Chapter 73
At the crest of a rugged hilltop, three twelve-foot poles awaited them—warning signs for those who would enter the forbidden land ahead, the Valley of the Dead of legend. Each wooden shaft bore various human skulls intertwined with small animal bones, snakes mostly, and the dried skins of men who had dared pass this way.
Merlin made sure to move slow to let Thorak catch up, since he wanted to remove Memnon trusted General from play.
From the ridge they could see the unforgiving landscape that awaited them—pockmarked earth scattered with mud hills, stretching to a desolate horizon. Beyond that, a devastating desert awaited.
He stood alongside the beautiful hostage stride the camel. He reached up and brushed her long hair away from the side of her face, and she looked sharply at him, startled, offended. "What are you doing?," she said, and caught his wrist. Firmly—but not roughly—he freed his hand, and he brushed her hair away, again, and slipped the golden hoop earring from her lobe. Confused, she frowned at him, and grabbed for her belonging, unsuccessfully.
Now the Merlin moved forward, to the nearest of the fetish poles, and reached up and deftly hooked the hook over the top of the shaft.
She snapped. "What in the name of the gods are you doing?"
"Nothing, in the name of the gods." Merlin gave her the slightest smile. "Just marking the way for your so called lord and master. He will be sending his men here, probably Thorak to retrieve you, so we guide him correctly to were we want him to be."
She reared back, almond eyes narrowed, chin crinkled in contempt." Memnon is not my master."
"Perhaps not in your view," he said, as he slung himself up behind her, onto the generous nomadic saddle, "But Memnon sees you is as his possession." And Merlin jogged Sleipnir into motion, heading down into the desolate valley. Rough as the ride was, it was not as blistering—literally—as the desert they soon found themselves in, where the sand blazed under the sun, and the skeletons of those who had tried to come this way before them had left their remains as grotesque sun-bleached markers.
Thorak and his band of a dozen good men were several hours behind the little party. A forward tracker reached the ridge of fetish poles by sunset, and he snatched the sorceress's golden hoop from the skull atop one pole, and rode back to the line of red-turbaned men to deliver it to his commander.
The scar on Thorak's face stood out whitely in his flushed face, as rage crawled through him like an invader, the warrior well aware the Wizard was baiting him, taunting him. ... Normally they would have made camp now, but Thorak pushed his troops onward; they would ride until the sun was a memory.
In the cool night blueness of the desert dunes, under a sky glittering with more jewels than any warlord could secure, the Merlin watched as, the women sat there looking at the fire.
"I was eleven," she said, "when Memnon heard the stories of the my people. He then heard about a child, the girl, with eyes like the gods. ... He found my village and lined up four of his soldiers, before me. He said, "Tell me the names of these men. Each wrong answer means that man's death."
"His own men," Merlin whispered, he was not suprised seeing these in The World of Game Of Thrones.
"His own men," she said, with a nod. "I was terrified, but what could I do? I told him the names, all four."
Merlin sighed, he knew these things come bite you back in the world of game of thrones, and asked"You shouldn't have done that?"
Cassandra agreed and replied"Yes. And, afterward, those same four soldiers killed my family, as I was taken away."
Yet, for all her visions, for all her prophecies, Cassandra was unaware that she now loved the Wizard. That her future was bound with his.
By midmorning the next day, Thorak and those dozen red-turbaned warriors had all but caught up with their quarry; as they trudged up the slope of a large dune—a wind shifting the sands ominously, sun beating down without mercy—they were not aware of their seeming imminent success. Their prey, however, was aware of them: from a nearby dune, Merlin—astride Sleipnir, the sorceress sharing his saddle, riding behind him now, her arms wrapped around his midsection, her standof-fishness a memory—picked up on sounds, carried by wind.
His keen senses were more finely honed than those of humans, trudging along trying to ignore the blistering heat, while the woman seemed lost in her mystical musings. He wheeled Sleipnir around and saw a cloud of dust—distant, but not so distant as to pose no threat. Still, the Merlin only smiled; in fact, he grinned. "Thorak ..."
