He'd undertaken a terrible chance going into the dark valley, and if Alayian was right, a trap had been placed by the Dark Mage, whoever that being was. Had it been sprung yet? Maybe they might still escape unnoticed. Sarion needed to find his own answers, and swiftly. He moved forward, feeling a sense of overwhelming urgency.
Then he saw a figure appear from out of the gloom.
***
"They're gone." Chertron's voice drifted back to the others, the words tortured and low.
"What?"
Grundel snapped forward, pushing through the opening. Forlern quickly joined him before the great doors where they found Chertron standing alone on the platform between the stone guardians.
"Search below, but have a care." He motioned for the others to spread out, Rundin watching the door and the manor they had left behind. The fortress was a shade brighter as the new day dawned, the shadows pulling back somewhat, but not enough for them to see very far as the murkiness still held sway. The men had vanished, and Grundel was chilled by the implications. Areck and Cerestin had remained on guard, and should not have left for any reason. Certainly a while had passed, but not enough for them to have already left the stronghold.
Unless they were driven off by something...
He knew immediately that's what had happened.
The captain stared at his surroundings, looking for signs of danger. Chertron was on the steps, crouching down. Forlern was at his side, gazing into the depths of the fortress, his lantern sitting on the ground while he hefted his bow. Rundin looked uncertain, unable to decide where the greatest potential threat lay -- behind or before him.
"Captain Grundel, I can't tell where they went. The stone shows traces of dirt, but that could have been from any or our boots. I don't know where they could have gone..." Chertron's face was grim and confused, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. Grundel needed to make a swift decision, but there was no indication as to where the fighters had fled.
"No sign of flight -- anything left behind?"
Chertron and Forlern continued to search the steps, and the captain stalked the upper platform in front of the building. "Nothing. They couldn't have just disappeared . There has to be some sign they left behind -- of a struggle, or anything..."
But the men could find no hint as to where their comrades had gone to. It was as if they'd vanished into the night. No belongings, weapons, or clothing remained. It was a frightening turn of events, and Grundel instantly regretted bringing his group into the valley. It smelled of a trap.
Rundin whispered from the doorway. "We must make haste, Captain, lest we confront a similar fate."
Grundel pivoted towards him as if he'd been struck a blow. "And leave them behind, ignorant of their whereabouts?" His words were iron, and he stared terribly at Rundin, whose face was impassive.
"Think. Something either caused them to flee, or took them here where they waited. It is perilous to stay, regardless of searching them out or otherwise. The creatures of Grammore do not take hostages, only victims. If this happened to them, they are beyond our help. No answers are to be found here -- only a chance to share their doom..."
Grundel hated the cold words, and he knew the pain it cost the fighter to utter them. But Rundin spoke the truth, harsh and bitter as it was, and beyond argument. They had to leave quickly.
He whistled softly to the others, pointing down the steps. Rundin joined him, and Grundel peered upwards at the watchful guardians, trying to find the truth within their stony faces. Areck and Cerestin, both gone. He swallowed heavily, but realized their position on the steps was extremely vulnerable -- they were in total ignorance of their danger, of its direction or nature. They moved downward, Forlern's expression one of silent rage and frustration. "And leave them behind without searching, Captain? Madness. They don't have a chance."
"If they are indeed alive, then they chose the wisest course -- to leave here. And if they are not, then it places a greater risk for us to share their fate. Move on."
Forlern looked as if he were ready to challenge the man further, and they measured each other, theirs eyes clashing momentarily. Rundin loomed behind Grundel, motioning the fighter into action. "Forlern, that's an order. Captain Grundel has spoken, now hurry before it's too late." Forlern stared at them both for a few seconds, then turned to follow Chertron, who waited just ahead.
"I don't like this decision at all!" He snarled, brandishing his sword as he descended.
"Neither do I, but I have to try and save the rest of us." Grundel's voice was laced with anguish, but he did not falter. They moved at a brisk pace, and the captain felt unseen eyes boring into his back. The fortress seemed awake, and watching them. They scurried back through the citadel, expecting attack around every corner and from any shadow. The light failed to grow any brighter, instead shifting back into the perpetual twilight which lay claim to most of the Lowlands. No words were spoken, only furtive glances at each other and their surroundings. They could have gone mad or despaired, but Grundel's will and unshakable countenance held them firm, the alignment of his shoulders speaking encouragement, displaying his determination to prevail, even in the face of terrible uncertainty and impossible odds.
Chertron paused several times, trying to recall their earlier passage, staring into the high walls as if questioning his next step. Forlern was restless and weary, emotionally drained, struggling to fight an invisible enemy which remained hidden. And even stronger than before, they all felt the presence of the unspeakable company around them, the essence of the fallen dwellers of the fortress gathering from slumber, awakened as to the trespassers who dared enter into the sacred grounds of their ancient stronghold. This sensation grew to a new level of horror, for at times the air itself seemed to quiver, and Grundel gasped as figures moved within the shadows, dim suggestions, blurred and insubstantial, appearing at the corner of vision and swiftly disappearing. The others certainly felt the phantoms nearby, but how they dealt individually with them the captain could only guess, hoping they remained strong enough of will to escape the cursed place.
