The Chronicles of Narg: Winternight(Draft)
Preface
This is a retelling of Winternight from Narg’s Point of view. There are two sides to every story and this is Narg’s. You will notice some discrepancies between the two accounts. It’s up to you who you believe, but Narg assures you that his is a true account of the events that happened that night. Narg would like to point out that Rand said he saw a dozen Trollocs chase after Tam. A dozen 9-10 foot Trollocs would not have fit into such a small farmhouse and even if they had, there is no way Tam held off that many and only got a scratch. Therefore Rand = unreliable.
The eagle eyed among you will notice a lot of the description used in this retelling is from the creator himself. Narg did this as Trollocs no like adjectives. Jokes aside this is intended as a Homage to Robert Jordan and should be taken as such. Narg claims no ownership of any of the words contained in this story.
The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the third age by some, an Age yet to come, an age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
Born below the ever cloud-capped peaks that gave the mountains their name, the wind blew east, out across the Sand Hills, once the shore of a great ocean, before the Breaking of the World. Down it flailed into the Two Rivers, into the tangled forest called the Westwood, and swirled around bestial forms kneeling in a clearing before a cloaked figure on horseback, horse and rider alike, black, dull and ungleaming. The Wind swept past the figure leaving the cloak untouched and still, not even shifting a fold.
No birds sang in the clearing, no squirrels chittered from a branch as a particularly strong gust that carried the rank smell of decay buffeted Narg and his fellow Trollocs as they knelt listening to the Myrddraal, its voice a hoarse whisper like a file drawn softly across bone. Narg risked a glance up at its face…a man’s face, but pasty white, like a slug under a rock, and eyeless. From oily back hair, to puffy cheeks, it was as smooth as an eggshell. Narg fought the overwhelming near primal urge to look away. Thin bloodless lips curved into a cruel smile, made more mocking by the smooth, pale skin where the eyes should have been.
“You will not fail me” the Myrddraal said, “Bring me the boy alive.”
Narg quickly dropped his head as the face turned towards him. Narg had seen men frozen by that gaze unable to move even as they were cut down. For Trollocs the gaze brought intolerable pain and overwhelming fear.
The Myrddraal raised its mailed fist and Narg felt his skin prickle and stretch to breaking as the Myrddraal stroked the bond that linked them. His bones felt as if they were freezing, ready to split open, his spine arching to breaking point as the Myrddraal’s gaze settled on him.
“Narg, you will lead” it rasped “Once you have the boy, head for the mountains, I will find you”
The fist unclenched and Narg dropped to the ground panting for breath and struggling to find his voice. “As you will” he gasped. The Myrddraal gave a brief satisfied nod and whirled his horse around. Narg watched on as half the members of his fist stood up as one and in lock step fell in behind the Myrddraal as it trotted out of the clearing to collect the other groups that were spread throughout the woods on its way to the sleepy village not too far distant.
Narg waited for the thumping footsteps to fade into the growing darkness before clumsily getting up onto his cloven hooves. Not for the first time he wished he’d been born with man legs instead of goats. He raised his furry hand and wiped the sweat off his all too human forehead before it ran down his muzzle. He laid back his hairy pointed ears close to his head, and putting on a toothy grin, turned to his remaining fist mates.
Most were still groveling in fear only partially aware the Myrddraal had left. Narg kicked a few as he walked among them snarling out curses to get their attention. “Listen up you pea-brained bahaa’im. Myrddraal left Narg in charge, you follow Narg, or Narg rip out throats.” Narg had found that when speaking with his brethren, it was best to speak simply. Most were as dumb as manfolk.
A few of the Vovok’kin growled, and one of the Varkol’kin even went so far as to look him in the eye, but the fear of the Myrddraal was still fresh and none challenged.
Narg delivered a swift backward kick to the Varkol sending him sprawling as he lead them into the woods. Better to strike first than take an axe to the back.
Narg peered at the Farm from his hiding spot inside a tight clump of trees, the ground was still wet from snow that had thawed during the day, that and the snarls of dried bramble made for an uncomfortable vantage point. It did however prevent any of his brethren from being able to come upon him unawares, and for that, Narg was willing to suffer a little discomfort.
In the light of the full moon he could clearly make out that the House, Barn, and stone sheep pen formed the points of a triangle around the farmyard. The House was smaller than he had seen before on his raids into the Borderlands, and the steeply sloped roof appeared to be made out of bundles of straw, not shingle or stone tiles. Much easier to fire if the need arose. As he watched, a shadow moved across one of the upper windows… It was time to act.
Narg slid backwards out of the brambles and trees and walked back to his fist waiting impatiently a short distance away. “Listen and obey” he growled. “Ravana, Nasr and Abigor, you kill any horses, no noise, stay downwind and don’t chase chickens! Go now!” Narg watched as the three Vovok’kin loped away quietly to hunt. Those three were the smartest next to Narg, and the most likely to understand their orders and follow them without distraction. Narg named off three more of his brethren to circle around and attack the house from the rear. That left him with three others to attack from the front, including his ram horned brother Khafit, still sullen from the kick Narg had delivered earlier.
“Khafit, you knock door in, no kill manboy with red hair, understand?”
