by Wayne Mee
Smack!
"Perhaps, lassie; then perhaps he'll be rewardin' me for givin' you somethin' long overdue!"
Swack!
"Mithdar but tries to see that we be still breathin' when Arthdain does come!"
Silence.
Timin realized he had been chewing on his knuckle. Feet shuffled in the tiny room. Zoean remained still.
"'N now, is it up you'll be gettin' or do I need to bruise your pretty backside again?"
More silence. Then a small voice said; "Up."
When Zoean stood facing the tall mercenary her angry look slowly spread into a winning smile --- then her right hand landed squarely against his jaw, sending the startled weapons-man back into Nobert's open arms. Turning, she flounced out the back door and up to the main hall. Flynn bowed as she passed, a grin of his own on his tanned face.
"You sure showed her right proper, lad!", Nobert beamed. "Come, let's look at that jaw."
***
Chapter 33:'CIRIMOTH NUI SITH' - 'DEATH TO ALL'
"So, you come at last. I had begun to think that my waiting would be in vain." Skatha's tone was mockingly soft, his stance studied arrogance --- yet deep within his dead heart there burned the flames of fear. The Nar-Graith forced them down, but the coals still smoldered. It had begun with the coming of the Mythdarian. The Delgii stubborn resistance had set the flame of fear alight within him The beheading of Kar'im had fanned those flames to life. The fact that the Stoners had repelled his assaults on the bridge for three days running had turned the flames into a roaring blaze. A gnawing doubt ate awy at him, yet he must show no weakness before these mortals! The Master had made that perfectly clear!
For some years now the Master had suspected that the hated Stoners either had the much sought after Black Blade or at least knew where it could be found. In his guise as the Hooded Man, Lucfelian had pressed the Stoners hard, sending his pathetic Karns to capture and torture them.
When word came by twisted ways that the 'Old Fool' Mythdarian was once again abroad, and was travelling back and forth between the Stoners of Tyree and the Nimloth of Gareth Withrin! Lucfelian, still in the guise of the Hooded Man, had set up a base camp in the Great Tarn between these two hated enemies. Upon finding the lakes and forests of the Nimloth too well guarded, Lucfelian had turned His age-long wrath upon the Stoners of High Tyree. Mythdarian's return had convinced Skatha's master that Shard must be near, and He was determined to regain it at all costs! Only then could He once again come into His full powers and not be forced to take mortal form only through the half dead carcasses of witless fools.
All this Skatha knew full well, but he could not divulge any of it to these Stoners or hated Nim, and especially not to the sly Mythdarian!
"What is it you want, foul Mouth of Darkness?!", Mithdar demanded.
Skatha rumbled out what might once have passed as laughter, then his red eyes narrowed as he fixed the mage with his searing gaze.
"I see that time has not blunted your wagging tongue, Old Fool! You would be wise to curb that fleshy sword of yours, or I might be forced to have it out!"
Dingle bristled at this, but Mithdar stilled him with a wave of his hand and smiled at the long dead King of the Balikie.
"That might prove a deed easier said than done, Skatha-Fallen-King. But you spoke of a 'message'. Deliver it and be gone, for I have no desire to bandy words with a mere 'servant'!"
The scorn the aged wizard place upon this last word made Skatha's grip tighten on his gilded sword, yet he willed the growing rage within him to abate. Lucfelian had warned him that the Old Fool would probably try to provoke a confrontation, for he undoubtedly was protected by some spell that would turn the Nar-Graith's blade back upon himself. Skatha's once handsome face creased into a knowing sneer.
"You'll not provoke me, greybeard, for though I fear not your petty spells, your time of death is not yet here."
Mithdar snorted. "Your master trains his curs well. But out with it, filth, for I too have not got all day to dally!"
Despite himself, Skatha's rage returned. "You've even less time than you think, Mythdarian! My master demands that you send forth the Stoner that slew Lord Kar'im! You have until the dawn to decide. If you do so willingly, The Hooded Man will be merciful --- if you do not, we shall reduce this pile of stones to dust!"
