by B R Crichton
He toasted the unseen Emissary he knew to be watching him that evening when he ate, and drank wine. He took a certain pleasure from needling the Emissary for his lack of appreciation for life in the real. Savouring every morsel and sip was his way of proving to himself that his existence here was richer than it could ever have been in the Great Hall.
He told stories where he stopped, earning coin on his journey. But always now he wondered how his story was being told in the Great Hall, how Athusilan recorded his life, and how this story would end.
Chapter Twenty One
The Mora Mountains became home to the ragtag army of mercenaries, farmers and disbanded militiamen. In the weeks that followed, they did not find a single remaining community in the mountains. Clearly word had reached the miners, and they had fled to the east with all they could carry. The iron-rich range was littered with mines, open quarries, tunnels bored into faces like the lairs of great worms, and the occasional shaft plunging into darkness.
More often than not there was no conveniently placed, disused quarry to camp in as there would be tonight. Instead, they were forced to spread out into discrete pockets among the steep sided gulleys and ravines that criss-crossed the landscape. They preferred the more open sites where they could gather in an easily defensible way, rather than being hemmed into narrow channels that were difficult to escape.
Vegetation was sparse, but enough soil gathered in the more open channels to provide grazing for the horses, and on occasion, the animals were taken down in groups to lower levels to find pasture.
Water was available in abundance. Icy streams flowed at regular intervals, clear and refreshing as they continued the work of millennia, carving up the mountains by degrees.
Isolated pockets of timber could be found too, and so wood for fuel was usually close to hand. The pines stood proudly in verdant patches where the soil had been able to gather to sufficient depth. Tonight they would sleep in one of their preferred sites, an old quarry, long since abandoned. It even had a small area of woodland at its eastern edge, although the reddening leaves of autumn failed to break the monotony of rust red rock and dust.
Tomorrow they would cross the Mathalin River into Dasar. From there, the mountains would rapidly decrease in size, and with that, the cover they had relied on would diminish.
Kellan rode beside Elan in the gloom of a moonlit night. Behind them, six Arbis Morans and two of the ‘Remnants’ formed a short column of riders. They had been chosen for their skill with the bow, and tonight had been fruitful.
Giaco and Rino had scouted ahead to find an advance party of Jendayans setting up camp in a clearing three hours from the foothills of the Mora Mountains. This small group had returned today to disrupt their plans. They had killed sixteen before the others had taken cover in the trees. Kellan and his party immediately left them and returned to the safety of the hills.
That was their tactic. Hit and run. Strike quickly and retreat to cover. Two days ago, they had burned a supply caravan of some twenty heavy carts carrying grain; flaming arrows setting light to the wood of the carts from a hundred paces or more, whilst the flanking Jendayan riders were ambushed simultaneously from cover. It was a shame to burn the grain, with food in such short supply in the mountains, but Blunt had been clear that no heroics would be entered into. Liberating grain from the enemy fell into that category.
There was no doubt they were merely an irritation; a nuisance to be endured whilst the bulk of the Jendayan advance remain untouched, but it felt good all the same.
Larger skirmishes had taken place too. On two occasions the Jendayans had probed the mountains with a battalion of footsoldiers. With their advantage of the high ground though, the archers had been able to weaken the force considerably before unleashing the bulk of the stubborn resistance to join the fray. The attackers had retreated against such odds both times. Dimas had been frightening to watch when he charged uncaring at the fleeing Jendayans. He had been like an animal in his ferocity, almost mindless in his singular aim to destroy all life Jendayan. Kellan wondered how different the two of them were; perhaps the Calm was the only thing that stood between him and animal rage. Dimas was kept alive by his skill with the sword, and Kellan doubted that his own fury alone would have kept him from harm if their fortunes had been reversed.
Marlon found himself using the mobile forge they carried more and more to repair weapons, rather than replacing thrown horseshoes as he had expected. He enjoyed the challenge of finding his way around a forge again, and while his work would never carry the stamp of a master, it was better than leaving notched blades and dull arrows. He had taken an interest in the Lythurian arrowheads and tried to recreate them himself, but Kellan and Elan insisted on making their own. It was the way they had been taught. They tried to explain the ethos behind it, having total trust in your weapons because you had total knowledge of them, but he just shook his head and laughed.
There would be little for Marlon to repair after this night’s killing however. The arrows had been left where they landed, and swords had stayed in their scabbards.
“I was thinking that you should go home without me,” Kellan said quietly when they were in the relative safety of the foothills.
Elan made a non-committal sound.
“I mean it,” Kellan said.
“What? Mean what? Elan said, as he was pulled from his reverie.
“I said, you should go home without me. This is not your war.”
“Of course it is.”
“Nonsense,” Kellan said, “I dragged you into this.”
“No you did not.”
“You were eager to leave after Hadaiti. It was me that begged you to stay while I searched for my mother’s killer.”
“And you are still seeking him.”
“No,” Kellan lied, “I will never find him now. My best hope is that the Jendayans get him. Too many years have passed.”
