Shard

by Wayne Mee

  'Now I have him!', his mind screamed. 'The fool thought he could trick me with a frontal assault while he crossed the lake and came at my flank! Well, not this time, 'Swordbearer'; not this time!'

  Yet from deep inside another voice tried to warn him about 'traps within traps'. 'Be careful!' the other voice pleaded. 'Don't hurt us! Don't get us killed!'

  But the Lord of the Shadows merely laughed and dug his heels in all the more, raking his mount's ribs and bellowing at the Brakarns to follow --- for nothing, nothing! would make him loose Shard a third time!

  ***

  "Couch your lances!" Halfhand's voice grated like a rusty hinge, and a forest of iron shod poles leveled at Spangle and his Del-Lingus Kirkwean. Ragnol, now standing in the stirrups, waved his shim and brought it down to point at the foe still scrambling ashore.

  "Chaaarrrrge!"

  Though his order was smothered by the pounding of hooves and the shrieks of men, he never doubted they would follow. They, like he, had been bred for this moment!

  Clods of the once peacefully tilled earth were churned up as the pointed wall of death hurled itself down on the still unorganized Wee'ns. Ragnol grinned into the wind, content at last to have caught these stubborn, defiant Kirkwean in the open. 'Now the little fools will pay for all the unseen arrows and silent slaughter!' While these thoughts raged through his mind, another came that made his revenge all the sweeter; the one, unbreakable Law of Slath that the might of his adopted homeland was built upon: 'Take no prisoners!'

  ***

  "Stand your ground!", Spangle bellowed into the growing night, while all around him his crew of 'Kirks' sought to abandon the open field much as they would a sinking ship. Rat, Spangle's First-Mate, grabbed him by the arm and pulled.

  "Don't be a bloody fool, Spike! Come about 'n head for safer waters! Back to the boats! If those quiffers catch us in the open they'll carve us into fishguts 'n not raise a sweat doin' it!"

  Shaking free of Rat's grip, Spangle drew his broadsword and bellowed at his frightened crew. "Uphill, lads! To the stockade! Free your cousins 'n arm them!"

  Rat spun him around. "Are ye daft, Spike?! You'd kill us all to help these bumpkins?!"

  Spangle's look made his First-Mate step back. "I gave these 'bumpkins' my word. Long you've known me, Rat. Too long to be doubting I'd not keep it once given! N' Erg strike me, neither you nor a few stinking Slathers will make me brake it!"

  "There be more than a 'few', Spike. Besides, we're getting too old for this!"

  "That we are, old salt!", Spangle said through a wicked grin. "But wouldn't it be grand to do just one more time?!"

  Rat hesitated, his eyes flitting from the boats to the stockade to the onrushing Dragoons. Then he drew his own slightly curved blade, his grin suddenly matching Spangle's.

  "Back to back? Just like the old days?"

  Spangle nodded, the gleam of past glories shining in his one good eye. Rat cursed, turned and began bellowing orders at the crew. Soon all two hundred of them were charging down towards the stockade, while Ragnol and his Dragoons thundered down on them.

  ***

  Erin and Thorn stood on the far side of the bridge. The Forge, dark and strangely sinister in the fading light, squatted on a finger of land jutting into a small lake. Kel had gone in search of his longbow. Mithdar, followed closely by Zoean, Nobert, Roary and Onooga, moved swiftly across the bridge. The sight that greeted them made their blood run cold.

  "What the quiff -- ?!", Erin exclaimed.

  Far up near the western gate a battle raged; but it was not the battle that drew their gaze. Much closer Spangle's group raced towards the stockade. Behind them came Death, disguised as a wall of charging horseflesh.

  "They'll not make it!", Roary breathed.

  "Nob!", Mithdar said. "Sound your horn!"

  The graying veteran put a rams-horn to his lips and blew. An ear-splitting note bleated out. The onrushing Dragoons wavered not a bit.

  Then, seemingly out of the very earth itself, Gluck's men appeared. Flint and bone weapons lashed out at the exposed bellies of horses. The twilight became clogged with dark shafts, each seeking one of Ragnol's Dragoons. Men and horses screamed and went down, never to rise again as the shadowy forms moved among them.

  "The charge is broken!", Onooga beamed, moving to Roary's side.

  "But not for long, lass!", Mithdar replied. "Come! We have to reach The Forge before they regroup!"