For some time Mithdar remained silent. The Karns, held in check by their fear of the shimmering Nar-Graith, began to stamp their huge feet and clash their weapons. The mage, however, seemed not to notice the growing din.
"Such a thing as you ask will take time to decide. Neither Dingle nor I can so easily cast another's life away, for to deliver up to you the brave warrior who did the deed surely means his death, and undoubtedly a long, unpleasant one at that!"
This caught Skatha off balance. He had been prepared for either a reluctant agreement or, more probably, an emphatic rejection. This third path left him uncertain. Lucfelian's orders had been explicit: if they agreed, graciously withdraw; if they refused, strike the meddling fool's head from his shoulders and take the bridge. This third way had not been considered.
"How long will it take?", he hissed.
Mithdar spoke swiftly to Dingle. The words 'summon the council' and 'lengthy discussion' reached the flustered Nar-Graith.
"Two, perhaps three days. Perhaps even longer."
"You have one!", Skatha hissed. "Dawn is near. With the coming of the second one I shall return. See that you have the wretch ready!"
Without another word Skatha barked something in the guttural Karn tongue and left the causeway entrance. A large Karn made to speak to him but was savagely knocked aside. By the time Mithdar and Dingle regained the central guardhouse, the seething black host was withdrawing back to their camp.
***
A thick blanket of clouds covered the night sky. The driving rain had lessened to a drizzle, yet a cool wind still blew down from the towering peaks of the Tol Eldars. Early summer it might be back in The Wold, yet here on the windswept plain of Tyree, frosty nights reminded Timin of the crispness of early spring or late fall.
"Do you think they will get here in time?"
Thorn, deep in thought, continued to gaze out at the grey plain below them. Through the mist hundreds of tiny lights flickered, and though it was not yet dawn, scores of Karns could be seen mustering for the coming fight.
"Arthdain will come," Flynn replied with a sigh; "but I fear he may come too late."
Three pair of eyes were drawn to the end of the causeway, where Mithdar and Dingle were once again preparing to meet with Skatha. All around them Bar Gildar's Lake Warders readied their bows, while on the causeway at the base of the guard tower, Cynwulf gathered two score armed and armored Delgii for the battle that was sure to come.
Erin, with Kel and the Bard, waited with a group of Delgi at the base of the main keep, ready to rush in when needed --- or cover their retreat. Zoean stood beside him, with ever-present Nobert at her royal heel.
"Look there!", the Narthrond hissed. "The Dead One comes again!"
Timin strained into the dawn's shadows, and saw a darker one within a bluish shimmer. Skatha the Nar-Graith was nearing the bridge.
From atop the tower no words could they make out, yet the result of the meeting was ordained: Cynwulf, the slayer of Kar'im, would not be handed over. Never had it been thought otherwise, for there had been no 'calling of council' or 'lengthy discussions'. It had all be a desperate ruse, a stalling tactic of Mithdar's in an attempt to buy precious time.
The 'time' had been bought, yet it was not enough.
Suddenly a blinding flash of light flared from the bridge's mouth, followed quickly by what seemed a clap of thunder.
"Look there!", Timin shouted. "The cowardly cur must have broken the truce! Ha ha! Old Mithdar gave him what-for! Knocked the ugly Skull-Face right on his boney backside!"
Flynn found himself laughing and shouting right alongside the pudgy little Kirkwean, as the realization of what had happened s
ank in. Skatha, upon hearing the refusal, must have tried to kill Mithdar. But the wizard had been ready for him and had somehow turned the Nar-Graith's attack back upon himself. A shielding-spell, most likely, though the tall Woodsmaster knew that such a spell would cost the mage dearly, for the use of magic swiftly drained the user.
"Ready your bow, Timin! Thorn, your sling! For now both Mythdarian and Dingle will need our aid!"
Timin fumbled with his bow, but Thorn's deadly sling remained limp in his hand. Flynn shook the Kirkwean none too gently.
"Thorn! Rouse yourself! They'll charge for sure now!"
Thorn's eyes blinked and he looked like one just awakening from a long, deep sleep.
"What is it?"
"Karns, cousin! Defend yourself!"
