Rage

Elise got up, covering herself while she cleaned the gore from her face.

"This way, hurry."

As they started running, Ashlard started hearing voices, yelling, cursing, then footsteps behind them. An arrow flew overhead, whistling as it went, disappearing into the snow with a soft puff.

Suddenly Elise stopped, grasping at her chest, blood began to leak from her eyes and mouth, she turned, handed the basket with Darthe to Amara.

"I love you, now run," she said, before screeching, a horrible metallic sound, so inhuman for a woman so beautiful.

The children ran, crying into the night. Only Amara paused to look back, their mother a motionless mass beside a tree. Sobbing, she caught up with Ashlard, taking by the hand and together they sprinted up the hill. The Knurligs were still chasing them, there was no way to hide their footprints in this snow, it was too fresh and perfectly powdered on the ground, with only sparse roots from the trees protruding. They had never been so far from home before. The ground began to level out, they could hear the footsteps of the Knurligs closing in behind them, so they pressed on. Darthe had woken and was crying, prompting Amara to take him from the basket and cradle him atop her bandaged arm, using the sling to hide his tiny frame from the cold. Spotting it at the last second, the children skidded to a halt. They were on a tall cliff above a frozen river, they could see spots where the ice had melted.

"We have to jump," said Ashlard, "we can't outrun them..."

"We can't, Darthe's too little," Amara moaned softly.

Their debate was cut short by the sound of arrows whistling around them, one caught itself in the square of Amara's back, falling into Ashlard, he overbalanced, and fell. His last sight before disappearing from view, was his sisters grimace as she collapsed in the snow. The fall began to slow down, Ashlard felt the power churning deep within him. This time he felt it, this time he would do the right thing, he could save his siblings. As he landed in the river, his fall slowed by thin ice breaking beneath him, Ashlard found himself being swept underwater, thrashing like a rag doll, a boulder came into view for a second, followed by loud ringing and darkness.

It's cold. Very cold, Ashlard is half submerged in running water, he's washed up on the river bank, wedged in by a fallen tree. His sight is blurry, but he can make out a dark figure pulling at a loose bandage, unwound from his arm. With a groan, Ashlard forces his eyes to focus, the shape pulling his arm is a wolf pup, dark fur, like coal, but it's dirty and scrawny, like it hasn't eaten for a while. Ashlard pulled his arm away from the pup and as it stepped forward, he slapped it across the snout, causing it to yelp and run off into the trees.

Ashlard hurt all over, like every bone in his body had been pulled out and put back in. his head was pounding like a drum, he reached up to his forehead and felt dried blood. What had happened to him. He remembered the barbarians, a girl, running, falling.

"AHHH!" Ashlard cried, his head throbbing madly.

There was nothing he could remember clearly, besides his name, and that he had to keep moving.

"Exactly," he thought, "Keep moving..."

Dragging himself to his feet, he dusted snow and rocks from his arms. Regardless of the pain he felt, he was still able to move freely, and whatever his bandages were for, he had no signs of injuries, so he unwound them and left them in a wet pile. Ashlard found the further he walked, the better he felt. By eating snow, he kept hydrated, and even managed to find a few edible roots. He didn't know how he knew about the roots, but he was thankful.

As he passed into a small clearing, he spotted a stone in the centre, his head throbbed painfully, but something seemed familiar about it. Ashlard trudged forward towards the stone, he kicked something hard in the snow causing him to stumble, stopping to pick it up, it was a smooth stone, that seemed to have been cut in half. His head throbbed again, a flash of memory, a figure, throwing the stone, a clawed hand cutting it in two. Ashlard shook his head, he put his head in his hands and felt something odd. Opening his eyes he saw it, his right hand was clawed and covered in polished smooth scales.

At first he felt shock, then acceptance, the cold realisation that he was this creature, but who was the woman? Where is she now? Are there more like him? So many questions, perhaps in time he will find more answers, for now, time to keep moving. Hours later, wandering without direction, Ashlard noticed the skies darkening. Strange, it couldn't be more than an hour past noon, then he heard it. Deep rumbling, coming from the west, the sound of a storm. But with all this snow, more like a blizzard. He must find shelter, so on he marched, checking trees for hollows, checking mounds for caves, soon he found the river again, deciding to follow it, reasoning eventually he would probably find a town.

