Kings of Sorcery

by Robert Ryan

  The eyes of the elf caught and held him. There was death there, cold and unmerciful. With a nudge, the rider angled the horse straight at him. In one swift motion he drew also one of his swords. Dernthrad caught the sheen of black steel. The blade swept at him.

  Like a fool he had been standing there, like a fool caught by elf magic, but with a wild curse he dived to the side. The wind of the dark blade passed by his head. The thunder of the horse’s gallop rolled by.

  Dernthrad came to his feet, expecting now to die. But the rider did not even look back at him. Deftly, the black sword was sheathed, the rider bent low in the saddle once more, and the horse leaped a hazel-branch fence and raced away into a wood.

  Starfire was gone. The rider was gone, but the fear of death remained. The cold eyes of the elf haunted him. All the more so for tales told that the elves were good people. But that had been a creature from the pit.

  It had not been a good night. The hunters, empty handed, tired from a long night and irritable, made their way back home along the High Way. The sound of hooves came to them, louder and louder of a galloping horse.

  They moved to the side petulantly. Around a bend came the rider, his black mount sheened by sweat that foamed its flanks, its great lungs straining for breath. If ever a rider was going to kill a horse, it was this man.

  But the yells forming in their throats died. It was no man. It was a creature of nightmare, an elf out of story, a fiend from the pit. The elf looked at them, if elf it was, and the flash of his eyes burned with hatred and contempt. And then he was gone, vanishing around another bend and the thunder of his passage dwindling away like a storm that did not strike. But if a storm missed one village, it hit another.

  “That thing, whatever it was,” said one of the men, “had murder on its mind.”

  “It was an elf,” said another of the hunters.

  “No, not an elf. They’re good folk.”

  “But it’s ears. Did you not see them? It was an elf.”

  “No,” said yet another. “It was a devil, and I pity the poor soul that it’s chasing. Devils are summoned to kill men.”

  “How do you know it was chasing someone?”

  “Why else would it ride like that?”

  The men hurried on. The cooking pot might be light tonight, but at least they would sit around it. Alive. They knew that they had never come so close to death as just then.

  The boy had climbed the old oak tree, as he often did. It was quiet in the branches, and he had a view of the land around, and especially of the road that ran past below. It was a good view, and a comfortable branch on which he sat, if a branch could be called such a thing. But it was better than his chores which he had finished. Now he had some time to think, some time to himself away from his brothers and sisters.

  He thought of Brand, and the stories he had heard. He thought of the coming of a new king, and what it would mean for the land. Brand was of the old blood, descended from heroes of legend. And it seemed that the old stories were coming true. Rumor spread from farm to farm. Tales were told, hopes voiced. He was only a boy, and no one paid him any mind. So he listened and learned.

  Luck had been with him too. He had been here in the tree when Brand and his men had come through. He had seen the great man, the silver helm of kings gleaming on his head, the way the men he led looked at him. He had seen it, and he would remember it all his life.

  But now he saw something else from his high vantage. And suddenly he wanted to climb down the tree and run, but he would never be fast enough. A rider was coming through, but not like one he had ever seen before. It was a black rider, but his armor glittered silver like Brand’s helm. The horse was black, and yet silver also, for the foam of sweat all over it glistened.

  He felt sorry for the horse. It staggered and lurched, yet still the rider urged it ahead. Two swords were strapped to the warrior’s back, and he drew one and used it as a whip to spur the horse on. There was blood on its flank where this had been done before.

  The boy hated the rider. If he were old enough, he would stop him. The thunder of hooves and the harsh breathing of the horse came up to him. The rider passed beneath, all black and silver and pale skin. It was no man, but some kind of monster.

  It too was from the old stories, whatever it was. Legends now roamed the Duthgar, and the boy realized something else. He did not know how he knew, but the certainty of it fixed itself in his mind. It was no coincidence. That monster, that creature of evil, was after Brand.

  The rider passed. All noise died away. But the boy stayed in the tree. He was scared.

  18. Sleeping Magic

  Brand led the army forward. He knew this part of the Duthgar, but not as well as he liked, or needed. As they marched, he sent Haldring back among the warriors to find one who knew it well. That would be needed if he was going to do what he had in mind.

  He led them through the low ways that he knew, following old trails into dark woods and avoiding farms and villages. Most of all, he avoided the High Way. He had been seen there, had traveled it, and could expect forces that supported Unferth to be looking for him along its length.

  The march was quick, but they could not match the pace they had set previously. The terrain did not allow for it, and the men needed more rest. Some were still paying for last night’s celebrations, but for most a rest was needed anyway. He stopped regularly, and he allowed a longer break than he had previously.

  It was at one such break that Haldring returned to the front with a man.

  “This is Hruidgar,” she said. “He’s a hunter.”

  Brand shook the man’s hand. “I’m looking for a guide,” he said. “How well do you know these parts?”

  The man had a strong grip, a farmer’s grip. But farmers made the best hunters. They knew the land like few others ever did, and they had patience.

  “I’ve hunted, fished and herded cattle and sheep all over this part of the Duthgar. Ain’t no one knows it all, but I know it better than most.”

