by V K Majzlik
“Yes, yes! I’m pleased to see you both too!” Gomel reached up and patted their necks. He then heard muffled squawking from the saddlebags and gave a surprised laugh as he realised Khar had been trapped in there all night. Standing on his tiptoes, he was just able to reach the buckles. She flew out in an angry flutter of plumage and disappeared into the flurries of windswept snow.
Needing little encouragement, Sonda and Danfur obediently followed Gomel back to the camp. Cradon had fallen asleep again, so Gomel did not wake him. Instead, he found the dry firewood in one of the saddlebags and managed to relight the fire. The new flames spat and hissed, melting the falling snowflakes.
Cradon woke once again, pleased to find Gomel had returned, grateful for the warmth of the firelight gracing his face.
“You found the horses then?” he murmured. “And Khar?”
Gomel helped him prop his body up carefully using some of the soldiers’ satchels. “They were easy to find, and very grateful to be brought back. Khar too! She was still in the saddlebag!” he laughed.
“Where is she now?”
“She flew off in a hurry. Probably hunting. Hopefully she will bring something back for us!”
Sure enough, Khar soon returned clutching several small rodents in her yellow talons. She dropped two at Gomel’s feet and then landed on a flat boulder to eat hers.
At first Gomel turned his nose up at the thought of eating rat, but then realised his foolishness, amazed Khar had found anything to hunt at all. Gomel set about skinning and chopping up the rats to make a stew. Balancing a small metal bowl above the fire, he managed to melt some fresh snow, and helped Cradon drink several sips. Cradon was still very pale, but after some stew he found some strength return. The dizziness also lessened, but he was uneasy about attempting to walk or ride. The smallest move sent sharp shooting pains through his body.
“Cradon, do not worry. I have a plan,” Gomel reassured him. “Get some sleep. I am not too concerned about leaving today. It’s unlikely there will be any more soldiers nearby.”
“I killed him.” Cradon grasped Gomel’s rough hand, filled with the shame of his actions, images of the dying man still haunting him. It was the look in the soldier’s eyes that lingered.
“It’s never easy to kill someone. I am sorry you have had to learn that lesson so soon. But it was self-defence!”
Cradon nodded, understanding, but inside he knew he could not forgive himself quite so quickly.
“Now sleep. You need your rest. We will make a move again in the morning if you are strong enough.”
As Cradon slept, Gomel spent the evening constructing a crude sledge to drag the boy on given that it was unlikely he could walk or even ride. The chance of wound infection was high, so they could not afford to delay getting to Ghornathia. Using the soldiers’ shields tied together with belts and anything else he found he eventually pulled the flat sledge together. After finding some strong rope Gomel attached the sledge to Sonda’s saddle. Finally, after several hours, he was finished and gladly fell asleep.
The next morning greeted the travellers with faint sunlight piercing through scattered, grey clouds. The snow had finally abated, for a while at least.
Cradon was still as weak. His fever had worsened, and he could not shake the coldness that filled his body. His wound, however, no longer caused him pain, which made Gomel worry all the more.
Sonda patiently waited as the gnome gently helped Cradon lower his body onto the sledge, wrapping himself up in the blankets once more. Once he was comfortable, Gomel took Sonda’s reins and began leading her up the winding track, higher into the mountains, pulling the sledge behind them. Danfur faithfully plodded close behind, with Khar flying high above.
Chapter 38 – Weary Riders
With Eilendan leading, the comrades had travelled continuously, pausing only briefly to allow the horses to feed, and to tend to injuries. Nymril was still unconscious and had been for the past few days. Eilendan’s burns and mutilated ears were healing quickly and with the help of Jaidan’s herbal remedies had not become infected. Despite having endured the torture bravely, the elf felt humiliated at his appearance. He attempted to hide the shameful evidence under his silver plaits.
By the fifth day the horses and riders were flagging and were finally forced to stop. They had crossed the grasslands, riding through the barren Valley of Kanash and its surrounding hills and ravines until the plains of Andkhuin were behind them.
