Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Braig walked over to the spearhead pointing out of the ground and slammed Onrin’s head onto it, turning it so that it looked out over the hillside. Stopping to take the keys off Onrin’s belt, he unlocked the shackles on his wrists and started walking towards the encampment.

  CORPSES LAY SCATTERED across the camp as Skara darted from tent to tent. Screams sounded around him as Renna’s undead warrior cut its way through the brothers. The rocks were wet with blood as Skara crept around the tents, keeping low in the shadows. Sneaking closer to Gregor’s tent, he could see the man standing with his guard near a dying fire, their swords drawn, peering into the darkness. Their eyes were wide as they watched the monster ripping and slashing at the last remaining men in the camp as they fell to the creature's wrath.

  Turning its head slowly, its cold white eyes reflected the silver glow of the moonlight as it stared at the two men. Its left arm hung by ragged threads and swung uselessly at its side. As it turned to face them, the gaping hole in his neck had been torn wider, and deep cuts covered its chest, causing the flaps of skin to expose bone and muscle.

  Gregor stood silently behind his guard, holding onto the man’s shoulder to use him as a shield against the creature. Raising its sword, the monster dashed forward towards the two, swinging its battered blade. The guard parried the attack and thrust his sword through the creature's chest, pushing it in up the hilt.

  The beast pushed forward, dropping its sword as it grabbed the man’s face. Sticking its thumb into the man’s mouth, it tore open a gash in his cheek as they both fell to the ground. Hacking wildly at the creature with his knife, the man screamed in pain beneath its ripping hands as he stared up at Gregor, waiting for him to come to his aid.

  Looking frantically around the camp, Gregor saw the carnage spread across the dark landscape, and fear took over his body. Ignoring the cries of his personal guard, he turned on his heels and began running towards the path leading to Banrielle, hoping to escape unhindered.

  Crouching behind a pile of corpses, Skara pulled his poisoned dagger and cut a small gash in Gregor’s leg as he ran by. Letting out a sharp gasp, Gregor stopped and looked into the shadows, unsure of what had hit him. Breathing hard, he strained his eyes and leaned in, peering into the night.

  Staring back from the darkness was a set of yellow eyes and a set of sharp teeth sneering at him in the dim glow of the dying fires. “I see you, Gregor,” Skara said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “And I’m coming for you.”

  Gregor’s face paled as he swung his sword into the shadows around him, hitting nothing but air. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he began to hobble down the trail, his left leg growing stiff as he ran. His breath came out in white puffs, and his lungs ached as he struggled for breath.

  “Run, Gregor. Your past is catching up with you. Run, run, run,” Skara said, laughing as he ran down the trail behind the man, throwing rocks in his direction.

  “What do you want from me, devil? Leave me be!” Gregor said, limping hard as his left arm started to go numb.

  “You’re almost there, Gregor. The town is just ahead.”

  Running with everything that he had, Gregor pushed his way through the long grass on the hillside overlooking the town. The buildings were dark, and the shutters were closed tight against the cold night air. Looking for any signs of life, he saw the faint glow of a candle coming from the upper level of the Greencap and quickly began to hobble down the hill towards the single light in the darkness, hoping there would be someone there that could help him.

  His left leg and arm felt as heavy as stone as he opened the door to the Greencap, slamming it shut and breathing hard. Latching the bolt, he pulled himself forward, dragging his leg behind him as he hobbled, dripping blood onto the rug. He called out for help, but his words began to slur as his face sagged, and his tongue fell limply out of his mouth.

  He could hear the sound of something scraping on the wooden door behind him, trying to claw its way inside.

  “Gregor, there’s a wolf at the door nipping at your heels. The misdeeds of your past are catching up to you.”

  Panting, Gregor dropped his sword as his right hand began to tense and twitch. The room around him was dark, and his eyes drifted towards the faint light washing down the stairs in the back of the room. Hobbling to the stairs, he fell onto his stomach and began to pull himself upwards. Each step was harder to climb as he began to lose function in his right leg. Using his last bit of strength, he pulled himself up the final few steps just as he heard the front door unlatch and slam into the wall as it was forcefully pushed open.