Khafit raised his head, and not quite meeting Narg’s eyes, bleated out “Narg weak, Khafit show Narg how to lead”.
Narg had his heavy scythe-like sword half drawn before he managed to quell the blood lust that had pulsed through him at Khafit’s words. “kuss ummak!” he hissed under his breath.
Narg decided to let Khafit live a little longer, being first through the door was not an honor, it was the most dangerous position in a raid, and reserved for the dimmest of Trollocs who were unaware of the danger they faced. If the Farmers did not manage to kill him, Narg would make sure he didn’t leave the house alive. Out loud he said “Go now, we follow your lead”.
Khafit stood emboldened by not having a span of Narg’s steel in his chest, his black mail appearing to soak in the moonlight, the spikes on his wrists and shoulders shining dully and nearly impaling Narg as he shouldered his way past and bounded off towards the farm.
His two remaining brethren, Azazel and Zagan looked at Narg, Narg just grinned wolfishly and waved for them to follow Khafit.
As Narg approached the farmhouse, he looked straight at the glow escaping the shuttered windows, attempting to prepare his eyes for when he entered the house. From the corner of his eye, he saw Khafit trip as he tried to draw his sword on the run, and slide headfirst into the door along the ground. The whole door rattled but didn’t budge. Great Lord spare me he thought, this narfa Varkol would get them all killed.
Khafit looked around sheepishly as he got to his feet, took a few steps backwards then charged the door. It exploded inwards sending pieces of the iron lock spinning into the room. Blinding light spilled out of the open doorway, Khafit paused on the threshold, raising a hand to his eyes, before roaring in pain that quickly became a gurgle as he toppled backwards. Azazel clawed past the falling Khafit only to be struck down as well.
Narg heard a man shout from inside the house as he grabbed Zagan by the scruff of the neck to prevent him from fleeing and growled at him to help clear the doorway. Together they dragged the bodies clear as a wooden table was pushed into the doorway blocking it again. Zagan started hacking it with his sword before Narg shouted at him to just kick the blasted thing into the room.
The farmers had made an error in using the Table as a barrier, while it had momentarily blocked the door, it was now Narg’s shield to push back whoever was dealing out death in the doorway. Narg followed in close behind Zagan as he gave the table an almighty kick and entered the house, the table scraping across the wooden floorboards coming to rest halfway across the room.
Standing at the back of the room, before an open doorway leading into the rear of the house, stood a single man; thick chested, broad of face, with only a sprinkling of black among the grey of his hair. He stood unmoving as though a flood could wash around him without uprooting his feet. No fear showed on the man’s face, and his eyes seemed to take in everything and nothing at the same time.
Narg took in the man’s stance and the sword he held, firelight played along its slightly curved gleaming length, a Heron etched into the steel, and knew he was in trouble. This was no mere backcountry farmer holding a hand-me-down sword, but a trained swordsman who had faced death before and survived. Narg put a steadying hand on Zagan’s shoulder, every instinct in him was screaming to cower and back away slowly; this man was not prey, but hunter. To give into that instinct though was to fail the Myrddraal, and to fail the Myrddraal meant being skinned and boiled alive…if he was lucky. Better to face a quick death here and now than that.
While the table lay between them and the man, they were safe. They just had to wait for the three brethren he’d sent to attack the rear to arrive. A loud crash came from behind the man followed by a voice shouting “autsayed! Rin, Fafur!” It took a moment for Narg to understand the man speak and by the time he had the man was already moving, his sword lashing out like a viper. Zagan reared backwards into Narg, blood spraying out of a gash in his throat, the man spun blocking a spear that should have taken him in the back unawares. The Aldazar’kin behind the spear went careening into the door frame between the rooms, bouncing off it in a puff of feathers before becoming entangled with the Bull headed axe wielding brother behind him. Narg braced himself and heaved the now near dead weight that was Zagan towards the man. Zagan’s body hit the table, flipped over it and hit the man as he turned back to face Narg causing him to stumble sideways. Narg took the opportunity and lunged over the table. His heavy scythe-like sword was more suited to swinging attacks but lunging allowed him to strike and retreat out of range of that deadly blade; even so he nearly lost his hand at the wrist as the man deflected the lunge and countered with a move that sheared off one of his wrist spikes.
Narg did take some satisfaction in seeing a thin line of red bloom along the man’s shirt, it was fleeting though as the man paid it no heed and advanced towards him. Panicked Narg flung out a hand and started flinging whatever he could grab at the man, chairs, draws, even a bag of flour that the man sliced in half sending a cloud of flour exploding into the air. It slowed the man’s advance around the table long enough for his two brothers to untangle themselves and enter the room.
The stoic man halted his advance around the table, angling his body so that he faced all three Trollocs with his back to one of the front windows. Narg took a gamble and unleashed a powerful flat swing at the man’s head hoping that his beaked faced brother would take the opening to skewer the little man. Dull Thakan'dar forged steel met gleaming curved blade in a clash sending blue sparks showering through the air. The man pivoted from Narg’s attack like a dancer and sliced downwards straight through the shaft of the spear that was thrusting towards his side, the blade cutting through the hardened wood like a hot knife in butter before seemingly reversing midair and slicing back upwards, opening up the Aldazar’kin from crotch to shoulder. Narg tried to bring his sword back around for another strike but it hit one of the ceiling beams causing him to take a step backwards, and he could only watch in horror as the deadly blade came sweeping back around towards his neck.
