by Wayne Mee
"What about my stew?!", Timin moaned.
"Use it to put out the fire, buck-o!", Nob chuckled.
The little Kirkwean frowned but quickly did as he was told, all the while muttering to himself about 'tasteless louts'! The two Nim-Loth guards silently materialized from the wooded hill and the strange 'sodur' was ready to move.
"Their tracks lead northeast, towards that valley," Zoean said, pointing to the trail Kel and Flynn had made through the snow."
Erin grinned. "Faith, lass, t'is a poor pupil you must have been for kind-hearted Flynn! They'll not be coming back the same way they left, darlin' girl, but make a large circle instead. It's that way we'll be goin', up into yonder highlands."
Zoean's regal chin lifted. "And if you're wrong, 'darlin' boy'?!"
Erin's grin widened. "Animals, be they four footed or two, take to the high ground when pushed, 'n we been pushin' this lot pretty hard. But if I'm wrong, then it's beggin' your humble pardon I'll be, lass --- 'n perhaps a kiss as well!"
Nobert grunted out a laugh that Zoean promptly withered with an icy stare before turning back to Erin. "If you be wrong, Raven, then it's the 'kiss of death' we could all be getting!"
Erin smile never faltered as he placed the Raven circlet on his head. Twice now the strange band of reddish metal had turned blows that would have shattered a proper helmet, and though he didn't understand it, he was more that willing to wear it. "After you, darlin' girl, unless you'd rather sit here on your royal rump 'n freeze?"
Zoean flashed him her most regal gaze and strode past. The rest followed and soon found themselves climbing the heights of a pine-covered cliff.
From the broach pinned over Thorn's heart and the sword swinging at his hip, two separate, opposing, eldritch flames began to burn; one for good, one for evil, both invisible to the untrained eye, yet just as real as the death that awaited them on the slopes up above.
***
Jalar had had just about all of the 'Hooded Man' that he could stand. He had brought his clan of Balikie over the Bitter Sea because he had been promised an easy war, unending wealth and willing women. What he had found was a long, nearly lost war, little or no wealth and absolutely no women!
The ghoul-like Nar-Graith, however, frightened him. The Balikie leader had seen them hardly wince at blows that would have killed the toughest desert warrior, yet even they couldn't defeat these leather-hard Stoners or the silent and deadly Nim!
As for their 'Hooded Man', Jalar thought he wasn't worth a bag of camel shit! All Jalar had ever seen was a sweating, half-dead human who spoke with a voice from the grave. True, the eyes had burned like living coals and his breath smelt like rotting meat, but that was all. Over the winter Jalar had seen the 'body' replaced a half dozen times, but the burning eyes and the hollow voice had always remained the same.
Jalar turned and spit into the snow. But this time their 'great leader' had gone too far! He had possessed one of Jalar's own men! The fact that Jalar had never liked the large, swarthy warrior mattered not. What this 'Shadow Lord' had done was blasphemy!
Jalar ben Hadat made a decision. He was going home, and he was taking what remained of his Balikie with him --- but first he would cut the heart out of the tall man in the black armour and the red crown.
Twice now he had tried to do just that. The first time had been over a moon ago. His sword had broke on that black armour and he had received a kick in his seed-sac that would probably cause his wives to produce only female children! The second time had been only yesterday. During the ambush the tall demon had killed Jalar's younger brother with that great black sword of his. Jalar had tried to reach him, but the falling boulders and clouds of snow and rock had carried them apart.
But Jalar was patient. Soon now he would have his revenge, for now the stupid fools were walking right into his hands! The head ghoul, Skatha, had explained that the ones following must be held here while he got the Hooded Man to safety. They were to follow later and the 'Master' would reward them. Jalar had agreed, wanting all the while to slip his knife between the ghoul's ribs. He knew there would be no reward; that he and his men were just a diversion. If they killed those that followed, good; if they died themselves, the 'Master' would still have escaped.
Dalga, his second cousin and Koss, his brother's fifth son, slowly crawled up beside him. Jalar whispered a few short words and Dalga left to get the others. Koss, his young eyes burning with battle lust, drew his curved sword and kissed it. Jalar smacked him with the back of his hand and told him to fetch the bows, cursing his brother's wife for fornicating with a donkey and giving birth to an ass!