  Crawling onto the floor of the second level, he lifted his eyes towards the light and saw several candles burning on a small table. Above them were strips of bright yellow fabric braided together and tied into the shape of a circle with bunches of herbs, beads, and trinkets hanging in its center.

  Hearing the footsteps coming up the stairs, Gregor closed his eyes against Mary’s memorial and rolled over onto his back, his head turned toward the side, facing the stairs. His body was stiff and wracked with pain, and his limbs felt as if they had been nailed to the floor. His breath came out in gasps as he groaned and tried to will himself to move, but his muscles only tightened as he struggled.

  Spittle flew from his mouth as he tried to shout, the sound barely escaping his lips as drool ran down his cheek and onto the floor.

  “Do you know what I’ve done to you,” Skara said, creeping up the stairwell.

  Staring towards the dimly lit door, Gregor could see small, green fingers curl around the wall of the upper floor, the sharp nails scratching the wood.

  “I’ve poisoned you. You won’t be able to move, but you’ll be able to feel everything I’m about to do to you. In your haste to flee the monster, you came across another one. But the irony is,” Skara said, peeking his face around the corner, his sharp teeth glinting the orange glow of the candles, “I may not have become a monster if not for you.”

  Walking up the last few stairs, Skara stood in the entryway, his dark clothing wet with blood and his dark hair hanging loosely over his face. Dropping to his knees, he crawled towards Gregor until he only was only inches away, his eyes staring hard at the man’s face.

  Gregor groaned and tried to move, but his body only trembled.

  “Let me tell you a story. Not a happy story like my mother used to tell me, but a dark story about pride and murder—a story about you,” Skara said, digging his nail into Gregor’s cheek, causing a trickle of blood to drip onto the floor.

  Rubbing the blood between his fingers, Skara looked up at the memorial for Mary and moved closer to Gregor’s face, putting his sharp teeth directly in front of his eyes. “It was over twenty years ago, now. You were just a keeper then that wanted to show his worth. So, you came looking for trouble in the lower city, where the filth lived. Or so you called us. But you harassed a goblin on her way home and killed anyone that came to help or tried to stop the slaughter. But they couldn’t stop it, and you killed them all. You even killed some of the goblins cowering in their houses. Do you remember that?”

  Skara sat up and pulled out his dagger and picked up Gregor’s hand, sliding the point of the blade under his thumbnail. Gregor groaned in pain as his hand trembled.

  “I know, it hurts. But the story isn’t over yet. You see, I was under the house, hiding by the river. I had to stay there and listen to the bodies being thrown into the water,” Skara said, popping off Gregor’s thumbnail before moving to the next finger. “Then, I watched my parent’s bodies get sucked under the current as they were swept away in the darkness. That was because of you; because of your call to serve the light. But just because we weren’t human, it didn’t make us monsters. You were the monster, and now I’ve let myself become one to fight against them; against you.”

  Skara pried another nail from Gregor’s hand, and then another. “But this is the end of your story, and no one will remember you. Tomorrow whe
n they cut you down, the townsfolk will throw your body in the woods to be eaten by the beasts and rot.”

  Dropping Gregor’s hand, Skara stood and stabbed one of his daggers into the man’s leg and stepped over his body. Moving the balcony doors, he took hold of the noose and untied it from the railing. Cutting the length of rope shorter, he tied it back in place and kicked out several of the boards to open a large section beneath the banister. Walking back over to Gregor, he opened the man’s cloak and took hold of his shoulders and began to pull. Using all his strength, Skara tugged at the heavy man, barely moving him across the floor. Straining his muscles, he pulled again, only moving him several inches.

  “Need some help?” a voice said from the stairwell.

