Darkling Fields of Arvon

by James G Anderson

  "Up, I say! Up, Thraganux! Up!" Kenulf cursed the creature in an attempt to make it do his bidding. The beast bent its head around, snorted at its rider, then drew itself together and thrust upward with a mighty leap, hammering the air with its powerful wings.

  The night drake rose higher, Kenulf now visible clinging low to its back. Frysan drew the arrow on his bowstring and let fly. The shaft sailed over the creature's shoulder, narrowly missing its cringing rider. Frysan broke cover as he drew a second arrow.

  "Stop him! Bring him down!" he yelled, but before any of the Holdsmen could release a shaft, the creature wheeled low over them and screeched, a piercing cry splitting the air. Kal staggered and fell from a blow of the creature's wing. Beside him, Frysan had been flattened to the ground. Gwyn and Galli also dove to the ground as the night drake passed inches over their heads, churning the air with its wings, lifting itself and its rider up over the trees behind them. Again the clearing was charged with the beast's shrill scream.

  Kenulf glanced back over his shoulder at the men, his look of surprise quickly giving way to one of mocking contempt.

  "Too late! You're too late!" Kenulf screamed from the back of his frightful mount. "Now I've found your nest! There'll be no more running! No escape!"

  "Shoot! Now! Bring it down!" Frysan cried, nocking another shaft to his bowstring. Frysan's arrow followed close on Kal's, but the creature was screened by the crowns of the trees encircling the clearing, and the shafts were lost amid the branches. The night drake wheeled away towards the talus slope. The Holdsmen dashed forward in pursuit, trying to keep pace with the beast's flight. The creature's movements were quick and erratic.

  "It's too hard a target!" Galli yelled, fumbling with his arrow as he ran. Kal and Galli came to a halt beside Frysan at the edge of the level clearing, their attempt to close the gap on foot now thwarted by the treacherous pitch of the slope.

  "Too far, it's too far off. Hold. Save your arrows," Frysan said, releasing the tension from his bow. "It's out of range. It would take a—"

  Raucous screeches pealed through the air.

  "It's been hit. Look!" Galli cried.

  The night drake wavered in its flight, then steadied. At their backs they heard the twang of a bowstring. The beast reeled.

  "Again! It's been hit again!" cried Kal.

  Its rider pitched in the saddle, but clung tenaciously to the monster's back.

  "Re'm ena! Well done, Gwyn!" Frysan turned to see the young Holdsman standing at their backs, reaching for yet another arrow from his quiver.

  The night drake slowed, hung suspended in mid-flight for a moment, then screamed, a sound more horrible and eerily high-pitched than before. The beast wheeled in the air, goaded by its master's high pitched curses, and pounded the purpling sky with its black wings, still hovering in flight. It quavered, rocked in the air, then dove, plummeting like a stone from the sky, until it was lost from sight behind the trees, leaving behind only Kenulf's terrified screams echoing off the mountainside.

  "Is it dead?" Galli asked, when stillness had resettled over them. "You must have hit it at least once, Gwyn. Did you kill it?"

  Gwyn raised two fingers, a stern expression on his face.

  "Twice? Still, would that kill it?"

  "It fell fast," Frysan said. "I can only hope that its rider didn't survive the fall. Come, we must find it if we can. Kenulf must not escape. It's clear that he has found our encampment. Come." The four men started clambering down the stone-strewn slope. To their right, the broken brook chattered and babbled among the stones.

  It was rough going, and more than once, Kal slipped in the gloom, scraping the skin off the heels of his hands as he tried to steady himself against the rocks. Frysan set a brisk pace, Galli following close behind him. The old soldier had said that it was imperative that they discover Kenulf before nightfall, though to Kal's way of thinking chances of that were slim at best.

  The Holdsmen paused at the brink of a precipitous fall in their path. Kal surveyed the vast tracts of shadow-cast forest that lay stretched out over the sides of the mountain. Night was falling fast. It would not be long before the mountainside and all on it would be lost to sight. Frysan and Galli started down over the edge, and Kal fell in line. Behind him, Gwyn grunted as he scrambled over and around the boulders that lay scattered over the steep slope. Kal glanced back up at him. The young Holdsman stood rooted in place, his face expressionless, staring straight ahead into the gathering gloom over the mountain. Slowly, he turned around and looked back up the slope.

