by Wayne Mee
Erin shrugged, a wolfish smile spreading over his hard features. "Do as you see fit laddie, but I'll be takin' their boots as well. It'll make the 'limpin' homeward' all that more quiffin' real!"
***
For seven more days they climbed through pine-strewn hills, down into lush green vales and up again. Always the towering peaks of the Tol-Eldars stood before them, crowned in perpetual snow and ice, impassable to all save the bearded Delgii. The Delgii or 'Dwarves' as Manling legends called them, had lived in Oma-Var since time-out-of-mind. Long before the Nimloth or 'Elves' crossed the Sea of Westerness. The land, for the Delgii, had always been called Ran, which in their stony tongue simply meant 'Creator'.
It was into this timeless land that the four wanderers went, following faint trails that goats would find difficult, traversing raging mountain streams and climbing the slick sides of waterfalls so long that the roar of them could be heard long before they came into sight.
On the eighth day, as they were preparing to make camp, there suddenly appeared several short, heavily armed figures. They were dressed in beautifully wrought scale mail and elaborate helms, though their faces were hidden by grotesque masks of beaten metal. Each carried a small round shield embossed with a large black bird in full flight. Caught in the rays of the setting sun, the party looked like a passage from a book of legends come to life.
They numbered nine in all and though some carried short javelins, none seemed to have bows. Axes, knives, maces and shortswords however, hung from them like burrs on a blanket. This was a Delgii War-Band, clearly ready to ply their trade. Erin, cursing himself for leaving his shield tied to the pack-pony, glanced about for a place to make a stand.
Then Thorn stepped forward. His hand was raised and he spoke a line of gibberish. One of the Delgii cocked his helmed head to one side, then grunted something to the others. A rumbling sound that Erin took to be laughter came from the well armed group.
Timin, standing close behind Thorn, fidgeted with his long fish-spear. Erin looked around for Kel, but the Chin was nowhere to be seen. 'Ah laddie', he thought as a hint of a smile flitted across his stern features; 'your sneaky ways might just come in handy after all!'
One of the Delgii strode forward. By his stance as much by his dress it was plain that he was the leader. Thorn repeated his gibberish and again the others laughed, though to Erin's ears it sounded like rocks striking a hollow log.
"Leave go your attempt at speaking the ancient Delgic, the Tongue of Ran, for though I perceive you mean no insult, still your abuse of it grates on the ear." This the leader had said in almost perfect Common or Trade Tongue, though it was somewhat muffled due to the grotesque war-mask.
Thorn smiled and held his right hand up in a clenched fist, forming the Delgii greeting Granther Higgs had taught him. "Indeed, glad I am that you speak the Trade Tongue, for I fear my knowledge of your own is sadly lacking."
The leader strode forward, handing his heavy hammer to a taller Delgi beside him and sweeping off his mask. The face beneath looked almost as fierce as the mask itself. Brown and creased from years of exposure, the lower half was all but covered by a great bush of a red beard flecked with streaks of grey.
"I be Dingle nar Charnwell, Tem Reflin or 'First Strike-Leader'. This merry band of cut-throats you see behind me is my 'sordur'. We're a war-band out Karn-hunting, but by the looks of it, we've found an odd band of lostlings instead!" Dingle eyed them with his stony gaze. "Two 'Wee Ones' and a 'manling' by the looks of you, though there was another about not long ago. Slight o' build he be, with a great arrow-caster. We marked the four of you wending your way up the slope some time ago."
Dingle's friendly manner changed abruptly and his voice took on a hard, granite-like quality. "You'd best be calling the lad in right proper like, or all three of your lives are forfeit."
The two Kirkweans turned towards Erin. Timin's eyes were round with tension, though he still gripped his ever-present fish-spear. He would follow Thorn's lead, come-what-may. Erin stood poised like an overwound spring. Thorn however, merely shrugged and turned back to Dingle.
"The one you saw was a Chin, a 'manling' from far to the south. He answers to none save the big one here, and even then only when it suits him."
Dingle barked out something close to a laugh, at the same time thrust out his hand and received his heavy war-hammer back. "Then you had better prey that this 'Chin' of his comes when he's called. These are our mountains, and the Delgii of Tyree don't take over-much to strangers."
