by Wayne Mee
Like a cold wind shifting through long grass,. a ripple of fear passed through the defenders. None escaped it, and though few fled from this walking horror, fewer still rushed to meet it! Among those who did were Cynwulf son of Cigwulf, Rif-Dag of the Highland Delgi of Tyree; Erin Ap Conn, an exiled weapons-man from the green isles of Loamin, and copper-skinned, slant-eyed Kel the Chin.
Two Delgii came as well, but as Erin ducked a vicious blow from the monsters club, one of the two luckless Delgi found himself spitted by that long spike, while the other was kicked aside by a leg the size of a half-grown oak!
Erin opened up a long slash on the creature's leg, then jumped back. Kel, his two a-sa gleaming in his hands, came at it from the side --- only to be brushed away like a bothersome fly!
"It's not with iron we'll be stoppin' this thing!", Erin yelled, all the while his longsword Glenrig darted and swirled.
"And it's no wizard I am, Longshanks!", the Rif-Dag replied, hewing a piece from the wooden mace and receiving a bone-jolting blow for his trouble. "Where be yer spell-casting friend?!"
Club's massive weapon slammed into the stone archway, sending a shiver through the ancient wall.
"Tendin' the wounded, Axe-man! Though it's us he'll be after tendin' afore long!"
Then Kel leapt off the leaning door and landed like a slant-eyed cat on Club's broad shoulders. The Grel shook like a dog just out of the water, but the Chin clung on, one arm around Club's bull neck, while in the other an gleaming blade flashed.
"Erin! Get back!"
The tiny voice came from above. Glancing up, Erin saw Zoean and the two Kirkwean standing on the narrow walkway above the main gate. The two Wee'ns wrestled with a barrel, while Zoean held a lit torch.
"Get back, manling!", Zoean screamed. "We're going to burn the bastard!"
"Kel, jump clear!"
Even as the words left Erin's lips, Kel drove one of his wicked a-sa up to the hilt in the Grel's right ear. The creature bellowed out a cry that froze the heart of all within hearing --- then Club shook Kel off like a dog shakes off fleas!
The Chin landed lightly and rolled clear just as Thorn and Timin upended the barrel of oil and Zoean tossed down her torch. Soaked from hairless head to mutilated foot, in less than a heartbeat, Club's massive body became a living torch itself. Wreathing in pain, the living bonfire staggered back from the shattered gateway and onto the causeway, its great club swinging to and frow. Once it struck the high stone railing. Twice. The third time the mortered rock split asunder and fire-blackened stone and flaming Grel plunged into the wine red water. Neither rock nor monster floated to the top.
For a frozen space of time none moved. Axe, sword and spear remained tightly clutched in sweating hands. Hearts pounded and eyes stared --- and then the horn was heard!
Low and long came its call, rising to a high, shrill note. From the distance came a muted thunder, which grew swiftly into an earth shaking roar. A strident voice called out and a thousand eyes followed the speaker's pointed spear. And all saw a sight seldom seen before; for across the green plain at the end of the causeway came a great mounted host.
'Arthdain!', Zoean mouthed silently, seeing the swiftly approaching mass of riders sweep through the enemy's camp and cut through the startled rear guard. "Arthdain!", she bellowed. "Look you all! The Nim-Loth of Gareth Withrin have come at last!"
***
Chapter 34:'THE HIGHLAND WAR'
With the coming of Arthdain's mounted host, the besieging army of Karns were swept away and scattered like so much chaff before the wind. Few of the black beasts had ever seen a horse, and the sight of a mounted rider sweeping red death through their ranks soon had most of the craven creatures running for their lives!
The Delgii, led by Dingle and Cynwulf, stormed across the shattered causeway and carried the battle to the heart of the enemy camp. Erin, wearing his black 'Raven Armour', went with them, as did most of the original adventurers. The bard, Roary Ol'Heath, strode along beside them, his gilded harp keeping time to the tromp of booted feet and the harsher sound of ringing iron. Onooga, now accepted by all as a woman of warrior status, strode at his side, a long pike keeping at bay any foolish enough to attack a bard about his 'sacred work'!
Nor was the glden-haired beauty the only female abroad that day; for the wives and maidens of the Delgii also took to the field, brandishing sword and shield, axe and spear with a ferocity that brought a look of pride to their male counterparts!