Elan watched him in the gloom for a long moment.
“What are you going to do, Kellan?” It was an accusation as much as a question.
“I will remain with the Band for as long as they will have me. But whatever the outcome, this is not your war.”
“I cannot believe I am hearing this,” Elan said with dismay. “Not my war? Do you think that the Jendayan Empire will overlook Lythuria? How can you say that, knowing what I stand to lose if this war should be lost. And you; remember what you have waiting there too.”
“I just think you would be better off if you went home now. One man will not make a difference either way.”
“I still cannot believe I am hearing this from you; after all your talk. You told me that if you ever remained in a place of safety to allow others to fight in your stead for the freedom of your land, that you would lose the right to call yourself a Northlander. Well, I can tell you now that I will not cower in safety until it is too late and the Jendayans march up to my own home.”
“Lythuria is safe,” Kellan argued. “How could you march an army up those steps? A child in his first year of martial training could hold that approach for as long as he could stay awake, with enough arrows piled at his feet. It is a self-contained enclave of no value to Jendaya. It is the safest place in the world.”
“So you say.”
“Look,” Kellan said reasonably, “we have been harrying this invasion for the best part of a month. We are not slowing them down.”
“Then come home with me.”
“I cannot. Not yet.”
“Then you should get used to having me around,” Elan replied, spurring his horse to a quicker pace and away from Kellan’s side.
Why do people have to be so stubborn?
Kellan directed his thoughts elsewhere.
The ‘smirker’ had survived this far; he had fought well, and perhaps redeemed a little of what was left of his soul. But tomorrow they would cross into Dasar, and Kellan knew that he would have to act soon.
On top of all that, he had become increasingly certain that he w
as being stalked. The constant tension had him wound up like a coiled spring, ready to unravel at any moment at the least provocation.
The least his friends could do was to do what he bloody well asked of them!
The attack, when it came, was sudden.
The sentry’s cry of alarm was cut off sharply, an hour before the sun was due to rise. Kellan was jolted awake under the canvas sheet that served as a tent, held above him by a thin pole and weighted at the corners with stones.
He crawled out from his crude shelter, stiff with cold and lack of sleep, trying to clear his head. Shouts rang out across the encampment, calling men to arms, and rousing those not woken by the first scream.
Another scream, this time closer, and again, cut off with abrupt efficiency.
How could they have got so close without being seen?
Kellan drew the Calm around him, clamping down on his fear and replacing it with clear, composed thought. Everything around him seemed to slow, as his uncluttered mind was able to deal with the minutiae of his surroundings, unhindered by irrational emotion. The Daemon thrashed against its prison walls, droning wildly like a thousand wasps shaken in a box, as though it sensed what was coming.
Elan arrived at his side, with an arrow nocked, his eyes searching the quarry walls for the attack to come. Kellan drew his Jendayan blade and held it in a defensive pose.
“Which direction are they coming from?” Elan asked desperately.
Wordlessly, Kellan looked to the near horizon of the quarry to the south-west. Even as men stumbled about in the dark, drawing weapons and finding their boots, Kellan saw the attackers.
There was no moon, and so the raiders were just deeper shadows occluding the starlight as they leapt from the rim of the quarry. Two jet black shapes fell with inhuman ease to land among the frantic soldiers in the Arbis Moran camp. Men screamed as the shadows struck out with terrifying speed, ripping through leather armour and opening deep gouges in the flesh beneath.
Kellan ran towards the melee, aware of numerous members of the Band and ‘Remnants’ joining him. Elan ran, sure footed over the uneven ground even in the dark, with his bow half drawn in readiness. The throng of Arbis Morans around the enemy was too thick to see beyond, but men still screamed in alarm and pain as they fought.
At first he took them to be large wolves, hunched low as they were encircled, striking out with claws in defence, but as he drew closer it became clear that they were no such thing. They were unlike anything he had ever seen, creatures of dark nightmares that chased fevered imaginations to panicked wakefulness. Their skin was black and without texture at all, difficult to focus on, the gaze slithered off the flesh, unwilling to dwell on it for any more than a heartbeat. Their hind legs were short and thick; powerful for driving forward with savage lunges that allowed their massively disproportionate forelimbs to swipe with deadly force. The opened chests of those that stumbled away dazed, or already lay dead, spoke of sharp talons at the end of those enormous arms. Long slender torsos flexed like vipers, turning this way and that to face anyone brave enough to attack.
The toothless mouths that split their heads almost in two were set in a rictus grin that mocked with its apparent relish. Ringing the low dome of their heads were small gleaming bead-like eyes, like polished nuggets of obsidian, regarding their prey with heartless scrutiny.
Elan drew and fired an arrow through a gap in the ring of reluctant militiamen, drawing another from his quiver as soon as it was free and firing again. Two shafts sprouted from what could only be regarded as the chest of one of the creatures, drawing its attention to Elan. To his horror, as it paused to focus on him, the arrows slid slowly through its flesh, as though it consisted of thick, black honey, and fell harmlessly at its feet. It leapt, clearing the heads of the circle of militiamen, to land with cat-like grace two paces from the Lythurian. Even as it moved through the air, Kellan was moving to attack, and it was that speed of reaction that saved Elan’s life. The Jendayan blade bit deeply into the shoulder of the shadowy beast, drawing its attention away from Elan and onto its new assailant.
