Valley of the Black Dragon

by B A Fleming

  The party set out after breakfast the next morning. Plenty of horses had been rounded up late in the afternoon of the previous day, mostly battle horses that had run off in the midst of, or following the earlier battle.

  As presumed, Daak had chosen to stay with his sister. His ankle had still not healed properly and there had been concern on him continuing as it was. Thais paid him out for his service, as Nathe handed out the latest instalment of wages to the other mercenaries.

  Gameard sat down by the fire, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The winter was moving into the valley and a thick covering of snow had fallen overnight. Curran, Edgar and Vabnar had been dispatched early in the morning to report on the damage on Tharkomad, that looked as if it had been attacked the evening before, as the smoke from burning buildings hung low with the scent of oncoming rain in the air.

  A mist swept up the valley to envelope them, faster than any could have possibly imagined. The dark fog hid everything, even though the woodland was more open and sparse. Many in the group had a sense of foreboding. Thais and the main group planned a route south of Tharkomad, and would make their way along trails in the deep forest.

  They knew that the forces of the Ice Gols would lie somewhere on the road east of the city. Winter had now extended a fifth of the way between the Tharkomad and the city of Caitawalaan. The Ice Gols would be slowed by the progress of winter as it engulfed the valley.

  They saddled up and made their way into the forest. They rode quietly for the first hour, all aware of the danger that

  the blanket of mist caused. An eerie silence echoed, and slight noises were met with the tightening of muscles and restless snorts from the horses.

  Chapter 21

  As the three scouts made their way into Tharkomad, they could clearly see the heavy breastwork that had been dug into the area. The valley narrowed before the river spilled into a large lake that sat to the immediate west of the city. Although not vast by any means, the spot afforded plenty of fishing and freshwater activities for the locals over the summer months. Strategically, it was a good location, as archers could be deployed both behind the breastwork and up the cliffs on either side of the valley behind rocky outcrops.

  The bodies of mostly Ice Gols lay around the area within a hundred paces of the site. Deep red-brown mud and snow covered the ground around them, and various spots indicated where rams or boulders had broken through the Tharkomad lines. More breastwork could be made out halfway along the road besides the lake, although the second barrier would have been much easier to overcome.

  Rain poured in torrents down the sides of the castle wall. A storm rolled in three hours after sun break and was now in full force. It was a mixture of heavy rain drops and snow squalls, making it now difficult to tell night from day. Lanterns were half shuttered as soldiers tried the find the medium between keeping them open to radiate light, and keeping them closed enough to ensure that the wind or the rain did not extinguish them.

  As the day wore on they slowly made their way into the outskirts of the city. A flash of lightning illuminated the valley, echoing just long enough for the more alert to gain a clear field of view across the darkened landscape. Curran was aware of this and kept his men under the cover of the night-shadows, signaling them to freeze when the lightning erupted.

  Countless fires burnt throughout the city of Tharkomad, adding to the gloom that shrouded the city, as the thick, pungent air could not even be cleared by the snow storm.

  Horseback Ice Gols hunted down stragglers, killing for fun, tearing children and old women apart in some kind of

  merciless sport. Their comrades in arms, a human army of almost three hundred red eyed zombies, looted and raped those that were not slaughtered.

  The troops of the Lord Yidvag were wild with the freedoms they felt. He encouraged and inspired the anarchy, soaking up the rage within them, as if it had been built up within their whole lives only to be released in this moment. This was partly true as he had woven a light passion spell to channel that loathing through the elixir. Cries of fear and pain echoed through the streets.

  Curran and Edgar looked at each other from either side of the shadowy alley. They were sure that the majority of the Tharkomad garrison had perished. They chose not to spend time there as they would be better served to work their way around the Ice Gols and support those who were about to be attacked.

  The problems of Tharkomad would have to wait. Vabnar knew of some paths through the dark forest and although slightly reluctant, was sure it would be the only way to get ahead of the invading army. Bandits and black marketeers had used those trails for years, but many creatures lurked in the shadows, and rumors often wafted through the inns of parties of men disappearing on seemingly regular occasions.

  Curran had spent enough time in Tharkomad to know many back streets and back alleys. He stepped into the darkness between two walls. The destruction he saw about him he felt was more to limit any defensive capability of the city, than to destroy it outright. Lord Yidvag obviously had a plan, and it involved leaving the civilians alive where necessary and only destroying those that sought to fight against them.

  Curran stood within the shadows for a few minutes, and then signaled Vabnar, who was twenty paces behind him to follow. They ducked out and across into another lane.

  A group of Ice Gols rushed past, grunting to each other. People could be seen crouching on a nearby roof as the armory next to them burnt down.

  Many buildings on the main street lay abandoned with doors off their hinges and windows shattered.

  Soldiers, townspeople, and Ice Gols lay where they fell. Curran felt discomfort at the scent of death around him. He silently wished Dralan was here to see these souls off to another lifetime.

