Screams and cries, cursing and shouting told Sorben that his men were dying, even as he lay helpless on the ground. He saw a blur of brown and red as the beast tore through flesh. The Lieutenant felt a jerk at his collar and looked up to see the scout that smelled like bear shit dragging him. The soldier lifted Sorben and threw him over another man’s shoulder, and they ran.
As they ran away, Sorben looked up and saw that the bear didn’t bother to give chase; it was too busy feasting on the bodies of his men. There weren’t as many dead as Sorben thought, and he saw a good number of his men running with him and the scout and the soldier carrying him.
Within moments, the thick brush and trees masked the apocalyptic scene, and Sorben’s men slowed to a walk until they stopped in a small clearing. Sorben was lowered to the ground, and he just lay there, eyes closed, unable to believe he had gotten away unharmed.
“By the gods,” he heard one man curse, “what is that bloody smell?”
“The Lieutenant,” someone replied in a hushed tone.
“Did he shit himself?” someone else asked, also in a whisper.
They must have thought he had passed out, but Sorben lay there, listening.
“I guess he got scared,” a soldier added.
“We was all scared,” the first man said. “Doesn’t mean I bloody shit myself.”
“I think I might have pissed myself,” a younger voice, said, “at least, a little.”
“You dumb cunt,” said the soldier on whose shoulder Sorben traveled, “you’re supposed to piss yourself when you see a giant fucking bear. You’re nothing but a whelp with naught but a single hair on your balls. You’re not a seasoned officer.”
“Seasoned,” someone scoffed. Sorben recognized that voice. It was the scout’s voice. “The only thing he’s seasoned at is drinking sweet wine and bending over for big, burly men like yourself, Kenneth.”
“Fuck you,” the bearer of Sorben, Kenneth, replied.
“I’ll tell you what, though,” the scout added, quieting his voice even more, “do you think Bu would’ve shit himself?”
“Not a bloody chance,” Kenneth replied. “That crazy cunt would’ve ran his sword right up that bear’s ass. That’s a man worth following.”
Sorben felt his stomach knot, felt the tears flowing freely from his eyes. They would all pay for those remarks, all of them. He didn’t care how many he had to kill. They would pay for such treasonous ideas . . . and then he would take care of Bu once and for all.
Chapter 51
ERIK FELT HIS STOMACH KNOT. The bridge was wide enough for two men to walk side by side, but one misstep would lead only to darkness. As he looked down into the great chasm, his breath caught in his throat, and he felt his knees weaken. Once, on the other side, the company rested a moment, and Erik noticed one of the dwarves, taller than the others and with dark hair and beard, lifting his head and sniffing the air.
Erik looked to Bofim.
“Mortin smell something,” the dwarf said.
“What does he smell?” Erik asked.
Bofim shrugged.
“Don’t know,” the dwarf replied, “but it enough to make General want to move away from here.”
“We’re not hiking into the mountain from here?” Erik asked.
Bofim shook his head as Erik saw Mortin look to Balzarak and shake his head ever so slightly before moving off again. As they walked, Bofim talked with Erik quietly, as much as he could in his broken Westernese and, in turn, Erik would speak to him in Dwarvish.
“I could use song,” Bofim said.
“A dwarvish traveling song?” Erik asked with a smile.
“Aye. Bim,” Bofim said with a nod to another dwarf, this one balding and with a great scar that ran from the back of his head, through a now useless left eye, and into his beard. Bim nodded back and smiled. “My cousin, Bim. Good voice.”
“Quiet,” the General hissed. “Thegthû. We can ill afford unnecessary noise right now.”
Rain intensified the tension of the silent hike. At first, it was just a light drizzle, but as the clouds created a premature evening, they also unleashed a soaking furry upon the mountainside that gave Erik cause to constantly and cautiously watch the mountain path and the wall that rose up to the south, which promptly turned to mud.
“How long do we have to walk before we actually get to the forest?” Erik asked, eyeing both the ravine to his right and the ever-rising wall of mud to his left.
