Chapter Forty-One Guthnyr #3
“Halvor! Iyaka!” Guthnyr shouted, though the unabated wind stole his voice.
He waved Kohrvayl above his head in an effort to gain the attention of either the outlaw or the Vehlkasa war chief.
Though the Nihlvarian host was being beaten back, he needed to get his remaining forces into the fray to complete the rout.
As he continued to whirl the sword, the skies unleashed a sudden torrent of rain.
It fell in hard, blinding sheets, driven by the gale to steal away his view of the battlefield.
Deciding the only course was to join his sword to the Morvek’s efforts, he turned then fell as a blinding fork of lightning streaked down to strike a cluster of Travka a dozen paces away.
Bodies flew and flames rose, the signature piercing screams of the burned audible even above the storm.
Struggling upright, Guthnyr started forward once again, only to reel away from another blast. This time it struck a Morvek war band as they emerged from the forest, felling at least a score.
“There!” The word was shouted close to his ear by Velkar.
Rain streamed down her face, mixing with blood from the fresh cut marring her brows.
“The hill!” she cried, pointing to the grassy slope.
Following the line of her finger, Guthnyr saw only a rain-lashed slope.
Then another flash of lightning revealed a solitary figure upon the crest, arms raised to the roiling skies.
The clouds above formed a vortex, lit from within by pulsing energy.
As Guthnyr watched, more lightning streaked down from the swirl, wreaking havoc upon his army.
“Ventra!” he snarled, starting up the hill in a stumbling run. “First they brought the fog, now the lightning.”
The climb proved to be an agony of frustration.
Gusts of wind and rain fell like hammer blows, sending him sprawling several times, but he refused to be daunted.
Voicing a roar, he clawed his way up the hill, tearing divots from the ground.
Incredibly, he reached the hill’s summit without attracting the Ventra’s notice, so intent was he on destroying the Tielvik’s host. Given the power he had unleashed, Guthnyr was surprised to find the Ventra a man of slight build and youthful aspect, though the agony that dominated his features as he unleashed yet more lightning made it hard to gauge his age.
“Don’t worry,” Guthnyr sputtered as he lurched towards the Ventra. “I’ll spare your pains soon enough.”
Finally recognising his peril, the Ventra expended a moment staring at Guthnyr, his discomfort abruptly replaced by stark terror.
Sadly, his indecision was all too brief.
Teeth clenched in a sign of great effort, he shifted his stance, narrowing the gap between his upraised arms. From above came a vast clap of thunder as a lightning bolt streaked down.
Guthnyr reacted with a warrior’s instinct, raising Kohrvayl to meet the threat even though he knew it to be little more than pointless defiance.
For a second, his vision flooded with a glare so fierce it still dazzled despite his tight shut eyes.
The heat came next, but not the searing blast he expected.
Instead, it was like a constant, fierce flame.
Sensing a lessening in the glare, he risked opening his eyes, regarding the sight before him with dumfounded shock.
The bolt continued to blaze along the length of Kohrvayl’s blade, coiling between sword and sky like a snake formed of purest white. But instead of melting the weapon, it rebounded from it, the energy directed into the ground to produce a furrow of scorched grass and soil.
“No!”
Guthnyr’s gaze snapped to the Ventra. His youth was starkly clear in the pale, gaping mask of his face as he backed away. Around them, the storm had calmed, the wind lessened and the rain faltering into drizzle. “No,” the Ventra said again, backing away and shaking his head. “Impossible…”
Any explanation he might have offered for his words was destined to be forever lost, for, at that moment, another slight figure reared up at his back to sink a dagger into his neck.
The lightning bolt flickered and died when the Ventra fell, blood fountaining as Aleida continued her assault.
Incoherent spite came from between her clenched teeth, arm blurring as she stabbed and stabbed again.
Feeling no inclination to intervene, Guthnyr watched her exhaust herself and slump to her knees atop the corpse.
Looking up to meet Guthnyr’s gaze, she sniffed and let out a shrill, grating laugh.
It proved perversely infectious, provoking him to laughter of his own, though it sounded more like sobbing to his ears.
As the rain and the wind ebbed, so did their mirth.
For a time, Aleida sagged into sobs, clutching and un-clutching her dagger as if fighting the impulse to cast it away.
Finally, she drew her head back, allowing the last drops of rain to wash away the red spatter as she took in a long gasp of air.
“Impressive,” she said, nodding to Kohrvayl. “I didn’t know it could do that.”
Raising the blade, Guthnyr found it as untarnished as ever, the edge catching a gleam from the sun as the clouds dwindled.
He stepped forward to offer a hand, Aleida clasping it to haul herself to her feet.
Together, they turned to survey the battlefield below with its blackened corpses and fleeing Nihlvarians, until their gaze alighted upon the city beyond the hills to the east. Above the sprawl of grey buildings, another storm appeared to be forming, clouds drawn together and lit by the fading sun as if to provide warning of impending peril.
The Citadel was now within their grasp, and it seemed the Vortigurn had no more armies to place in their path.