  *****

  Veer lead the party along a track that was forged by animals, which was often the quickest route through this unnerving forest. Many soldiers preferred the road, which held a higher risk of mischief and bandits. They slipped quickly along the deer trail. Voices could be heard on the road several hundred feet away, although the group was in too much of a hurry to worry themselves with curiosity.

  Slowly, the sound of a river became louder and louder. The river cut through the landscape with brute force, stealthily carving its body into deep caverns and precipitous drops of surging grey-green falls, until the party met it around a meandering curve. Even as snow started covering the valley, the thickness and volume of water was surprisingly strong. They found a trail down a narrow, loose and rocky treacherous path that wound its way through small outcrops and walls which plunged ten to a hundred feet down the escarpment.

  The approaching winter sent cold winds, filled with whiffs of white blowing down through the small ravine, and the squad huddled in whatever makeshift shelter they could make for themselves against the stone walls. The night became cold and several commented that the dreaded memories of Indramur Pass had returned on more than one moment during the darkness.

  As the sky started to lighten the company moved out. Frost crunched with each footstep, and small cold clouds filled the vision of each and every breath. They were all hungry, having only minimum rations left.

  The trail now curved back north to meet the road, and a small wooden bridge was constructed where the river was its narrowest. They waited, hoping that the scouts sent to Tharkomad would catch up with them shortly.

  *****

  Casperi and his companions made their way to the bottom of the pass by mid-afternoon of the second day. The slopes quickly eased off from a steep, rocky incline to be replaced by lush, undulating woodland and pastures within an hour of the road flattening. The town of Achaea lay a half a days’ ride before them. As it would be late before they arrived, they chose a campsite by a small stream far enough off the road to not be noticed, but close enough to know if anyone was near.

  Tucked away, thirty paces down a small rise and behind a thicket of bramble, the three camped for the night and considered the journey that lay ahead. M
asterstone would give them the best chance of getting Casperi home, but the longer they were in the Morean Empire, the more difficult travel would become for the two Imuhagh.

  They rose early, waited until the road seemed clear and joined the path again as if they had always been on it. Achaea came into view before lunch as they climbed up a small rise. The town is the center of wine making in Morea. Grapes grew well along the slopes of the stolen ridge that divided the realm with the Imuhagh wastelands. The forests to the south were the best for making wine barrels and corks, and the trade route along the southern coast was always busy with merchants bringing their bounty along the royal highway to the capital. The region produced deep reds and light whites favored by the richer merchants due to the cool to cold nights and warm to hot summer days. The higher altitude, compared to other regions of Morea, ensured cool nights even during the heat of summer, allowing the fruit to ripen more evenly and slowly.

  From Achaea, roads led south along the eastern side of the Aïr Mountains down to the Bagu Sea, and east to Masterstone and eventually the capital of the Morean Empire, Corone. Temar commented on the looks they were given as they entered the town.

  “We need to make ourselves more invisible,” he noted, and the others nodded in agreement. A merchant had stopped by a clearing, not far into the town. He was tethering his horses and seemed to be alone as the party

  rode up beside him. He glanced up, and then continued the tethering. All three sat in their saddles and awaited his attention.

  The merchant finally stood up. He was an overweight, middle aged man with strong arms and a small dagger on his belt. He considered the three men on horseback.

  “You bought those from a trader,” he said. “I’d say, probably Kaouar, at the town atop the pass.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Worst kept horses in all the realms, and you probably paid five times as much as those nags are worth. They’ll only be worth soup meat by time we get to the city.”

  “They’ve done their job so far,” observed Aryz Coun.

  “And three lads that have no horse experience, and little more sense. I don’t mean to pry, but you stand out for the things that you don’t know. Two mercenaries from Imuhagh, one of which is possibly a monk, and a noble from a place I cannot place,” observed the merchant. “Are you looking for some duty?”

  “If we are what you say, what would you have of us?” offered Temar.

  “Well, you are all fit lads, and as mercenaries go, could probably hold your own. I have no money to pay you for your services as this road is often travelled by many of my friends. That said, I could always do with some sturdy men, if you are travelling in the same direction and wish comfortable food for a few days.”

  Temar looked at his friends. They had considered that the Imuhagh would be less accepted the further into the Morean Empire they travelled even though they had just reached the bottom of the pass. It seemed acting as mercenaries was as good an identity as any. They nodded to him, and he smiled.

  “Food for the day and a pint of ale at the end of each,” Temar suggested.

  “Done,” pronounced the merchant, more quickly than they would have expected, with a broad smile on his face.

  *****

  The travelers entered the village with both outsiders and locals considering each other wearily. The village was built from logs rendered with a thick red mud that ran the banks of the nearby river.

  The rooves were either made from wooden shingles or hand cut slate, as was the central council room which had the only roof to stand higher than seven feet. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of most dwellings. Large, often covered stacks of wood had been gathered from the surrounding forest during summer and the quickly ending fall.