As for black-haired Zoean Ithilian, none dared gainsay her a place in the forefront of battle. Dressed in a glittering helm and ring-shirt of ancient Nim-Loth design, she carried shortsword and bronze-rimmed buckler and used them well! Nobert, ever watching her back, savagely launched himself at any Karns foolish enough to come within swords reach of his precious princess.
Calus Erwirth, leader of the hundred or so Delgii that had continually stung the monstrous army for so long from their base up in the hills, now came pouring out of the surrounding woods and rocky vales and joyously joined in the great slaughter, so that the startled attackers found themselves attacked from three sides!
By the time the sun had halfway reached noon the Karns were scattering northward and those from the beleaguered fortress came face to face with their rescuers. Arm weary and short of breath, though grinning from ear to ear, the gore-splattered Delgi and Nim-Loth met. Zoean, covered from head to toe in black Karn blood, ran to greet her likewise besmeared brother. The Zor and the Zorina of that ancient race embraced on a field of carnage. A shout went up from the tired yet jubilant warriors around them. Dingle, in his role of Tem-Riflin or 'elected war-leader', swept off his grotesquely masked helm and greeted Arthdain warmly. It was while grasping the red bearded Delgi's outstretched hand that the brother saw the sister do that which brought a sudden frown to his handsome features. Zoean, only daughter of Agwain Ithilian , Zorka of the Nim-Lothian Silv of Gareth Withrin, threw her arms around the tall manling and planted on his lips a kiss that carried with it far more than a friendly greeting!
Anger flared up within the haughty prince. Long had he counseled his father to have nothing to do with the upstart race of Men. Their foul, greedy ways ran counter to all that Arthdain believed in. He had heard the tales of woe told of what had happened to the distant Silv of Finfairin since the coming of the 'manlings'! The sacred groves in their Greenwood had been cut down for timber for the many homes and tall ships of the 'menling'; the sweet-flowing Narn Tinuaith had been damned and polluted by the cesspool cities of this newer, ungovernable 'race of wreckers'! The 'Old Ways' were fast slipping into the past; Lear the Father and his mate, Quent the Earth Mother, were sneered at! The holy Daughters of Quent were called harlots and whores! War, corruption, famine and death followed the Race of Man like scavenger crows, forever picking on the dying carcass of things that had not changed since time-out-of-mind! Man, for Arthdain, was a spreading pestilence that needed to be avoided at all costs, if not blotted out altogether!
And here he found his own sister throwing herself into the arms of a thrice-cursed 'manling'!
In two short strides he was by their side. A blood covered hand tore Zoean from Erin's embrace. Fierce blue eyes glared into wolf-grey ones.
"Leave go my sister, 'manling'! Neither she, nor her like, be for you!" Arthdain had used the Trade Tongue, spitting the word 'manling' out as though it had a foul taste to it.
Erin, taken by surprise, glared back. "Faith, man, it be but the excitement of the day! The darlin' girl here but wanted to share her joy at seein' yourself come so timely to our aid!"
Without warning, Arthdain struck the tall mercenary smartly in the face. Startled, as well as staggered, Erin reacted by reaching for his longsword. The blade was only half out of its scabbard when Zoean leapt between them.
"What foolishness is this?! Have you taken a blow to the head, brother, or has all this killing driven you fey?!"
Arthdain's reply came loudly back to her. "You'll not bring disgrace to yourself, your family or your race
by letting this 'manling' lay his filthy hands on you!"
Zoean's dark brows shot skyward and she placed her hands defiantly on her hips. "Oh, I'll 'not', you say? Well, brother mine, as to the 'laying on of hands', t'was I and not this 'manling' here who stated it, and him after being given the grand title of The Raven by none other than our royal father himself! T'was his valor and strong right arm, and not yours, dearest brother, that kept us all alive while you dallied on your merry way!" She moved closer to the wide-eyed weapons-man so that her mailed shoulder brushed against his arm. "The courage of The Raven and these others you see about me is not to be doubted, and in future I'll thank you to keep you bigoted opinions to yourself!"
Erin had cooled down by this time, and, seeing the fine temper Zoean was in, grinned and tried to make things right.
"Well now, big brother, it seems we're both after takin' a beatin' this day! What say we let it pass, 'n find somethin' besides water to drink? I've a terrible thirst on me that a sober man should never have to endure!"
