BlackThorn

by DeWayne Kunkel

  Casius clung tightly to his reins he had looked down and regretted it; the trail clung to the face of a deep ravine that plunged hundreds of feet into darkness that the dim sunlight could not penetrate.

  “Why would anyone wish to live in such a place?” Casius wondered aloud.

  “Two hundred years ago this was the border of a kingdom named Haego. A small keep stood here, it became a refuge for the people fleeing the Senatum. For twenty years it was besieged and eventually it fell to the Lakarrans as disease and starvation forced the survivors to surrender. These are proud people and many of them remained building the town you now see.”

  A deep rumbling echoed across the mountains. To the west the sky was darkening and the smell of rain touched the stiff breeze.

  “A storm is approaching, we will ride it out in one of the towns inns.”

  “Will that be wise, Connell?” Casius asked, the last thing he wanted was to run into the Senatum.

  “Safer than facing a storm on these trails,” Connell answered. “Besides the Senatum are not welcomed here and the last I passed this way there was no garrison within the walls.

  We will keep a low profile nonetheless,” Connell added. “You can be assured that spies are about. The Senatum would not let this town stand unwatched. Rebellions can spring up quickly in places such as this.”

  Casius looked up at the threatening sky, “We should pick up the pace then,” he said, as the first drops of rain began to fall. “I hate riding in wet clothes.”

  Connell laughed, “Such is the life of a vagabond Casius.”

  The sky released its pent up fury as they entered the common room of the first inn they came too. Lightning and hail pounded the mountainside. Many of the inn’s patrons flinched with each deafening blast of thunder. At times the stone building shook as the wind roared through the narrow streets.

  The proprietor calmly closed the shutters to the narrow windows, he had seen many storms in his long life and this one was no different than the others.

  Casius ignored the raging weather, he was busy wolfing down the first decent meal he had eaten in many days.

  Connell sat with his back to the wall enjoying a tankard of ale while watching the inn’s patrons.

  Casius finished his meal and leaned his back against the wall, a cup of warm spiced wine in his hands. He flinched slightly as thunder roared outside shaking the buildings very foundations. He glanced over to Connell somewhat embarrassed by his reaction. He was not sure but he thought his companion was somewhat displeased. “What’s bothering you?”

  Connell shrugged, “I hadn’t planned on staying here long, but this storm is powerful and may last several days.”

  This did not seem to be a bad thing to Casius. He knew they both could use a few days of decent food and rest. “It will end eventually,” he said consolingly. “When it does we will move on.”

  Connell raised an eyebrow at Casius’s remark. “Have you forgotten the creature you slew? If its mate pursues us I do not think this weather will slow such a beast.”

  “We do not know if it followed us. It may have been nothing more than sheer coincidence that led it to,” Casius paused, he had almost blurted out Haven’s name. “Bal’Zar’s house,” he said quickly. “Besides I doubt our spoor could be tracked through such a storm.”

  “That thing was no animal Casius, I feel it is something entirely different.” Connell grunted over his tankard, taking a swift drink he continued. “Perhaps you’re right, but I haven’t lived this long by being careless. We will remain vigilant just in case my fears should be justified.”

  During the second day of the storms assault upon the mountain community, an old man entered the inn accompanied by his two daughters. They wore heavy cloaks of leather that kept out the worst of the rain. He must have been a local man of some notoriety for the inn erupted into applause as he lowered his hood. He waved his wide brimmed hat to the crowd in acknowledgement as the inn keep drug a stool over to the hearth.

  His daughters sat on the floor at his feet one carried a small flute of silver, the other a drum of brass and dark wood.

  Lighting a long stemmed clay pipe, the man tossed his hat onto the floor with a flourish. It landed top down and had barely stopped moving when several coins were tossed into it. He smiled at the generosity, “What story would you hear?” He asked the crowd.

