Blue Words - Part I Read online

into the grey at his rear. The instant the axe left his grip, the Hammer opened fire.

  SMACK! Gudrik was struck hard in the shoulder by a projectile. It jarred him back as it shattered the bone, he staggered. Pain shot through his body, worse even than the rock salt. The first shot was rapidly accompanied by a second, third and fourth strike as well. He felt the strength leech from his body. He dropped to his knees. Kahn’s finger twitched on his shouldered rifle, but was halted by a voice from behind, “I wouldn’t if I were you.” Another man had circled around behind them. He stood clad in black body armour, a snub nosed rifle hanging from his shoulder, his side arm to George’s head. Peeking from behind George’s body was the white hilt of a sword etched on his chest. Realising any move he made now would certainly end in George’s demise; Kahn held his arms up in surrender and let the rifle clatter to the ground.

  I am Gudrik

  It was the beginning of the end, though I hadn’t realised it. Elya fled to her aunt in a neighbouring town, she was terrified.....it was for the best. I hoped it would free the greatest thing which had ever entered my life from what was coming.

  The glorious final stand which Father and I had planned never came to be. Late one night I woke to a manic scream inside my head. I shot up in bed and quickly realised that the scream echoed in the air around me. It was my father. And there he stood, the legendary warrior himself, standing over him, sword buried to the hilt in my father’s stomach. I snatched up my wand and lunged at his throat. My actions were halted un-heroically as Kyran grabbed my arm and flung me effortlessly aside. The amulet draped around his neck glowed ecstatically as the Valkyrie deep within pulsed with excitement. I was a blubbering child, so weak I could do nothing. I was powerless.

  “I doubt you have any idea who I am Gudrik of The Twelve.” I tried to spit at him, but it dribbled feebly down my chin. “But I know you. I’ve seen you at your worst. I was a boy when last we met, the son of a great knight chosen to reclaim holy lands from its heathen invaders. Kyranus, the Blessed Dragon and his army was unchallenged until our enemies signed a blood pact with you.”

  Such a small part in the scheme of my life. I had all but forgotten the battle against Kyranus’ army, the Blessed Dragon as his men had called him. Just another fight amongst hundreds.

  “Kyranus was a monster, I feel nothing but satisfaction that he is dead by my hands,” I replied.

  “He was a knight, a hero! I was there that day; I watched as you, a monster, used your demon blood to cut through an army of hardened knights like they were children. I burned with anger and wondered how a man could ever rise up against such evil as you. But it found me, mankind’s freedom.”

  The whole time, the amulet spoke within me, resonating through my blood. A sweet sound, yet the resonance made me feel ill, uneasy. Kyran thought the amulet to be his tool, little did he know that the roles were in fact reversed. It taunted me, threatened me. With the death of each of The Twelve it grew closer to its former strength as the amulet which held it grew weaker with the loss of each bloodline. The presence inside the amulet longed to have the rest of its essence returned. Now with the final two infidels in sight, it salivated at the thought of bursting free from its prison and wreaking its bloodlust on the world once again.

  However, Kyran was not the mindless barbarian the amulet believed him to be. He had his father’s ambition within him, but he also had something Kyranus had lacked. Kyran had his mother’s cunning. The powers of our blue blood had intrigued him and he had noticed things about it.

  “I have two punishments for you Gudrik of The Twelve. The first shall mirror the wrong done to me.” I screamed as Kyran drew his sword from my father’s stomach and with one mighty swing cleft his head from his body. As I roared and wept a mist of blue wafted from his open neck only to be drawn to the amulet as if caught in a draft. The blood leaking from my father’s corpse lost its blue glow and was once again a crimson red.

  “Secondly, you shall watch for eternity, imprisoned and guarded to ensure that your kind never again plagues the world.” At this the amulet began to flicker and pulse erratically. “Silence your whispers!” yelled Kyran, apparently speaking to no one. “I am no fool. I will not replace one demon with another.”

  I gave up. I know it’s not heroic, but there’s no other way to describe it. He had taken everything from me. I was bound into slavery, in the service of my mortal enemy. As a final insult, to break my will completely Kyran ordered his first in command to ‘show me the surprise’. From a filthy sack he produced a blood smeared gold band, Elya’s wedding ring.

