Shard

by Wayne Mee

"Farming is what he does best," Thorn said as he sat down beside them. "When he's not tripping over his own feet, that is!" Zoean and Thorn laughed and Timin sheepishly joined in. All three of them were still laughing when the scream came.

  Timin dropped his mug of tea and scrambled for his fish spear. Zoean was even faster, her short blade flashing free of its scabbard. Thorn, however, was on his feet and running before the sound died, the sword pulsing in his hand.

  "Thorn, no!", yelled Mithdar as the little Kirkwean darted past him, but Thorn paid him little heed. The old mage was joined by Zoean and Timin and the three of them hurried down to the water. What they saw made even the aged wizard blanch.

  "Get back!", Gildar was yelling. "Don't let it touch you!"

  Bar Gildar's Lake Warders didn't need to be told twice, for they had all seen what had happened to the unfortunate Warder who had gotten too close to the creature before them. His body lay twitching near the shore, his pain distorted face white at old wax.

  Just then the hissing creature darted forward and clamped its long fingers on a Warder's wrist. He dropped his sword and screamed, then fell to his knees, wreathing in pain. The creature, having retreated so that its naked back now pressed against a gnarled oak, hissed and snarled, tossing its long weed-like hair about. Sagging breasts swung like grotesque pendulums. Foam and saliva dripped from its gaping mouth.

  "What --- what IS it?", Timin gasped.

  "I don't know," Zoean replied. "But whatever it is, its female!"

  "Archers!", Gildar bellowed. "Get your bloody bows damn you!"

  Dinn Orthal, Gildar's second-in-command, a shortish, heavy-set old veteran, began to rouse the startled Warders from their trance. Then Thorn darted in. He came out of nowhere, eyes wide and yelling. The words seemed torn form the very bowels of the earth: 'Cirimoth dag Shard'! The black blade, now pulsing with an inner life of its own, swept up for the death stroke.

  "NO!", Mithdar roared. The force of the word struck the Kirkwean like a blow, lifting him up and slamming him into the mossy ground beyond the creature. At the same time the mage lifted his staff and pointed. The 'thing' by the tree stiffened, hissed, then made to launch itself at the old man. "BACK!" The mage's voice was pitched low, yet all there felt the weight of its power. "GET YE BACK TO THY MASTER! THERE BE NAUGHT HERE FOR THEE!"

  The form cringed back against the tree, one talloned hand flung up as though to break free from an unseen grip. Then suddenly the deformed creature began to shimmer. Suddenly the hideous she-thing dissolved before their very eyes and became a woman of incredible beauty. Clad in a clinging gown of black gossamer, she wreathed seductively and arched her back, the invitation of a lust-filled eternity in her eyes.

  Mithdar stood his ground, though several of the awe-struck Warders began to shuffle forward, their weapons at their sides, their loins burning with desire. "HOLD I SAY!", Mithdar intoned, passing his staff quickly over the five score Nim-Loth. Each one became rooted to the ground. The staff swung back to the temptress by the tree. The mage's words rolled out like thunder. "YOUR FOUL ARTS WILL AVAIL YE NOT HERE! BEGONE! BACK TO THE BLACKNESS FROM WHICH YE WERE SPAWNED!"

  The creature in woman-form turned her wilting gaze in his direction, then smiled. Her voice was like a warm caress. "What, old greybeard? Have thee no desire left in thy dried-up stick of a body? Canst though look upon me and deny thy hunger?" As she spoke she cupped her all but bare breasts and ran a crimson tongue over her ruby lips.

  Mithdar's voice had the firmness of truth behind it. "MY LOOK IS ONE OF PITY, SENDLING, FOR ONCE EVEN SUCH AS THEE HADST AN INNER BEAUTY. NOW ALL THAT REMAINS IS A TWISTED MOCKERY. GET THEE GONE!"

  The shapely form hissed like a cornered cat. The once seductive features turned cold as ice. "Old fool! Think thee that The Lord of Shadows cares for thy pity?! Gorgoroth will sear thy soul till thee whimper like a puking babe for the caress of death! Hot irons will rend thee and I myself will tear thy wilted manhood from thy rotting corpse!"

  "CEASE THY RAVING, VILE SUCKUBUS! THOUGH ART POWERLESS AND BUT SICKEN ME WITH THY WEIGHTLESS WORDS!" Mithdar's voice lashed out and the great pine itself began to tremble. "AWAY AND TELL THY MASTER THAT THOUGH HAVE FAILED, AND THAT I, MYTHDARIAN, HAVE SPARED THEE, THOUGH WITH HIM I SHALL NOT BE SO KIND! NOW, GET THEE GONE!!"