Bofim just shrugged while Mortin shot Erik a dirty look.
“Something has the General on edge,” Turk said in a whisper.
“We will hike along this path as long as the General wants us to,” Threhof growled over his shoulder. “Now, shut your mouths.”
Erik heard Nafer whisper something to Turk in their native language. He saw Turk nod with a scowl on his face. He tried discerning what his dwarvish friends were saying, but in the numbing din of rain and the softness of their voices, the only word he understood was danger.
Erik lost track of time as he could not see the moon or stars. The dwarves had resigned to lighting torches in the darkness of the storm, the pitch-smeared sticks resisting the rain as much as they could hope. The mountain wall to his left rose and fell, and he hoped they would soon be away from the giant ravine that separated northern and southern ranges.
Occasionally, Erik caught Balzarak speaking with Mortin. Their conversations always seemed short and never pleasant.
They had walked a long time, and it seemed that they were slowing down, perhaps stopping for the night, when something strong and pungent caught Erik’s nose.
“What is that smell?” Erik asked.
“I said shut your . . .” Threhof began to say, but Turk cut him off.
“I smell it too,” Turk said.
“Befel, do you smell it?” Erik asked.
His brother nodded his head, crinkling his nose at the smell.
“It smells like a decaying deer carcass,” Bryon added.
“Worse,” Erik said.
Erik then heard a great sucking of air, a wind that brought with it an even stronger, more putrid scent and an unusual warmth. It continued, over and over, slowly, methodically, like something was . . .
“Breathing,” Erik muttered.
“What?” Befel asked.
Mortin stopped, put his nose to the air again, and then turned to Balzarak.
“Sprüga!” the dwarf yelled.
“Run!” Turk translated.
Just as the dwarves yelled, Erik heard a great crash and then a loud growl. He looked up to see the giant head of a bear, one with bony ridges along its jaw and a bony plate along its forehead, burst between the trunks of two large pines above them, growing along the top of the mountain wall. The head uprooted the trees, and they tumbled over the wall and into the ravine, taking much of the mud and earth with them. Erik had never seen a beast so big. It roared and growled, eyeing the party, but it seemed weary to attack, perhaps sensing the instability of the ground below its massive body.
“Cave bear!” Turk yelled. “Run for your life! Run as fast as you can, and do not stop!”
The bear swiped a great claw out in front of it and bounced up and down shaking the earth. Then, surprisingly, it disappeared back into the forest.
Erik slowed, but a firm hand to the middle of his back spurred him on again.
“It is not gone,” Turk said. “It is following us. Keep moving.”
Just as Turk spoke, the creature burst from the forest again, sending more earth and trees and shrubbery into the ravine. Its swiping claws barely missed Switch’s head.
“By the gods,” the thief cursed, ducking and stumbling forward.
The bear pounded at the earth, sending rocks flying. Erik felt debris against his face as the creature continued to claw at the ground and growl, swinging its great paws at the men and dwarves running by. The muddy wall behind the creature began to give way underneath the weight of the beast, spilling across the pathway and promp
ting the bear to retreat back into the forest once more.
Erik felt his heart pound, running as fast as he could while jumping over piles of mud that had spilled into his way and dodging roots and branches blocking his path. He had forgotten about the chasm to his right, only worried about the gigantic bear that seemed intent on making them its next meal. Its smell subsided, and its growling and breathing were gone, but they still pressed on at a furious, even reckless pace.
Finally, Balzarak slowed, and everyone else followed suit until they all stood together to catch their breath. Erik wanted to collapse, but rather grabbed at his knees and sucked in large amounts of air.
“What was that?” Erik asked.
“Cave bear,” Bofim said.
“Don’t all bears live in caves?” Bryon gasped.
“Aye they do,” Turk replied, pausing to gulp in air before continuing. “But cave bears are the giant ancestors of what we call a brown bear. The territory of a single cave bear might be leagues upon leagues. They normally live in the deepest forests, away from any civilization, so it is odd that we would see one so close to dwarvish settlements, and that it would attack us. Something is truly amiss for it to be so close to Thorakest and the surrounding habitation and I ...”