  “And do you know where we’ll end up if we keep heading as we are?”

  “I was wondering about that. There’s nothing in these parts but wild lands and trees. Good for hunting, but there are few folks about. I figured you wanted to lay low for a while, but you’ll need to turn west and climb up to the High Way if you’re looking to get far from here.”

  Brand kept his voice down, not wanting others to hear yet.

  “But if we don’t? If we keep heading south as we are?”

  Hruidgar gave him a long look, as if seeing him for the first time.

  “Aye, well, I guess from the question you know the answer as well as me. That way lies the swamp.”

  “The swamp indeed. And have you been there, Hruidgar?”

  The hunter looked at him, his brown eyes darker than his tanned skin, and Brand guessed he had hunted in many places including some that he should not have. Some lords liked to set aside forests for their own use alone, but Hruidgar struck him as a man who would take such a thing as a personal challenge. Brand began to like him.

  “I heard the stories as a youngster. It’s a bad, bad place. But I took that as a dare. So yes, I’ve been there. I had to see if the stories were true.”

  Brand had heard the stories too. A beast-man was said to roam there, strong as ten men and evil as a cold-hearted snake. Men had seen his dark shape at dusk, haunting black-watered tarns and climbing the fells that rose above the swamp. Grinder, he was called. According to legend, he liked to lay hidden in water and lurch up to catch unwary men. He carried no weapon and killed them with his bare hands, and then ate them. So legend said.

  The hunter studied him. “Aye. You’ve heard the stories. I see it in your eyes.”

  “I’ve heard them. And other things beside. The swamp is a bad place, of that I don’t doubt.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. I saw him once. Him. You know who I mean. He right proper put the wind up me, and I ain’t been back since. What do you think of that?”<
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  Brand did not answer straightaway. A hunter this man might be, but he was testing him. And Brand did not blame him. He did not like to follow a stupid man either.

  “The old stories became a story for a reason in the first place,” he answered at length. “I have no wish to go into the swamp, but necessity compels me.” He gestured with his hand to take in the men resting all around. “I have an army here, of sorts. But in truth it’s only the beginning of one. If Unferth catches us at the wrong place at the wrong time, he’ll crush us. My job is to see that doesn’t happen. The swamp will help me do that, because I’ll disappear and then reappear, at a time and place of my choosing. Unferth will be looking for me in all the wrong places.”

  The hunter grinned. “Unferth is one that needs setting to rights. He’s low as a snake’s belly that one. Alright, I’ll lead you through, if I can. It’s a strange place, and I may not rightly know the way out again. We’ll see. But even with an army it could be dangerous. You might disappear from folks out here looking for you, but there’s lots of things in the swamp, and there’s no hiding from them.”

  Brand took his hand and shook it. “You’re the man I need. What I do is a risk, but so is staying out here.”

  Brand called an end to the rest after that. They went on, and now Hruidgar led them. The man took his time, studying the trail ahead and casting his gaze from ground to trees and back again. He even seemed to sniff the air at times, but Brand let him do as he would. There was no point in seeking expertise if you did not pay attention to it when you got it. And though Brand was no great hunter or tracker, he recognized that this man was. He just hoped he was good enough.

  Grinder was one danger in the swamp, but he had heard of others. And as if that was not enough, he knew that generals had led armies into swamps in other lands than the Duthgar and never been seen again. Shifting waters, pathless mazes, land that was not land and sickness were only some of the problems a general faced in such a place.

  The track they followed dropped down steeply into a valley. Thick scrub grew about them, and the path had dwindled and nearly died. This strung the warriors out in a long line, which was something Brand did not like. It made them vulnerable to attack, but less and less he feared Unferth’s men. More and more he worried about the swamp. Already the smell of it was in the air.

  He sent Haldring back along the line to tell the men where they were headed. He used her to deal with the Duthenor more than Taingern and Shorty. She was one of them while the others were not. He must grow the trust between the army and those two slowly. But they knew that as well as he, and he often saw them at breaks mingling with the Duthenor and talking, establishing a bond and getting to know one another.

  There was a creek nearby. Brand heard it, but he could not see it. It would no doubt run at the bottom of the valley, which meant they were close to that themselves.

  Their progress slowed. Some of this was the narrow track, but some was the reluctance of the men. Many would have heard of the swamp ahead, and those who had not would soon hear tales from others. He had given Haldring specific things to say. It would not be pleasant … have courage … walk warily … and think of the enemies we are leaving behind. He hoped that would be enough, and he knew the Duthenor were doughty men. But if they balked at this he would be in serious trouble. His enemies would be gathering behind him. And if he had to turn back his leadership would suffer irreparable harm.

  On the other hand, if they followed him through the swamp and came out the other side, they would be bonded to him and to each other all the more strongly.

  Haldring returned. “How did they take it?” Brand asked.

  “Not well.”

  “But they are coming?”

  She looked at him coolly. “Have you been gone from the Duthgar so long that you forget what the Duthenor are like? You lead, and they will follow. Loyalty drives them, and pride. Wherever you walk, whatever danger you face, they will too.”

