Aiduels sin, p.51
Aiduel's Sin, page 51
Corin was sharing that concern as he witnessed the Kurakee numbers for the first time. The horde stretched in an unbroken line across the entire width of the corridor between the woods and the trench, presenting a four hundred metre expanse of barbarous, axe-wielding warriors. Even from this distance, Corin could hear a repeated and ominous thud from their war-drums, and he could discern a war cry being shouted by thousands.
‘Kurakee! Kurakee!’
Corin could perceive how the Kurakee had been able to overawe so many opponents. In the face of such a formidable threat, he believed that many clans would have elected to surrender and to suffer the consequences, without even attempting to fight.
‘Let them tire themselves out with shouting,’ he announced confidently, seeking to bolster the men around him. ‘They haven’t faced the Chosen people before, and the Gods are with us!’
The main body of the male Chosen forces had been lined up to bridge the narrowest point of the corridor, between the woods to the west and the ditch to the east. Corin was in the centre of this line, which was six ranks deep, and the warriors surrounding him were all wielding spears. In fact, the front three ranks were all armed with spears of varying lengths.
Corin had witnessed this tactic being used in his visions in the north, and he had married this with other ideas which he had developed after observing the Borl. Upon his return, he had ordered the production of several hundred spears, and today he would see if this new innovation would work.
Corin continued to watch as the Kurakee approached. He was satisfied to see that the enemy masses were allowing themselves to be funnelled along the narrowing corridor. As far as Corin could see, none of the Kurakee horde was attempting to climb past the stakes and through the ditch. Nor were any flanking into the woods. The enemy appeared too confident in their numbers to be concerned about tactical threats and nuances.
For once, Corin was not with Blackpaw, but he could see through the felrin’s eyes, and he knew that the beast was ready for when its master called. Corin was instead surrounded by a number of Karn warriors, including Kernon, all of whom were holding shields. They had been told to protect Corin at all costs, including shielding him from arrows and from thrown weapons. It was possible that the enemy would recognise Corin as the Chosen leader, and then would try to target him once he unleashed his powers on them.
When the masses of enemy warriors had closed to within two hundred metres of the Chosen front line, Corin could see that the Kurakee were bunched closely together. Exactly as he wanted.
The din that the horde was making was deafening, however, and a chant was now booming from the enemy ranks of, ‘The Kurakee are coming! The Kurakee are coming!’
Amongst this body of enemy troops, Corin spotted an extremely obese and heavily-bearded man. This figure was visible because he was reclining on a grand chair, which was being held up high above the heads of the surrounding Kurakee. Corin guessed that the man in the raised chair must be the Warlord Kurune.
Corin glared at the fat individual, making him a focal point for anger. It would be important for Corin to maintain control of himself today, to allow him to ruthlessly implement his plan. However, he was also well aware that embracing his fury would allow his powers to build.
The Kurakee leader was peering towards Corin’s lines, and was looking entirely relaxed about the coming battle. As far as Corin knew, this was the individual who had led the Kurakee conquests of so many other clans. A man whose tribe had thrived on inflicting suffering and pain on countless victims. Someone whose people had delivered death, pillage, rape and sacrifice. And on top of that, this man wanted to destroy all of the good which Corin was building within the Chosen Alliance. He wanted to unravel everything that Corin had achieved, and to ravage Corin’s people.
A god named Mella had also once devastated these lands, thousands of years earlier. Corin had been an appalled witness of that, though he could do nothing now to change what he had seen. However, he could do something about this new monster in the chair, who led the Kurakee.
Corin let all of these thoughts feed his anger, fuelling it. He could also feel the ferocious reaction to this within Blackpaw, some distance away, but the beast knew better than to cry out in response.
‘Release flame arrows!’ shouted Corin.
This call was repeated multiple times by the people around him. Within moments, flaming arrows were whistling over Corin’s head, aiming at the various stacks of wood and hay in the space between the Chosen front line and the enemy. This was another tactic which Corin had witnessed in his visions in the north, albeit one used by Mella himself.
Corin watched with satisfaction as all of the targets caught fire. Flames erupted in multiple places on the ground between the Chosen lines and the Kurakee, sending plumes of smoke into the air. The bunched masses of the horde would need to navigate through the obstacle of these fires, significantly restricting the space through which the enemy could charge.
‘Lower spears!’
Again, Corin’s cry was repeated multiple times across the whole of the line. Corin now moved himself back from the foremost ranks, and watched with satisfaction as the front three rows of Chosen spearmen lowered their weapons. This action had been drilled at length, with shortest spears at the front and longest at the back. There was now an unbroken line of spear-tips running along the entire length of the corridor mouth, from the ditch in the east to the woods in the west.
‘Hold!’
