by J Battle
The broarlord laughed and shook his head. ‘We are Elvenfolk, and nothing walks this land that we have any reason to fear. But, we will not carry our own bags, so make sure your men know that they will obey or they will die, and it will not be a pleasant death, I can assure you of that.’
Harrb sucked on his pipe as he looked ahead at the deserted dock. He shivered as if a cold hand had reached down his back, but he said no more to the broarlord, for he could see that he was perched on a precipice, with a hard place above him and a hard place below him, and what choice could a wise man make between the two?
Chapter 13 Tom
He was at the end of his strength when he reached the cottage, with his chest heaving and sweat burning his eyes.
‘Tom, there you are, and not before…’ Lady Alice was looking over his shoulder. ‘You come alone? Where is the soothnurse?’
Tom unslung the bag from his shoulder whilst he caught his breath.
‘It were Magic that did it to him, Lady Alice, so I didn’t reckon a soothnurse’s smelly creams and burning sticks would do the job, so I went to see the old mage, Mr Evens.’
He paused then as his breath was all used up and the Lady’s frown made him want to look away.
‘But he weren’t up to it, and I don’t reckon he’s got long left, but he said to take the Stone and mayhap it’d make Sam better. So, here it is.’ He lifted the bag in case she hadn’t already noticed it.
‘Oh, Tom, I don’t know if that’s for the best. He’s unconscious and…how will he use the Magic when he doesn’t know it’s there?’
‘We’ll know the answer when we try, and if we don’t, we won’t, I reckon, so we should.’
‘Ay, Tom, mayhap you are right after all,’ she said, slowly, hesitating over each word. ‘Come on into the bedroom,’ she said, with a little more certainty.
Tom felt a strange lump in his throat at the sight of his old friend, lying still and cold on Frenk’s bed, with blankets and cloaks draped over his poor body.
‘Is he…?’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish.
‘No, Tom, he breathes still, though his breath is shallow and slow.’
Tom nodded to Alice and tried a weak smile for size, but it didn’t set and slipped away like a frightened mouse in a storm.
‘Go on, Tom. Do what you came to do,’ Alice whispered, softly, and he could see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.
With a grunt, he lifted the bag and placed it carefully on the bed beside Sam.
‘I reckon if we open the bag and drop his hand on the Stone, like, then the Magic will up and make him better. What do you think?’
Alice moved to the other side of the bed and placed her hand on Sam’s chest. She held it there for a moment with her head tilted, as if she was listening.
Then she turned to Tom and gave him a little smile.
‘I don’t know, Tom. He’s very weak, and what does the Stone do when it’s touched? It needs feeding, doesn’t it? He hasn’t the strength left to feed the Stone, I don’t think. It will kill him before it has a chance to make him better. We can’t take the chance.’
‘I…’ He wanted to protest, to say that she was mistaken, but the truth of her words was clear to him all of a sudden.
‘We have to do something…’ He stopped then, because the answer was clear to him, as if the lady had just whispered it into his ear.
‘Will you leave us alone, Lady Alice, just for a minute, like?’
She touched his arm softly. ‘Of course, I’ll just be outside if you need me. Just call me.’ With a sad smile, she left the bedroom and half-closed the door behind her.
Tom didn’t move for an age; he just stood by Sam’s bed with his eyes fixed on the bag.
At last he shivered and turned away. With quick decisive movements, he closed the door and brought the lamp from the window to the little table next to the bed.
‘Right, Sam lad, this won’t get itself done unless someone does it, and now I reckon I’m sounding like Dan the Man. What do you think?’
Sam remained stubbornly inert; with his pale, bloodless face and closed eyes, he could have passed already.
‘Now, Sam, none of that thinking, it won’t get us anywhere, will it? Now, all I have to do is remember those words the mage taught us; remember, when we all tried to make the Stone work?’
Tom sighed and began to open the bag.
‘Better get this done before she comes back and gets all in the way.’