  "But the stockade!", Thorn protested. "We've got to help free the --- "

  "Others can do that, Thorn!", Mithdar said curtly. "Our task is to find Lucfelian!" Not waiting for a reply, the old mage grasped Thorn by the arm and pulled him towards the ancient building.

  A stone causeway led across the millpond. Erin, his sword drawn and buckler raised, went across first, followed by Mithdar and the reluctant Kirkwean. The rest trailed after, with Kel suddenly appearing to bring up the rear.

  In the fast fading light, the Forge's wooden wheel continued to revolve. The sound of the splashing water all but drown out the harsher sounds of battle and death.

  None opposed their crossing. Nor was any alarm given. The place seemed deserted, yet Erin took no chances. Motioning for Kel to stand ready with his bow, he charged the door. The hinges burst as his mailed shoulder struck. Nob and Roary followed him inside.

  "Empty!", Erin called a moment later.

  The others rushed in.

  "Upstairs?!", asked Roary, looking none too pleased with the thought.

  "No", Mithdar said heavily. "He is not here. I would feel it if he was."

  "But he's close!", Zoean added, motioning with her sword to the green stone glowing over Thorn's heart.

  Kel appeared at the open door, his voice a cold as the stone walls. "Those at the stockade are making a stand. The prisoners are free and armed, but they can't break through the Dragoons."

  Thorn started for the door. Mithdar was about to stop him, but suddenly changed his mind. Instead he motioned for the men to follow, keeping only Zoean, Onooga and Kel with him to hold the Forge.

  "You women get bows and ward the windows. Kel, watch the door." Both Zoean and Onooga went to the racks of stored weapons. While Onooga selected two bows, Zoean dragged over a barrel full of arrows for the Chin. Her voice held a measure of strained gaiety.

  "See that you hit something besides a wooden weather-cock!"

  Kel's left eyebrow raised. Thoughts of the now dead Flynn flashed before him. Pushing them away, he bowed formally and took a handful of arrows.

  As Erin and Roary hurried after Thorn, Nobert paused by the shattered door. Clearly the old Dryfallen was unwilling to leave Zoean's side.

  "Get along with you, Nob!", Zoean said curtly, though there was more than a hint of fondness in her sparkling eyes. "I'm no mewing babe that has need of a wet-nurse! Besides, Onooga and Kel are with me, and Mythdarian as well! If you must fret over someone, guard the tall manling's back, for he's even more of a fool than you are!"

  Nobert stiffened, raised his sword in a salute and turned to leave. Zoean called after him, her voice suddenly softer. "And take care of yourself, for I've grown accustomed to you ugly face."

  The old veteran's frown transformed into a crooked smile before hurrying after the others.

  ***

  Up by the stockade Spangle and his Del-Lingus Kirkwean were putting up a fearsome fight. Gluck and his shaggy 'First People' were with them, along with nearly two hundred liberated Kirkwean --- most of them, however, were poorly armed and in no condition to fight. All about them Ragnol's Dragoons circled, darting in and out of the massed mob, their shims and lances red from more than the scarlet rays of the dying sun.

  Erin caught up with Thorn as he climbed the grassy slope. "Faith, lad! It's no chance at all they've got! Nor us if we wade into that lot! Get them to make for the Forge. At least there we'll be havin' good stone at our backs!"

  Ignoring the tall mercenary, Thorn darted past a charging Dragoon. Startled, the mount reared back, caus
ing the rider to tumble to the ground. Erin swore and quickly thrust a thin dagger through the links of the fallen Slather's light mail. When he straightened up, Thorn was far ahead.

  Then something struck his side. There was a sudden jolt, followed by a sharp pain. Glancing down, he saw that the arrow had scratched his black Raven Armour just below the heart. It had been a direct hit, yet somehow the links hadn't broken. Turning, he saw a Dragoon yanking his lathered mount around for another try. Anger flooded through Erin. Glenrig raised high above his head, he ran at the man. The startled Dragoon tried to deflect the blow, but Erin's blade chopped through the wooden bow as though it were parchment, passing on through leather, padding, flesh and bone. The panicked animal carried its rider away, blood pumping from his severed arm.

  Nobert was suddenly beside him. Blood splattered the front of older man's armour. "Thorn's far ahead! I called for him to wait, but he just kept on!"

  "Where's Roary?!"

  "With the Wee'n!"

