by Mark Dame
The passage became more difficult, especially below the snow line where the trail turned to mud. Only Sigrid seemed unhindered by the unstable footing, plodding along at the back of the line, still muttering to herself about their traitorous guide. Fallen rocks and scrub brush began to cover portions of the trail, sending them off the path to avoid the obstacles. Eventually, the path seemed to disappear altogether.
Gudbrant led them on as best he could, always working toward Mount Yemsok. With no trail to guide them, their path consisted mainly of climbing over smaller rock outcroppings and skirting the larger ones. After two hours of scrambling and climbing, they found themselves in a shallow ravine with a creek running through it. To the east loomed the tall slope of Mount Yemsok.
“We can’t go straight up,” Gudbrant said. “We’ll need to find another way.”
“Don’t forget what Gunnulf told us,” Flyn said. “We can’t climb up to the plateau, so we have to find a way to climb above it.”
“But which way?” Randell said.
“Let’s split up,” Gudbrant said. “Flyn, Sigrid, and I will search the ravine to the north for a path. Randell and Harvig search to the south. We’ll meet back here in half an hour. With luck, one group or the other will find a way up the mountain.”
The others nodded in agreement. Harvig and Randell turned and headed off to the south.
“Good luck,” Flyn said to himself, watching the pair walk away. He turned and ran to catch up with Gudbrant and Sigrid.
“I think we got lucky with the weather,” Gudbrant was saying as Flyn caught up with them.
“How so?” Sigrid said.
“This ravine looks to be a riverbed. In warmer weather, it probably collects the snowmelt from the surrounding hills and mountains and turns that creek into a raging river.”
“Aye,” Sigrid replied. “That would make our job a wee bit difficult.”
“What’s that?” Flyn said, pointing to a spot ahead of them.
A break in the trees revealed a narrow dirt path winding up the slope.
“Good eye,” Gudbrant said. “Let’s see where it goes before we go back to meet the others.”
He led the way up the path, Flyn and Sigrid hurrying to catch up.
The path was even narrower than the trail they had been on before, though easier to follow. The ground was completely clear, like it was well traveled. Branches on trees and bushes on either side of the path were broken. Gudbrant slowed down, then stopped at a bend.
“Look at this,” he said.
The path bent around a large tree. Several parallel gouges cut through the bark on the trunk.
“Those look like claw marks,” Sigrid said.
Gudbrant nodded. “Keep a watch out. Those look fresh.”
They continued climbing the path, though at a slower pace. They came upon more trees with the strange scratches. Gudbrant had loosened his sword in its scabbard. Sigrid had unslung her ax and was carrying it in front of her. Flyn followed their lead and drew his own sword.
Around the next bend, the path led into a small clearing. On the other side of the clearing was a cave.
“Is that the opening to the tunnels?” Flyn asked. He couldn’t believe their luck.
“Not unless that weasel lied to us about how to get to it,” Sigrid said.
“Then this would appear to be a dead end,” Gudbrant said. There were no other paths out of the clearing.
“Shouldn’t we at least check?” Flyn really wanted the cave to be the entrance to the tunnels.
“Sigrid’s right,” Gudbrant said. “This can’t be the entrance. For one thing, this is a natural cave. The tunnels under Jarot’s citadel were constructed. Let’s go back and see if Harvig and Randell had better luck.”
A low, rumbling growl came from the cave. Gudbrant turned just as something large and gray leapt from the opening. The beast hit Gudbrant square in the chest, sending him tumbling into Sigrid, knocking them both down. Flyn jumped back, stumbling and falling on the uneven ground.
Flyn stared at the beast standing before him. It was taller than both he and Sigrid, taller even than Harvig. It stood with one foot on Gudbrant’s chest, staring back at Flyn with its dark, deep-set eyes.
The creature’s head was that of a wolf, with a long snout and a mouth full of yellow teeth. The longest fangs were like spikes, dripping with saliva. A thick, gray-brown fur covered the creature’s lean, muscular body. Its powerful arms and legs were long, even for its large size. The dagger-like claws at the end of its fingers gleamed in the sunlight.