It had been a long, hard ride, with little shelter from the howling winds that brought with them treacherous thunderstorms. Thankfully, they travelled without incident and no trouble from Imperial troops. After finding a scooped hollow at the base of a gentle hill the group mutually agreed to rest for the night, knowing that this was the most shelter they would be likely to find.
The group dismounted, Gaular helping Jaidan lower Nymril’s cold body to the ground. The horses shook their bodies gratefully as their tack was removed. After several failed attempts a small fire was lit, the previous efforts quickly blown out by the wind before the flames could take hold.
“How much further do we have to go?” asked Nechan, shuddering next to the small fire, hunched up, rubbing his arms.
“We should reach Loreandril tomorrow,” replied Eilendan, as he gently stroked Nymril’s head, removing the hair that kept blowing into her face. “I just hope that it is soon enough.”
“How can you see anything?” Gaular joined Jaidan who was looking out across the darkening plains. The setting sun draped long shadows of the surrounding mountains across the plains like cruel jagged fingers. The clouds had broken a few hours earlier, giving them a rest from the cold drizzle that had followed their travels most of the day.
“I not looking, I’m listening and feeling,” Jaidan whispered.
Gaular looked at the Brathunder and saw his eyes were indeed closed.
“For what?”
“Anything untoward. Indications of being followed.”
“But how can you feel if we are being followed?” Nechan now joined them, scanning the dark line of the horizon also.
Jaidan was intriguing. He looked like a normal clansman, one that could inhabit any village, but there was more to him, something deeper that Nechan could not put his finger on. If he did not hold the appearance of a man, Nechan would have said he was more like an elf. Jaidan certainly carried himself with a similar air of grace and intelligence, as if he too wielded an alluring kind of unfathomable mysticism.
“Everything on this earth emits an energy; a force that influences everything around it. Some things emit dark energy, others, light, each inflicting a different effect.” Jaidan stood motionless, his eyes still closed.
“So what can you feel now?”
“The enemy,” he whispered.
“So, we are being followed?” Gaular said, breathing in deeply.
Eilendan joined the trio. “Jaidan, the memories of great darkness envelop these plains. Perhaps that is what you are sensing?” The elf stood beside Jaidan, and closed his eyes as well, hoping to sense what Jaidan was feeling.
“No! There is something new here. Approaching fast behind us. This darkness has been growing in my mind for days.”
“Does that mean we are no longer resting tonight?” Nechan was exhausted. He had been looking forward to at least a few hours sleep, even on a damp bedroll.
There was a long pause as the others mulled over the situation.
Jaidan broke the heavy silence. “We can wait a few hours, but we must leave before daybreak.” Opening his eyes once more, he turned and went to add more wood to the fire before settling down for the night.
The night air was cold, even lying close to the fire. Nechan was troubled and unable to slow his mind enough to fall asleep.
“Gaular?” Nechan rolled over to look at the dwarf lying next to him. His eyes were tightly closed and he looked asleep.
“Uhh?” he moaned without opening his eyes. “What is it?” He pulled his blanket over
his shaved head, hoping the boy would take the hint and let him go back to sleep.
Undeterred, Nechan continued. “What did Eilendan mean by memories of great darkness? What happened here?”
Gaular groaned, sliding down beneath his blanket, opening his eyes resentfully. He knew the boy was not going to let him sleep until his questioned were answered.
“Have you heard of the Great Battle of Andkhuin?” said Gaular sleepily.
Nechan nodded, shuffling closer to the dwarf.
“Its outcome brought about great changes across the land, helping to create the Empire you know today.”
“Is this where the battle was held?” asked Nechan.
“Yes! That is why these plains hold such dark memories. The souls and events of old haunt it. Some say the spirits of our ancestors continue to fight in the Spirit Realm, unable to find rest while the dark Empire is still in power.” He sighed and closed his eyes again. “That should give you plenty to think about, boy, and while you do, I will get some sleep!”
