Nature's Peril - the Complete Edition

by Duncan Pile

“On our travels from Eagle’s Roost to Helioport, Rimulth once spoke to me of his greatest fear. When he was a child, he was trapped by a rock fall. I saw him emerge from that pile of rocks, and he looked much as he does now. After that day he never played in the caves with the other boys, and has not to this day conquered his fear. The thought of the mountain above his head may be too much for him.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable!” Emmy said. “Poor Rimulth.”

  “In Eagle’s Roost Rimulth is a warrior, and a warrior’s fear is his shame.”

  “Well you’re not in Eagle’s Roost anymore!” Emmy said testily.

  “It makes sense!” Gaspi said, ignoring the tense exchange. “Remember the rock fall in the canyon? Rimulth was terrified by that. In fact, he was in a bad way the entire time we were in that canyon.”

  “That explains what happened with the crow,” Heath said slowly. “He was not himself.”

  “There might be another reason for that,” Talmo said. “When the Bale-beasts attacked our village, they were preceded by a black crow. Its caw summoned the Bale-beast to our homes.”

  “You tribesmen need to talk more,” Gaspi said dryly. “Rimulth’s been going through all of that, and hasn’t said a word?”

  “He is a warrior of Eagle’s Roost,” Talmo said, drawing himself up stiffly. “We do not waste time talking about our feelings when there is an enemy to face.”

  “Sorry Talmo,” Gaspi said, extending the palms of his hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean to offend. I just wish we would have known how he was feeling sooner.”

  “No offence is taken,” Talmo said, but he retained some of his stiffness. “You are a plainsdweller and cannot understand.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Heath growled. Talmo grunted but didn’t say anything more.

  “So what do we do?” Gaspi asked. “When he regains consciousness he’ll still feel the same way right?”

  “I might be able to help,” Emmy said.

  Gaspi nodded. Emmy was the only one among them who had any skill with neuromancy, and that was the only way he knew of interfering with the normal working of the mind. Gaspi had benefitted from her skills at the Measure, where he’d been left in a state of shock after killing the Skelkans. He’d felt sick and nauseous and on the verge of fainting, but then Emmy had done something to calm him down, and he’d felt a hundred times better. “What are you thinking of?”

  “I might be able to suppress the fear. It means using magic, but we can’t leave Rimulth in a constant state of panic.”

  “You should do it,” Gaspi said. “It’s pretty delicate spell-work and we’re way below the temple. Even if the shamans sense it I doubt it’ll tell them much. They already know we escaped into the Labyrinth.”

  “Okay, but he has to be awake,” Emmy said. “I’m going to heal his wounds, wake him up, and then place a block on his thoughts. Can you and Taurn grab his arms in case he tries to run again?”

  “Sure,” Gaspi said, taking position on one side of the prone tribesman while Taurnil did the same on the other. He took a firm hold on Rimulth’s upper arm, and checked that Taurnil had done the same. “Ready.”

  Emmy nodded and placed her hands on either side of his head. She drew gently on her power and healing light blossomed around her fingers. As with all Emmy’s spell-work, it was subtle and required a deftness of touch Gaspi knew he was incapable of. Admiringly, he tried to sense the warp and weft of her power as she healed Rimulth’s concussion and slowly teased him to alertness. When the tribesman opened his eyes, they widened in instant fear, but a subtle twist in the flow of Emmy’s power saw him relax again, a block established between him and his fearful thoughts.

  “How did you do that?” Rimulth asked, staring intently at the roof of the cavern as if waiting for the fear to return.

  “It’s just a block,” Emmy said.

  “A very clever block,” Gaspi said.

  Embarrassed, Emmy waved away the compliment. “When we get back to Helioport, we can work on something more permanent, but this should hold for now.”

  “Thanks Emmy,” Rimulth said. He sat up, and glanced around the group in obvious embarrassment. “Sorry everyone,” he mumbled, flushing bright red.

  “Nonsense!” Heath said, clasping his shoulder reassuringly. “We all have our weaknesses.”

  “Weaknesses?” Rimulth asked.

