by R J Hanson
Roland’s helm allowed him sight in both the lighted world and in infravision. The combination was quiet confusing until one became accustomed to the unique view. Roland saw that one of the figures was there in the lighted world but gave off no body heat. That meant one of two things. It was either a type of undead or it was a construct, a metal creature created and controlled by a wizard. The other being was in shadow in both realms of vision. Roland recognized the second creature for he had faced one before. A Soul Stalker.
Roland drew Swift Blood and awaited them. In the year he had spent away from home, Roland had grown in strength. The months of travel, exercise, and fighting had leaned his muscles, but his strength had steadily increased. An idea occurred to him. It was said that Lord Ivant had sometimes wielded a great sword with one hand and carried a shield in the other. Roland thought that if there was ever a time to test himself, now was the time.
Roland picked up Lord Mandergane’s shield and held it in his left arm while he wielded Swift Blood in his right.
The two creatures approached Roland with a confident stride. As they came closer, he was able to see the cold assailant more clearly. An undead that was the size of a common man that wore only black leather trousers and black leather boots. Its naked upper torso was thickly muscled. The undead carried a thin bladed bastard sword, but it was unique in that it was single edged and not double edged like every other bastard sword Roland had ever seen. A blade master from the Silver Helm academy could have told Roland that he looked on a katana, a rare sword of unique design.
“I am Engiyadu,” the undead spoke with a dark rasp. “You will die tonight, and the just bloodline of your family will die with you.”
Roland did not understand what Engiyadu meant by ‘just bloodline,’ however, he did understand that he meant to kill him.
The Soul Stalker circled Roland as Engiyadu approached Roland directly from the front. Roland raised the shield and held the Great sword low, conserving his strength. Engiyadu made the first thrust, low at Roland’s inner thigh. Roland shoved the shield down and forced the edge of Engiyadu’s blade down. As this happened the Soul Stalker came after Roland from behind. Roland called upon the speed of Swift Blood and hauled the Shrou-Hayn through the air behind him and struck the Soul Stalker’s blade. The force from Roland’s attack beat the fallen champion back several paces. Engiyadu’s blade continued to thrust forward and struck Roland’s dwarven boots. Engiyadu’s blade glanced off of Roland’s boots at the shin and didn’t even mark the leather. If it had not been for the dwarven gift, Roland would have lost his lower leg. This fight was going to be bloody.
“So,” Roland said, “is it often you two take walks in the moonlight together?”
Engiyadu bared his yellow and decay stained teeth and hacked a cut toward Roland’s head. Roland called upon the swiftness of his sword again and spun bringing Swift Blood up to block the attack. As Roland did so, the Soul Stalker came in again, this time with a high thrust. Roland swung the shield in an arc that slapped against the Soul Stalker’s blade. However, the edge of the demon blade caught the shoulder of Roland’s armor and sliced through it like a black snake through dark water.
The Soul Stalker withdrew his ‘Roland’ marked blade quickly, and then brutally thrust the tip at Roland again. Roland knew the move would be very risky but, if this continued, they would slowly cut him to pieces. He had just enough time to think if one only defends. Roland swung the shield around to knock the Soul Stalker’s blade wide. Swift Blood’s edge followed the shield in a reaping swing. The shield knocked the demon sword wide and Roland’s blade severed the Soul Stalker’s head. Roland felt the cost of the move as he completed the swing. Engiyadu’s blade had found the gap between his breastplate and his girth. The blade seared into Roland’s back, a bit below his left kidney and just above his hip. Roland continued his circling move and took a few steps back away from Engiyadu. He felt the wetness of his own blood on his back and his left leg.
Engiyadu grinned and feigned a thrust toward Roland’s face. Roland stepped back and brought his shield around for defense.
“Do you feel your strength fleeing?” Engiyadu asked.
“How did you die the first time?” Roland asked through gasps for breath. “Arrow in the back fleeing battle, or maybe you took sweet cane from the wrong baby.”
Engiyadu slapped two quick strikes that Roland struggled to parry. Roland knew he was in trouble. Engiyadu gripped his blade with two hands and made a high thrust toward Roland’s right shoulder. Roland got his shield up in time and blocked the thrust. Roland attempted to counter by twisting his torso and thrusting Swift Blood under the edge of the shield. Roland’s blade stabbed straight for Engiyadu’s middle, however, Engiyadu swung his front leg to the side and bowed his back. That move allowed the Swift Blood to pass right past his back and leave him untouched.
