The Chronicles of Caylen-Tor

by Byron A. Roberts

  “As did I. Remind me to speak with Drogha Tul about it when next we return to my hearth.”

  “Ah, that old wizard’s a wily one,” said Guthlac. “I swear he’ll outlive all of us, and he must have seen a hundred winters already!”

  Caylen’s brow furrowed. “Aye, that damned shaman haunts the halls of Ulfheim like a shadow, ceaselessly casting the runes of divination. He’s convinced that my children are destined to fulfil some grand tribal prophecy. He swears that they were born to safeguard the clans against some nameless, cryptic evil yet to reveal itself.”

  “And do you believe that?” asked Guthlac with a wry smile.

  Caylen shrugged and gathered up his axe. “I’ve heard stranger prophecies. Now, wake the others. We’re pressing on, for I grow weary of this thrice-cursed icy tomb!”

  Chapter III

  Into the Savage Realm

  Caylen and the men of the White Wolf emerged briskly from the cavern’s jagged mouth and clambered forth onto a great promontory strewn with countless fragments of basaltic stone. The temperature had ascended steadily during their trek through the labyrinthine depths of the mountain, and the mantle of ice which had persistently veiled the shadowed tunnels had gradually receded until ultimately nothing but dry, unclad rock prevailed. As the reavers cleared the threshold of the grotto they were astonished to find that the brooding grey sky which had initially greeted them upon their landfall had at some point during their journey yielded to a cloudless vista of unbroken blue set with a dazzling golden sun which now glowered balefully down upon them like a great cyclopean eye. Moving guardedly to the edge of the broad cliff, Caylen and his companions collectively gaped in silent wonder at the enthralling spectacle now arrayed before them. Far below stretched the verdant expanse of a colossal jungle, which to the raven-keen eyes of the mariners seemed to resemble nothing less than the churning surface of a vast, viridescent sea. For countless miles the primeval morass spanned the atoll’s hidden interior, reaching ceaselessly into the mist-shrouded distance until at last it met the great palisade of the black mountains which encircled the forest like the cloud-capped walls of a mighty, unassailable fortress. At the westernmost point of the jungle vista, a single blackened peak jutted imperiously from the teeming green depths, its cratered crown billowing great plumes of dense, white smoke.

  “By the gods!” hissed Guthlac. “A frozen wasteland on one side of the mountains and a torrid wilderness on the other! This smacks of sorcery, without a doubt!”

  Caylen nodded solemnly. “Captain Aracus did not speak of such a place, nor does his map mark anything beyond the caves. But if that forest hides a jewelled city, I’m fain to search its shadowed depths!”

  “And just how deep shall we delve?” asked Guthlac guardedly.

  “We’ll scout a league, mayhap two,” replied Caylen. “Then hasten back to the ship, to return with a full raiding party on the morrow.”

  “I concur,” muttered Guthlac. “The more blades we bring on this expedition, the bolder I’ll feel!”

  Taking the vanguard, Caylen cautiously began to descend a narrow, scree-strewn trail which wound its way precariously down the eastern edge of the promontory, his companions close on his heels. The reavers had travelled no more than forty yards before a sudden thunderous din caused them to turn swiftly and gaze back upon their perilous path in mute consternation. With a cacophonous clangour, the upper reaches of the rock face which crowned the threshold of the cavern above them abruptly began to collapse, the black stone crumbling languorously downward to strike the plateau’s surface with an earth-sundering crash. When the resultant cloud of dust had dissipated, the mariners grimly discerned that the entrance to the grotto had been wholly sealed by the rock slide, the narrow aperture now irrevocably barricaded by an unyielding wall of dense rubble and riven stone.

  Caylen stared at the mass of shattered rock, his brow furrowed in disquietude. “Damn and blast! Our route back is lost to us!”

  “This does not bode well,” grumbled Guthlac.

  Ashen-faced, Aelfric scrambled to Caylen’s side. “I spied something upon the ridge! For a fleeting moment as the stone crumbled, I beheld a man, or something cast in the semblance of a man, for I swear he wore the raiment of a serpent’s scaly hide!”

  Caylen’s eyes narrowed as he dourly pondered Aelfric’s words. “This is vexing. We are not alone here. Something watches us, I’ll warrant.”

  “What now?” growled Guthlac. “We’ve no hope of scaling those peaks!”