His hoof came down on top of a kettle; losing his footing he tottered backwards as the blade whistled past his muzzle and he crashed into the fireplace upending the stewpot onto the fire. As he rolled away from the hearth, his remaining brother roared out a challenge and using the great double bladed battle axe he wielded as a ram, charged the man. They came together in a clash of steel and flesh that sent the man flying backwards through the air, his whole body smashing straight through the window, sending glass and wood spraying out into the night.
The man had the Great Lords own luck, he landed on his feet and spun away, sprinting towards the back of the house as the Trolloc struggled to climb through the window after him.
Two Vovok’kin, their muzzles stained with blood and what looked suspiciously like chicken feathers stuck to their fur, rushed into the room, “Hunt man, go!” Narg snapped. They bounded off after the man howling for blood.
Narg came to his hooves slowly as he surveyed the wreckage of the room. Splintered broken wood littered the room; not a single piece of furniture remained whole, white flour dusted everything. The smell of burnt food from the overturned stewpot combined with the rank stench of open bowels and the blood of his fallen brothers smeared the walls.
Sheathing his sword he picked his way carefully through the mess, making his way to the rear room. The back door hung askew and one of his brothers rested limply half in half out of a shattered window. He eyed the stairs heading up to the second floor, but no, the voice had shouted “outside”.
He paused upon exiting the house and listened. To his right he could hear the bleating of frightened sheep milling in their pen, to the left coming from the barn, snarls and curses.
The barn doors stood open, one creaking on its hinges as it shifted in the wind. Inside, a brown shaggy mare and a cow stood looking on from their stalls with wide eyes as a ten foot Trolloc chased a chicken around the barn.
As Narg entered he saw his ‘kin, Nasr dive under a small cart catching one of its wheels with an armored shoulder; shattering half its spokes. A chicken squawked and sprinted off. Nasr knocked the cart over onto its side as he hauled himself up and froze as he noticed Narg.
In a rage, Narg took hold of the cow’s stall door, ripped it from its hinges and flung it across the barn. As Nasr ducked the flying door, Narg pounced bearing them both to the ground in a tangle of fists, fur and fangs. Narg managed to come out on top of his brother, his hands clasped firmly around Nasr’s throat, slowly but surely choking the life out of him.
The next thing he knew, he lay on his back, stunned, looking up. Nasr was standing over him holding a broken wheel spoke, a vicious grin on his face. Nasr dropped the spoke, turned to the stall holding the horse, and tore the door off, raising it above his head as he turned back.
Narg’s limbs felt like jelly and he could do nothing as the door descended towards him.
From the left a wall of black and white flesh hit Nasr knocking him off his feet. Narg watched on in morbid fascination as the brown mare rushed from her stall and joined with the cow in trampling Nasr into the ground.
Shakily Narg raised himself up as the two animals backed away from the bloodied body. He stood between them and the open doors. Both animals were white around the eyes with fear, but had a determined set look about them. Narg weighed up his chances of taking them both down and decided there was no harm in letting them live. He stepped aside and they galloped past him into the night.
He stood in the shadowed barn staring at Nasr’s body; listening to the receding hoofbeats, trying to quell the rising fear that was threatening to overwhelm him. He had failed the Myrddraal. The man had escaped and the boy was nowhere to be seen. If he ran he was dead, if he stayed he was dead. As dead as Nasr and the others back in the house and most likely as dead as those who had chased after the man….all dead.
Dead…..a slither of hope pieced the fear. It wasn’t much, but if the boy and man thought them all dead, then maybe they come back. Maybe…
Narg walked over to his dead brother, took him by the ankles and started dragging him back to the house. He paused on the way there to silence the bleating sheep. It wasn’t necessary, but it made him feel better. He dumped his dead brother among the other bodies in the house and then laid down among them to await his fate.
Awaiting one's fate is a tiresome task and Narg dozed off dreaming of better times before he was bound to serve a Myrddraal. He dreamt of his daring treks into the blight with the other young locs of his litter, receiving his iron fist Dhai'mon badge to mark his coming of age, guarding the Mothers, his first raid against a rival Band, and was just reliving his first experience in the breeding chambers when a gagging sound woke him.
Narg half opened one eye to see a manboy with a reddish tint to his hair and grey eyes rummaging through the mess on the floor. The boy held a sword, identical to the blade the deadly little man had used earlier. However, unlike the man, this boy held it without confidence and appeared to have forgotten he was even holding it. Narg bided his time, waiting for the boy to turn from him. When he did, Narg attempted to rise quietly.
His light tainted hooves betrayed him though, scrapping on the floorboards. The boy spun, nearly falling over the remains of the table before steadying himself, raising the sword before him in a two handed white knuckled grip.
