The Legends of Ithan Book 1: Ghosts & Fire

37

Marcus and the strange black knight continued their sword fight. Marcus felt a sting on his cheek as he slowly realized the black knight had put another chip in his cutlass and the piece was now embedded in his cheek. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold the stranger off. Then a screech was heard in the air as a yellow dragon swooped low overhead. Black robed men suddenly began to appear from nowhere.

            Bethia and her father had not gotten far and he was losing his strength fast. They had but one cutlass between them and six black robed men encircled them. Marcus could only catch glimpses and knew it wouldn’t be long before he joined them. At least they had fought a good fight for as long as they could. Suddenly the black armored man swung his sword hard and Marcus defended only to hear his cutlass crack and slowly break. The force of the black scaled man’s sword had been too much for the old cutlass. Marcus quickly swung his mount away from the black armored man as he felt his hands still tingling from the man’s blow and discarded the now useless sword.

            Bethia countered a mace and then an axe but an arrow whizzed past her ear and she knew this was a fight they would not be walking away from. There was no way out. “I love ya, father,” she said quietly as she kept her eyes on the black robed men. They were words she had meant to speak more often but had not.

            “I’m sorry I wasn’t more o’ a father to ya,” the old captain said even more quietly.

            Bethia turned to give the old man a sharp look. “There was ne’er any better,” she said with passion and Captain Tomin smiled.

            Suddenly a bow whizzed again and found its way in his back. He grunted and fell limp by Bethia’s side. She dropped to her knees and tears fell freely for the first time in her life. They flowed down her cheeks and caressed the cheeks of the old pirate. She had failed him and she didn‘t know if she could ever forgive herself. She had broken the promise she had made to her mother. A bitterness and anger clouded her mind. She would have revenge! Then she looked down at the peaceful old face that was so familiar to her. At least now him and mother could be together again. More tears flowed down her face and she sobbed. “There was ne’er any better,” she said quietly and squeezed his hand one last time.

            Marcus, on his stolen mount, suddenly broke into the circle of blacked robed men. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’ve got a date with the lovely lady and I’ve been waiting a lot longer then you have,” and Marcus drove his horse toward Bethia. “Get on!”

            She reluctantly got onto the back of the mount. “I’ll drive and you fight and we might somehow get out of this or at least die a truly glorious death,” Marcus said gravely.

            “Aye,” Bethia said as she eyed the blacked robed men and wiped the tears from her face.

            The black armored man had sheathed his sword and was watching his men close the circle in around the two and he smiled. They had fought more bravely then any Ithan he had seen so far and he hoped this would prove a precursor to Seliz as he was eager for a true competition. What good was it to kill someone if you couldn’t enjoy the fight? Suddenly a great roar was heard and the black robed men halted and turned to see a man armored all in gold atop a black mount racing toward them. He swung his mighty sword and knocked the helmet clean off the black armored man and he fell from his horse as blood gushed down the side of his face. Still the rider in gold didn’t stop. He roared again and slashed the head off the first black robed rider he came across. The hood of the rider floated through the air as the head dissolved with a poof of black smoke.

            “By the gods of Ithan,” Marcus breathed under his breath at the sight of Sandros decked in his armor roaring like a mighty lion. “I would never have believed it.”       He roared again and stabbed another robed man who disappeared in a cloud of black before the other robed riders understood they were being destroyed and needed to stop this Golden Lion.

            “Now’s our time to repay the favor,” Bethia said and smacked the horse smartly on the backside with her cutlass. Marcus reined the beast toward the scattered robed men as Bethia swung her cutlass and more robed men began to turn into black smoke.

            Suddenly a deafening screech was heard over the clash of metal and the yellow dragon swooped low. Sandros heard the whoosh and dove off his horse as the yellow dragon speared it with its long talons and threw it across the port town. Sandros’ blood boiled. He would kill this damned beast himself. This made twice it had tried to take him and it would be the last. He bent on all fours and waited. He looked up and saw the rider turn the beast back towards him.

            “We should have killed you when we had the chance in Galdon,” the rider screeched and Sandros knew this rider was no mere puff of black smoke. This rider was some sort of man. But how could the rider have known that they had already met in Galdon?

            He gripped his sword tighter and waited. He felt the hot air and heard the swoosh of the lizard’s wings as it neared him. Closer and closer he heard it come and he waited. Sweat trickled down his cheek and he gripped his sword tighter. He could hear Bethia and Marcus yelling for him to move and he heard the beating of the hooves of their mount and yet he waited. He glanced up and saw the beast nearly on him. He caught the eyes of the rider. White orbs with a hopelessly lost gaze stared back and then the rider smiled and his fangs shone red in the glare of the fires that burned Rega. Just like Galdon, Sandros thought. His blood pounded and he waited still.

            He heard the cackling of the rider in the air and knew it was time. As the yellow beast dipped to try and spear him with its claws, Sandros dropped to the ground and rolled to his back. He gripped his sword tightly and thrust then slashed. It wasn’t where he had wanted to wound the beast but it was good enough. The beast screamed and reared its head back in anger. He had severed one of its talons. Blood fell like rain as the frightened and angered beast tried to gain more altitude.

            Sandros frowned. He had wanted to spear the thing on its underbelly but he supposed what was done would have to do.  Marcus and Bethia’s mount stopped beside him. “We’ve got to get out of here!” Marcus shouted to Sandros to be heard over the noise of the wounded beast. Sandros saw only a few black robed men left and they seemed too stunned to notice that their captives were escaping. They couldn’t seem to believe that the dragon was actually wounded and bleeding. Sandros grabbed the reins of a nearby horse that had no rider. It had been the man in the black amour’s horse. He hoisted himself onto the back of the beast and turned it toward the road to see, what seemed like to Sandros, thousands of green men, some on horseback, some not, headed toward them.

            “By the gods, does this never end?” Marcus cursed.

            Sandros chuckled, “Did you think this would be easy? Death is the only easy part of life.”

            Marcus rolled his eyes.

            “He has a point,” Bethia said sadly looking back towards her father.

            “We will find some way to come back and bury him… proper, at sea. I promise,” Marcus said as his one dark brown eye also went back to the old captain’s body. Then he had an idea. “I’ve got a plan,” he said proudly, and this time he was actually telling the truth. “Follow me.”

            Sandros looked at Bethia and she shrugged. Marcus kneed the horse on and Sandros followed, not sure what to expect next.