  Caylen sighed wearily. “There must be another path through the mountains and back to the shore. We must find it, lest the carrion-crows of this accursed atoll pick clean our bones!”

  And in sullen silence, the mariners warily continued their parlous journey down the escarpment to the distant periphery of the brooding jungle.

  * * *

  Deep within the jade labyrinth, Caylen and his shipmates hacked their way onerously through the sweltering verdure. All about them towered gnarled and colossal trees, their furrowed boles entwined by a capacious latticework of tangled vines. Golden rays of fragmented sunlight glimmered down from the lofty arborescent canopy and the strident cries of unseen birds and innominate fauna resounded ceaselessly from the seething maelstrom’s trackless depths. Faintly audible beyond the insistent cacophony of the jungle, the mariners discerned the echo of distant drums, their ominous and rhythmic thrum reverberating insidiously from the veiled heart of the torrid hinterland.

  For two gruelling hours the scouting party traversed the humid morass, doffing their cloaks as the temperature steadily rose to truly dolorous levels of calefaction. At length they found their path obstructed by a strange object which loomed partially hidden within the dank, vine-thronged undergrowth. As the mariners drew closer they discerned that it was an altar hewn from black stone, its blood-caked surface etched with an array of eldritch glyphs and sigils. Atop the darksome plinth squatted a vile, moss-encrusted statue carved to embody some foul and iniquitous union of man and serpent, its graven hide adorned with scales and its leering face akin to the toothsome countenance of a great snake.

  Caylen smiled mirthlessly as he gazed at the black effigy, his eyes sparkling with the light of grim recognition.

  “What unholy idol is this?” hissed Guthlac.

  “Unholy indeed,” growled Caylen. “I’ve seen its like before, in the catacombs deep beneath the desert fortress of Gul-Azlaan. Give the damned thing a wide berth, lest it begin to speak!”

  Guthlac cast a puzzled glance at Caylen, but thought better of pressing him to elucidate.

  “That carving fair resembles the thing I spied on the ridge,” enounced Aelfric.

  “I’ll wager it does,” said Caylen, wiping beads of sweat from his furrowed brow. “And I’m beginning to fathom just what may await us on this bedevilled isle. Onwards, lads! And keep your steel at the ready!”

  The jungle slowly ceded another laborious mile to the unfaltering stride of the mariners, until at last the clawing green vault grudgingly yielded to the comparative paucity of a wide clearing blanketed by turgid, viridian grass. Keeping silently to the shadowed perimeter of the treeline, Caylen and his companions gazed incredulously into the centre of the verdant dell, their eyes wide in rapt astonishment. Kneeling upon the ground was a young woman whose delicately beauteous visage seemed oddly incongruous with the torrid and incult environs within which she dwelt. The girl’s winsome features were bewitchingly elfin and her supple limbs were slender yet toned with muscle. Her skin bore the hue of sun-kissed bronze and her long, lustrous hair was blacker than sable. The nymph’s lissome body was adorned with scant little clothing; a meagre doe-skin loincloth hanging from her narrow hips and several broad strips of soft leather binding her ample bosom. Unshod, she wore ornate wrist and ankle bracelets evidently fashioned from ruel-bone, and an ovoid, green crystal amulet hung from a rawhide thong about her neck. Oblivious to her enraptured watchers, the woman was digging assiduously into the soft earth with a
crudely hewn stone knife and uprooting violaceous herbs which she then placed carefully into a small leather pouch at her side.

  “By the gods, Caylen!” whispered Guthlac hoarsely. “Has this accursed heat addled my brain? Tell me you too can see that enchanting little sprite!”

  “I see her,” breathed Caylen. “Is she native to this isle, I wonder? And if so, where hides her tribe?”

  Guthlac grinned. “Well, wherever they are, I hope all their wenches look like her!”

  “They might know of a path through the mountains,” growled Caylen. “Or mayhap even have information about the jewelled city we seek!”

  “Aye… that was my reckoning too, of course,” muttered Guthlac.