With the bag open and the dull brown Stone exposed to view, he took the deepest possible breath and planted his hands square on the Stone.
'Ishulf ed Pluts nel parquin. Ishulf ed Pluts ard lell. Ishulf ed Pluts dor rellont..,’ he whispered, quickly, the words overrunning each other.
For a second the Stone seemed unmoved, dismissive of his puerile attempt. Then it suddenly sprang to life, leaping to a fiery orange as it sucked the life-force from the boy.
‘Aagh,!’ he cried, through clenched teeth, as his legs failed him and he slumped to the floor, his hands still bound to the Stone by a torrent of agony.
‘Tom! What have you done?’ gasped Alice, as she rushed back into the room, her face full of concern.
With a sigh, Tom’s hands fell away from the Stone and he rolled away from the bed, onto his back.
‘Tom? Are you alright?’ Lady Alice bent over him, with one hand on his shoulder.
‘All the better for seeing you, Lady Alice, if you’ll forgive me my cheek. Now, help me up and I’ll see what I can do for Sam.’
Alice took his arm and, together, they got him to his feet.
‘Better step back, miss, and give me some room. I don’t rightly know what I’m going to do, but it could get dangerous, I reckon, ‘cause that’s what happened to Sam, ain’t it? He stood too close to someone who wasn’t careful with his Magic, he did, and I don’t reckon I know enough about this Magic stuff to be properly careful, if you know what I mean, Lady Alice.’
‘The Magic certainly hasn’t slowed your talking, Tom,’ she said, as she moved back to the doorway.
‘Right now, Sam, this is it. I can feel the Magic, and I want to fly, just like Gorge did, but first I’ve got to make you better, I have. Now, Lady Alice, what do you reckon? I don’t know any special words, and I don’t know what’s really wrong with him, so I’d better just lay my hands on him and make a wish. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know any more of Magic than you do, Tom, but you may be right.’
Tom carefully pulled the blankets back and folded them neatly over at Sam’s waist.
‘Right now, I’m going to touch you Sam, and you’ll be as right as birdsong on a spring morning, see if you will.’
He held his hands over Sam’s chest, and he felt the Magic welling in him, eager to do what it would. His hands shook and began to glow with an orange light.
‘I don’t know what to do, Lady Alice,’ he gasped. ‘It feels too strong, like I might turn him to dust or smoke with a touch.’
‘Can you dampen it down, Tom? Like a night fire?’ She moved closer.
‘I…yes, I’ll try that. If I can…’
His whole body was shaking now, as he fought for control of the whirlwind within him.
Slowly, he seemed to calm, and at last his hands were still, bare inches from his friend’s chest.
‘That’ll do now, I reckon,’ he whispered, ‘no need to touch you at all, in case I burn you up.’ As he spoke, Sam took a deep breath as if his body knew somehow just what to do. Tom felt a portion of the Magic that filled him begin to seep away, springing across the gap between his hands and Sam.
‘There you go, Sam. That’ll make you right, it will for sure.’
‘I think you can stop now, Tom,’ said Alice, reaching out to touch him, but staying her hand before she reached him. ‘He’s breathing normally now, I think, and there’s colour in his cheeks.’
Tom lowered his hands, and turned to Alice, a broad smile building on his face. ‘I did it,
Lady Alice. I fixed old Sam, didn’t I? He’ll be alright now, won’t he?’
Alice pulled the blankets up to Sam’s chin. ‘Ay, Tom, it was well done what you did, and brave enough for a knight.’
‘It were nothing more than he’d have done for me. I reckon.’
Chapter 14 Lord Richard of Hesselton
They came to a low cavern, full of flickering shadows as their movements jerked the torches they carried.
‘From here we’ll find three exits, so we’ll have to take our time and work out which is most likely.’
Richard glanced behind him, almost certain he’d heard a sound.
‘Where do they lead?’ he hissed, his face close to Dryan’s ear.
