by James Wolf
‘Keep going,’ Macen murmured, as he touched Baek on the shoulder.
Baek nodded with a weak smile, and seemed to wade on with more energy than before.
Because nothing grew up in the peaks, each companion lugged with them a few bits of firewood collected in the lower mountains.
‘As if I don’t have enough to carry already,’ Drual muttered under his breath, but none of the other companions heard.
‘In winter,’ Hirandar strode on through the snow, ‘these high paths are sealed, simply impassable. And even though it’s summer, and the sun is shining,’ the Wizard pointed her staff up to the sun, ‘this chill in the air will become bitterly cold by nightfall.’
‘Be thankful the day is still,’ Logan’s breath frosted. ‘When the winds come, it will be twice as cold.’
Macen had never been this high, and he marvelled at the mountain peaks, how they stretched away for an eternity, until pure white snow met brilliant blue sky.
‘Ye heights be covered in white all year round,’ Forgrun puffed out great clouds of mist, in between deep breaths.
Macen could see the Rhungar was struggling. It must have been hard ploughing through that snow with short legs, carrying firewood, when you weighed well over twenty stone. He wondered if Forgrun was regretting his brashness that morning, when he had strapped six logs to his pack – twice as many as anyone else. But Macen also knew the Rhungar would never admit he was having difficulty.
‘Follow my footsteps,’ Macen whispered so one else would hear, as he strode through the snow in front of the Rhungar.
‘Thank yhee, me friend,’ Forgrun patted Macen on the shoulder, as he followed behind the Man.
Macen thought he saw shadows during that icy day. He caught a whisper of a black form crouching on the mountainside, or down a gully, but on second glance there was always nothing.
Logan looked at his companions, saw how they trudged through the snow with heavy feet and heavy hearts, weighed down by the cold, their hefty backpacks, and firewood strapped on top. He needed to give them something to keep their spirits up, something to hold their minds off the cold.
‘Where were you before Dolam?’ Logan asked Drual.
‘On a job in Calledron,’ Drual looked up from where he was plodding through the snow.
‘Calledron?’ Hirandar raised a questioning eyebrow, her breath frosting in the chill air.
‘Yes,’ Drual nodded. ‘Unfortunate incident.’
‘So,’ Hirandar’s keen gaze pierced the rogue, ‘before Dolam you were in Calledron to steal something?’
‘Unfortunately it fell through,’ Drual said casually, not noticing the firmness of the Wizard’s tone. ‘Oh no, not that!’ Drual spread his arms wide, ‘believe me when I tell you, it takes a magician to break into the vaults of Calledron. I couldn’t have stolen your Key-Piece – even if I’d wanted to!’ Drual shook his head and smiled. ‘And I wouldn’t go for the Mage-King either. I respect him, he’s a good man.’
Macen stared at Drual in disbelief. He had thought the rogue respected no one. Macen looked at the other companions and saw they were as astonished as he. The amazement was even visible on Logan’s controlled face, and Macen saw the flash of delight in Jvarna’s eyes.
‘There’s an art to being a thief, you know,’ Drual smirked, all the arrogance returned. ‘To steal something and flee the authorities is hard enough, but to steal something and leave everyone bewildered at who did it – and how it was done – that shows real class.’
Logan gave Drual a sharp look, in between scanning the mountains ahead.
Drual caught Logan’s disapproving eye, and said to the Sodan, ‘I only steal from people who can afford it, and try to go for those that deserve it.’
‘Oh you’re a real saint,’ Jvarna shivered, as she pulled her blanket tighter. ‘Did you ever think of giving some of your ill-gotten gains to those that actually need it?’
‘I don’t know?’ Drual snarled, ‘There’s an almhouse and an orphanage in Dolam, which have been run by the donations of an anonymous benefactor for many years! Why don’t you ask them?’ Drual glared at Jvarna.
Jvarna looked away, hiding her red cheeks. Logan looked at the rogue in disbelief. Macen was amazed, and he really hoped that was the truth.
‘Are you outlawed in Shacain and Marnion?’ Hirandar waded through the snow, leaning on her staff.
Drual nodded, ‘And Darnea, the country of my birth, though I hold no allegiance to that unjust land.’ Drual shook his head. ‘I hate the way the poor are treated there.’
