Empty Places

by Slawomir Rapala

Table of Contents
Chapter 2
Part 1 and part 2
appear in this issue.

Chapter 3: In the Empty Places

Aezubah gasped again as his feet sank into a treacherous patch of snow, sending him face forward toward the cold whiteness that stretched endlessly before him. He managed to save himself from falling flat by thrusting his sword down and leaning his body against it.

Breathing hard, he steadied himself and then used his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding sun as he looked out towards the horizon. The sun hung over the vast and empty stretches of ice that separated him from his prey. Its light was cold and terribly blinding, and it brought tears to the usually solemn eyes of the Viking bati.

Aezubah stood motionless, breathing hard and looking ahead through the blinding whiteness, searching the horizon and finally fixing his gaze on two black figures far ahead of him. He smiled grimly through the tears that ran down his face, realizing for the second time on this day that he was closing in with each step.

The Sorcerer must have been extremely tired. For days they had trekked relentlessly through the sky-scraping mountains of Arynos. The Sorcerer’s magic had sustained him for the first few days but now, far removed from his castle where the source of his power was hidden, Drohen was undoubtedly growing weaker by the day. His power was diminishing, and Aezubah suspected that he commanded just enough magic now to control the last of his acolytes.

The beast must have been growing hungrier and wearier every day and binding it at the present stage must have been extremely draining. It was only a matter of time, Aezubah thought with a glimmer of hate in his eye, until the Sorcerer would be within his reach.

He was terribly weary himself. He had been thrown into this mad pursuit straight from the battle that had raged in the depths of the Ashano-waan Valley for three long days and nights. Aezubah had spent the whole night beforehand conjuring up a spell from a piece of black demon skin, which he had guarded close by his chest for months, and with which he meant to disable much of Drohen’s battle wizardry.

He had then led the Vikings into battle the following morning and fought in the front ranks with hardly any rest at all, overpowering dozens of Drohen’s black knights and leading the Arynosians to victory.

Then came the mad pursuit alongside Mir through the tallest mountains of the world, through snow and ice, through day and night. The short and savage battle with Drohen’s acolytes in the treacherous passageway and Mir’s gruesome death.

And now, four days later, here he was. This morning he had finally left the mountains behind and reached the Ice Fields of Arynos. For the first time since the battle when he had caught a glimpse of the Sorcerer’s black cape amidst the knights of the Underworld, Aezubah had his enemy in sight. He was now only separated from him by several leagues of perfectly flat sheets of ice. Finally, finally, his family would be avenged and he could perhaps pray over their graves in peace.

The sunlight glinting on the snow and ice blinded him as he continued forward. Aezubah drew the hood of his cloak over his head and fixed his eyes on the tips of his long leather boots to avoid looking at the pure whiteness all around him.

He realized now that what the Vikings had told him was true: snow crazed the minds of men. And the solitude that ruled this snow-covered realm was a further burden. Empty places were all around him. Nothing moved in this empty world and beneath this empty heaven.

When he halted once more to rest his legs, he noticed that the distance between him and one of the figures had diminished considerably. His brows knitted at that sight and a slight frown creased his tall forehead. The dark figure, clearly visible against the vast stretches of ice, grew with each passing heartbeat as it leapt forward with great speed.

The blinding sun reflected off the metal cap fixed to its head and already Aezubah could hear a wolfish howl carried forward by the wind. The acolyte leapt forward on all fours, covering a great distance with each motion.

Aezubah cursed under his breath and straightened his back. He let the fur coat slide down his arms to the ground, exposing the armor hidden beneath it. His light, double-edged sword flashed in his hand. Digging his boots into the snow to find sure footing, the man waited for the oncoming beast, unmoved and unafraid, watching his foe with a steady gaze.

The monster must have proved too difficult to bind, and the Sorcerer may have even found its presence so unnerving that he set the beast loose, hoping and praying that it would succeed in killing his silent tracker.

Oh, Drohen you fool! Aezubah almost burst out with laughter. Nothing could keep him away from the Sorcerer, not now, not when he was this close. He had come halfway across the world, all the way from the sunny and civilized Realm of Bandikoy, where the graves of his murdered family lay. Hundreds of men had died along the way, hundreds of battles had been won or lost, and all for this moment, this one moment, when Aezubah would face Drohen, when he would look into the Sorcerer’s eyes and bury his sword in the Sorcerer’s flesh, feasting on his blood, feasting on his fear and on his own hatred for the man.

With a blood-curdling war cry Aezubah launched his slim body into motion and met his inhuman foe when it was not more than a mere twenty paces away. With a savage snarl it leapt into the air once more, its bloodshot eyes fixed on the man before it, its long fangs already tasting soft human flesh, its greedy tongue feasting on the warm blood of its victim...

It was not to be. Aezubah was faster even than the magic-driven creature. The sharp edge of his sword dug deep into the beast’s exposed chest as its ill-timed leap took it soaring over Aezubah’s head. The warrior’s arm was almost torn out of its socket, but the man held his sword. The sharp blade tore through skin, bone and through the flesh, opening the creature’s soft underbelly with one long slice.

The beast’s snarl turned into a painful whimper as blood fountained from it, covering Aezubah and all the snow within a radius of five sword lengths. It hit the ground face first with a dull thump and the disgusting sound of bones breaking. It lay whimpering like a dying dog, its hind legs jerking and digging into the ice.

Aezubah halted a few paces away and leaned on his sword, the same one that brought destruction to so many lives, and he watched the creature die slowly. With no emotion to colour them, his eyes remained still and empty.

His blood-streaked face was blank as he watched the last of Drohen’s monsters jerk its clawed legs a few more times, as he listened greedily to its quieting whimpering, and finally, as he watched it cease moving altogether. Not willing to take any chances, Aezubah waited a few more moments, remembering well just how devious the Sorcerer’s creatures could be.

Then he approached the body cautiously and placed the tip of his sword against the base of the beast’s neck. He then pushed the sword with a quick and hard motion, driving the blade through the bone and into the soft tissue of the brain. The creature’s body shuddered once more beneath him and then it lay dead, motionless forever.

Aezubah drew his sword and wiped it against the short fur of the beast’s back. He then pushed the blade into the scabbard and stepped over to where his coat lay. Taking a handful of snow he washed the creature’s blood off his face.

Turning his face northwards, Aezubah scoured the horizon until his eyes found the small black dot clearly visible against the whiteness of the Ice Fields. There was nowhere for the Sorcerer to hide in the endless leagues of ice. Nothing spoiled the perfect integrity of the ice sheets that lay between them.

Pulling the hood far over his head, Aezubah fixed his eyes on his feet and picked up his pursuit once again. He pressed on, leaving behind the mutilated body of the acolyte, the crimson snow and the scattered heaps of steaming entrails, with no more than a single passive look.

The cold sun hung high over his head, the only witness to the tragedy the ending of which was unfolding in this empty world, a silent and distant witness that would never utter a word.

To be continued...