PURE OF HEART (6 page)

Dean pulled the lance free and jumped to his feet as Taviak rose, swearing.

“You’re dead, boy,” he screamed.

“Try to catch me, tin-can man,” Dean jeered as he walked backward.

“I don’t need a horse to kill you.” Taviak bent over, grabbed his helmet, and put it back on. His hand flashed, and a knife whizzed by Dean’s ear.

“You want to throw things? Well, I hope you want to catch them, too.” Dean growled as he heaved a rock that rang off Taviak’s shoulder.

“Stand and die,” Taviak challenged as he ran toward Dean.

“I think I’ll go with run and live.” Dean smirked as he bounced another rock off Taviak’s armor. Howling in rage, Taviak got closer to Dean. Dean pranced backward and threw stone after stone at him. Taviak ran faster, gradually gaining speed. Dean turned around and jogged, then ran, and finally burst into a sprint with Taviak close behind.

Dean dashed into the shelter of the woods with Taviak at his heels. When he turned around, Taviak was nowhere to be seen. The forest was hushed. Dean stayed low and tried to calm his breathing. The woods were completely silent.

A sword swept around the tree, straight at Dean’s neck. He ducked and the blade cut deeply into the tree. Again the sword slashed out, and Dean jumped to the side. Dean swung his silver blade, and it crashed into Taviak’s sword. The sound of metal on metal filled the forest.

“Decided to fight, boy?” Taviak jeered.

“Yeah, because I think you’re wearing a dress under all that fancy armor.”

Taviak screamed, and as his sword crashed and locked with Dean’s, Taviak punched Dean in the face with his gauntleted fist.

Dean spun around and fell on his stomach. His head rang, and a trickle of blood ran from his lip.

“You hit like my nanny,” Dean growled as he rolled, jumped to his feet, and lunged.

Taviak turned the blade to the side. “Insolence,” Taviak howled. His weapon crashed into Dean’s, and the force knocked Dean back to the ground.

Dean landed hard on his back. His hand pressed into the dirt.

“Now die, boy.” Taviak raised his sword over his head.

Dean flung a handful of dirt into Taviak’s visor. Taviak’s hand went to his face, and Dean thrust upward with his sword. The silver sword struck Taviak’s armor, sparks flew, and the blade bounced aside.

“Fool.” Taviak laughed. “No blade can pierce my armor.”

“Crud.” Dean rolled to his feet and ran. The forest opened up to a small clearing with a high mound of large rocks and a single tree in the center.

“Stop, rabbit,” Taviak taunted.

Dean sprinted forward but Taviak quickly gained on him. Dean ran for the stone mound. The sides were steep, but Dean grabbed the rock and hurriedly pulled himself up.

“Don’t hide, rabbit,” Taviak sneered as he stopped at the base of the mound.

Dean stood above him, out of the reach of Taviak’s sword. Taviak slowly walked around the base, and Dean kept turning to face him.

“I’m not technically hiding since you know where I am,” Dean said as he tossed another rock.

“You’ve found my weakness, rabbit. I cannot climb. Now I must wait to kill you. Don’t be happy, though. Now you must wait to die.” Taviak walked to the base of the tree and sat down.

Dean scanned the open field. He knew there was no way he could outrun Taviak before getting to the safety of the forest. He was trapped.

“Can I ask you a question?” Dean bent down and picked up a large, round stone.

“You may speak, rabbit.”

“Stop calling me rabbit, tin-can man.”

“Fair enough,” Taviak growled. “What’s your question?”

“Why are you so set on killing me?”

“It’s what I like best. Hunting people down and killing them,” he said plainly.

“I think you need another hobby.”

“Don’t think of running again. I will catch you. Why not just come down and let me kill you?”

“Thank you for the pleasant offer, but I sort of want to stay alive a little longer. If you want to see someone die so badly, why don’t you just fall on your sword?”

“You have a sharp tongue. But you fought well, boy. Who taught you how to fight?” Taviak flipped up his visor.

Dean thought of Panadur and his last words to him before he answered. “My father taught me how to fight.”

“Who is he? Maybe I killed him too.”