  The creature had appeared from nowhere. It stood towering over them on the crest of the slope but a few paces away, where Kal himself had stood not moments before staring out into the vacant air. The beast glared at them, its head lowered, muzzle wrinkled, and lips curled back, exposing long, dagger-like fangs.

  "To arms!" Kal cried. "To arms! . . . to arms . . ." His alarm echoed over the rocky face of the mountain. The creature cocked its head sideways for a second, then growled, pulling its lips further back in a snarl.

  Somehow, Kenulf had circled them. Now, the man smirked at them from the back of the night drake, as he levelled his crossbow at Kal over the shoulder of the beast. There was the sharp smack of the weapon being shot and, in the same instant, Kal felt the air part beside his head. The missile narrowly missed him, clattering off the rocks behind. Thragunux leaped from where it clung to the rocks, its membranous wings outstretched. Gwyn loosed an arrow at the creature as it fell on the Holdsmen, but the creature lurched and the shaft went wide, tearing a hole in its wing. Galli, too, shot an arrow, his lodging in the monster's chest. In that moment, Kal dropped his bow and drew Rhodangalas. The night drake's scream pierced the gathering darkness as it lifted a massive taloned foot to seize Gwyn. The young Holdsman stumbled backward away from the creature, loosing another shaft into its thick body even as he fell, tumbling like a rag doll, down a stone face, collapsing on top of Galli and Frysan in a heap of arms and legs.

  The night drake's talons bit into the rock where Gwyn had stood and left three long white scratches on the stone's surface, as it drew its empty claws back. The creature lifted its head to the sky and shrieked, filling the air with its fury at having missed its quarry. In that moment, Kal leapt forward, clambering up the slope under the black mass of the night drake, and thrust Rhodangalas deep into the monster's chest. The beast recoiled from the bite of the blade, pulling himself free of the sword. Blood spilled down the length of the blade and spattered on the ground. The night drake glared, wide-eyed, at Kal, before it screamed again, its cry of pain blending with one of horror from its rider, who still clung to its back. Kal fell to the ground, seeking cover among the rocks, as the beast shook its head wildly, then pushed itself into the air, retreating from the Holdsmen with heavy wingbeats.

  From beneath him on the slope, Kal heard bowstrings smack against forearms. Kal glanced down at his companions. They had recovered themselves and sent a flight of arrows speeding through the sky at the creature's retreating form, but these fell wide of their mark. Gwyn shot again, and missed again. Frysan stayed the young man's arm from pulling a third shaft. The night drake continued to draw away from them in unsteady flight, still filling the mountainscape with otherworldly echoes, although now it was losing speed and height. In the gloam, the creature careened wildly for an instant and then plummeted from the sky like a ship's anchor dropping unfastened from its windlass. Kenulf's cries could also be heard, cries of raw terror mingled with the ghastly screams of the wounded beast, while both man and mount fell earthwards into a tangle of trees, hidden there out of sight.

  Nine

  Kal and Galli were already scrabbling down the slope, drawing a line on where they had seen the creature drop. Its laboured screams could still be heard, though less fearsome now and more plaintive, as if the terrible monster quailed at the cold approach of a reality even more terrifying than itself. The men followed in the direction of these sounds. The screams grew less frequent and then
ceased altogether. Stillness fell on the lonely mountainside.

  The Holdsmen pressed on through the forest.

  They saw it in the deepening gloom—a dark, inert shape draped over the crowns of three or four swaying birch trees and an aspen that bowed and creaked under the weight. It hung suspended over the shelving floor of the forest. A shallow catching wheeze filtered through the trees, sounding out the creature's death rattle. The breathing stilled and left in its place a wet sound of steady dripping like a trickling spring. The night drake bled heavily. Its blood, drained of all colour in the deepening shadows, drizzled with a dull steady patter onto a large boulder, where it pooled in a black puddle.

  The four Holdsmen approached the spot slowly.

  "Do you hear that?" Galli said, halting at the snap of a twig and the quiet rustle of parting brush barely audible above the breeze in the leaves.

  "Aye, Galli. There's something out there in the woods," whispered Frysan.