  Mithdar advanced swiftly and thrust his staff into the Sending. There followed a flash of white light and a haunting echo of sweet pain. Then there was but a tall oak before him. Behind the old mage near a hundred Warders awakened as though from a horror filled dream. Timin, now that he found that his legs could move, rushed over to help Thorn to his feet.

  "Thorn-lad! Oh, mercy! I thought you were slain!" The small Kirkwean looked up into the watery eyes of his lifelong friend.

  "What --- what happened? I remember only the scream --- and then running. The Sword was in my hand --- making me --- !" He broke off in a fit of weeping. Timin, his own tears flowing, helped his companion to his feet.

  "Mythdarian!", Zoean yelled, rushing to steady the old mage as he swayed.

  "I'll be fine, lass. Just help me to rest a bit. Never before have I been so spent!" The old mage, where moments before he had seemed like a towering mountain, now appeared bent and frail. Zoean helped him to sit and he leaned his back against the very tree where the creature had just stood.

  "What WAS it?", she asked.

  "A 'Sending', lass. One of His messengers. This one was a Succubus." The old man breathed deeply, calming his racing heart. "Very beautiful, and very deadly!"

  ***

  At that same moment several days journey to the north, a shadowy form that went by many names stiffened as the force of Mithdar's power struck it. Not a direct blow, but, like the expanding ripples from a stone tossed in a pond, the effect was still felt. Standing by the small fire, Skatha, the Shadow Lord's head Nar-Graith, saw the sudden change in his 'master'.

  "Lord Gorgoroth," said the tall, thin thing with the reddish eyes. "What ails thee?!"

  The shadowed face of the Hooded Man turned his servant, the flickering flames making the contorted face all the more grotesque.

  "The she-slut is no more!", growled a deep, other-worldly voice. "Her naked charms availed her not and some strange force has sent her back to the Abyss! Something is astir in Gareth-Withrin!"

  Skatha hissed under his breath and tested the air southwards like a questing hound. Words in a tongue long forgotten issued from his cruel mouth.

  "You are right, Lord. There IS something afoot in the stinking Nim-Lothian cesspool!"

  Eyes like burning coals fastened on him and Skatha was hard pressed not to turn away. "'Afoot' you say? Aye, something is indeed 'afoot' --- but WHAT?! My sendlings whisper of many things; the bloodlust of the pitiful Slathlanders to the north; the resistance of the west; the blood-feuds of the east! But from the south I hear both the most and the least! Conflicting tales and unclear images. Perhaps the dancing flames will show me a sign."

  The Hooded Man then stripped back his long sleeve, stretched out his left hand and placed it in the heart of the fire. The hungry flames licked and danced over the splayed fingers. Soon the skin began to blister and smoke, yet still he held it there. Skatha felt the pain even from where he stood and it brought a cruel smile of his own to his joyless lips. His groin began to throb. As the hand caught fire, the Hooded Man raised it slowly, gazing at it as though it were a torch of knotted pine. Fat sizzled and fell burning to the damp earth like tiny shooting stars --- and in these fiery stars a vision was seen. Swift, sure, yet incomplete, the man that was not a man saw a face from his distant past. By the flickering light of the fleshy torch, the Lord of Shadows spoke to the indifferent quarter moon hanging like the Reaper's scythe in an uncaring sky.

  "Mythdarian the Meddler has returned!" A faint smile flitted across his distorted features. "The 'Shadow's Bain' once again treads the Land of Oma-Var!"

  The Nar-Graith blasphemed in his foul tongue and faced his flame-licked master. "But Sire, how can this be?! The '
Cursed One' has not been seen here for centuries!"

  The Hooded Man turned his cold gaze on his chief lieutenant and, despite the heat of the burning arm, the deathless Nar-Graith felt fear stab him like a cold blade. "What is 'Time' to such as we, Skatha?! When compared to eternity, a mere century is but the blink of an eye. And yet I have waited so long --- so very long!"

  "My Liege --- your arm?"

  "Mmmm? Oh yes. I must now give-up this pitiful form, Skatha," the Hooded Man said casually as the hungry flames licked their way down his still raised arm. "It was never very good, even at the best of times. Find me another. Stronger than this one. Have it ready for my return."

