by Clark Bolton
“MURAC, THE REAR!” Haspeth yelled just as he sent arcane-missiles sailing at the two strangely dressed men who had surprised them. “PSSST… PSSST!” The man who had dared fire a crossbow at him plunged head first into the jagged rocks he had been scrambling over never to move again.
Bek was forced to engage the second attacker on his own as his guard lay dying among the rocks. Fortunately Haspeth had also targeted this attacker and so now the man was severely wounded from Haspeth’s spell, giving Bek enough time to maneuver with sword drawn to fend off the man’s still determined attack.
“Demon spawn bastard!” Haspeth screamed at the corpse of the man who had nearly shot him. With that out of his system he turned to see how Fesmbol and his men were doing. They had the three men from the cave all down now, with one looking to be dead or nearly so. Turning back to Bek he saw that the man was overmatched by the determined attacker despite severe wounds.
To his credit Fesmbol was now rushing back to assist his friend while yelling for his men. “To the rear! There are more of them to the rear!” Fesmbol yelled as he stopped just short of engagement as Bek swung his sword madly in an effort to keep his opponent at bay. It was clear to both Fesmbol and Haspeth that the only thing keeping Bek alive was his enhanced sword.
“STOP!” Haspeth yelled as he pointed his finger menacingly at the much shorter man who seemed to pay him no mind as he tried to undercut Bek’s defenses. With Fesmbol now menacing his flank the man finally slowed and then did something that the three men who watched would never forget to their dying days.
“Gods!” Fesmbol yelled as the man fell upon his own sword, driving the blade clean through his chest.
“Why!” Haspeth called out in confusion as he looked to Fesmbol and then Bek, who had fallen to his knees in exhaustion. All looked at each other in shock for a few moments before remembering to look to the state of the sergeant and his men.
Murac vaguely heard Haspeth’s calls as he walked slowly into the cave but figured it was not the time to turn around now. In the light of his glowing sword he could see now carved pieces of driftwood sharpened and arranged such to deter intruders. Wary of poisons he gingerly stepped past as he used his sword to push some of the points aside. About twenty paces into the cave he came upon a campsite just as he heard coughing from further in.
Taking a moment to count the number of bed-rolls he guessed that there was at least five men in total which left one unaccounted for if he included the one he heard coughing. Several paces further on into the cave it seemed to open up more and here there was another barrier of sharpened posts for him to navigate. As he crept forward he began to hear chanting which made the hairs on the back of neck stand up.
Just as he noticed the soft glow coming from across the small chamber he saw etched next to his face on the cave wall a set of runes. “Mage!” He cursed under his breath as he made out the form of a man sitting cross-legged on a small shelf of rock about a dozen paces from him. The man seemed unaware of him as he had his eyes closed while he chanted softly, only pausing for brief moments to cough from the remnants of Haspeth’s vapor spell.
Guessing the mage was in the process of casting a spell Murac could think to do only one thing before he suffered the consequences. Pulling the punch-dagger from his belt he let fly the only magical device he had ever laid hands on before coming to live at the mage-tower. The dagger was meant to be held in a closed-fist with the small blade protruding up between the fingers. He had used it to pierce stone on occasion and was practiced at throwing it though it was not designed for that purpose.
The man’s head snapped back as the dagger tore a long gash in his check but he never opened his eyes. Before Murac could rush him a dark reddish form reached out from the shadows and began tearing at the man’s chest in a screaming rage as if Murac’s attack had signaled the start of its own. It was over in seconds for the man as the creature tore the man’s pumping heart from his chest with the surreal sound of splintering bone.
Figuring there was no point in running now as the creatures turned its gaze upon him, Murac stepped into the chamber to give himself some maneuvering room with his long sword. The creature seemed to recognize the significance of his glowing blade and so began to circle menacingly rather than simply charging. The creature looked to be about his weight Murac guessed, and possessed no weapon other than long curved claws and canines the size of daggers.
“Like the stink?” Murac taunted as he watched the thing crunch the sharpened posts under foot as if they weren’t even there. He guessed he had just witnessed a demon summoning gone bad, a subject he had heard Autbek harp upon during his travels with the mage. The thing had killed its summoner which meant it was free to do as it liked, which for the moment meant killing him.
The things first feint at Murac cost it a long gash along its grotesque arm which brought a great screech of rage from it. Murac only smiled at the scream and quickly wounded it again before the thing leaped up and began crawling like a spider overhead which exposed it for a third time to his blade. His luck didn’t hold though as the thing got under his guard as it sprang at his feet to leave a gash across his leather jerkin that soon turned red.
With a the taste of blood the demon became embolden and pressed the attack forcing Murac to roll painfully through the sharpened posts as he drove his blade again and again into it. In the end his blade proved too much for the beast, which after losing a forearm and a foot vanished suddenly in a greasy puff of red smoke.
Sitting up to catch his breath and to carefully search the room with his eyes Murac immediately noticed that the dead man was sitting on a bed-roll of his own. “Damn!” Murac muttered as he wondered now where the two unaccounted for men might be. His fears were soon alleviated as a bright light appeared followed by a familiar voice.