It pulled back its lips in a snarl and growled again, a rumbling in its chest that reverberated in the air like thunder. Sitting on the ground and paralyzed with fear, Flyn felt as if ice were running through his veins. The creature stepped toward him, raising its arm over its head, preparing to attack.
A loud yell startled Flyn. The creature turned in time to see Sigrid leap up and run at it, ax swinging. It snarled and stepped back, avoiding the swing of Sigrid’s ax by mere inches. It brought its arm down, raking its claws across Sigrid’s back and sending her tumbling back down to the ground.
The creature turned back to Gudbrant, who was struggling to get to his feet.
“Look out!” Flyn yelled, but it was too late. The creature swung its clawed hand at the militiaman, striking him in the side of his head. Blood sprayed from Gudbrant’s cheek and neck onto the trees and bushes at the edge of the clearing. He fell to the ground, landing on his side. The creature leapt to Gudbrant’s limp body.
“No!” Flyn yelled.
He picked himself up off the ground and ran across the clearing toward the beast, his sword raised. Still standing over Gudbrant’s body, the creature turned toward Flyn. As Flyn pulled back to strike, the creature swung its arm at him, swatting him away like an insect. Flyn landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him.
On the other side of the clearing, Sigrid had clamored to her feet.
“Over here, you ugly mutt,” Sigrid yelled.
The creature turned to face the dwarf, snarling and gnashing its teeth. The pair stared at each other, neither moving closer to the other. Sigrid’s eyes burned with a fire Flyn hadn’t seen in her before. A low growl rumbled in the creature’s chest.
The beast leapt forward and they raced toward each other, Sigrid with her ax raised over her head, the creature with one arm pulled back, ready to strike.
They met in a clash of steel and bone, Sigrid’s ax severing one of the creature’s claws. It howled in pain. Sigrid pulled back, preparing to swing her ax again, but the creature was too fast. It swung its other arm, smashing her side and knocking her to the ground again. Before she could move, the creature jumped on top of her and pinned her to the ground.
The creature lifted its head in the air, its ears pinned back, and howled, a chilling sound that Flyn felt in his bones.
Flyn struggled back to his feet. He had one chance to attack before the creature could kill the prone dwarf. He raced toward it, his sword ready. He yelled and swung his sword with all his strength. The creature turned to see Flyn’s sword arc through the air and bury itself in the flesh of its arm. Flyn felt the blade hit bone before the creature pulled its arm back, nearly ripping the sword from Flyn’s hands.
As it stepped back, Sigrid, still lying on her back, swung her ax, striking the creature in the leg. Another howl erupted from the creature. Flyn leapt forward, thrusting his sword into the creature’s chest.
The beast stepped back again, snarling and growling. Sigrid rolled over and scrambled to her feet to stand next to Flyn.
“Smelly as it is ugly,” Sigrid muttered.
Flyn nodded, though Sigrid wasn’t looking at him to see. He raised his sword again.
The creature stood in front of them, just outside the reach of their weapons, its chest heaving from its hard breathing. Its right arm hung limp at its side, blood pouring from the gash left by Flyn’s attack. More blood streamed from the gouge in its chest. It glared at its two
prey, eyes shifting from one to the other. It let out a series of loud barks that echoed off the surrounding mountainsides. Flyn flinched at the sound, but held his ground.
“Give me an opening, you vile beast,” Sigrid said. She held her ax up, ready to attack.
The creature threw its head back and howled in frustration.
“Now!” Flyn yelled.
He and Sigrid leapt forward, Flyn swinging his sword at the creature’s good arm, Sigrid bringing her ax over her head and down on the creature’s chest. The blows struck the creature before it had time to react. Trying to step away from the attack, it stumbled and fell back. The force of Sigrid’s blow sent it to the ground. Flyn flipped his grip on his sword and grabbed the hilt with both hands. With a growl of his own, he plunged the blade into the creature’s chest.
A last yelp escaped the creature’s mouth as its body shuddered, and then lay still.
Flyn collapsed to his knees, still holding on to the hilt of his sword sticking out of the beast’s chest. He knelt like that for several seconds, trying to catch his breath. Finally, he let go of the sword and sat back. Sigrid stood beside him, breathing hard and holding herself up with her ax. They looked at each other and smiled.
