by A J Dalton
A hoof came down perilously close to his head and again he rolled. The colt whinnied in high-pitched terror, but had clearly served to win his master a brief respite. He must make the most of the moment, for it might be the only one he got.
He uncoiled and yanked at his blade with one hand while furiously wiping at his eyes with the other. He couldn’t orient himself! Where was the creature? The stench was all around him. A shadow moved towards him. He crouched low and moved to the side with his sword out in front of him. The shadow veered away and circled him.
He could see it now. It was a large, man-like creature with an overly developed jaw and outsized hands and feet. A tongue lolled out of its mouth and gave it a leering appearance. It was playing with him! Imagine what it would have done to him if it was intent on killing him quickly. With its prodigious speed and strength, Young Strap wouldn’t have had a chance. He wasn’t sure he had one now even with sword in hand. Perhaps if he had his bow… but there was no way the creature would give him time to nock an arrow.
There were soft noises behind him and Young Strap glanced back. Three more of them arrived, one of them so large that it seemed to block out half the sky.
‘No! Brax told you not to touch this hw-one!’ roared the largest.
Young Strap’s attacker glowered at the apparent leader, but retreated a step and crouched on it haunches in obedience. ‘No hurt man!’ it gurgled. ‘Just stop man.’
The leader ignored the bleating of its pack member and swung its heavy head towards Young Strap. It huffed at the air, drawing in odours and smells like an animal. ‘Yes, you belong to her.’
‘W-who?’ Young Strap dared ask.
‘White lady!’
The sorceress! This creature could smell his link to the white sorceress! He was grateful that it could because that might have been all that saved him. ‘Yes, I am sworn to her. I am Strap. I am a King’s Guardian. Who are you? What do you know of the white lady?’
The leader blinked, clearly taking some moments to process the information and questions.
‘Brax!’ came the half-barked reply, the creature’s jaw obviously more suited to crunching through bone than articulating language. ‘Brax h-is Chief Warden. Brax h-is stronger than Guardians! Stronger than Scourge!’
‘Yes, you look stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.’
‘Guardians weak!’
‘Yes. Even the Scourge is weak compared to you.’
‘You weak!’
‘Yes.’
This answer seemed to satisfy the creature somewhat, since he no longer seemed to be about to leap on Young Strap and tear him limb from limb. Young Strap lowered his sword.
‘Brax send Scourge back to King! Brax not need Scourge! Brax strong! You go back to white lady. Brax find necro-man! You go back.’
Young Strap looked back the way he had come with his colt. Was Brax saying he had encountered the Scourge? What about Nostracles? Were the two of them still behind him then? Did they need his help? Surely they wouldn’t go back having come so far! Young Strap knew he had to get Brax to tell him more.
‘Of course I will go back. I will go back because Brax tells me to. I will go back with the Scourge. Is he that way?’
‘Yes!’ Brax half-shouted impatiently. ‘Go h-or Brax will h-eat you!’
Shit. ‘Yes, yes! I will go,’ Young Strap quickly reassured him. ‘Was the priest there too? He is a priest of Shakri. He is strong in magic.’
The implication that there was someone else who might be strong enraged Brax. He roared so loudly that snow fell from the branches of trees around them. He sprang upon Young Strap, and the Guardian cowered in genuine fright. The Chief Warden straightened to his full height to intimidate the Guardian. And it’s working, Young Strap thought to himself.
‘The young priest h-is weak too! H-And so was his master. Brax h-ate him. Crunched his head good!’
So the demon Phyrax had not been simply inventing a lie when he had gloatingly told Nostracles that the temple-master in Corinus was dead, abandoned by the goddess at the end. And it was Brax who had committed the murder! He had eaten the old man! Young Strap dimly remembered the temple-master’s gentle eyes and words. If a high priest of Shakri couldn’t look forward to a dignified end, then who could? Was the fate of all mortals to end up as a meal for worms, carrion-eaters or creatures like Brax?
