by Scott Zamek
Aerol pushed ahead—by day and into the nights. He wished to avoid the enemy and put the Ancient Lands behind them as quickly as possible. They were harried by bands of troggs and halfwraith, always just on the horizon, and always charging in on quick raids then retreating after gaining a taste of Ethreal’s bow. The rocky terrain began to rise into a vast expanse of scattered brush, trees became more prevalent, and watering the horses became easier as streams set in beds of solid rock cut through the eastern lands. They passed through many deserted villages and towns, and fallow farms overgrown with weeds and desert scrub.
They rode for some three days and found themselves high up on the eastern plateau. Rocky outcroppings began to appear. Unusual in their form, they stood as dozens of solitary towers dotting an otherwise flat and empty land, like a forest of rock-hewn trees. The group rode on in the shadows of the rock forest, a low sun blinking at their backs. Soon, a field of massive stone pillars appeared, but they were rented open, the near side nothing but rubble and rocks strewn along the base. And they were hollow inside. Torn and twisted cages lay within, now exposed, bars broken and bent outward as if by some terrible force. Massive chains, links the size of wagon wheels, held shackles wide as tree trunks and they too were broken open and misshapen.
Andreg slumped low and braced himself against his saddle. “It is as I feared. The evil demons of Telfgar roam loose upon the land. Doom is come.” He stopped and froze in fear, unable to move ahead. The others looked on in dismay, wondering what could affect their friend so greatly.
Aerol rode up beside the mage and put his hand on Andreg’s shoulder. “We must move,” he said sternly. “Regardless of what lies ahead.”
Andreg recovered a bit and shook his head. “Yes . . . yes. You are right of course. The Light is the key—all else follows.”
Aerol resumed the lead and the others followed, but Andreg did not speak again and he was not himself as they left the cages behind. The flat plain held sway over the land again, a line of stubby bushes following the cobblestone path, brown and brittle, as if the sun had not shone upon the high plateau for many weeks. Desert heat no longer lingered in the air; instead, a chill wind swept down from the mountains and cut across the highlands, bearing the climate of the north along with it. The sun hung high in the sky and there were no clouds, but a solid white slate covered the earth from horizon to horizon; the sun appeared only as a hovering pinprick, cold and distant, obscured by a constant haze.
The horses increasingly bucked their heads and whinnied, as if they sensed some looming threat rising up to the east. Aerol slowed the pace. The few trees and stubby shrubs along the path disappeared; the land became flat and limitless to reveal the roundness of the world. On all sides the earth fell away into nothingness, into the end of solid ground and toward the formless void of the beyond. Beset by a cold north wind, they turned up their collars and plodded ever onward along the straight and narrow way.
A glittering river appeared in a long valley stretching out below them, and Trader reported many riders along the banks. Aerol raised up in his saddle and pointed, black cloak flapping in the wind. “The Adamantine River,” he shouted. “It is what we have long sought with many hard miles behind us—the border to the Far Lands.”
They stopped at the edge of the high plateau and dismounted under cover of a rock ledge, then gazed down upon the vast expanse below. The Adamantine River snaked through a valley made of brown rock, and nothing else, the pure water cutting its way along a landscape devoid of trees, or shrubs, or green vegetation of any kind. The shallow riverbed made the clear surface seem almost level with the surrounding rock. “It is heavily guarded,” said Trader. “At least thirty halfwraith that I can see from here, and twice as many troggs.”
Aerol turned and put his back to the ledge, lowering his head. “A band of five cannot pierce an army of one hundred.” He looked up at the others with a hard stare. “We cannot fight our way through.”
“There is a forested area,” said Trader, pointing to the southeast. A thick grove of evergreens crowded the near bank of a small section of the river, where a curl in the water’s flow produced a horseshoe-shaped bow to the east. To the Watcher’s eyes, it stood out like a beacon against the otherwise denuded land. “I see rocks and a pebble bottom—we might be able to sneak through the trees and ford the river at that bend.”
“Under cover of darkness?” Ethreal crouched, hand on the hilt of her sword.
