The gava took a deep breath after Kalo removed his gag. “I can’t,” he said in a hoarse voice. “They’ve crushed my legs.”
Kalo, still on his knees next to the gava, looked at the young man, his mangled legs, the fighting warrior above him, and the crazed gnolls pressing in on the dwarf, all getting closer. He did not move. Suddenly there was a surge against the oncoming gnolls as Hasdel and Quillen joined the dwarf with their swords blazing. The huge dwarf looked to his left and to his right at his new fighting companions.
“Hurry, Riverman!” called down Hasdel. “To the Shimmerstrand!”
“He can’t walk!” cried Kalo.
Hasdel looked down and, for the first time, saw his mutilated brother in arms. He handed Kalo his sword, reached down, and scooped the young gava into his arms. “Fight, Riverman!” he commanded over the roar of the struggle.
Kalo stepped up to battle, as he had never imagined. He had no time to think. He took the gava’s place next to the large dwarf. The onrushing gnolls were larger than he was, but he was near their height. He was incredibly quick with the gava’s sword; it felt weightless in his hand. His slashing speed stunned the gnolls and sliced their wrists with unbelievable quickness. The three warriors moved steadily backward, protecting Hasdel and his burden as they retreated to the bridge. They were a fierce fighting wall, the dwarf in the middle, the hunter to his left, and the young Riverman close to his right. The attacking gnolls were clear targets in the light of their own campfire. They screamed in pain with each blow but kept coming.
The further the wall moved, the harder it was for the hunter and Kalo to see. As they retreated into the darkness of the night, the gnolls were no longer visible, only silhouetted in the fires of the camp. The light from Ty’s flare faded quickly. Their mission was growing more dangerous with each step back. The path narrowed, too, and Quillen shouted to Kalo over the wailing of the battle, “Get behind us, boy. Help the messenger!”
Kalo pulled back. He could see, but where was the entrance to the bridge? Which way? “Hasdel!” he called. “Hasdel!” He was near panic now.
“Over here,” finally came a muffled reply as the gava wrestled to carry the young man equal to his own size.
They had reached the edge of the gorge. Kalo could feel the ground slipping away. He grabbed Hasdel’s shoulder and moved past him into the lead. It was unspoken, but Kalo’s task was now to find the Shimmerstrand for the trapped company. The gava reached one arm forward to touch his young guide.
“I can’t see where we’re going!” shouted Hasdel. The brilliant light of the now fading flare had temporarily impaired his vision.
“Give me your bow,” said Kalo. He pulled the weapon from the gava’s shoulder and hung it over his neck like a leash. Into the dark they went, the young thief towing one gava, who carried another in his arms. Kalo pressed on, one arm before him, feeling in the dark, thrusting out his right leg to feel for the edge of the gorge. He could faintly make out the richer darkness of the deep chasm, so he knew he was getting closer to the edge. Abruptly, he stumbled and fell to the ground.
“We’re here!” he called as he lifted himself onto the mesh of vines anchoring the bridge. The gava could not speak, he was breathing so heavily from the load he carried. Kalo let go of the bow, and it fell back about the gava’s neck. “Here!” he rallied the retreating pair of warriors, still swinging their weapons in the night.
Hasdel stepped onto the long vine bridge and began the journey to the other side. He struggled to bear the weight of his fallen comrade and fell to his knees. He rose again, shifted the body of the other messenger over his shoulder, and grasped the vines of the bridge with his one free hand, pulling himself and his burden forward. His footing failed him, and he fell and raised himself up again. The wounded soldier instinctively reached out his arms to the vines to help push and pull the pair across. The two gavas dragged themselves the full two hundred feet of the Shimmerstrand and collapsed at the edge on the southern side.
Kalo stayed on the north edge of the gorge and called to the hunter and dwarf, “Here! Over here!”
“Kalo? I’m coming!” came the voice of Ty, the valiant decoy.
“Ty? Hurry, they’re closing in on us!” called out Kalo. The exhilaration of hearing Ty’s voice filled his heart with such a surge that his fears were replaced with great joy and hope, and tears rushed to his eyes.