Thorn looked at the seething mass pressing towards the far end of the bridge. Cynwulf's group ran to give aid even as Dingle and Mithdar were retreating slowly. The two groups met and the harsh scream of weapons and death floated back on the early morning wind.
"And so," Thorn said, more to himself than to those around him; "it begins again. Erg save us, will it never end?!"
"All too soon, cousin, if you don't shake off this brooding of yours!" Usually mild Timin had had more than enough of Thorn's dark moods. He longed for the reckless, carefree Thorn he had grown up with. This silent, somber fellow was an impostor wearing his best friend's skin! Somehow he had to drive him away and bring back the old Thorn!
"Get back to the keep then, if you'll not help us! It's warrior's work we do here this day!, and there be no room for moaners and groaners!"
Thorn's sorrow-filled face flushed crimson; his slumped form stiffened --- and his hand went to the black hilt of Shard. For one brief, timeless moment Timin thought he saw his death in his cousin's eyes. He felt his knees start to buckle and he had to fight to keep his bladder from emptying. But something deep inside him stiffened and a voice, strangely like Granther Higgs, called out to him from the back of his mind: 'Stand tall, and stand together! The worst death of all is to buy your life at the cost of a friend's!'
Timin lifted his head and stared back at this familiar stranger. "If it's killing you hunger for, then I'll not raise a hand to stop you --- but the enemy is down there."
As though slapped by his cousin's words, Thorn shook himself, then rammed Shard back into its scabbard. Their small hands grasped and held, and the two friends stood face to face while the battle surged towards them like a red tide.
"Come on you two!", Flynn yelled as he loosed yet another shaft into the charging Karns. "Stir yourselves!"
The two Kirkwean grinned back at him.
"Aye, master Narthrond!," Thorn beamed, and a tear sprang to Timin's eye as he noted that the old sparkle had indeed returned to his cousin's voice. "'Stir ourselves' we shall, good Flynnial, for these black beasts know not what trouble they're in for, having angered not only Delgi and Nim-Loth, but two fighting Kirkwean as well!"
Then, with a laugh like a child on his way to the fair, Thorn sprang up and began running along the top of the turret wall, sending stone after stone from his swirling sling into the mass of howling death below him.
"He's back!", Timin laughed through his streaming tears as he raced after Thorn's prancing form. "Erg strike me but my Thorn's back!"
Flynn, shaking his head in wonder, sought to guard the two strange little Wee'ns, thinking to himself not for the first time that they were indeed fey creatures out of legend.
***
The Battle of the Bridge was a long and bloody one, and great were the deeds of daring; yet though the defenders fought bravely, by mid-day the guard tower was overrun and they were forced back off the causeway. With the setting of the sun they had little choice but to raise the iron-bound drawbridge and retreat into the main keep itself. The battle ceased with the coming of darkness, and though the screaming Karns could not win through the outer gate, neither did they withdraw back to their camp, but rather left a mighty knot of battle-maddened monsters to beat on the heavy,iron bound, oak doors while the rest fell back onto the causeway itself and the nearby shore.
Erin and Cynwulf rallied their forces on the battlements above, dropping heavy stones and boiling pitch on the Karns that swarmed like great black ants about the base of the keep. Yet even this had to be stopped, for darkness cloaked the dark-skinned invaders and the burning pitch damaged the wooden doors more than it roasted Karns.
Though great were the number of Karns killed that day, great too were the number of defenders that fell. Of the Delgii, nearly half of those that marched out that day never returned, the silent, sour Snorn being one of them. Among the Nim-Loth less had died, but still almost half of those Lake Warders who had come to the rescue of the Highlands of Tyree would never again see their beloved Gareth Withrin.
From the strange group of Men and Kirkwean, none had met their death, though all save Thorn, the Bard, and the tall mercenary from Loamin had several leaking wounds that needed binding. Even the swift-footed Chin had taken a gash in his thigh, though he ignored both it and any attempt to staunch the bleeding. Perhaps because he believed it soon wouldn't matter.
The night was spent in trying to catch fitful bits of sleep, for all knew what the morrow would bring. The enemy had taken the bridge and now stood before the outer gate. Burning oil and battering ram would see them into the courtyard in a day or so. The central keep would prove harder to take, but take it the enemy would, if not with force and iron, then with a weapon far older --- fire.
