The Warlock's Curse (The Syrane Chronicles Book 4), page 27
Carg, always alert, scanned their surroundings.
“Could it be Gwidion?”
Bowen considered the question.
“It’s possible. These marks seem fresh, and Gwidion is our prime suspect. But we can’t be certain until we follow this trail.”
Gamnus, ever the pragmatist, chimed in.
“Should we continue?” he asked.
Bowen nodded, his gaze unwavering.
“Yes. We follow this trail. But stay sharp. We’re closing in on him, and I doubt he’ll go down without a fight.”
A short distance away, they found themselves at the entrance of a natural amphitheatre, a rugged basin-like depression in the rocky terrain. The place was unlike any they had encountered on their perilous journey through the Demonpeak Mountains. Its formation resembled a colossal, ancient cauldron carved by nature’s hand.
As they crouched down and peered into the amphitheatre, the trio took in the sight before them. The space was a haunting juxtaposition of eerie beauty and untamed wilderness.
At the centre, a flat, circular area stretched out like a natural stage, bordered by jagged rock formations. A thin layer of loose gravel covered the ground. Mineral deposits streaked the steep cliffs that formed the basin’s walls, creating a striking contrast of colours as they rose high above. The angular formations of the cliffs cast long, ominous shadows across the stage-like area, making it difficult to discern what might lurk within.
An eerie silence lingered, as if the very mountains were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. It was a silence that felt oppressive. Scattered boulders and small caves dotted the terrain, potential hiding spots for creatures or individuals seeking refuge or concealment.
Bowen leaned in closer to his companions, his voice hushed.
“This place gives me an uneasy feeling. If Gwidion sought refuge here or led us into this place, there’s no telling what awaits us. Keep your wits about you and your weapons ready.”
Gamnus and Carg nodded in agreement, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
“Head off, one of you to either side,” Bowen instructed. “Wait for my signal. That will be your cue to attack,” he whispered.
“Your usual signal?” asked Gamnus with a smirk.
Bowen nodded
“Yes,” he said.
“He’s sounding more and more like you,” Gamnus whispered to Carg. Carg ignored the caustic comment.
“What’s your usual signal?” Carg asked. Bowen smiled grimly but said nothing as he moved off.
“His usual signal; he’ll kill something,” said Gamnus.
Bowen crept into the rugged basin, he moved like a shadow among the rocky outcroppings, making use of every available cover to conceal his approach.
He muffled his footfalls as he carefully navigated the loose gravel underfoot. Each calculated step ensured minimal noise that could betray his presence. The uneven terrain of the amphitheatre provided plenty of natural cover. Massive boulders and angular cliffs offered him opportunities to hide and observe without being seen.
His dark cloak helped him merge with the shadows, making it difficult for anyone to spot him from a distance. He fleetingly wished he wore the magnificent armour that he’d left behind with Axog the cyclops!
Meanwhile, Gamnus and Carg embarked on their respective flanking manoeuvres. Carg, moving left along the top of the cliffs, remained in a position where he could have a clear view of the amphitheatre’s interior. He readied his bow, arrow nocked, poised to respond swiftly to any threats that might emerge.
On the other side, Gamnus moved stealthily to the right, his crossbow at the ready. He positioned himself high on the cliffs, providing an elevated vantage point that would allow him to take precise shots and cover Bowen effectively.
As Bowen skulked into the amphitheatre, he felt a growing sense of unease. The eerie silence, the play of shadows on the rocky walls, and the knowledge that Gwidion might lurk somewhere in this natural arena added to the tension in the air. He signalled to his companions to maintain their positions, ready for whatever might unfold within the ancient basin.
In the dim light of the amphitheatre, his hand moved instinctively to Warder’s hilt. Bowen’s fingers wrapped around the grip of the finely crafted weapon, and he could feel the cold, polished metal under his touch.
As his grasp tightened on the hilt, a subtle vibration surged through the sword, a magical response to mystical forces nearby. The familiar vibration coursing through the weapon alerted him to magic.