Dingle then walked up to Erin. "Call in your dog, manling, or --- " The red bearded Tem Reflin tapped the head of his weapon against the palm of his left hand. Behind him the Delgii began to spread out. Dingle took a step forward, only to halt suddenly as a black shafted arrow thudded into a fallen log by his foot. Before he could speak, another shaft slammed into the same log.
Erin's face broke into a broad smile. "Or what, 'friend' Dingle? My man Kel could just as easily have placed one or both of those wee stingers in your black heart; aye, 'n still have aplenty left for the rest o' your motley crew!" Erin sighed deeply. "It vexes me that he seldom leaves any for my blade Glenrig here!" Erin slowly drew his long sword, whipping it through a fancy twirl. A bit 'over-done', but it had the desired effect. Seven of the eight Delgii instinctively moved back, leaving Dingle and one other to face Glenrig.
The one behind Dingle started to move forward. Dingle grunted something and the taller Delgi halted, though his eyes still glared beneath his grotesque mask. For a long moment Dingle and Erin faced each other, then the bushy bearded leader's gaze fastened on Erin's blade. His expression of rage turned to one of wonder.
"By Ran's balls!”, Dingle exclaimed. "It's a weapon made from Tarum Glell! How came a manling by such a wondrous thing?!"
Erin held the blue-black blade level with the Delgi's eyes, then lowered it with another theatrical flourish. "The tellin' o' such a tale be long 'n thirsty work, 'friend Red-Beard'."
Dingle was too awe-struck by the presence of a 'holy blade of Tarum Glell' to mark the liberty the tall manling took with his name. To all the Delgii clans of both Hyree as well as The Deeve, the 'black tears of the Creator' was a mysterious and greatly revered metal. By ancient custom only the Gar Raglin, the elected War-Leader and the High King or Kaza were permitted to bare arms made from the rare and holy metal. Tarum Glell, that which the Kirkwean called Twain, was the famous 'Black Gold' that Ragnol Halfhand had been sent to bring back to Slathland!
The taller Delgi standing just behind Dingle whispered something in his ear, to which Dingle answered with a sharp flow of what was clearly angry words. When done, the taller Delgi stiffened and stepped back, leaving Dingle to face the strangers alone.
"'Thirsty work' indeed, but a tale well worth the telling I've little doubt. Call in your hidden arrow-caster and come with us to our camp. We've ale enough to quench the thirst of even a 'talling' like yourself."
Erin cocked his head to one side. "I've your word that no harm will come to either me or mine?"
Dingle frowned. "Be you deaf as well as over-tall?! Did I not just say so?!"
Erin's broad grin washed across his weathered face. "Aye, you did --- but be you givin' me your 'word' on it?"
Like an affronted beast the eight Delgii behind Dingle clasped their weapons, for none had ever before dared to question the honor of their Tem Reflin. Timin, seeing the Delgii move for their weapons, gave a short little squeak, while Thorn's hand went to the hilt of his own short-sword. Erin and the burly First Strike Leader stood glaring at each other.
At last Dingle snorted and slapped his thigh. "By Ran's beard, manling, you're either a hero or a fool! Time alone will tell, eh? Now, I say again, call in your man and on my honor I'll drink a toast to the lot of you --- though a stranger group I've not seen!"
Just then Kel materialized to one side of the red-bearded Delgi, who's bushy brows raised at the sight of the man from distant Chin. "Aye," muttered Dingle; "'n getting stranger with
every passing breath!"
***
The moon was long past it's prime when the Delgii camp finally settled down to rest. The ale was all gone, the songs were all sung and the tales were all told. At first the Delgii had been both suspicious and cautious towards the four strangers, but as the night wore on and the ale was passed around, the hardy mountain fighters warmed to their new found friends. Dingle and two of the others had had dealings with both Kirkweans and 'manlings' before. Dingle had even met Granther Higgs years ago when the adventurous old Rover had traded in these hills.
Kel, however, was a mystery to them. They marveled at his bronze skin and the upward slant of his eyes. His two long dirks or 'a-sa', along with his bamboo longbow also made quite a sensation, for the Delgii seldom used an 'arrow caster' of any kind, and the Chin's was beyond anything they had ever imagined.
