Chapter 14: The Cry Of A Warrior

           Bastian made his way up the familiar path which lead to his father’s hut by the waterfall; he knew this would be where the tribe would be if there was danger. The path had been beaten down from many pairs of feet making their way up the side of the mountain. Bastian could not tell if the elves had been there, but it seemed likely that they had. As expected, Mythra’s hut had been raided and his things were strewn about the floor of the hut as well as outside. Other than the waterfall splashing it’s ever persistent lullaby the place was utterly quiet. Bastian did not understand how the entire tribe could have disappeared so quickly; the elves could not possibly have defeated the tribe, at least not in that short a time. Bastian began to climb the rock face, Deimos beginning to scout the perimeter.

When Bastian had scaled the rock wall he closed his eyes and listened. At first all he heard was the wind gushing through the trees, but then a sound erupted from down below. Deimos sensed his master and dashed to the cliff, Bastian leaped from the high ledge, as Deimos rebounded of the rock wall, catching his companion in mid air. Deimos flew down towards the sound that Bastian had heard, his paws were swift and precise as they made contact with the hard rock underneath. The sound became audible and Deimos’ slowed down so that they were not spotted. As they moved through several trees the scene became visible and Bastian saw what scared him the most.

Standing in front of a great cavern carved in the face of the stone, was Bastian’s father; on either side of him was Ennadia and Zenith with their riders Taya and J’vonte’. The wise warrior stood there, starring just past where Bastian's gaze ended. Moving in behind him, he also took on the same defensive pose as he met eyes with the remaining army of elves. Akeldama stood only steps aways, surrounding himself with some sort of blue sphere. The three younger warriors stood there ground but this was not their fight, Mythra stood alone. 

Akeldama met Bastian’s eye and grew a grin, it was clear that Mythra had taught his tribe well. The match was even, these men had both had the same training and both passed down their knowledge to those they lead. None the less, a show was in order. Deep down Akeldama knew that Mythra would give in, that he’d walk away without a scratch on him, one stone closer to success.

“Make this easy for me.” Akeldama raised his hand, pulling Mythra’s feet slightly off the ground and towards him. The closer Mythra was drawn, a blue light   emitted brighter from what looked like his palm. Eyeing the hovering unfazed warrior, Akeldama spotted the ring, gem turned inward. “You’re a clever man, tell me, who all here knows the power of which you carry with you?” Mythra said not a word but held his gaze strong with his opponent. “Do they know why they have a tough time defying your lessons? Does Taya know why she had a harder time following in your lead? Did you know she too possessed a stone?” Mythra was placed abruptly on the ground, bringing the old man to his knees. The pale sinister elf dropped his blue shield,  kneeling beside the man he traced his finger inside the fallen leaders palm. 

“I know what you seek, and I know you are mistaken. You count three stones  in your hands, I count two.” Mythra stood tall, and as he opened his arms wide every creature in the tribe let out a magnificent harmonious roar. As the sound fell to silence Mythra brought the elf to eye level, using only his finger under Akeldama’s chin. 

“The counsel spoke of five stones, in the destruction of the original.” Akeldama did not mutter, or fall short of certainty, “Each Kingdom in the counsel with their choice how to hide them. Do they know of the power you possess? You cannot defeat me Mythra, for that is your name; I possess the power of three.”

“You are weak and short sighted. Have you not seen, the earring around your neck, the one you stole from Garitarc is not the one you seek.” Akeldama raised himself up his feet lifting just off the ground as the two jewels in his hand became a blue energy that none but Mythra and Akeldama had seen before. Mythra did not move from the entrance, instead the blue gem attached to the ring on his hand grew even brighter.

“I will not let you hurt my people, you do not belong here, betrayer.” Mythra moved close to his enemy. “I know why you search for the stones, I know why your brother cursed you to a life of horror. You cannot escape your fate, and if I am the one to stop you, so be it.”

“Do they know your name is Mythra? Do they know your part in all this?” Bastian and J’vonte’ looked confused at their father.

“How does he know this father?” J’vonte’ asked in a fearful tone. 

“You are not so perfect after all, Mythra” said Akeldama, his voice booming out for all to hear. 

“Do not flatter yourself, traitor; you will never find the remaining stones.” 

“I know more than you think, I was there when they destroyed jewel, I know how to find them.”

“You have been mistaken already, how do you think you will ever succeed!?” Mythra said. 

“If we fight, it will be legendary, they will speak of this day, but are you ready to risk it all?” Akeldama asked. “Will you risk the lives of your people? I can take down the entire mountain if I want.” The blue light emanating from his hands. “You have two options old friend: give me the ring and no one gets hurt, or I will destroy your village and take the ring off your rotting corpse.” Mythra did not flinch, or show any signs of weakness; he analyzed his adversary and realized that he was capable, if not likely to follow through with his threat. The blue glow disappeared from Mythra’s palm, and he relaxed his posture, but there was no sign of defeat in his eyes.

“I will accompany you, Snake, under the conditions that you do leave my people alone, and I am the one who bears the stone of Yelya.”

“Fine, have it your way.” Akeldama motioned to several of his men to bind Mythra’s wrists behind his back. 

Ennadia let out a screech which echoed throughout the mountains, it was sorrowful; the cry and mournful call of a warrior. As the elves took Mythra and began to disappear into the trees one could hear the loud call, coming from a human, but the sound was similar to the call of an eagle. Ennadia rose high above the trees, J’vonte’ still riding her back and they began to fly past where the elves had started moving. J’vonte’ looked behind her, there was Taya riding on Zenith’s back, soaring above the clouds; her long brown hair streaming through the golden sky as the sun began to set.