Norgen laughed. “Be easy on them. This is their first war! Keep your heads up lads. The world is ripe with turmoil and nothing Men or Dwarves can do will change it. Things are as they will be. Nothing more.”
“Don’t worry on such things now. Concentrate on your skills with bow and sword,” Jin offered. “The time is fast approaching when you will need them.”
“The bow is no trouble. It’s the sword I’m worried about,” Fennic admitted. His head dropped with the thought of his previous failure.
“Yet you both survived against a score of well trained Goblins,” Hallis told them.
“That in itself is impressive. The people of your village are stronger than I thought.”
They both smiled.
“I will teach you to become swordsmen at every chance we get between here and Paedwyn. You need not worry,” Hallis said. “Mind you though, you’ll only know enough to keep yourselves alive. Not to take on the enemy host single handed.”
The sun came out from behind the heavy blanket of clouds choking the skies, and for a moment they were warm. Winter birds whistled to each other across the treetops. A small herd of deer crossed their path without so much as looking their way. In that Hallis took a small measure of comfort. Birds and animals meant no Goblins. He called another break halfway through the afternoon. The scouts had already returned with nothing to report, but Hallis knew two men could not see everything. The enemy could easily have slipped past them.
Fennic and Delin joined the surviving recruits in basic principles of sword fighting and then a series of exercises designed to build speed and efficiency. Much as they wanted to know how to fight, Hallis would have none of it. They had to learn the basics before moving on. They broke camp an hour later.
Hallis was almost sure they’d made it through another day when Jin came riding back into the column. He had a look of despair that needed no interpretation.
“Goblins, and something else,” he said through breaths. “I think it’s just a scouting party, but even so, the main body can’t be far behind.”
“How far?”
“Depends if they halt or not. I’d guess no more than an hour,” Jin answered.
Norgen and the boys came stalking up, listening intently to every word.
“What is the something else?” he asked
Jin shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen the like.”
“A Gnaal,” Norgen whispered once Jin finished describing it.
“Up until a few months ago I would have thought you mad,” Hallis said. “Recent events have convinced me otherwise. If what you say is true and they are nigh unkillable, what chance do we have to stop them?”
“There is always hope,” Norgen spat. “Fennic wounded it the last time we fought. It knows it can be hurt now and might be less anxious to jump into the fight again. Fennic, I am afraid we are going to have to ask you to come with us again.”
Phaelor warmed his leg. Despite that reassurance, fear spread through him. His heart bade him go and hide, to escape the monster of Gren before it claimed his soul. Duty and friendship demanded otherwise.
“Bringing the boy is risky,” Jin said. “I don’t want his death on my hands if this goes wrong.”
“I know what I’m getting in to,” Fennic replied with a shaky voice. He took another step closer to becoming a man.
Hallis wasn’t convinced. “Nay boy. Give me the sword. This is too dangerous.”
“The sword only obeys young Attleford,” Norgen said.
The old veteran looked deep into the resolve in Fennic’s eyes. “So be it,” he finally said. “Come, we’re wasting time. I don’t enjoy the prospect of fighting them at night. Jin, bring one squads. Drop their packs here and follow me.”
Norgen growled in delight. “Good. My axe was growing restless for Goblin blood.”
TWENTY
Norgen was the first to inch his way over the small rise and peer down on the Goblin position. He hadn’t spotted the Gnaal, but knew better than to think it was gone. Taking a quick count and general layout of the glade, he slid back down to where the others waited.
The Dwarf removed his dented helm and drank deeply from an offered canteen. “There’s over a score down there. All scouts. The defense is weak. No one is watching for us. I think fortune is smiling on us, for I saw no sign of the Gnaal. Let’s hit them now and be done with it.”
“Not so hasty,” Hallis said. “What of the other side, Blaron?”
The blond soldier poured a little water over his face. He’d returned at about the same time as Norgen. “Aye, I saw that Gnaal. Big and nasty. He’s hidden in a depression close to a small grove of elm trees.”
