by R. J. Grieve
Triana, who was nearest him, crawled over and caught the tail of his robe, unceremoniously dragging him down.
The Turog did not stop, or deviate from the path and the watchers on the promontory were just beginning to sigh with relief when they caught sight of something else - a flash of metal, much higher amongst the trees, this time unmistakable. Andarion instantly turned to Celedorn and would have spoken but for the fact that Celedorn pre-empted him.
“I know. I’ve seen it.”
“How many?”
“Difficult to tell amongst the trees but a couple of dozen at least.”
“Red Turog?” asked Andarion, who valued his companion’s exceptional eyesight.
“No, common, as far as I can tell. That hardly makes things any better. These woods seem to be crawling with them.”
“They are below us and to the east. We have no alternative but to continue with our chosen path.”
“I have not yet seen a pass. These accursed trees hide everything.”
“The Turog at the river are beginning to ascend. Surely that means there must be some sort of pass?”
Celedorn’s expression was grave. “Either that, or they know we are here and are looking for us.”
Relisar crawled over, getting tangled up in his gown and setting his knee on the tail of his beard in a manner that made his eyes water.
“There are more of them to the west,” he whispered, as if afraid they might overhear him. “That was what I was watching when that young woman very rudely dragged me to the ground.”
“Then we have no choice,” responded Celedorn grimly. “Upwards it must be.”
For the rest of that day they climbed ever higher amongst the trees. The mountainside was becoming steeper, yet still the forest continued unbroken. Celedorn occasionally disappeared off on his own to scout out the land. Usually when he returned, he ordered a change of direction, having sighted yet another band of the creatures.
“It feels like we are being herded,” commented Andarion.
“Very possibly.”
“I have been on hunts near Addania where beaters are sent in amongst the tall grasses to flush out the game. It feels just like that.”
“That would assume that they know we are here.”
“The Red Turog knew of our presence.”
“Yes, they might have picked up our trail again. I thought our stay in the Hidden Valley would have foiled pursuit but they are keen trackers and can read the significance of even a bent blade of grass. We must assume they are driving us into a trap. We do not know these regions as they do, so the only way of avoiding such a fate is to try to break through their lines. It would not be wise to allow ourselves to be driven in the direction they wish. The fewest numbers seem to be to the east. I think we should try that way. How are you at slitting throats silently?”
The Prince grinned. “A little out of practice but perfectly willing.”
“Good. You and I must keep a little ahead of the others to deal with any opposition.”
“Elorin has her bow.”
Celedorn shook his head. “Not always silent. A cry at the wrong moment could ruin everything.”
When this strategy was explained to the others, Elorin fitted an arrow to her bow anyway. “Just in case you miss one,” she explained.
Celedorn drew her to one side, looking more troubled than she had ever seen him. “Do you have a knife, Elorin?”
“Yes, a small one.”
“Keep it close. If all this goes wrong, you must not allow them to take you alive. I......I have seen what they do to those they capture. It must not happen to you or Triana.”
She saw the deadly serious look in his eyes and paled a little. “You have not said such a thing before.”
“There are hundreds of them around us. Our chances of slipping though are slim. Promise me.”
“How do I.....I mean, what do.......?”
He lightly touched her neck with one finger. “Just there.” Her eyes met his and he added: “It will not come to that. It’s just a precaution.”
“Say nothing to Triana. It would only frighten her. I will look after her.”
He nodded and turned without another word to join the Prince. The two men disappeared between the trees and the others followed at a distance, each subdued and sombre, each aware that the odds were against them. No one noticed Elorin slip the small knife into her belt.
Andarion and Celedorn crept forward using the broad trunks as cover, moving with noiseless stealth. Rough voices could soon be heard coming from up ahead. A group of about half a dozen Turog had stopped in a clearing, and as usual, were arguing in their guttural tongue.
Celedorn silently signalled to the Prince to circle round to the left. Before he was in position, the argument appeared to reach its climax and three of the Turog threw up their hands in disgust and stumped off through the trees, leaving the remaining three in the glade.
On the signal from Celedorn, the Prince stepped boldly into the clearing. All three Turog whirled to face him as of one accord and didn’t even see the attack coming from behind. One had its throat effectively slit and another its head caught in a vicious arm-lock. A sharp twist instantly broke its neck. The third turned to run but was brought down by the Prince in a scrambling fall. They rolled over and over down a gentle slope and came to a halt with the Turog on top. It grabbed for its sword but was not quick enough and found instead Andarion’s knife driven through its larynx. The Prince heaved the body off and was just rising to his feet when one of the two Turog previously involved in the argument, returned. For the space of a heartbeat it gaped in astonishment at the two men, then turned on its heels to run. Celedorn changed his grip on his hunting knife, grasping it by the blade, and flung it with deadly accuracy at its retreating back. The knife buried itself almost to the hilt, but the creature did not die, instead it uttered a high-pitched squeal of pain. In response, an upheaval could be heard amongst the trees: harsh shouts, the thudding of many heavy feet. An arrow snicked past Celedorn and buried itself in the wounded Turog. The squealing abruptly stopped. Celedorn looked over his shoulder to see Elorin with her bow in her hand. He snatched his knife out of the body.