Soon, the two warriors, hunter and dwarf, were before Kalo at the bridge entrance. Kalo turned to make his way across the bridge. The hunter was behind him. Kalo looked to his left, where he’d heard Ty call out, but he could see nothing but blackness. The dwarf suddenly charged into the narrowing band of gnolls, all trying to gain footing on the vine bridge. The dwarf then turned and rushed onto the bridge. His sudden weight sent a wave through the vines that knocked Kalo from his feet. The hunter was above him now. “Move, Riverman, move!” he shouted.
“Where’s Ty?” called out Kalo. “I heard him!”
Quillen bellowed again. “Move!”
The turbulence on the bridge was now fierce. Up, down, and side to side it rocked. Kalo could not stand or walk or run. He made progress only by leaping, falling, groping, and rising again. A great fear began to swell in him as he felt the vines begin to break loose. The bridge was being torn apart by the fighting and the weight of the combatants. The dwarf would rush into the gnolls, then retreat, and then rush in again. More gnolls crowded onto the bridge over the bodies of the fallen. The fighting was fierce. Swords slashed through the darkness, striking whatever lay before them. The small party fought in retreat along the escape bridge. The bridge cannot last, thought Kalo. The young thief of Riverlok then acted on an inexplicable impulse. He suddenly began to move into the onrushing gnolls. “I must find Ty,” he said to no one. He fell to his hands and knees as the battle raged above him, then began to crawl back across the Shimmerstrand through the gnolls. He went unseen. He kept low and crept over the heap of dead and wounded gnolls piled on the vine bridge floor. He clawed his way back across the bridge to the north side, where he had last heard Ty’s cries. Vines were snapping and whipping across the pathway at an increasing pace. A thick vine broke, and the bridge rotated on its side.
Fading screams rang out as gnolls were launched into the abyss by the sudden twist. The fighting stopped cold. The remaining combatants clung to the vines and waited for the swaying to stop. But it did not. Instead, behind Kalo the two thickest vines frayed rapidly. First one lurched, and then the other, and the bridge fell.
Chapter 22
To Hasdel, the ancient vine bridge looked weightless, as though it were suspended in air for one moment after the first snap of the thick vine. Then it swung with accelerating speed, crashing into the north face of the gorge below the gnolls’ encampment.
The ageless Shimmerstrand could not support the fierce battle of the men and the dwarf against an enraged band of gnolls. It broke in two, and the sounds in the night air changed instantly from grunts of warriors in combat to death screams of gnolls falling hundreds of feet to their certain doom on rocks jutting from the churning waters of the Silvertongue River below.
Hasdel and the gava he had rescued were the only two safely on the south side of the gorge. He crawled to the edge of what had once been the southern portal of the Shimmerstrand but was now a massive array of twisted vines hanging from the brim of the cliff. More gnoll screams reverberated from across the gorge as remnants of the severed Shimmerstrand on the north side continued to break away, carrying its clinging cargo into the deep.
Hasdel called down, “Hunter? Kalo? Ty?” There was no reply. “Are you there? Can you climb up?” Hasdel called again.
He heard Ty’s fait cry, “I think so.”
Hasdel dropped to his knees and felt the vines. He found one taunt mass. He grasped it and could feel the pull and tightness in the tangle of vines below. He looked down, and in the overcast moonlight he could see Ty near the edge and two huge figures below the boy; the hunter and t
he rescued dwarf clung to the vines. No gnolls had survived on the south side.
“We’re all here,” declared the young tracker.
As Hasdel pulled Ty and the others safely onto the cliff shelf, he could hear the calls of the gnolls across the two-hundred-foot gorge. It was a powerful wailing sound.
For a time, the members of the company lay in the damp dead grass on the top of the gorge and said nothing. The huge dwarf that had joined them leaned against a nearby boulder in silence, breathing deeply. The ailing gava lay motionless in the dark a few feet away.
Then Hasdel spoke. “Is anyone hurt?”
“I’m fine,” said the hunter.
“Ty? How are you?”
“I’m all right,” Ty exhaled. The energy that had sustained him through his ordeal was now draining from his body, and he knew he could not stand. He let himself settle into the comfort of the grass. Then it came to him.
“Kalo! Where’s Kalo?” cried Ty frantically.