  "And when shall that be, My Liege?" Skatha's reddish eyes were fixed on the burning stump.

  "By moonset", said the unearthly voice. "There is much to do now that I know that the 'Old Fool' is back in the game. Continue northward and have the Karns press the siege against the sniveling Stoners. I want their rock hovels trampled by the full moon!"

  Skatha tore his gaze away from the human torch and saluted in the ancient Balikie fashion. "It shall be as you command, Great Gorgoroth!"

  The Hooded Man chucked obscenely, still watching the blazing hand, the hungry flames now past the blackened elbow. Tiny bits of burning flesh still fell away, but the prophecy had passed, leaving only cold, cruel logic in its stead. "Oh, and send a score of boats southward into the Tarn to 'greet our old friend'. Who knows, perhaps Chaos will smile on us and they might even kill the arrogant old bastard --- though I somehow doubt it. In the end, he and I will have our reckoning --- but at the time and place of MY choosing!"

  "To hear is to obey, My Liege!"

  The contorted face grimaced up at the tall Nar-Graith. "You have never failed me, Skatha. See that you do not begin now! Send Club with the boats that go southward. The sight of him alone should turn the Nim-Loth's bowels to water!"

  Skatha drew himself up once more and saluted his master.

  "And remember, have another body ready for my return!"

  Before Skatha could answer, a chill wind sprang up and swirled away into the night. The form that had played unwilling host to Lucfelian's undead spirit suddenly slumped forward, screaming as the searing pain from the blackened stump reached what was left of its numbed brain.

  Skatha quickly drew his long sword and with one well aimed blow severed the head of the screaming creature. As his pinkish tongue licked the blood from his blade he gazed about him into the darkness --- but already his master was gone, having melted back into the shadows from which he came.

  ***

  Chapter 23:'THE LAKE ATTACK'

  The next morning dawned crisp and bright. Spring had now blended into early summer, and the Tarn was alive with new life. Frogs croaked and birds sang, while great cranes stood majestically and watched the progress of the eleven boats as they moved deeper into the watery world.

  Erin, with Flynn the Narthrond to guide him, led the procession through the wider channels and kept to the open water, using the brisk south-west breeze to fill their sails.

  Timin, munching on a crust of bread, moved closer to his cousin. "Are you alright, Thorn? You haven't said a word since --- last night."

  The wiry little Kirkwean continued to stare out over the water. They were in a long lake, one of hundreds that made up The Tarn, and the golden sunshine turned the ripples into a field of glittering diamonds.

  "So much beauty," he mused to himself; "and yet so full of deadly horrors."

  Timin shifted on the wooden seat. "Well, it's not much like The Wold, and that's for sure! But still in all, it's a bonny place, though I can't say I'll be sad to leave it."

  Nobert, Zoean's grizzly servant, plunked himself down beside them and, pulling from his pack a smoked sausage the size of Thorn's arm, fixed them both with his shaggy gaze. "Either of you lads care for a slice?"

  Timmin nodded and halved the generous portion he was given and shared it with his cousin. Thorn accepted it with hardly any interest.

  "Best keep your strength up, laddie, for once we get to where we're going, the quiffin' Glamroth's will be giving you precious little time to eat or sleep."

  Timin couldn't help pointing out that both of them had already 'done battle' with Karns before, yet the gruff old servant seemed unimpressed.

  "Ock, lad, Shag and his lot be but a few week-kneed quiffers compared to the bunch waiting for us up ahead --- though I'll admit even old Shag-tooth can be a surly bastard when pressed, though from the tales I've been hearing of you lads, you 'pressed' him pretty hard!"

  Timin, basking in the glow of a warrior's praise, grinned from ear to ear and helped himself to another slice of sausage. "You seem a fighter of vast experience," he added around a mouthful of the spicy meat. "Have you traveled far?"

  Nobert pulled a leather flask from his pack and uncorked it with a theatrical flair. "Far and wide and then some, laddie. In my youth I fought screaming Ishtar and yellow skinned Mulers, wrestled Swamp Scalers and sailed against bloody Naponel pirates!" He tipped back his flask and drank deeply, shuddered and handed it to Timin before continuing.

  "I've crossed the Toll Elders and swam with the Gaters of Loc Hel --- Why, I've even trod your own land, and a fair green place it was too!"

  "You've been to The Wold?!", Timin gasped, though as much from the effect of the fiery contents of the flask than Nobert's words.