“Go!” he said urgently, almost colliding with Relisar and Triana as they came into the glade. They stared at him.
“Run!” he yelled, just as a large body of snarling, black-clad forms burst through the trees.
Triana and Relisar took off up a fold in the mountain, with the others hard on their heels. A few of the fleeter Turog reached Celedorn and Andarion but were ruthlessly cut down. The two swords flashed and glittered fiercely as they carried out their bloody work. But there were too many to fight. Helter-skelter the company ran up the dry valley with the clamouring horde of Turog snapping at their heels. They dodged around the trees, scrambling over the increasingly steep ground. Higher they went, the two men making use of the narrowing sides of the valley to fight a defensive action, trying to slow down the pursuit in order to give the others a chance to escape.
The sides of the valley steepened still further, becoming almost precipitous, frustrating the Turog’s attempts to outflank them.
“Where does this valley lead?” yelled the Prince over the tumult.
Celedorn ripped the point of his sword across the face of the leading Turog. “I don’t know. At least they can’t get behind us.”
But on rounding a shoulder of rock, they found the others staring in dismay at a sheer wall of rock that sealed off the head of the valley. It was overhung with a heavy curtain of ivy but offered nothing in the way of handholds. The ivy, though it grew thickly, clearly would not bear their weight.
“Trapped,” hissed Celedorn, turning to face his pursuers with the determination to take as many with him as he could.
Behind him, he heard Elorin’s voice call out: “There’s a cave behind the ivy - a sort of passage.” He flicked a glance over his shoulder to discover that apart from the Prince standing beside him, the valley behi
nd was empty.
Relisar and Triana found themselves ruthlessly pushed behind the ivy into the darkness.
“We need light!” cried Triana in a panicky voice,
“Just a moment, my dear,” replied Relisar calmly. “I know an old trick that might work.” He picked up a round stone from the floor and balancing it on his palm commanded:
“Thengor a-falion.” The stone instantly began to glow. “You see?” said Relisar with smug satisfaction. “The stone remembers that it was born from a womb of fire. An old trick that I learned as an apprentice. So glad I remembered it.”
The sounds of clashing weapons came from outside and Andarion shot precipitately through the curtain of ivy. He instantly spun round on his heel. “Celedorn! Come on!”
Celedorn came though backwards, decapitating a Turog as he came.
Triana winced and looked away.
“What is this?” he gasped, his chest heaving for breath. “Just another trap?”
“The passage seems to continue some distance,” Elorin explained.
Relisar tossed the glowing stone to Andarion who instinctively caught it, then dropped it with a cry of alarm. Relisar picked it up. “It’s not hot,” he advised tolerantly, restoring it to the Prince. “I will create another.”
“Why do they not follow us in?” Elorin asked tensely, an arrow at the ready and pointed threateningly at the ivy.
Celedorn peered out. “They are re-grouping and are cutting branches to make torches. They appear to consider us trapped and are in no hurry. Either that, or they are going to smoke us out.”
Relisar had by this time made another glowing stone and by its faint, golden light they began to make their way along the passage. The two younger men brought up the rear, walking backwards, swords drawn. The passage soon began to twist and turn and they left daylight far behind. The snarling Turog were also left behind and the cave gradually became as silent as a tomb.
Triana, ever sensitive to atmosphere, looked about her fearfully. “I get a bad feeling about this place. Why did the Turog not follow us? Perhaps they know what is in here.”
“There’s nothing in here, it’s just a cave,” said the Prince, a little unsettled by her words despite himself.
“It’s not a cave,” contradicted Relisar, who had been holding up his glowing stone to examine the wall. “These passages were shaped by the hand of man. Look!”
Triana gasped and shrank back. Carved into the stone wall and ceiling were endless serpents, writhing and curling, linked through one another in a twisted seething mass, their stone scales glistening in the light. Each head projected from the wall with its fangs bared in a frozen, venomous hiss. Their eyes were set with some green, slightly luminescent stone which made them seem alive, ready to strike.
“They are just carvings,” said the Prince reassuringly, observing Triana’s terrified expression. “They can’t do you any harm.”
“I don’t like this,” she fretted, refusing to be comforted.
Celedorn, losing interest in the carvings, had borrowed the Prince’s glowing stone and retraced his steps round a sharp bend in the passage. In a moment he came flying back to them, his sword in his hand.
“They’ve come into the passage,” he said urgently. “I can hear them. Time to find out where this leads.”
Soon they could all hear the sound of snarling and the heavy thump of weapons being banged against shields - something which the Turog sometimes did to work themselves up into battle frenzy. The passage took up the sound and magnified it, bouncing the echoes off the walls and multiplying them until it seemed as if an entire enraged Turog army was coming after them in the darkness.
Relisar turned and sprinted ahead up the passage, holding his stone aloft. Triana was close on his heels, but Elorin retreated backwards, her bow poised to cover the two men.