  “I told them of your fear,” Talmo said, and Rimulth flushed even more deeply.

  “Fear is nothing to be ashamed of,” Heath said, shooting a warning glance at Talmo, but the older tribesman didn’t say anything to contradict him.

  “Let’s give him some space,” Emmy said. Rimulth spared her a grateful glance as everyone moved back from him.

  “Thanks Emmy,” he said for the second time in as many minutes.

  “Please, no more thanks,” she said, taking both his hands. “We’re friends Rimulth, and friends do what they can for each other.”

  Rimulth smiled at her warmly. She held his hands for a moment later and then withdrew them, leaving the tribesman feeling happier and more relaxed than he had in days.

  …

  “Where the bloody hell is Voltan? It’s bin hours!” Baard grumbled. Emmy didn’t think it had been so long, but it was hard to follow the passage of time underground.

  “We need to give him more time,” Gaspi said. Emmy glanced at him, noticing the changes in the way he carried himself. More than anything else, he’d grown in confidence during the quest, and now he spoke with authority, even to older warriors like Baard. After Voltan, Gaspi was pretty much leading the quest now – something the others seemed to accept without hesitation. She smiled to herself, feeling fiercely proud of him in that moment.

  Something scuffed her wrist. She looked down to find the fire spirit’s tail snaking happily back and forth. It was sitting right next to Lydia, its head resting near her hand, and although they weren’t touching, it was the closest the gypsy girl had allowed the elemental to get. Emmy knew they’d finally bonded, but didn’t know if her friend wanted to talk about it. She caught Lydia’s gaze, and held it uncertainly.

  “Go on then,” Lydia said dryly. “I know you’re dying to ask.”

  “What happened?” Emmy asked. “You refused to even look at the thing, and now you’re bonded.”

  “I didn’t even get time to think about it,” Lydia said. “We were all in danger, and I could feel it calling to me. It wanted to join forces and fight the Bloodhawks, and I just did what I had to do.”

  Emmy watched her carefully. It seemed to her that Lydia wasn’t all that comfortable with what had happened. “So, how do you feel now?”

  Lydia frowned thoughtfully. “It’s different from last time,” she answered. “Losing the first fire spirit was the most painful thing that ever happened to me. I don’t ever want to feel like that again, so I’ve not completely bonded with this fire spirit. I can’t explain it exactly, but I’m keeping it out of my emotions. Maybe I don’t ever have to bond like last time?” she finished hopefully.

  Emmy didn’t think there was any chance of that, but it didn’t feel like the moment to tell her that. “Take your time, you’ll work it out,” she said.

  “I guess,” Lydia said. She looked at Emmy. “But you think I did the right thing, letting it bond with me?”

  “Absolutely,” Emmy said, reaching out and giving her friend’s hand a squeeze.

  The dragon huffed contentedly at Lydia’s side, as if in agreement, a wisp of smoke drifting up from its nostrils.

  …

  “Tell me about the twins,” Hephistole said, leaning back in one of his comfortable armchairs. Voltan sat in the chair besides him, sipping on one of Hephistole’s restorative teas. He had dark hollows beneath his eyes, and his skin was tinged grey.

  “We first caught sight of the Darkman at Bandit Pass,” Voltan began, talking slowly and wearily. “The twins knew the terrain, so we followed their lead and fled across the plateau. It was impossible. Th
e weaker members of the group were exhausted. Emmy collapsed and had to be healed. If it wasn’t for that elemental of hers…”

  “Lilly,” Hephistole offered.

  “Yes, Lilly. She healed all of us, more than once, but she was getting weaker every time she did it. I think she nearly killed herself keeping us on our feet.”

  “Once again, we owe our lives to the spirits it seems,” Hephistole said quietly.

  “Indeed,” Voltan said, taking another sip of his drink. “The Darkman caught us anyway. It is…terrifying.” Hephistole’s eyes widened. He had never heard Voltan speak like that before. As far as the warrior mage was concerned, enemies were there to be defeated, but he seemed to have accepted that there was no chance of victory with this one. “Gaspi saved us,” Voltan continued. “He thought of something we should have done long before. He gave the lodestone part of the amulet to the air spirit and sent it on ahead. Just as the Darkman closed on us, we transported out.”