Nechan rolled onto his back, letting the dwarf go to sleep once again. He stared up into the night sky, watching the few faint stars that were peeking through the scattered, racing clouds. Eventually the boy drifted off, his dreams full of the lost spirits of Elves and Dwarfs fighting off shadows of their invisible enemies.
The wet pitter-patter of raindrops woke Nechan several hours later. It was still pitch black. The fire had been allowed to die down and all that remained was pile of faint glowing embers and ash that sizzled with the rain. The others were already awake, saddling their horses.
“Are we leaving already?” Nechan grumbled, sitting up and peering at the dark shapes of his travel companions.
“It’s raining! There’s no point in trying to sleep here without shelter,” replied Eilendan from somewhere in the gloom.
Nechan knew he was right and resisted the urge to complain further. He saddled up his horse and mounted, watching as Gaular helped Eilendan lift Nymril carefully onto Jaidan’s horse. The Brathunder had tried his best to revive her over the past few days, finding a variety of potent leaves and roots along the way, but nothing had worked. It was clear she was dying and they were unable to help her. Nymril’s only hope was to reach Loreandril as quickly as possible.
They slipped off into the night at a gentle canter, leaving the rain to wash away any sign of their camp.
Daybreak never seemed to come. The heavy, grey clouds hugged the surrounding hills, dousing them with lashings of rain accompanied by the rumbles of thunder. The horses constantly slipped in the mud but still they rode on, the ground now leading them downwards. Surrounded by outcrops of grey limestone, the ground was awash with the fine, white mud of silt and clay.
Jaidan suddenly jerked his reins, causing his horse to rear as it slid to a standstill. In confusion, the others struggled to stop behind him.
“What is it?” Gaular shouted through the pounding rain.
Jaidan motioned for silence.
The other comrades strained their ears, but could distinguish nothing from the sound of pelting rain and thunderous rumbles.
“Can you not hear that? The sound of galloping hooves close behind us,” Jaidan replied, wiping the rain that was streaming down his face.
“You’re imagining it, Jaidan. You just hearing the rain!” Gaular shouted back.
“Gaular, if he is right we need to hurry. Come let us move on! It’s not too far now!” Eilendan spurred his horse on, passing Jaidan, leading the way with a new sense of urgency.
The riders began galloping at full pace, pushing the horses as hard as they could.
“I see them!” Eilendan shouted over his shoulder. “The mists of Loreandril!” Nechan was unsure what he meant, but encouraged his black mare for any extra speed she could give.
The comrades found themselves heading straight towards a dense, white wall. It looked like a cliff face was blocking their path, its summit lost in the heavy clouds. Eilendan continued to lead them forwards without stemming his speed. He disappeared into the whiteness and before the others could stop their horses, they followed the elf in. Finding themselves surrounded by dense, thick mist they slowed to a walk. Somehow, Eilendan managed to coax his horse forward, speaking calming Elvish words into its ears. The other horses stayed close behind, being blindly led. Barely able to see his hand in front of his face, Nechan fought the panic-stricken urge to turn tail and flee.
“Where are we?” Nechan rode close beside Eilendan fearing he would lose sight of him in the swirling mists. He leaned over and grabbed the elf’s arm, demanding an answer.
Eilendan smiled, his bright blue eyes piercing through the white veils. “These are the mists of Loreandril. They surround the heart of Elvendon, concealing our magic from the outside world. Stay close, it is easy to become disorientated.”
Nechan became very aware of how dry his lips were. He licked them and tasted the sharp tang of salt. “I can taste salt!” He touched his face, feeling the rough texture of salt crystals settling on his skin.
“Yes! We are not far from the sea. It is used to help form the ancestral mists.”
“The sea? I have never travelled far enough to see the sea!” Nechan admitted, feeling a sudden burst of exhilaration bubble up in his stomach. Eilendan’s calm confidence helped Nechan relax. “What about the people who are following us? Can’t they just ride through the mists as well?”