Roland called upon the speed of his sword but that speed was not enough to keep up with Engiyadu. Roland realized he was fencing a master swordsman.
Engiyadu sliced his unusual blade in a sidelong arc that swept toward Roland’s armored neck. Roland raised his shield and managed to block that attack. Engiyadu reversed the swing with amazing quickness. Roland barely had time to realize that Engiyadu’s blade came at his neck from the other side. Roland brought his blade up just in time to block Engiyadu’s second attack. Engiyadu slashed his edge down the side of Roland’s sword. He pulled the blade just wide enough to miss Swift Blood’s cross piece and his blade continued down to slash through the armor and flesh on Roland’s thigh.
Roland felt the muscles in his leg begin to give way. He would be dead in the next few moments if he didn’t think of a way out.
Roland fell to one knee, his injured leg no longer able to support him. Engiyadu feigned a wide swing to draw Roland’s shield out. Roland, drawn in by the trick, brought the shield out to meet Engiyadu’s attack. Engiyadu flipped his blade over the top of the shield and cut down at the straps that held the shield to Roland’s arm. The shield fell from Roland’s arm and Engiyadu quick-stepped back out of the sweeping path of Swift Blood. Roland put both hands to Swift Blood. He had an idea but he would need a few seconds of lead time. Roland knew he would have to accept another blow.
Engiyadu approached and Roland made a sloppy thrust that Engiyadu sidestepped. Engiyadu then stepped in quickly and thrust his blade into the gap under Roland’s right armpit. The blade only sunk in a few inches, but each inch was another world of pain.
Roland had hoped that Engiyadu would step in. With his much longer arms and Great sword, Roland had a few feet of reach on Engiyadu. That would be his only advantage now.
Roland abandoned all finesse and swordsmanship. He ripped Swift Blood across in a forceful arc toward Engiyadu. Engiyadu easily brought his own blade around to parry the attack, but the sheer power behind the swing knocked Engiyadu from his feet. He landed several feet to the side and crumpled to the ground. Roland had his head start, although it was not much.
Roland sheathed Swift Blood and grabbed a dangling strap of the shield and the belt on the scabbard of Shrou-sheld Blancet up in one hand. He grabbed his pack, which was heavy with Lord Mandergane’s armor, in the other and forced his leg to respond and carry him to the river’s edge. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to see how closely Engiyadu pursued. Roland knew that if he didn’t make it to the river he would die right here, and right now.
Roland heard a disturbance behind him but he continued forward with as much speed as he could force out of his body. Roland knew that he would likely drown in the river, however, he had a better chance with the river than he did with Engiyadu. He knew Engiyadu could not follow because it had dawned on him during the battle that undead could not cross running water. At least, he was pretty sure it was undead that couldn’t cross running water. Maybe that was ghosts?
Roland’s feet struck the edge of the river and he pushed forward. He felt his strength waning and he could feel the weight of his armor be
gin to pull him deeper into the water. Roland struggled ahead. Then he felt his arm drift up as he continued to submerge into the water.
“Your guardian will not always be with you, runt,” Roland heard Engiyadu yell from behind him.
Roland proceeded into the water and was almost to the middle of the river when his head dropped below the water’s surface. He felt his arm continue to rise, then he realized something was floating. The shield was floating! Roland pulled himself up by the one arm holding the shield. Once his feet were free of the river’s bottom, the current carried him swiftly down river buoyed by the enchanted shield of Lord Mandergane.
Roland held the shield tight and floated for almost a league down river. Finally, after what seemed like hours of struggle, he reached the other bank of the river and crawled up on the frosty ground. Roland was still bleeding and badly. He couldn’t gather fuel for a fire, and had no bandages. He began to work to get his armor off so that he could examine his wounds. His shoulder, armpit, thigh, abdomen, and back each leaked his life out onto the snow. His thoughts raced.
An idea struck him and he pulled a long-carried dagger from his weapons belt. Roland put the flaming blade to his thigh and the heat from the enchanted dagger sizzled against his bare skin. Roland gritted his teeth as the searing pain shot through his body. The wound cauterized and the bleeding stopped. Roland tried to repeat the process for each of his wounds.