He took a stick and began mapping out the glade in the dirt. Blaron and Norgen spent the next few minutes going over what they knew. Neither had a plan for dealing with the Gnaal, but Norgen cautioned it would be dark soon. The time of the Gnaal. The sky was already changing from white-blue to the pink and crimson of twilight. They had to move.
Finally, Hallis began issuing orders. “Blaron, I want you to take eight men back to your last position. I’ll bring the rest with me. Watch carefully. I don’t want anyone to fire until you see the first body drop. Choose your targets carefully. Once the main body of Goblins is destroyed we retreat back to the bivouac. Don’t wait for us. Just go. And avoid the Gnaal at all costs. Any questions?”
Fennic felt inspired by Hallis’s leadership. The way the orders flowed was incredible. There was no doubt about it, Hallis was born natural.
“Move fast and stay quiet. One wrong move will compromise all of us. And do not try to fight that Gnaal. If a hundred Dwarves couldn’t defeat it, we won’t either. Good hunting.”
The gaunt Blaron took his men and wordlessly trailed off through the gathering dusk. Hallis took an instant liking to the man the moment they met. He’d served under Blaron’s father back when he was a brand new recruit. That was back in King Baeleon’s reign, long before the return of the Mage. Averon was more civilized then. Even Gren Mot was strong and fast. Hallis hoped he wasn’t going to have to deliver sad news to Blaron’s family when he returned to Paedwyn.
A sudden rustling nearby set them into a hasty defensive position. Bows were strung and swords drawn, much to Delin’s surprise as he came walking out of the bushes. Hallis felt his face turn dark red.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered harshly.
Delin stood his ground. “I’m not going to let my friend go off on his own. Especially with what you’re about to face. I don’t care who thinks different.”
A thin smile cracked the old soldier’s grimace. “There’s a fire in you, boy. That much is certain. I only hope it doesn’t get you killed.”
“He’s a Dwarf at heart,” Norgen said approvingly.
Hallis wasn’t convinced. “Both of you stay well behind us. This isn’t going to last more than a minute or so. You need to be running when I turn back around. Understand?”
They did.
“Not another sound from here out.”
Hallis waved the group forward. The soldiers moved stealthily, fanning out in a long line towards the top of the rise. Each took a concealed firing position and waited. Norgen held the boys back five meters off the line. He knew better than to risk himself for no reason and wasn’t about to let Delin or Fennic do so either. Besides, everyone knew Dwarves couldn’t use long bows. But give a Dwarf a crossbow and see the damage he could do!
Once in position, they waited for Blaron’s men to get set. Heartbeats quickened. Throats went dry and palms began to sweat. Fennic was the most afraid. He’d stood face to face with the Gnaal already and barely survived. Now he wondered where the courage to do so again was going to come from.
Slowly, methodically, Hallis drew back and took aim. The light wood colored shaft seemed to hold in the cold, drawing power from both man and nature. Hallis shifted once and let loose. The arrow whistled as it gathered speed. It struck the nearest Goblin in the thro
at with a wet thump. Hallis smiled long enough to knock and aim again. Arrows sped in from both sides. The battle was joined.
Half of the Goblins were dead before the rest knew what was happening. They scrambled for cover, spitting a futile volley back in return. Only three Goblins were alive by the time the Gnaal burst from cover. The elm stand exploded in a hail of fire and splinters. A terrible roar shook the ground as the decaying monster stormed into the thick of the battle. Fennic saw death searching him out.
Phaelor screamed to be drawn. To exact revenge and finish the job already begun. Dead bodies were flung recklessly aside and crushed under the Gnaal’s advance. Blaron did exactly as he was told. His eight men withdrew as fast as they could before the great beast spotted them. Hallis wasn’t so fortunate. The Gnaal’s rotting head turned his way and those vile eyes locked on the sergeant. The Gnaal smiled and started towards the ridge.
The recruits broke and ran in fear. Some stood petrified. Hallis wished he could find a place to hide for this was the most horrific experience of his life. This went beyond the decadence and horrors on the plains of Gren. This was pure and malevolent hatred. He shakily reached back and drew another arrow.
