Chapter 17
Horag
The night eventually passed, and, true to his word, Pascal woke Olivia and she in turn found herself waking Cornelia. It was silly, of course, as Cornelia was curt but polite. She exited her tent fully armored and was ready for combat very quickly, so Olivia was somewhat sure she had managed to sleep in her armor all night, if sleep it was.
Jezebel complained only once and felt the early rise wasn’t necessary, but she had her porter pack their tents, and the group had to wait for them since he was taking down tents and collecting gear for three people. Luckily, Olivia thought, the porter was a large man, middle-aged, but with sinewy muscles bulging from his efforts. He looked like he could carry all their gear if he could find a place to stow it.
Perceval started them off at a brutal pace, and Olivia was most glad that her armor was as light as a heavy coat in winter. The soldiers were armored in a cheaper scale mail that was no less heavy than Cornelia’s platemail, but she knew theirs wasn’t half as strong.
By midday they were all tired and grumbling, and Perceval allowed for a halt for lunch. Olivia fished an apple from her pack, unrolled a small block of cheese from its thin leather wrapping, and sat on a tree stump, eating.
They mostly ate in silence, and she looked around, trying to find Felix, but couldn’t. “Pascal,” she whispered, having stood and walked over to where he was standing. “Do you see Felix anywhere?”
“Come,” he said simply as he walked back along the faint trail that they had passed earlier.
“Hey! Don’t stray too far!” Perceval shouted, motioning towards them. Pascal just waved, and Olivia followed him about one hundred yards back, where he stood in front of a scraggly tree.
“See this here?” he pointed to the top of the tree, where two very small twigs were bent at odd angles.
Olivia nodded. “Yes, odd so far up on the tree.”
“It is exactly at my eye level, Hand Olivia. You’ll notice that Felix is much taller and he knows my eyes reach to his chin, so he marked this here to let me know we can pass safely through this section of swamp.”
“He did this for us?” she asked.
“Yes. He marks it with two marks because a stray twig or stem may break on its own, but to have two small twigs break at opposite angles is nigh to impossible. This tells me he was here and the way is clear.”
“So that is how you scouts communicate, eh?” She smiled at him as if being let into the secret scout circle.
“Something like that, yes. Come quickly now, before we upset Lord Perceval.”
They quickly returned, and no one said anything to them, but Perceval eyed them closely and they picked up their packs and started off again westward. Not long thereafter they passed the spot where Olivia had camped on her second night of her ill-fated expedition into the swamp. She shuddered as they passed, and only Pascal looked back to frown as they moved through the area. Olivia realized that no one in her original group was with them now, except Pascal and Felix, and he was elusively nowhere to be found at the moment.
After several hours they finally reached a point where Pascal, who was leading the group, motioned for everyone to halt. He went forward for what seemed like an eternity before finally returning as the sun started to set.
“Not far now is the campsite where we found the remains of the Kesh and soldiers from Utandra. Are you sure you want to camp there tonight?” Pascal asked Perceval.
“I’m sure, Pascal. Just lead us, and let’s do this before we lose the light.”
Soon they came across the broader grassy knoll that served as a refuge within the quagmire that was called Kero. All day as they had traversed the trail the ground grew softer and the air grew fouler. A sulfuric and decaying smell occasionally wafted around them on the almost nonexistent wind, and Olivia thought for a time that she would suffocate soon if left exposed to its foul stench.
However, when they reached the clearing the slight rise made a difference, and the air smelled at least tolerable, if not pleasant. Perceval called for camp to be made, and the group went through the motions in silence yet again. Within the half hour the tents were erected and a perimeter watch was set just as the sun was disappearing behind the western horizon. Pascal again left to scout the area for any signs of enemy activity.
Jezebel and her cohort kept to themselves, and Perceval seemed content with that arrangement for the time being. Cornelia did engage in some small talk with Olivia but soon positioned herself at the far western end of camp, since they had penetrated the quagmire as far as any expedition had done previously and they were wary of a surprise attack.