Suddenly Flyn remembered Gudbrant. He jumped up and scrambled to the fallen militiaman, half running, half sliding in his haste.
Gudbrant was lying on his side where the creature had left him. His sword still clutched in his hand. Flyn rolled him onto his back. Gudbrant’s cheek and neck were shredded where the creature’s claws had struck him. Blood oozed from the wounds. His eyes stared lifelessly at the sky.
“Gudbrant!” Flyn yelled, shaking the body that lay before him. “You can’t die! Get up!”
Gudbrant didn’t respond. His head rolled to the side, causing his eyes to stare at Flyn.
Sigrid placed a hand on Flyn’s shoulder.
“He’s gone, lad.”
Flyn shrugged off her hand and shook Gudbrant’s body again, yelling at his friend’s limp body. Tears streamed down Flyn’s cheeks.
Gudbrant didn’t respond.
Flyn sat back, wiping the tears from his face. “No, no, no,” he said. “You have to be alive. I can’t do this without you.”
The sound of running feet came from behind Flyn. He ignored it.
“What happened?” Randell said.
“We were attacked,” Sigrid replied quietly.
“Gudbrant?” Harvig asked.
“Dead.”
Flyn bowed his head, sobbing.
Chapter 13
“He should be buried in Garthset,” Randell said.
Harvig nodded in agreement.
The remaining four stood in a circle around the makeshift grave they had made for Gudbrant. They had dragged the vargolf down the slope and into the ravine where other animals or a spring flood would dispose of the body. For their friend and companion, the best they could do was bury him under a cairn of stones gathered from the surrounding slopes.
They had buried Gudbrant where he died. Randell had arranged his body, placing his sword on his chest and crossing his hands over the hilt. He had cleaned the blood from Gudbrant’s face and neck, and replaced his helmet on his head. Once prepared, they made a circle of stones around the body, saying a ritual blessing with each stone placed.
“Go now, Brother, join your fathers,” Randell said, placing the first stone.
“Go now, Brother, join your mothers,” Harvig said, adding a second stone.
“They wait for you, Brother.” Flyn added a stone.
“In Vahul where you shall live forever.” Sigrid added a stone.
Go now, Brother, join your fathers.
Go now, Brother, join your mothers.
They wait for you, Brother,
In Vahul where you shall live forever.
I shall mourn you, Brother,
And I shall praise you.
In time I shall join you
In Vahul where I shall live forever.
Tarry no longer in this world.
Your body returns to the earth.
Let your spirit ride the wind
To Vahul where we shall live forever.
The ritual prayer had been repeated until the circle was complete, then they filled the circle with more stones, covering Gudbrant’s body until they could find no more stones nearby. The cairn complete, they repeated the burial prayer again in unison, then stood in silent reflection.
Flyn was still in shock. With Gudbrant’s body no longer visible, he was having trouble accepting that his friend was dead. He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting Gudbrant to come walking out of the woods and chastise them for sitting around when they should be looking for Kel and Brenna. But the only voice to come from the forest was the wind whispering in the trees.
They sat quietly next to the cairn and ate the last bit of their food.
“So you have the same funeral rituals in Trygsted?” Randell asked Flyn as they ate.
“No,” Flyn replied. “We send our dead out to sea on funeral rafts. But we recite the same rites of death.”
“You come from a strange clan,” Sigrid said, shaking her head. “You don’t use boats, but you bury your dead at sea.”
Flyn didn’t reply. He didn’t want to talk any more about death.
“What do we do now?” Harvig said after a while. “We need to find more food or we’ll never make it back to Kaldersten.”
“We could always butcher the vargolf,” Sigrid said.
No one answered.
“I didn’t say I wanted to, but a starving man isn’t picky.”
“There’s only one choice to make,” Flyn said. “We keep going. If we can find the trail, we shouldn’t be more than an hour from the tunnel entrance.”
“We think we found it,” Randell said. “We were on our way back when we heard the first howl. When we heard it barking, we started running, only we got here too late.” Randell looked down at his hands.