  The two of them waded through the growing mob. A group of Gluck's tribe were being pushed back against the wooden walls of the stockade. Thin, raggedy Kirkwean, using captured weapons, stood side by side with the hairy wild men. Spangle's crew ran about hacking and slashing. Nob used his sword two-handed and took one Dragoon from behind. Erin slammed his shield into the head of one horse and opened up a long gash on a second rider's thigh.

  "Thorn! Roary!", he bellowed. "Wait!" He could see the two of them up ahead, close by a knot of Del-Lingus Kirkwean. Spangle the Spike stood back to back with the one called Rat. Both of them were grinning like fools as their blades flicked out death. Erin parried a slash with his shield and pushed on, not bothering to return the blow. His duty was to stay with Thorn. The foolish little Kirkwean, though obviously determined to go into the thickest of the fighting, still had not yet drawn the black blade!

  He heard a grunt and whirled around, Glenrig aloft. A Dragoon lay squirming at his feet, an arrow in his back. Nobert stood just off to one side, his sword ready for the finishing thrust. It wasn't needed.

  "Kel's work?", Erin asked.

  "Aye!"

  "Where be the quiffer?!"

  Nob nodded downhill towards the Forge.

  "A long shot", Erin said, glancing back down the bloody slope. The ancient stone building was all but lost in the lengthening shadows.

  "Longest I've ever seen!", Nob grinned.

  Erin grunted and pressed on. Nob followed.

  ***

  Ragnol's face was purple with rage. He yanked at the bit and struck down at a hairy body, only to have it dart under his mount and stab at his other side. Where had these shaggy two-legged creatures come from?! With their crude, flint weapons they had broke the charge of his Dragoons and scattered them like chaff before a wind!

  "Sergeant!", he bellowed. "To me!"

  A burly Dragoon, his helmet of rank dented from a flint axe, kicked his lathered mount towards Ragnol. Two others followed.

  "Sound the withdrawal! We'll reform and charge again!"

  The sergeant barked out an order and the youngest of the Dragoons lifted a bugle to his trembling lips. The withdraw was sounded and the Dragoons began to disengage. The sergeant stood in his stirrups to hasten his men and received a black shaft in his throat for his effort.

  Ragnol cursed and struck his mount with the flat of his shim, driving the terror-stricken beast through the mob and back up the slope.

  Erin, seeing the Slathers preparing for another charge, ran towards Thorn. The little Kirkwean was catching his breath beside a bloodied but still grinning Spangle. Rat, sitting on the body of a fallen Dragoon, looked around him like one just awoken from a dream. He seemed more than a bit surprised to still be alive.

  "Now's our chance, lad!", Erin said. "Get this lot down to the Forge before the quiffers have time to reform!"

  Thorn, his blue eyes wider than usual, seemed not to have heard. Erin gripped him none too gently by the shoulder.

  "Faith, Thorn! This be no time for one o' your quiffin' trances! Halfhand n' his bunch will slice through this rabble like a sharp blade through ripe cheese!"

  Thorn blinked up at the tall mercenary. His small hand still clutched his bloodstained Kirkaxe. Slowly he turned to the old Dryfallen.

  "Nobert, sound your horn. We're done here."

  Moments later the freed Kirkwean, herded on by Spangle's Del-Lingus crew and Gluck's Wild Men, were heading downslope towards the Forge. Bringing up the rear, Erin glanced back --- and knew they would not make it.

  ***

  Chapter 58: DEEDS OF DARING

  What Erin saw was twofold; Ragnol's Dragoons beginning their charge and another group of Slathers racing down on them from the Western Gate! Mixed in with the Dragoons of this second group were a number great, hulking beasts that clung to the stirrups of the riders and howled and gnashed their yellowed fangs. Brakarns! A tall man, dressed in costly armour. a horned helmet and mounted on a great black stallion, led them. He swung a wicked looking axe above his head, then pointed it directly at them.

  Erin grasped Nob's shoulder and spun him around.

  "What say you, old one? Feel up to a bit o' sport?!"

  Nob's eyes widened as he saw the two groups pounding towards them. A smile slowly lit up his weathered features.

  "I never did much fancy runnin' away, Longshanks. Gettin' too quiffin' old for it."

  Erin grunted, pointing to a low stone fence that cut the grassy plain into neat sections. "Make our stand on the high ground?"

  "Might as well. I've always had a terrible fear o' dyin' in bed."