  "Aye, lad, that I have, though it was some time ago. We Dryfallen be long lived, though not as long as the Nim-Loth."

  It was Thorn who asked the next question. "Then you aren't one of them? You're not a Nim-Loth?"

  Nobert took back his flask and, with a wink, emptied it. "Only by half, young'n. The rest of me is as mortal as sin --- just like you be." The old warrior settled back and dug out his pipe and tinderbox. When wreaths of pale smoke drifted out over the blue water, he continued.

  "The world can be a cold, cruel place for a soul with one foot in either camp. We Dryfallen are seldom welcome in one or the other. My mother was a full human, but my father had the 'other' blood in him. When she died he took to roving, dragging me along with him."

  From the stern Erin called out and the wooden boom swung across and the boat began a north-eastern tack around a long, wooded island. Nobert relit his pipe and continued.

  "When he got himself killed I just sort of continued on. Soldiering, trading, farming, I tried them all. Even was a pirate for awhile --- but Mankind always looked at me out of the corner of its eye so to speak. So I came back to the Nim-Loth and here I've been ever since. The Zorkana took pity on me and eventually put me in charge of guarding her children. Prince Arthdain's been full grown for some time now, so that leaves 'The Wild One'." Nobert chuckled and looked over to where Zoean sat railing at the Narthrond over his choice of channels. "Ain't she something?" The old guard's voice held more than a touch of pride in it.

  The two Kirkwean were about to agree when a horn sounded, followed closely by excited cries. Thorn looked back at the other half score boats and saw seven or eight larger craft pushing out from the lee of an island. The horn sounded again and Gildar's voice carried his shouted orders over the water.

  "Glamroth!", Nobert hissed. "The stinking Karns were waiting for us!"

  As Thorn looked sternward he saw the heavier vessels plough into the Nim-Lothian craft. Screams of splintering wood and pain tore at his ears. Unknowingly he had half drawn Shard. The eldritch blade began to throb in his hand.

  "Don't fight them you bloody fools!", Erin bellowed. "Break free 'n run with the wind!"

  But if Gildar had heard he showed no sign. Standing on the prow of the lead vessel, sword in hand, Gildar directed his men into the thick of the fight.

  Flynn, his keen eyes sweeping the lake just ahead of them, pointed at several other Karn craft coming out from the far shore. Kel, his longbow in hand, sent a shaft streaking northward. It was a long shot at best, yet still the bolt landed in the midst of the lead boat. One large Karn toppled backwards, knoc
king two others overboard. As Nobert and the three Delgii grinned, Erin cursed and swung the tiller around.

  "Kel, Flynn, leave those others go for now 'n get forward! Use your bows as we come alongside!" Erin then turned to Zoean. "When we're close enough, lass, order that stupid bastard Gildar to break clear, for he'll no listen to me!"

  Zoean shot the tall mercenary a haughty look, then tossed back her thick, dark hair. Nobert stood at her side, sword and shield ready to fend off any attack on her person. Cynwulf and the other two Delgii hefted their axes and grinned anxiously over the rims of their shields. Timin jammed his dented helm down on his head and cast about for his fish spear. As for Thorn, he now stood with his naked sword in hand, his face strangely calm, though a dull fire seemed to burn in his overlarge eyes. Mithdar placed a hand on the Kirkwean's shoulder and spoke into his ear, but the hand was shaken off and whatever was said seemed to go unheeded.

  Erin brought his light craft close to the edge of the boiling mess, then came about quickly and luffed the sail. Lashing the tiller, he grabbed his buckler and drew Glenrig. "When I get the fool's attention, lassie, lace into him!" Then he was gone, jumping from craft to craft and slaying as he went. Cynwulf and the two Delgii joined him, leaving the others to hold fast to the closest boat.

  Mithdar came and caught the flapping sail while Kel and Flynn continued to pour shaft after shaft into the raging Karns. Timin, glancing back and forth between the fight and the half dozen rapidly advancing boats, failed to see Thorn follow Erin until it was too late.

  "Mithdar!", he screamed. "Thorn's gone!" Then, without a moments hesitation, Timin went after his cousin and best friend.

  The old wizard cursed and pulled Zoean to him and sat her down none too gently. "You've sailed these craft all your life, lass; well, get ready to do so again!" He left her frowning and moved forward.

  Erin, his longsword cutting a swath of gore and blood, made his way to where Gildar's boat was entangled with another. "Nim-Loth!", Erin bellowed. "Your Princess wants you to disengage!"