Narg cursed his goat kissing father and changed his plan of attack. Narg’s Band had possessed many manfolk covale, and he had picked up passable manspeak tending to them. His mouth had trouble forming the words, but speaking slowly and simply he said “Others go away. Narg stay, Narg Smart.” The boy tensed at words, the point of the sword wavering. “Narg know some come back sometime. Narg wait. You no need sword. Put sword down.” He gestured to the boy with his furry hand to put it down while taking a step closer. “Narg no hurt. You put sword down.”
In a squeaky high pitched voice the boy said “Stay back. Why did you do this? Why?”
Losing patience Narg snarled “Vlja deag roghda!” He quickly regained composure, turning the snarl into his best toothy smile. “Put sword down, Narg no hurt. Myrddraal want talk you.” He couldn’t keep the fear of the Myrddraal from his face as he took another step forward, dropping a hand to his sword hilt “Others come back, you talk Myrddraal. You put sword down.”
The boy wet his lips, a shaky smile forming, lowering the sword the boy said “All right. I’ll talk.”
Narg leapt.
Narg didn’t see the blade come up, but as the heron etched blade entered his body, blinding bright light exploded behind his eyes, his jaws snapped involuntarily as he fell atop the boy. His whole body convulsed as he felt the bond with the Myrddraal severed, the dark ends of the leash snapping back into his body.
His last conscious thought before the world turned black was… I’m free!
Narg woke in darkness and pain lying on his back. His whole body felt like it was on fire, but his mind was clear. The dark haze of hatred that had tinged his every waking thought for years was gone. Carefully, he turned his head from side to side, trying to make out something in the gloom that would jog his memory as to where he was. On one side he could make out the shape of a heavy wooden table lying on its side, on the other, the faint glow of dying embers outlined an overturned stewpot. The smell of burnt meat hit him like a charging Worm in the Blight, and it all came flooding back; The desperate fight against the old farmer, Nasr in the Barn, the farmboy’s deception, and above all the crippling fear of failing the Myrddraal. Panicked, Narg sat up, immediately gasped and fell back again as lancing pain shot through him. As he lay there, he could feel himself trembling as if it was someone else’s body shaking uncontrollably. The room seemed to darken as the pain and panic threatened to overwhelm him. He had to fight this, the Myrddraal was coming. He knew this, but he couldn't feel it...he couldn't’ feel the Myrddraal coming!
The thought pierced through the pain and panic giving him something to focus on. Why couldn’t he feel the Myrddraal? His mind flashed back to the moment the farmboy had impaled him on the Heron marked blade...The blinding bright light, the leash snapping back into his body, the feeling of freedom! Ever so slowly, he got his breathing under control; he throbbed, his body was a pulsing flame, but the panic receded. The leash connecting him with the Myrddraal was gone...no point dwelling on the why of it, he had to get moving...leash or no leash, the Myrddraal would be on its way.
Narg ran his furry hands lightly down his body probing for the wound the blade had made. At first his ungainly fingers missed it as he expected to feel a jagged break in the mail, but instead after what felt like an age, he found a razor sharp cut in the mail, so clean the links had barely been deformed. He wasn’t quite yet brave enough to search for the exit wound on his back, and decided to put that off until he figured out a way to close the wounds. He was still alive, which meant that the blade had not skewered anything important as it passed through him, but from experience, he knew that he’d heal faster if he closed the gashes in his flesh.
Trolloc healing for wounds consisted of fire to seal a wound, and if that didn’t work, into the cookpot you went. Narg decided fire was the better option, and looked towards the fireplace a mere two paces away. An overturned pot rested on a bed of embers that were not quite dead; if he could make it over to the fireplace, he may be able to coax the fire back to life. Narg focused on the faintly glowing embers, they were all that mattered… he slowed his breathing, feed all his pain and fear into them and with a roar heaved himself up onto his hands and knees scrambling the short distance to the fireplace managing to prop himself up in a sitting position with his shoulder resting against the jamb. Narg took a moment to get his panting under control, he couldn’t let the pain overwhelm him or his clarity of mind and freedom would be short-lived. With an angry shake of his head, he focused his thoughts, he knew what he had to do, time to get on with it.
With excruciating slowness he removed the pot and carefully scraped away a crusted layer of burnt stew with his hand; fully exposing the bed of embers on the hearth stone. The smell of singed fur tickling his nostrils gave him hope that there was enough heat left in them. Tinder... he needed tinder to ignite a flame. Looking around he spotted what manfolk called a book, lying open, facedown just out of reach on the other side of the fireplace…”Vlja deag” he snarled, could nothing be easy?
Embracing the pain, Narg let himself fall sideways, arm outstretched towards the book. As soon as his hand touched the cover he lowered his elbow to arrest the fall. The jolt of pain this caused un-Trolloc’ed him and all thoughts of embracing the pain fled as he squealed like a man being roasted over a fire pit.
Narg focused on the cover of the book. It depicted a man with long hair wearing a braided leather headband, standing in a mountain pass looking out over a barren wasteland, marked only by jagged outcroppings of rock. While Nargs’ manspeak was passable, his grasp of their writing was minimal, and the only word he could decipher was “Travels”. Just working that out though was enough of a distraction from the pain that his breathing slowly returned to normal and the pain receded. Keeping his breathing slow and steady, and being careful to not cause any more jolts of pain, Narg slowly pivoted around on his forearm until he was facing the fireplace and with care started to place pages from the book onto the embers. The pages took awhile to catch, and it was a bit of slow burn at the start, but before long he had a ripper of a fire going and was able to add a few pieces of splintered wood that littered the floor.