“No!” said Andreg. “We must hurry. Some terrible evil gathers even now.” Andreg looked white and frail; he had looked so since the fight at the canyon.
“It must be day,” conceded Aerol. “We cannot wait for what may lurk in the night.”
“Then we go now,” said Ethreal. “Why delay?”
An icy sun hung behind the distant white sky. Aerol scanned the scene below. “That rock ledge to the south could provide cover. If we make our way behind that, then break for the forest, we could go unseen.” He turned to the Watcher. “What can you see between the ledge and the forest?”
“Open plain,” said Trader. “Flat and barren. We will be out in the open for a good mile.”
Aerol drew a deep breath. “That would be quite a feat . . . to go unseen over one mile of open ground, with more than one hundred of the enemy guarding the way.” He paused in thought for many minutes. “Perhaps we should wait until nightfall after all,” and he turned to the others. “What do you think?”
“Now,” said Ethreal. “No more talk.”
“It must be now,” said Andreg. “What evil forms in my premonitions is too terrible to contemplate, and it gathers as we delay.”
The others agreed. Aerol said nothing; he stood and made ready his steed. Ethreal packed her quiver with arrows from her saddle bags, and the others cinched their packs tight against the backs of their horses. The Far Rider mounted and made his way slowly down the south side of the plateau, hidden from the eyes of the enemy.
The path was thin and tilted sharply downward; loose rocks scattered under hooves, and as they descended, the river disappeared from view behind the north side of the plateau. Dead sagebrush and dry grass poked out of cracks in the rocky cliff, and Aerol leaned back on his horse. The path tilted steeply, turned north, then switched back upon itself and ran southward toward the forest. They soon reached the valley floor, then rode across an exposed section of arid ground before disappearing behind the rock ledge. Aerol led along the south side of the cliff, heading east, until they arrived at the end of their cover and looked out upon the one-mile section of open land leading up to the forest.
Trader swung off his horse, put his back to the ledge, and glanced around the corner at the trees. “Many halfwraith. More than before, and some along the forest edge.”
“Dealing with a few may be unavoidable,” said Aerol. “If we are swift and do not alert the rest . . .”
“Wait,” said Trader, raising his hand. A low hum breezed through the trees, and a swirling wind whipped along the valley. Dust devils rose from the sand and tracked along the open plain; the wind howled and lifted soil into the murky air and Trader could no longer see the forest. “This is our chance!” urged the Watcher. “They will never see us in the sandstorm—we make for the forest now!”
Wait,” said Andreg. He turned his head and listened and his face became strained. “There is something at work . . . I can’t quite place it. This is not the doings of nature alone.”
“Whatever the cause, it serves our needs,” said Aerol. “We move.” He spurred his horse and trotted out from behind the cliff and onto the open plain. Trader mounted and followed, then Ethreal and Filby. Andreg hesitated. He sensed some unseen presence, some malign hand hidden behind the storm, but as he saw the backs of his friends fade into the swirling dust, he nudged his mount and moved ahead.
The horses made their way at a slow walk through the murky air; Aerol tried to shout but the wind rose and blotted out all sound save that of the roiling sand. The Far Rider motioned
for Trader to take the lead, for the air had blinded all but the Watcher’s keen eyes, and even he could see no more than ten feet into the storm. They made half the distance to the forest, or so Trader guessed, when the wind began to calm. Dust fell to the ground. A slow clearing turned the thick atmosphere into a viscous curtain, and Trader felt as if he was gazing through a warped looking glass.
“Hold!” shouted Trader, and pulled his horse to a stop. He peered into the gloom and something began to appear as the air cleared. They were boulders, or massive pillars, dozens of them, forming a line along the edge of the forest.
“The Ancients save us!” cried Andreg.
There, along the open plain, stood a long line of ogres looking like giant oak trees blocking the way.
“Flee!” shouted Andreg, and all five horses wheeled around at once, but their effort was in vain. Another line of ogres marched in behind, blocking any escape. Halfwraith and troggs drew back, for even they would not interfere with such an army.
