"Aye," replied Rundin. "And that is the king's greatest fear. The unrest in the west is a cause of much concern. Our country is vast, but flesh and bone have their limits."
The afternoon sun slipped behind a cloud, and the bright day swiftly grew gloomy. Sarion looked at the quiet country around them. It seemed hard to believe that a war was being fought on the far corner of Trencit. A world away.
"Tell me, though," said Rundin. "What are the dangers of the land we ride into? You guessed right yesterday. I was born in the east, and the enemy is readily seen there. But here..."
Sarion's face was grim. "It's the exact opposite in these lands." He pointed to the encroaching hills. "One needs to be wary of the unknown. A peaceful forest by day can be transformed into a hostile environment at dusk, prowled by creatures born from nightmares. There may be bands of Glefins yet, although none have been seen in the seven years since my company tracked the last group. But other, much greater horrors dwell in the west."
"Can you give them names?" Rundin pursued his questioning. "At least what can we look for?"
"It is not so much that we saw many other creatures, but the signs were there. Glimpses, tracks, noises." His words were ominous, and Rundin leaned closer to the man.
Sarion's eyes drifted down roads of dark memories. He stared at the warriors, some of them resting, others milling about. A guard was already in place as well. He continued. "The howling at night. Decayed bones, footprints left by unknown animals. Even strange plants with a taste for living creatures. It's like another world, and I have only set foot within the edge of the Grammore Lowlands, where not even the bravest trapper would dare go. You'll see it, feel the life there. And the hostility. It's almost as if our two lands are separated by an invisible veil. Chaos and death rule there. No help is to be found. Hopefully our path will not lead us into that terrible country. The creatures of the Lowlands feed on fear and weakness. We must offer them neither, and need to maintain our vigilance."
Rundin crinkled his eyes, pondering Sarion's words.
"And so we will, my friend. So we will."
***
The afternoon passed uneventfully. Long shadows stretched outward from the hills that thrust up before them, and the air grew chill. Grundel had sent two men to scout the way, and periodically he would send out another pair to relieve them, coordinating the timing and location. The idea was to keep abreast of any lurking dangers on the road ahead, and to look for signs of potential trouble.
They had seen a handful of trappers all day -- most unusual for this part of the country. The men were surprised to see the king's warriors, but readily offered what information they could. All were nervous, and spoke of demons walking the forests at night. Even the sight of an armed company of the king's guard did nothing to ease their worries. The trappers were all seeking safer grounds to work. Hawker Peak now loomed in the distance, and the road had turned into little more than a narrow trail as the trees pressed closer. Grundel had Sarion ride next to him, inquiring as to a suitable campsite.
"There are cabins scattered all about these woods -- we should come across one before nightfall. Normally a safe land, although it does lay close to the shadow of Grammore."
Grundel seemed satisfied by the answer and rode on silently, the men following the lead of two warriors, Chertron and Halgur. Chertron was quiet, but had kind eyes, sharp as an eagle's. Tall and lean, the man was a proven woodsman. Halgur looked similar to Rundin, with a red beard but smaller in size, although still a large man.
Sarion did not recognize all the soldiers' names yet, catching snatches here and there. Tarral was the oldest, his weathered face criss-crossed by numerous scars, his voice low and penetrating, as if speaking from a well. Cerestin was clean-shaven, with bright, humorous eyes, quick to laugh or lend a hand. He wore a silver helm, marked by several dents. Another was Areck, tall and lean, with light blond hair, cropped short for battle. His hand was always fingering the hilt of his sword, anticipating danger at every corner. Sarion failed to catch the names of the others. He concentrated on the land around him, trying to maintain his bearings and recall the terrain. Years had passed since he'd last entered the region, but nothing had changed. The going was smooth, despite the road narrowing. Sunset was soon upon them and the scouts returned, reporting immediately to Grundel. A mile ahead was a small cabin, unoccupied, they said. The men could stay there for the night. The group hastened as Grundel ordered a swifter pace, and the company reached the cabin shortly.