Now he just needed something to heat to seal the wound. Great Lord be praised… within easy reach on a hook was a triangular piece of iron with a wooden handle attached to it. Narg placed it on the edge of the fire to heat and before long Narg judged it ready for his needs. Just to be sure though, he spat on the iron and was satisfied to see his spit sizzle and dry up.
No point letting a fat Innkeeper cook too long before you eat him…with a roar Narg lifted up his mail shirt and jammed the iron against the wound; Nargs’ roar turned into a whimper as the hot iron sizzled against his skin; and a moment later the iron fell to the floor as the strength went out of him.
“Great Lord of the Dark be damned” Narg hissed; the wound in his back would just need to close itself…Narg decided if he was going to bleed out he would have already done so, so it couldn't be that bad; Just to be sure though and knowing that any movement would aggravate the wound, Narg grabbed some shirts that were strewn across the floor; wadded them up and shoved them under the back of his mail shirt. He then looped a bit of broken harness around himself and tied it as tight as he was able to bear. That done, Narg looked around for something to quench his thirst and to soothe his raw throat. Miraculously a bucket of water, still half filled, sat near to hand unspilled; it was tinged red, but Narg had drunken worse, and he gulped it down like a young Loc tasting his first human.
First quenched, Narg levered himself back onto his hoofs with care, took a quick look around the shattered room for anything useful; finding nothing, Narg made his way back through the house and out the rear door, the pain of movement fading into the back of his mind with each step he took as he focused on the decision he needed to make; To head for the Waygate that had brought him and his brothers to this backwater, with the hope of retracing the route back along the corrupted paths, or to try and make the longer journey overland to the Blight. He was so lost in thought that before he knew it he was standing at the end of the farm's driveway looking down at the rough dirt road. West led to the mountains, East to the manfolk village.
Looking at the distant mountains outlined by the moonlight, Nargs mind flashed back to the bodies of the Trolloc scouts he’d passed in the Ways…
The frozen bodies rearing, caught flailing about them with hooked axes and scythelike swords. Gray and pitted like the stone, the bodies half sunken in the swollen, bubbled surface. Some of the bubbles had burst, revealing more snouted faces, forever snarling with fear...
Narg shuddered just remembering it; The Myrddraal had not been forthcoming about what had killed them, just taking out its whip and driving them past the horror. Narg decided that it was not something he wished to face on his own; better to risk the human lands…plus Narg had always wanted to taste more of the world outside the Blight and Blasted Lands… Turning East, Narg fell into an ungainly trot, eventually finding a rhythm that let him bear the pain; furry ears perked forward listening for any sign of the Myddraal and his brothers returning from the village; ready to dart off into the woods if need be.
The moon had dropped about a span in the sky when Narg caught a whiff of man stench off in the woods; coming to a stop, Narg lifted his muzzle into the air, sniffing to catch the scent again. Unable to locate it, Narg cocked his head and listened. Very faintly he heard the scrape of branch against branch and the rustle of pine needles. Narg judged it to be coming from in the woods about 200 paces back along the road and getting closer. Moonlight filtering through bare branches gave only enough illumination to fool his eyes as he peered into the woods.
Moving as quietly as he could, Narg stalked into the woods; roots threatened to trip him at every step, old brambles snagged his legs, and sudden dips or rises in the ground had him half falling as his hooves met nothing but air where he expected firm earth, or stumbling when his hoof struck dirt while still moving forward. Deciding that he was making too much noise trying to find his way in the dark, Narg crouched down in the shadows to wait. The night and the shadows under the trees seemed awfully bare cover in which to hide, but it was the best he had.
Narg didn’t have to wait long; peering into the darkness until his eyes burned, he soon saw a shape moving parallel to the road, it slowly resolved into a man dragging another on a makeshift litter. Narg judged they’d pass within a few paces of his hiding place and tried to shrink in on himself as they neared, hardly daring to breathe. He’d wait until they passed and then pounce on them from behind. As they came abreast of him, the man on the litter suddenly spoke in a strong, angry voice “They came over the Dragonwall like a flood, and washed the land with blood. How many died for Laman’s sin?”
The human dragging the litter came to a faltering stop at the outburst, Narg held his breath as the man wearily lowered the litter to the ground and untangled himself from the strip of blanket that attached him to it.
Narg released his breath slowly and licked his chops as the man knelt down and fumbled with a waterskin while looking up and down the road, not twenty paces away. “There isn’t any flood of Trollocs, father. Not now, anyway. We’ll be safe in Emond’s Field soon. Drink a little water.” the kneeling man whispered.