“Save it,” Norgen growled.
The Gnaal was coming closer.
Axe in hand, the Dwarf said, “take your people and flee. Look after these two for me.”
“Where are you going?”
Norgen smiled grimly. “I’m tired of running from this bastard.”
He started to march out to meet the monster. Too many times he’d been forced to run, each time believing he was free. And still the Gnaal kept coming. He knew the only way to be free was for one of them to die.
Fennic watched in shock. Norgen was committing suicide to buy them time. Phaelor in hand, the youth rushed off to stand with his friend. Delin pulled him back just in time.
“Wait! I’ve got a better idea,” he yelled.
The Gnaal’s heavy club missed Norgen’s head and smashed through a tree. Delin took one his Goblin arrows and touched it to Phaelor’s glowing blade.
“What are you doing?” Fennic asked.
He still wasn’t sure. “Just watch.”
Norgen slashed and his axe bit deep into the Gnaal’s kneecap. They knew he couldn’t last long like this. Norgen needed help. Fennic stared at the arrow as it started to glow. Hallis joined the fight then, moving halfway down the slope and firing off the rest of his quiver. They were all dead if Delin’s idea didn’t work. Delin aimed his arrow carefully and prayed to every god he knew. He didn’t want to die.
Then the Gnaal saw them. Saw the one thing it hated more than life itself. The sword! The golden light was an insult to all Gren. It was an aberration to his master. The Gnaal remembered the pain it caused and knew what to do. Roaring, it forgot its attackers and made for the two boys on the hill. The arrow flew towards it.
Seconds slowed so that every action was deliberate and purposeful. Norgen hacked at the back of its leg. Chunks of muscle and flesh flew away. Dark blood splashed around him and the Gnaal roared on. The wielder had to die. Hallis slipped and fell in the ichors. Phaelor glowed bright enough to rival the sun. And then the arrow struck. The enchanted missile struck the Gnaal in the eye with a fleshy smack and plunged deep into its fever maddened mind. Golden light spread like a virus, seeping from every wound and pore. The Gnaal tossed back its head and screamed before crashing to the ground. There it lay Hallis swore under his breath. The Gnaal lay unmoving, not breathing. Norgen stared wide eyed.
“You did it,” Fennic whispered in disbelief.
Delin would have smiled if his heart wasn’t in his throat threatening to explode. “We….we need to make sure it’s dead.”
Trembling, they helped each other down to the corpse.
“Stay back,” Norgen warned.
He knew full well how the Gnaal liked to play dead. Too many friends died that way and he wasn’t willing to let these two follow suit. Fennic stared into the monster’s lifeless eyes, expecting to learn the true nature of horror. The feeling of dread was gone. His thoughts were clear and concise again. The Gnaal was dead.
“It’s all right,” he reassured them.
Holding Phaelor high, Fennic plunged the blade down through the dark heart of the beast. A quiet hiss escaped the body. Together they watched the body melt away, folding in no itself until nothing but a putrid scar remained on the ground. A small piece of evil had left the world.
A sense of peace reentered the glade. The surviving Goblins were gone, fleeing at the first sign the Gnaal was in danger. Norgen and Hallis gathered around Fennic. No one spoke for long moments. There wasn’t need to. A young boy from an obscure village in the far reaches of mighty Averon who never had an inkling to travel or seek adventure was now responsible for destroying one of the most fearsome creatures Malweir had ever known. They stared in awe.
“You have done what they said could not be done,” Hallis forced himself to say.
“Have you any idea what this means?”
Norgen planted the head of his axe on the ground and bowed low. “Would you and that sword have been there when we first set foot from Breilnor.”
“The light to counter the growing darkness. Fennic Attleford, you have given Men reason to hope again,” Hallis exclaimed.
The light against the darkness. That’s the reason why I must go to Gren, Fennic thought to himself. Where he should have been feeling elation and pride, he felt only a gnawing bitterness. The Gnaal was but a prelude of darker dreams to come. Delin, on the other hand, was finally an important piece of the puzzle. He rechecked his pocket for the purple stone and relaxed. He couldn’t stop smiling.