The sun had again set, and per Perceval’s orders there was no campfire lit. Olivia was prepared for the deep black before the twin sisters rose into the sky, when Pascal returned. Though it was difficult to see him clearly in the faint starlight, she caught sight of his face, and it was wrinkled with consternation and worry. He looked first to Perceval and then back to Olivia, before approaching her.
“Get ready to follow me,” he said quietly, quickly moving on to give his report to Perceval. The entire manner in which he talked to her and how he acted gave Olivia cause for alarm, but she simply secured her gear and prepared to follow him.
After giving his report, Pascal made a dramatic scene, calling for Olivia to show her some of the fauna of the marshlands. Olivia didn’t think it very convincing, but other than an odd look from Jezebel no one said anything.
Soon they were walking west, with Pascal guiding her down any narrow strip of land he could find. A couple of times they had to slosh in ankle-deep waters, but nothing to cause concern for the moment.
When she tried to ask him where they were going, he simply hushed her with his finger and kept moving, until they had traveled the better part of a half hour. Then at a very small but unique bush, he held up his hand to stop.
They heard a bird call in the night, and then Pascal cupped his hands to his mouth and hooted twice like a wood owl—not that there were any wood owls in the swamp, but his call sounded convincing, Olivia thought to herself.
Pascal motioned for her to follow, and they moved through the waters, which threatened to flood her high-topped boots just below the knees. Olivia wasn’t sure why they had left the dryer ground, and she followed him into the swamp itself in a northerly direction.
Within minutes a grouping of brushes and an old felled log of a tree became visible as silhouettes in the night, and a figure suddenly appeared, standing behind the log. “Hello, Hand Olivia.” Felix’s voice came to her softly as she crossed over to him and stood there for a moment before deciding to drop any pretense, grasping him by his shoulders and giving him a hug, squeezing tightly.
“It is so good to see you, Felix,” she said after pulling back. “I was worried when you never attended the planning sessions with the duke’s representatives.”
“As I’ve told you, Olivia,” he said, also dropping the formalities. “I am not subject to the Crown in these lands. I answer to a higher power.”
“Of course, I know, but you were missed. I’m sure Commander Fulbert wished you were there, and he asked about you before I left. He wanted to come, but Sir Perceval, who is now leading this expedition, convinced him otherwise.”
“Yes, Pascal informed me of everything that has transpired in town since the burial of the dead. We don’t have much time, however. I have something urgent to discuss with you.”
Olivia nodded in the faint starlight. “I’m listening.”
“Look here, but brace yourself for what you’re about to see, and don’t scream or shout.” With this Felix lit a fire stick, casting a faint light around them. She knew it would not last more than a minute, so she followed his hand as it guided the stick into the hollow of the log. There Olivia saw something that made her gasp.
“Don’t cry out,” Pascal said, gripping her arm from her left. Felix was to her right, leaning down and illuminating the inside of the log. There, lying curled up inside
of the log, appeared to be a decomposing body—a man dressed in dark, moldy leathers and a black cape. His hands were clutching something thin and long that was wrapped in a large wet cloak lying in his lap. Then the eyes turned to face her, and she saw maggots coming from out of his tear ducts. She pulled away, covering her mouth with both her hands and audibly gasping.
“Olivia,” Felix said, extinguishing the stick and grabbing her other arm. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment, taking time to breathe deeply. “What was that?”
“Not a what—a who,” Felix said. “He can hear you, and he wants to talk to you.”
“He does?” she asked, feeling shocked and surprised. “Whatever for?”
“His name is Horag.” Felix pulled her arm slightly towards the log, guiding her in the dark. “He can hear you but can’t speak loudly. You’ll need to kneel to hear him. Watch your footing here.”