Jalar could see the 'Flat Noses' or Karns slowly moving into position below him. A part of his mind searched for a curse suitable for the hairy beasts, but nothing came. Then he smiled to himself. Even his brother's wife couldn't sink THAT low!
Down below Erin and the others continued to climb up the rocky trail.
***
Erin's worries were numerous. They should have met Flynn and Kel by now; the hills and trees around them were a perfect place for an ambush; this 'goat's trail' the Delgii had chosen was slippery and treacherous; the bloody river off to their right was so quiffing loud he couldn't hear himself think! And to crown it all, Thorn was acting strange again!
For what must have been the thousandth time he asked himself why he had let himself be talked into 'wet-nursing' a crazy little Kirkwean with a cursed sword!
Then he remembered the taste of Granther Higg's home-made brew and the perfectly formed little body of Narya, the Kirkwean's Erg-Leath. Her hair had been the colour of sun in the morning and her lips --- He shook himself to clear his head. 'Women!', he inwardly cursed. 'They'll be the death o' ye yet, boy-o!' Yet even as these thoughts were coursing through his head he found himself glancing back at the dark haired Nim-Lothian princess. As he turned he felt something brush by his ear. The arrow took the Delgi behind him in the throat.
"Roary!", he yelled, standing over the dead body. "Grab the bow 'n quiver! The rest o' you take cover!"
Arrows bounced off rocks and one snapped on Erin's shield. The bard, helped by Onooga, quickly retrieved the dead Delgii short bow and quiver, then scrambled off the steep trail.
The three Nim-Loth and the one remaining Delgi were returning the fire, but their targets were too well hidden. The bard and Timin strung their weapons, nocked their shafts and waited. Zoean and Nobert drew their swords and crouched behind Erin.
"We have to get up there before the quiffers tumble this hill down on us!"
"What about a hasty retreat?", Roary asked, sweat pouring down his handsome face.
Erin snorted. "It's in the open we'd be, 'n end up like our Delgi friend yonder!"
Nobert spit. "Let's be at it then, Longshanks! Who's to go 'n who's to stay --- 'n before ye even suggest it, my old eyes can't see quiff-all from afar! It's sword 'n buckler for this old lad!"
Erin grinned. "Faith, Nob, none o' us be stayin'. We all move up. Swordsmen in front, the archers givin' us cover."
It was then that Thorn made his decision. Handing his short bow and quiver to Onooga, he drew Shard. The black sword throbbed in his hand, pulsing with power.
"Thorn, no!", Timin yelled, but the taught faced Kirkwean glared back at his cousin.
"It alright, Timin! I can feel it's alright this time! You use the bow. I'll be fine with this."
Erin swore, then led them up the trail in a rush.
Arrows whizzed by them, thudding into trees and snapping on rock. The seven with bows returned the fire, moving up slowly, while the four with bared blades darted forward. Off to the right the raging stream continued to tumble down into the gorge, heedless of the human drama of life and death that was being played out close by.
Nob and Zoean had moved further off to the left, while Thorn followed Erin up a spray-covered trail close to the water's edge. Rounding a large boulder, Erin was suddenly attacked by two Karns. His shield caught the first blow, but the second one knocked him ov
er. The first Karn was about to finish him with a gigantic mace when Thorn stabbed the hulking creature in the side. The second one looked up for a brief moment and received Erin's sword in his guts. Thorn finished his off with a slash to the throat and Erin slammed his shield into the staggering creature, toppling it over the gorge.
"Well done, lad!", Erin said as he scrambled to his feet. "Be you unhurt?"
Thorn nodded, knowing full well that Erin was more concerned about how using Shard had affected him than anything else. Two more arrows flashed by them and one snapped on the large boulder close to Thorn's head. They grinned at each other and continued up the trail.
The sound of fighting reached them as they rounded the next bend. They rushed forward just in time to see Nobert, bleeding from several wounds, all but decapitate a Karn with a single blow. Further up the rocky hill two more of the black creatures were closing in on Zoean.