The air held the lingering magical residue, a spectral remnant of the woven sorcery. It felt like a subtle disturbance in the natural order.
The sword’s vibrations allowed Bowen to trace the ethereal remnants of Gwidion’s spell. They appeared as wisps of darkness, like faint, ghostly echoes of the shadowy tendrils that Gwidion used to ensnare Bella.
The magical trail led his gaze to an open cave entrance not too far away.
Despite his seasoned bravery, a primal instinct held Bowen back from diving headlong into the cave. He knew that whatever dark forces had been at play here; they were not to be underestimated. There was an undeniable sense of peril, a feeling that venturing further could lead to danger. His instincts told him to proceed with caution.
Bowen’s keen eyes scoured the vicinity, his senses honed by years of tracking and combat experience. As he stood in concealment near the cave entrance, a flicker of movement in the shadows drew his attention.
Amongst the rocky terrain, camouflaged amid the natural contours of the landscape, he discerned a massive, hulking shape that blended seamlessly with its surroundings. It was an ogre, and it seemed entirely unaware of his presence.
The ogre appeared to be crouched behind a boulder, partially obscured from view, its hideous countenance hidden in the shadows. Its massive form was well-concealed for a creature of such size, proof of the ogre’s instinctual aptitude for ambush.
Realising that he had the element of surprise on his side, Bowen’s hand tightened on Warder’s hilt. The subtle vibrations of the blade hummed beneath his touch, resonating with the magic that still lingered in the air.
Bowen weighed his options carefully. He could silently approach the ogre, take advantage of its unwitting vulnerability, and strike a decisive blow. Or, he could choose to remain concealed, gathering more information about the ogre’s intentions and the situation at large.
Maintaining his position near the cave’s entrance, he opted for caution. The presence of a lone ogre suggested that more of them might lurk nearby. He needed to find out the extent of the threat before he took action.
With his back pressed against the rough cave wall, Bowen’s gaze lingered on the hidden ogre. Then his sharp eyes darted about the landscape, scanning for movement or additional ambushers.
His years of training in stealth and tracking had honed his patience, allowing him to wait in complete silence. Every muscle in his body remained relaxed, but he was poised, ready to react at a moment’s notice. Bowen regulated his breathing, ensuring it remained shallow and inaudible.
As the moments stretched on, he picked up on subtle cues; the faint rustling of leaves where there was no breeze, the distant echoes of guttural voices. It seemed he was not alone in this perilous place. There were more ogres about waiting in the shadows.
Bowen’s decision to wait and observe was a calculated one. He knew that gathering information about the number and disposition of his adversaries would be invaluable when it came time to confront them.
Bowen remained as still as the stone he leaned against, his senses attuned to the subtlest signs of movement or sound. Gradually, as he observed and listened, he pieced together the puzzle of the hidden ogres.
He heard occasional low grunts and guttural whispers, the unmistakable sounds of ogres communicating. These sounds seemed to emanate from multiple directions.
His keen eyes caught fleeting glimpses of movement as the massive forms of ogres shifted in their concealed positions. These were like shadows moving amidst the thick foliage.
The occasional rustling of leaves and creaking of branches gave away the positions of the hidden ambushers. Bowen marked these disturbances, building a mental map of where each ogre might be hiding.
Ogres were not known for their subtlety, and their movements could inadvertently reveal their locations. Bowen noted a few who couldn’t resist scratching an itch or shifting their weight.
Through a combination of sound, movement, and subtle clues, Bowen gradually pieced together an estimate of the number of hidden ogres. There were at least ten of them, possibly a dozen. They were scattered around the area, likely waiting for the right moment to strike.
Bowen’s years of experience in tracking and surviving in hostile environments had taught him the importance of patience and observation. It also taught him the importance of swift and precise action when facing overwhelming odds. As he turned to the nearest ogre, he struck quickly and decisively.
With the hilt of Warder firmly in his grasp, Bowen moved like a shadow, closing the distance between himself and the hidden ogre. He used the natural cover of the rocky terrain and dense foliage to mask his approach, making sure he stayed downwind to avoid giving away his scent.