“Gods, Murac! What did you do to him?” Haspeth asked as he walked slowly over to the corpse.
“My friend did that…and this!” Murac said as he gestured at the tattered remains of his jerkin. He then retrieved his punch-dagger as Haspeth filled him in on what had been going on outside.
One of their own had died along with four of the six Hon-Chi, which left two to be taken back as prisoners which Fesmbol was apparently elated about. “He is up there now bragging already…damn lords!” Haspeth muttered as he helped Murac search the cave.
Chapter 35
“I cannot speak…no one hears me.” The Hon-Chi man declared pitifully as he leaned against the cold bricks of the cell. Across from him another Hon-Chi man was chained with his arms spread wide, and he seemed also not to hear for he had yet to acknowledge the speaker who had been placed in the cell some hours ago.
More time passed while the first man mumbled about missing his wife and his pigs until finally the man chained to the wall spoke. “How were you captured?” He asked in a dry voice after raising his head just enough to look at the first man.
“Can you hear my words?” The first man exclaimed.
“Yes, I hear them.” The other replied as he shifted his legs a little. Their captors had chained him in a sitting position after he had tried multiple times to take his own life after he and his commander were captured by the foreigners on the beach.
“Ohhh … you are the first… these others they speak not words.”
“I know!” The man replied as he sized up the other man for the first time. “You are not a soldier.” He stated this as a fact from the look of the man.
“No.” The man replied as he slowly got to his feet. There was a bucket of water next to the door with a wooden cup floating it and so filling the cup he offered it to the man who gladly accepted. “I…I was a farmer…”
Haspeth walked up to the cell door and then looked to the two men who had accompanied him down to this level of the Earl’s dungeon. They were Berdtom’s men and so they all knew each other enough to work without words. One produced a key and then they opened the cell door to examine the two men inside. The one chained to the wall looke
d at them hatefully while the other cowered in a corner.
“Which one of you?” Haspeth asked angrily in a commanding tone as he gazed from one to the other. He then walked to the man chained to the wall and stretched out his hand to produce a small shower of sparks that flew into the man’s face and onto his chest forcing the man to shut his eyes and wince painfully. Haspeth than chuckled cruelly before slowly walking over to the other men. This one he kicked cruelly which produced a satisfying whimper and then he gave the man the same spark-shower he had given the other.
When the mage turned to leave one of the men accompanying him asked, “Which one, sir?”
“Don’t care!” Haspeth replied as he walked out the door.
With a shrug the two men gathered up the man Haspeth had kicked and unceremoniously dragged him out the door, shutting it behind them. As they walked through several twists and turns of the dungeon corridors the man they were escorting slowly took on a different look, and by the time they entered a side chamber filled with light and warmth he looked Hon-Chi not at all.
“Pretty good huh?” Haspeth proclaimed to Castor as he sat down on a bench.
Castor gave him a scornfully look, “Please!” He said as he availed himself of the food and drink on the table.
“What? Bloody convincing it was.” Haspeth whined as Berdtom came to join them.
Berdtom came right to the point as he sat across from Castor. “Get anything out of him?”
“More than the last one.” Castor replied as he stuffed his face. He had been in the cell for many hours and was famished and mentally exhausted for having to maintain an illusion for so long. “I’ll take another shot at the commander tomorrow…this last fellow gave me some ideas.”
“Good!” Berdtom replied as he waited patiently for some details. The language of the Hon-Chi had presented an insurmountable problem at first for the Earl’s interrogators as no one had ever heard anything like it. That’s when Berdtom was happy to step in and offer his services in the matter. With a handful of language-scrolls and some coaching he and Castor had worked out a plan to secretly glean information from the two prisoners who had been separated since Fesmbol’s men had captured them.
“Sure we shouldn’t poke ’um a bit?” Haspeth asked as he picked up one of the many torcher devices lying on a side table.
Castor stopped eating as he eyed Berdtom and then shook his head in disgust. “When we need you again we’ll call.” He said loudly to Haspeth as he went back to eating.
“Sure!” Haspeth said enthusiastically as he prepared to leave. “Anytime my friend.”
Berdtom and Castor then spent most of the rest of the day gathering and recording information from the two prisoners which involved a number of different scenarios involving illusion and language spells. When he felt they had compiled enough information to report back to the Earl he sat and composed a long letter filled with details.
“What makes us think these mages of Berdtom’s can get more out of them than Cachner’s men?” Bek mused as he turned once again to look down the long dark corridor to see if anything had changed. He had been forced to keep Fesmbol company for nearly the entire day in the dungeons no less, which was the day following their triumphant return to the palace with the two Hon-Chi prisoners. “Fat job for a couple of heroes!”
“Time for you to accept who’s ship is sinking and who’s is rising, hero!” Fesmbol replied as he watched Bek complain with boredom. He didn’t feel confident enough yet to leave activities such as the one they were performing now to any lackey since his standing within the palace had taken a fall since his two half-brothers had returned. “That general my father has brought in…Lieborkamp, he will think wisely of me when I can whisper such secrets into his ear.”