A wooden building sat beneath the branches of a tremendous oak tree. The ring of a fire pit lay in front of the structure, consisting of a circle of round stones. A single door led inside, with two windows on separate walls. The captain gave orders to set up camp, and the warriors immediately went to work. Two instantly patrolled the rim, while others gathered kindling or saw to the horses.
Sarion observed the fighters going about their tasks. There was no lack of discipline in the group, he thought. The king's guard had not grown lax in the years since his own departure. Grundel's commands were never questioned, the men's loyalty strong. He was a genuine leader. But Sarion had realized this when they'd first met.
It wasn't long before a warm fire had been started, and a light meal was broken out. They would certainly not lack for food in the area. Sarion knew of the ample game and edible fruit. Beyond Hawker Peak it would be different. Anything on two legs was considered prey, themselves included.
Sarion retired inside with Grundel and several of the soldiers. Rundin and another took first watch. The floor of the cabin was solid, the timber fairly new. A basic trapper's lodge, providing warmth and shelter. Sarion eyed the room cautiously, his natural instinct for danger always present. He turned his head to the center of the chamber, but surprised the company when he whipped his sword out from its sheath in a blinding flash.
The men were startled, some grabbing for their own weapons, but Grundel held up his hand.
"What is it, Sarion," he hissed?
The tracker crouched like a cat, pointing to the far corner of the cabin.
"There's a trap door in the floor." Everyone followed his gaze.
"And something's down there."
***
Gesturing with a curt nod, the captain sent Chertron over to the trap door. The other men took postures bracing for quick action, with weapons held ready. Another soldier, who Sarion now knew as Kalen, moved opposite Chertron. Kalen's dour face never showed any emotion Sarion had noticed since the trek started. He was middle aged, with a shock of black hair and trimmed beard. The two men locked stares, and Kalen lifted the seam of a carpet which concealed the wood flooring beneath.
A metal rung revealed the hidden enclosure, and Kalen grabbed it with strong hands. The pair glanced over at Grundel, who signaled them for action. As Kalen lifted, Chertron pointed a sword, guarding his comrade from potential violence.
Sarion detected a gentle rustling. Whatever lurked below made little effort to hide its presence. Kalen flung open the trap door, and another soldier held a lantern next to his shoulder to penetrate the darkness. There was a short gasp, and a voice trembled from the compartment.
"Please, I mean you no harm, don't hurt me."
The warriors poked their weapons at the head of a disheveled man, who looked more like a drowned rat than anything else. It was difficult to judge his age, and his garb was in the traditional brown of a trapper.
"Who are you, and why do you hide? We are the king's guard -- come out at once." Chertron waited for an answer to his command, but the man was reluctant.
"You don't know, the danger...the horror." His voice drifted off, his hands held to the side of his head, waving at nothing.
"If you are a citizen of the land, then there is nothing to fear from us." Grundel came forward, measuring the man with his gaze. "I am Captain Grundel, of the home guard. Why do you hide? From us?"
The man crawled out, and Kalen lent him a wary hand. Sarion knew that the soldiers took no chances --
a sign of the seasoned vigilance of fighting men. His own blade remained within his grasp.
"My name is Dustan, I'm a trapper. There is a great evil in these woods." His voice was a whisper. "Rigel was right..." He covered his face with hands marked by scratches. "Rigel, poor Rigel."
Chertron offered the man some water and a wafer of bread. "What do you mean? Speak more of this."
The trapper was ravenous, consuming the nourishment. He had obviously been through a black time, and his eyes were wide and feverish.
"Leave, we must leave." Dustan stared at the cabin entrance. "It's getting dark."
A chill went down Sarion's spine. It was almost night, and the surrounding forest took on a more threatening aspect as the sun departed. The land was being terrorized by something. Had this man seen it?
"What is it you fear? You are safe with us." Sarion crouched down next to Dustan, who now huddled in the far corner of the cabin.
"I will not speak of it! Rigel knew. He knew!"
Chertron threw a blanket over the trapper, who closed his eyes and shivered. "Captain, this man has a fever on his brow. Sick, of mind, and maybe spirit as well. He could be delirious."