It was then that Nargs’ brain finally put two and two together and he realized he was looking at the farm boy who’d skewered him…The Great Lord provides…Narg tensed, preparing to pounce; it was then he heard a rhythmic thudding, directionless in the trees, fading then growing stronger again as the wind shifted. Frowning, he turned his head slowly, trying to decide from where it came. The man on the litter continued to speak, Narg only catching snippets as he tried to identify the new sound “They called them savages,” “the cries of ravens and the buzzing of flies,” “to the Shining Walls they burned and slew before they were turned back. All the way to—” the man was cut off as the boy clamped a hand over his mouth, having finally heard what Narg had. A flicker of motion caught the corner of Nargs eye, wavering shadows to the east slowly resolved themselves into a horse and rider followed up the road by tall, bulky shapes trotting to keep up with the animal. The pale light of the moon glittered from spearheads and axe blades. Narg watched as the Myddraal and his brothers passed by, the trotting column disappearing westward, thumping footfalls fading into the darkness, but he remained where he was, not moving a muscle except to breathe, some instinct told him to wait, that the danger had not yet passed.
The boy lacking Narg’s instincts had just begun to straighten when in eerie silence the Myrddraal returned, its shadowy mount stopping every few steps as it walked slowly back down the road. The wind gusted higher, moaning through the trees; the Myrddraal’s cloak lay still as death. Whenever the horse halted, the Myrddraal’s head swung from side to side as it peered into the forest, searching. Exactly opposite Narg, the horse stopped again, the Myrddraal turning its head toward where he crouched behind the boy and his father. Narg dared not look away. He felt the gaze and shivered, the Myrddraal seemed to be looking straight at him…could it sense him, even though the mental leash that bound them together had been broken? Was it feeling some remnant of it? Narg will not be leashed again! … his hand settled on his sword hilt… Never…Never again! Sweat beaded on Narg’s forehead as his thoughts raced…and then like a bubble bursting, it was over… the horse was moving on, until all Narg could see was a barely distinguishable blurred shadow in the night far down the road. Abruptly the shadow was rushing back, passing him in a silent gallop. The Myrddraal looked only ahead as it sped westward into the night, toward the Mountains. Toward the farm and Nargs failure…
Narg released the white knuckled grip he had on his sword hilt, the half drawn blade sliding back into its sheath; just hours ago the thought of defying the Myrddraal had been unthinkable, and now he had nearly drawn his sword and challenged it…Just thinking about what he’d been about to do turned Nargs legs to jelly and he slumped to the ground in a clatter; the boy didn't react to the sound, he was still cowering in fear over his father.
Narg lost in his own thoughts didn’t react as the boy slowly gathered himself together, gave water to his mumbling father, then scrambled between the shafts of the litter and set off through the woods towards the village.
With a shake Narg gathered himself, gulping air and scrubbing cold sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He turned to look in the direction the boy had gone; he could not see him, but he could faintly hear the sound of the litter scraping across roots and the dry pine needles that covered the ground. He did not care anymore that the Myrddraal wanted the boy alive, killing the boy and his father would be a balm on his wounded pride and give him much needed nourishment. He could then start the long journey home with the knowledge that he had deprived the Myrddraal of its prize. The punishment of failure would fall on it, and Narg would not have to worry about running into it when he eventually made it home.
Decision made, Narg got to his hooves, drew his scythe-like sword and moved to chase the pair down. He’d only gone a few paces in their direction when a root seemed to appear out of nowhere, snagging his hooves and sending him sprawling to the ground. Snarling and cursing, he got back up, shrugged off the pain, and paying special attention to the ground, set off again only to have a branch smack him in the face, putting him on his backside. “Bajad drovja!” Narg snarled. Planting the tip of his sword into the ground to help lever himself back up, Narg was halfway back to his hooves when the blade snapped and he just barely avoided impaling himself for the second time that night, as he once again crashed to the ground.
Narg stared at the broken sword in his hand as he lay sprawled in the dirt… Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is the flaming bloody human-spawned Pattern!
The blasted Pattern can burn! Narg wasn’t going to let…a cracking sound cut Nargs train of thought off, making him look up just in time to see a dead branch come crashing down towards him…”tsag!” was all he managed to get out before the world went dark.
Narg looked behind him, Trollocs blackened the land as far as he could see. Trollocs and human allies. Trollocs and Friends of the Dark in tens of tens of thousands, and Dreadlords commanding. Narg readied himself to charge; the Dreadlords were raising a bridge of Air to cross the river. The humans had fought long and hard to hold their bridges, destroying them when they could hold no longer, it wouldn’t save them…
Narg was aware that he was dreaming, he recognised it for what it was, a Mordero Hou’dabor …Death Dream …they were usually triggered by places where Trollocs had experienced great pain or terror in the past. Vovok-kin like himself, experienced them with the most clarity and recall, but all Trollocs felt them, even while awake, as a shared instinctual aversion to certain places.