An hour later, the wind is getting strong now, the cold cutting to the bone. The snow is blowing sideways, the only way he knows he is still following the river is the occasional splash when he would step too far off the shoreline. He thinks with odd humour, if he had left the bandages on he'd be warmer. The wind picks up again, he hears a distant crack and a moment later, an impact knocking him to his feet. A branch had broken off in the wind and struck him, as he sat up, he realised how very tired he was, but with some effort, he managed again to get up and continue forward. But visibility was getting worse, the wind was picking up fallen snow and blowing it across his field of view. Then he spotted it, a light, in the distance. At this point, he didn't care what it was, friend or foe, light was warmth, and he was dead anyway. As he made his way towards it he made out shapes, it was a building... no... a cave, the light was coming from the entrance to a cave. As he made his way inside, a figure reached from the shadows, grabbing him around the neck and placing a shiny steel dagger against his throat.

"Who are you?" demanded a rough voice.

"I... My name is Ashlard... I think."

"You playing games boy?"

"We were attacked-"

"Who's we?"

"I... I don't know... I hit my head, I think they were my family."

The man shifted slightly, the knife lowering from his throat. Ashlard turned to face him, a large man, dressed in royal green armour, a white lion emblazoned on his armoured chest.

"Who attacked you?"

"I think they were Knurlig."

"You're the second to report Knurlig in the area," said the man, slipping his knife back into it's sheath, "for all our sake's, I hope they've moved on."

The man introduced himself as Blain, before leading Ashlard further into the cave. There he was greeted with suspicious stares from a dozen armoured men, huddled around a fire.

"Who's this?" one asked.

"A survivor," said Blain, "we need to take him to see the king."

"The king?" asked Ashlard.

"He'll want your account of what happened."

Blain walked to the other side of the cave, where there was a donkey drawn cart, pulled off a rolled bundle and tossed it back to Ashlard.

"Here, you can sleep on this, we leave in the morning." Blain said roughly, though not unkindly. Turning towards the other men, "make some room for him by the fire, lads freezing."

The soldiers grumbled but made a space, Ashlard realised that Blain was likely their superior.

He rolled out his bedding in the clearing, and with his feet towards the fire, he huddled into the group.

"Here", a skewered piece of meat was pushed into his hand, Ashlard looked at it, something told him he shouldn't eat it, but it was hot, and he was hungry. Giving it a sniff he decided to try a bite, and sunk his teeth into it.

FLASH

He was running through the forest, a mixture of pain and fear coursing through his body.

FLASH

He was getting tired, collapsing on the ground, his neck twisted awkwardly, he could see down his body, but it wasn't his body, he was a deer, and there was an arrow sticking from his side.

FLASH

There was a man, dressed in royal green armour standing above him, a bow strapped over his back and holding a large knife.

FLASH

Pain and fear, the feeling of drowning, the taste of blood, darkness, relief, peace...

FLASH

Ashlard snapped to attention, screaming and thrashing, he threw the meat aside and a man grabbed him and pinned him down.

"Easy! Easy!" Said the man, "What's gotten into you? That was fresh venison!"

Ashlard realised that the man holding him was the same man from his dream... or was it a memory?

"Sorry, I'm okay, I... I can't eat meat," he said.

"What kind of fool can't eat meat," the man said. Walking back to where he was sitting, he rummaged around in his pack, grabbing out a pair of apples he turned and tossed them to Ashlard.

"Here, they were for the donkey, but there's no reason you can't have them."

Nodding his thanks, Ashlard bit into the apple, no flashbacks this time, but he realised there were pointy scales, peeking from folds in his skin that hadn't quite extended themselves yet. Ashlard quickly laid down and concentrated on his hand until the scales retracted fully. He had to be careful, he didn't know how these people would respond to his abilities. He quickly finished eating his apples, and soon drifted into uneasy, but warm sleep.

He was running, running from something, running with someone, something grabbed his arm, he turned, a girl, his age, his height, long blonde hair, her arm was bandaged and in a sling, in the sling was a newborn, she was saying something, but he couldn't make out the words, she was scared, the baby was crying, everything was so loud, and yet so quiet. An arrow buried itself in the girls back, this time he could hear her scream, she fell against him and he lost his balance. He was falling turning over mid-air he watched a frozen river rush to meet him. He hit the ice.