Olivia stepped forward and knelt with both knees, squatting in the water that was shin high. “Yes . . . Horag, is it? I am Olivia, Hand of Astor. I am here if you need me,” she said as kindly as she could, only seeing now his faint outline form in the blackness of the log.
The dark figure moved slightly, coming right to the edge of the log but staying just inside its protective shadow. A ghastly hand did peek out and motion for her to come closer. Olivia leaned closer, inching her boots in the muddy waters and resting her left hand on the top of the log as she kneeled closer.
“The other men told me about you, Hand of Astor.” She heard his rasping voice struggling as if its throat was full of water. “I have something to give to you, and it comes at a great price.” As he said this, his other hand pushed the cloth-wrapped item towards her and his decaying fingers pried the cloth away, so that she found herself looking at a shiny sword.
It wasn’t just any sword—she saw that instantly. Despite the gloomy light and the still black waters that did little to reflect any illumination, the long sword shone as if it was just newly polished. No dirt or grime clung to either blade or the part of the hilt that she could see. The sword had a long groove in its center with several runes etched within it that Olivia did not recognize. The hilt was made of pure gold and sparkled enticingly. She immediately recognized, however, a small gilded fist embossed at the top of the hilt, along with two crossed swords beneath it.
“This is a sword of the order,” she said reverently. “The etchings in the handle indicate that this belonged to a Fist of Astor,” she said.
“You are correct, Hand Olivia,” the man said, so quietly she could hardly hear him. “The wielder and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms, but she was, as I now understand clearly, most worthy of such a blade. She died wielding it, but it has dragon blood on it!” he said, croaking the last bit as if it hurt him to say it.
“Dragon blood?” she asked. “You . . . saw this?”
“Yes. I witnessed the Fist Seyla as she wounded the great beast with this very blade. The etchings glowed for some time after that, and I don’t know if it was due to divine or arcane energy, but the blade is no ordinary weapon. You will need it if you are to penetrate the black dragon’s scales.” He pushed the weapon farther out along his arm, and Olivia grabbed the hilt and raised it.
The blade felt lighter than she would have thought, much like her chain mail did. She stood up and turned around to clear some room and wielded the blade, performing a series of slashes and sweeping motions and ending in her figure eight, which her weapons master had taught her, even though she knew it was mainly for flair.
Turning back to face Horag, she held the weapon out, allowing the end of the pointy blade to rest in the palm of her left hand while she gripped the hilt with her right. “That is most generous of you.”
“There will be a price for the blade,” the man said.
Olivia narrowed her eyes and looked at him with suspicion. “Pray tell me that price,” she said.
His sickly hand waved from side to side. “Not what you are thinking, Hand of Astor. You must release me and allow me to return to my ancestors. I cannot abide anymore this condition of neither life nor death. I do not want to forever be between the worlds; either I belong on Agon or in Akun, but not like this, please.”
Felix looked at her and leaned forward. “Olivia, he is undead but not exactly like them. He has a powerful charm that keeps his mind his own; otherwise he would be under the command of the beast and do its bidding.”
“What charm? How can he be dead, but still be thinking on his own? He doesn’t act like the creatures we have fought before. They fought in silence, and they had no independent thought. Almost like they were part of a larger design,” she asked.
“Here.” Horag, whose hands were now free, untied a small bit of string that was holding a ring to his decaying finger. It was a small golden ring, simple but bright and clean. “When you take this from my finger I will be a servant of the dragon,” he said, and to her horror he started to stand, exiting the log and grasping the edges so he could lift himself.
“Horag, no, you mustn’t stand,” Pascal said, pleading with the man to stay seated, but he didn’t listen. As he stood with some effort, he faced Olivia, and she could feel his undead gaze upon her.
“Hand Olivia,” Horag began, “there was a reason why you were chosen to be here. There was a reason why I came to be in this situation as well. In return for the sword and ring, I ask only that you release me.”