  Caylen was pondering how best to approach the kneeling woman when there suddenly boomed from the far side of the clearing the resounding clamour of snapping vines and splintering boughs. The gnarled branches at the edge of the dell instantly began to sway violently as if assailed by a tumultuous tempest and the girl clambered hastily to her feet before the shuddering treeline. Abruptly, there emerged from the tangled forest a great saurian snout, thrice as broad as that of an aurochs and studded with a myriad jagged, bony protrusions. With a final clangourous crash, the entirety of the primeval beast then slowly lumbered forth from the jungle and bellowed an ear-splittingly horrisonant roar. The creature that had shambled from the trees was akin to a colossal reptile, its slavering maw packed with an array of dagger-like fangs and its armoured, long-tailed body bristling with thick, serried ridges of coarse scales. Astride the titan’s spiky back perched a rider not unlike a man in shape and stature, but wholly inhuman in its mien and countenance. To Caylen’s eyes, the mounted form was incontestably a member of the hoary race of serpent-men whose existence was whispered of in ancient legendry and the shunned scrolls of arcane lore. The rider’s scaly green flesh was adorned with a cuirass of hardened leather and he bore a lengthy pike which terminated in a serrated three-pronged head forged of some strange, scintillant metal. As he commanded his lumbering steed to bear down upon the terrified sylphine woman before him, the crested serpent-knight’s distended, ophidian face twisted into a cruel and toothsome leer.

  Caylen spun instantly to the mariner crouched behind him. “Ruadh! Give me your spear!”

  The burly, red-bearded man swiftly handed Caylen an ash-hafted spear tipped with a broad, leaf-shaped iron head. “May it fly true, Wolf-King!”

  Surging from the undergrowth, Caylen drew back his mightily muscled arm and hurled the spear with all of his prodigious strength. The well-honed weapon sliced through the air like a divine thunderbolt, spanning the distance to the centre of the clearing in less than a heartbeat. The spear struck the serpent-man full in the chest with a juddering impact, pitching him from his mount and sending an arterial spray of viscid, green blood arcing high into the air. Before the rider had even struck the ground, Caylen was rushing headlong toward the fearsome squamate steed, his axe gleaming in the sunlight.

  Seeing his captain’s desperate charge, Guthlac immediately hefted his sword and loped from the clearing, shouting to the two remaining mariners. “Into the fray, lads!”

  Caylen bellowed a thunderous war-cry as the direful beast surged toward him with its venomous jaws agape. Launching himself in a mighty salmon-leap, he twisted his body at apex of his martial bound and drove his axe furiously into the monster’s great scaly head. The rune-etched steel clove through the creature’s thick hide and bit deep into the skull beneath with a sickening, resonant crack. Instantly, the huge reptile’s powerful legs buckled and it crashed heavily to the grassy jungle floor with a final protracted, sibilant hiss. Grimacing in revulsion, Caylen dragged his gore-flecked axe free of the monster’s sundered skull and turned to face the girl just as Guthlac and the other reavers arrived breathlessly at his side.

  “You are safe now, lass,” growled Caylen as he gazed into the woman’s sparkling, violet eyes.

  Her delicate brow furrowing, the raven-haired tribeswoman offered no reply, instead merely appraising the assembled mariners guardedly and with evident trepidation.

  “Mayhap she does not speak our tongue,” ventured Ruadh.

  Caylen nodded. “More than likely, I’ll wager.”

  The girl’s face swiftly adopted an expression akin to vexation and her gaze swept the treeline anxiously.

  “Snakes that walk like men!” spat Aelfric in contempt, peering down at the lifeless, slit-pupiled eyes of the fallen serpent-rider. “Without a doubt, it was one of this wretch’s brethren that I saw upon the ledge. Did it cause the rockslide that trapped us here, I wonder?”

  “To what end?” scowled Ruadh, retrieving his spear from the scaly corpse. “If you’re right, I cannot fathom the motives of these inhuman devils!”

  “We must seek answers,” grumbled Caylen. “And this woman may well provide them, if we can but converse with her.”

  “Wonderful,” sighed Guthlac sardonically. “It seems we’ve found ourselves imprisoned in a domain of odious lizard-men! What madness is next?”