The ogre, unaware of the impending danger, remained focused on the perceived threat in front of him. As Bowen drew closer, he could see the massive, hulking figure of the creature, its brutish form hidden among the rocks and trees.
When he was within striking range, Bowen made his move. With a lightning-quick motion, he unsheathed his sword and lunged at the ogre.
The strike was precise and deadly. Bowen aimed for a vital spot, driving the blade deep into the ogre’s neck, just below the massive jaw. The enchanted sword’s edge cut through flesh and bone with eerie ease, and dark blood spurted from the wound.
The ogre let out a gurgling gasp of pain and surprise, but Bowen’s blade cut short the brute’s cry as it severed the ogre’s vocal cords. With a final wheeze, the ogre collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Bowen withdrew his sword. He remained crouched among the rocks, hidden from the other lurking ogres, as the lifeless body of the first ambusher sprawled nearby.
The ogres, startled by the sudden death of their comrade, reacted with a mix of confusion and anger. They exchanged guttural, alarmed growls as they attempted to pinpoint the source of the attack.
Bowen, still concealed among the rocks and foliage, held his breath. Bowen knew that if he exposed his position now, he would be vastly outnumbered and overpowered.
The ogres fanned out, their massive forms moving clumsily but with a certain predatory determination. Despite their brutish appearances, the ogres had finely attuned their keen senses to the surrounding environment. They sniffed the air, their sense of smell much stronger than that of a human, searching for any hint of Bowen’s presence.
Bowen’s heart raced as the ogres drew closer to his concealed position. He flattened himself against the rocks, trying to become one with the natural surroundings.
The ogres’ eyes darted around, scanning the area for any signs of movement. They communicated in low, guttural tones, their words incomprehensible to Bowen, but their intent was clear: find the hidden attacker and exact vengeance.
The situation hung in tense balance. Bowen knew he couldn’t remain hidden forever, but he needed the perfect moment to strike again. He waited for the right opportunity.
As the ogres drew closer, the adrenaline coursing through Bowen’s veins heightened his focus and awareness. He was pleased Gamnus and Carg had shown good judgement in not attacking when he had. They were yet to reveal their positions. The outcome of this encounter would depend on their ability to outwit and outmanoeuvre the formidable ogres, as much as batter them into submission. He considered where the two were and how well hidden the dead ogre had been; it occurred to him that his companions may have remained oblivious to the attack.
Bowen remained perfectly still, his breath shallow and controlled, as the ogres closed in on his concealed position. He knew he had to bide his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He watched as one particularly bulky ogre came dangerously close to stumbling across him.
The ogre’s heavy footfalls echoed through the rocky terrain, and Bowen’s heart pounded in his chest. He could smell the ogre’s foul breath and hear the low rumble of its growls. Every instinct urged him to act, but he resisted, waiting for the opportune moment.
Just as the ogre was about to step on the very rock Bowen hid behind, it paused. It let out a guttural sneeze, as if the dust in the air had irritated its oversized nostrils. Bowen’s eyes narrowed as he recognised this as the chance he’d been waiting for.
With lightning speed and precision, Bowen struck. His sword slashed upward with a deadly arc. The blade found its mark, piercing the ogre’s thick neck with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed across the rocky ground as the ogre let out a strangled, gurgling cry.
Simultaneously, Gamnus and Carg seized the opportunity from their concealed vantage points on the cliffs above. Gamnus’ crossbow twanged as it released a bolt that sailed through the air, finding its target in another ogre’s chest. Carg, with his finely crafted bow, sent an arrow hurtling towards a third ogre.
The element of surprise was on their side. The ogres, now disoriented and in pain, roared with anger and confusion. They struggled to locate their unseen attackers, their massive forms lumbering about in a chaotic frenzy.