  Looking up, Skara saw Faine standing at the top of the stairs. His dark blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun, and splatters of blood stained his face and clothing. His arms were cut and bleeding, and his knuckles were purple and bruised. Stepping forward into the light, Renna and Braig moved up behind him, both covered in bruises and cuts of their own.

  Skara looked at the dwarf and wondered who he was but knew there would time to ask questions when this was finished. Looking over at the three of them, Skara nodded his head and reached for an arm. Stepping up beside the man, Faine took hold of one of Gregor’s arms as Renna and Braig took hold of his legs. Lifting him off the ground, the four moved him out onto the balcony.

  “I’ve shortened the rope, so it won’t break your neck when you fall. That should give you some time to think about how this all started, and how it all ended.”

  Gregor’s eyes were wide with fear as Skara put the noose around his neck. He struggled to move, but it took all he had just to clench his fist. Pulling the knife out of Gregor’s leg, Skara and Faine pushed his body over the edge feet first, being careful to let him down gently. As the rope tightened around his neck, his breath stopped in his throat as the noose slowly crushed his windpipe. His eyes darted around the darkened town before he looked up into the heavens and began to pray to the light that he would be spared, but the deep shadows had consumed his flame, and he heard only silence.

  A Small Measure

  The trail was long and dark as they made their way back up the hill. The moons hung low in the sky, and a golden glow was starting to gently break over the horizon. The forest around them was coming to life with the sound of winter birds singing in the treetops as a light wind rustled the fallen leaves, blowing them into small piles around the tall clumps of brown grass that pushed its way through the underbrush that grew on the hillside. Large lichen-covered stones jutted up near the woodline beside them, rough grey flecked with gold as the rays of light cut across the hills.

  Weariness creeping into them, the four trudged up the horse trail and into the encampment. The fires had all burned down to ash and had gone cold, and they stood and looked over the canvas tents that lay empty and stained red with blood. Sauntering towards Gregor’s tent, they stepped over the broken body of the guard lying in front of the entrance, his body beaten and mangled.

  Looking down at the man as he passed, Skara pulled back the flap, his eyes going wide as he saw the creature that Renna had summoned standing motionless, staring at the canvas wall with blank eyes. A sword was pushed through his chest, dried blood still clinging to the blade. Jumping back, Skara bumped into Braig and pulled out one of his daggers, cursing under his breath.

  “By the stone,” Braig said, balling his fists, “what is that monstrosity?”

  “Wait,” Renna said, stepping in front of the creature. “It’s no threat to us.”

  “What d’ya mean, no threat? It looks pretty dangerous to me,” Braig said.

  “It's not alive, not really. It’s magic. Out of the tent,” Renna said, motioning for the creature to move.

  Moving to the side to let the creature pass, it shambled out and stood near the guard’s body. Renna closed her eyes and held her hands out in front of her, chanting quietly. The creature’s body trembled and fell lifeless to the ground as a cloud of black smoke rose from its wounds and dissipated in the gentle breeze.

  “Don’t worry,” Faine said, slapping Braig on the back, “you get used to it.”

  “I don’t know if that’s something I want to get used to.”

  “Before we go in,” Renna said, turning to look at Braig, “what are we looking for?”

  “Why are ya askin’ me?”

  “We know they were here for something, and they kept you prisoner for a reason. Banrielle is a small town and not worth coming all this way with a formidable group and a dwarf for no reason.”

  Braig looked down and shook his head. “You’re right, they were after something, and they thought I could find it; but there’s nothing here for them to find.”

  “Then, why were they here?” Faine asked.

  “They were here because I told them the stone was here. I knew it wasn’t, but I had to get out of that cage,” Braig said, his face turning red as he rubbed his forehead.

  Renna shifted on her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. “And how did you know you’d get out of the cage here?”

  “Because I had a dream about it. I don’t know how I knew—it just came to me in a dream. I saw my chains being broken, and I knew I had to get here. Then I saw your wolf in the forest, and I knew this is where I needed to be.”