  Suddenly, a guttural roar reverberated from the eastern edge of the clearing and the reavers turned to behold another reptilian behemoth thundering furiously forth from the jungle’s depths. This saurian steed was near identical to the creature which Caylen’s axe had dispatched scant moments ago, but the appearance of its rider differed starkly from the body of the serpent-man which lay sprawled upon the blood-spattered grass. The second beast’s master was distinctly human in form, his muscular frame etched with strange tattoos and intricate patterns of deep scarification. The man wore a breech-cloth of coarse leather and his sinewy limbs were adorned with ivory armlets. He sported a shock of black, matted hair daubed with thick swathes of ochre pigment and his notched ears were transfixed by several tiny crescents of carved bone. Brandishing a slender spear of blackened wood with a cruelly barbed point, the tribesman abruptly released his rawhide reins and uttered an ululating war-cry, displaying his yellowed teeth which had evidently been chiselled down to fine points.

  “Stand fast, sea-wolves!” roared Caylen, his axe whirling in his grasp. “Hack this foul thing to red ruin!”

  With a strident hiss, the hulking creature charged, its great clawed feet striking the earth with bone-jarring force. And with their steel agleam, the doughty mariners of the White Wolf met the primeval titan’s ravening onslaught with grim and steadfast resolve. Leaping from the brute’s path, Caylen swept his axe forth in a pitiless arc which opened a deep furrow in its serried hide. Simultaneously, Guthlac thrust his longsword viciously between two segments of the beast’s striated armour plating before immediately pulling the imbrued blade free and hacking a red cleft into its rider’s unprotected thigh. Bellowing an oath, Ruadh drew back his powerful arm and hurled his ash-hafted spear unerringly at the scarred tribesman. The iron point lanced grievously into the savage’s broad shoulder, eliciting a guttural scream and causing him to reel from his mount’s spiny back. Rolling desperately to his feet, the wounded man clumsily loosed his own spear in retaliation, but the barbed head merely struck a glancing blow to Ruadh’s bicep as it flew wide of its intended mark. Smiling cruelly, Ruadh drew his short-hafted hand-axe from his belt and advanced upon the tattooed primitive.

  “You missed,” the mariner growled. “I didn’t.”

  Suddenly, the raven-tressed girl loomed like a tawny spectre at the tribesman’s back, and with a graceful motion she drew her jagged flint dagger across his corded neck. Blood erupted from the gaping fissure wrought by her blade and the savage sank instantly to his knees, crimson froth bubbling from his lips. Witnessing this, Caylen grinned broadly and leaped to press the attack against the now riderless mount. But before he could close upon the beast, Aelfric vaulted to its scaly back and drove his sword-point furiously down into the scutes of its armoured neck. The blade sank deep and embedded itself to the hilt, the tip emerging slick and bloody from the creature’s throat. Immediately, the great reptile’s front legs buckled, causing A
elfric to tumble headlong from its back and land heavily before its spiked snout. Instinctively, the mortally wounded beast closed its massive jaws about the mariner’s torso and held him in a slaughterous grip, its razor-edged teeth slicing and grinding through flesh, muscle and sinew. A heartbeat later, Caylen and Guthlac were at their shipmate’s side, but in those scant seconds both beast and man had met their torturous demise. Grimly, Caylen prised the ravaged corpse of his companion from the creature’s ensanguined maw and laid it upon the grass.

  “Well fought, my friend,” he said solemnly.

  Guthlac slowly removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his sweat-matted hair. “I don’t mind telling you that I’ve had my fill of this infernal island, Wolfclan.”

  The sudden sound of stertorous choking caused Caylen to turn fleetly and he stared aghast as Ruadh sank abruptly to his knees, his face pallid and bloodless. A moment later, the reaver collapsed to the earth, his fingers scrabbling desperately at his throat. Racing to their stricken cohort, Caylen and Guthlac watched in horror as the man began to convulse violently before rapidly falling silent and deathly still. Guthlac dolefully examined the shallow wound on Ruadh’s bicep which the lizard-rider’s spear had wrought. The narrow gash had emitted scant little blood, but its ragged edges were slick with a foul, viscid ichor.

  “Poison!” hissed Guthlac. “That treacherous savage envenomed his spear!”

  Caylen’s face instantly became a mask of untrammelled rage. “Damn this accursed place!” he bellowed furiously to the heavens. “I have led three men to their deaths, in search of a treasure which may well exist only in a drunken pirate’s wine-addled brain!”

  Guthlac gripped Caylen’s shoulder firmly. “Every man who strides the deck of the White Wolf is oath-sworn to follow you. These bold souls knew well the perils that our voyages entail. They died honourably, and given the choice, they would make that same vow again.”