The dead paraded around the grim warriors, tall forms shimmering in the half-light, behind their shoulders, at their sides, between the blink of an eye, and within their minds. Grundel wondered how much a threat they actually were, believing them to be more dangerous psychologically than physically. If the men should waver and give in to their fears, he thought the specters might then strike, instilling consternation into a weak heart and tearing down the walls of their very spirit, leaving them vulnerable and lost, ultimately to join the grisly ranks. An utterly horrific thought.
Their pace remained steady, and the fighters seemed incapable of moving at any other speed, trotting along numbly, running from the horrors behind, hurtling towards the unknown, in whatever sinister form it would take. The captain was vigilant, more concerned with the condition of his men than about himself. He was not frightened by the unnatural observers, and recognized them for what they were -- another pawn set in place by something far greater and more terrible than themselves, disturbed from their slumber to act as a ward against intruders. Someone, or some thing , possessed incredible power, enough to raise the grim shades of the dead themselves as a mechanism for their own manipulation.
The truth was staggering...
They were dealing with an enemy whose capabilities were profound. Grundel now began to understand the beginnings of a monstrous scheme, one which underlined everything they had been seeking. An evil power was coursing its way throughout the Lowlands, attempting to manipulate those which would serve its purpose. Sorcery was afoot, ancient and potent. The handiwork was evident in many places. The ogre and other marauders, possibly the genocide of the Glefins, the habitation of the stronghold. There was a pattern to these events, and they had barely scraped the surface of the entirety. Grundel knew little, and guessed at much more. He believed the power behind these things was expanding, flexing its muscles inside Grammore, and beyond. The raids upon Trencit's b
orders were significant. It was perhaps a test, a flexing of might.
But to what deadly endgame -- to see how King Gregor would react? Or something more devious yet? He possessed no facts concerning any of these things, all was conjecture. But the captain was a shrewd man, highly-trained and educated. And far more than he appeared to be. He even wondered if the Devlents were involved. This was his greatest fear, and King Gregor's as well. A connection linking the unrest in Grammore to the fierce conflict in the east, one which was increasing in intensity. An alliance of dark forces? The possibility was chilling, and he wished desperately for something more substantial to take back with him to Trencit. They rounded a bend and found themselves facing a narrow corridor, one unfamiliar to Chertron who remained in the lead. He paused, and the captain called for a halt. He needed to reassure his men, although he was uncertain of anything himself. "Water, men. Take a quick drink."
Grundel tried to pretend nothing was unusual, but Forlern shook his head. "What are these hideous shadows which accompany us? Am I going mad, or do the dead walk the streets of this cursed fortress?"
"You are not going insane, Forlern." Grundel's voice was calm, hushed. "Ignore them. They will not harm us. Awakened for this very purpose, to antagonize and frighten the living who dare to enter. A powerful enchantment is at work, to cause such things to be possible. Do not stare at them, or try to look at them directly. You will fail and become distracted. This is what they want. You must be strong."
Forlern looked at him questioningly, trying to comprehend the captain's words. "Then what have we discovered here? What manner of evil so infests this land that the dead wander the earth? Can we fight creatures not of flesh and bone? If so, I know not the means."
"I don't know for certain, but I feel the stench of necromancy hovers above us. I have considered much, guessing more. I may be wrong. I fear a power grows within the Lowlands, spreading outwards, moving east. Towards Trencit…My feeling is that events are taking shape, molding into a cohesive structure. A combination of energy and beings -- their goal certainly is malicious, maybe for domination, but over what, and where, I can't say. We must think that the westland, perhaps even Trencit, are targets."
"They will not find us an easy adversary." Chertron hunkered before them, looking weary, but his eyes shining with his determination. Grundel knew he would never give into despair. It was one of the reasons why Chertron had been chosen for this venture. There had been no haphazard choices, but careful discussions with a number of commanders. And he had made the final decision, taking them into a nightmarish land far from their homeland.
He answered. "No, our kingdom will not be overcome -- starting with us. I can only guess their motivation. Perhaps I misinterpret much. We've only seen hints and subtleties. My hope was to find something of proof inside this stronghold, and I still think it hides secrets. But they are well-hidden. Great care was taken to remove items of importance from within the manor. Guardians are in place against intruders. The dead walk the pathways, surrounding us. I sense their presence, and malevolence. They are beings of terror because of their nature, but it is my belief that they are unwilling pawns. They may despise us, and desire our essence. Whether they can act is another thing. Fear not, and hold strong. Let's be off."
The warriors nodded, and Grundel felt their strength of mind and heart to be sound. He thought of the two missing fighters, and his anguish was great. Where were they?
Chertron led the way, his silhouette a reassurance in itself, although the captain keenly felt the absence of Sarion, who had served faithfully in leading them through the wilderness. Keeping to the left side, the men hurried along, Grundel fairly certain that the entrance couldn't be too much further. With luck, they should reach it within the hour, he told himself.
But the fighters stiffened as a sound broke the deadness of the citadel's streets. A high-pitched droning, shrill and terrifying...