  Many people shouted, their request lost in the rumbling peal of thunder. The old man raised his hands for silence, “There is but one tale that should be told on a night such as this.” He took a long pull on his pipe and exhaled a cloud of pungent smoke. “Tanuth the axe?” He suggested smiling as more coins fell into his hat.

  The drummer tapped out a steady cadence that seemed to compliment the rumbling thunder outside. The flute joined in, the notes soft and plaintive.

  “More than two hundred years ago,” the man said in a low voice that drew everyone’s attention. “Our forefathers faced their darkest hour. Haego was ruled by King An Ahkman, he was a sickly man in whose veins flowed the blood of cowards.”

  The audience hissed and booed, many curses came from the mouths of the drunkest men.

  The bard waited until the noise subsided. “His leadership of Haego’s army was ill inspired and doomed to fail. The Lakarrans overran the borders and spread destruction across the land. They moved as locusts, an unstoppable force that consumed all that lay in their path.

  “Our men fought bravely but all they could do was slow our enemies approach. The Lakarrans paid dearly for each mile they advanced. Blackened fields and burnt ruins marked their progress.

  “Women, children, and the old fled before them. Those that faltered were run down and slaughtered. Their life’s blood turning the fertile fields to mud.”

  The music changed growing softer and full of grief.

  “Those that fled to these mountains fared far better than their kin who took to the upland plain. Tanuth came here onto this very mountain. In those days all that stood upon this crag was the lone tower of Le’ach Tol and the curtain wall that surrounded it. The guards within would suffer no one to enter, for the small keep was filled with refugees and there was no room for others.

  “Tanuth pounded upon the gates, shaking them in his fury. Go out! He cried to the men upon the wall. Strike down these invaders and keep your oaths.”

  The bard paused, inhaling from his pipe deeply. “The men within the walls refused, their families were with them and they would not abandon them. For five days Tanuth assailed them with curses and challenges. On the fifth day he threw up his hands in disgust.

  “He left the mountains and entered the Nallen forest. He journeyed far into that dire wood, by secret trails and hidden paths it is said that he found his way to the forest’s heart. He stood within the shadow of Asua Tuell, the mother of all trees. There he struck a bargain with the spirits of the forest. What the terms of that bargain were is not known.

  “Tanuth left that dark wood bearing a great axe, the very haft was fashioned from one of Asua Tuell’s limbs. Its black iron head glowed with power and struck fear into the hearts of those who looked upon it.

  “He combed the countryside for several months gathering what freemen who would follow him. Using little known passes and trails they moved through the mountains attacking the Lakarrans in the dead of night. His reputation grew and word of his exploits spread through the land. Men came from far and wide to fight beneath his banner, a green tree upon a field of black.

  “Night blade the Lakarrans named him, they believed him to be a spirit. A being that neither sword nor arrow could touch, Some claimed that he stood ten feet tall and wielded an axe wreathed in flame. His very footfalls were said to shake the earth for miles.

  “The King of Lakarra upon hearing of this man placed a great bounty on his head. Many a fool sought to collect it and their blood was spilt adding to the legend.

  “The war had gone badly for our people and the last dregs of our army was trapped within Com’s Girdle.
With the mountains on three sides and the largest host Lakarra had ever fielded to the south. The weary men prepared to make their last stand in the deep valley.

  “Day after bloody day the Lakarrans charged. The ground was treacherous and our men held the heights above the Valleys opening. Men died on both sides by the thousands, the remaining warriors of Haego could not hold the pass much longer.

  “On the fourth day it looked as if the Lakarrans would finally break through. A great horn sounded from hills, Glorien it was named. Its echoing call pierced the morning air. The Lakarrans advance faltered for they knew the sound of the trump of Night Blade.

  “Pouring forth from the highlands, two thousand strong came the host of Tanuth. They smashed into the startled Lakarrans flank. The ordered ranks disintegrated, many of the Lakarrans fled before them. At the charges head came Tanuth, his great axe dropping men by the dozens.”

  Casius leaned forward in his chair his ale all but forgotten. This man was a master at his craft and for the moment no one remembered the raging storm outside.