  They continued on. Brand would have felt relief, except for the fact they were going to the swamp. But he knew he was right to do so. It would give him an advantage over his enemies, and he needed that given they far outnumbered him. And it would help build the reputation of his growing army too. One of their generals was a shield-maiden. They came, stung their enemies and vanished into thin air. They had walked through the legendary swamp … all things to build their aura so that allies were more likely to join them, and their enemies to fear them. It was not swords, nor spears nor the clash of arms that won battles. It was the hearts of the warriors who fought them.

  The army trod on. Hruidgar led them, slower and slower. The hunter seemed to have eyes everywhere, for he saw each bird that flew in the dim light of the tree canopy, watched every step he took to find a trail where the path they followed had disappeared. Only it had not. It might have been years since a man had walked this way, but the hunter found the path they took. Brand would not have seen it, yet once he strayed a little to the side of where the hunter led and noticed that branches scratched his face and the ground was uneven and grown over by tufted grass and twisted tree roots.

  He had long since decided the hunter knew what he was doing, and there was no point in having scouts ahead. They would probably get lost, or killed. He had sent them to the rear where there was a far greater need for them. They were to discover if the army were being followed, and to kill any of the enemy that did so.

  The noise of running water grew louder. It was more of a roar now, and Brand realized it was not the river. More aptly, it was still the river but it had become a waterfall.

  The ground dropped suddenly. They clambered down, and to their right the trees thinned. There was a rocky outcrop there, and slightly above them but to the side the river disgorged into the air, flashing, turning and twisting in threads of silver. Foam flew from the rushing streams. The roar was louder, and the spray of water misted the air with swirling vapor. Through this, rainbows arced to the ground far below.

  The hunter had no eyes for the waterfall. He kept his gaze mostly on the trail now, for it was rocky and slick with water. Carefully, he descended. Brand followed, leading his horse. The army came after.

  It seemed an eerie place to Brand. It was like no other land that he had journeyed through, within or without the Duthgar. The trees changed, turning from the oak woods that they had been passing through into stands of black alder, old and weary looking with arched crowns and crooked branches. The trunks were dark gray and fissured, and here and there catkins still hung.

  Down they went, deeper into the swamp, and the trail eventually leveled out. There was water everywhere, but land too. The rocks had given way to spongy soil. Mosquitoes swarmed around them, insects chirped and frogs croaked. Yet there were no birds that Brand could see, and for all the noise the land itself seemed quiet and brooding.

  And well might it be. For in a place such as this the old magic was strong. Brand sensed it, a dormant thing, slumbering away through the eons. But there was power here, and he had no wish to wake it. Yet even as he thought that, he sensed that not all the powers of this land were asleep.

  He realized with astonishment that the stretch of land that they now walked over was not land at all. It was a pathway of corrugated logs, like a bridge over water. Only they were set in mud, covered by slime and slowly decaying like everything else around them. Someone had laid this track. But who? And when? He looked up and saw Hruidgar looking back at him, a gleam in his dark eyes. It was almost like a question, or a challenge. Did he still want to come this way?

  Brand stepped forward. One hand held the reins of his roan mare, the other was close to his sword hilt. But he went forward, and the hunter turned and stepped carefully ahead also. His hand was near his sword hilt too. If he knew who had built the path, he was not saying.

  The hunter led them deeper into the swamp. The army trailed behind, each warrior following in the footsteps of the one before, the whole mass of them, one after another, stepping where
Hruidgar had trod.

  About them, the alders grew thickly, then thinned, and then grew thickly once more. Sheets of water lay to left and right, sometimes with clumps of swamp grass and weeds and lilies growing through. At other times the water seemed deep as though it were a lake. At yet other times there was ground, seemingly dry and above water level. The hunter led them over this at whiles, but not always. If some land was safe while other land was not, Hruidgar did not explain.

  They were deep in the swamp. Brand felt like an intruder into a world in which he did not belong. There was a plop in the water beside him, and then a ripple over the hitherto still surface. Something large, very large indeed, had moved. He saw a glimpse of a creature, shadowy and vast as it turned and twisted in the depths, and then it was gone. Or at least he hoped so.

  They climbed a little now. The land became rocky, but lined with moss and slime. Footing was treacherous. The swamp had become small ponds, covered in green algae. Through this maze they walked. But Hruidgar rarely seemed to hesitate. He seemed relieved though to be away from the deeper expanses of water. Or what dwelled within them.

  The ground changed. It was dryer, and there was grass here. Brand knew, however, they had not begun to leave the swamp yet. It was too soon. The ponds were fewer. They had in fact become tarns, stone rimmed and dark watered. The hunter kept as far from them as was possible, but ever he found a way forward.

  It was hard to tell time in the swamp, for the growth of trees was mostly thick and the sky was obscured. But it was clearer here on the rocky ground, and Brand realized the day was nearly over. Soon, they must find a place to gather together and camp. He whispered as much to the hunter, and the man nodded.

  “I know a place,” he said. “A good place, if such exists around here.” He trod on, and Brand wondered if the army would find its way out of the swamp if something happened to the hunter. But so far, for all the eeriness of the place, he had sensed no great danger. But that meant only that for the most part the creatures that could bring it slept, not that they did not exist.