Bowen didn’t waste a moment. He fell into his current and let it guide his flow forward; he slipped out from his hiding place and engaged the nearest ogre in a flurry of deadly strikes. Warder cut through the thick hide and bone of the ogre’s torso. The creature let out a pained howl before collapsing to the ground.
Gamnus and Carg continued to fire their ranged weapons, picking off ogres one by one. Their aim was true, and the ogres, unable to pinpoint the source of the attacks, were at a severe disadvantage.
The battle unfolded in a blur of violence and chaos. The ogres, initially the ambushers, were now on the defensive, their ranks thinning with each passing moment. Gamnus, Carg, and Bowen fought with unwavering determination, relying on their teamwork and skill to overwhelm the ogres.
As the dust settled, the hunters had become the hunted. Ten, no, eleven ogres lay defeated, their massive forms scattered across the rocky landscape.
Bowen, Gamnus, and Carg stood victorious but wary, knowing that their journey through the perilous Demonpeak Mountains was far from over.
26. Rebirth.
As Duncan’s blade pierced the small black rectangle of obsidian within the grid, a series of remarkable events unfolded.
First, the moment the sword touched the obsidian, the entire grid seemed to quiver and vibrate, as if he had jolted it to life. The colours and greys surrounding the obsidian shifted and swirled, creating a mesmerising display of light and shadow. The obsidian itself emitted a faint, ghostly greenish glow, similar to the eerie radiance of the sword Duncan held. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if it resonated with his very essence.
As Duncan’s blade pierced the small black rectangle of obsidian within the grid, a sudden and violent explosion erupted. The world around him became engulfed in a blinding burst of greenish light and deafening noise. It felt as if time itself had momentarily frozen in the chaos.
The shockwave from the explosion knocked Duncan off his feet, and it sent him tumbling backward, disoriented and reeling from the blast. The obsidian grid, once shimmering with spectral colours, shattered into countless splinters that scattered in all directions like shards of glass.
Duncan’s ears rang with the echoes of the explosion as he found himself back in the ethereal realm of the periphery, surrounded by the lattice of colour and greys.
His sword, the one used by Ezekiel and responsible for so much tumult, was nowhere to be seen. The explosion consumed the blade, leaving only remnants of greenish energy that dissipated into the ethereal landscape.
Duncan took a moment to catch his breath and assess his situation. Yet, before he could further ponder this great loss, Duncan noticed something extraordinary. The obsidian square was not just an isolated section, it was a gateway, a portal that led somewhere else. Within the obsidian’s dark surface, he could see glimpses of another place, filled with swirling mists.
But instead of opening to another world, the mists cleared and the obsidian portal revealed a scene from a remote part of Syrane. Duncan looked into the interior of a temple, a place he recognised well.
It was the Temple of Camulus, in the treacherous Pass of Xiphos.
Inside the temple, near the altar, he saw the figures of Yarn Darkwood and Jongus Bloodaxe, both dressed in their adventurer’s garb. Their arms were raised as if to shield their eyes from a piercing light.
Duncan’s heart skipped a beat as he realised the significance of this vision.
The obsidian portal could transport him to a location within Syrane.
Duncan felt a pull, a beckoning from the obsidian, urging him to step through the portal and into the realm beyond. It was a decision fraught with uncertainty, for he had no way of knowing for sure what awaited him on the other side. It could be a trick. But he also sensed that this obsidian gateway held the key to his predicament, a way to escape the periphery and perhaps find Derek.
But what if he could not return? What if he went back to Syrane and could not come home to Earth? He’d literally only just got back!
But what if this was his only way out of the periphery? This miserable, time-bending featureless place?
Duncan knew he had to step through the portal and join Yarn and Jongus in the Temple of Camulus. This was a chance to reunite with his friends; at least a way forward.
As he prepared to take that fateful step, the colours and greys of the grid continued to shift and whirl around him, creating a surreal and otherworldly display.
###
Yarn and Jongus stood within the ancient temple of Camulus, their eyes narrowed into slits as they shielded their faces from the intensifying glow emanating from the altar before them. The once dimly lit chamber had transformed into a luminous spectacle, and the air itself seemed to crackle with an otherworldly energy.