“A trap!” shouted Trader. “We are surrounded!”
Ethreal swung her bow forward.
“Thirty-three,” said Andreg, trembling with fear. “The thirty-three ogres of Telfgar.”
Aerol drew his sword. The ogres tightened the circle, raised their heavy clubs, and pounded the ground and the world shook.
Ethreal lifted her bow and let fly, raining arrows down on the advancing ogres. But they did not falter and they came on. Filby and Trader drew their swords. Andreg sat sullen, unmoving and unwilling to fight—resigned to his fate.
The ground rumbled; the tide rolled forward—the ogres cast themselves upon the riders and the horses tumbled over as if they were made of straw. Aerol rose and brandished his sword, but massive clubs from three ogres sent him flying to the ground. He lay unconscious and did not move. “We must fight our way to the river!” cried Ethreal, as she grasped Aerol’s cloak and dragged him toward the forest. Trader and Filby fell in, but another club struck and Filby fell. He could not walk, and Trader grabbed him by the waist and followed Ethreal. “The forest!” she cried.
Ethreal drew her sword, running an ogre through to the bone. The forest drew near, but another club struck and felled the Watcher. Ethreal stood in front of her three wounded companions, alone, and raised her sword against the impossible tide.
All at once, Andreg swept in and dismounted on the open plain. He stood between Ethreal and the ogres and raised his hands into the air. “lunidae cortestra tredonum,” Andreg’s voice rose up on the air. “Ancient demons of Telfgar, I stand.” A west wind rose along the valley, and the ogres raised their clubs against the wind and pressed forward.
“de kafres rislev cordum,” Andreg cried. “I am the last holder of the Sacred Flame left to men.” An intense light rose from Andreg’s hands and spread out like lightning over the valley. “The eternal keeper of light for the kingdoms of old.” Wind strengthened, blowing Andreg’s hair straight toward the east. His face became strained, and he bent against the wind.
The ogres pushed against the wind but could not advance. “Andril nethrain . . . dilvas kethrid,” rose Andreg’s voice above the tempest. “I am the see-er and speaker of the last Council of Kings.” The winds stiffened from the four corners of the world and from the deep recesses of the earth. A great light engulfed the land, and terrible lightning appeared over the high plateau.
The ogres writhed and fought against some unseen power, but were helpless, and one by one they vanished, then reappeared in their cages high up on the plateau. Shackles reappeared on their wrists, and the warped metal bars on the cages reformed. A great rolling thunder shook the cliffs, and the mountains formed once again around the cages, until all was as it had been before the demons of Telfgar were unleashed upon the dominion of men.
Ethreal watched as a tremendous light engulfed the entire land and up to the sky, and it was so bright that the mage disappeared within, and he became but a shadow inside a burning sun on earth. And the light collapsed in upon itself, and the shadow inside writhed and reached and tried to escape, but the sun compressed into a blinding star, then collapsed and was gone. Ethreal and the others looked on, and the mage was gone. All that remained was a smoldering crater in the ground and ashes scattered in the wind.
“Watcher, we must flee!” shouted Ethreal, and she grabbed Trader by the collar and shook him to his feet. “To horse!” One hundred halfwraith and troggs began to gather on the edge of the valley. The light had stunned them, but now they advanced toward the forest. Ethreal lifted Aerol’s limp form and draped him over her saddle, then she leapt onto the white stallion and swung toward the forest. Trader helped Filby onto his steed, and the two fell in behind Ethreal.
Aerol’s riderless black stallion darted ahead into the forest. Ethreal clutched the reins and spurred her steed, and the white stallion ran before the wind. The forest sped by in a winding blur, then the shallow river gave way like a parting sea under the white stallion’s powerful legs. Filby and Trader climbed the opposite bank, not far behind Ethreal, and Trader looked behind. Thirty halfwraith and seventy troggs, all mounted on sturdy horses, were crossing the river at a gallop.