As soon as the blade bit, Kellan knew that he had done it no harm. The wound closed almost as quickly as the sword had entered, and pulling the sword free was like pulling a stick from thick, sucking mud. The creature licked its lips with a slender black tongue, and regarded Kellan with its numerous soulless eyes. It made a chittering sound, then lunged at him, swiping at the place that Kellan had been a moment ago with deadly claws. But Kellan was quick, leaping back as the beast struck, his sword carving an arc through the air to meet the creature’s forelimb. He felt resistance as his blade passed through the leg, and severing the end. The lump of black flesh fell onto the stony ground, but the creature was not deterred. It simply reached out with the fresh stump to the severed body part and brought them together. They fused in moments, and the creature was complete again.
The second creature did not bother itself with leaping over the Arbis Morans; it simply barged through, swinging its forelimbs outwards to smash through the wall of flesh and bone, sending men tumbling, broken, to the ground.
They both fixed on Kellan, beginning to circle hungrily. Lythurian arrows thudded into the side of one in rapid succession, distracting it momentarily. Kellan took that instant to attack, taking two strides towards it and leaping over it. He slammed his foot down, hard onto the top of the creatures head, using that small extra impetus to land behind its tail-less back end, turning in the air as he did so. He landed as he drove the sword, point first, downward into the base of its back, crippling its back legs for a moment and forcing it to collapse at the rear. But even as he pulled his sword free, the creature was shaking off the attack, its rear limbs scrabbling back to life.
“Is there no killing those bastards?” he heard Blunt cursing over the clamour.
The creatures were encircled once more, this time with Kellan in the middle with them. Truman ran in at the rear of the other creature, but its crown of eyes saw in all directions, and it spun, snake-like, to face him. He managed to thrust his rapier into its shoulder as it turned, but the blade stuck, and he was held for a dangerous moment. The beast could easily have felled him with a swipe of its massive front limb, had Valia not brought her own broadsword scything down into its head. The force of the blow and its imbalance brought the creature crashing to the ground. Men fell upon it with new vigour seeing it thrashing wildly, clearly injured. Swords were driven into it from all angles, hacking and slashing to finish it once and for all.
It grew still, and, exhausted soldiers pulled their swords free, or left them where the protruded from the dark flesh.
“That showed it,” Foley managed, with strained bravado.
“One more to go,” Alano reminded him. But even as they backed away to regroup for the second beast, they were horrified to see the prostrate shadow stirring. Weapons left stuck into it began to ooze towards the ground, and severed parts came together with the main body. Slowly, it regained its footing, and rose with a shake of its head.
“Oh no,” Foley managed, before it lunged again. He barely dived aside in time, but one of the Band beside him was nearly cut in two at the waist by the blow. They scattered again, keeping a wary distance from the prowling creature that now returned its attention to Kellan and its companion.
Kellan had been dancing around the other creature, landing blows where he could and narrowly avoiding being cut down himself several times. Elan distracted it with regular, well placed arrows, and several crossbow bolts from the militiamen helped to keep its attention split.
The creatures prowled around him, shaking off the arrows, splitting his defence. Truman arrived at his side, and they stood back to back.
“They want you, Kellan,” he said. “Why do they want you?”
Valia and Foley joined them in the middle of the circle, swords held ready.
“Stay close together,” Valia urged.
Arrows thudded into the creatures’ flanks, but slid out again a
s though they had penetrated nothing more than warm wax.
“What are you?” Kellan mouthed. Then, one leapt at the small group. Valia was nearest and deflected the lunge with a sideways swipe of her two-handed longsword.
Kellan searched with his mind, and found what he had expected. He was surrounded by the minds of his allies, glowing like constellations around him, but there were two anomalies. Two knots in the strange view of his surroundings that he could not penetrate. Another attack was deflected, this time by Truman, but he had been injured in the attack. Kellan pushed those events away and concentrated on those blank spaces where the creatures’ bestial minds should be. He probed, even as another attack knocked Foley to the ground. Kellan was dimly aware of Marlon coming to his brother’s aid, and Alano and three of the ‘Remnants’ rushing in to join the clump of defenders. He pushed, but like the beasts’ flesh, the area around their minds was thick, like treacle. Blunt was there too now, cursing and swearing at the monsters, daring them to attack.
Kellan looked deeper, forcing his will beyond those cloaks that obscured the creatures’ minds, trying to learn a little more of their nature if nothing else. More soldiers rushed in, attacking with futile blows, shouting in anger at these horrors that would not die.
The veil cracked, giving him a glimpse of the dark and warped intellects within. Their link to the Life-force originated pure and clean, but grew darker and more tainted the closer it got to their minds, tethering them with tendrils of slick, inky darkness.