by Clive Ousley
‘By the size of the pile I’d say at least twenty, Sire. The Celembrie are efficient fighters; we must learn their techniques when we return.'
They lapsed into silence for most of the night, running through dark woodland glades then narrow vales between wooded hills.
Dror put his hand up indicating an alert.
Malkrin and BerantWolf ran to him. The two Celembrie pointed uphill to an encampment of seething black shapes amongst spruce trees at the top of the next slope. They had lit a large central fire and demons with long shadows scuttled around it. Other huddled shapes lay squatting and dormant further from the flames. Four more were slowly circling the mass of creatures, presumably lookouts.
Dror whispered, 'If we keep to the lowest point in the valley, there is a deep stream lined with oaks, we can walk the bed for cover. The oak trees will mask us in the darkness.'
Malkrin glanced up; the moon was still cloaked in cloud. They stood a good chance of passing unobserved.
'Let's go, and may the Gods be with us,' said BerantWolf. They followed in Dror's footsteps, taking care not to disturb loose rocks in the root filled banks. The water was freezing but the stream bed was of firm rock and the grass and fern banks high. They made good progress. Very soon they were level with the distant quarter-men and Malkrin heard a distant buzz more like a swarm of wasps than a collection of demons. The sound was eerie and disconcerting and brought cold beads of sweat to his forehead. He gritted his teeth and carried on wading.
At last the quarter-men hillock was behind them and another large knoll blocked them from discovery. Dror led them out of the streambed and they paused, wrung their clothing and furs out then carried on. Malkrin estimated it was two hours until dawn. Soon they would have to find shelter in woodland to escape discovery.
They traversed a series of small rises and then a larger one. It was impossible to follow the valleys where the hillocks met because of impenetrable scrub. BerantWolf ordered them along the shadow sides of the hills lest the moon emerge and silhouette them. Then on the top of the next rise a stand of stunted hawthorn trees gave them cover.
They camped there as the sun rose. Malkrin completed his watch and slept deeply with exhaustion. In this way the trek pressed forward for two more nights circumventing impassable scrub and following small trails to keep from being surprised by bands of demon predators. Then at the end of the third night they climbed another steep brush laden hill. Beyond the crest loomed the great plain and in the far distance the tip of the melted mountain of Thorian brooded, filling the gathering sunrise.
Malkrin’s highsense tingled. As they walked through a long valley between rises his head began to fill with a chorus of snarls and screams – the buzz of a million demons emanating a communal malevolence.
He hissed a warning.
Cautiously they climbed the nearest hill to the south in the direction of Mount Thorian. A grassy plain loomed below them like a vast tiled floor laced with jagged crevasses. Toward distant Thorian, glass smooth ground denuded of vegetation reflected the image of roiling clouds passing over an orange sun. A breeze blew from the plain and brought with it a stench of decay and alien defecation. Along the plain a dark shadow had spread as if someone had spilt a massive jug of wood-tar. Amongst the stain, specks of yellow light flicked and danced as the demon-stain progressed lit by a throng of fire-torches. With the breeze came a constant droning buzz as if a million tormented souls were being trampled into the soil of the plain. How, Malkrin wondered, could they ever convey this endless progression of horror to their peoples? An artist could never draw the scene successfully. A scribe would have to study the host and write some precise words. Even then the writer could not adequately impart the panoramic nightmare to a person who had not witnessed the scene.
As if to highlight their despair, the sun broke free of the clouds and illuminated the whole restless horde. The vista created in Malkrin a sense of futility at resisting the irresistible.
'We have seen enough,’ BerantWolf finally announced in dismay. 'The main host is a lot nearer than when I last viewed them, and definitely heading this way. At their rate of advance they will reach the Cembrie in five days.’
Even as they watched, two small bands of black broke away and flowed in two opposite directions. Another three bands rejoined the mass.
'Marauding bands could overrun the Celembrie and the remaining Sylve before then.' Malkrin said.
Dror pointed in alarm. ‘Look, nearer than the horde, there lays the remains of Maygreen Grove.'
Malkrin stared hard, a collection of tall stumps stood nearer than the sunrise shadowed plain.