This shout came from a number of Corin’s chiefs and war leaders. Unlike so many other battles which Corin’s people had been in, today’s conflict would not begin with a mad forward charge. Corin had witnessed countless battles within his visions in the far north, and he knew that such a tactic would not work against a force of this size. Instead, his men were going to face the enemy charge from a stationary stance, with spears pointing forwards.
‘Chosen!’ shouted Corin. Within moments, a thousand voices had repeated the call, sending goosebumps along his back and neck.
In response to this, a prolonged scream of bloodlust echoed through the Kurakee ranks. Their war drums then thundered in unison, and the enemy horde started to charge.
The Battle of Karn was about to commence. It was time to fight.
29
Arion
–
Year of Our Lord,
After Ascension, 770AA
As Arion rode his horse along the narrow path through woodland, he felt a sense of satisfaction that he was finally nearing his goal. After a gruelling journey which had covered hundreds of miles across war-torn Andar, Septholme was at last just a handful of miles away.
By the Lord, I’m going to make it!
For the last two days, he had endured an arduous physical ordeal. He had been sleeping rough for just a handful of hours each night as he had circumvented Rednarron and its besieging army, and had finally crossed into Western Canasar. He had been spotted from afar and pursued at various times during the journey, and had been forced to stand and fight on two more occasions after flight had ceased to be an option. But he had survived his trials, each time more wearied. And he had continued onwards, ever onwards, towards his home.
He had heard occasional news about the plight of his province as he had travelled through it. Stories from local folk had confirmed the defeat of Gerrion’s army, and the retreat of its surviving soldiers towards Septholme. Those same locals had uttered many curses about the treacherous forces of Berun, and about the pillaging by the army of Elannis as it had headed south through the region. Arion had also heard disturbing rumours about the imprisonment of women by Aiduel’s Guards, for reasons unknown.
But at last, he was now near to his home, and his bloody odyssey was approaching its end. Ever since deserting from Sendar’s army, he had been fixated on getting back to Septholme. To some extent, that objective had taken primacy over the much greater problem of what he was going to do when he arrived. But he would soon have to confront the daunting challenge of the latter.
For days on his solitary journey, he had been wondering about the condition of his home town, and whether it continued to stand firm against its attackers. If it still stood, he would need to find a way to get inside the town walls, even if there was a besieging army of thousands. Whichever way he was going to accomplish that, it would soon be the time for action.
Earlier, he had left the main coast road, having expected to run into blockades. He was approaching the town along a minor trail to its north-east, which he had discovered in his teenage years. This narrow path was barely wide enough for his sole remaining horse, and wound through woodland which was sufficiently dense to obscure Septholme from sight. The forest floor and the trail were dappled with sunbeams which shone through the canopy of leaves above.
So far, Arion had not encountered anyone hostile along this route. However, his horse was proceeding at a controlled trot, and he was watchful for blockades and ambushes as he progressed.
It was in this state of alertness that he first felt the presence of the other. It was unmistakeably another person like him, another Illborn, somewhere to the south-west in the direction of Septholme. He could feel their energy pulsing towards him across the distance between them.
Lord preserve us! How is this possible?
He reined in his horse, briefly savouring the sensation of the other’s presence. As previously, it rejuvenated and revitalised him, allowing his fatigue to be disregarded. His heart was also pumping faster, beating vigorously in his chest.
He proceeded on cautiously, still feeling the presence, until he became certain that it was coming towards him. Travelling fast towards him, in a manner which suggested that the person must be riding. He spotted a small glade at the side of the trail, and he decided to steer his horse into there to wait.
The presence was still coming closer, and a question was replayed in Arion’s mind; was it Leanna or Allana? He climbed down from his horse and tied its reins to a nearby branch. He then waited in a state of nervous agitation, with his hand moving unconsciously to the sword on his hip. He could feel the other drawing ever nearer, their presence pulsing ever brighter, each such pulse mirroring the pounding beat of his heart.
When she finally appeared on the trail beside the glade, she reined in her horse from a gallop, then smiled as she turned towards him. For Arion, it was as if the sun had burst forth out of the gloom of his memory, and was shining gloriously onto the present. The natural sunlight dappling the trail played across her face, and across the red velvet outfit which clung to her body. Arion was awestruck. He was breathless and mesmerised.
In the last year, he had held the memories of her beauty, and of his desire for her, tight to his chest. Almost obsessively. On countless occasions, he had recalled those final moments when he had left her alone on a country trail in the middle of the night. And he had tormented himself with the regret lurking in those memories, after he had thought her dead.
But until this moment of her reappearance, he had underestimated just how incomparably alluring she was, and how much he truly wanted her. Why he had been on the precipice of casting all other things aside for her. He was breathing heavily as her horse trotted into the clearing, and as she climbed down from the animal. When she then turned to face him, it was beyond question that she was the most desirable woman that he had ever met or would ever meet.
By the Lord, how can I have forgotten this? Forgotten her?
He could feel her aura enveloping him, swirling around him, as he had once felt it before. Enticing him, unsettling him, but making him feel vibrantly alive. Enflaming his senses.