“He was with me!” said Hasdel as he twisted and looked about. “Kalo!” he screamed into the night.
There was only silence as they peered into the dark about them.
“He didn’t make it,” said the hunter bluntly.
“I heard him call out to us at the Shimmerstrand gate,” lamented Ty. “He was right there!”
“He’s here,” said a wishful Hasdel, quickly rising to his feet. He began to call out Kalo’s name as he walked along the edge of the gorge. Ty did the same, and the calls to the lost young thief echoed in the darkness. They continued calling, but the only replies were the angry cries of the surviving gnolls across the gorge. In time, Hasdel and Ty returned silently to the group.
“We’ll find him,” affirmed Hasdel quietly to Ty, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Upon their reunion with the company, the dwarf stood up, as did Quillen. The huge dwarf walked to the gorge and peered into the darkness below. Hasdel spoke. “And you, warrior, are you injured?”
The dwarf turned slowly toward Hasdel’s voice, and in the moonlight Hasdel could not see an acknowledging gesture if there was one. The dwarf then moved toward the wounded gava lying some distance from the group.
The hunter instructed Ty in a low tone as he and Hasdel joined the dwarf. “Get some wood, son.”
The dwarf knelt by the wounded gava and began to examine his legs by touch. The gava did not moan or cry out when the dwarf handled his legs. Ty had returned quickly with kindling, and Quillen made a small fire. Ty watched intently as the hunter used a small tinderbox drawn from his pouch to create a spark that grew in minutes into a flame. The glow of the fire reflected on the young face of the boy staring into the flames.
Quillen next pulled up the damp grass around him and twisted it tightly into a long, thick cord. He bound it taut with single strands of grass and fashioned a torch. He lit it in the fire and handed it to Hasdel. He began immediately to form another.
Ty did not join the hunter in constructing grass torches. He had gathered the kindling for the fire as he had been told, but now he was silent, looking out into the dark gorge.
As the dwarf examined the fallen gava in the light of a grass torch held high by Hasdel, he spoke to the others. “I am Kellenor Braid of Dalkeeth, Captain of the Guard,” was all he said at first. He said this without looking at Quillen or Hasdel, but more to the gava who lay in front of him.
The gava opened his eyes and looked at the small band of strangers about him in the light of the crude torch. “I am Berre-Jon, a king’s messenger,” he said softly. “I have a message for the king.”
“Hello, brother,” said Hasdel as he stooped down to the gava beside the dwarf.
“Hasdel? Is that you?” asked the young man. His body shook slightly as a smile came to his eyes and lips, and tears ran down his cheeks.
Quillen stood up and moved away, taking Ty with him. The dwarf stood and followed as well. The three gathered a short distance away.
“Captain,” said the hunter as he extended his hand, “I am Quillen, and this is young Ty.” The dwarf met the hunter’s hand with his own large hand. He then nodded, almost bowed, to Ty. Ty bowed in return. “What do you make of him?” Quillen inquired of the captain, turning and gesturing to the ailing gava.
“The brave soldier will die. He has no feeling below his chest,” said the dwarf. A moment passed and the dwarf spoke again. “You lost a companion?” he asked.
No one hurried to answer, but Quillen nodded in the dark. “The boy who cut you free.”
Chapter 23
The morning was cool and overcast. The sun had been up for a few hours, but it was not visible through the low cloud layer. Instead, a bright glow filled the morning sky. Hasdel finished burying Berre-Jon, the king’s messenger, in a grave the dwarf captain had dug a short distance from the campsite. The huge dwarf had used two short swords, one in each hand. Sitting upright on his knees, he dug like a bear, tossing the dirt up behind him. He had worked steadily, slowly lowering himself into the earth as he emptied the pit. The others simply watched him labor but did not offer to help, for no help was needed. When the dwarf had finished, he went to the fallen soldier without speaking. He slowly bent down and lifted the body wrapped in the gray cloak of the Realmsguard, carried it to the site, and laid it in the hole he had dug. He looked to Hasdel, and when Hasdel motioned with a sweeping hand over the pit, the huge dwarf moved with a noble gentleness to cover the body of the fallen soldier.