‘The east one, here on the left, will take us down to the valley by the town, and the west one, over on the right, will lead us higher into the mountains, where we’ll come out into the open with naught but wind and ice to welcome us.’
‘And the central tunnel, where does that lead us?’
‘Into the belly of the mountain, with twist and turns, and climbs and drops, and narrow bridges spanning deep dark chasms.’
‘Which way will he go, do you think?’
‘Well, he won’t go east, for he would hate to walk out in the open where he can be seen. And I can’t see him favouring the peaks, because he likes his comfort and there’s nothing for him up there.’
‘But why would he take the central tunnel, if it just takes him further into the mountain?’
Dryan smiled a grim smile, the torchlight flashing in his eyes.
‘Well, there are hundreds of places where he could hide and come upon us unawares, for certain, if he goes that way.’
Richard studied the tunnel that seemed to have chosen itself.
‘In that case, we can’t disappoint him, can we?’ He placed a hand on Dryan’s arm to stop him from approaching the tunnel entrance. ‘Now, Dryan, I thank you for your help so far, but you need go no further. You are unarmed and I don’t expect you have much experience of killing and the like, so stay here or make your way back to safety. If you have a wife, I dare say she’ll be pleased to see you, and there is little enough pleasure in the world these days.’
‘But…’
‘No need to argue. Your role has been well fulfilled, but, if I should fail in mine, I would ask a favour of you.’
Dryan glanced again at the tunnel entrance and he licked his dry lips. In truth, he had little taste for this chase, now his earlier passion had subsided, and he had a fair idea what would happen when they found their quarry.
‘Whatever you wish for, my Lord.’
Richard pulled a ring from his finger. ‘Travel to Hesselton on the south coast, to the east, and find my daughter, Alice. She is known there, so you will only have to mention her name. Give her this ring and tell her…’ He paused then, for what message could he think of in a moment that would carry any meaning to her? ‘Tell her that I thought of nothing but her at the end…’ He handed over the ring, with his head lowered and his eyes half-closed.
‘Well now, this is a moving moment, and that’s for sure.’
They both turned to face the newcomer, separating as they moved.
‘I believe you are looking for me,’ said Lydorth, with a little chuckle as he emerged into view.
In the flickering light of the torches, his red eyes seemed to speak of death and blood.
‘So, Trytor, you have saved us a deal of trouble and effort,’ said Dryan, as he moved further from Richard, to Lydorth’s right.
‘Trytor? What, no bowed heads and ‘yes, sir, please sir, whatever you say, sir, my Lord Trytor,’ or even a little scream to stir the blood?’
Dryan had the strength of will to smile as he stared into the Trytor’s sneering face.
‘No more, Lydorth, last and least of all the Trytors, no more bowing before a beast. Not now when I am here to witness your death at the hands of a true human warrior.’
Lydorth turned towards Richard, no longer smiling. In truth, the man had moved with inhuman speed when he killed his half-risen brother.
‘No braggart words from you, stranger? No, I’ll do this to you and then I’ll do that to you? You disappoint. Or are you too afeared to trust yourself to speak? You were quick enough when you slew my brother, but how will you fare against a strong and whole Trytor?’
As the Trytor spoke, Richard was unravelling the binding from the hilt of his sword.
‘Your brother seemed strong and whole enough when first I slew him. Somewhat bigger and stronger than you,’ he said, as he studied the Trytor with a dismissive eye.
‘I expect you sneaked up on him and stabbed him in the back with your puny sword.’
Richard took a deep breath to steady himself, and then he withdrew his sword from his scabbard. The pain bit him deeply, but he gave no sign to his opponent.
He held up the sword, flashing in the light of the torch in Dryan’s hand.
‘This puny sword sliced one brother in half and impaled another, so it will do fine for you.’
He stepped forward, mouthing the eldritch words that would give him speed, for, even with this sword, he could never match the strength of the Trytor.
He smiled a grim little smile as the Trytor took a step back.
‘Run, little Trytor!’ he said, as he lunged forward, his blade quick and accurate as it moved towards its target.