By the time Thorn crept to his assigned pallet at the rear of the cave, his head was swirling from the strong brown Delgi beer. Timin however, had somehow gotten there before him, and was snoring soundly. The small Kirkwean covered his even smaller cousin with a course blanket and rolled himself into his cloak. The flickering light of the fire and the lowered voices of the two still sitting by the flames lulled Thorn into the first peaceful rest he had had in many a night.
Kel had earlier indicated that he preferred to pass the night outside, and, after bowing first to Dingle and then to Erin, had vanished into the shadows.
Outside the cave a lone sentry stood guard, with one more far above on the cliff's edge to keep double watch. Karns had been more active than usual as of late, and Dingle was not one to be caught off guard.
"Here, lad, your jar be empty again. Be those great shanks of yours hollow as well as uncommonly long?" Dingle, none too steady on his own feet, weaved his way over to the cask that had been broached when the evening was young. Filling both Erin's tankard as well as his own, he lurched back towards the fire. The coals hissed and sputtered as the foamy contents splashed about.
Erin, grinning like a cat filled with cream, took the offered drink. Pouring a bit on the ground for the old gods of fen and forest, he raised his dented mug in a toast. The rich sounds of his native tongue filled the hollow cave.
"May the cold wind always be at yer back, 'n my the sun shine sweetly on yer face!"
Dingle, his fierce eyes gone reddish from the smoke and the ale, squinted at the tall manling. Erin, seeing his host's bewildered stare, attempted to translate. "Tis a pity you do not ken the Loamin speech, friend Dingle, for I've a feelin' that underneath all that bristly beard beats the heart o' a true 'man o' the isles'!" Erin's smile suddenly vanished, replaced by a far away look. Dingle, ever one to read a man's inner yearnings, nodded in silent understanding.
"You sorely miss that homeland of yours, don't you lad?"
Erin's reply was no reply at all, yet the two of them, Man and Delgi, sat sharing the silence together. More like old friends than newly met strangers, an unspoken bond had somehow formed between them. Whether it was the ale, the fire or the shared feeling of lives lived on the hard, sharp edge of sudden death; both knew the bond was there and simply accepted it.
Erin, his tongue loosened by the strong drink, found himself telling the Tem Reflin of his stern but kind-hearted foster father; of the duel and banishment from his native isle; of the hard years of wandering both on land and sea and of his capture by the dreaded Slathlanders.
At mention of the 'Slathers', Dingle ground his teeth and swore in his native tongue, explaining that the Delgii of Tyree had heard many a nasty tale of the 'dragon worshipers'!
Erin went on to describe how Thorn and little Timin had helped rescue him and how the Kirkweans had 'taken him in'. Dingle was particularly interested in hearing about The Lady Narya, the Erg-Leath of the 'Wee'ns', and why she had given him his sword Glenrig made from the precious black metal that the Delgii themselves considered holy.
When Erin had told of how he had promised to 'go awanderin' with Thorn after The Lady had charged the small Kirkwean with some sort of 'special quest', Dingle had merely nodded, saying something about 'duty and honour above all else', yet when the two Slathlanders Nex and Ragnol Halfhand were mentioned, Dingle said nothing, though his eyes hardened and he bit down tightly on the stem of his long pipe.
As the dregs of the ale cask were downed, Dingle spoke of his own people and of the never-ending war against the murdering Karns. Lately the ape-like monsters had seemed to double their attacks on the Delgii, slaughtering males and animals while making off with females and children. Dingle's war-band were even now on the trail of the foul creatures that had raided an outlying farmstead and made off with the wife and two young ones, leaving the male and his aged mother lying in their own blood.
"Come morning my lads and I are off again. We caught up with the buggers two days ago but they slithered into a bog too deep for us to follow. Lost three of my sordur in that accursed swamp, good fighters and friends each one of 'em! But with your black sword and that odd-eyed fella with his great arrow-caster, not to mention the two 'Wee'ns', we'll soon bag the whole stinkin' lot of 'em!"
Warmed by the ale, the fire and the friendship, the idea had seamed like an excellent one; however, when a gruff hand roused Erin well before dawn the next morning, the 'grand adventure' had somehow lost a good deal of its charm.
***
Chapter 11:THE KARN HUNT
"You what?!"
"I said we'd go with him."
Thorn glared up at the tall manling. His usually twinkling blue eyes had turned a blustery grey-green. Scrubbing his hand through curly brown hair, Thorn faced Erin once more. "But you were drunk!"
