where we are staging.” He turned, “And giant, send a warrior south to find and slay the prince as I promised. My incantations reveal he’s in the hamlet of Streamside, hidden by an old Taborian guardian." then, like mist, he melted into the shadows.

The Traveler had heard enough. He hurriedly climbed down the tree as silently as possible. In the darkness, he didn’t see the rotten branch until his foot until he was on it, and it gave way. "Snap" followed seconds later by a loud "thump." He hit hard and wheezed as the fall knocked the air out. 

Blood Coat’s head turned at the sound. “Intruder’” he growled. “FIND THEM!” he roared in wolf-speak. From the shadows, five colossal wolf men appeared. They had gray coats, known as Grau Mantel, some of his guards. The rangers disappeared silently into the forest. A hobgoblin sergeant stepped forward, almost as tall and burley as Blood Coat, one of many the mage had brought with him from the Burrows. Before he could speak, Blood Coat cut in, his voice laced with disdain, "Spread out and support my rangers if you can keep up." The hobgoblin's eyes flashed anger, but he knew better than to face off with Blood Coat, known for his mercurial and often bloody outbursts. He nodded and ran into the shadows, calling his men as he ran.   

Traveler got to his feet quickly. He could speak Goblin and Wolf and knew his only chance was to run like the wind. Goblin soldiers, not known for their speed but well known for their tenacity, would be close behind. And where were the rangers? He had no guess and tried to focus. He thought if he could get through the deep trees to the game trail, he could escape. Heavy snow swirled around him, hardening in the frigid atmosphere into biting ice crystals that tore at his skin in the howling wind. Visibility for most humans would have been severely limited, but Travelers race had excellent night vision. Typically, He would have had no trouble seeing the trail, but the gusting plumes of snow that washed over him made each step a terrifying rope walk along the ravine edge. He slipped and slid over the recently formed ice, trying to avoid rocks on the uneven path. He periodically leaned heavily on his walking stick, desperate to keep his feet under him as he scrambled down the mountain trail. Goblin voices rang out behind, and to his left, two groups following. How many, he couldn't tell among the myriad of shouts. He heard howls from behind as well, the rangers tracking him closer and closer. The ravine's edge was to his right, the valley hundreds of feet below. He rushed on despite the risk, clamoring over the slippery terrain down the mountainside. It was then that he made a mistake.

He turned his head slightly left, hoping to guess how close the enemy was on his tail when it happened. The older man’s foot caught on a rock and slid over ice, and he tumbled head-first down the trail. He hit hard on his left shoulder, swallowed a howl of pain, and slid the five feet over the lip of the path and down into the ravine. He felt only air under him as he tumbled over the edge. After he sailed five feet, he landed in a heap, the back of his head crashing into rock and ice. Pain seared through his brain at the impact. “I've failed. I've failed," ran through his mind as the world turned black.

A Ranger, and a great hobgoblin, came up the trail and kneeled low. The wolfman sniffed. The intruder had definitely come this way, but this was where his scent had ended. He scanned the path for imprints. Being one of the Wolfkind, known as “Dokklupus” in wolf-tongue, had its advantages: he could detect tracks on any surface. He saw where his quarry had slipped and guessed he had plummeted over the ravine's edge. He peered over the edge, but the swirling snowstorm blocked his view. Dead for sure, he thought. Other Rangers arrived and growled, “What findings, Muso?” The big Grau Mantel straightened and said in the common tongue for the benefit of the hobgoblin, “He went over. Take three soldiers and scour the trail edge, just in case he lived.”

Travelers' eyes opened to the pale golden light from sunrise, filtered through a layer of snow covering his face. His head thumped as if Thor's hammer was pounding on it. He was dizzy but tried to sit up. Halfway to sitting, his shoulder rocked with pain, stabbing like a knife. 

"Odin’s breath!” he groaned and fell back onto the thick snow. He panted as his body shuttered with aching pain. After some calming breaths, he tried again, but this time rolled on the other side and up to one knee. The gray sky swirled, and green bile rose in his throat. Time passed until, finally, his head cleared enough to stand. But when he did, nausea surged from his twisted stomach, and he retched again and again until he was empty. He fell back on one knee. "By the Gods, how could I have been so foolish?" he said aloud. Traveler desperately needed help.

He could see he had landed on a narrow, snow-covered shelf, which stopped him from falling off the cliff face to certain death. He could smell the sweat-filled odor of his enemies still in the air. They were still searching for him. Traveler closed his eyes, chanting in a whisper on

the wind. “Slycomdum adyryn neidr est.” carried on the winter breeze, over and over. Finally, the wind returned to him, “Cyrrad.” Soon after, the soft rustling of belly scales alerted him of the beast’s arrival. A massive blue-black snake was not three feet above him, undulating its head and slithering nearer. Its color was that of a dark thundercloud, its body so thick Traveler couldn’t reach around its girth. Much of its long body hung suspended over the edge of the trail lip above him. The reptile hung suspended, its muscles tense under the riveting scales. "Ssofran.”, he whispered, caressing the rough scales. The indigo snake’s head was as large as a shovel, and the older man embraced it like a long-lost comrade. The snake gently opened its jaws, gripping his arm, and lifted him carefully back to the ice trail. He landed as soft as a kiss. A helmeted goblin, back turned to the pair, was three hundred yards down the track. The snake looked questionably at his lord, expectantly. "Have as many as you can hold, my friend, but focus on the wolf men. It will give me time to escape. But beware the tummy ache they bring!" said the old one. The indigo snake rubbed his leathery hand with its muzzle and peered at the older man, golden eye to eye.

 "Ssofran." "Thank you, dear friend.", he whispered. For a moment, his ruddy, leather skin flashed scales of iridescence. But there was no more time to waste. Wobbling slightly, he got his bearings and sloshed down the snowy trail. Before he'd gone ten feet, he heard a gasp as a flash of black caught the goblin ahead by the neck and pulled him into the brush. He lifted his head and sniffed. There were still several enemies nearby but to the east. Traveler knew his ally would cause enough turmoil to give him an exit. He could make it, he thought. He hobbled on, struggling to stay on his feet in the heavy snow.

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