From the crowd that had gathered there came a few good-natured laughs, and the weapons-man of distant Loamin stuck out his hand. Arthdain however just glared back at him, then turned and mounted his lathered horse. His words, when they came, had a coating of ice to them.
"Tem-Riflin Dingle, to fulfill the oath between both your people and mine, we came here this day. My father, the Zorka, would not have it said that the Nim-Loth failed to keep their given word. Your enemy and ours, the bloody black Karns, have been driven from the field, but not from these mountains." He drew his long sword and held it high for all to see. His voice boomed out for all to hear. "I, Arthdain Ithilian of the Silv of Gareth Withrin, do hereby swear to stay for a year and a day to help you rid your lands of this hateful enemy! I also swear the Three-Fold Oath; that neither fair weather nor foul, fire nor flood, hunger nor pain shall keep me from this task!"
Both the Nim-Loth and the Delgii thundered back their joyous response, for all knew that an end must be made once and for all to the bloody Karns, less they return from the high northern mountains and once again begin their rein of terror.
Arthdain lowered her voice as well as his sword and leveled both at Dingle. "I also give you, Master Delgi, my 'personal oath'. Should anything 'unseemly' befall my sister at the hands of yonder 'manling' whilst under either your protection or your roof, not all the powers of Lear Above nor Quent Below will save either ye or him from my wrath!"
Dingle, his gore-spattered helmet in one hand and his darkened war-hammer in the other, stepped close to the mounted Nim-Loth and grinned up at him.
"Greeting and thanks I give both you, Prince Arthdain and your father for your timely aid. Your gracious offer to help rid our fair mountains of these murderous Karns is also welcomed and humbly accepted." Then Dingle's voice dropped as well as his grin. "But as to your sister and her choice of friends, she's more than earned the right to pick and choose for herself --- also, if you ever threaten me again, it's not a friendly smile I'll be giving you, but the head of my hammer!"
Zoean moved up and, taking her brother's hand and Dingle's, smiled sweetly at them both. "Well, now THAT is settled, and you've both barked and strutted your fill, let's get us off this corpse-ridden field before the crows carry us all away!" She turned to glance at Erin over her shoulder. "There was mention of good cold ale, warrior of Loamin? Methinks we could all do with a taste!"
Erin grinned back and swiftly hoisted an exhausted Timin to his broad shoulders. "A 'taste' did ye say, darlin' girl?! Faith, t'is a whole barrel I'm after wantin'!"
All soon began to move off in the direction of the causeway. Thorn, blood-spattered and weary like the rest, tucked his sling into his belt pouch and stood watching the very young and very old search the field for wounded not yet removed. Later, they would come for the bodies of the slain defenders. The Karns would be dragged away and left for the wild beasts and scavenger birds. Thorn sighed and cast his gaze once more over the trampled field of death and wondered not for the first time when it would all end.
Shard, the unused shortsword, pulsed faintly at his side.
***
The battle was over and the long siege of Tyree had been lifted. The Karns had scattered, the bulk of them fleeing northwards. As for Skatha and any other surviving Nar-Graith there was no sign. But though the battle had been won and the enemy dispersed, the war itself was far from over, for it proved to be only the first in a long line of 'battles' that lasted from early summer through to the coloring of the leaves. True, there were no more 'sieges', and the fighting was done by much smaller groups, usually occurring high on a wind-swept hill or deep in a cloven river valley, as the 'defenders turned attackers' attempted to hunt down the remnants of the enemy and put an end to them once and for all --- yet still savage slaughter was done by both sides.
With the falling of the leaves however, their came a new blow to the combined forces of the Delgii and Nim-Loth --- men. Swarthy, savage, dark of feature and cruel of heart, these men, rumored to be from the some desert land far to the south, began to be seen fighting WITH the Karns! Though not as physically powerful as the Karns, these new allies possessed several things their 'beastly brethren' lacked: shortbows made of strong, curved horn; weapons and armour made of blade-turning iron and, the most dangerous weapon of all; a cunning, crafty mind.
Thorn and his party had first seen them some time ago while fleeing eastward through the Tarn. Erin and the others had surprised a small party of them. None of the swarthy warriors had escaped, yet now, a season later, scores of them turned up fighting alongside the hated Karns and the dreaded Nar-Graith!
