As Siggard offered yet another silent prayer to see his family just once more, it began to rain, a drizzle at first, and then a downpour. After only a couple of minutes he felt as though he was soaked to the bone, despite the heavy leather and coat of mail. And, for some strange reason, he could smell a fire smoldering.
Siggard opened his eyes to find a cold autumn rain falling upon him. His fire lay smoldering, the last flames put out by the downpour. He shivered, wishing that he had a cloak to wrap around himself. He had owned one, he remembered, but where it had gone was yet another thing he could not account for.
At least there was no lightning, he reflected. That meant he could safely seek shelter in the forest.
But even as he forced himself to rise, the rain slackened and ceased. The soft light of dawn peeked through the clouds, and a bird sang in the distance.
Siggard was not at ease, however. In all of his experience a forest should smell fresh and magical after a rainfall, but the woods reeked of decay instead. For a moment he remembered all of the times he had gone hunting mushrooms with his wife during the early spring, just before the planting. They would venture into the forest, seeking their bounty and watching as the hares and squirrels went about their daily business. Once, they had even seen a great deer, but only briefly.
He shook his head. He still had several leagues to travel, and only the gods knew what had happened to the army. He began to walk, following the path even farther north, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.
As he walked, the forest became strangely silent. Other than the birdsong right after the rain, the only sound he heard was the crunching of his own boots in the earthen road.
“I’m going to have to get out of here,” Siggard muttered uneasily, picking up the pace. As before, the path twisted and turned as he walked, but always bore northwards.
Finally, the sun began to set once again, and Siggard retired to the side of the road. He began to gather firewood, hoping that this time the flames wouldn’t be smothered by rain.
“Excuse me, my dear sir!” called a voice. Siggard turned to see a tall, dark-skinned man with a bushy goatee regarding him. The stranger wore long light red robes, and carried a traveler’s pack on his back. “Would you mind if I joined you? I would be happy to help in any way I could.”
“How do you know I’m not a bandit?” Siggard asked.
“If you were a bandit, you wouldn’t have asked that question,” the stranger replied. “Besides, you have an honest face. Shall we trade names?”
“Siggard of Entsteig,” Siggard said carefully. “And you are?”
The stranger bowed, his hands held together. “I am Sarnakyle of Kehjistan, a great land far to the east. I am one of the Vizjerei.”
“A wizard?” Siggard asked.
Sarnakyle grinned. “Definitely not a shoemaker.”
Siggard finished building his fire-pit and picked up a couple of dried sticks. Unceremoniously, he dropped them into the pit. “What brings you out on this road?”
Sarnakyle held up a hand. “Please, let me help you with that.” He gestured quickly, and a spark leapt from his hand into the wood, lighting the fire. The wizard sat down, warming his hands. “I am a wanderer, friend Siggard. I have recently seen some . . . disturbing things, and I am trying to sort them out. And you?”
“I am trying to make my way to Blackmarch,” Siggard stated.
“I do not believe I have been there,” Sarnakyle said. “I have heard some terrible things about it, but I have not seen it. I think I will go, if you will have my company.”
“Just so long as you don’t slow me down,” Siggard said.
“I can walk quite quickly,” Sarnakyle said, still smiling. “Besides, you could probably use my help.”
Siggard raised an eyebrow.
“No offense, my good sir, but with the exception of your sword you do not appear to be attired for battle. I am an experienced wizard.”
Siggard grunted. “We will see.”
Sarnakyle reached into his pack and pulled out some rations. Silently, he offered a bit of dried beef to Siggard.
“Thank you,” Siggard said, taking the offering. When he bit into it, however, he found that he still had very little appetite. He ate half of the ration, and then wrapped the rest up in a leaf and put it in his belt.
“By the looks of it, you are not nearly as rested as I,” Sarnakyle said. “Please, allow me to take first watch.”
Siggard was about to object, but then thought better of it. After all, he only actually had a battered sword and a piece of dried meat to his name right now; nothing worth stealing at all.