The snarling and crashing increased in volume until the din was deafening, completely terrifying in the darkness. Soon, glimmering faintly along the narrow tunnel, came the flickering glow of many torches.
Relisar and Triana increased their pace, fleeing along the passage, the snake carvings flashing past them, until suddenly upon rounding a bend, they were brought up short. The passage ended abruptly and they were faced with yet another dead end.
Triana whimpered with fear. “We’re trapped again. This time there is no way out.”
But Relisar was looking at the wall with a slightly puzzled expression. “This does not seem right,” he muttered and gently stretching out his hand, he touched the wall, then recoiled with a gasp. “It is an illusion, a spell, something I have not seen in a long time - it is a curtain of adamant!”
Triana too touched the wall but it felt like solid rock to her.
“I must create a tear in the curtain,” Relisar mused. He shook himself determinedly and spoke aloud, giving himself some clear instructions: “Now stay calm and think! Ignore the sound of those fiends, take a deep breath and think.”
When the Prince and his companions rounded the corner, Triana explained what Relisar had said. The old man was deep in thought, oblivious to his surroundings. They said nothing in response. Andarion crossed to the wall and placed his hand on its hard surface, then turning to look at Celedorn, shook his head. They all stared at each other in silence, a look of farewell in their eyes.
“Remember your promise, Elorin,” Celedorn reminded her softly. She nodded. There was no time to say more, for the howling throng of pursuers came into sight round the bend. Their torchlight flickered over the five companions trapped at the end of the tunnel. It glistened on the eyes of the snake carvings and shot gleams of light off the forest of swords and battle-axes poised, ready for use.
Unexpectedly the yelling ceased and a silence fell. The Prince and Celedorn stepped forward to meet them, their shoulders almost touching in the narrow confines of the corridor.
Celedorn’s face was a mask in which his eyes glittered. “Which one of you will be the first to die!” he asked with such utter conviction that the leading Turog hung back. But the power of his presence could not hold them for long. A guttural voice roared: “It is Zardes-Kur who will die this day!”
A howl of approval went up and the tightly-packed, black mass surged forward.
Elorin’s bow sang and an arrow brought the leader down. Fast as a thought, another followed but there were too many of them shoving from behind for their advance to be checked.
The two men withstood the shock of the impact as weapons met. They used the narrowness of the passage to their advantage, blocking the way forward until one of them should tire or fall. The Prince’s face was wild, his determination to go down only under a heap of slain foes, all too evident. He slashed his sword across the belly of an adversary, eviscerating him. Celedorn by his side, laid about him with such effectiveness that the passage was starting to become choked with the dead - yet still they came, driven by the weight of numbers behind.
Relisar stood at the end of the tunnel, leaning against the wall, still deep in thought, apparently unaware of the battle.
“Cas’thendia en’ervens? No, no that’s not it. Castenda enorde? No, it’s close but it’s still not quite right.”
“Hurry!” wailed Triana. “They can’t hold them much longer!”
“Don’t interrupt,” said Relisar tetchily, as if she were a minor annoyance. “Castendia......oh! I have it! Castendro ar’wythens!”
Triana looked at the solid rock. “Nothing happened,” she wept.
“Nonsense, of course it did,” Relisar contradicted smugly. “Watch.” He reached forward and touched the wall. This time his hand disappeared up to the wrist as if dipped in water. “Go through quickly, my dear.”
“Where does it lead?” Triana asked fearfully.
“I have no idea but it’s bound to be better than here.” Catching her arm, he gave her a gentle push and she vanished through the wall.
Elorin came running back, her arrows all gone. “I’ve nothing left to fire at them,” she
gasped and drew her knife from her belt. “Where is Triana?”
“I’ve opened a tear in the curtain,” Relisar explained rapidly. “She has gone through. Now you too must go, Elorin.”
“Go ahead of me, Relisar,” she said quickly, looking back at the struggle continuing behind them.
“No, I must go last, for I must hold the tear open for the rest of you.”
She picked up her pack and taking a deep breath, stepped out of sight.
Relisar called to the two men, still desperately battling the seething, shrieking mass in the tunnel.
“There is a way through! When I call, you must both turn and run as fast as you can. The wall is no longer solid, so you can go straight through it. I will follow to close the curtain behind you. Do you hear me?”
Andarion turned his head briefly. “We hear you,” he shouted.
Relisar picked up his pack with one hand, the other still touched the wall, pointing the way.
“Run!” he yelled.
With a final lunge at their enemies, the two men turned and fled, the clamouring pack snapping at their heels. They launched themselves at what appeared to be solid rock and in an instant were gone.
The Turog halted with a collective gasp. But just before Relisar stepped through, he saw something that made his white hair begin to lift from his scalp. Behind the Turog, above and beside them, the ceiling and walls began to move. Slowly, smoothly the stone snakes started to uncoil. They slithered free of each other, unwinding, untangling. Their green eyes glowed with a sickly, predatory light. In the stunned silence following the men’s departure, a faint hiss like escaping air could be heard.