“Could it be Gwidion?”
Bowen considered the question.
“It’s possible. These marks seem fresh, and Gwidion is our prime suspect. But we can’t be certain until we follow this trail.”
Gamnus, ever the pragmatist, chimed in.
“Should we continue?” he asked.
Bowen nodded, his gaze unwavering.
“Yes. We follow this trail. But stay sharp. We’re closing in on him, and I doubt he’ll go down without a fight.”
A short distance away, they found themselves at the entrance of a natural amphitheatre, a rugged basin-like depression in the rocky terrain. The place was unlike any they had encountered on their perilous journey through the Demonpeak Mountains. Its formation resembled a colossal, ancient cauldron carved by nature’s hand.
As they crouched down and peered into the amphitheatre, the trio took in the sight before them. The space was a haunting juxtaposition of eerie beauty and untamed wilderness.
At the centre, a flat, circular area stretched out like a natural stage, bordered by jagged rock formations. A thin layer of loose gravel covered the ground. Mineral deposits streaked the steep cliffs that formed the basin’s walls, creating a striking contrast of colours as they rose high above. The angular formations of the cliffs cast long, ominous shadows across the stage-like area, making it difficult to discern what might lurk within.
An eerie silence lingered, as if the very mountains were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. It was a silence that felt oppressive. Scattered boulders and small caves dotted the terrain, potential hiding spots for creatures or individuals seeking refuge or concealment.
Bowen leaned in closer to his companions, his voice hushed.
“This place gives me an uneasy feeling. If Gwidion sought refuge here or led us into this place, there’s no telling what awaits us. Keep your wits about you and your weapons ready.”
Gamnus and Carg nodded in agreement, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
“Head off, one of you to either side,” Bowen instructed. “Wait for my signal. That will be your cue to attack,” he whispered.
“Your usual signal?” asked Gamnus with a smirk.
Bowen nodded
“Yes,” he said.
“He’s sounding more and more like you,” Gamnus whispered to Carg. Carg ignored the caustic comment.
“What’s your usual signal?” Carg asked. Bowen smiled grimly but said nothing as he moved off.
“His usual signal; he’ll kill something,” said Gamnus.
Bowen crept into the rugged basin, he moved like a shadow among the rocky outcroppings, making use of every available cover to conceal his approach.
He muffled his footfalls as he carefully navigated the loose gravel underfoot. Each calculated step ensured minimal noise that could betray his presence. The uneven terrain of the amphitheatre provided plenty of natural cover. Massive boulders and angular cliffs offered him opportunities to hide and observe without being seen.
His dark cloak helped him merge with the shadows, making it difficult for anyone to spot him from a distance. He fleetingly wished he wore the magnificent armour that he’d left behind with Axog the cyclops!
Meanwhile, Gamnus and Carg embarked on their respective flanking manoeuvres. Carg, moving left along the top of the cliffs, remained in a position where he could have a clear view of the amphitheatre’s interior. He readied his bow, arrow nocked, poised to respond swiftly to any threats that might emerge.
On the other side, Gamnus moved stealthily to the right, his crossbow at the ready. He positioned himself high on the cliffs, providing an elevated vantage point that would allow him to take precise shots and cover Bowen effectively.
As Bowen skulked into the amphitheatre, he felt a growing sense of unease. The eerie silence, the play of shadows on the rocky walls, and the knowledge that Gwidion might lurk somewhere in this natural arena added to the tension in the air. He signalled to his companions to maintain their positions, ready for whatever might unfold within the ancient basin.
In the dim light of the amphitheatre, his hand moved instinctively to Warder’s hilt. Bowen’s fingers wrapped around the grip of the finely crafted weapon, and he could feel the cold, polished metal under his touch.
As his grasp tightened on the hilt, a subtle vibration surged through the sword, a magical response to mystical forces nearby. The familiar vibration coursing through the weapon alerted him to magic.