For the first time in two days, Siggard didn’t dream of battle. He was shaken awake by Sarnakyle, who told him that nothing had happened. He watched the wizard make some gestures at the ground, and then settle down to sleep.
He’d have to ask him what those were in the morning, Siggard thought. He watched the forest, his mind slowly wandering back to his farm, village, and family. Soon, he promised himself, soon he would see them again.
As his mind wandered, the eastern sky began to lighten, and finally the sun rose in all of its glory. Sarnakyle stretched and yawned beside him, and finally rose, scratching his goatee.
“That was a good night,” the wizard said.
“You did something with your hands,” Siggard said. “It was just before you went to sleep. What was that?”
Sarnakyle smiled. “A bit of extra protection. I set some magical wards earlier, and I just made certain they were still strong.”
“If you can set magic wards, why did you need me to keep watch?”
“Magic is not as . . . powerful as many think,” Sarnakyle said, and for a moment Siggard thought he could see a sadness in the wizard’s eyes. “Sometimes a good sword arm can be as valuable as a hundred spells.”
Siggard unwrapped the ration from last night and took a couple of bites. Somehow, he still wasn’t terribly hungry. It could be simple concern; in less than three days, he had heard two people talk about Blackmarch as a dire place, and he was beginning to fear the worst for the army.
He wrapped the ration up again and looked over at Sarnakyle. The wizard sat on a rock, eagerly eating his breakfast. Well, Siggard reflected, at least this visitor hadn’t vanished with the dawn.
“We should be going soon,” Siggard said. “I want to be at Blackmarch as soon as possible.”
“You should relax,” Sarnakyle mumbled in between bites. “Blackmarch is a place; it won’t go anywhere if we take an extra couple of hours.”
“It is very important that I get there,” Siggard insisted. “I am a soldier of the army of Entsteig, and I have to rejoin my companions.”
Sarnakyle blinked and stopped chewing. He swallowed hard and stared at Siggard. “My friend,” he began, “you are on a fool’s errand. The army of Entsteig was annihilated at Blackmarch by a demonic force. It is said that fewer than ten men survived the battle.”
Siggard found himself swimming in fear. If the army had been defeated, then the enemy could rampage amongst the countryside. And that meant that his family . . .
Siggard bolted upright, gathering his meager belongings and buckling his sword to his waist. “My family is in danger,” he said. “I have to go.”
“That army of demons was heading towards Entsteig, wasn’t it?” Sarnakyle mused. “I’d better come with you.”
“It could be very dangerous,” Siggard warned.
Sarnakyle pulled his pack onto his back and smoothed out his robes. “I have more experience with demons than I would care to have, my dear warrior. Trust me, you are better off with me at your side.”
“What is the fastest road west?” Siggard asked.
“A bit to the north there is a crossroads,” Sarnakyle stated. “The western path will take us out of the forest and into Entsteig.”
Siggard nodded. “It’s about time we got out of this twice-damned forest.”
As they set off, Siggard wished
that he had the wings of angels, for every minute that they traveled brought the demons closer to Emilye and his child.
3
REVELATIONS AND SORROW
Do not embrace hatred, for it can breed only destruction.
Embrace love instead, for those who love can change the world itself.
—Gesinius of Kehjistan, Tenets of Zakarum
As Sarnakyle had predicted, they came to the crossroads in the midmorning. A forlorn gibbet stood at the roadside, but not even a rope remained. For a moment, Siggard wondered how many had died at this place, their spirits returning on the Night of Souls to walk the earth in search of their executioners. He suppressed a shudder, and without a word began to stride down the western path.
As they walked, Sarnakyle talked of the wonders of Kehjistan, telling stories of the great temples and cities. He told of the Mage Clans in the east, and the dark magic farther south. It did not remove the horrible feeling from the pit of Siggard’s stomach, but it did lighten the mood somewhat.