The man didn’t hesitate, and he grabbed her left arm quickly at her wrist, pulling it away from her and the support of the sword. She had to shift her right arm to prevent the sword tip from falling into the water. The man’s grip was much stronger than she would have thought, and his touch was icy cold despite the summer’s heat.
Pascal and Felix started to grab Horag as Olivia spoke. “No, let him be.”
Horag pried her hand open and took his own left hand and held it over hers. She could see the ring clearly now, and he slowly tilted his hand until the ring fell into her palm. His sudden transformation was nearly instantaneous.
His voice changed to a low moan as if the last air escaped from his windpipe, and his entire body shook for a second. Then he was motionless. Slowly the two red pinpricks of light from his mashed eye sockets glowed brighter, and he looked upon Olivia and reached up to strangle her.
Olivia stepped back several times, and he moved forward, trying to kill her. Felix drew his sword. Pascal already had a dagger at the ready, and they both stabbed at Horag. The man just ignored their thrusts and continued to advance on her, death and doom in his red glowing eyes.
Olivia felt the warmth of the sword, and this was matched by the pendant’s warmth as well. She pointed the sword at where his heart would be and stabbed him in the chest. The figure that was Horag gasped one last time and stood still, the light fading from his eyes. Then in one single sweep she swung the holy blade horizontally and lopped his head off. It plopped into the water. His body stood for a second longer before toppling and disappearing beneath the black rippling surface.
Felix ran up to her and looked at her intently. “Are you alright, Olivia?” he asked, concern obvious in his voice.
“I am fine, Felix. This man . . . Horag, I believe you said his name was, right?”
“Yes,” Felix answered.
“This Horag deserves a proper burial. Will you help me, Felix?”
Felix nodded. “Of course. You are correct—we will take his body to a small glade that is near here where I set my own camp and see to it.”
The men worked quickly to fish Horag’s head and body from the waters. Pascal used an old sack for the head, and they dragged the body in the water, one man at each shoulder, headless though it was.
They traveled back towards the main camp, but kept to the north, and soon found themselves on drier ground. Felix’s camp had no tent, but his bedroll was set up on the crook of two tree roots, though there were few leaves on the tree. The ranger’s camp was, for all intents and pu
rposes, invisible.
The men spent close to half an hour digging a shallow grave, and they used a small shovel that Felix had, each taking turns to make faster progress. Olivia spent the time consecrating a small stone she found with her pendant. When they were done, they placed Horag’s head and body into the grave and Olivia placed the stone on his forehead.
As soon as the rock touched the man’s wrinkled skin, it started to glow a bright white light, and Olivia commanded the men to cover his grave with dirt. The dirt was more mud than soil, but they covered him and she said a few words in prayer before finishing her duties to the man who had recovered the divine sword and kept it for so many days—indeed weeks. Finally she withdrew the ring from her belt pocket and put it on her sword hand, where it fit rather snugly. She could feel the metal around her right ring finger.
When they were done Felix spoke. “Well, I need a few words with you, Olivia. Pascal, would you agree to return to the camp and inform this Lord Perceval—”
“Sir Perceval,” Pascal corrected.
“Inform this Sir Perceval . . . that I will join them later tonight and will bring Olivia back to camp. Don’t tell anyone about Horag. At least not yet, agreed?”
“Of course, Felix, I’ll let them know you’ll be back before the twins reach their peak.”
“Fine, though you make me feel like we have a curfew,” Felix said, and then he chuckled.
Pascal left, and Olivia found herself alone with the ranger. There were never enough suitable places to sit in a swamp, so they both remained standing, and she waited for him to talk. “There are a few more things you should know about Horag,” he said.
“What kind of things? Have we forgotten something important?” she asked.
“No, just that I found him over a day ago, and he had much to say and other things he did not tell, but I could guess at their meaning. I think you need to hear these things before we seek out the beast, else I fear for our safety.”
The Black Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 1) Page 20