'Their destruction is complete,' said a Celembrie voice behind him.
BerantWolf broke their horrified gaze. 'We must return with haste, there must be a demon horde much nearer, obscured by trees.'
Malkrin turned and with apprehensive backward glances the others followed.
In two nights of superhuman running they retraced the contours of numerous hillocks and streams. BerantWolf’s stamina became godlike. Everyone trailed behind him determined to keep up with the older chief. He constantly cajoled and beckoned them on. The next night they reached the oak tree lined stream where they had crept passed the camped demons. The bedraggled group were as one, cold and soaked from wading, then drying, then fording more streams, drying again but always wet with sweat. At last BerantWolf signalled his exhaustion. They had paused under a canopy of spruce. Every warrior crumpled, panting and coughing.
Feeling returned to Malkrin’s legs and his lungs stopped labouring. He was the first to recover so watched while the others slept. Surrounded by huddled bodies which twitched and shivered with nightmares, he wished he was back in his simple life with Cabryce in his arms. Dror took the next watch as the sun began to dry them. Malkrin glanced suspiciously to the sleeping figure of TrathWolf before lying down and instantly falling into an exhausted sleep.
Someone shook him from dreams filled with crawling beetles. He swatted his arm thinking it covered by biting insects. Then an instant later he feared it was TrathWolf about to throttle him.
'Wake Sire Malkrin, we must go urgently.'
It was Halle, who was on watch. The sun was sinking toward the western woodland.
Malkrin was instantly awake and forced his aching legs to stand.
Halle held him steady as the cloying cobwebs of sleep left him.
‘Demon bands have merged with a larger group of their brethren on the far hill since we sneaked past.'
Malkrin stared into a misty distance between groves of pine and saw one topple, then another. He formed the highsense boost sign and snarls and demon curses returned to fill his mind. Halle was correct and a sinking feeling gripped his stomach. His inner ear felt as if it was being nibbled away by the hideous whisper. It was what the dream had tried telling him. This time, exhaustion had allowed his gift to fail him. He pounded his fists together with frustration.
Halle alerted BerantWolf and the camp dissolved in a scene of frantic activity. Malkrin’s companions gathered belongings and filled backpacks with the speed of men that needed more rest. Within minutes they were stumbling on their way with BerantWolf leading. A Cembrie warrior scouted ahead, the other advised BerantWolf on the best route. Malkrin had to pace himself, and let energy filter into his legs and lungs with economy.
The hideous hum and the sound of crashing trees behind them seemed to be getting ever closer. Fear drove them all on at a faster rate than was sensible. They leapt boulders and crashed through ferns and tall grass. Then the Celembrie led them splashing through boggy mud. The discomforting shortcut evened out the twisting path through the dense trees. Gradually the gnashing buzz of demons was left behind, and the normal sounds of birdsong and wind in trees returned.
There was no warning.
A black shape whirled out of the trees and used its bone fingers to slash and stab the Cembrie who was scouting in front of BerantWolf.
'Back. Form a circle. Defend your c
ompanions,' shouted BerantWolf as he retreated.
The demon’s attack had given them a few seconds warning. Enough time to draw weapons, collect their wits and steel their collective resolve. The creature circled the group slavering and gnashing its teeth, then darted forward flicking its knife-fingers. Warriors countered with spears and daggers. Other quarter-men emerged from the gloomy forest and ran toward the group.
With the main host behind them, there was no escape.
Malkrin and Halle drew their bows. Firm yet subtle, the bowstrings were trustingly taut in their experienced hands. Two arrows flew true and two demons were hit. One dropped with a bolt through its left eye. The other arrow entered a demons mouth and exited its neck. The demon continued, spitting blood, its pace undiminished. Another was slain by Wolf warrior arrows as the rest hacked into the men. The two Brightwater men fended off a quarter-man with spear thrusts and daggers. Wounded, it kept attacking in rabid slashes of razor sharp bone-fingers and bites from its hideous fangs. Other demons had large curved blades strapped to knees or ankles. In a strange dance they jumped forwards and backwards thrusting legs and feet toward the men and darting bone-fingers in lightning fast stabs. It was a new way of fighting they were all unprepared for.