One night, while the winter winds howled round the stone keep of Dingle's clan, Thorn had asked Mithdar about these new invaders. The old mage, his eyes and nose still red from the chill he had caught from the last 'hunting party', looked long into the fire that snapped and crackled merrily in the central hearth. All about them were both Delgii and Nim-Loth, each one seeing to his own needs and lost in his own thoughts. Half of the combined force were 'out on patrol'. As Tem-Riflin, their elected war leader, Dingle had followed the ancient Delgi tradition of organizing them into 'sodurs' of ten fighters each. Each sodur in turn elected its own Rif-Dag or leader and spent five days out of every ten hunting Karns.
Thorn's 'sodur' was slightly different, being made up mostly of the Company that had gone by boat to the town of Blackwater. Erin was their 'leader', with the Narthrond Flynn his 'second'. Silent Kel and the two Kirkwean were constant members, as was Mithdar, though he seldom went 'out' twice in a row. Others who often joined them were the bard Roary Ol'Heath and his 'boy-turned-woman' companion, Ono. Onooga was her real name, and though she had fast earned the name 'Blade Woman', for she was fierce, reckless and very deadly with spear or shortsword. Grey bearded Bragi accompanied them now and then, along with a few other Delgii. Several Nim-Loth had also attached themselves to Flynn, eager to learn from the Woodsmaster. As for the Lady Zoean, she insisted on joining them whenever she could get out from under her brother's watchful eye. Her ever-present bodyguard, the Dryfallen or 'halfbreed' Nobert, naturally came along.
Thorn's unique sodur was preparing to leave the main fortress and go out on a Karn hunting again early the next morning.
Mithdar blew his nose with a piece of red cloth and settled back before the hearth. "These men that now fight alongside the Karns come from the southern continent of Jarlish-Xyx. They call themselves Balikie, wandering mercenaries who have somehow crossed the Middle Sea and landed here in the southern portion of Oma-Var, probably below Gareth Withrin."
"But WHY?", Thorn demanded.
"Many reasons", the mage replied. "The promise of riches, land, power. These things have drawn humans of questionable values since time began."
"'Promises'?", the little Kirkwean repeated. "Promises made by WHO?!"
The old man's eyes narrowed, fixing on the black shortsword at Thorn's hip. "I think that we both know the answer to that."
> The little creature followed the wizard's gaze. For a moment or two Thorn seemed to be struggling to say something. At last he blurted it out.
"I've done as you suggested. I haven't USED it since we came here --- but it IS hard! It --- it seems to CALL me! Just the other day, when we were surprised by those Karns and these new Balikie men, I suddenly WANTED to draw it and rush forward! Timin stopped me and we both used spears instead --- but Mithdar, it's almost like Shard was FORCING me to use it --- DEMANDING that I redden it's black blade!"
The little Kirkwean turned away, dry sobs wracking his frail body. Mithdar laid a gentle hand on the trembling shoulders.
"War makes us all carry heavy burdens, Thorn. Yours however, may prove to be the heaviest of all; yet no one else may take it from you. Do you remember when Timin tried?"
As the memories dredged up by Mithdar's words flooded into his brain, pain of a far different nature showed in Thorn's drawn features. It had been a few months ago, at the Yuletide Feast, held in the Dingle's island fortress. The ending of the old year and the beginning of the new one was at hand, and despite both the war and the weather, there was a spirit of renewal apparent. Faces, bearded and wrinkled with age as well as those as yet untouched by the passing of time, all seemed brighter of eye and lighter of step --- and not all due to Delgi ale. Hope was in the frosty air, and ethough the land outside remained locked for the present in winter's white grip, all knew that spring was slowly coming round once more.
There had been much merry making; tumbling, juggling, singing and dancing. Mock contests with sword, axe and bow had caused the time-blackened rafters to ring with the clatter of blunted weapons and hearty cheers.
There had also been much quaffing of ale, wine and a sweet brew called mead. By midnight heads were swimming and more than a few slept the old year away beneath tables piled high with food and drink.
Thorn, a strange mood on him, had laughingly emptied several horns of the Delgii brown ale and called for more. As the gaiety of the party swirled around him, he found his thoughts drawn to the black shortsword at his side. As Mithdar had cautioned, he had not used it either in battle or practice, yet as he watched Cynwulf defeat in mock combat both all Delgii and Nim-Loth who challenged him, he had a sudden urge to draw Shard and rush the overbearing Rif-Dag!