  It was clear that the forest around had been recently harvested to make a clearing either side of the road. A small barricade had been erected, made of thick tree logs stacked over six feet high. For almost an hour in any direction from the barricade, the forest itself was thinned and a lot of new growth covering the empty spaces between thick old and gnarled trunks had formed over many summers.

  The farmers that the group passed held spears and swords, and in some places old shields. The signs of a well organized community was not lost on the them. They went to particular lengths to let the local people know that they were merely passing through and not looking for looting, or any other sort of trouble.

  As they entered the village, the local women tended to preparing dinners. Some tore at old chickens, chopping meat, making breads or cooking on their wood fire stoves, whilst men sat around outdoor campfires with ales, discussing the virtues of the crops or game in the nearby arms of forest. Their weapons sat close by, whilst some stood and picked up various farming implements including axes and spears, flail, billhooks, and staves.

  Nathe stopped in the middle of the square and dismounted. The others followed. Thais revealed her face as she dropped back her hood. Several people whispered to each other.

  “We seek supplies. Breads, biscuits, meats, nuts and grains,” announced Nathe to no one in particular.

  After another twenty seconds of whispering between three burly men, one of them stepped forward, as all others

  looked on. By now some thirty people had come to stand around the square, weapons held limply.

  Suddenly a sentry called out from near the barricade.

  The man looked at the strangers then towards the attackers, and back again.

  “Are you willing to help us defend our town?” he almost shouted.

  “Of course,” said Nathe starting to run towards the barricade. Fifteen mercenaries approached the village by foot. Their eyes all bloodshot with blood thirsty cries. They slashed at four townspeople standing either side of the barricade and quickly made their way inside as other townspeople raced to pick up weapons.

  Dwane and Thais let off a volley of arrows, taking down the first four before they could engage the rest of the townspeople. Nathe and the others were still some fifty paces from where three young men stood, pitch forks desperately held towards the intruders, but it was obvious to everyone they held more fear than anything else.

  The young man to the right was sliced through by a swinging blow from his aggressor. The other two barely shied away from their attackers blows, as if giving into their fate, too afraid to face their own death. Their attackers screamed and fell to their feet as Gameard and Orate had now reached them and raced past, with Nathe and Soze closely behind.

  The party engaged the renegade mercenaries and a fierce battle ensued for a few minutes before all the invaders were cut down. The leader of the townspeople had turned towards Thais as the boy saw her shouting something, right hand stretched out as if holding a ball. She withdrew her hand the instant the men fell, and looked around, noticing several pairs of eyes upon her.

  As her companions dispatched the last of the mercenaries, she stood ready, arrow cocked, aimed at the mercenary currently taking on Orate.

  She considered him the weakest swordsman of those engaged in the battle. His opponent was bought down by a strike from behind by Dralan, who had already dispatched his own adversary. The men turned to see the fear in the eyes of the townspeople.

  “I think we should prepare you to leave,” called Nathe to the village leader, walking back towards Thais.

  “I think that you and yours should leave now,” cursed the town leader back to him. He pointed at Thais. “This girl is a witch, and a sorcerous such as her can be anything but good. No good has ever come from witches, and I think that none will come from her. If she is with you, as you say, then your kind is not welcome.”

  “Even though she saved the lives of your family and these men?” he asked, pointing to the two men who were visibly shaken, being helped back by relatives.

  “She is a witch and bound to turn on us when least expected. Women such as her are not to be trusted and we shan’t either.”

  “The next wave of these murderous men will not b
e as easily defeated, and then they will be followed by a whole army that approaches upon this road,” yelled Gameard at him. “We ask only to buy supplies and leave. We hope that you do the same too as you have less than a few hours before they will be upon you.”

  “We will find our own journey without your help, as you will receive no help from us,” the village leader stood slightly taller.

  The party turned to leave, shaking their heads. They walked their horses out of the village as the townspeople looked on. They moved off the road less than a hundred paces from the last house into the forest along a winding path.

  “Here sirs, take these,” offered a young boy, carrying an armful of bread loaves as he ran up behind them.

  “Your hospitality is appreciated,” replied Nathe who held up the rear. The rest of the party stopped and Veer and Gameard raced back to him, taking the loaves.

  “You saved the life of my brother miss,” the young man said to Thais and then turned and ran back towards the village.

  “Do you think they will leave in time?” asked Veer, standing next to Nathe, as they both watched the boy disappear.

  “I doubt it,” he mused. “Stubborn village leaders get their whole town killed. I fear it will be a massacre, and one we

  have little hope of avoiding.”

  Dralan noticed Thais eyes fill, as a tear ran down her face.

  “You should know by now, we can’t save everyone lass,” said Veer as he marched past her to lead the group further into the forest.

  Chapter 22

  Since descending into the eastern realm, the wild flora and fauna had fed them well. Wild berries, rabbits, and the occasional loaf of bread bought in small villages had allowed the travelers a comfortable journey across the rolling plains.