by Duncan Pile
“We have to kill it,” Gaspi insisted with a firm shake of his head.
“Why so adamant?” Sabu asked.
“We all feel the loss of Zlekic and Zaric,” Rimulth said gently, “but putting ourselves in harm’s way won’t bring them back.”
“There’s something you need to know,” Gaspi said unhappily. “When the Darkman takes a life, their soul doesn’t move on. It is enslaved and corrupted, its energy stolen by the Darkman to give it strength in this plane. As long as the Darkman lives, the twins are not free.”
“Balkrist!” Talmo said, rising to his feet. Rimulth was staring at Gaspi in shock.
“Yes, the same is true for Balkrist,” Gaspi said, feeling ashamed for keeping this from Rimulth until that moment.
“How long have you known this?” Talmo asked fiercely.
“Hephistole told me of the Darkman’s powers last year when he was researching Bale-beasts,” Gaspi responded, flushing.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Talmo asked angrily. “We could have sought it out. Balkrist has been enslaved all this time!”
“I also knew of this,” Voltan interjected. “There was no chance to do anything sooner. The Darkman was being held captive by Shirukai Sestin, and we still don’t know where he is hiding. The truth is that the Darkman was always going to seek Gaspi out, so we would get our chance to free Balkrist, come what may. The best way to prepare for that battle is to seek the demon-bane powers of the altar in Pell. You’ve seen the Darkman! It is formidable! Balkrist’s best chance is for us to complete our quest.”
“You should have told us,” Talmo insisted, folding his arms across his chest. Gaspi didn’t know what to think. He felt hollow inside and had no energy to argue.
“Would knowing have made any difference?” Rimulth asked quietly. “It would just have given us more to worry about. Voltan is right - we have no choice but to face this foe, so let’s make sure we’re ready for it when it next comes.”
“We must kill this thing!” Talmo said. “It cannot be allowed to live.”
“That’s something we can all agree on,” Voltan said. “Gaspi what did you see through the Eye? How seriously was it wounded?”
“The twins hurt it badly – two sword wounds, one in the back, the other in the side, and then it took a lot more damage when it fell. The last I saw, the river was carrying it downstream.”
Voltan grunted in satisfaction. “I’d say we’ve bought ourselves some time. We should take advantage and get to Pell as quickly as we can.” Gaspi nodded gravely. Even if they had a reprieve from the immediate threat of the Darkman, getting into Pell was a perilous undertaking in and of itself.
“So let’s get some sleep,” Talmo said. “The earlier we rise, the better.”
“Not yet,” Heath rumbled. “Will you join me in saying our goodbyes to Zlekic and Zaric?” He looked slowly around the group, his expression unguarded and inviting. Everyone consented, and as Gaspi looked into Heath’s eyes, he felt an unexpected rush of relief. He needed something like this. He didn’t know exactly what Heath had in mind, but the druid had a form of wisdom none of them shared – wisdom that was sprang from blood and soil; that understood birth and death and the cycles of nature. He was the perfect person to lead them in that moment. At Heath’s direction, they stood in a circle, arms around each other’s shoulders. Heath took his place between Gaspi and Voltan, and began to speak as the last of the light was fading and the first stars were shining in the firmament.
“Zlekic and Zaric, brave brothers to each other and to us, we honour you.” There was a heaviness to the moment. Heath’s voice, redolent with subtle power, evoked memories and emotions with a single sentence.
Somehow everyone knew what to say: “We honour you,” they said. Tears formed once again in Gaspi’s eyes. Heath waited a long time before speaking again, allowing them time to reflect and remember.
“For your friendship and good nature, we will miss you,” he said at last.
“We will miss you,” the group said. Emmy sobbed loudly from Gaspi’s other side, and she wasn’t the only one around the circle whose grief was perfectly captured by Heath’s words. Gaspi found himself reliving memories of the twins. In particular, he dwelt on the times they’d shared around the fire in the hermit’s clearing. Their jokes, their stories and their laughter had been a big part of what had made that time so special for him. It had been a time of friendship and healing, and the twins would always remain in his heart because of that.