“You couldn’t shake a stick at Panadur.”

“Panadur! You’re Panadur’s son?” Taviak jumped up. “Oh, it will be a joy to kill you.”

“Don’t get all excited. I’m not dead yet.”

“You don’t think I could best Panadur? Then you don’t know anything about me, boy. I’ve killed just about every type of creature alive. I used to kill Wardevar, before they died out. Some say I’m the reason that the Leomane are so rare.”

“You should take up fishing. No,” Dean shook his head, “I like fish. Why don’t you plant flowers or something?”

“I’m not just a hunter, boy. I hunt things down and corner them, like you are now. I enjoy seeing them suffer. Sometimes I torture them before I kill them. Sometimes I just watch them die slowly.”

“That’s really creepy. You’ve got issues.” Dean walked to the other side of the mound.

Taviak followed him on the ground. “There was only one thing I hunted down and let live.”

“That was nice of you. How about you make it two?”

Taviak laughed. “I let it live because I was paid to.”

“I have money.” Dean reached in his pocket and pulled out the roll of bills.

Taviak laughed harder. “Paper? You would offer paper for your life?”

Dean pressed his tongue against his cheek. “Great. The only time I have money, and it’s worthless,” he muttered.

“Do you know what it was I caught, Dean? It was your uncle, Carimus.” Taviak suddenly turned and dashed over to the edge of the field.

As Dean tried to see what he was doing, he heard a muffled yell, and then silence. When Taviak reappeared, he was dragging Han. One hand held a knife to the Elvana’s throat and the other closed his black visor.

“It’s time for your friend to die,” Taviak said. “I’ll let you watch.”

“Stop. Let him go, and I’ll come down.”

Han shook his head but whatever he wanted to say, Dean couldn’t hear as Taviak’s hand clamped down on his throat.

Dean climbed down from the rock and walked forward. He held his sword in his left hand and hid a rock in his right hand.

“Let him go. Just you and me.”

“Wonderful!” Taviak flung Han like a rag doll to the ground. Taviak stopped six feet in front of Dean and looked up. The night sky was just starting to lighten. “Dawn. That’s a good time for you to die, boy.”

Dean’s muscles tightened. His arm swung back. With all of his power, he threw the rock at Taviak’s head. The stone flew through the air. Dean sprang forward. The rock slammed into Taviak’s helmet. As Taviak’s head snapped back, his neck was exposed. Dean’s sword flashed as the first rays of morning came into the clearing.

Taviak fell to the ground with a loud thud. Dean stood, panting, and his hand trembled.

“Is he dead?” Han scurried away from the body.

“Dead as a doornail.”

“Are you sure?”

“The guy doesn’t have a head. Usually when you don’t have a head, you’re dead.”

“Are you okay?”

Dean shook his head. “I never killed anyone.”

“You killed the Krulgs.”

“They were monsters.” Dean wiped the blood from his sword on the grass.

Han looked down at Taviak’s corpse. “He was a monster, too, Dean.”

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

“The horse got away, but I got our packs. They’re in the woods.” Han gave a small smile.

“Nice work.”

“Thank you.” Han walked beside Dean. “I mean . . . thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t thrown that rock . . .”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve been saving my neck too,” Dean said. “Was that a throw or was that a throw? I was just like Babe Ruth.” Dean laughed as they walked into the woods.

“You weren’t like a little girl. You were great!”

“What? A little girl?” Dean wrinkled his nose.

“Baby Ruth,” Han said.

“No. Babe Ruth. He’s a guy. He’s a baseball player.” Dean laughed.

“Baseball?” Han asked.

“It’s a game. Baseball. Apple pie. Hot dogs. Baseball.”

“Hot dogs?” Han asked, now looking very confused.

“You eat them.”

“Dogs? They eat dogs in the Heavens?” Han shrieked.

“They don’t eat dogs in the Heavens.”

“That’s what you said.”

“I didn’t . . . Oh, skip it.”

“Oh, skip it. That’s what you always say. Oh, skip it. I just want you to know if I go to the Heavens, I’m not going to eat a dog.” Han turned to face Dean, who burst out laughing.