‘So,’ Jvarna said mockingly, ‘you’re not a thief? You’re an agent of wealth redistribution? Is that how you’d describe yourself?’
‘I never said I was perfect,’ Drual smiled, with a dangerous glint in his eye. ‘But the Empress and the Lords of Darnea live their lives in luxury and plenty, whilst they strangle the people with taxes and cruelty.’ Drual kicked the snow angrily. ‘I chose the life of an outlaw over one who has nothing. The peasants there barely even own their own lives, scarcely more than slaves. I will die before I live like that again.’
Macen had disliked Drual before now. But now he wondered if there was a good man underneath the rogue’s aloof exterior.
‘No one should have to live under the yoke of tyranny,’ Logan said defiantly, and he nodded at Drual. Macen thought Drual seemed to grow two inches taller with the Sodan Master’s approval.
‘Well the rich of Marac are no better,’ Jvarna grimaced, as she stomped through the snow and glared up at the mountain. ‘They deserve to have every coin tossed down from their cliff-top palaces, down into the desperate arms of the city’s poor.’
Jvarna told her companions how she had spent her childhood on the cruel streets of Marac. How Marac’s Lower City was a dangerous place where criminals ruled, and the poor people suffered, whilst the nobles glanced down from their cliff-top palaces and did nothing.
‘By eight years old,’ Jvarna kept her head down, driving forward through the snow, so no one could see the tears glistening in her eyes, ‘both my parents had died. By eleven, I knew how to use the blades I carry,’ Jvarna patted to where her blades were hidden in her clothes, ‘and by fifteen I escaped Marac and Shacain, stowing away on a trade ship. I have never settled since.’
Macen saw the sheer disbelief on Baek’s face. It made Macen realise how lucky he was, to have found people who wanted to take care of him after his parents were murdered – and he had his siblings. Jvarna had no one. Her loneliness was laid bare for all the companions to see, and it filled Macen with sadness.
After a minute of trudging on through silence, Hirandar touched Jvarna on the shoulder, ‘The hardships endured can make us appreciate the simplest joy of life, strengthening our character and our hearts.’
Hirandar stopped to wipe a tear from Jvarna’s cheek. The fierce warrior’s grimace turned into a smile, as she nodded to the old Wizard.
The Hand of Fire battled on through the snow, carrying backpacks, firewood and weapons. The original five members each told the newer companions a bit about themselves, before Ragad spoke of the wintry wilderness of his Croma homeland, the Everwinter lands. He told of the great lakes and pine forests that were, for more than half the year, covered in snow and ice. His voice boomed through the still mountain air, as he powered through the snow at the front of the company, clearing a path for the others to follow.
‘I became a slave in the Southlands,’ Ragad’s breath frosted as he spoke, ‘when my longship was destroyed in a storm. All my crew and comrades perished, but I was plucked from the Balyon Sea by pirates, who found me clinging to a piece of driftwood. The pirates sold me to the Southlanders.’
Macen knew Southlanders were a strange and cruel people, who lived in their jungle kingdoms beyond the Wasadi desert.
Logan shook his head, ‘Slavery has been abolished in the northern realms of Hathlore, but is still rife in the Southlands.’
Ragad dropped his head in shame, ‘I was force
d to fight and kill other slaves in the arenas, and I became a champion gladiator. It was They die or you do,’ Ragad said solemnly. ‘That was the code under which we fought. I am shamed to say I killed many innocent men, but I had no choice. I tried to kill quickly, a small mercy, but the faces of those fallen slaves will haunt me to my dying day.’ Ragad’s cold eyes looked back over the company, towards the setting sun. ‘Jvarna rescued me from the hell of those Southland dungeons. Although she never asked for it, I follow her because I owe her my life.’ Jvarna smiled, as Ragad ploughed on through the snow, ‘We soon became friends, and have travelled together since.’
Macen could see why Jvarna and Ragad had kept each other company for so long. They were two lonely kindred spirits, each seeing themselves in the other.
‘You have not returned to your beautiful homeland?’ Baek asked the Croma.
Ragad shook his head, but ventured nothing.