At the break of day, Hasdel had informed his companions that Berre-Jon had not made it through the night. They had an hour to think of him, but no one spoke. Now that he had been laid to rest, they stood over the mound of earth covering the fallen gava and one by one spoke of his bravery.
Kellenor drew in a deep breath, and, looking down at the earthen mound, he began to speak. His words were in the common tongue of men, yet there was little inflection in his voice, so the men were obliged to listen intently.
“Their leader demanded this soldier with the leather collar reveal his message. He refused, and they beat him. After a time, they gave up and left him as you found him,” said Kellenor. The dwarven warrior lifted his eyes to the men who were listening to him. “I was honored to have witnessed such bravery.” He then bowed slightly and took one step back from the mound that covered Berre-Jon.
Hasdel stepped forward. “He was my little brother.” He stared at the mound. “We were orphans left at the door of the Palace, both raised by the same woman, Lilyn, along with over thirty others in her long lifetime. She may even be raising more boys now, for all I know. But that makes us brothers.” A faint smile creased his lips. “When a boy raised in the care of the king comes of age, there are many paths he can choose. We can stay in the Palace and labor there, or we can go to the city of Cayleon, submit to a tradesman, and learn a trade as any other lad. And a few are called into the service of the king as messengers, gavas. That was my choice.” He lifted his head and looked into the distance. His eyes were moist. “And Berre-Jon followed me.” Hasdel then reached inside his shirt and withdrew a folded paper. He held it up for the others to see and then carefully returned it to his breast as he spoke. “I found this letter on him. It was written by the stable boy who tends our mounts at Desolation Outpost.” Hasdel turned and swung his arm to point north. “It is a simple, fanciful letter to another boy, filled with rumors and frightful exaggerations. A king’s messenger is not to be burdened with common letters. And this letter wouldn’t even qualify to be among the monthly mail carried by a courier.” Hasdel smiled. “Berre-Jon knew that, so he must have agreed to personally carry young Rory’s letter to his friend in Cayleon, and I will complete that act of friendship for him.” A moment passed without a word being spoken. “When I return to Cayleon,” Hasdel said, looking up to meet the eyes of each man standing around the mound, “I will announce his death and proclaim his faithfulness to his duty to all in the presence of his king. His feat and his name shall be recorded in the Great Book, and I wil
l be humbled by our kinship. Farewell, Berre-Jon, my brother.” When Hasdel had finished, he stood for a time looking down at the freshly turned earth, and no one else spoke. Then Quillen turned his head, and, catching Ty’s glance, he nodded toward Hasdel.
Ty stepped forward. “What I remember,” said Ty, in a voice pitched higher than normal, “is that he didn’t complain about his injuries. All he said was, ‘I have a message for the king.’”
At that, Hasdel lifted his head and smiled at Ty.
Then Quillen spoke from where he stood. “This man died knowing that he had been true to his calling to the very end. We should all hope for a similar ending.”
Hasdel nodded in agreement. “Thank you, all,” he said, and they slowly stepped away from the earthen mound.
The dwarf had said little other than his name after the rescue the night before. This day was no different; he had said nothing except for his tribute to Berre-Jon. Quietly, he moved away from the burial site and climbed to the highest mound near the encampment. The others suspected he was searching the land for any sign of the party of gnolls, but no one asked.
Quillen steered Ty toward the edge of the chasm. Together they examined the remains of the Shimmerstrand and searched for signs of gnolls along the south side of the gorge. Slowly, the hunter lowered himself so that he was squatting on the dirt of the embankment. He passed his hand over the ground and spoke. “If they had made it over to this side, we’d see their marks. These pebbles are loose and exposed because the rain has washed them over time. If something had walked here recently, many would be pressed into the ground. We don’t see any.”
Quillen stood slowly and moved to the edge of the chasm. Cupping his hands to shield against the glare of the sunlight, he peered across the gap where the battle had raged the night before. Ty stood beside him, hungry for more instruction.
“They left last night,” said Quillen. He pointed down into the chasm. Ty followed his arm and could make out a few gnoll corpses impaled on the rocks, but nothing living. On his own, he also looked deep into the gorge for Kalo’s body.
The Ruins of Melda Page 13