Erin sucked in air, willing the pounding in his head to stop. It didn't. When he spoke, his voice was curt and final. "I gave him my word, Thorn. You 'n Timin be not bound by it, but I am."
"Erg shatter me! You were drunk!", Thorn repeated."Dingle can't hold you to something said while in your cups!"
Erin sighed. "Stone drunk or cold sober, a man's word be his bond. I said I'd go n' go I shall, 'n there's an end to it. You 'n Timin must do as you see fit."
Thorn remained silent while all about him the Delgii made ready to march. When he did speak his words held a bitter edge. "But what of your oath you gave to the Lady Narya? You gave HER your word that you'd stay with us. The 'Watcher' she called you. What of your 'word' to her?!"
The tall mercenary winced. "Ah, laddie, it be the very truth you're after sayin', though it shames me to need remindin'!" He muttered something in his own tongue, sighed and spoke again. "Well,'first sworn be first done' as the sayin' goes. I'll just have to tell Dingle that we'll not be huntin' Karns with him --- though I'm thinkin' he'll never be gettin' those two wee barens 'n their ma back without us, him bein' short-handed 'n all."
Thorn's bushy brows raised. "'Barens'? You mean the Karns he's been tracking have captured CHILDREN?!
"Aye, bucko, a lad 'n a wee lassie. They be Dingle's own 'bin-Ran' or 'god-children'. Their ma's his niece. Seems the Karn bastards raided their farm a few days back, killed the husband 'n grannie 'n dragged off the wife 'n barens. Dingle 'n his band caught up with 'em t'other morn but the sheep shaggin' child-stealers slithered into a swamp 'n got clear. The Delgii hacked a few o' them, but lost three o' their own, 'n four more are hurtin' fiercely. Dingle was right glad to hear we'd be comin' with him --- but now, what with my oath to The Lady 'n all..."
"Enough!", Thorn barked. "We'll go after the Karns, but if you get us killed, then you'll have to face the Erg-Leath, and though she be both fair and small, her wrath will wash over you like the sea!"
Erin, pleased that his little ploy had worked, beamed down at the wiry Kirkwean. "If either you or wee Timin end up kilt, I'll have little to fear from The Lady, seein' as how I'll be dead meself!"
The two of them were chuckling like truant schoolboys when Dingle found them. His barrel-like voice boomed out a greeting. "Well now, right glad I am ye both be in such high spirits. May Bal One-Eye
grant we'll all soon feel the same --- when my kith and kin be safe and the murdering Karns fodder for the wolves!"
"'Karns?!'", squeaked a small voice. "Erin told me we were going hunting --- but for Karns?!"
Erin swept a wide-eyed Timin up in his arms and smiled. "Aye, laddie-buck, thick skinned, blood-drinkin' Karns it is, 'n a right proper job you'll be doin' too with that wee fish spear o' yours --- but mind now, be after leavin' a few for the rest o' us!"
As Dingle and his band joined in the laughter, poor little Timin all but fainted dead away.
***
"N' I says, Shag, that we kills 'em now! Stoners be stringy meat at best, but's better 'n nothin'!
Without bothering to turn around, a shorter Karn swung back his hammer-like fist, striking the other in the mouth. Gorf, the complainer, heard something snap below his broad, flat nose. Staggering backwards, he spit out blood and teeth.
Growling, Gorf went for the large axe in his belt. It was halfway out when a dagger sank deep into his throat. Gagging, Gorf sank to his knees, then toppled forward. The force of his already dead body drove the point out the base of his neck.
All sounds in the camp stopped. A dozen pairs of reddish eyes flitted around, seeking anywhere other than the cruel face of their leader.
Shag had been in a foul mood ever since the female Stoner had killed herself the day before. He had been attempting to rape her when she had suddenly cut him with his own knife. All the Karns had come grunting and sniffing around, eager to see the fun. The female Stoner had slashed one and then, without warning, turned the blade on herself. Shag had howled and kicked the body, then taken her anyway.
All knew that Shag was a mean bastard at the best of times --- and these were definitely NOT the best of times!
Things had started going wrong soon after they hit the Stoner farmstead. It hadn't looked like much. A cow, some sheep and a few chickens. Only one male Stoner. His mate, an old granny and two brats shouldn't have caused any trouble.