Sarion drew close to Grundel. "He saw something terrible, perhaps what we now seek. The horror is etched into his eyes and his heart. Something deadly walks these woods."
"Yes, and he looks to be of little help to us at the moment. I can't leave him alone in such condition, or take him with us."
"Can you send him back with someone?"
Grundel frowned. "My mission restricts choices in such a matter. We are a small group to begin with, and I have great reluctance in breaking up the party in hostile areas, especially with an unknown enemy nearby. We have no knowledge of this threat, and I fear we will know only when faced by it. We'll let him rest for a while, and hope that he calms down." Grundel walked over to Dustan.
Sarion considered the captain's words, trying to work out a satisfactory plan himself. It was a day's ride to the nearest village, and that would set them back twice as long waiting for someone's return. And Sarion had the feeling that time was pressing down on them, and events could unravel quickly, although there was no justification for his grim thought.
But then again, Sarion had survived on his instincts in the past. Instinct had saved his life before. He paced around the cabin, perusing the scant furnishings. Such buildings dotted the woodlands, serving as resting spots for trappers or travelers passing by. Since the area was considered a border region, no one could stake an actual claim to the property. It was a courtesy to share the modest lodges, regardless of who originally built the structure. Most of them had existed for decades. In one of the corners, several high-backed chairs surrounded a long wooden table marred by cuts, and Sarion settled into one. The warriors spoke quietly, some among themselves, others to Grundel and Dustan. Seating himself, he wondering about the trapper's unusual demeanor, curious as to what he'd encountered. He knew with deadly certainty that it was something fierce, native to a much more hostile country. They were too close to Grammore and its horrors.
Without warning a harsh cry of alarm sounded from outside the cabin. Sarion immediately sprang up, and the warriors diverted their attention from Dustan to the cabin entrance. Grundel barked out orders as all but one of the fighters ran to the entryway. Sarion followed the captain's tall figure, both men eager to see what was afoot. As Sarion burst from the door, he saw the fire blazing hungrily upwards, sparks flying like miniature comets. Several stakes had been set all around the immediate perimeter as the warriors took nothing to chance. They knew the country was unfriendly and were ready for anything.
The horses were tethered at a low bar fronting the cabin, and were now kicking hysterically. Rundin and another fighter had taken positions near the edge of the forest and were staring intently into the dark recesses. The animals possessed keener senses than their human masters, and the warriors were wise enough to take heed. Sarion felt a shiver snake down his back. The evening was deathly quiet -- even the night insects seemed to have forsaken the clearing.
"What is it?" Grundel shouted over to Rundin, who stood motionless, eyes scanning the tree line.
The fighter's voice was low, barely more than a whisper. " Something is out there. A wild beast perhaps. I've never seen the horses this troubled, captain."
The warriors spread out in the clearing, posturing for maneuverability and position. Sarion listened with straining ears, but the forest revealed nothing. And that struck a warning nerve in his mind.
"The woods have grown silent. Rundin is right -- we are being stalked."
Chertron was nearest to Sarion, and he pulled out a great longbow which was strapped to his back. "Whatever manner of creature is out there, my arrows will make it think twice. Just give me a target, and I'll teach it the meaning of pain."
Sarion hefted his own, holding it ready. With the force of men guarding the edge of the clearing, he would be of greater use sending shafts at any attacker, he knew. The horses became increasingly agitated, and one of the fighters stood nearby to protect them. They couldn't afford to lose their mounts. Grundel crouched behind the foremost men, stooping low to the ground. Sarion watched the captain's face for any expression, but the man remained unreadable. He held up a hand for silence. The tension was maddening, and Sarion felt his heart beating excitedly within his chest. Inwardly he was calm, though, focused on his surroundings. His eyes sharp, his weapon ready. The fighter's instincts were in his blood.
Without any warning, a tremendous blast rang through the forest, shattering the night. It was a war horn, and no one doubted what it signified -- a battle cry. Meant to crush the confidence of an enemy. But these men were the pride of Trencit, no common fighters, and would not be easily dismayed.