  “His chain hauberk was stained with the blood of the Lakarrans,” the bard continued. “A dark helm hid his face but through the visor his eyes burned with rage. The night Blade had come and the Lakarrans died before him.

  “Two score fell dead at his feet, and many more lay wounded. The Lakarrans flank collapsed and our army rallied charging into the fray.

  The drumming ceased and the flute faded. “The tide of battle was turning the Lakarrans were about to break when the unthinkable happened.” The bard held his pipe up as if it were a dagger. “It was then that Tanuth felt the sting of cold steel sliding through his ribs.” The narrator lowered the pipe slowly.

  “The fire within the axe faded as it fell from his hand. The dark bladed head sank deep into the fertile earth at his feet. Falling to the ground he could see the bloody dagger in his best friends hand.”

  The crowd hissed, allowing the man to take a quick drink from a sweating tankard that had been set at his feet.

  “Yourid, the traitor knew Tanuth’s weakness. The axe protected him from those he saw as enemies not his friends and companions. Yourid had sold his loyalty for a steep price, not to the King of Lakarra, as one would believe. No this treachery was rooted in a far darker place. For it was Tanuth’s own King who had ordered his death. An Ahkman feared the warrior, and in his paranoia he believed Tanuth would soon seize his throne. In the darkest hours of night he come to see Tanuth as a threat more dire than the Lakarrans.

  “With Tanuth’s fall our forces fled the field. The Lakarrans pursued them until every man that could be found lay dead, hacked to pieces by the invaders. A few days after the battle the Lakarrans found an ancient oak of dark wood had sprung from the earth. Growing tall and stately its branches shadowing the very spot were Tanuth had fallen.

  “The Lakarrans searched the field for many days but no sign of the great axe or its wielders body was ever found. Some say that the oak had sprung from the haft of the enchanted weapon. It grew anew watered by the blood of our fallen heroes. Somewhere within the sheltering wood of its bole it cradles the body of our peoples last hope.”

  “King An Ahkman surrendered a few weeks later and was executed by the Lakarran General Telque. His bloody body had been tied behind the General’s war chariot and drug through the streets of every sizeable town in our realm.

  “A few men survived the battle of Com’s Girdle and word of Yourid’s treachery spread. Until one day a mob swarmed his estates and drug him down into the valley where he had committed his foul deed. He was hung that day from the very oak that marked Tanuth’s grave.

  The audience cheered, the bard waited for the room to grow quite once more. “The tree is still said to stand upon the hillside. Surrounded by its offspring a new forest is slowly taking shape, a wood where no mans axe would ever fall. If you ever venture to the valley, do so in the early summer for on the day of Tanuth’s death every leaf of the wood is said to turn blood red at sunset. As if the trees remember the treachery of that day.”

  The music stopped and the old man bowed accepting the applause that came from his audience. The hat filled with coins, his tale had earned him a goodly sum. He emptied it into a small pouch and with a flourish he set it upon his hoary head.

  “I thank you all for your generosity!” he proclaimed over the applause.

  “Another!” Came a call from the audience, it was taken up by others.

  The old bard bowed once more. “I am touched my good friends, but there are other inns where the storm holds people at bay. It is my calling to spread good cheer and I cannot forsake my duties.”

  He wrapped his sodden cloak about his shoulders and held the door for his two accomplices. “Look for me on the morrow, whether this storm still blows or not.” With a final bow he stepped out into the Darkness.

  Casius returned to his seat and took up his half emptied tankard. “That was a tale worth hearing,” he said to Connell.

  “Aye,” Connell replied. “He told it well.”

  They sat in silence enjoying the warm room and listening to some of the men as they sang bawdy drinking songs. As the hours passed and more ale was downed the songs became lewder, it had gotten to the point where the serving girls were blushing with each chorus.

  The inn keep held up his hands and began to tell a tale. It was the ballad of Raegash the bald and the hounds of Corrin, a raunchy tale more suited for the dockside taverns frequented by pirates.

