Seeing that matters were in control, the ogre turned his thoughts to the Qurth Forest and wondered when the messenger might arrive with new orders, though he loathed Morgynn's silver-tongued lapdog, Khaemil.
The sibilant tones of the shadurakul's voice were enough to drive the ogre mage mad at times. He could already imagine the smell of wet dog Khaemil would invariably bring with him. He brushed at his cloak absently as if to ward off even the idea of the aroma. Rain began to fall, the heavy clouds finally releasing their long-held burden, drops hissing in the dying embers of destroyed houses and the defiled remains of the oracles' temple. The sound added to Mahgra's mood and brought him back from the depth of his thoughts, back to the situation at hand. Gyusk loped forward, as formally as his slightly hunched form would allow, to stand before the ogre commander and await his attention. Mahgra looked down into the dim light of Gyusk's eyes, almost daring the gnoll to report anything contrary to the success he demanded. "Have your warriors finished their sweep?" His voice boomed over the noise of the storm, a second thunder that sent the gathered townsfolk to shaking as they huddled together on the cobblestones of the square. "Yes, Lord Mahgra, but we've collected only a few trinkets of any value." Gyusk's voice was growling and deep as he haltingly spoke in the common tongue that Mahgra preferred over the feral sounds of the gnolls' language. "Do what you will with the spoils. Disperse them among your warriors if it will help keep them in line. The Order wants no one harmed unless absolutely necessary. Understood?" "Yes, Mahgra." The ogre looked over the crowd of huddled fishermen and tradesmen. He frowned. "A pity these fisherfolk breed few warriors, Gyusk. A little resistance might have quelled the boredom of waiting."
Gyusk's brow furrowed at the statement and Mahgra smiled at the gnoll's obvious disagreement. He respected Gyusk's desire for swift victories and low casualties. Indeed, that very quality had compelled Mahgra to recruit the gnoll and his warriors for the Order. Gyusk's mind for strategy in the land of the Blacksaddle baronies had made him a thorn in Baron Thaltar's side for several months. They'd struck upon the weak swiftly and the strong warily, avoiding the armored patrols of Thaltar's soldiers. Mahgra, however, believed that such battles, while profitable, were ultimately hollow. "Petty fear breeds anger in the hearts of one's enemies," he'd said to Gyusk. "The true battle lies in the heart of the strong foe. Destroy that and you will have won. Shying away from conflict in favor of survival will ultimately destroy you." Lightning flashed and the rain fell harder. The wind whipped at Mahgra's cloak and hair. He could feel the magic of the storm like a singing in his blood. This never could have occurred in Innarlith, he thought. The best we could have hoped for there is pale compared to what we might accomplish in this place. Morgynn may think me a fool for insulting the puffed-up Ransar, but Innarlith was never the place for the faithful of Gargauth. Morgynn merely uses the Order, stringing along the affections of Talmen to her own ends, but our ambitions will clash one day, and the Order will be free of her and her pet. He stared at the roiling clouds. They were tinged with an eerie red glow. Mahgra's dark heart rejoiced as visions of conquest filled his mind. He could hear Gyusk speaking, saying his name and clearing his throat noisily. Reluctantly he turned from his reverie and faced the large gnoll. "What is it?" he bellowed, causing everyone to flinch. Gyusk pointed his clawed finger to the western end of the street, past the central square and toward the closed and sealed gate, where a lone figure stood in the darkness. "Someone seems to be resisting." His tone was low and serious, a stark contrast to Mahgra's irritated yelling. The ogre squinted his eyes, blinking through the heavy rain, but saw the figure only briefly before it seemed to disappear into thin air. A low growl, more common among his less civilized cousins, escaped him. "Someone is out there, Gyusk. It appears your warriors failed to find everyone." Gyusk snarled, his hackles raising at Mahgra's mention of failure, but he focused that anger on his subordinates, barking orders in their bestial language.
They loped into the streets in groups of three. Only ten remained behind to guard the hundred or so frightened prisoners. Thunder rumbled as they waited. Mahgra was lost again in his thoughts of arcane ambition, clearly uninterested in the current effort. Gyusk, though, stared intently into the rain and darkness, his hand gripping a long serrated sword. Large puddles were forming in the streets as the rain grew heavier, pounding down with unnatural fury. A fierce cold infected the wind, freezing the blood and numbing the extremities. Time passed slowly as Mahgra tried to ignore the gnoll's strict attention to the streets, as if an army had slipped past the town gates and threatened them all. He glared at Gyusk, annoyed by his battle-ready posture, and intently stared into the shadows and rain.