"Run! Make for the front of this building and inside!" Grundel screamed the command, pointing forward and urging his men on. They scrambled ahead, running as if pursued by demons. The noise was hideous, raking across their hearts and minds, piercing the walls of the stronghold as if calling forth the legions of the netherworld.
The captain knew the deadly hunt was now on, as the creature had made its presence known. He glanced upwards, horrified by what he saw. "Go -- don't stop!" They bounded past the corner of the building, an oblong-shaped structure, one of many they had seen, drab and gray. He knew that if the door was locked they were all dead men. Chertron was the first to gain the steps, lunging furiously up the broad casing and onto a sunken platform. He threw himself against the panel, the hinges creaking in warped protest as they surged open. The captain pushed the fighters in, Rundin on his heel. The huge man was the last to enter, and Grundel slammed the door shut with the help of Forlern. The younger man glared at the captain, the unspoken words frozen on his lips as he saw the glint of silver descending from above.
Grundel's face was impassionate, a mask of dark thoughts. He immediately knew the fate of Cerestin and Areck, and was crushed by the realization that they were both certainly dead. Now he understood why there had been no trace of their flight, or even a struggle. The warriors had been taken from above.
By a Killworm.
***
Sarion froze.
Something emerged from the gloom, a hunched-over form, its features indiscernible in the twilight. He heard heavy rasping, a low snarling, and Sarion instantly knew this thing could not possibly be human. He gauged the creature for any reaction, trying to measure its quickness and danger. The thing was deliberate, skulking forward, making no sudden movements. Another figure appeared from inside, followed by two more, and Sarion knew he had walked right into a trap.
Just as the captain and the others.
He lowered the lantern and reached carefully behind him, placing one hand on his bow. Leaning his sword against one knee, he grabbed several arrows, detecting movement from along the walls of the fortress. There were at least six of the creatures, and he saw their faces as they approached. Wolf-like they appeared, walking erect at times, and some of them lowering to the ground. They most likely ran after prey, able to rear up on their back legs for short periods of time. They were covered in coarse, gray fur, their forelegs ending in wicked talons. They growled at him, and he saw long incisors from within their wide mouths.
Ready with his arrows he continued to wait, showing no hint of fear or uncertainty. He didn't think they were very intelligent, but he didn't want to underestimate their abilities. Sarion was using the scant time granted to him wisely, sizing up his adversaries and trying to predict their actions. He guessed right as the pack broke for him all at once from several directions.
Two of them crashed to the ground in agony as Sarion fired a pair of volleys with incredible speed. The others shrieked in rage, ignoring their fallen kindred. The rest were two dozen yards away and Sarion knew he had time for one more volley before they would be on him.
Another of the beasts went down, an arrow lodged in its throat and Sarion was out of time. He threw down the bow and picked up his sword, rolling to his right as one of the beasts hurled itself directly at him. He felt the wind of its passing only inches from his head, the claws raking the air savagely as it missed the elusive prey. They were quick, and Sarion knew there could be no mistakes. One of the others sprang at him, and he kicked back to his feet, arcing upwards with his blade. The steel slashed the creature's chest, blood gushing out as it snapped at the air in pain.
The other one circled Sarion, respecting the cold metal that had speared its kin. The first creature reoriented itself, joining the other and pacing around Sarion. The beasts hesitated, and Sarion realized they possessed some measure of cunning, or would have blindly continued to attack him. He was shrewd enough to guess much about their pack mentality, and it saved him from their next move as they both leaped at him from opposite sides. He dove to the right, holding his blade behind to ward of
f a blow meant to decapitate him. Instead, he connected heavily on one of the creatures, the sword scoring it in the breast, but not before Sarion was cut, and he felt searing pain in his left shoulder.
He staggered to his feet, feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping into his tunic. His arm was grazed, but he was fortunate. If he had been a second slower the beast would have severed his arm.
Sarion swept the blade before him, chasing the uninjured creature back. The other one cantered madly in agony, biting at its wound and rearing its snout upwards, wailing hideously in the dreadful valley. Sarion saw his opportunity and reached into his tunic with his left arm, the movement sending waves of agony through the limb. He whipped out a long knife and the blade flashed through the air, piercing the injured beast through the neck, and it collapsed to the hard ground.
The other one charged Sarion and he swept his blade forward, dodging to the right at the same time. The beast crashed headlong into Sarion, buffeting him mercilessly to the earth and knocking the wind from his chest. As the creature landed, its limbs twitched uncontrollably, as the head was totally severed by Sarion's blade, rolling along the ground and stopping, the body moving for a few seconds before falling lifelessly to the valley floor.
Everything was still.
Sarion gasped, trying to breathe air into his straining lungs. He pushed himself to his knees, keeping the sword upright in anticipation of another attack. The front of the fortress was empty, and he was the only living thing left. He looked down upon the grim carcasses surrounding him, a half-dozen creatures of unknown origin, but their purpose was known to him. They had been set there as guardians, meant to attack any who entered. But what of the warriors? There had been no sign of a struggle, and he knew that the beasts, although ferocious, would need greater numbers to overcome the battle-hardened fighters.
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