Cassandra turned, saw the gathering cloud of dust, and shook her head, with the weary resignation of the put-upon. "So he found thr marker?"
Merlin shook his head. "The fool took the bait and is riding right into a storm." The sorceress was studying him with childlike curiosity. "A storm?"
Merlin grinned down at his companion, then he lifted his eyes away from the dust cloud Thorak and his men were raising, toward the opposite horizon. And now Cassandra looked up, her attention drawn to the direction in which the Wizard was gazing,
The Sorcereress eyes took in that horizon, where she saw a dark brown shimmering fine, like a living thing, moving inexorably toward them.
"Gods save us," Cassandra said, eyes huge as she took in the ominous, gathering darkness, as if an impatient night had decided to rush in, hours early.
Merlin having already knew this added"It's a sandstorm!"
"And right on time," the Wizard said. The sound was growing, a hollow, eerie roaring, like a hoarse scream.
Merlin hopped down off , and helped the Cassandra down, and from Sleipnir. He then placed a hand on her shoulder as blue glow enveloped her, she was curious and questioned,"What was that?"
Merlin explained,"It was small protection against the sandstorm, you will able to see through the storm." He then gestured towards a particular spot,"Walk towards that direction and you will fing a cave to stay from the sandstorm."
Merlin removed his sleeved back revealing the Ten Rings, they are sturdy iron bands that are worn around the forearms, the rings appear to be made of a dark, dense metal that has a slightly rough, worn texture. Each ring is thick and heavy, with intricate carvings and symbols etched into their metallic surfaces, giving them an ancient and mystical look.
The Ten rings kept five rings on each arm to evenly distribute his strength enhancement
He created way back. It was his favorite weapons along with Excalibur (King Arthur Legend of the sword).
With a sudden, commanding motion, Merlin swung himself onto Sleipnir, the mighty eight-legged horse. The beast's powerful muscles tensed beneath him, ready for the charge. Merlin's cloak billowed around him, snapping in the fierce wind as he grasped the reins.
In a burst of energy, Sleipnir sprang forward, hooves thundering against the earth in a rhythm that echoed like a war drum.
The engravings on Ten rings lit up with blue,purple dim light running through the veins of his arms.
On a flat stretch of desert, the red-turbaned company of 30 had paused, when their leader held up a hand—he'd heard something ... someone'... fast approaching.
Thorak knew it couldn't be the Wizard —a man alone would not dare attack thirty from such a distance; he believed Merlin could only cast magic at specific distance like those of warlocks.So it must be a courier from one of the armies, sent by Memnon. A red-turbaned warrior pointed. 'There!" And coming down over a slope was one man— on a black eight legged horse... the Wizard! Was he mad, charging them like a one-man army? "He's attacking ... alone?" one warrior said to another. "The sun has baked his brain," the other said, the tracker among them. "He's been seized by desert madness...."
And from their midst came Thorak's booming voice: " Shoot him down, also a thousand duranas to the man who brings me his head!"
Thorak's men were loyal, that was unquestioned; but the smell of money sparked these warriors to seek new heights of valor. The archers in the group quickly nocked there arrows and fired at Merlin's direction, it was a rain of arrows.
While the others had swords whipped from belts and the bare-chested, red-turbaned warriors spurred their horses and galloped toward the lunatic, soldiers bellowing war cries that would have chilled the blood of any normal man.
As Merlin and Sleipnir thundered closer, a volley of arrows darkened the sky, arching towards them with deadly precision. Merlin, eyes ablaze with unyielding determination, positioned his arms downward. The Ten rings slid down to his wrists, extend into a glowing, segmented whip, crackling with energy.
With a fluid motion, Merlin began to spin the rings around himself, their energy intertwining to form a luminous, spinning web. Faster and faster they whirled, until they became a blur of light. The blue energy expanded, forming a shimmering, transparent dome that enveloped Merlin and Sleipnir.