Above the thunder, he yelled at the gnoll, "It is only one man!" Then Mahgra saw him, closer this time, perhaps halfway between the west gate and the town square, materializing as quickly as he'd disappeared before. The rain, reduced to a heavy drizzle, allowed the ogre and the gnoll to get a better look at the enshrouded figure. His armor was an old style, an odd fashion uncommon in the southern realms, more suited for colder climes of the north. A high collar concealed the lower half of his face and a worn, broad-brimmed hat covered all but his eyes.
Those eyes were chilling. Pearly and opalescent, they did not glow, but neither were they muted by shadow, darkness, or rain. His dark cloak was unmoved by the wind, wrapped tightly around him. He was silent and still, as if he were not a part of the world at all but a vision, a figment. Only a few loose strands of silvery-blond hair seemed to react to the cold gale that blew through the streets. Gyusk nodded to two of his warriors. They nodded back and advanced on the still figure. Their loping gait was slow as they padded toward him with axes raised, growling as they neared. His collar was blown aside for a moment, revealing a pale face. The man smiled. His bloodthirsty grin was discordant with Mahgra's observation of light behind the pale gaze. Those unblinking eyes fell on the two gnolls as they closed on him. Mahgra gripped the handle of his glaive, smelling blood on the air in spite of the wind and rain. Mahgra narrowed his eyes, intrigued by this strange visitor but angered as well. Nothing assaulted his vanity more than an enemy who regarded his magnificence with indifference. He clenched his fists and waited to measure the skill of this unearthly warrior. Spells tumbled through his mind like the rain before his eyes. The thundering of his heart and the lightning he prepared on his lips manufactured a storm to match the arcane tempest around him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Quin had already stained his blade, killing eight gnolls he'd encountered in the abandoned streets. The rest he had allowed to escape, his menacing aura more than just an affectation of style. The shadows that surged through his spirit had an effect on those he encountered, and most were glad to be well away from it. These two approaching gnolls, fur wet from the rain, carrying weapons in hands that must have been chilled to ice in the unseasonable cold, began to sense the darkness that pervaded this lone warrior. Quinsareth could see the indecision in their hyena faces. They looked at one another, then at him. He allowed the tip of Bedlam's long, curved blade to scrape against the cobbled street, making a slight screech. Its grating wail overpowered the sounds of thunder and rain. The gnolls' eyes widened, long ears falling back against their heads. Each took a step backward. The man spoke, in their language: "Leave now." The translation was like a menacing growl. It proved enough. The pair turned and ran down a side street to escape the unnatural warrior and the imminent anger of their leader. A large gnoll at their rear howled in rage, drawing a great-sword and barking for his warriors to attack.
The stillness of the moment was shattered by sudden movement. The storm roared back to life as the remaining gnolls advanced. Eight gnolls rushed Quinsareth, separating him from the townsfolk and their commander. Their leader followed, watching carefully, his massive blade held out before him. Quin waited for them to close, playing the element of surprise. He counted the heartbeats, ticked off the stones in his mind. The game continued, and the next stone was Blood.
Bedlam screeched as it bit into the heavy-bladed sword, protesting the defensive maneuver and unconcerned by the threat of injury to its wielder. The blade was overcome by an arcane bloodlust, flaring to life its green-hued glow of battle. The gnoll flinched at the magic weapon's surge and pulled back in fear. Quinsareth seized that brief lapse to force the scimitar high with his block, bringing Bedlam down viciously through the gnoll's shoulder and upper chest. The nearly bisected beast toppled backward senselessly, splashing in the gathering puddles. Blank eyes stared at the dead gnoll's five companions, who had slowed their brash charge and circled more cautiously around the enraged ghostwalker. The injured gnoll tried to stand and limp on his damaged knee, carefully eyeing the movements of the quick, silent warrior. Quinsareth looked at the injured beast cruelly, leveling his cold gaze on the wary gnoll. He spoke low, growling under the heavy rain and powerful thunder. Only the gnollish words for "lame dog" rose above the storm. An insult to gnollkind, the title was for those unfit to run with the pack. The injured gnoll turned and limped away in shame and fear, unwilling to face his tribal brethren. Quin observed the others, their cautious steps and trembling blades. The large gnoll once again barked orders to his subordinates.