Turk suddenly stopped and spun around as Erik smelled decaying flesh, heard the sound of sucking air, and felt the ground shake underneath his feet. Then, it burst from the forest again, rock and trees tearing away from their centuries old resting places. With a deafening roar, the cave bear jumped onto the mountain path, and it was too much for the conditions.
The ground underneath began falling away, creating a mudslide, and Erik watched in horror as Threhof fell away from the beast, tumbling down with the mudslide and going over the edge. Balzarak yelled to the dwarves, and Beldar let out a concerned cry, but they were on the other side of the waterfall of mud.
Erik looked down and saw that a large rock had broken Threhof ’s fall. Erik’s eyes frantically scanned the surrounding and saw a creeper, rooted and anchored deep in the mountain wall; he knew that was Threhof ’s lifeline if he could reach it. As the bear, now bold enough to brave the unstable path, swiped and clawed and roared, Erik rushed to the edge of the pathway to find Threhof dangling there, desperately clinging to the thick creeper and slipping amidst the mud and rain just as the rock that had stopped his fall fell away and descended into the ravine.
Smaller rocks raining down on top of Erik told him the bear was close. He lay on his belly and reached down to Threhof, but the dwarf was just out of reach. He tried pulling up on the creeper, but the slipperiness of rain and wet earth, along with the weight of the dwarf, made that impossible.
“Someone grab my feet!” Erik yelled.
“Why?” Wrothgard called back.
“So I can grab Threhof,” Erik replied.
“Leave him,” Switch said.
“Hurry,” Erik called. “He’s slipping, and the earth is giving way beneath me!”
Wrothgard knelt over Erik, firmly grabbing his legs and tucking them under his armpits. Erik risked a quick glance over his shoulder to see dwarves contending with the bear, axes and swords barely nicking the beast’s thick hide and spears bouncing harmlessly away. He looked back down at the stricken dwarf.
“Grab my hand,” Erik called.
Threhof started to reach up but then ducked as a clawed paw swung over Erik’s head. He felt the wind break against the back of his head and heard Wrothgard curse.
“Hurry, Erik,” the soldier said, “before we become bear shit.”
Threhof slipped farther down the creeper.
“Lower me further,” Erik said.
“Damn it, brother,” Befel said, “leave him, or you’ll both die. And you’ll take Wrothgard down with you.”
“Just a little more!” Erik screamed over the yelling and roaring and the din of the deluge.
Wrothgard lowered Erik a little more until he finally reached Threhof, first taking one hand, and then the other.
“By the Creator, you’re heavy,” Erik grunted, and Threhof groaned at that. “Pull me up.”
It was slow, and his wet fingers kept slipping, but with his muscles burning, Erik finally reached the path, Threhof in tow. As they both thudded to the ground in an exhausted heap, Erik saw that not only Wrothgard, but Demik and Bryon had pulled him up as well, the others doing their best to fend off the bear as the beast was now almost fully onto the pathway.
“Our weapons can’t hurt it!” Turk yelled, desperation clear in his eyes.
Erik looked over his shoulder to his cousin.
“Bryon!” Erik shouted. “Your sword!”
Bryon stared at him.
“It’s the only thing that will pierce its hide,” Erik said.
Bryon looked frozen for a moment, but then, his hand went to the handle of his elvish sword, and he drew it. Erik could hear the rain hiss as it struck the purple blade, and Bryon inched forward. The glare of the magic light must have caught the bear’s eye, as it turned its attention to Erik’s cousin. It snorted and growled, stamping the ground.
It lurched forward, roaring, hot breath and spittle splashing against Erik’s face. Bryon was within range of one of its paws. The beast walked fully onto the pathway, and Erik could see the ground beneath it move, ready to give way. It reared up on its hind legs, and with another mighty roar, it swung at Bryon.