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Sigrid said. “The beast surprised us. Even if you had gotten back sooner, I doubt there would have been anything you could have done. What’s important now is that you found the trail.”
“Wait,” Harvig said. “You can’t really be thinking about going on. Gudbrant is dead. We have no food. We don’t even know where we’re going. We don’t have a chance. We would be walking into our own deaths.”
“Even so, I’m going,” Flyn said. “I have to go. If you decide to turn around, I won’t blame you and I’ll have no ill will toward you.”
“I’m going as well,” Randell said. “I promised Gudbrant I would do whatever I could to save Brenna and I won’t back down now. Especially now. If I quit, it will be like he died for nothing.”
“I told you I’d follow you,” Sigrid said. “Right up to Jarot himself, if I have to. Besides, I don’t have anything better to do.”
“You’re all out of your minds,” Harvig said. “It doesn’t seem I really have a choice. I either follow you to certain death, or try to make it back to Kaldersten on my own, which is likely to lead to death.”
“That’s the spirit, laddie,” Sigrid said.
“What do we do about food?” Harvig said. “I’m not eating that…that thing. That would be like eating an orc.”
“What other choice do we have?” Sigrid asked.
“We’ll find food in the citadel,” Flyn said. “That’s what Gudbrant’s plan was, and I think it’s a good one.”
“I agree,” Randell said.
“I hope Gudbrant was right,” Harvig said, shaking his head.
“Well, lads, as me great grandpappy used to say, ‘Less talking and more walking.’” Sigrid stood up and re-slung her pack and her ax on her back.
Flyn did the same with his pack and bow. Randell and Harvig followed.
“Lead the way,” Sigrid said to Randell.
Randell left the clearing, following the dirt trail that led back to the ravine. Sigrid and Harvig were close
behind.
Flyn started to follow the others, then stopped at the top of the trail. He turned back to look at the funeral cairn where Gudbrant lay and wondered again how they would succeed without him.
The afternoon sun shone through the trees, highlighting the burial mound in the otherwise shaded clearing. Almost as if it were a bridge of light descending from the sky to lead Gudbrant to Vahul. As he watched, the light grew stronger, reflecting off the rock. For a minute, the mound seemed to glow, then the light faded as a cloud covered the sun and the mound again looked like just a pile of gray rock.
It was up to him now. The others were following him. Even Randell, in spite of his loyalty to Gudbrant, wouldn’t go on alone. Without Gudbrant, Kel and Brenna’s fates were in Flyn’s hands. He knew that somewhere, Gudbrant was watching him and counting on him to finish the quest they started.
“I will,” Flyn whispered. He turned back to the trail, hurrying to catch up with the others.
Burying Gudbrant had taken them several hours. Noon had come and gone before they reached the trail that Randell and Harvig had found. No one spoke of the possibility that it might not be the Yord Trail. Even Harvig kept quiet about the chance that they could be following a false lead.
As they climbed above the tree line on the western slope of Mount Yemsok, the tower of Jarot’s citadel came back into view, its black sides gleaming in the afternoon sun. With no view of the city or even the rest of the citadel, the tower appeared out of place against the mountain backdrop, a single black finger bursting from the rock and pointing to the sky. Mount Yemsok was reflected in its north face, as it might upon the surface of a mountain lake. No crack or seam could be seen in the sides, just a smooth ebony surface. Even where the sides met those of the smaller towers atop the main tower, no joint or seam was visible. The smaller structures had openings around their summits, where Flyn suspected sentries watched for approaching enemies.
The party traveled in near silence, the only sound their labored breathing and their boots scraping the dirt. Flyn didn’t feel like talking, and apparently no one else did either. Randell walked with his head bowed, Harvig with a clenched jaw. Sigrid, normally chatty while traveling, plodded along with only an occasional comment about some stone or rock formation. Flyn tried to think of Kel to avoid thinking of Gudbrant. When that didn’t work, he tried imaging what Brenna would be like, should they find her, but that just led to how they would have to tell her about Gudbrant’s death. Finally, all he could do was focus on their path and hope it would lead to the entrance to the tunnels.