He commanded them to close and end the battle quickly. None seemed eager to comply, but they crept forward, their ears flat against their doglike heads, growling menacingly. Amid their murmuring threats, Quin picked out the name Gyusk, apparently their leader, not well loved by some of the squad. Beyond the backs of the gnolls, Quin spied an ogre, patiently watching the spectacle. The giant effortlessly held a massive black glaive as he watched the battle over the heads of the gathered crowd. The townsfolk shivered in the cold rain, eyes darting between their captors and the dark warrior who fought them, waiting for a chance to run away from both. The sight of Quinsareth's fair skin, splattered with the gnolls' blood, and his intensely opalescent eyes, like the gaze of a dead man, was monstrous and horrifying. The captives waited breathlessly, as yet unsure of who was the savior and who the villain in the unfolding scenario. Quin was certain of the villain, but had no taste for the title of savior. These people could have been dead, and he still would have fought. It was a rare day that his brand of justice saved the living. He flashed a feral grin at the gnolls' commander and charged recklessly. Bedlam led the advance, humming and flashing brightly, accompanying the lightning overhead.
The gnolls closed swiftly and he reached the center of the group, dodging and tumbling past clumsy attacks. Those attacks were made clumsier by freezing hands and shadow-born fear. Quinsareth quickly parried two blades that came close and rolled into a somersault to leap at the center gnoll. The beast yelped and tried to avoid the madman, but Bedlam sliced through the gnoll's shoulder and bit deep into its collarbone. Quinsareth used the bone as a fulcrum in a tumbling jump. Flipping over the screaming gnoll's head, he landed in front of the startled but ready Gyusk. They exchanged quick blows, blades ringing in a blur of steel and rage. Behind Quin, the other gnolls turned to catch up to the ghostwalker. Quinsareth pushed Gyusk's blade back just enough to land a kick into the gnoll commander's jaw. Gyusk staggered briefly, spitting teeth, and Quin spun to meet those behind him. Swinging a leg low to unbalance the stunned commander, Quin sent Gyusk splashing into the mud. Two of the five remaining gnolls closed again, unconcerned for their leader. The other three, one of them bleeding, held back, clearly fearful of the thinning odds against them. Gyusk spat and sputtered on the ground behind Quin, slowly pushing himself up and searching the puddles for the hilt of his sword. Quinsareth engaged the advancing pair. The fight had carried him closer to the frightened townsfolk, and he could hear the sobbing of widowed wives and the screams of inconsolable children above the clash of steel on steel. He fought harder, stalled briefly by the synchronized blades of the pair of gnolls. He held his ground patiently, waiting for the proper opening and listening carefully for the commander to rise or for the ogre to approach. He landed two quick slices on the gnolls as he heard the growl of Gyusk behind him. Bedlam hummed a shrill warning as the injured pair yelped and hopped backward, beyond the reach of the biting blade. Quin spun, kicking Gyusk in the jaw again before the big gnoll could rise.
Spotting the gnoll's greatsword, Quinsareth lowered into a crouch on one leg, the other kicking the loose sword away, flipping it into a deeper puddle at the street's edge. He thrust Bedlam forward and leveled his piercing stare, testing the resolve of the gnolls. The bold pair stood bleeding from the deep wounds that had flayed open their furred jowls. They tilted their heads oddly, protecting their aching wounds from the stinging rain, but held their ground warily.
Quin was amused by their newfound respect for the long reach and sharp edge of the eager Bedlam. He gave them his feral smile once again, his ghostly face spattered with the blood of many gnolls. Bedlam, reacting to the thoughts of its master, gave a terrifying screech, mimicking the pained howls of the hyena warriors as rain dripped pink from its bloodied edge. Before Quinsareth could renew his wild attack, powerful arms grabbed him from behind, pinning his own arms to his sides.
Determinedly, he maintained his grip on the hilt of the still-howling Bedlam. Gyusk had recovered swiftly and taken advantage of Bedlam's screams to surprise the ghostwalker. The gnoll bit deeply into Quinsareth's shoulder and neck, piercing easily through the heavy cloak and leather armor. Quinsareth gritted his teeth in pain and frustration, but remained focused on the two gnolls who now grinned as only their hyena faces could, more gruesome for their bleeding jaws and the bloodlust in their flashing eyes. Swaggering, they approached the helpless warrior, one raising a blade to cut Quinsareth's throat, the other drawing back to slice open his belly. The trio of cowardly gnolls stood at the edge of the street, yipping and gnashing their teeth in anticipation of the easy kill.
Sameska trembled as she dreamed of savage teeth and violent battles. The temperature in the sanctuary had cooled despite what should have been a warm autumn morning. Her sweat felt like beads of ice on her delicate flesh. Her breath came in small, white puffs that were borne away by the swirling energies of the magic around her prone form. Through a haze of misty images, the ghostwalker of her visions fought on, battling the grotesque, vile creatures that had so brutally taken the town of Targris. Or so she thought, still unable to focus through the dreamlike state as her body slumbered and her consciousness struggled to make sense of the nightmare. Her ears were full of the sounds of thunder, growling, and metal clashing metal.