  “Clever!” Hephistole said. “I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself though. The threat of immediate danger is a powerful source of inspiration.”

  “You could be right,” Voltan conceded. “Besides, second guessing is a fool’s luxury.” He took another sip of tea and put the cup down. “I hate that stuff,” he said.

  Hephistole smiled faintly. “So what happened next?”

  “We couldn’t get far enough ahead of the Darkman. It moves fearsomely fast, so we kept having to transport a short distance and send the spirit on again. It nearly caught us several times and then, at the last, we ran out of time. We reached the gorge, and the air spirit was flying to safe ground on the far side, but the Darkman found us before it could land. The twins broke away from the group and attacked it to buy us some time. The quest nearly ended right there and then. Everyone was ready to fight, so I bound the group together and told Gaspi to transport us. It was a close run thing.”

  “You did right,” Hephistole responded. “And the twins?”

  “Gaspi used the Wizard’s Eye to watch the battle. They fought valiantly, but they didn’t stand a chance. In the end, the best they could do was to drag the demon into the gorge. According to Gaspi, it took two grievous wounds from their swords and suffered even greater damage from the fall, before being swept downstream.”

  Hephistole sat back and closed his eyes. Two more brave souls had given their lives to save them from Shirukai Sestin. The worst thing was, they wouldn’t be the last; not by a long chalk. Tears welled up in his eyes. He hadn’t known the twins well, but in the brief time he’d spent with them, he’d seen that they were more than just brave warriors. They’d been vibrant characters, full of good humour and energy. He blinked several times to dry his tears, and clamped down on his emotions. He’d mourn them later, when Voltan was gone.

  “Tell me the rest,” Hephistole said, and listened as Voltan told him of the passage through the valleys, of the shamans and their Bloodhawks, and ultimately of the peculiar reaction the ogres had to Bonebreaker.

  “They called it “Gunthaak-bane,” Voltan said. “The Kaas and Urzaaks seem to revere it, and wouldn’t attack us once they had seen it. The shamans tried to force them to fight, but they just fell to the ground as if stricken. This was why I transported back to speak to you. From the very start, this quest has been far more dangerous than I had anticipated. Two of us are dead and there’s every chance that more will follow, but this could give us the edge we need to prevail.”

  “I can see why you’d want to find out more, but the name doesn’t ring a bell. I will speak to Antonius on it – his knowledge of history far outstrips my own.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference now anyway,” Voltan said wearily. “Even if we find out, I can’t transport back to tell them about it.”

  “True, but we should do what we can to understand it anyway,” Hephistole said. He saw the anguish on his friend’s face. “Voltan, you shouldn’t feel bad about the way this has worked out,” he pleaded. “If you’d not used the amulet, we’d not know the dangers transportation poses at that distance.” Voltan looked up in alarm. “That’s right, my friend, Gaspi and the others are in danger they know nothing about, and if they attempt to use the amulet once the quest is complete, they may not be as lucky as you were.”

  “What do we do?” Voltan asked, sitting upright.

  “Don’t worry, it’s all under control. I’ve already sent a rider out with the amulet, telling him to travel as far North as possible. When Gaspi activates the transporter, they should have a decent chance of arriving in one piece.”

  “A decent chance?” Voltan said. “That’s not good enough!”

  “I know,” Hephistole said wearily, “but it’s all we can do.”

  Thirty-eight

  The man hung in his harness, little more than a skeleton held together by connective tissue. All he knew was pain. His mind was no longer his own. He couldn’t even remember his name.

  Someone came to see him, a tall man with strangely broad shoulders. “Still alive I see,” he said. “It’s been three years you know? Very impressive Shirukai, but you are reaching the end of your usefulness. The time has come to seek a replacement.”

  The man blinked gritty eyes at the use of his name. Shirukai – that was who he was. The rest of what the tall man said had no meaning for him whatsoever.

  “It is time to surrender yourself to the Dark God,” the tall man said. “The Bloodstone will bathe in your blood. Cut him down!”