“For giving your lives to protect us, we thank you.”
“We thank you,” the group repeated. Gaspi had never meant anything more in his life. The silence that followed this statement was deep and impenetrable, an edifice of gratitude built between them.
“And from this demon that holds you captive, we will free you.”
“We will free you!” the group said, zeal capturing their hearts and fuelling their determination to kill the Darkman and set its captives free.
“We will free you!” Heath repeated more loudly.
“We will free you!” the group responded, fervently and loudly.
Heath threw back his head and yelled to the stars: “WE WILL FREE YOU!”
“WE WILL FREE YOU!” the whole group shouted. Baard roared his battle cry, Sabu released a stabbing, ululating wail, Rimulth and Talmo chanted and stamped their feet, and the rest of them cried aloud, shouting their grief, their anger and their determination to the skies. There was such a release in that moment, pent up emotions overflowing in noise, and not a one of them cared if anyone or anything overheard them. As their shouts shook the very night, Gaspi found himself hoping that the Darkman did hear, and that hearing, it trembled.
…
They woke up the next morning and ate in near silence. It wasn’t the silence of strangers, nor of people who have nothing left to say to each other. It was the silence of people who have nothing to say, because words have become superfluous. Heath’s ceremony had released some of their emotions and galvanised their combined sense of purpose, but grief still hung heavily over all of them. They ate quickly, washed the dishes in the stream, and set off up the trail.
They quickly left any sign of greenery behind, finding themselves once again treading bleak stone shelves and plateaus, exposed to the cold, whistling wind. They were close to ogre territory now, so they chose their steps carefully. A single tumbling stone, set loose by a careless footstep, could give them away to ten thousand enemies. Their biggest concern was that they no longer had anyone in the group who knew the terrain. It was simple enough for now – the route they followed only took a single path – northwards, so they plodded on, traversing exposed rock and clinging to narrow ledges, making their way around a massive shoulder of rock. The path kept threatening to disappear, leaving them exposed on the mountainside with no way forwards, but just when it narrowed to almost nothing, it would open up again and allow them to keep going. Finally they rounded the outcrop and came to a halt at the edge of a broad plateau.
They stood open-mouthed, taking in what lay before them. Way to the north, Gaspi could make out the outline of a fantastical building, a forest of minarets and domes clinging to the side of the tallest peak in the range. It looked for all the world like it was about to topple off and tumble to its ruin in the valley below. There was no doubt about it – they had found the Temple of El-Amyari. Between them and the temple were towering peaks and deep valleys, the floodplains of which were dotted with what could only be the encampments of the Ogre Nation. The twins might have known of a safe route to the temple, but without their knowledge, the only way forward seemed to pass right through the forces spread before them. From the size of the settlements, it was clear that their fears about the scale of the ogre invasion were not unfounded – there were thousands upon thousands of enemies encamped between them and their destination. Gaspi lifted his eyes again to the distant building on its mountainous perch, many miles distant from where they stood. It held the fragments they
sought so badly; the fragments that would give them a chance against the Darkman, and ultimately against Shirukai Sestin. It held their salvation, and come what may, ten thousand ogres or none, they were going to have to get there. At the very least, they were going to die trying.
Twenty-nine
Kyle sat by the bank of the river, holding his fishing rod loosely in his hands. Fishing was good for the soul, or so his Da had said. Following his father’s example, he spent the earliest hour of each day dangling his hook in the water. The size of the catch was not of the greatest importance. He came here for the song of the river – its splash, rush and gurgle. Or maybe it was the sound of the wind in the trees, or the nodding flowers, or the turning of the seasons, or perhaps the cool morning air in his lungs and the first kiss of the sun on his skin. Maybe it was all of this and more that brought him back to the riverbank day after day.