There were things that he wanted to say, matters that he wanted to challenge her about. Had she been responsible for the letters which had dragged him to the other end of the country, and which had led to this prolonged ordeal? Had she ever had any intention of meeting him in Andarron? And why was she here, right now, in this place and at this time?
But even as he was thinking this, she stepped closer to him, until less than a foot in distance separated the two of them. Her eyes roved up and down his body, hunger in her gaze, and he could not help but stare in turn at her perfect form. Her thick dark hair was loose, some of it hanging forwards over one shoulder. He wanted to reach out and touch it as their eyes locked together.
‘Allana…’
‘Don’t speak,’ she said. ‘I knew it was you. You look… so dishevelled… and delicious, Arion. And I can feel… your raw power. But no talk, this time. Do what I know you want to do. What we both want to do.’
Her accent was as drawling as he remembered, her tone low and seductive. She edged closer again, such that only inches separated their mouths.
‘This… is not the time,’ he protested, weakly. ‘I am marr-… I must…’
He had to get to Septholme, to complete what he had travelled all this way to do. Back to his home and to Kalyane, before-
Her hand reached up and softly touched his neck, and her mouth moved closer again. As had happened once before, it seemed that there were whispers in his mind, urgent and insistent whispers, which were accompanied by arousing fragments of carnal visions. Promises of sensual bliss. Despite the teetering resistance of his conscience and his sense of duty, he felt his body respond.
I want her. I need her.
‘This is the time,’ she said, her lips resting close to his neck, her chest now pressing into his. ‘You won’t ride off and leave me this time, Arion. And if not now, then when? I know that you’ve longed for this moment, as have I. Now do what you want to do, Arion, and give me what I want. What we both need. Take me, Arion. Possess me and let me possess you. Now, stop fighting this, and fuck me.’
His resistance and reluctance were shattered. His mouth pressed hard against hers, and his arms wrapped around her, crushing her against his body. She pressed her full form intimately into him and moaned, and he responded with a low guttural sound of his own.
Their hands were then roaming on the body of the other, their mouths locked together, with clothes being cast off hungrily in the desperate urgency of the moment. The vibrancy which emanated from her was embracing him, enveloping him in a sensual and powerful cocoon, which intermingled with his own aura as their bodies also melded together. The air was crackling around him, and coils of energy were encircling his limbs as he lowered her to the grassy forest floor, their forms still entwined.
He was close to ecstatic within this shared sensation of power and pleasure, which was beyond anything that he had ever experienced before.
Her hand was on his neck at the moment when he first entered her, and he heard her whisper a victorious, ‘Yessss…’
And in what followed, as Allana dei Monis moaned beneath him, the rest of the world, and the people in it, were forgotten.
–
Afterwards, he was holding her in his arms. He was on his back, staring into the canopy of branches and leaves above, his breathing heavy from what had just taken place. She was on her side, her face buried into the hollow of his neck, and he could feel the delicious heat and shape of her body as it pressed close against him. His arm was around her, his hand on her hip.
His mind was reeling, feeling shocked by the frenzy which had just gripped him. There was an air of unreality about what had just occurred, as if the actions had been undertaken by a person other than himself. By someone who had been overcome by an all-consuming desire, and who had lost control of any rational thought. It was as if his lust had made him disregard who he was and why he had come to this place.
‘That was amazing,’ she purred, as her hand moved across his chest. ‘It’s never been like that before. Not even close.’
‘Yes,’ he whispered, and despite his sense of disorientation, he knew that she was right. He had never experienced anything remotely comparable. ‘Amazing.’
‘This is how it’s meant to be,’ she said, sounding softly triumphant. ‘How it was always meant to be. I feel like… a goddess… and you my god… when I’m with you. In complete and utter bliss.’
He recognised the truth in her words, and his response was a grunt of acknowledgement. He squeezed his arm to press her closer against his body.
‘You should never have left me, Arion.’
He still felt languorously dazed, but he realised that she was referring to the night of her escape.
‘I… had to leave you that night,’ he said. ‘I had no choice.’
For a few moments, she was silent.
‘You did have a choice,’ she said, eventually. ‘But I survived, and I’m alive, Arion. Very much alive, as I know you can feel. And I’m returned to you, and we’re together again.’
He recognised a hint of reproach in her words, and whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And you married someone else, despite your promises to me.’
This time, he felt a tinge of annoyance that she was criticising him, however soft and alluring her tone of voice. But worse than that, submerged guilt surfaced within him at the mention of his marriage.
Lord preserve me. Kalyane. What have I just done?
‘I was told that you were dead,’ he responded, his tone not betraying his sudden rush of emotion. ‘And I truly believed it.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I forgive you, and we’re reunited now. And you’ll leave her, because we belong together, and you’re mine. My… love. I love you, Arion.’
‘And I love you.’