  Erin tilted back his head and laughed. "You need not worry 'bout that, Ol' Salt!"

  The two warriors gripped forearms then headed back to the rocky fence.

  ***

  "Where's Erin?!"

  Roary glanced around and gasped. Thorn followed the bard's gaze back up the slope.

  "The fools!", he hissed. Then, motioning for the freed prisoners to continue on towards the Forge, Thorn started back up the hill. Roary, feeling as though he was caught up some vast epic, shrugged and followed, glad he had left his beloved harp in Onooga's safe keeping.

  Spangle, seeing what Thorn was doing, looked further back and saw the charging Dragoons --- and the two lone men awaiting them. Rat, standing alongside, grabbed his captain's arm.

  "Shit, Spike! If we do what you're thinkin', we'll not see the dawn!"

  Spangle grinned at his life-long companion. "Rat, you old quiff! By all rights we should be dead already! Besides, I gave the lad my word!"

  Rat sighed deeply, swore, then caught a burly crewmember running past. "Come about, lad! Haul your ass back up that hill n' take the rest o' these fools with you!"

  The Wee'n from Del-Lingus looked wide-eyed at both of them; then, receiving a nod from Spangle, began bellowing for the others to turn round.

  Rat, a scowl covering his blood-spattered features, spit on his sword and fell in beside Spangle.

  ***

  Ragnol spurred his mount forward, his shim leveled at the fleeing prisoners. All around him rode the remnants of his squadron, forming a wedge of iron and death. He had seen the High Gnash racing across the field, but Ragnol's ire had been roused by these damnable imps, and he was determined to crush every last one of them! The gap closed swiftly. A low stone wall separated him from his prey, but that could be easily jumped.

  Then, in the dying light, he suddenly saw the two forms atop the wall. Both had set their cloaks afire and were madly waving them about, filling the air with smoke. Tiny tongues of flames began to lick at the dry grass. Ragnol's already nervous mount tried to shy away, but was pulled back by a cruel hand. Other animals reacted much the same, with some mounts skidding back on their hind legs, causing those behind to become entangled. Screams of man and beast split the twilight once more, and Ragnol found his charge broken for the second time!

  "Kill those two!", he screamed, kicking his way free. Three Dragoons forced their trembling beasts f
orward. Shields up and lances couched, they made for the two on the wall. Nobert sidestepped the charge and neatly beheaded the Slather as his mount leapt the wall. Erin slashed the leg of the second, then turned to face the third. Nob knocked the Slather's lance aside just as Erin thrust his longsword through the horse's neck. The blade passed through the animal and into the Slather's chest. Beast and rider collapsed in a heap.

  After that none hastened forward to challenge the waiting pair.

  Ragnol cursed, both in his native tongue and in Slath, for he had recognized Erin. "Skirt round them, damn your eyes! Come in from all sides! Slath's blood! There's only two of them!"

  Half the Dragoons hastened to obey, jumping the low stone wall at safe distances from the two defenders and circling in from the rear. Ragnol, still in a red rage, ordered the remaining Slathers to rally around him. An aid warned him that the High Gnash was signaling him to wait, but Ragnol ignored both aid and monarch.

  "No quarter!", he shouted. "I want that slave's head on a pike!" He surged forward, his shim and shield raised and ready, hardly caring if anyone followed.

  Further up the hill Lucfelian pulled his own troop to a halt. Behind the gilded helm of Alexus V, the reddish eyes of the Shadow Lord glowed like smoldering coals. Those of his personal guard who saw his gaze, hastily backed away. The Brakarns however, knowing full well just who and what their master really was, snarled and strained forward, eager to be in on the kill. Like two-legged wolves, they were held in check only by the invisible leash formed from Lucfelian's will. Fang, the Brakarns brutish leader, pulled at Lucfelian's stirrup, his ape-like face clouded with lust.

  "Kill now! Blood-smell big! Fang's rod big! Kill now!"

  "No, fool!", Lucfelian snapped. "Those two are nothing! Left behind to delay me! It's Him I want!" Lucfelian's gaze followed the fleeing mob of Kirkwean. They had almost made it to the giant pines --- though some of the fools seemed to be coming back up the hill! Lucfelian dismissed these, thinking them to be little more than panicked sheep.

  'He'll be running now,' he reasoned. 'Running with his pack of maggots back to their dark woods! But I'll find Him --- and when I do, I'll find Shard'