Erin let out a deafening battle cry and charged. Thorn followed, as did a limping Nob --- but there was little need. Turning at Erin's cry, the Karns saw the weapons-man swooping down at them. Fear turned their bowels to water and their feet to stone --- for the 'Death-Bird' was upon them! All winter they had heard tales about a tall manling called the Raven who appeared swiftly, killed swiftly and then vanished like a great bird of death. It was said he wore a skin of black iron feathers and a red crown of fire, and that his long, black sword could cut through the best shield or armour like piss cuts through snow!
They soon saw for themselves that the legend had not been far off. Leaping uphill, Erin slashed one Karn in the leg and drove his shield into the other's slack jaw. Bone crunched and blood splattered. The 'Raven' then whirled his long blade in a rising arc that opened the stomach of one and the throat of the other. Zoean took the throat slashed Karn in the ribs and slammed her buckler into the rear of the one bent over trying to hold back his innards. The dying Karn was propelled down the slope and fell at Narberth's feet. With one powerful blow the grey-haired Dryfallen sliced off his second head of the day.
Zoean planted a quick kiss on Erin's lips and turned to follow Thorn, who had already moved on up the trail. Nob, both his sword and leg dripping blood, grinned knowingly at the tall weapons-man. "Aint she somethin'?!"
Erin grunted, then raced up the rocky path.
***
Chapter 36:'FACE TO FACE'
Thorn was the first to reach the log bridge. Just how he had managed to get by the remaining Karns, as well as Jalar and his Balikie, was a mystery. Perhaps Shard had something to do with it, perhaps it was Fern's cloak-pin, for Thorn felt that somehow both the sword and the broach were leading him forward, guiding him --- but to what? Skatha saw him first; a strange little beardless creature. Smaller and quicker than a Stoner; dressed in leather armour, a dented helm and carrying a bright torch of some kind.
"A 'Wee'n'!" Skatha hissed. He had spent several lifetimes looking for these elusive creatures, and now, incredibly, one of them was walking right into his grasp!
Yet he was not the only one that saw Thorn approach the log bridge. High above, on the far side of the gorge crouched another figure. Deathly thin it was, it's once fine cloak torn and dirty, its leather breastplate stained with dried blood. Filthy skins covered filthier hands and feet. The old wound in its leg sent pain down into its half frozen toes. A broken spear clutched tightly in its gnarled hand, it moved closer for a better look.
This was one of the few remaining Karns to escape both the disaster caused by the coming of Arthdain's host and the merciless scouring of the hills by the hated Stoners. This was Shag
Somehow he'd managed to stay alive through the long, cold winter. All alone, living off roots and the raw flesh of the few animals he had caught, Shag's wiry body had been reduced to a walking skeleton, yet the old fire of hatred still burned in his sunken eyes.
Shag had been watching the events below him unfolding for some time. Part of him wanted to scurry away to the safety of his cave. He had the carcass of a groundhog stashed away and by now the meat would have decomposed enough for his rotting teeth to chew --- but another part of him, the crueler, more ambitious part, wanted to stay.
He knew who it was below him, for though Lucfelian had now taken on the form of a swarthy Balikie, Shag had seen the Hooded Man enough times to recognize him no matter what 'host' he used. He also knew that the few Karns and Balikie the Hooded Man had with him would not hold back those that followed. Besides the hated Stoners and the accursed Nim, Shag had seen The Raven down below! His 'familiar', the slant-eye with the killing arrow-caster was also there --- as were two the hated Wee'ns!
Shag's cunning brain quickly reasoned that his only hope of survival lay with the Hooded Man, for sooner or later the stinking Stoners would find his cave. But the Hooded Man had been wounded; blood, along with that fearsome, vast power, even now flowed out of the feverish 'body' the Shadow Lord inhabited. As if this calamity alone was not enough, even now one of the hated Wee'ns advanced on the log bridge!
Shag ground his rotting teeth and swore.
Then an idea surfaced in his hate-filled mind. If he could save Lucfelian, then he himself would be saved! Once he got the Shadow Lord safely across the bridge, it could be pushed down, leaving those that followed no way to cross!
Shag, with the aid of his broken spear, began to work his way down the steep slope, keeping always to the shadows of the boulders and the tall pines.