Arrows struck the dome with sharp, metallic pings, only to be deflected in showers of sparks. The dome held strong, a radiant shield against the onslaught. Thorak's men watched in awe and dread as their arrows fell harmlessly to the ground, their momentum broken by the wizard's arcane defense.
As he rode Sleipnir and arrived close enough to Thorak's group, he shot the rings towards the ground, the energy chains striking with immense force. The impact created a powerful shockwave, knocking nearby soldiers off their horses and sending them sprawling across the sandy field. Dust and debris flew in all directions as the ground shook with the force of Merlin's landing.
Without a moment's hesitation, Merlin extended five of his rings, forming an energy chain that snaked through the air with lethal precision. It wrapped around the neck of one of Thorak's soldiers, tightening with a strangling grip. With a flick of his wrist, Merlin flung the soldier high into the air, the man's screams lost in the wind.
The soldier crashed back to the ground with a thunderous impact, creating another shockwave that sent Thorak's men flying. The raw power of Merlin's magic was undeniable, and fear rippled through the ranks of Thorak's army.
Seeing the devastation he had wrought, Merlin gathered all his rings, each one shimmering with potent energy. With a grand sweep of his arms, he directed them to form a single, longer chain, glowing with a fierce blue light. The chain crackled with magical energy, growing longer and more powerful with each passing moment.
The rings extended into a glowing, segmented whip, crackling with energy. When Merlin swung it, the whip moved with fluid, snake-like motions, creating sweeping arcs of blue light. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the raw power emanating from the weapon.
Merlin swung the colossal chain in a wide arc, its energy trailing through the air like a comet. As it struck Thorak's soldiers, the force of the impact was cataclysmic. Bodies were sent flying through the air, armor shattered and weapons scattered. The chain continued its path, carving a swath of destruction through Thorak's ranks, each strike accompanied by a resonant boom and a shockwave that rippled through the sandy desert. They were thrown back, tumbling like ragdolls.
Thorak was getting overwhelmed too,
his battle-ax in hand, his frustration unbearable as around him the bloodcurdling cries of his men, he yelled out," Surround him."
Just as he was about join in, thing's got worse as the sandstorm arrived— the length of the horizon, a brown swirl of destruction—came up behind him, miles wide, as tall as Memnon's palace, a churning, burning wall of flying particles.
Thorak watched in helpless shock as his warriors and Merlin disappeared into the storm, while Thorak's fabled Red Guard broke their own charge, their ranks scattering as the whirlwind hit full force, swallowing them, the world a harsh vortex of sand, biting the flesh, blinding the eyes, the wind knocking men, onto the desert floor, and when they tried to stand, knocked them down again.
Thorak—for all his courage no less a victim of the stinging sand, all but blinded now—spun around hearing screams of his men, he couldn't tell where, since his men where being sent flying with each strike.
With a swift, decisive motion, Merlin shot his rings outwards once more. Each ring glowed with fierce blue energy as they tore through the air, leaving trails of blue light in their wake and homing in on the scattered soldiers. The impact was immediate and devastating. The rings struck with such force that armor shattered like glass, and men were thrown to the ground, lifeless before they even hit the desert sand. The few remaining warriors were no match for the wizard's relentless assault.
Thorak narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the stinging sands of the storm. The howling wind whipped around him, carrying with it the faint, desperate cries of his men, now abruptly silenced. Panic began to creep into his heart, but he shook it off, his hand tightening around the hilt of his massive double axe.
He strained to see through the haze, but the next thing he felt was not the sting of sand, but the iron grip of a hand around his throat. His eyes widened in shock as he was lifted effortlessly off the ground. The world spun around him, the storm a blurred vortex, and he struggled to focus on the figure before him.
Merlin's piercing gaze bore into Thorak's eyes, cold and unwavering.
Thorak gasped,he knew his death was coming. So he took his last moments to withdraw the Manticore posion arrow, from its quiver, and using the arrow like a knife, he stabbed Merlin shoulder.
Merlin winced slightly, he could tell what kind of poison it was and was not worried and snapped Thorak's neck.