‘But you did not eat the weak young priest?’ Young Strap ventured. ‘Then I will find him and make sure he goes back with the Scourge and me.’
Brax’s meaty breath made Young Strap gag. ‘Go then before we h-eat your horse. Run, weak, little Guardian!’
Young Strap needed no second bidding and stumbled away in the direction the colt had finally chosen for an escape. He made sure that he gathered up his precious bow as he went, but did not stop until he had found the horse a good mile away. He calmed the sweat-foamed animal as best he could and gave him a small, withered apple from one of the saddle bags.
He was as shaken as the horse and knew it wasn’t just the difficult run through the snow that made his heart pound so hard. There was something about the Wardens that triggered a primal, visceral fear in him. Maybe this was how it felt to be a deer pursued by a mountain cat. He felt giddy and about to be sick. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the colt, which did not move away for once.
If the Scourge and Nostracles had already turned back, he might never catch them. Still, he should be able to make it back through the mountains on his own… if there were no border guards to contend with. Was he seriously contemplating returning all the way to Corinus empty-handed? Simply on the word of some brutish Warden, no matter how scary he was? Were he to appear before the throne with nothing, that would make him an unworthy champion of the white sorceress. He had an overwhelming desire to please her, to be held high in her regard. He might only have such feelings because he was bewitched, as the Scourge said, but Young Strap simply couldn’t bring himself to care much about that.
Funny, thinking about the white sorceress brought an increased clarity to the image he held of her on his mind. He could almost hear her speaking to him.
‘Young Strap, can you hear me?’ the wind asked him mournfully.
Yes, he thought, wondering if he was going mad.
‘I need your help.’
Just tell me what to do!
‘You must find Balthagar and Mordius and bring them here to Corinus. The King has run mad and imprisoned me. But they can set me free. You must bring them, and quickly.’
Of course, milady! I will find them without delay.
‘Thank you, my champion. I must go now, for I fear He is coming. Think of me!’
I will, milady, I will.
And she was gone as quickly as she had arrived. She was in trouble and needed his help. She was in trouble and needed his help. She was in… It filled his head and pushed almost all other thoughts from his head. He put his fists to his temples.
‘Alright, alright! I’ll do as you bid!’ he said out loud, which seemed to relieve some of the building mental pressure. It was lucky that the King’s orders were all but the same as the white sorceress’s because otherwise Young Strap would have had to try to fight the compulsion she’s clearly just placed upon him. He spared a thought for Nostracles and the Scourge, but was in the saddle and riding for Accros before the thought was even complete.
***
Saltar and Mordius had spent longer resting on Jered and Jenny’s farm than they’d intended, partly because of all the useful information Jered had to share and partly because Mordius had a particular appetite for Jenny’s apple and cinnamon pie. Saltar had politely declined his portion of pie, much to Mordius’s delight, but had accepted some mint tea. The herb infusion would hopefully mask any scent of decay that might linger around him. Perhaps I should bathe in it, he pondered, but then decided to put the idea because the smell of mint would only make it hard for him to creep up on anyone or anything he was stalking.
As a cons
equence of the delay at the farm, it had been late in the day before they had got back on the road. As they had left, Mordius had stared longingly at the plump and generous pillow and eiderdown on one of the beds, but Saltar had been stern, had rebuffed their hosts’ further offers of hospitality, and marched Mordius out the door. The horse was also none too pleased to be led out of its well-provisioned stable, and directed a desultory kick at Mordius, who stood nearby and always represented a softer target than Saltar.
The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached Huntsman’s Hollow, a village less than a day’s ride from Accros, or so Jered had told them. The village was little more than a set of a dozen ramshackle homes to either side of the road, but one of them was larger than the others, seemed to have stables attached, and had a painted board hanging above its door. The board bore a portrait of a man wearing a crown, but the paint was too old and weathered for them to make out much of the face.
‘I take it that place serves as an inn,’ Mordius commented unnecessarily, but hoping Saltar might pick up on a hint for once in his life or death.
‘Yes, that is what such a sign usually denotes.’