“Secrets, bah!” Bek scoffed. “We know nothing more than we did two days ago!”
“Yes, but I think that is about to change.” Fesmbol replied as he stood up at the approach of Berdtom.He had strategically placed the table and benches they were sitting at in a place where anyone, particularly Berdtom, would have to pass to exit the dungeon.
“My lords.” Berdtom said politely as he motioned for the two men behind him to proceed without him. Handing over his report to Fesmbol he asked, “Is this what you’ve been so patiently waiting for?”
Fesmbol quickly grasped the stack of parchments and then sat down again so he could make better use of the candle that was on the small table. His expectant face soon turned to one of delight as he read, and enough so that Bek quickly came over to peer over his shoulder.
“You know the name of their leader now?” Fesmbol remarked, obviously impressed with the facts as he read on.
“True.” Berdtom replied as he gave the young lord time to read the report. He felt an obligation to do so for Fesmbol had been the one with enough foresight to think to search near the city for spies. Besides he and Autbek had to keep on the man’s good side for now, at least until this war started after which he figured the Earl would be too distracted to care much about any rumors of oath breaking by Autbek.
Reading on for a while Fesmbol then stopped to glace up at both Bek and Berdtom. “Thousands? They are coming with thousands?”
Berdtom eyes looked down at the table as he thought about the ramifications of that number. “More maybe! But it’s clear the two here have seen dozen of barges, and each carrying hundreds of refugees.”
“What do you mean by that?” Bek asked respectfully.
Berdtom inhaled deeply and then began to collect up the pages of parchment as Fesmbol finished with them. “They have brought their families and all their possessions.” He said dryly. “They are fleeing their former master, an emperor apparently, and they intend to land here in Astrum.”
“A true invasion?” Fesmbol asked with a look of suspicion. “Do we know when, Berdtom?”
Berdtom shook his head and grasped the last page of his report, “No but it will not be before winter. But do keep that to your selves as well as where you got this.” He said as he waved the report.
“That we will, sir!” Fesmbol said with a nod as he sat back and thought about the opportunities this would afford him. “And do thank Haspeth and Murac again for me.” He added sincerely.
The three of them had gone over the possessions of the Hon-Chi mage numerous times at Autbek’s insistence and had been sure to make Appaloupe carefully sketch each item, some of which were stained with the mage’s blood. “I don’t think Autbek thinks much of these.” Resbeka commented to the other two as she carefully finished organizing them on one of the tables in the study.
“I can see why.” Pemmesa replied as she examined again one of the clay figurines. It was a crude representation of a man or maybe something like a monkey they thought and easy fit into the palm of the hand. Guessing by the remains of a leather cord they had guessed the mage had worn it upon his person. “They mostly have bits and pieces of arcane runes on them, like he didn’t quite know what he was doing.”
“Remind you of someone, Pemmesa?” Autbek said from the doorway where he stood alongside Neustus.
“Kind of.” She replied a little self-conscious of the fact she now had an audience.
“Who then?” Autbek pressed with a smile as he helped Neustus find a seat at the table where the items were laid out.
Looking to the others for support she finally replied, “The viken maybe?”
Autbek turned to Neustus with a look of satisfaction. “Excellent, Pemmesa, I think you have arrived at our conclusion as well.” He then slowly began to hand items to Neustus who held them before him as he turned his head to the side in order to peer at them past his various blind spots.
“A chanter for sure, Autbek.” Neustus replied after a minute or two of examining various pieces of simply jewelry as well as the figurine. “See how the maker has filled in the spaces between true-runes with gibberish, almost as if the void was something to fear.”
The others all watched and listened closely as he commented on
some of the other items before sitting back to hear their comments. The girls all saw the wisdom of looking at the maker of these weakly magical trinkets as someone akin to the viken. The viken themselves toyed with magic at this level, though a charm, which was how Neustus and Autbek referred to the figure, was not something the viken were known to make.
“They have spoken of things like this, O’t.” Pemmesa volunteered with some hesitation as she knew the viken did not like her to reveal secrets they had told her. “Some think there are still viken out in the wilds who can create them.”
“The wilds?” Onaleen asked. “You mean like in the forest or the mountains?”
Pemmesa shook her head as everyone looked to her for an answer. “No, more like small villages like those up in the east and north I’ve heard. But I’ve never heard them tell for sure where they might be, kind of like maybe they didn’t know themselves.”
“Or didn’t want you telling us?” Resbeka added.
“Maybe?” Pemmesa mused. “They aren’t really an organized group like we are. More like one of those secret societies Eifled has.”
“That fits in with what Eifled has been telling me recently.” Autbek said as he stared at the items as a whole. He had gone over them for hours before having the girls do so and was tired of looking at them. “He’s pretty much said he thinks the viken survived as a group of chanters due largely to their lack of organization.”
“Survived what?” Pemmesa asked innocently.
“Whatever drove mages like the Ausic off, or worse, whatever killed them off.” Autbek replied in a melancholy tone. “Hard to destroy a group that is barely a group at all. You have told me they wonder a lot between villages and small towns mostly, correct?”