Macen glimpsed shadowy silhouettes watching the Hand of Fire struggling through the wintry wilderness, skulking amongst the shadows of the mountain. But he looked again, and they were gone.
‘The pass forks into two up ahead,’ Logan held up a fist, the gesture for everyone to be quiet and watchful.
The company came up to the divide, and Logan checked the snow, examining the numerous tracks and furrows. The fork in the pass was in the shadow of the peak, so the tracks had not been covered by fresh snow here.
‘They took the left fork in the path,’ Drual’s breath misted in the cold.
‘You don’t need to be a master tracker to tell us that,’ Jvarna gestured down at the hoofprints in the snow.
‘They have taken their mounts with them,’ Logan shook his head. ‘Their horses will not live to see the other side of the mountains.’
‘The right fork is a shorter route,’ Hirandar held her staff towards where the right path wound on round the mountain, ‘but more treacherous. If we take it, we can make up ground on Isornel.’
‘The right path is dangerous,’ Logan said warily, ‘but we are already so far behind. We must brave the risk.’ Logan looked to each of his companions, and they each nodded back to the Sodan.
‘Onwards then,’ Logan said purposefully. The Sodan led them on until night fell, forcing the Hand of Fire to stop and set up camp.
‘We are being followed,’ Logan murmured, as the company sat round the fire, enveloped in thick Rhungari blankets, whilst the frozen winds howled round the mountain and through the camp.
Macen shivered, as he leaned closer to their massive campfire. He was thankful of the Rhungari blankets. They were so thick that, as he sat on the blankets, the cold of the snow did not seep through. Nevertheless, most of the warriors were still shuddering, but if it were not for the Rhungar blankets Macen doubted any of them would survive the night. Ragad, however, seemed to be relishing the freezing temperatures, as he gulped in the icy air, letting the cold cleanse him. Whilst the others huddled under their blankets, the Northman had just one draped casually over his shoulders. Macen thought the Croma was unbelievably tough, or half-mad.
‘Even now they watch,’ Logan said warily. ‘They might be very close. Our fire draws them like moths to the lantern, but without it they would surely attack. For fresh meat, they might even brave the fire.’
‘The Nemeth?’ Drual whispered, terrified, shaking with the cold.
Logan nodded grimly.
‘So there were dark shapes in the mountains today,’ Macen shuddered, as he rubbed his arms with his hands.
‘I saw them too,’ Ragad added.
‘As did I,’ Baek said through chattering teeth, as he hugged his torso with his arms.
‘This is too cold,’ Hirandar said wearily. The Wizard rummaged through her pack and produced a smooth pebble, scored with a rune of power. The Wizard also pulled out a bottle of ruby-red draught. The warriors watched as Hirandar dripped some of the gleaming liquid onto the marked stone and tossed it into the fire.
Macen felt the blaze grow in warmth threefold, as Hirandar stored the Fire Draught back in her pack. The companions all heartily thanked the Wizard.
‘No use in secreting ourselves with a small fire,’ Hirandar grinned, warming her hands on the roaring blaze, ‘if we die from the cold.’
Glancing up from the fire, Macen saw faint slivers of glowing green out in the darkness. They were sinister lights in the black. Those green slits sent a shiver across his shoulders. Macen looked out into the night and saw another set. And another. They were all around!
‘We’re surrounded!’ Macen leapt up and drew his blade.
‘Odrin do shelter us!’ Forgrun rocketed to his feet, and held up his axe.
‘Sit down,’ Logan whispered. ‘Do not leave the firelight!’
‘Do not show movement!’ Hirandar yelled.
The black shadows, with their beady green eyes, crept up to the edge of the firelight. Their growls and snarling encircled the companions. Macen trembled as he saw they were monsters from the worst nightmares. Saliva bubbled between huge teeth in gaping jaws, glistening in the firelight as it dripped to the snowy ground. Their glowing green eyes emanated malevolence.
Macen gripped Estellarum’s hilt, and held the Starblade up to form a barrier between him and the darkness. He tried to steady his shaking hands. The Nemeth emerged from the shadows, taking form from the darkness, and Macen now knew the horror of which Forgrun had spoke. Countless terrifying creatures stalked towards them from out of the murk of night.