FAR LANDS
T hey crouched down and waited. Cold evening dew dripped from forest leaves, and Filby could feel the air throb with a distant beat. The onrush of horses vibrated through the trees and trembled the earth, rising in a slow and steady din of hooves to the north until the trees shook loose their raindrops and filled the air with woodland mist. The sound became yet louder with the rolling advance of cavalry, quivering the branches and pounding dust into the twilight sky. Then slowly the rumble of hooves faded behind the muffle of underbrush and wind, and the distant cry of horsemen dissolved along the forest floor.
“I think we have lost something far more ancient than we know.” Aerol had come to, and was kneeling by his black stallion. Ethreal had already told him about the death of Andreg. She had raced the minions of darkness to the edge of a thick forest, then pivoted south, cutting through a wide swath of trees as she led Trader and Filby through the woods and behind a tall thicket. There they now crouched, waiting for the enemy to pass.
“Quiet!” said Trader, lifting his hand. He sat listening to distant sounds beyond the reach of normal men: the far-off rustle of leaves, the background hum that was the tune of the land, the very heartbeat of the earth. “The enemy returns!” The vague whinny of cavalry rose up again through the trees, and Trader could hear the horsemen retrace their path and turn south toward the thicket. “They have discovered our trail,” whispered Trader. “We must move!”
“We flee yet again,” grumbled Ethreal, as she climbed atop her mount. “Like snakes on our bellies.” She had an urge to turn and fight, but knew that a party of four could not defeat an army of one hundred.
The others climbed atop their horses, making their way slowly south through the underbrush in an effort to quietly disappear among the trees. But the sound of stomping hooves rose at their backs. Trader spurred his horse. “They are upon us!” he cried, and sped on through the trees. The others followed, galloping south through the forest along a thin and crooked path, then splashing across a shallow river. Ethreal and Aerol nudged their steeds; the stallions were breeds of the open country, their speed and strength unmatched by any on the flat plains. But they were now hindered by a maze of trees and a labyrinth of thickets and sharp turns.
The din of cavalry at their backs came on. An arrow sped through the brush and thrummed in a tree above Trader’s right shoulder. “To flight!” shouted Trader. “They close!” Gathering cries of the enemy rose from behind, coming together in a surging, single voice. Ethreal urged her steed onward, but the stallion struggled over rough ground. A river appeared out of a wall of trees, and the water was like a mad torrent under frantic hooves as they galloped across. Aerol’s Frasian suddenly reared up in fright, and the Far Rider was stunned by what he saw ahead. Instantly and with sudden surprise, at the far bank, a rider darted from the dense trees
and rode into the river and blocked the way. The other steeds bucked their reins and the horses came to an unsteady halt.
“Follow me and make haste!” shouted the rider, as he sped into the thickets bordering the river. Aerol climbed the bank and galloped onward and the others followed. They careened through dense forest strewn with brambles and thorns, and there was no road or guiding path save the mysterious rider in the lead. The trees became thick like a stockade, where they swung hard to the north behind a rock ledge hidden by a wall of willows and sap-laden pines. A wide and rushing river appeared, but their guide led the way across a set of shallows that was masked by the white-topped current.
The forest thinned and they broke out onto a field of tall saplings, head high and thick like corn, where they became hidden among the branches as they worked their way under cover to the north and east. Willowy limbs, like broom heads, swept by Filby’s legs and arms, before the group entered a forest of tall pines and came upon a solid curtain of brambles and vines. Their guide pushed through to the other side, where they found themselves facing a small cliff honeycombed with caves. “Quiet the horses,” said the guide, in an urgent whisper, then he dismounted and placed a calming hand on the neck of his steed. The others did the same, and they stood in silence listening for any sign of pursuit.
“I hear nothing,” said Trader finally. Then he turned to their guide and held out his hand. “Brother Eyebold,” and the old friends shook. “It is good to see another Watcher alive in these dangerous times. “
“Indeed,” said Eyebold. “Your Quiet Lands of the west are not so threatening to one’s health as these forests you find yourself in now, Watcher Hawkins.” Then he turned and looked at the others. “Ethreal,” he said, nodding his head.