  "But growing fainter," Kal said, stepping forward to peer around the blood-stained boulder, Gwyn close by his side. "Moving away from us."

  Even as Kal stared into the dark void of the forest depths, Gwyn grabbed his arm, tearing him from where he stood, pulling him violently away from the boulder. Above their heads, tree branches groaned and shook. The great dark mass of the night drake had begun to stir.

  "The thing's still alive," shouted Kal, scrambling for cover behind the trunk of a large birch, Gwyn still holding him fast by the arm.

  "It's coming down! Stay back!" Frysan yelled.

  The trees overhead creaked, tilting their burden still more precariously out of level. The creature's head lolled, rolling sideways, and a branch bowed, then broke. The night drake slid crashing through the leaves and branches and thudded to rest in the undergrowth. Slowly, Kal crept towards the gory mass splayed across the forest floor. He drew Rhodangalas from its scabbard and gripped the hilt tightly in both hands.

  "Careful, Kalaquinn!" Frysan called out and followed, his own sword drawn.

  Kal drew near the night drake. Its teeth were bared and sharp as needles, its muzzle flared open to the gums, and its eyes stared, glazed and lifeless. But despite the cruelty of its features, Kal saw that the beast had a handsome face, a long, almost elegant snout, not unlike a wolfhound's, curving, aquiline, to a raised brow, which was crowned by two large tapered ears. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood. He circled the black mass warily, pricking its shoulder with the tip of Rhodangalas to made certain it was dead. A saddle remained strapped fast to the creature's back, stout leather bands encircling the beast's girth above and below where crumpled wings met torso. A heavy belt dangled limply from the saddle horn. Kal gingerly laid a hand on the night drake's flank. Its body was entirely covered in a heavy black fur, glossy and soft to the touch. It struck Kal as strangely unbecoming the savage ferocity of the creature; in fact, were the monster a more familiar animal, Kal would have been tempted to bury his face in the silky pelt and rest there, drawing comfort from the creature's warmth.

  The others joined him by the carcass. Kal placed the point of Rhodangalas on the night drake's chest and, leaning on the hilt, drove it, twisting, deep into the beast. A wheeze escaped the dead body, as if the malevolent spirit of which this beast was but a minor manifestation had fled the corpse to return to the realm of the dreosan from whence it had come.

  "No sign of Kenulf," Frysan said.

  Kal started at the voice and turned away from the night drake. "N-no. And no mark of injury or sign of blood on the beast's back, either."

  From somewhere deep in the woods, a branch cracked, its loudness muted and distant.

  "That's him. It must be. He's survived," Galli said. "He jumped, or was thrown—hush!" Galli cocked his ears, straining to listen, then relaxed his attention. "I can't hear any more. Too far."

  "But we must capture him. We must stop him before he reports that he's found us, else they'll place a steel-meshed net around these hills to catch us," Frysan said.

  "And make our chances of reaching safety slim at best. More like nonexistent," said Kal. Gwyn bobbed anxiously beside him.

  "You mean we should set off on his trail now, Frysan?"

  "Aye, now, Galli. We can't afford to wait 'til dawn." Frysan's face was set and grim. "It's clear that Ferabek gave Kenulf command of a back party—as much to be rid of him as to make him feel useful, no doubt. Left him behind to patrol these barren flanks. And by sheerest luck, he found us!"

  "Which means that there's some sort of base camp . . ."

  "And no telling how far or how close it may be," Frysan said.

  "Would that we had avalynn lamps," Galli said. "It would be so much easier. I still don't understand why Magan didn't let us take one or two for the journey."

  "No need to understand anything," said Kal. "For the hammerfolk, the avalynnia are a sacred hallmark of their kingdom. More sacred to them even than is their forgecraft. As far as they're concerned, the avalynn is not meant for the upperland folk, and that's that."

  "Aye, do not call Magan Hammermaster's generosity into question," Frysan said.

  "Come, Galli. We waste precious time," Kal said. "It should be as nothing for you to follow Kenulf's tracks. He's no woodsman. He won't get far."