Bryon put his sword up and gripping it in both hands, he swiped diagonally, one of the strikes Wrothgard had taught them. Erik saw the end of a paw fly away into the darkness, and the scream that came from the beast was hideous. It brought down its other paw, hoping to crush Bryon, but he jabbed upwards with his sword, and the blade hissed as it passed through the bear’s flesh.
It pushed Bryon to the ground but retracted its wounded paw immediately. The ground underneath the creature began to give way, and it looked as if the animal would fall with the earth, but its massive claws in the other paw dug into the mountain side, and it pulled itself up.
Erik could only watch and wonder at the show of strength. The bear pushed fervently with its hind legs, pushing it up and up until it reached the line of trees just above the heads of the company. It looked back at them and snorted before it disappeared into the forest.
Erik finally stood. He helped Threhof to his feet as well.
“Ic näa thu famannblôd,” the dwarf said, adding in Westernese. “I owe you a blood debt.”
“I appreciate that,” Erik said, “but we can talk about that later. Right now, we have to get off this dangerous path.”
They all walked carefully on until the path took them away from the ravine and into the forest. As he trudged along, his muscles aching more than ever, Erik sensed the dagger by his side.
“I suppose I could have used you against that bear,” Erik whispered, patting the golden handle of his dagger.
You could have, but it was good to give your cousin that chance.
“Give him a chance?” Erik wondered.
A chance to prove himself among your companions. They watch him with questioning eyes.
“Truly?” Erik asked. He didn’t get a reply.
Chapter 52
ERIK’S SLEEP HAD BEEN DREAMLESS, and that was always welcomed. Still yawning, he sat up, brushing pine needles out of his chest hair. The rain had stopped, but his shirt, lying on the ground next to the fire, was still wet.
“Did you sleep well?” Beldar asked.
“I guess as well as can be expected,” Erik replied.
“Erik,” Threhof said with a smile. “You are awake. Once again, let me say to you how thankful I am for your bravery. You saved my life. I can honestly say that that was the first time in one hundred and eighty-eight years that I owe my life to a man.”
“One hundred and eighty-eight years old?” Erik asked, sitting forward with raised eyebrows.
Threhof laughed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, still chuckling, “I am not the oldest one here.�
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Threhof pointed to Dwain. Dwain said something to Threhof in Dwarvish.
“I am two hundred and one years old,” Dwain said, “but I don’t feel a day over one hundred and fifty.”
“Now that he’s awake,” Wrothgard said, nodding to Erik, “shouldn’t we leave?”
“Cave bear gone,” Bofim said. “Bim track it. No find. Gone. We can rest some more.”
“We’ll need it,” Dwain added. “Not many, even dwarves, come around these parts much. We’ll have to be alert.”
As the others talked, Erik laid back down, hands behind his head and thinking of his betrothed—Simone—he felt a tickle on his hip.
I would have been there if you had needed me.
“Truly?” Erik thought.
Truly, but wield me with care, Erik Eleodum.
Erik furrowed his brow, not understanding what his dagger meant.
Heed what the dwarf Ilken said. Many warriors have become corrupt because of treasures like me.
Erik felt less than comforted.
It is not because their weapons were evil, but because of the power they gave their owners. Men tend to become drunk on power. And remember this, the more power I exert, the longer I have to rest. Yes, be very careful how you use me.
Lieutenant Sorben Phurnan stood watching the dense forest, hands on his waist. He clenched his jaw. He watched two of his soldiers, men of pure blood, talk and joke.
“Pure blood,” he hissed. “Fools more like it.”
He spat. He was pure blood, noble, born to lead. These men were born to die. And they had grown bold since they were attacked by that giant bear.
“What’s so funny,” he hissed.
“Nothing,” one of the soldiers replied, straightening his back in a half attempt to stand at attention.
“Nothing what?” Sorben asked, stepping forward.
“Nothing, sir,” the soldier replied, straightening a little more.
Sorben Phurnan rubbed a finger up the man’s cheek. He heard the slightest scratch of stubble.
“Why is your face not shaven?”
“I shaved this morning, sir.”
The Lieutenant heard insolence and irritation in his soldier’s voice. His face went hot.
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