“Don’t worry, you won’t go to the Heavens,” Dean said, and Han’s mouth fell open.

“I won’t go to Heaven?”

“No. I mean, you will someday. Not my Heavens but
the
Heaven. You know what I mean?”

Han shook his head and looked dejectedly down at the ground.

“Don’t get all bummed out. When I go back, you’ll come to the Heavens with me, I promise.” Dean held up a hand.

“I knew you were from the Heavens.” Han laughed and then took off running as Dean chased him into the woods.

The Dwarves all stood in a battle line with their massive two-headed battle-axes in their hands and their metal shields slung over their broad backs. A new wave of Krulgs approached them, led by Varlugs, the creatures’ larger brethren who stood nearly eight feet tall. Both sides had taken heavy losses in the earlier attacks; the wicked beasts lost far more, but they had the advantage of numbers on their side, outnumbering the Dwarves nearly four to one. The field before them was littered with the dead of both sides. The ground turned a sickly red. The sky was in shadow, and the lack of wind stirred the smell of death now hanging in the air as thick as the darkest fog.

“Bravic, my brother, if I fail to make it through this next attack, I leave to you my belongings.” A tall Dwarf, nearly five feet, laid his hand down on a smaller Dwarf’s armored shoulder.

“We’ll both survive, Braga. We’ll make it through all of this. Besides, you haven’t got anything except me.” The smaller Dwarf chuckled.

The two turned back to overlook the field and braced themselves for the awaited battle horn. Bravic stood with his short, stocky legs set. He had brown eyes and long dark hair that he tied back. His hair was nearly as long as the braided beard that rested on his chest plate. His leather boots, fringed with fur, were over his leather breeches; his gray metal shield was strapped to his back, and in his thick hands was a long, two-headed battle-axe. As the Dwarven horn echoed rich and deep through the mountains, both sides swarmed forward like waves smashing against the rocks.

The Dwarves cried their deep, rich battle cry, and the creatures answered with their wicked guttural screams. At the front of the ranks of the Krulgs, flanked by Varlugs, rode a Tearog, a demon warrior. The creature’s features seemed almost human except for its deathly pale skin and slanted black eyes. It wore midnight black armor with a black moon on its huge shield. It was much larger than any man. When it stood, it was over seven feet tall, but now was riding a beast. The animal was a Ravinulk. It had the body of a huge wolf with the head of a dragon.

As the two fronts clashed, their weapons crackled like lightning, their screams of death echoed like thunder, and their blood poured down like rain. The Dwarves’ line swept around both sides of the approaching force, but the Varlugs, led by the Tearog, ripped into the middle of the Dwarf formation to split it in two. As Dwarf, Krulg, and Varlug fell, the cloud of dust from the dry earth grew thicker, and the sun grew fainter. The two Dwarven brothers stood back to back. All around them lay a ring of fallen enemies. Braga blew his horn to rally the Dwarves to attack with renewed fury. The Dwarves came together, and again the creatures started to retreat. The Dwarves fought to drive the Krulgs back.

As the Tearog cut a path back out through the Dwarves, it saw only the Dwarven brothers standing in its way. They both turned to attack the Tearog but only one saw the spear fly from a Varlug’s dark hand. The spear flew straight for Bravic’s side. Braga didn’t hesitate as he jumped in front of it. The barbed spear sank deep into Braga’s breast, and he crashed to the ground, his outstretched hand passing just behind his brother’s back, and his dying words were lost, as though they were cried in the midst of a storm.

Bravic’s heart was filled with a hatred that he’d never felt before. Unaware that his brother had fallen, Bravic rushed at the Tearog. He swung his axe in a massive arc only to have it crash into the Tearog’s huge shield. The Tearog’s bloody mace struck out, but it had misjudged Bravic’s attack. The mace clipped the Dwarf’s helmet. Had it struck him full on, the blow would have caved in his head, but the glancing hit was still hard enough to knock the Dwarf unconscious.