Twilight was upon them, spreading shadow and night in a protective blanket. Hallis nervously pushed them away from the battlefield. He wasn’t an overly superstitious man, but having seen more than the common man he wasn’t about to take any chances.
TWENTY-ONE
The nightlife of Feist left much to be desired. A handful of rundown bars and taverns drew the usual crowds of derelicts and aspiring thieves. Good and honest folk went to the old theater on the main road for a live show. Most of the talented performers crowded the towns around Paedwyn and Alloenis. Tolis Scarn didn’t particularly care for any of it.
He was more comfortable alone. Scarn found people too petty and intrusive. They all wanted more, always complaining how unfair life was. Most weren’t any better than cattle being drawn to the slaughterhouse. People too afraid to go and take theirs. Scarn looked upon them all with disdain, for he never lacked in taking what he wanted. Born to parents who died from the flux when he was quite young, Scarn learned how to find and collect the necessary elements of life the hard way.
He lost count of the times he was caught by angry farmers and merchants. They broke his bones, busted his lips and left him covered in bruises and still he persisted. Time and experience conspired to make him better. To hone his skills until the beatings stopped.
Until he stopped getting caught. Not long after his second decade he found time to stop and think about what could have been. His parents had been decent and hard working farmers from Braem, a quaint northern border town. That life never came to be and he turned to crime. His entire basis for being was a contradiction to his parents beliefs.
Water under the bridge, he told himself and never looked back. Perhaps those were the reasons he was here in Feist, drinking cheap ale in a second rate inn and hunting a pair of boys halfway across Averon for an employer he didn’t know.
“Cheers,” he said to no one in particular as he downed the last swallow of ale.
He wasn’t much of a drinker, and the poor quality offered by this inn was twisting his stomach horribly. So Scarn passed a few coppers to the bar maid and left the common room for the night. A pillow with a heavy down blanket offered much more than the dreary crowds of Feist. Besides, days and weeks of hard traveling and investigating had taken their toll. A few days rest and relaxation were just what
he needed before taking up the road again. He wasn’t sure his employer would appreciate the delay, but at the moment he didn’t care.
Tolis Scarn was many things. A killer, spy, and thief. He’d even done a bit of assassination in his time. But he was not naïve. His employer had secret motivations, a common factor among those he chose to work for. Only a fool would believe otherwise. No student of history, Scarn was keen enough to understand the significance of the purple stones. He sighed halfway up the stair, cursing himself for thinking about work during his self imposed break.
Floorboards groaned underfoot, marking his passage down the poorly lit hall. Cobwebs plagued the upper corners and ceiling and a thin film of dust coated the floor. True, he might have found a classier place, but this suited his purpose. Scarn turned the key in his door and stepped inside. The hairs on his neck raised instantly. Instincts drew the short sword in one hand and his dagger in the other. Still too dark to see the danger, he knew stood stone still and waited. A low, erratic breath came from across the room.
“Show yourself or I’ll kill you where you stand,” Scarn growled.
A rasping voice replied, “You’ll have no need of those weapons with me, Tolis Scarn. I am beyond the limits of your imagination.”
The lantern above the small table sprang to life, temporarily blinding him. Bright flashes burned his eyes. Scarn raised his weapons higher and readied for the attack. But the attack did not come.
“What do you want?” he asked, blinking the flashes away.
With a power like that, Scarn knew he was dead.
“Look at me closely and answer your own questions,” came the answer.
And he did. There was an unsettling familiarity in the voice that worried him. Finally able to focus, Scarn looked upon the hunched over man in a dark robe. His face and hands were completely concealed, leaving no doubts as to his identity. Danger screamed at Scarn.
“How did you find me?”
The Hooded Man let out a hissing laugh. “Did you truly think I wasn’t going to follow your every move? Your every action? Perhaps I haven’t made myself fully clear?”
Armies of the Silver Mage Page 12