Eighth-of-Senate went down hamstrung. Talgour fought to keep the assailant from finishing his comrade. He sliced the air before the creature’s face to keep it at bay. Halle drew his bow to maximum reach and loosed an arrow into the creatures face. As he did so, Malkrin protected him from another quarter-man. He heard the creatures skull split as the arrow penetrated, it stopped in mid kick and toppled backward. Another arrow failed to down a rushing demon as it leapt at four men who had become separated from the other warriors.
A quarter-man leapt from the side. Malkrin swerved, fell and slithered down an incline to avoid the slashing blows. He had become separated from the protective circle of his companions.
He used Palerin to exchange blows with the rushing creature. His trusty sword fended off the demon’s bone finger-knives and the flash of its leg blades. Malkrin concentrated on finding an opening in the creature’s assault before he tired. Cold sweat poured down his neck and forehead. He blinked it away as it soaked his neck cloth.
Something drastic had to be done before the creature slew him.
He parried the demons swipes and thought frantically. There was a way. It needed good timing and acrobatic accuracy. He dived and rolled sideways into the demons lower legs above the foot blades, knocking it of balance. As it fell, he twisted to avoid its leg-blades, and thrust Palerin at a joint in the demons carapace. In slow motion Palerin lanced the air and entered a dark seam. The demon staggered and dark blood poured down its armour. Palerin was wedged in the creature and was ripped from his hands as the demon rose to its knees. Malkrin rammed the Sylve dagger to its hilt in the demons neck. He extracted it and dived backward out of reach of flailing bone knife-fingers. The beast fell on its face gurgling away its life.
Malkrin looked around in the gloomy forest. Out of it came the sound of clashing swords, spears, finger-knives, human shouts and inhuman hissing. Then two twirling leaping shadows emerged from the gloom. A Wolf warrior frantically fought a demon with a single spear. As Malkrin watched, the demon slashed down with its bone-fingers shattering the spear. It was TrathWolf.
Time to prove myself, Malkrin thought fiercely. He freed Palerin from the corpse and dashed to the struggle with all the remaining energy his legs could muster.
The quarter-man grinned hideously. Saliva dripped and drooled from its mouth, it thought victory over its opponent a certainly. As it lashed bone-fingers a hairs width from TrathWolf, Malkrin’s sword flashed down and one of its arms flew into the trees. It turned to face Malkrin and he swept Palerin again. He had to finish the demon quickly before his shaking limbs and tortured lungs gave out. It dodged, and Malkrin side-stepped, slashing Palerin in an arc. The blade connected with the demons neck and its head followed its arm into the woodland. The body crumpled – and so did Malkrin. He was incapable of further action. He panted fit to burst, his heart pounding like a dozen drums but managed to whisper his thanks to Palerin between gasps.
He was aware of TrathWolf standing over him dagger in hand. Malkrin recovered enough to assess his situation. A voice muttered, 'thanks,' and the Wolf warrior disappeared into the gloom.
He was a distance from the main fight. The demon had been between them and their comrades. Another quarter-man rushed from the moss laden trees. Malkrin stood unsteadily, gathered his returning strength and swept Palerin. He forced the creature back in the direction of the battle noise and his comrades. Malkrin kept his temper under firm control lashing Palerin before him in a calculated fashion. First he severed a bone finger, then the opposite hand. The creature danced and the point of one ankle-blade ripped into Malkrin’s thigh. But he could still stand. In a flash he saw an opening, thrust Palerin up into the demons throat, through its mouth and into its brain. It collapsed in a gush of dark blood and lay on the ground quivering.
Malkrin extracted Palerin with a whisper of thanks to Jadde. Then he crouched defensively, looking around and waited for a rush of demons. Men shouted a rallying call and he staggered toward the voices, counting the bodies of eleven quarter-men laying in various postures of death as he did so.
The fight was over. He wiped sweat from his forehead aware for the first time of his blood splattered clothing and throbbing leg. Figures merged in the night in response to the rally-cry. He added his own voice to the others. Warriors ran back to form a unified circle holding weapons outward expecting another onslaught. Soon the last living man joined them. It was a Wolf warrior staggering, carrying the heavy burden of a fallen comrade in his arms. The body’s limbs hung free. Jadde had claimed the warrior for herself.