  The men loved it and to the inn keep’s delight they cheered him on.

  The door opened and a gust of frigid air ripped through the room causing the lanterns to flicker madly. Standing in the entry a shapely woman in her early thirties was shaking out the water from her dark cloak. She wore her golden hair long tied into a single braid that hung down her back.

  Beneath her cloak she wore a linen tunic of deep green over breeches of dark leather. A simple belt of faded leather girded her waist. Tucked into the belt were two of the longest knives Casius had ever seen. Across her back hung a quiver of arrows; the shafts were long and fletched in scarlet.

  Resting her unstrung longbow against the wall she turned and surveyed the room. The firm set of her jaw and the steely fire in her blue eyes convinced most men to avert their appraising looks.

  Casius however did not; her bold demeanor fascinated him. Their eyes met and Casius could see no pleasantries in her gaze. She seemed to judge him in an instant and moved her eyes to Connell.

  Frowning slightly she crossed the room gracefully her deer hide boots silent on the rush strewn floor. She wove through the rowdy crowd and settled on the bench across the table from Connell.

  “Hello D’Yana, it’s been a few years,” Connell said in greeting.

  “You are a hard man to find Connell,” she said softly, barely a whisper.

  “What good is being an outlaw when everyone knows your whereabouts?” Connell answered with a slight smile.

  “Half the Senatum is out searching for you, I’ve looked from Glycea to Garm to find you.”

  “The bounty must be high indeed for you to cover such a distance.”

  D’Yana smiled, a brilliant flash of white in the gloomy rooms interior. “To go against you is suicide and every man hunter in Lakarra knows it.”

  “That doesn’t stop them.”

  D’Yana spared a glance at Casius. “So this is the slave you have stolen, I hope he’s worth it. The price on your head has tripled.”

  “I am no ones slave!” Casius snapped.

  D’Yana laughed, “I’d say not,” she said. “With a tongue like that I doubt you have ever worn chains.”

  “D’Yana, this is Casius.” Connell said introducing them.

  “If you did not come for the bounty, then why have you searched for me?” Connell asked returning to the point at hand.

  “Not for old times sake,” D’Yana replied coldly. “I have been commissioned to find you. My employer seeks your skill at arms and wishes to s
peak with you. Our camp site is not far.”

  Connell shook his head, “I have pressing business of my own and little time to spare. As you have said half the Senatum is out for my head.”

  D’Yana smiled, “He pays well.” She said softly, “Very well indeed.” Opening her hand she allowed ten Imperial Crowns to fall onto the table. The heavy gold coins were twice the size of a Talen and worth five times as much.

  Casius gasped he had never seen such wealth in his life. What lay on the table between them was more than most men would earn in their entire lifetime.

  Connell covered the coins with his sleeve; a quick glance around assured him that no one had seen the gold. “That was foolish D’Yana,” he whispered sternly. “It would serve you right if a thief makes off with your fee.”

  “The gold is for you,” she said sliding the coins into a small pouch. “All you have to do is meet with my employer.”

  “This smells of a trap,” Casius warned.

  Connell nodded, “Were it any other who had brought this before me I would be inclined to agree. I have always trusted D’Yana and I know she would not steer me wrong.” Connell took the pouch from her, “Who is this employer of yours?”

  “He calls himself Marcos,” she answered. “He travels with the oddest man I have ever seen. A man with strangely shaped eyes named Suni. They hail from distant lands and seem to be fair and honest men.”

  Connell leaned back and tucked the pouch into his belt.

  “Be wary of Suni, Connell.” D’Yana added as an after thought. “He has the demeanor of a warrior, a damned dangerous one if I judge him rightly.”

  “Then what need has this Marcos of me?” Connell asked.

  “Marcos has need of a Swordsman, Suni uses no bladed weapons,” D’Yana shrugged. “Some sort of code he follows.”

  “We will accompany you.” Connell accepted her offer his curiosity fueled by her description of this Suni.