But the Trytor was also quick, and he twisted to one side and the point of Richard’s blade sank half an inch into his shoulder.
Before Richard could withdraw, Lydorth swung his fist and smashed it into the man’s chest, sending him staggering across the little cavern.
With a roar, the giant beast withdrew his own sword; five feet of double-edged steel, sharpened by Dryan’s very hand.
Swinging wildly, he rushed toward the damaged man.
With superhuman speed, Richard stepped to one side and swung his sword, catching Lydorth across the chest, but hardly slowing him.
Richard moved away, trying to give himself some time and space, as he fought for breath. The pain in his chest was excruciating, and he was certain that some of his ribs were broken.
Lydorth turned to face him, bleeding from the shoulder and his own heaving chest. For a moment, they faced each other in silence, and neither noticed that Dryan had slipped away, leaving just Richard’s discarded torch to light the contest.
Then Lydorth smiled, for he could see the pain etched on his opponent’s face, and he knew that this was almost over.
‘And so it ends, little human. You have been entertaining, I’ll allow you that, but now I’m bored. Bow your head before your master and I will be mercifully quick. Refuse, and I’ll take my own sweet time. What do you say?’
Richard heard the words, but they made little sense to him. The pain in his chest seemed to encompass his whole body now, and his legs were about to give way.
With a grunt, he tightened his grip on the sword, and he felt the eager Stone flare once more. In truth, it was nothing compared to the pain he was already suffering.
He thought the words, for he had no breath to speak, and he felt the power rushing through him. It did nothing for the pain, in fact he felt it more severely, but it did strengthen his legs.
Moving like an old man, he walked forward, awkward and jerky.
Lydorth smiled as he brought his sword to guard.
‘I could kill you with a harsh word, you’ve grown so weak,’ he said, ignoring the fact that his own sword felt suddenly heavy as his blood leaked from his wounds.
The Trytor made the first move, lifting his sword to strike his puny, weakening enemy.
As the sword was lifted high, Richard leapt forward, a blur of speed, and drove his sword deep into the Trytor’s stomach, twisting the blade as it dug deeper and pushing it upwards towards the beast’s great heart.
As he fell, the Trytor’s hand also fell, bringing his heavy sword down on Richard’s head.
Chapter 15 Cavour
‘No harm in stopping for a drink and a smoke, I reckon,’ he said, with something between a sigh and a groan. ‘At my age, it is good sense to manage one’s strength.’
The tavern had few drinkers inside, but it was full enough for all that, with one drinker being a full-grown Giant, taking up a good portion of the barroom floor.
Cavour stayed in the doorway for a moment to give himself a chance to judge the situation before him. He’d had a little experience of Giants and he knew enough to be wary in their presence.
‘I can feel a draught on the back of my neck,’ said the Giant, turning his great head a little. ‘If there’s someone at the door, you can come in and be welcome, or you can leave and not be missed.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Cavour, as he allowed the door to close behind him.
‘It’s a human man, Ferrooll,’ said a young boy, sitting on a stool to one side of the Giant. ‘I don’t know his face, but he’s tall and thin, and he looks like he could do with a good meal, for sure.’
‘Thank you, Ben, but I don’t like the sound of ‘thin,’ I don’t. I don’t much like the idea of ‘thin.’’
Cavour walked around the Giant, who’d been sitting with his back to the door. He saw the sightless eyes, covered by angry red scar tissue, and the broad face, slightly flushed from the ale.
‘Can I buy you a drink or two, good sir, for your good wishes? It is said that the good wishes of a Giant are something to be treasured.’
‘Much better than the bad wishes of a Giant, you can be sure of that, stranger,’ said the Giant, with a laugh like a load of barrels being rolled across the floor.
‘My name is Cavour, and I am pleased to meet you, sir.’
‘And my name is Ferrooll, and that young lad somewhere over there is Ben, and I’ll be pleased when I get my ale, I will.’