He felt Logan and Hirandar get to their feet, and Macen heard the whisper of metal on leather as Logan drew his sword.
‘Back creatures of shadow!’ Hirandar roared. A bright white light shone from the Wizard’s staff, lighting up the snows like the daylight, to reveal at least fifty of the horrific beasts. The creatures let out ear-piercing screams. Those screams grated on Macen’s bones, and made his muscles shiver. He thought the beasts were crying out in pain at the brightness of the light, but it was agony for any listener to endure. Baek, Jvarna and Drual cupped their ears with their hands, in a futile attempt to keep the cries out. Macen’s whole body convulsed against the horrific noise.
Hirandar fired tendrils of fire at the fleeing Nemeth, catching some of them as they loped off to hide, igniting their black fur and engulfing them in flame. This brought ashen wailing different – but no better – than the ear-wrenching screams. Hirandar’s staff faded so there was nothing but firelight again. For a few moments, Macen could perceive only fire and black, until his eyes readjusted to the dimness of night.
‘I hope Isornel was far enough away,’ Hirandar muttered, ‘that he did not feel any of that firework display. But perhaps that is too much to wish for.’
‘They will not return tonight,’ Logan sheathed his blade. ‘But we will keep watch anyway.’
‘Ye Nemeth do kill fer delight o’ slaughter,’ Forgrun shuddered as he sat back down by the fire. ‘An’ be playin’ with their food before they be killing it, if they do get ye chance.’
Forgrun sounded like he was telling a ghost story to children, sat round the campfire, but these evil creatures were anything but fable.
‘What is with those green eyes?’ Baek said fearfully, as he crouched with his back to the fire.
‘My people do say,’ Forgrun stared out into the darkness, and held his axe across his body, ready to strike, ‘there be mountains o’ good temperament that do welcome travellers. ‘An’ mountains o’ black intentions, where rocks be dislodgin’ themselves an’ storms do try ter whip yhee off cliff edges–’
‘Unfounded superstition,’ Hirandar scoffed.
‘Ye Rhungars say,’ Forgrun continued, undeterred. ‘Ye Nemeth be angry spirits o’ evil mountains, who do nay like trespassers walkin’ in thine high peaks.’
Macen could see the Rhungar’s story had a lot of the companions convinced, and he had to urge himself not to tremble. Drual’s gaze shifted around the encircling dark. The rogue cradled his crossbow, finding reassurance in its leather handl
e. Baek’s eyes were wide with terror, and Jvarna whetted her spear blade, her hands shaking.
‘Whatever they are,’ Logan said dauntlessly. ‘The Nemeth feel steel as sharply as any other creature.’
Macen saw how all his companions took heart from Logan’s words, as if a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Even Ragad seemed more relaxed, as he let the massive head of his warhammer rest against the snow.
‘Come on, rest now,’ Logan sat down and got under his blankets, and gestured for the others to do the same. The Sodan Master kept his gaze towards the darkness.
None of the company could relax though, knowing what was out there. No one easily fell to sleep, even though they knew they had friends to watch over them. Macen kept seeing green eyes out in the dark, and he would shoot upright and reach for his sword. He looked around, searching for the Nemeth, and realised he was imaging them in his nightmares. Macen saw two of his friends awake and watching the night, and tried to return to his troubled sleep, laying shuddering in the cold dark.
At the first sign of daylight, the companions were up and packing their blankets into backpacks, keen to get walking and bring warmth to their frozen muscles.
‘Where are all the Nemeth dead?’ Baek gestured around the camp. ‘I saw Hirandar destroy them with fire magic, but where are the bodies?’
‘They nay be easy ter kill,’ Forgrun said darkly.
‘No, they eat their own dead,’ Logan said strongly.
‘Especially if it’s been roasted,’ Drual quipped in, and everyone laughed, even Forgrun – who seemed to be dwelling on the legends he had heard since he was a child.
For once, Macen thought, Drual had managed to say something at a delicate moment that eased tension.
They walked through the snow that morning, and passed some hardy evergreens in rare sheltered spots by the trailside. Today, everyone in the company leapt to gather or cut down anything that could be burnt on a fire. They all now knew the extra weight would be well worth the burden, once night set in, and the Nemeth lurked out in the dark.