"Hey!" a gruff voice yelled, "wake up!"

Ashlard woke with a start, Blain was holding his arms down.

"You've got a mean punch lad," he said, turning his cheek to show a already swollen eye and a small cut.

"Sorry, I didn't m-"

"Don't worry about it," Blain cut him off, "Lets go, we've got some time to make up, jump up on the cart if you can't keep up."

After packing up his bedroll, Ashlard made his way out of the cave. The snow was thick now, he couldn't even tell the direction he came from, a clearing on the right held the soldiers and the donkey drawn cart. Blain walked to the back of the cart pulled out a bag and gestured.

"Got some more apples, I heard about your little meat incident, help yourself, just know you won't be making friends with the donkey."

Ashlard hopped up onto the cart, and grabbed an apple, he admired the perfect colour and took a bite. The cart lurched into motion and he turned round to sit with his legs hanging off the back and tucked into his breakfast. As the day went on, Blain led them from the forest, onto a road and from there, he was lead out of the forest. Ashlard soon realised that Blain was walking beside the cart.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

With a huff and after spitting on the ground, "do you remember what happened yet? That was one hell of a nightmare you were having."

"I don't know... It was just a dream, there was a girl... And a baby... The girl was shot... I fell... It was just a dream," but even as he said it, he felt tears rolling down his face. He didn't know why, but the girl must have been someone important somehow, his sister maybe?

Blain had a strange look on his face, fear? Regret? It was hard to tell, the expression was gone as soon as Ashlard spotted it.

"And you're sure it was Knurligs?"Blain said roughly.

"Who else?"

Blain shrugged and looked ahead. "So do you know how to use that blade?" Blain said, nodding slightly at Ashlard's hip.

"I... I carve things," Ashlard replied, realising what he said, Ashlard drew the knife and checked the blade, honed to perfection. Ashlard could see his reflection in the shiny metal.

"So you have some memories then," Blain stretched while walking, then moved to the back of the cart and hopped up onto it. Ashlard watched as Blain began working through various bags, some with furs, others with armour pieces, and eventually with an "Ah ha!" dragged out a long thin bundle. Blain unwrapped it and inside was a short sword, he slid the blade part way out of the sheath, then slid it back in again.

"Ever held one of these?" He said without looking up.

"No."

"Take it then, you'll need it out here, Knurligs have been on the move."

Ashlard took hold of the blade, it was lighter than expected, but he didn't know if that were because of his abilities, it didn't matter.

"We'll stop to rest soon, I'll show you how to use that pig sticker, we can't have you defenceless." Without another word, Blain walked back to the head of the group.

The sun was at its highest point when the group finally came to a stop. They pulled off the road and sat down in a circle, tucking into a meal of dried venison.

"Don't worry boy," called the soldier that had offered him meat the night before, "just grab another apple."

Ashlard couldn't complain, he picked up another apple and made his way over to the group, but before he sat down, Blain grabbed him by the scruff and pushed him back towards the wagon.

"First rule, never leave your sword!" Blain growled.

Ashlard scurried back, he grabbed the weapon and made his way back towards the group. Blain handed him a length of thick rope.

"It's not a belt, but it'll do, tie this around your waist and tie on your sword."

Ashlard doing as he was told, hurried to attach his sword. He then sat himself with the others, realising he had to lean on an angle to make the sword lay down easily. He sat in silence eating his apple while the soldiers made small talk, discussing the weather, how far they were from home, and the likelihood they would be attacked, but considering their laid back attitudes, Ashlard didn't think they were concerned. It was after a few minutes, Blain approached him, giving his knee a small kick.

"C'mon, draw your sword," he said with a huff.

Ashlard taken by surprise scrambled to his feet, but as he drew his sword, Blain swatted it with his hand causing him to drop it immediately.

"Pick it up, come on!"

Ashlard bent and retrieved his weapon, as he stood, holding it with a solid grip. Blain drew his sword and swept it again from his hands, this time his sword landed several meters away, the soldiers laughed amongst themselves.

"You must keep a firm grip on your sword, but you must keep your wrist loose to absorb impact, otherwise, if I had wanted to, you would be dead right now, go pick it up."