Yes, fishing was good for the soul but, on this occasion, Kyle had even less interest in the catch than usual. He only had eyes for his daughter, Millie, sitting beside him on the log, trying her hardest to imitate him. She clutched her little stick with both hands, a length of string dangling into the water. There was no bait to attract the fish, and no hook on the end of the string, but she was too small to understand that. She clutched her stick determinedly, staring at the water with an expression so serious it made Kyle chuckle.
“Millie sweetheart,” he said, reaching out and ruffling her already-tousled hair.
“Yes Da.”
“It’s almost time to go back in now.”
“But we have to catch some fish!” she said indignantly.
“Just a bit longer then, but after that we’ll have to go in,” he said. Satisfied, Millie turned back to the water and gave her stick a little shake. Chuckling to himself once more, Kyle cast his line out into deeper waters. The fish hadn’t been biting so far that morning, but there was always a chance he might get lucky. They sat there for a few more minutes, delaying going in as long as possible, but when the sun cleared the treeline Kyle couldn’t put off his chores any longer. He was a woodsman, and in all the years he’d worked the forest, he’d never heard of a tree falling to the ground and chopping itself into logs! He was just about to call it a day when Millie stood up, pointing excitedly out over the water.
“Da, a fish!”
Kyle squinted, following her gaze. One glance was all he needed to know it was not a fish. It was a man, floating face down in the water.
“Time to go in Millie,” he said firmly.
“But Da…”
“Go and find your Ma, now!”
Frightened by his tone, Millie turned and ran. He’d have to apologise to her later, but he didn’t want her seeing a corpse. Whoever it was had to be dead; even from the shore, Kyle could see that the man’s skin was horribly charred. With injuries like that, Kyle found himself hoping the man was dead. For a moment he considered letting the body drift past, but then he sighed resignedly. He’d been brought up to believe that without the proper prayers and a decent burial, the man’s soul wouldn’t pass on to the afterlife. He didn’t know if he really believed that anymore but it was his tradition, and one he didn’t want to abandon. However unpleasant, it was his duty to give the man a send-off. Stripping off his shirt, boots and leggings, Kyle stepped out into the water in his underclothes. He waded in until it rose past his waist, the cold making his breath catch in his throat, and then dived headlong into the current.
He was a strong swimmer, and reached the body in good time. The poor soul was definitely dead. And huge! He was by far the tallest person Kyle had ever seen, which would make dragging him to shore much more difficult. His body was horrifically burned, blackened and cracked, with long gaping rents in its flesh that were red raw. Its back had two grisly holes in it, one from a sword wound and one that was much larger, filled in that moment with swirling river water. Well, it had to be done! Wincing in anticipation of the touch of dead flesh, Kyle reached out and took hold of the man’s arm.
The moment he touched it, he was assaulted by fear. His bowels turned to water and his limbs shook. Despair reached up and grabbed him by the throat, along with every other negative emotion. Every good thing in his life seemed suddenly pointless. The dead man’s arm twitched and Kyle let it go with a yelp. Fear loosened its grip on him, but not entirely. It was stirring like a coiled beast, rearing its ugly head and baring its teeth. Even as it reached out and gripped him again, the dead man turned his head, except it was no man. Eyes as red as blood glared at Kyle with bottomless hate, slit-like nostrils flared and its ragged mouth cracked open, letting out a guttural growl. The fearsome sound threatened to unman him completely! Demon!
His voice stolen by fear, Kyle turned and frantically splashed away. He threw terrified glances over his shoulder as he swam, but the creature was not following him. The fear diminished as he swam, and when he finally emerged dripping onto the bank, he was in his right mind. He crawled a few paces and turned around on exhausted limbs to see if it was moving in his direction. To his inexpressible relief, it was drifting further downstream, flapping its arms in a feeble attempt to swim, but it didn’t seem able to do so. Kyle pictured the gruesome wounds it had suffered, and was grateful to whoever had incapacitated it so.