‘Hmm. It would be sensible to refresh the horse here while we can. And if they have horse feed, we can conserve what we currently carry with us.’
‘Indeed. And perhaps you might find refreshment here too, Mordius, since you have similar needs to the animal. There is a problem, however.’
‘There is?’
‘It is too quiet.’
Mordius looked around the village. Saltar was right. There were none of the usual stray dogs that would normally be in evidence in such a place. There were no children, horses or people. None of the homes had smoke coming from their chimneys either, despite the fact that the sun was just setting and people should be preparing supper for themselves.
‘Err… maybe they’re all in the fields or something. Or they’re all abed because they rise early to milk the cows.’
‘The name of this place is Huntsman’s Hollow.’
‘Ah, yes. I see your point. Not farmers. Hmm. Well, let’s see what’s what in the inn, shall we?’
They left the horse tied loosely outside, rather than going to the laborious effort of stabling it, and stepped inside the door. The scene that greeted them was more than a little unexpected. The place was packed. Every table in the modest establishment was taken. But the patrons of the place were motionless and sat in the near gloom in an eerie silence.
Mordius stopped and began to back up, causing him to bump into Saltar, who was coming in on his heels. ‘Sorry. I don’t like this,’ he whispered.
‘What’ll it be, dearies?’ called a disembodied head resting on top of the bar. ‘Fine pair of travellers like yourselves’ll be just dying for a couple of foaming tankards of ale, won’t ye, unless I miss my mark?’
Mordius’s manners got the better of him. ‘Thank you kindly, madam, but I think we’ll just see to our horse first.’
‘Do no trouble yourself, sir. My boy will see to your mount and bring in your saddle bags.’
‘Er… thank you, madam, but the horse can be a testy with those she doesn’t know. It’s best if I see to it myself.’
‘My boy has a way with horses, sir. Don’t trouble yourself. All will be well. Come further into the room and we’ll see to your comfort. Please don’t be refusing our hospitality for a moment longer, sir, else there are some here who will take offence.’
Saltar bunched his fists and stepped in front of Mordius. Mordius put a hand to Saltar’s shoulder to hold him back. ‘No, Saltar!’ he whispered. ‘We have to get out of here right now!’
The people at the tables turned their heads in unison and stared at Mordius and Saltar. Then the villagers started to move.
‘Go!’ Saltar ordered Mordius without looking back at him. ‘I’ll hold them here for the time it takes you to mount the horse.’
Mordius fled the inn, and only narrowly avoided the hooves of his rearing horse. The beast had clearly been spooked. Then Mordius spotted the body of the stable-boy lying nearby. His head had been staved in, presumably by the horse kicking out. The stable-boy suddenly rolled onto his back and sat up. The orbital socket around one eye and half of his face had been crushed. The one good eye glared at Mordius accusingly.
‘Woah, girl! Shhh! Calm!’
The stable-boy was now on his feet.
Back in the inn, Saltar adopted a fighting stance. He had no weapon, Mordius not trusting him to carry one, but felt no concern at facing so many alone. Muscles, training and speed would be his weapons. There was no point making any excessive display of savagery, since it was unlikely to phase or dismay this type of adversary.
They did not seek to organise themselves against him when they came. Each of them followed a straight line towards him, even if that meant bumping into others, knocking over chairs or getting blocked by others. If they had sought to come at him from different directions at the same time, then he would inevitably have been taken down. But clearly they lacked the knowledge or the ability to think such things through.
The first one was already upon him, arms outstretched, fingers hooked like claws. Saltar punched straight and hard, breaking the woman’s jaw and snapping her head back. Her throat was exposed, which allowed him to deliver a chop to crush her windpipe. She misstepped and went down but started trying to rise almost immediately. The animee coming on behind her, though, did not slow and planted its foot on her chest. As its full weight came to bear, the foot break through the ribcage and disappeared into the chest cavity. Its foot caught, the animee began to pitch forwards. Saltar brought his knee up smartly and smashed its face in.