Just before dawn Erin moved silently to where Zoean lay wrapped in her bloody, torn cloak. The princess of the Nim-Loth had fought like a tigress, and the weapons-man was reminded of the ancient tales of Loamin that spoke of warrior-maids and goddesses of bloody red war. Lunolath; 'Mistress of Sorrow' or Vailla ap Gwailock in the eldar tongue of Loamin, but as he gazed down at her sleeping form, Erin was more in mind to see the sweet face of a strange young Rill-lass he had known before the long years of banishment began. There was the same 'sameness' about them, something that drew a man, giving him both a fleeting yet ever-remembered glimpse of bitter-sweet ecstasy.
He reached out and gently stroked her shining hair --- and received for his trouble the point of a dagger at his throat! Season after season of training back in the dun of his weaponish father, coupled with seven long years as a roving reaver of the northern seas, caused him to react with a speed that brought a gasp from the fiery-eyed woman. His hand, in the act of caressing, suddenly tightened on the long tresses and yanked. A swift twist of her wrist relieved her of the dagger, but not the ability to speak.
"Lear's blood, man! It's my head you'll tear loose next!"
Seeing the sudden pain he had caused, he relaxed his grip, but did not remove his hand. "Faith, lass, no harm at all was I plannin', but only to see you safely bedded for the night!"
A suspicious light blazed forth from her dazzling eyes. "'Safely bedded' indeed! And was there need to be 'stoking and fondling' as well?!"
Erin smiled, for though none could truthfully call him a handsome man, there being too much of the wild wolf about his windblown features, still others had found him strangely attractive none-the-less, and more than a few times he'd discovered that an unwilling wench often had a fickle mind.
"Not on my part, darlin' girl. But if you feel the need, then who be I to argue with a 'princess'?"
She flushed red at that and would have slapped his grinning face, had not the thought occurred to her that he would most probably return better than he got! Instead she snorted at him, snatching back the offered dagger.
For some time they remained silent as all about them slept. Outside the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten, silhouetting the Delgi guard leaning on his spear.
"Can we hold the main gate?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.
He could have lied, but Zoean Ithilian was 'weapons-born' and deserved better. "No," he said. "But the central keep can be held, for there be only one wee entrance 'n that ea
sily blocked."
"Then we stand a chance to still be alive when my brother comes." It was spoken low, but it was not a question for all that --- and he felt a surge of pride for her grip him. This time there was no pulling away from his touch, but rather a meeting. Side by side they awaited the coming of the dawn.
***
Wave after wave of them came, screaming and brandishing sword, axe, spear, mace and tulwar. Scores of the hulking, black-skinned Karns threw themselves at the main gate, only to die beneath the hard rain of Nim-Loth arrows and the sharp edge of Delgi iron.
Yet still they came. Black blood flowed in inky stains into the once blue lake, staining the waters round the rocky island a deep purple; and still they came. Arms ached from wielding sword, axe and buckler; throats ached from screaming ancient battle cries; hearts ached for the slaughter and carnage done by both sides --- and STILL they came!
Erin, with Kel on one side and Cynwulf on the other, led the wedge that held the narrow opening that barrels of oil and pitch had blasted in the twin, oaken doors. The iron gate had long since been pried loose from the stone wall and cast into the lake. The portcullis or heavy iron gate had quickly followed. All that denied the blood-drinking Karns access to the main courtyard were the stout hearts and arms of the defenders themselves.
And then the Grel came!
Huge it was, nearly three vels in height and half again as wide! Great and hulking, hairless as an egg, with long, black, filed teeth! A great club or mace it carried, with a great antlered spike driven through the end as long and thick as a shortsword.
And it limped! Favoring its left foot from which two of its four toes were missing!
Club had returned from the dead!
Club, the living nightmare that had led the attack against them in the Tarn; the same creature that Erin had twice opened its belly and Zoean had chopped the toes from! Club, which had last been seen sinking into the murky depths of a bottomless swamp, now once again lumbered towards them like a moving mountain!