…Narg raced over the bridge, only slowing down to let his brothers pass when he saw the double line of Pikemen awaiting him at the end of the bridge; the formation disintegrated under the weight of dozens of Trollocs crashing into it, and Narg was soon in amongst them killing with ease. The soldiers gave way… and everything froze… Narg looked around at the frozen battlefield; arrows in their thousands were hung suspended in the air, humans hung unmoving impaled on the ends of Trolloc spears and where lightning bolts had just struck, humans and Trollocs alike were suspended in the air from the blasts…
“It’s been a long time Nargis, but here we are, united once again.” Narg spun to where the voice had come from. A human woman of astonishing beauty and tastiness; with hair that fell to her shoulders like waterfalls of night, sat atop a tall white mare with a white saddle adorned with silver crescent moons and stars. Narg fell to his knees, his mouth went dry, his throat tightened and he croaked out “Great Mistress!”. She didn't dismount the horse…one moment she was mounted, the next she was standing before Narg…”It’s good to be remembered after so long in the dreamless sleep. The turnings of the Wheel have passed me by, but I am finally awakening; soon I will be fully awake… and Lews Therin will be mine again!
The woman reached out and placed a hand on Nargs’ head, “Your dreams have drawn me to you Nargis, they shine bright in the void…ahhh… I see you have found some freedom in this life… but you are still fumbling your way through a maze in the dark, and your ignorance may kill you…serve me willingly and I will give you the means to not only take your vengeance on those who have kept you in eternal slavery turning after turning, but the knowledge to build something new for yourself and your kind. What do you say Nargis? Will you help me break the Wheel and reshape this world?”
Narg had no idea why the Great Mistress kept calling him Nargis, what she was blathering on about or why she was offering him a choice where he had none, but Narg knew how to humor those more powerful than himself…”My life is yours Great Mistress”.
Her dark eyes examined Nargs bowed head, full of confidence yet with a hint of questioning, as if wondering what he was thinking. Whatever she perceived seemed to satisfy her. She smiled as she took a handful of Nargs’ hair; tilted his head back, and leaning forward, placed a kiss on his forehead, and whispered “Remember!”
Narg felt her cool lips meet his skin and then the world flickered…
He rode behind a set of eyes, feeling but not controlling a body. The owner of those eyes hung spread-eagled from nothing in the middle of a sleek and sterile white room made of gleaming cueran and illuminated by recessed glowbulbs. He was Nargis…Nargis Khan Trollocmon, first advisor to Mierin Sedai, or Lanfear as she now styled herself…across the room from him, also suspended in air, was the finest specimen of a Trolloc Narg had ever seen…no… not a Trolloc, an abomination… a human animal construct...a wolf's muzzle jutted out below sunken eyes. Flat, emotionless, vacant, all too human eyes. The construct had a human torso, arms with corded bulging muscles, meaty hands covered in thick glossy fur and goatlike legs ending in sharpened hooves; Its chest rose and fell rhythmically, but other than that it showed no signs of life.
He’d awoken to find himself hanging and gagged by invisible bonds and after mastering his revulsion at the monstrous creation opposite him, had spent the last few hours going over how he had ended up in this sterile room…some kind of lab or medical suite if he was to guess…his last memory was of Lanfear telling him that Ishar Morrad...Aginor… had requested strong willed “volunteers” to be sent to him for a special project…a project that could tip the balance of their near century long shadow war on the Light into open conflict. He’d assured her he would have a list of candidates for her within the hour…her eyes had twinkled with amusement…and the next thing he knew, here he was…”volunteered”.
Betrayal was part and parcel of life when working towards the Great Lord's return…but Nargis had always been the betrayer not the betrayed… Lanfear’s betrayal stung not because it was totally unexpected, but because he hadn’t seen it coming so soon. He’d been working with her for the last twenty years, sowing plots to unbalance and undermine the world's Governments and The Hall of Servants; ever since she’d turned to the Great Lord after Lews Therin spurned her. In many ways they’d been the right and left hands of the Great Lord.
While the ranks of the Chosen were reserved for those with the ability to channel, he’d hoped to force his way into those ranks with the power of his intellect and cunning…so to be outmaneuvered by someone with at best, a quarter of his intelligence, and driven by petty jealousy to boot…well that smarted…
A displacement in the air pressure behind him, snapped Nargis out of his thoughts. He knew the difference between a door opening and a Gateway… a Gateway meant an Aes Sedai. “My my my! My dreams have always been beyond those of other men, but not even I ever imagined that the great Nargis Khan Trollocmon, the youngest citizen ever to earn a third name, would one day be at my mercy.” The voice was one Nargis recognised…Aginor… “Luckily for you, mercy is not something you'll need...though I must admit the idea of you abasing yourself before me, pleading for your life, is a tempting one…but no, I’m well aware of your cunning tongue and ability to talk an Ogier under the table; so I will forsake that pleasure…Your presence here, is actually an honour. The Great Lord chose you himself…you could say you are now one of the Chosen…You always aspired to that no?” he said laughing.
Nargis strained to turn his head far enough to get a look at his tormentor, but Aginor remained a disembodied voice as he continued speaking.
“So how do you like my new construct? Beautiful isn’t it? It has taken longer than I thought, but we finally have the ultimate organic fighting machine. A perfect blend of human and animal genetic material capable of natural reproduction. A short 10-15 year lifespan unfortunately, but that was the trade off for faster procreation, maturity and enhanced healing. All it lacks is a soul…It seems the Pattern has no trouble in putting a human soul into a moldy walking talking tree, but combine human stock and animal stock and it balks” he said incredulously. “Fortunately, the Great Lord provides! He assures me that once he forces a human soul into this construct, the Pattern will be forced to recognize it and its like, as suitable vessels. The process won’t be perfect and there may be some degradation of the souls both now and with each successive generation, but they will take. It’s fascinating really. Just think of it! If the Great Lord can put a soul into an empty vessel, can he also take one from someone while their body is still alive? If so, what happens to the soulless body? Does it continue to function? The possibilities just make me giddy!”