  Right there that night he cut me for the first time and drank my blood. The will to live drained from my body but seemed to lift him. Once he had drunk his fill he let my arm fall lifeless beside me. Blood ran from the wound as my body, hampered by the amulet’s presence, slowly struggled to close it. “Jarkurthra,” I whispered, hoping to excite my falling blood.....revenge. The amulet was too powerful. The blood merely ran through the joins in the floorboards and pooled, before being soaked into the cold earth beneath.

  Throughout the coming ages my blood sustained Kyran, providing him with eternal life. From century to century I was moved from palace to palace as his empire expanded, evolved and moved. Always the amulet sat upon my chest, unnaturally heavy, destroying any hopes of freedom.

  For an age I did nothing but wish for death, something he would never allow. The hunger, thirst and pain were maddening. Did I lose my mind? Of course I did, any man would have. There were times that my escape would have meant me scorching the earth of all life. But I was captive for a long, long time, a timespan which any mortal’s mind will scarcely comprehend. So much time in fact that I managed to fall apart and then painstakingly, piece myself back together again.

  Throughout the centuries I willed pain and suffering on all of mankind for abandoning us, for turning on us. But one bright summer’s day when I was being moved, I was reminded of the beauty and wonder of which I was deprived, while the monster Kyran lived the life of a king. Elya would have been disgusted with what I had become. My father would have been ashamed. I realized it was only Kyran who truly deserved my hate. On that day I vowed, no matter how long I had to wait, I would have revenge for my father, for my wife, for my uncle, for The Twelve and for myself.

  Making Amends

  “There are some mistakes which must be atoned for.”

  The smell of burning flesh drifted on the air as the flaming axe did its duty. The pain soon took its toll and Gudrik’s concentration wained, the axe collapsed back into flittering droplets of blue. Kyran began to squirm and sat up, eventually climbing to his feet. Dusting himself off, he walked to Gudrik, flanked by his troops. The front of his suit was scorched and hung open revealing the slowly closing wound. Blood still ran from the deep gash as it healed. Not red human blood, rich, blue Warlock blood. Panic widened Gudrik’s eyes, as much as he tried not to show it.

  “You aren’t the only one who can avoid death Gudrik of The Twelve,” he said with an eerie calmness. “The arrogance of Warlocks has always astounded me. For so long you simply assumed you were immortal....invincible.” He walked closer to Gudrik, circling him. “I experimented on your kin, as I worked my way through them you know. A wise warrior knows his enemies as intimately as he knows himself.” Kyran kneeled beside the Warlock, clearly unafraid. “I found that under the right influence you are as frail as the rest of us. The amulet was my guide; all of its materials had some effect. Most simply slowed your healing or subdued your abilities, but night stone, now night stone on the other hand really allowed me to inflict pain. It was almost as toxic to your kind as the amulet itself. That’s what you have lodged in you as we speak, burning with its toxic reaction.”

  He turned to his troops and barked an order, “Secure them!”

  “Silver nitrate?” the big man boomed. Kyran shook his head. The Hammer walked up to Gudrik and punched him in the face with his giant fist. The blow was crushing, knocking him flat ont
o his back. Meanwhile his counterparts dealt with George and Kahn. Gudrik’s vision blurred. He felt himself being dragged by his foot. His awareness became distant. He soon faded from consciousness into the black embrace of sleep.

  A firm slap suddenly snatched Gudrik back from his dream world, back into the throbbing agony of reality. Before him he saw that George and Kahn had joined the others. The pain streaking throughout his body was blinding. He was no stranger to suffering, his healing gifts had never allowed him respite from pain, but this was hard to block out. No matter what barriers he put in place, this pain seemed to ooze through. His veins were pumping fire throughout his body.

  He carefully searched the room, quivering with effort as he willed his head to rise from the ground. He was now lying within the thick ring of salt. Combined with the night stone lodged in his flesh, he may as well have had the amulet resting on his chest once again. He tried to move, but restraints held his wrists and ankles tightly fixed together.

  “He’s back with us sir,” boomed The Hammer, towering over him. Gudrik spied the blue talon tattooed on his neck, identical to Ami’s. Suddenly he understood why these troops were not sleeping with