The air held the lingering magical residue, a spectral remnant of the woven sorcery. It felt like a subtle disturbance in the natural order.
The sword’s vibrations allowed Bowen to trace the ethereal remnants of Gwidion’s spell. They appeared as wisps of darkness, like faint, ghostly echoes of the shadowy tendrils that Gwidion used to ensnare Bella.
The magical trail led his gaze to an open cave entrance not too far away.
Despite his seasoned bravery, a primal instinct held Bowen back from diving headlong into the cave. He knew that whatever dark forces had been at play here; they were not to be underestimated. There was an undeniable sense of peril, a feeling that venturing further could lead to danger. His instincts told him to proceed with caution.
Bowen’s keen eyes scoured the vicinity, his senses honed by years of tracking and combat experience. As he stood in concealment near the cave entrance, a flicker of movement in the shadows drew his attention.
Amongst the rocky terrain, camouflaged amid the natural contours of the landscape, he discerned a massive, hulking shape that blended seamlessly with its surroundings. It was an ogre, and it seemed entirely unaware of his presence.
The ogre appeared to be crouched behind a boulder, partially obscured from view, its hideous countenance hidden in the shadows. Its massive form was well-concealed for a creature of such size, proof of the ogre’s instinctual aptitude for ambush.
Realising that he had the element of surprise on his side, Bowen’s hand tightened on Warder’s hilt. The subtle vibrations of the blade hummed beneath his touch, resonating with the magic that still lingered in the air.
Bowen weighed his options carefully. He could silently approach the ogre, take advantage of its unwitting vulnerability, and strike a decisive blow. Or, he could choose to remain concealed, gathering more information about the ogre’s intentions and the situation at large.
Maintaining his position near the cave’s entrance, he opted for caution. The presence of a lone ogre suggested that more of them might lurk nearby. He needed to find out the extent of the threat before he took action.
With his back pressed against the rough cave wall, Bowen’s gaze lingered on the hidden ogre. Then his sharp eyes darted about the landscape, scanning for movement or additional ambushers.
His years of training in stealth and tracking had honed his patience, allowing him to wait in complete silence. Every muscle in his body remained relaxed, but he was poised, ready to react at a moment’s notice. Bowen regulated his breathing, ensuring it remained shallow and inaudible.
As the moments stretched on, he picked up on subtle cues; the faint rustling of leaves where there was no breeze, the distant echoes of guttural voices. It seemed he was not alone in this perilous place. There were more ogres about waiting in the shadows.
Bowen’s decision to wait and observe was a calculated one. He knew that gathering information about the number and disposition of his adversaries would be invaluable when it came time to confront them.
Bowen remained as still as the stone he leaned against, his senses attuned to the subtlest signs of movement or sound. Gradually, as he observed and listened, he pieced together the puzzle of the hidden ogres.
He heard occasional low grunts and guttural whispers, the unmistakable sounds of ogres communicating. These sounds seemed to emanate from multiple directions.
His keen eyes caught fleeting glimpses of movement as the massive forms of ogres shifted in their concealed positions. These were like shadows moving amidst the thick foliage.
The occasional rustling of leaves and creaking of branches gave away the positions of the hidden ambushers. Bowen marked these disturbances, building a mental map of where each ogre might be hiding.
Ogres were not known for their subtlety, and their movements could inadvertently reveal their locations. Bowen noted a few who couldn’t resist scratching an itch or shifting their weight.
Through a combination of sound, movement, and subtle clues, Bowen gradually pieced together an estimate of the number of hidden ogres. There were at least ten of them, possibly a dozen. They were scattered around the area, likely waiting for the right moment to strike.
Bowen’s years of experience in tracking and surviving in hostile environments had taught him the importance of patience and observation. It also taught him the importance of swift and precise action when facing overwhelming odds. As he turned to the nearest ogre, he struck quickly and decisively.
With the hilt of Warder firmly in his grasp, Bowen moved like a shadow, closing the distance between himself and the hidden ogre. He used the natural cover of the rocky terrain and dense foliage to mask his approach, making sure he stayed downwind to avoid giving away his scent.