  Other men came into the temple, rushing across the floor towards him. Suddenly, he started to drop, lurching downwards towards the floor. His wrists and ankles blazed with agony with each movement, the bindings chaffing away the last of any skin that remained, and then the men were taking hold of the harness and lowering it to the floor. He was still held in place, but lying on his back, his head resting on the hard, stone floor. The tall man picked the Bloodstone up from the altar – the glowing red rock of his nightmares, controlling his mind, invading his sleep.

  “Let it taste his blood,” he said, drawing a long curved knife from his waist and slicing into Shirukai’s forearm. Hot blood splashed feebly from the wound, droplets of it spattering over the Bloodstone. It glowed intensely the moment the blood touched it, and Shirukai was overwhelmed by a presence so powerful it blocked out all else.

  “Powerful,” a booming voice echoed in his mind. “So very powerful.” Shirukai hid from the voice, but there was no way to escape its pervading gaze. “Would you serve?” the voice asked.

  Shirukai didn’t understand what service meant. All he knew was coercion.

  “Would you serve?” the voice came again, rattling the bones of his skull. Shirukai’s mind was flooded with images of power and glory, of dominance over others, of being the most powerful sorcerer alive. He saw himself the overlord of many people, and even over demons. In his dull state, the only thing he was aware of was that he was being offered a way out of his current existence. It frightened him, but what choice did he have?

  “I will serve,” he said, and suddenly he was flooded with power. His eyes snapped open, to the surprise of the tall man – the High Priest, Sestin thought to himself. Memory returned as his flesh swelled before his very eyes. His feeble arms and limbs grew strong, and strange power surged through him. It wasn’t his own magical strength, or maybe it was, but it was magnified many- fold by the presence of the being he had sworn to serve: the Dark God, he thought with sudden clarity. That was who he’d given himself to. The sight of the High Priest filled him with hate – an emotion the Dark God amplified until it was all Sestin could feel. With a thought, he snapped the bonds holding him to the harness and rose to his feet.

  The High Priest’s jaw dropped and terror stole over his expression as he looked into Sestin’s eyes. “Master,” he pleaded, but Sestin’s hand flung out and gripped him by the throat. Moments later he was dead, and the acolytes were fleeing the temple. The spiders withdrew, hiding from the presence that possessed Sestin’s body.


  Filled with an orgiastic thirst for vengeance, Sestin stalked out of the temple only to be attacked by one of the trident-wielding guards. Sestin stopped him with a raised finger, took his weapon and thrust it into the man’s belly. Wildness overtook him then, a berserk rage that numbed his senses and filled him with dark energy. He gave into his vengeful hunger, slaking his bloody thirst over and over. Images were seared onto his mind that would scar him forever. Images of his own murderess rage, expressed a hundred times and on a hundred torn and broken bodies: man, woman and child. Those images were the Dark God’s gift to him, the seeds of his own madness.

  When it was over, he recovered from his berserker rage and fled from Skelka, horrified by what he’d done. Assailed by inner turmoil of the worst kind, he sailed back to Antropel on Ossthak’s boat. The presence of the Dark God had left him and, surrounded by miles of ocean, he tried to cleanse himself of what he had done. He begged for forgiveness, though he didn’t know who he was begging it from. He tried to justify it, telling himself he hadn’t been himself, that he’d been possessed somehow. He even tried to blame the Skelkans. They had deserved it, after all they had done to him. But however hard he tried, nothing could erase the guilt he felt at the slaughter he had perpetrated with his own hands. And try though he might to imagine putting it behind him, he knew in his heart of hearts that nothing would ever erase the images of the atrocities he’d committed that night. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  …

  “I think we need to move on,” Gaspi said, voicing what they must all by now by thinking.

  “We’re not waitin’ for Voltan?” Baard said.

  “He can reach us anytime, as long as we’re carrying the amulet,” Gaspi said. “I don’t think he intended to be this long, and I certainly don’t think he planned for us to sit around waiting any more than we have done.”

  “I agree,” Sabu said. “We also need to face the possibility that something might have gone wrong.”