The lifeless warrior was BerantWolf.
The man gently laid his chief to the ground. A vicious slash had opened BerantWolf along his chest from neck to stomach.
Malkrin counted the terrible cost of the clash. Two other Wolf warriors had died and one of the Cembrie. Eighth and one other Wolf warrior were wounded. The warrior had received a stab deep into the shoulder. Halle was already strapping his arm in a woven ivy sling. Talgour tended Eighth who was in a worse condition with a severed calf muscle and in great pain. Malkrin bound his own wound.
No more demons attacked. The warriors had somehow managed to wipe out the band of demons and survived. Malkrin drew encouragement from the result although they had paid a heavy price. TrathWolf and the remaining Wolf warriors scouted around to check for more quarter-men. They soon returned with an all clear. The main host had slowed to a crawl for some unknown reason and it gave the men a breathing space. Malkrin and Talgour sewed Eighth's wound together. The wound was deep and blood flowed freely, but finally Malkrin closed the wound using more cat gut. Frantically Talgour tore strips off a jerkin from his backpack and they sealed the makeshift surgery with the jerkin bandage. On Malkrin's instruction a Sylve and the surviving Celembrie warrior wove masses of thick ivy around two stout willow saplings to carry Eighth on. Malkrin lay with leg outstretched and mouth set in a rictus of pain as Halle repeated the rough stitching on his leg.
‘You were lucky Sire, the wound is not deep. The stitching will enable you to run without the wound reopening.’
After a short debate it was decided they couldn't carry the bodies of their fallen comrades. To observe the Wolf Clans burial tradition they quickly excavated a crude grave with sharpened saplings. They placed the bodies respectfully side by side. Then as they filled the burial the distant crash of vegetation and hum of a multitude of demons resumed once again.
Quickly the survivors took up the return journey, laden with sorrow. Malkrin allowed himself to feel some satisfaction for hard won lessons learnt from their combat and reconnaissance.
He took up the rear once more, keeping his highsense fully alert for demons. Two Wolf warriors carried Eighth in the improvised hammock. His leg was stiff but he f
ound if he kept it from bending fully he could keep up with his companions. In front of him TrathWolf paused and then ran alongside Malkrin.
'Before we go far, we must resolve an urgent matter,' TrathWolf announced.
Malkrin prepared for the worst, was TrathWolf about to challenge him over the death of his brother?
This was not the time. He flexed his muscles and prepared for combat. But he would not make the first move, they needed to stay unified.
'We must decide who shall lead our band now my great chief has gone to Jadde-Wolf.'
Malkrin relaxed, a confrontation could be easily avoided. 'I believe that you TrathWolf should lead us back to Brightwater. When we are there the elders of each tribe can debate and announce a unified council to meet the demon threat.'
Halle looked surprised but added his backing. The Wolf warriors had already acknowledged TrathWolf after the demise of their Chief. Eighth was too seriously wounded to offer his opinion. Talgour looked from Malkrin to TrathWolf and then back to Malkrin with increased respect. He realised Malkrin had backed down for the sake of unity. Dror and the surviving Cembrie warrior called Mondroth agreed with the decision, too overwhelmed by the battle to think of assuming responsibility.
'The correct decision,' TrathWolf acknowledged; his face a stony mask. Malkrin also hid his relief but wondered how TrathWolf would handle leadership in the next few days.
'We must return via the Celembrie to warn of our experience, and then make haste to Brightwater,’ was TrathWolf’s first decision, and Malkrin silently agreed.
With TrathWolf and Mondroth leading they set a steady pace. The sound of destruction behind them quickly faded, giving a semblance of normality to the surrounding hills and valleys. They all took turns carrying the heavy hammock and the wounded Wolf warrior was supported when necessary.
The return journey seemed to stretch into an eternity of exhaustion. Malkrin noticed all the warriors peering out from tired eyes expecting a snarling demon to launch out of the undergrowth at any moment. Their sweat streaked faces; staring eyes and spittle lined mouths reminded Malkrin of cornered prey after a long chase.