“But I digress…though based on your increased heart rate, it would seem you already have an inkling as to what your role here will be…rest assured, if your soul is strong enough to survive the process, I will do you the honour of naming these beastmen after you…I was thinking of calling them Gaidin, but Trollocmon…Trollocmen…or perhaps just Trollocs…will be more fitting…just think, your name will forever be attached to constructs who have just enough intelligence to follow the orders of their betters…something despite all your vaunted intelligence, you never were able to do…”
“Now as you’ve already pledged yourself to the Great Lord, there will be no need for pain inducement to open the way for him to claim your soul upon death…any last words?”
Nargis tried to scream around the gag of air, but all that escaped was a pitiable moan…the sound of Aginor’s laughter engulfed his mind and then he heard Aginor invoke the Great Lords name “The Great Lord comes. Blood feeds blood. Blood calls blood. Blood is, and blood was, and blood shall ever be. Shai’tan I beseech thee…” The room seemed to lurch, waves of dizziness sloshed through him…and then…
Flicker
His name was Narg, and he was smart… Waves of billowing smoke obscured the blistering blood red sun…Narg wiped his sweaty brow and wiggled around trying to find a more comfortable position among the rubble that littered the rooftop of the shattered building he had positioned himself on.
Smoke drifted across his field of view, shrouding the slaughter going on below in an orange red haze… the smoke from the burning Chora trees was a necessary hindrance that had to be endured…their trefoil leaves usually spread peace and contentment throughout the cities of the world, but set them alight and the burning trees spread fear and anguish amongst the humans sending them into a panic that hindered the armored soldiers trying to protect them. The billowing smoke also prevented the deadly black wasp-like Hoverflies from conducting strafing runs on his less smart brethren. Narg could hear them buzzing overhead, ready to rain down death on the streets below.
The haze cleared enough for Narg to spot a human officer a couple of blocks away rallying his men for a counter attack…Narg eased the stolen shocklance he had acquired into a firing position; looking down its metal shaft, lining it up with the monstrous insect’s head helmet the man wore…At this distance it would not be a killing blow, but if his aim was true the blast might crack the shockvisor allowing the Chora induced panic to infect him…If the officer broke and ran, his men would follow suit. Narg eased his meaty finger onto the firing button and calmed his breathing…He was just about to take the shot when the buzzing above turned into a whine…Narg looked up to see the smoke had cleared and a Hoverfly was diving down, flashes of light shooting out from it…
Flicker Flicker Flicker Flicker Flicker Flicker Flicker Flicker Flicker Flicker…
He lived and died a thousand violent deaths from the War of Power to the Trolloc Wars, lived through the founding of the Trolloc Bands during The Breaking and participated in thousands of raids along the Borderlands until it was too much for his mind to contain…His body toppled over and he convulsed like a fish out of water, blood leaking from his ears and snout.
As the convulsions eased awareness slowly returned…He drew a deep breath that rasped as if he had not breathed for hours. Narg pushed himself back up onto his knees and looked up to find the Great Mistress – no, Lanfear – looking at him with a quizzical smile. “Oh dear, it looks like that was a bit too much for your feeble mind to handle. Don't worry the memories will fade quickly, but you will retain enough of them to make you more useful to me.” Narg attempted to reply but all that came out was a garbled jumble of sounds… Lanfear laughed maliciously and said “You’ll regain your speech again as well, no doubt your brain is still coming to terms with what you once were and what you now are. Now listen carefully!
When you awake, you are to return to the Blight and gather as many of your kind to you as you can without drawing attention. You now bear my Mark, which will allow you to command the Myrddraal as well. Have them ready for when I call upon you next, and don’t even think about betraying me…Your dreams belong to me!”. Narg tried to speak again, but before he could, Lanfear and the Dream faded away…
He awoke with a start, disorientated and with strange images flashing through his mind…As the images slowly faded away, Narg took stock of his surroundings. He was lying under a large branch, which with a few curses and grunts of pain, was able to wiggle out from under without scratching himself up any more than he already was. He stood there picking dead leaves out of his mail and fur for several minutes trying to piece back together his memories of the past day that seemed to have shattered into a thousand pieces…Looking down, he saw a broken sword and it all came back together with a jolt. “Bajad drovja!” he cursed aloud. He now knew what he had to do, just not how to go about it, luckily it was a long walk back to the Blight…plenty of time to come up with a plan…but first…hunger was gnawing at his gut…time to feed! A sound made Narg look towards the road…A cow was walking head down with a tired gait seemingly oblivious to its surroundings…The Great Lord provides Narg thought as he licked his chops and stalked towards it…
Thus ends the First Chronicles of Narg…
Thankyou for taking the time to read Narg’s story, bad punctuation and all!