Much to the soldier’s relief, by the time they stopped at sundown the trees had thinned considerably. Siggard breathed a sigh of relief; once he was out of the forest, he never wanted to return.
It only took them a couple of minutes to gather the wood they needed for a fire. Siggard tried to dine on some more of the ration Sarnakyle had given him earlier, but found he was too worried to eat.
“Are you feeling well?” the wizard asked. “You’ve barely eaten anything these last couple of days.”
Siggard shook his head. “How could I be hungry when my family might be in dire danger?”
Sarnakyle nodded. “I understand.”
They bedded down for the night, Sarnakyle first setting his wards with an abrupt series of gestures and then taking first watch. Siggard tried to sleep, but his dreams were filled with the screams of the dying and horrible visions of Emilye being tormented. Finally, Sarnakyle woke him up, and Siggard gladly took the watch. The minutes stretched into hours, and Siggard tried to think of anything but the terrors that could be occurring to those he loved.
Finally, the dawn came, and they smothered the last of the fire and began on their way again. The path twisted and turned, but finally the road led them out of the trees into the open fields of Entsteig.
Sarnakyle took a deep breath, wonder overcoming him as he saw the rolling green fields and sparse woodlands, each filled with the many colors of autumn. “What a beautiful country! Its natural beauty puts even the great temples of Viz-jun to shame!”
Siggard nodded grimly. “Let us hope that this ‘beautiful country’ is not being overrun by demons.”
“Do you know the way to your village?” Sarnakyle asked.
“Once we get to the King’s Road I’ll be able to get my bearings,” Siggard stated. “All roads lead to the King’s Road.”
With that, they walked westwards until the sun began to set. They camped near a copse of trees; after his experience in the forest, Siggard couldn’t call these anything greater than woods. Sarnakyle wanted to make a campfire, but Siggard wouldn’t have it; the demons could be anywhere, and the last thing he needed was to attract their attention with a pillar of smoke.
This time Siggard took the first watch, taking a little comfort from being in his homeland once more. He woke Sarnakyle just after midnight, and tried to sleep. Once again, his dreams were troubled, and it was a relief to be roused at the dawn.
By midday they had reached the King’s Road, a wide path paved with rough-hewn stone. At the crossroads stood a large wooden sign, inscribed with simple letters.
“We have to go north,” Siggard said. “My village is about a day east of Brennor, and Brennor is about three leagues northwards.”
Sarnakyle smiled. “To Brennor we go!”
Siggard shook his head. “I almost think you are enjoying this too much.”
The wizard shrugged. “What is the point of visiting new places if you can’t enjoy yourself?”
“Under any other circumstances, I would agree with you,” Siggard said, and began walking. Sarnakyle strode beside him, remarking on the freshness of the air, and comparing it to the stifling cities in Kehjistan.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Sarnakyle said. “Viz-jun is a beautiful and great city, and you should visit it someday. But there are so many people that the air can be difficult at best. I sometimes think that the ideal place to live is in the country.”
The wizard suddenly stopped. “What is that smell?” he remarked, sniffing the air.
Siggard took a deep breath. Indeed, he could detect a bit of smoke, as though some fire close by had been smothered.
“Is there anything nearby?” Sarnakyle asked.
“Just a small village,” Siggard replied. “It could be the harvest festival.”
Sarnakyle licked his lips. “Now that is something to look forward to!”
As they walked, they found themselves facing a rise in the road, and behind the hill rose a curl of smoke.
“I hope we haven’t missed anything!” Sarnakyle exclaimed. “It has been some time since I attended anything remotely like this!”
But when they crested the hill, Siggard’s heart sank. The village itself had been fired, and in the town square, surrounded by the husks of burnt-out buildings, lay a pyramid of severed and decaying heads.