  “And they were trying to use you to lead them to a stone?” Faine said.

  “They thought they could just keep me locked away and beat the visions out of me, but that’s not how they work. I can’t control what I dream or see.” Braig looked down at his boots, the redness fading from his face. “But I know what they were looking for, and I think I know where it is. But I don’t know what it does.”

  “What is it?” Skara said, moving around to look at Braig.

  “It’s a black stone that’s somewhere in a marsh,” Braig said, closing his eyes. “It’s dark and dead there. The houses are long abandoned and broken. I hear the vague sound of something banging, and I see the stone falling off a shelf into the mud under some old, broken boards. It looks like a shard of dark glass with the edge of a knife. There’s nothing around for miles, just a wasteland.

  “The Grey Wastes,” Faine said, wrapping one of his arms around his chest and rubbing at his chin with the other. “It has to be. Miles of wastes with marshlands and an abandoned town. There’re only so many towns in the wastes and fewer near the marshy shores.”

  Renna moved inside the tent and began to look through the ornate chest at the foot of Gregor’s cot. Pulling out clothing and stacks of paper, she began to read through the letters. Flipping quickly through them, she tossed away anything useless until she reached the last letter and tossed it to the floor after reading it.

  “Nothing. But there has to be something here,” she said, tapping one of her small tusks with her finger. Pulling out more items from the chest, she reached the bottom and peered inside. In the back-left corner of the bottom panel, she noticed a small hole cut into the wood. Pulling out her knife, she pried the board loose and lifted it out, revealing several letters sealed with wax and a few small coin pouches. Pulling out the bags of coins, she tossed one to Faine, Skara, and Braig and, reached for the letters.

  Sitting down on the mattress, she unfolded the letters and began reading.

  “What is it?” Faine said, trying to look over Renna’s shoulder, breathing into her ear.

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll let you know,” she said, looking up at Faine, moving her head away from his mouth.

  Laughing to himself, he moved away and began rummaging through Gregor’s bags. Pulling out a long brown tunic, he held it up to Skara. “Hey, I found you a dress,” he said, tossing it at the goblin before reaching back into the bag.

  The tunic flew through the air, hitting Skara in the chest before falling to the ground. Kicking the tunic away, he moved to the edge of the cot, rubbed his eyes, and laid down on his side.

  “I can’t go back,”
Skara said. “It’s all over. Mary’s gone, the Bramble Thorn is burned, and they think it’s my fault. What do I do now?”

  “You come with us,” Renna said, tapping her finger to one of the letters she was reading. “It doesn’t say what it does, but this letter mentions something called a mage stone. It says it’s magic but doesn’t say how. And not just that stone, others.”

  “There are others,” Braig said, moving closer to Renna. “But I can’t see what they look like. It’s like they’re covered in fog or under flowing water. I can only make out the black shard, but I could see others beside it. There’s an aura around each of them, but I don’t know what they do.”

  “Right. This letter is addressed to Gregor and talks about buying a dwarf that can help them locate the stones. It says there’s one in Banrielle and for Gregor and his men to meet you at the coast and bring you here. It says that after taking care of some business in Ethilios that they’d be back for answers.”

  “Who wrote the letter?” Faine said, tossing several more tunics and a white flag with a red lion crest over a black rune surrounded by a yellow circle in Skara’s direction.

  “It doesn’t say a name, but the initials are D.E., and it’s sealed with not only a royal seal but the seal of the mage tower in Bright Harbor. Whoever it is wants the stones.”

  “And that means they’re important...and valuable,” Faine said. “I bet that flag has something to do with it, too.”

  Braig lifted the flag and stared at the crest before scowling and throwing it on the ground. “Valuable enough to take me in the dark, lock me in a cage, and torture me for. Whatever it is these stones do, I don’t want them falling into their hands. I don’t know who the hooded man is that bought me, but I’m willing to bet this is his crest, and he’s the one that wrote that letter.”