As the other Dwarven warriors rallied around their fallen comrades, the Tearog reared back its head and laughed a wicked laugh. Its evil mouth twisted into a vicious smile and revealed its pointed teeth. The Ravinulk turned and raced back to the rest of the foul creatures.

****

When Bravic came to, he was lying on the side of the battlefield next to the woods. The bodies of the fallen Dwarf warriors lay all around him. Rolling over, he saw his brother’s still form, his battle-axe still clutched in his cold hands. He pried the axe free as he wept; his tears fell onto the bloodstained grass.

“We can’t win. Volsur’s army is all around, and all we’re doing is dying—for nothing. Braga, I’m sorry. I have to leave. I want no part of this anymore. Volsur has won. This is just needless death.”

Bravic rose and walked into the woods, away from the two forces that prepared to face each other again. He walked away from the bloodstained battlefield. He walked away from his fallen brother.

****

As the first rays of morning fought vainly to drive away the shadows, Dean and Han were already on the road. They both agreed that the few berries they had for breakfast were not the best way to start their day, but they were better than nothing at all. As they traveled along, Han pointed out various trees and birds; most of the names sounded familiar to Dean. He saw all sorts of animals as they walked: squirrels, rabbits, and foxes; blue jays, sparrows, and hawks.

Dean pointed out the trees that looked the same: elms, pines, and maples. But he could tell there was something very different about the trees he looked at now. None looked healthy. On most, barren branches clutched at the gray sky. Others were already skeletons whose dead leaves broke off in the light, infrequent breezes.

Toward the middle of the day, the sun drove away the shadows and shined down upon them, lightening their spirits but making the walk seem just a little too warm. They trekked on, headed down the straightening path.

“Hey, Han. When does a Krulg look good?” Dean asked as they stopped to rest.

“What?”

“It’s a joke. You’re supposed to say ‘I don’t know. When does a Krulg look good?’”

“I know what a joke is. You don’t think we have jokes?”

“I didn’t really think about it, but I figure you must have jokes. Let’s start over. When does a Krulg look good?”

“I don’t know?” Han smirked. “When does a Krulg look good?”

“When it’s on the end of a spear!” Dean laughed.

“Hey, that’s good. Do you have any more?”

“Yeah. How many Krulgs does it take to screw in—that won’t work. How do you save a Krulg from drowning?”

“How?”

“Take your foot off its head.”

They both laughed, and Dean stretched out on the grass.

“Can I ask you a question about the Heavens . . . I mean, where you’re from?” Han asked.

“Yeah. What do you want to know?”

“Well, how did you get the name Dean? I never heard of a Dean before.”

“I’m named after the movie star James Dean.”

“Movie star? What’s a movie star? I know what normal stars are but a movie star? If you’re named after a star, then you must be from the Heavens!” Han stared wide-eyed at Dean again.

“I’m not from the Heavens. I was born in America, but my parents went on a trip to France—”

“France? What’s France? If you ask—”

“Shut up and listen, and I’ll tell you,” Dean blurted out in frustration.

The Elvana’s smile vanished, and he turned back to look at the ground. “All I did was ask a question. That’s no reason to yell,” he said dejectedly. “I’m not from Heaven, so how am I supposed to know what a France is?”

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Dean said softly, now upset at himself, seeing how sad Han looked. “It’s just part of my life that I never talk about. It hurts.”

“Please tell me, and I promise not to interrupt.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, I got my name in France, like I said. Anyway, what I was told was my parents went to France when I was a baby. They were robbed and killed.” As Dean continued, the Elvana’s frown deepened. “Some French people found me. They knew I was an American, that’s another country in my world. Wow, that still sounds bizarre. They had to give me a name so I could get a visa or something, and they must have liked James Dean, so they named me after him.”

Han was the first person Dean had ever told the story to, and it made him feel good to share it with someone.

“That’s so sad,” Han said. “I thought Panadur was your father.”

“No. My real last name is Walker.” Dean exhaled. “That’s not even right. They gave me a new last name too. I didn’t know Panadur long, but . . . he was more of a father to me than anyone. I was in a couple of foster homes that didn’t work out. I don’t know if the problem was I didn’t want pity or they didn’t offer any. Panadur took me in. I— Do you mind if we stop talking about this right now?” Dean quickly turned away.