Death cries howled around her and the rain washed across her in the dream sight, a cloud of reds and pinks, blurring her view of the scene. Between waves of falling rain and flashes of lightning, she saw the ghostwalker. Oozing light and shadow, both had become strong and battled within him for control. Sameska stared into the glowing green eyes of a fiendish creature, a warrior gnashing wicked fangs, but beyond all this, at the edges of the terrible battle, she sensed magic. It stood like a tempest of living spells, watching and waiting, filled with anger and brutish rage. It had no form in those few moments when she glimpsed its presence, but it dominated the field of battle with a darkness of
coiled power. In that moment, Sameska could feel herself murmuring a soft prayer to Savras, begging for the safety of this ghostwalker who battled between light and dark. Then she realized he had come on her behalf, a gift from Savras to protect them all from evils that would come. The thought was fleeting and uncertain, but she clung to it in fear and weeping confusion. She could do nothing else as the thunder pounded in her brain and the phantom rain threatened to drown her in the dream. Gasping and coughing, she fell further into the trance, unable to escape, trapped between dreaming and the shadows of unreadable prophecy.
Steel blades reflected lightning as they cut through the rain, rushing toward the immobilized Quinsareth. He did not struggle against Gyusk's thick arms and massive strength in that heartbeat before death. He merely whispered a quiet word, a focus for the power he summoned from within himself, and vanished. Gyusk stumbled forward as the weight of his opponent left his locked arms. The gnoll aiming for Quinsareth's stomach snarled and pulled back his thrust, scraping his sword across Gyusk's studded vambraces. The other gnoll had been too zealous in his thrust and ran his blade through the side of Gyusk's unprotected neck, losing the weapon as the gnoll commander spasmed in surprise and jerked backward. His glowing eyes flared and widened, and he fell to his knees, clawing at the mortal wound and the sword embedded there. He tipped forward, kicking at the ground, then lay still. Mahgra straightened, raising an eyebrow, certain only moments ago that the sport was ended. He looked around, as did the five gnolls, searching the rain for a glimpse of their enemy. The ogre raised the heavy glaive at his side, gripping the weapon tightly. The gnolls did not notice a misty form that gathered behind them, taking shape and gaining mass as Quinsareth's ethereal body returned to solidity. The gnoll closest to him turned, catching a faint sound like wolves howling, before Bedlam removed his head. The others flinched and turned but Quinsareth was already among them, swinging the heavy blade like a steel ribbon of screaming light. He stepped straight into the pair of his would-be assassins, who'd raised blades high to cut Quinsareth down. Instead, both dropped their weapons, Bedlam's howl muffled and gurgling as it ran the gnolls through. Another gnoll scrambled to ready his weapon, but Quinsareth kicked and side-stepped, and with a backhand swing sent another head to the puddles. The last gnoll, still bleeding, made a decision quickly and was already running past the captive townsfolk, preferring to brave the storm and the shame of defeat rather than the ghostly warrior and the screaming blade. Quinsareth had barely turned his attention to the ogre when his vision was suddenly filled with bright blue light and his body was hit with the concussive force of Mahgra's spell. The ogre mage bared his ivory teeth and tusks as lightning arced from his outstretched hand, launching Quinsareth's body into the air to crash against the side of a nearby cottage. The townsfolk began screaming and rising from the cobblestones, no longer threatened by the gnolls and overcome with fear of the devilish ogre. Parents gathered their children, soaked and shivering, to run and scatter from the mystical battle. Quinsareth hit the ground face first. Pulling himself up on hands and knees, he gasped at the searing pain that burned behind his eyes and throughout his muscles. Tiny arcs of electricity raced along his arms and disappeared into the puddle he'd landed in. Bedlam had sailed free of his grip when he hit the wall of the cottage but lay within reach, rippling the surface of a puddle into concentric rings as it hummed in a childlike rage. Quin's eyes, aching, began to clear. The burning in his muscles dissipated and he flexed his fingers in the water, regaining feeling in them. A slight resistance to electricity accompanied his angelic and unnerving eyes, but the ogre's powerful bolt had caught him off guard. The game was always unpredictable, but few stones could change its course as could the one called Magic. The blue-skinned ogre approached with an arrogant swagger, smiling and gloating at his fallen foe, spinning the rune-covered glaive casually as rain hissed and steamed on the vile blade. A wizard, Quinsareth thought. That explains much, but does me little good if I lie down and die now. He winced as he rose to one knee, reaching behind him and grasping Bedlam's hilt, assured by the confidence in the ogre's eyes.
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