The ogre, unaware of the impending danger, remained focused on the perceived threat in front of him. As Bowen drew closer, he could see the massive, hulking figure of the creature, its brutish form hidden among the rocks and trees.
When he was within striking range, Bowen made his move. With a lightning-quick motion, he unsheathed his sword and lunged at the ogre.
The strike was precise and deadly. Bowen aimed for a vital spot, driving the blade deep into the ogre’s neck, just below the massive jaw. The enchanted sword’s edge cut through flesh and bone with eerie ease, and dark blood spurted from the wound.
The ogre let out a gurgling gasp of pain and surprise, but Bowen’s blade cut short the brute’s cry as it severed the ogre’s vocal cords. With a final wheeze, the ogre collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Bowen withdrew his sword. He remained crouched among the rocks, hidden from the other lurking ogres, as the lifeless body of the first ambusher sprawled nearby.
The ogres, startled by the sudden death of their comrade, reacted with a mix of confusion and anger. They exchanged guttural, alarmed growls as they attempted to pinpoint the source of the attack.
Bowen, still concealed among the rocks and foliage, held his breath. Bowen knew that if he exposed his position now, he would be vastly outnumbered and overpowered.
The ogres fanned out, their massive forms moving clumsily but with a certain predatory determination. Despite their brutish appearances, the ogres had finely attuned their keen senses to the surrounding environment. They sniffed the air, their sense of smell much stronger than that of a human, searching for any hint of Bowen’s presence.
Bowen’s heart raced as the ogres drew closer to his concealed position. He flattened himself against the rocks, trying to become one with the natural surroundings.
The ogres’ eyes darted around, scanning the area for any signs of movement. They communicated in low, guttural tones, their words incomprehensible to Bowen, but their intent was clear: find the hidden attacker and exact vengeance.
The situation hung in tense balance. Bowen knew he couldn’t remain hidden forever, but he needed the perfect moment to strike again. He waited for the right opportunity.
As the ogres drew closer, the adrenaline coursing through Bowen’s veins heightened his focus and awareness. He was pleased Gamnus and Carg had shown good judgement in not attacking when he had. They were yet to reveal their positions. The outcome of this encounter would depend on their ability to outwit and outmanoeuvre the formidable ogres, as much as batter them into submission. He considered where the two were and how well hidden the dead ogre had been; it occurred to him that his companions may have remained oblivious to the attack.
Bowen remained perfectly still, his breath shallow and controlled, as the ogres closed in on his concealed position. He knew he had to bide his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He watched as one particularly bulky ogre came dangerously close to stumbling across him.
The ogre’s heavy footfalls echoed through the rocky terrain, and Bowen’s heart pounded in his chest. He could smell the ogre’s foul breath and hear the low rumble of its growls. Every instinct urged him to act, but he resisted, waiting for the opportune moment.
Just as the ogre was about to step on the very rock Bowen hid behind, it paused. It let out a guttural sneeze, as if the dust in the air had irritated its oversized nostrils. Bowen’s eyes narrowed as he recognised this as the chance he’d been waiting for.
With lightning speed and precision, Bowen struck. His sword slashed upward with a deadly arc. The blade found its mark, piercing the ogre’s thick neck with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed across the rocky ground as the ogre let out a strangled, gurgling cry.
Simultaneously, Gamnus and Carg seized the opportunity from their concealed vantage points on the cliffs above. Gamnus’ crossbow twanged as it released a bolt that sailed through the air, finding its target in another ogre’s chest. Carg, with his finely crafted bow, sent an arrow hurtling towards a third ogre.
The element of surprise was on their side. The ogres, now disoriented and in pain, roared with anger and confusion. They struggled to locate their unseen attackers, their massive forms lumbering about in a chaotic frenzy.
Bowen didn’t waste a moment. He fell into his current and let it guide his flow forward; he slipped out from his hiding place and engaged the nearest ogre in a flurry of deadly strikes. Warder cut through the thick hide and bone of the ogre’s torso. The creature let out a pained howl before collapsing to the ground.