“Sure. We can stop talking about it. We’re making good time, Dean.” The Elvana tried to change the subject. “If we still hurry, I think that we can reach Vinrell—that’s the Dwarven stronghold—by nightfall.”

Dean’s legs ached at the thought of hurrying. He couldn’t understand how Han moved so fast over such a long distance with such small legs. Before he could think of a way to ask whether they could rest for a while, Han was up again, ready to set off, looking as if he could walk forever. With an audible groan, Dean got to his feet and followed the Elvana, who skipped down the road before him.

After they traveled about three miles, they topped a little hill. Down below, a small stream wound its way beside the path. The stream curved into a little pool that sparkled invitingly.

“I think I’d better drink from that pool before you. You’re such a glutton there might not be any left by the time I get there.” Han laughed as he ran down to the water.

“You can walk faster than me, but there’s no way you can outrun me.”

Dean chased after Han. Han had a good lead, but Dean was quickly catching up to him. Before they reached halfway, Dean overtook him. As he put a little distance between the Elvana and himself, Dean turned partway around and started to run backward, infuriating Han, who pushed himself to greater speed. Han started to pull ahead, but Dean turned back around and with a leap, reached the side of the pool just before him.

They both lay on the bank, trying to catch their breath, as they splashed the cool water on their faces.

“Nice try.” Dean raised himself up on his knees to drink from the small pool. “Better luck next time.”

“We Elvanas have a saying.” Han panted, still quite winded from his run. “People who say ‘Better luck next time’ are all wet,” he yelled as he shoved Dean into the water.

Dean shot forward and landed with a big splash. He came up sputtering and flailing his arms madly. “Help me, you stupid Elvana. I don’t know how to swim,” he screamed as he tried to keep his head above water.

Han’s eyes went wide, and he sprang through the air to dive into the pool headfirst. His little hand reached down for Dean, but he was hoisted out of the water by his arms.

“We humans have a saying, too: ‘You fell for it!’” Dean laughed.

Dean set Han down. The scowl on Han’s face deepened when he realized the water only came up to his chin. Dean tried to contain the smirk on his face but it quickly spread to a broad grin.

“Try to play me for the fool, will you?” Han playfully challenged Dean. “Well, then prepare to meet your victor.” With that, Han reached underwater, grabbed Dean’s legs and pulled them out from under him. Dean pitched backward. As Dean fell, he grabbed Han by the front of his shirt and pulled him under water too.

Dean swam away, but he felt an arm bump up against him. “Now who’s the victor?” He grabbed hold of the shirt and stood up.

“What the heck are you talking about?” Han asked from behind him.

Dean’s head slowly turned. Han stood five feet behind him with a puzzled look on his wet face. Dean’s eyes widened. He slowly gazed down at his hands. He held onto a shirt, but it wasn’t Han’s. It belonged to the corpse of a man whose face was just beneath the water. Still eyes stared blankly ahead and his mouth was frozen in a twisted scream.

Dean let go of the corpse and staggered backward. The body slowly sank back into the water. Dean turned and raced for the side of the pool while Han stood there looking perplexed.

“What was it?” Han asked.

“It’s a dead guy. A real dead guy,” Dean frantically yelled.

Han turned and ran so fast he practically came out of the water. They both scrambled from the pool and turned to stare back into the water and search for a trace of the corpse.

“Shouldn’t we get him?” Han asked.

A stillness followed his words. Dean looked to Han and then back to the pool. He couldn’t see where the corpse was now. The water was cloudy from stirred up the leaves and dirt at the bottom.

“You get the dead guy. I’m not touching a dead guy.” Dean backed away. “He has his eyes open. It’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Dean suddenly went white. “Gross!” He spit and ran up the stream.

Han chased after him. “What’s the matter now?”

Dean stuck his whole head in the water. He came up spitting, sputtering, and wiping his mouth.

“We drank out of that pool.” Dean made a face and stuck his head back under the water.

“GROSS!” Han dropped down and washed his mouth out too.