  "True enough." Galli chuckled. "Kenulf has a hard enough time finding his way out of the Sunken Bottle six nights out of seven. All right then . . ." Galli dropped to the stooped stance of the tracker. "Stay here a moment . . . ." He glanced at Gwyn. "All of you. Give me a chance to find his trail, and then we'll set out after him."

  The last smouldering embers of daylight were fast being snuffed under the gathering cover of night as Galli struck out into the surrounding woods. Dimly, Kal could discern his movements, erratic yet fluid, as he swept the forest floor, looking for a stirred leaf, a faint impression in the ground, scuffed and exposed humus, a broken twig, or bent underbrush—anything that might indicate the direction of Kenulf's flight.

  No sooner had Galli disappeared into the forest gloom than he was calling out to them. Kal, Frysan, and Gwyn hurried to where Galli stood looking up.

  "See! Here's where he fell from the night drake. He must have jumped from its back. Happily for him, his fall was broken by this fir tree. Look at the broken branches. He picked himself up here, and hurried off this way. Do you see the crushed undergrowth here?" Galli continued to speak as he turned and led the way deeper into the forest. "And here, the overturned leaf mould—there's a snapped twig . . . And see, this bramble caught his leg. It's bent back against his trail . . . ."

  Kal could see next to nothing. By now night had fallen and the darkness had deepened. Galli chattered on quietly to himself, chronicling their progress. The others kept silent, tramping behind Galli on a level course. They fought their way over deadfalls, struggling awkwardly to keep from being impaled or gashed by bone-dry branches, which, on the occasion of a missed footstep or a fumbling grasp for handhold, cracked loudly when they snapped.

  They descended a ravine, groping in the dark for purchase to keep from slipping. Reaching the bottom, they followed it down the mountainside, until its sides grew shallow then disappeared. The trees thinned and gave way to a narrow clearing falling away to their left, littered with a haphazard scattering of rock. Below, there spread the cold black surface of a small lake. As the Holdsmen stepped into the clearing, lit dimly by the rising moon, Galli raised his arm as a sign for them to halt.

  "Careful. He's somewhere close at hand," Galli whispered and edged forward, pointing to freshly bruised stalks of grass where a foot had fallen. Kal had advanced behind Galli no more than a step or two when a sharp snap rent the still night air—the unmistakable sound of a loosened crossbow string followed a fraction of a second later by the whistle of a quarrel.

  Even as the quarrel smacked off a rock at his back, an arrow sped past him from behind. Kal spun his head around to see Gwyn standing upright, his bowstring still quivering.

  "We've got to get to
him before he can span the thing again!" Galli shouted, already at a flat run, leaping forward down the open field. Kal saw Galli bounding, rushing zig-zag towards a man standing slack-limbed in the moonlight.

  Behind Kal, someone groaned.

  Kal turned back again. Frysan, last in the file of Holdsmen, leaned heavily against a boulder, his head bowed. Gwyn had dropped his weapon and stood now beside Frysan, supporting him. Frysan pushed the boy away.

  "Go, Gwyn! You, too, Kal! Leave me! You've got to stop Kenulf," said Frysan through clenched teeth as he clutched at his tunic high on his chest, a black stain oozing from beneath his fist. Reeling unsteadily, Frysan turned and seated himself, his back against the rock. Kal hesitated. The coarse, ugly fletching of a crossbow bolt protruded from between Frysan's curled fingers at his left shoulder.

  "Go, I say, both of you!" Frysan said again. "Go now!"

  "Kenulf's been hit!" Galli called out to them from below. "There's blood on the ground here."

  Kal looked at Frysan again, then turned and ran the sloping length of the field, Gwyn close on his heels, to where Galli stood peering down towards the black surface of the tarn.

  "Gwyn! You would make your father proud!" Galli clapped the mute boy on the back. "And fast! You could have had no time to see him before you drew and let loose. How did you know he was hiding there? Watch your step, Kal. Watch the edge. It's a steep drop."

  "But what happened? Where is Kenulf now?"

  "As far as I can tell, he's there somewhere." Galli pointed down the embankment. "Look here. After he was hit by Gwyn's arrow, and hard enough to make him drop his crossbow, he stumbled back. It's easy to see from the trail of blood here," said Galli, sitting on his haunches and pointing to dark stains on the ground. "He had no other path of escape—"