***
Skatha pointed at the approaching Kirkwean.
"My Lord," Skatha grinned. "Yonder comes one of the creatures you seek. Shall I kill it, or do you want it alive?"
Lucfelian's pain-filled eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when he saw Thorn and the glowing object he carried in his hand. Leaning on a spear to help support his weakened body, he gasped for breath. "Get it!", the bloody lips hissed. "Bring it to me now!"
Skatha, thinking his master meant the Wee'n, motioned for the other Nar-Graith to complete the task. Dwill strode confidently back down the slope, giving little thought to the small, 'flaming torch' the stupid little creature held before him. His sword drawn, Dwill sneered at the tiny form.
"Drop you that torch, fool! My lord wishes to see you!"
Thorn's blue eyes, like his voice, might have been chipped from ice. "Stand aside, filth! My business is with your master, not one of his dogs!"
Dwill's sneer vanished, replaced by a look of rage. Up swept his longsword for a killing two-handed blow. As the blade descended the Kirkwean raised his pitiful little torch. The Nar-Graith grinned, thinking he'd cut this insane Wee'n in two --- however, when his blade met Shard's fiery edge, an explosion of sparks filled the air and he was propelled backwards like a leaf tossed in a gale. Pain, unlike anything Dwill had ever experienced before, shot up both his arms. He landed hard on the rocky ground several vels from the Wee'n. Shaking his head to clear it, Dwill saw that his sword had snapped off near the guard, leaving him holding little more than the twisted hilt. He attempted to rise, but couldn't. The Wee'n advanced and thrust the flaming torch in front of the Nar-Graith's face. Dwill felt the heat of it begin to sear his pain-distorted face.
"Stay in the dirt where you belong!", a merciless voice commanded. "T'is your master I want, not his toothless pups!"
Dwill, frozen with fear and half blinded by the flames, whimpered and cringed away from the burning light.
Thorn moved on towards the log bridge.
Lucfelian felt the heat of his long lost sword even through the mist of the river's spray. He alone could see it for what it was, a short, black blade encased in flaming tongues of fire. In his twisted mind he heard its silken scream. It called to him, ordered him to come closer, to grasp it, to take back that which he'd lost. To master it --- if he dared!
He longed to have it, to possess it once more, to feel its power course through his veins --- but he knew also that it was deadly. Too much of himself had gone into its forging for him to trust its silken allure. He alone could wield it to its full capa
city, yet somehow this Wee'n had mastered at least a part of its awesome power! The accursed Wee'n was its 'master' now, not him! And he knew, deep down in the blackest pit of his bottomless soul, that to touch it now, in his weakened condition, would surely bring about the 'final death'!
Lucfelian, with one last lingering look, turned and started to hobble across the log. "Skatha!", he hissed over his shoulder. "Hold the bridge at all costs!"
Then Shag appeared at the far end.
"This way, M'Lord! Quickly, 'fore The Raven comes!"
Lucfelian, the pain from the Nim arrow in his chest nearly blinding him, took a moment to recognize the thin creature dressed in rags as a Karn.
"Come, M'Lord!", it croaked. "Ol' Shag 'll save ye!"
Behind him Lucfelian could feel the heat from Shard even through his armour. He had to escape now and find a new 'host' if he was ever to regain his lost sword and take his revenge! The urge to kill was great within him, but the pain was greater. He was too weak to face the Wee'n now --- but, oh, how he would make the arrogant little thief pay!
Lucfelian motioned Shag closer and together they hobbled across the bridge. On the far side he gave one quick glace back, burned the Wee'ns face into his memory, and, leaning on Shag, made his way into the tall trees. Then they were gone, the thick pines on the far side swallowing them up like a fleeting shadow beneath the moon.
Skatha turned back to watch Dwill 'deal with' the pathetic little Wee'n ans was suddenly blinded b a brilliant flash of light. The sound of tortured iron scraped across his ears and dulled his brain. Unsure of just what was happening, he relied on the one thing that he knew best --- the instinct to kill! He drew his sword and waited for his site to clear. When it did he saw that it was the Wee'n that came towards him, not Dwill. The Wee'n with his pathetic little torch --- a torch that now glowed like the heart of the sun itself!