Saltar brought the tips of his fingers together on each hand to form striking birds, and then set about blinding every animee that came near him. It wasn’t long before the sightless animees were indiscriminately attacking anything within reach, including each other.
‘No!’ the disembodied head screeched. ‘He’s still over there by the door. Stop it! Stop fighting and get outside. Find the other one! Find his horse!’
‘Saltar!’ came Mordius’s quavering voice from outside.
Saltar span and ran outside. He emerged to find Mordius struggling to pull the end of his fighting staff from the unnaturally strong grasp of a boy. The boy was methodically working his way along the staff, obviously looking to lay hands on Mordius.
Saltar stepped forwards and delivered two fearful blows to the boy’s already damaged head. The diminutive animee shuddered, came to a standstill and then collapsed, finally closing his eyes. The small boy’s body relaxed and looked for all the world as if it had settled into a deep and peaceful sleep.
Then Saltar hoisted Mordius onto the horse’s back and slapped its flank. It was only too happy to set off galloping down the road to Accros. Saltar followed at a dead run, confident that none of the animees in the inn were co-ordinated enough to catch up with him on foot. He half contemplated going back inside and getting the head so he could play a few games of streetball with it, but he knew he didn’t have the time – Mordius was bound to be about to get himself in yet more trouble that required Saltar’s intervention.
Mordius and the horse had slowed enough beyond the village to allow Saltar to join them. The necromancer was breathing as hard as the horse. Since Mordius hadn’t been involved in much fighting and running, Saltar concluded that it had to be fear and adrenaline affecting the animateur.
‘Why were you so insistent we get out of there quickly?’ Saltar asked.
‘Why? That head was animated by a magic beyond my knowledge and experience. The fact that it could talk without a set of lungs to push air across its vocal chords is just incredible. I wouldn’t have believed it could be done unless I’d seen and heard it for myself.’
‘Oh. It didn’t seem like that big a deal to me. Probably a parlour trick of some kind.’
Mordius shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. And it’s better to be safe than sorry. It would ha
ve been an unnecessary risk staying any longer.’
‘I can see that, I suppose. But using that sort of logic, we might never have left your home in the first place. Surely looking for the Heart is as unnecessary a risk as ever there was.’
‘You don’t think it’s unnecessary, Saltar, not if you truly wish to be fully resurrected. And I don’t think it’s unnecessary, no matter whether it’s a belief, instinct or aegis on my part.’
‘I suppose. Have you thought about what you’ll do with the Heart if you manage to retrieve it? Apart from resurrect me, that is?’
‘I haven’t given a lot of detailed thought, no,’ Mordius admitted a bit uncomfortably, ‘but owning the Heart means you’ve got as long to think about it as you want.’
‘Strange that we’re so hell-bent on getting it when you’re not even sure what you’re going to do with it. Presumably, it was your desire to get it that made you animate me in the first place. And are you sure it even exists anymore? Maybe it’s just some myth or legend.’
‘Look at the world, Saltar! There’s more and more death to see everyday. Accritania’s all but devoid of life as far as I can tell. The war, demons, ever-greater numbers of necromancers and the undead… it all fits the same pattern. I believe there’s some force at work trying to drag the land of the living into the nether realms.’
‘And you think this force is the Heart? Someone is using it to achieve some grand purpose?’
‘I know you may not fully recall the world as it once was, but even in the short time we’ve been together you must have been able to glimpse something of the accelerating destruction and decay that’s going on.’
Saltar did not speak at once. Finally, he said, ‘Maybe I have seen something of what things were once like, in the people I have met. There was this woman I met – Tula, I think her name was – in the inn near your home. And there were local farmers who were happy with their ale and simple lives. Tula said that they were all refugees of the war, who had been searching for somewhere they could get on with their lives in peace. Jered and Jenny were just the same really. They don’t want to hurt anybody, they don’t care about the war. All they want is a place where they be free to love each other and raise a child. And perhaps that’s all Mistress Harcourt and her husband want deep down.’