A yell echoed from the cabin as Dustan peered outwards, hysteria glazed within the trapper's eyes.
"It comes!" He shouted the warning and ran back inside, the terror striking him senseless.
A loud crashing erupted from the trees in front of Rundin, and the warriors watched as a huge shadow appeared, lumbering purposely forward. No one spoke as the creature moved closer, and several heads shook in disbelief at the monstrous size of the hunter. The fighters were used to combating other men -- they were not prepared for the sight of such a nightmarish enemy. Several oaths were uttered, hands gripping weapons even tighter.
"By the three serpents -- what a monster!" Chertron held his bow ready with notched arrow, astonished at the sight of the unexpected assailant.
Sarion had never seen one before, but he knew instantly the nature of what confronted them. An unforgiving brute -- what it lacked for in wit, it made up for by its strength. Cruel, barbaric, and a legendary dweller of the Lowlands.
"Grundel, an ogre! They have the power of twenty men! I don't know what brought it here, but the beast is savage!"
The captain recognized the creature also, and was quickly thinking of a way to battle the monster. The ogre stood at the edge of the clearing and hesitated, holding a large spiked club in one arm.
"Arrows! It must be driven off." Grundel shouted the order for action.
"Have a care, it's going to charge!" Sarion released his shaft as he screamed the warning, and Chertron fired his own arrow.
The singing of bows filled the night and the arrows flitted gracefully towards the beast, Chertron's piercing the ogre's shoulder and Sarion's plunging into the right arm. The creature was furious, roaring in unbridled rage and pain. It loped forward, directly at Rundin.
The clearing swarmed with movement as the warriors sprang into battle.
Rundin knew better than to stand his ground and dove to one side, narrowly escaping the sweep of the brute's club. Two more arrows shot out but Chertron's was well off mark, and Sarion's glanced off the creature's tough hide without effect. One of the warriors slashed at the monster's leg as it ran by, and Grundel screamed out a warning.
The ogre possessed surprising speed and slapped the man a
crushing blow with one arm, knocking him hard to the ground. Two other warriors pressed the creature before it could finish the wounded fighter, and Grundel managed to drag the man to safety. The fighting was getting close, and using the arrows would endanger the men. Sarion drew his own weapon and hurried forward.
One of the fighters cut into the ogre's leg, but suffered a kick to the chest as he pulled away too slowly, and crumbled to the ground where he lay unmoving. The ogre dwarfed the warriors in size and strength, shrugging off the few wounds it had received. It swung the club in huge arcs, keeping the men at bay. Sarion saw that it was making a line straight at the horses, which neighed wildly in fear.
Grundel charged the creature from the rear, attempting to create a diversion. Sarion watched in amazement at the lightning speed of the captain's sword. He cut into the monster twice, and the beast bellowed its wrath at the elusive fighter. Chertron found an opening and fired another volley, scoring the ogre's arm once more.
It swung the club in Grundel's direction, then suddenly turned to the left unexpectedly, charging right at Halgur. The brave warrior saw his peril and desperately slashed at the ogre's leg.
The brute brought the club around and Sarion watched as it caught the helpless man wickedly in the side, tossing him into Kalen and knocking both to the ground. Four of the warriors were now down, and at least one was seriously injured. The ogre showed no sign of weariness, howling as the fighters backed away. Sarion faced the mighty creature now, and waved his sword at the enemy, taunting it forward. He needed to gain time for the wounded men to be carried off.
"Watch the club, Sarion! Back off!" Grundel circled the monster from the other side, trying to catch its attention.
The ogre started at Grundel, then swung the club around towards Sarion. Grundel moved closer, thinking that Sarion would be impaled by the blow. Instead, Sarion waited until the last second and dove beneath the deadly spikes, rolling swiftly and sinking his blade deep into the meaty thigh of the ogre, which for the first time felt real pain. Sarion bounded to his feet and scurried away, trying to regain his breath.
Ogre's Passing Page 3