Ashlard turned and walked towards his sword, as he bent to pick it up there were footsteps behind him, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blain swinging his sword over his head, like he was about to cut him in half in a single blow. Ashlard spun around, blocking the sword, but without proper footing fell over backwards, allowing Blain to stand on his blade and place his sword against Ashlard's throat.

"Never turn your back on the enemy."

Blain released him, allowing Ashlard to stand, he took a step back and raised his sword.

"Come get me!" Blain said firmly.

Ashlard, annoyed at being knocked over so many times, immediately swung directly at Blain's head. This is what Blain had been expecting, and with a quick parry, Ashlard's sword sailed past harmlessly.

"AGAIN!" Blain roared.

This time Ashlard didn't hold back, swinging his sword with wild abandonment repeatedly being parried, he took the hilt in both hands, and raising the sword above his head, he tried to knock the sword from Blain's hands, but as he brought the sword down with all his might, Blain simply stepped back, allowing Ashlard's blade to sink into the ground, before quickly placing his foot upon the blade and punching Ashlard in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards, coughing and rolling on the ground.

"Watch your temper there lad," Blain said, helping Ashlard to his feet, "many a good swordsman has lost ground with an ill tempered blade."

Blain helped Ashlard back to the cart and the soldiers lined up to continue marching. He heard murmurs of praise for his attempts, he hid his smile behind an apple. The day continued without incident and as the sun began to fall, Blain once again took Ashlard aside for instruction. This continued for several days, and by the time the group left the forest, their daily sparring sessions had become quite the spectacle for the soldiers to watch. Ashlard learned quickly, no doubt helped by his enhanced physical abilities.

Soon the soldiers were laughing and making jokes with him, including him in conversations and telling him of war stories. These men were a special tasks unit. Sent out in small groups to perform specific missions and answered only to the king himself. Blain was their commanding officer, he had recruited the soldiers personally from other battalions, after witnessing them prove their skill in combat or other feats he deemed worthy. He only recruited the best, regardless of their lineage, and had as many farmers and blacksmiths as he did noblemen in his units. Anyone who disagreed with his methods were allowed trial by combat to prove their worth, so far, none had persuaded him to change his mind, and he was considered a master in his field. Ashlard felt proud to have been trained by such a man, even if Blain was as hard on him as he was any of the other soldiers.

The group marched onward, Ashlard marching with the men more than riding in the cart. The Golden forest, turned into great open plains, that turned to mountainous and rocky slopes. Ashlard, though still unable to land a scratch on Blain, had improved greatly in skill and speed. To the point, where some of the soldiers began sparring with him as well. And today was no exception, as he tried to keep his footing on the loose shale of the mountain. He was facing not one, but two of the soldiers. Blain's second in command, Raph, and the man who gave him meat, Con. They split up, trying to get around behind him, Raph moving uphill while Con moved down, Ashlard jumped backwards keeping the men in front of him, before making a feign attack towards Raph and simultaneously kicking stones and dust down towards Con. Con, scrambling backwards took a moment to clear his eyes, while Raph tried an overhead cut towards him. Ashlard anticipated this, blocking the sword with ease, and with a sweeping motion, knocked Raph's legs out from underneath him. Con, tried to throw his arms around Ashlard to hold him, but Ashlard, hearing him coming, ducked at the last second, and threw an elbow backwards, knocking Con off balance and causing him roll down the slope. Before Raph could regain his feet, Ashlard had the tip of his blade under his chin. While he had made progress, this was his first true victory.

"Keep it up lad, and I'll ask for you personally after you speak with the King," chuckled Blain, "I don't care about your age, you can swing a sword."

Ashlard hid a smirk, it would do him no good getting cocky.

It was a moonless night, the soldiers had gone to sleep, Ashlard alone was awake. The night had troubled him, it was silent, not even the chirping of insects could be heard, and for someone with such keen hearing, he found it rather disturbing. Taking a deep breath in, he sorted through the various scents, first there was the usual ones, sweat, blood, the donkey, nothing unusual, but with a slight shift in the direction of a light breeze, there was something else. Something burnt, ash maybe? Why would there be ash on a hill made of shale? Blain had forbid a fire in the open.