Gamnus and Carg continued to fire their ranged weapons, picking off ogres one by one. Their aim was true, and the ogres, unable to pinpoint the source of the attacks, were at a severe disadvantage.
The battle unfolded in a blur of violence and chaos. The ogres, initially the ambushers, were now on the defensive, their ranks thinning with each passing moment. Gamnus, Carg, and Bowen fought with unwavering determination, relying on their teamwork and skill to overwhelm the ogres.
As the dust settled, the hunters had become the hunted. Ten, no, eleven ogres lay defeated, their massive forms scattered across the rocky landscape.
Bowen, Gamnus, and Carg stood victorious but wary, knowing that their journey through the perilous Demonpeak Mountains was far from over.
26. Rebirth.
As Duncan’s blade pierced the small black rectangle of obsidian within the grid, a series of remarkable events unfolded.
First, the moment the sword touched the obsidian, the entire grid seemed to quiver and vibrate, as if he had jolted it to life. The colours and greys surrounding the obsidian shifted and swirled, creating a mesmerising display of light and shadow. The obsidian itself emitted a faint, ghostly greenish glow, similar to the eerie radiance of the sword Duncan held. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if it resonated with his very essence.
As Duncan’s blade pierced the small black rectangle of obsidian within the grid, a sudden and violent explosion erupted. The world around him became engulfed in a blinding burst of greenish light and deafening noise. It felt as if time itself had momentarily frozen in the chaos.
The shockwave from the explosion knocked Duncan off his feet, and it sent him tumbling backward, disoriented and reeling from the blast. The obsidian grid, once shimmering with spectral colours, shattered into countless splinters that scattered in all directions like shards of glass.
Duncan’s ears rang with the echoes of the explosion as he found himself back in the ethereal realm of the periphery, surrounded by the lattice of colour and greys.
His sword, the one used by Ezekiel and responsible for so much tumult, was nowhere to be seen. The explosion consumed the blade, leaving only remnants of greenish energy that dissipated into the ethereal landscape.
Duncan took a moment to catch his breath and assess his situation. Yet, before he could further ponder this great loss, Duncan noticed something extraordinary. The obsidian square was not just an isolated section, it was a gateway, a portal that led somewhere else. Within the obsidian’s dark surface, he could see glimpses of another place, filled with swirling mists.
But instead of opening to another world, the mists cleared and the obsidian portal revealed a scene from a remote part of Syrane. Duncan looked into the interior of a temple, a place he recognised well.
It was the Temple of Camulus, in the treacherous Pass of Xiphos.
Inside the temple, near the altar, he saw the figures of Yarn Darkwood and Jongus Bloodaxe, both dressed in their adventurer’s garb. Their arms were raised as if to shield their eyes from a piercing light.
Duncan’s heart skipped a beat as he realised the significance of this vision.
The obsidian portal could transport him to a location within Syrane.
Duncan felt a pull, a beckoning from the obsidian, urging him to step through the portal and into the realm beyond. It was a decision fraught with uncertainty, for he had no way of knowing for sure what awaited him on the other side. It could be a trick. But he also sensed that this obsidian gateway held the key to his predicament, a way to escape the periphery and perhaps find Derek.
But what if he could not return? What if he went back to Syrane and could not come home to Earth? He’d literally only just got back!
But what if this was his only way out of the periphery? This miserable, time-bending featureless place?
Duncan knew he had to step through the portal and join Yarn and Jongus in the Temple of Camulus. This was a chance to reunite with his friends; at least a way forward.
As he prepared to take that fateful step, the colours and greys of the grid continued to shift and whirl around him, creating a surreal and otherworldly display.
###
Yarn and Jongus stood within the ancient temple of Camulus, their eyes narrowed into slits as they shielded their faces from the intensifying glow emanating from the altar before them. The once dimly lit chamber had transformed into a luminous spectacle, and the air itself seemed to crackle with an otherworldly energy.