An investigation of the village revealed no life whatsoever. When the demons had passed through, they had killed every living soul. As they staggered out of the village, stunned to their very souls, Siggard and Sarnakyle saw the maimed and brutalized bodies of livestock at one of the local farmsteads. Siggard had no doubt the animals had been slaughtered to feed the army and then left to rot; after all, the demonic army would be able to move faster if it lived off the land than if it carried its food with it.
“We should travel through the night,” Siggard said, regarding the horrifying pyramid. “With some luck, the demons won’t have gotten to my home yet.”
“Haste is important, but so is rest,” Sarnakyle said. The wizard’s playful demeanor was gone, replaced by a solemn determination that surprised Siggard. “The demons will try to cause as much destruction as possible, probably working in a circular pattern. If we travel directly to your village, we should be able to beat them.”
“How do you know all this?” Siggard demanded.
“I am a Vizjerei,” Sarnakyle stated. “One of the ‘Spirit Clan.’ I have summoned demons, and I have also fought them. I’ve seen these tactics used before by Bartuc, the Warlord of Blood.”
“Could Bartuc be behind this?” Siggard asked.
“I sincerely hope not,” Sarnakyle said. “I helped to kill him. Do you know a direct route from here?”
Siggard nodded. “I think I’ve been here before. If I’m right, this was Gellan’s Pass, and that means that there is a path toward my village to the northeast.”
“Damned demons,” Sarnakyle cursed. “If only they hadn’t killed all of the horses.”
They found the path, and had managed three leagues by sundown, stopping for the evening at the side of the road.
That night, although Siggard managed to finish off the ration Sarnakyle had given him days ago, he could not sleep. The fear gnawed at his gut, and with every minute that passed he wished that the dawn would come.
As the sun rose out of the east, they set off again, Siggard walking more anxiously than he had even when Emilye had begun her labor pains. If only she was safe, he could be happy. Then he could take her away from all the madness into a walled town like Brennor, where they would be safe for eternity.
“We have the advantage, you know,” Sarnakyle said as they walked. “We only have to move ourselves; whatever demon leads this army has to march thousands across the land. We can cover double the distance they can.”
“It still won’t matter if we get there too late,” Siggard gritted, marching forward even more quickly. He finally slowed down when Sarnakyle jogged up beside him, puffing in exertion.
&n
bsp; That night, Siggard reckoned that they had covered seven or eight leagues, and should be at the village sometime tomorrow. Sarnakyle had actually managed to catch a hare during the walk, and cooked it with a bit of magic. While the wizard ate with relish, Siggard found that he had no appetite at all, and left his share of the animal alone.
“If you won’t eat, and you should,” Sarnakyle said, licking his fingers, “tell me of your home.”
Siggard thought for a moment, and then began to speak. “We own a farm, just outside of the village square. My father brought us to Bear’s Hill when I was very young, and we did quite well.”
“Bear’s Hill?”
“My village,” Siggard clarified. “I met Emilye when we were both children, at one of the village dances. She was absolutely radiant, and I, well, I was a rustic farmer. Still, she saw me, and I saw her, and it was love at first sight.”
Sarnakyle grinned. “It must have been wonderful.” He took another bite out of the rabbit.
Siggard nodded, and for a moment, there was a hint of a smile. “It was. When we got married, I promised her I’d always protect her. Whenever we could, we would go out exploring or picking mushrooms in the countryside, even when she was bearing our child. I tried to make her go gently, but she told me that she was pregnant, not fragile.”
“Quite a woman.”
“Yes,” Siggard said. “The call to arms came only a couple of weeks after my daughter was born. We hadn’t even decided on a name. I told her I’d be right back, and we’d choose one then. It’s bad luck, you see, to leave a Naming for more than two months.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Sarnakyle stated.
“I hope so,” Siggard said. “By all the gods, I hope so.”
They left their camp before the dawn, so eager was Siggard to get back to his home. They walked silently, Siggard trying at every step to convince himself they would arrive in time, and would be able to convince the village’s Ealdorman to evacuate everybody before the demons came.
DIABLO: DEMONSBANE Page 2