Eilendan shook his head, “No! They can enter, but any mortal man or friend of the Empire cannot pass through to the other side unscathed. Those that enter do not leave.”
“But, how? What about me?” Nechan began looking about him, expecting ghostly hands to snatch him from his horse. “I am mortal.”
“Some magic cannot and should not be explained to mortals. Ensure you stay close.”
Nechan did not need to be told twice. It was obvious that anyone not being guided by an Elf would quickly become disorientated and lost, but he still did not understand how this could mean the death of someone. Keeping his eyes fixed on Eilendan, Nechan followed closely behind, deeper into the mists.
Chapter 39 – The Mists of Loreandril
“Sir, are you sure they went in there? No one in their right mind would venture into mist like that!” Standing up in his stirrups, the soldier examined the thick, white wall that lingered before them.
“Soldier, no one in their right mind would question me!” snapped Govan. He too studied the mists intently as if trying to unravel their secrets. In all his years travelling the lengths and breadths of the Empire, he had never come across a phenomenon such as this. It served to reinforce his feeling that the escapees were leading him to straight to Loreandril.
Govan and his two unwilling volunteers had ridden day and night, close on the heels of the escaped convicts. Their horses were near exhaustion. He had rightly assumed that the comrades would do the same and had forced his men on, only taking breaks to replenish waterskins. He knew their trail was fresh, not yet washed away by the heavy rain, a sure sign he was closing in on his prey.
“Stay close! We must not get separated!” Govan kicked his horse forward into the concealing mists. The two soldiers watched their captain disappear before their eyes. Looking at each other, knowing they had no choice, they urged their horses forward into the foreboding whiteness.
The mists swirled in close around the trio, wrapping its soft, wispy fingers around them. Droplets of dew formed on their black, cold armour and weapons. They continued to ride in deeper, keeping close together.
Govan repeatedly tried checking his compass ensuring they maintained a constant bearing, but something prevented the needle from settling. It was as if iron mineral veins ran through the entire area making the needle spin randomly. He did not inform his men; they were already unsettled.
“Wait! Did you see that?” stuttered one of the soldiers.
The other two stopped and stared in the direction their comrade was pointing in but they could see nothing except the white veil
s of hanging mist.
“Stop imagining things. Act like a man!” Govan ordered.
They continued at an uneasy, slow pace. Even Govan felt as if he was being watched, yet scouring the mists around him could see nothing.
There was a sudden yelp and whinny behind him and he turned to find only one soldier beside him. He was pale-faced and shaking. Govan slowed his horse, hoping the third soldier would reappear.
“What happened to him?” His hand was now on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw.
“I…..don’t know! Something took him!” replied the trembling soldier.
“Pull yourself together! There’s nothing out here except us!” Govan sniped viscously, but he too had a sense of dread. Behind them came another blood curdling scream, confirming the man’s fate. “Lets move! These mists must end shortly!”
Govan turned his horse and pressed forward, the petrified soldier closely following, not wanting to be left alone.
A fleeting shape, the size of a man, darted across Govan’s path. He blinked and looked again, unsure whether his eyes were deceiving him. Behind him there was a muffled yell and the captain turned just in time to see the horse trotting off into the mist. There was no sign of the soldier or what had taken him.
Dismounting, Govan drew his sword. He kept hold of the horse’s reins, not wanting to lose the animal as well. Silently and slowly, he stepped towards where his soldier was last seen.
From behind there came the sound of running feet. Govan swung round but was immediately knocked to the floor by an invisible assailant. Feeling its reins slacken, the horse galloped off wildly into the mists, leaving Govan all alone.
Clutching his sword, he inhaled deeply and scanned the white veils around him, still crouched on one knee. Out of the mists two more shapes advanced towards him. He was able to see them more clearly now. They were not men, but Elves, clad all in silver and white, their armour and weapons shimmering with dew. He jumped up to greet their advance with his sword, but to his dismay it passed straight through the silvery torsos. As they melted into the mists once more, their laughter echoed all around.