Kyle waited until it was out of sight before collapsing to the ground, his pulse thudding heavily in his ears and his breath sawing raggedly in his throat. He’d come close to something truly terrible. It felt like his very soul had been in danger! What if it came back? Somehow he knew that if it did, everything he cared about would be destroyed. Kyle looked back at his cottage, half-hidden within the trees. They had a great life here – he and Cara and Millie. They’d had it good for years, living off the land, rarely bothered by outsiders. But in recent months things had changed. Mountain creatures had descended from the heights, chased out by something even wilder than they were. Strange cries had disturbed their sleep, hooting calls that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And now this creature, this demon, had floated by their home. He thought once again about the paralysing fear he’d felt when he touched it, the hate in its eyes, and the vicious strength of that growl, even when its body was shattered. No, he couldn’t risk it coming back.
He got up, walked into the cottage and spoke to his wife and daughter. Later that day, they packed everything they could into their small cart and drove away for good.
…
If Kyle had followed the Darkman, he would have seen it drift downstream until the river swept westwards in a great arc, depositing its debris on a wide, gravelly bank. That is where it dropped the Darkman, the foulest piece of flotsam it had ever carried. The demon crawled up the beach, lurching and collapsing, dragging itself inch by inch away from the river. Water streamed from the gaping holes in its body, mixing with the thick black effluent that served as its blood. Its back was a mess, rent and twisted, its spine open to the air. Horrible as its wounds were, they were not the principle cause of its suffering. Long exposure to the flowing waters of the river had done it more harm than naked steel ever could. Every demon avoided rushing water – its life-giving energy anathema to a creature of darkness, and the Darkman had been in its thrall for long hours. A lesser demon would not have survived, but it was no dJin or Snatcher! It was a greater demon and, even though it had been badly hurt, it would recover soon enough.
Dragging itself across the gravel, the Darkman made its way up the beach towards the gaping mouth of a cave. Yard by painful yard it moved, until finally it reached its goal and crawled inside. From within came a growl, deep and fierce, but the growl became a yelp, and a bristling blur of brown fur shot from the entrance. The bear kept on running at full pelt, stones flying from beneath its paws as it dashed across the beach and disappeared into the trees.
The Darkman had found a place to recover. It would wait in the darkness while its body healed. Sestin’s compulsion blazed within, urging it to pursue its prey, but however much pain the spell inflicted, the de
mon was far too damaged to obey. It had no choice but to stay where it was until it was strong enough to resume the chase. It would recover quickly if it could kill at will, harnessing the life force of its victims, but the compulsion wouldn’t allow it to do so. Yes, it had been able to kill the men who stood between it and the Nature Mage, but that was only because they were doing exactly that. They made themselves an obstacle, and the spells that bound it in place had adapted, allowing the demon to kill them, but that would not happen again unless someone stood between it and its prey once more. No, it must lie in the darkness, battered by Sestin’s merciless spell-work, until its body was once again ready to hunt.
Thirty
“Tarek!” Jonn turned over in his sleep, mumbling to himself. “Tarek!” the cry came again, followed by the sound of a fist pounding against his door.
Snapping out of slumber, Jonn snatched up the enchanted pebble that maintained his disguise and leapt out of bed. “Hold on!” he called, pulling on a pair of trews and a shirt and dropping the pebble into a pocket. He went to the door and opened it a crack, to find the Wrench standing there.
“Time to get up,” the henchman said, tapping his foot impatiently.
“I’m not on the rota today,” Jonn said.
“Just get up,” the Wrench said, closing the door on him.
There was no time to wash or chew on a stick of guerny root, so Jonn just pulled on his boots, ran his hands through his hair, and went out into the corridor.
The Wrench turned and led him along the corridor. “It’s your lucky day,” he said.
“How so?”
“Belash wants you to stand in for one of his elite guard,” the Wrench said. Jonn almost stopped walking. This was exactly what he wanted. The elite guard patrolled the corridors of Belash’s apartments, and were the only people apart from the crime-lord himself who had access to his harem.