He felt his vision blur and his head swam in pain and exhaustion. Roland knew, if he passed out from pain or blood loss before he finished, he would die. Roland had been trained to set pain aside and fight on, however, his fight now was against unconsciousness. He focused his thoughts on Clairenese but found that did nothing but make him wish for this to be over so he could be with her. Then he thought about the burned doll in his pack, and the look of the children wearing chains. He thought of their bleeding feet. He remembered the ones that had broken noses, and whip marks on their backs, shoulders, and legs. He thought of those children watching as the ogres ate their parents, and about the drow threatening them with the same fate. Anger and hate kindled a fire deep within him. Roland growled through the pain as he continued. He put three new burns on his back before he was able to get the blade on the original injury.
Roland had just enough strength left to pull Eldryn’s belt around his barely clothed body before blackness swept through his mind like a tidal wave.
Roland awoke a vague time later in a grove of trees and discovered the sun was high in the sky above him. There was a fire that had burned down to glowing embers and what looked like a wild hog on a spit above the heat of the coals. Roland looked around and found that his armor had been repaired and placed neatly on a blanket near the fire. He also noticed that his other supplies and equipment had been cleaned and repacked. He found that a bundle of bandages had been added to his gear. As he sat up, he saw that his wounds had been freshly bandaged and there was also a pot of some sort of stew warming next to the smoldering fire.
Roland looked all around him but saw no sign of anyone else. He ate one of the best meals he had ever consumed. Roland reflected that it was not necessarily the quality of the food, but rather his appreciation for it that made it such a fine meal. When he finished there was nothing left of the small hog but bones, and the stew pot had been mopped clean with a piece of hardtack bread from Roland’s pack.
Roland lay down and pulled Eldryn’s belt to him. Sleep took him again. When he awoke again the sun was rising through the trees in the forest. He had slept the second time for at least fourteen hours, perhaps even more.
He dressed slowly. He was still very weak from blood loss and his injuries were very stiff. He also discovered several bruises that he did not remember collecting. Once he was in his armor, he packed his things and hoisted his load to his back.
Roland walked for the first several hours that day, stretching the pain and stiffness out of his body. When he stopped at noon, he was light headed and dizzy. He ate one of the flowers and drank some wine from his wine skin. He napped for several hours and rose just as the sun neared the mountain’s peaks in the west.
He marched for four more days like that. He could not yet run for fear of tearing the wounds on his thigh and back. However, Roland discovered while changing the bandages that his wounds were healing at a remarkable rate.
“Clairenese?” Roland asked into the mist.
“It is I, dearest,” Clairenese said as she approached his camp.
“I am dreaming again?”
“Yes, dear, you are,” she said. “I know that you are injured and weary, and a lesser man could not have made it this far. However, you must press on. You must quicken your pace. Engiyadu has rounded the mouth of the river and runs night and day to catch you. Each small stream he encounters slows him down, but he is coming for you. You have a good head start on him, but you must press on harder if you wish to reach Skult before he reaches you.”
“I would face him, but I cannot risk this sword falling into Daeriv’s hands.”
“I know, love. You have responsibilities that go beyond foolish pride.”
Roland smiled.
“Father always said my pride was a dangerous thing.”
“I am glad to see that you are beginning to realize that,” Clairenese said. “Kiss me again, love, for I must go and you have many leagues to travel.”
They embraced and Roland felt the warmth of her love travel through his body and heat his blood. The smell of her hair brought visions to his mind of the two of them together in the grove under the blessed tree in spring time.
“You must go now, love,” she said. “Travel swiftly.”
“I love you,” Roland said as she faded back into the mist surrounding him.
Roland’s eyes cracked open to see the clouds in the east growing purple with dawn’s approach. He rose and checked all of his gear. He removed his extra water skins, rope, lamp oil, extra clothes, dulled axes, arrows, bow, and bedroll. He would travel as light as possible, bearing only the essentials. One water skin, his armor, Swift Blood, his daggers, his pouch containing the flowers and herbs that Ashcliff had given him, and the artifacts retrieved from Lord Mandergane’s body.
Roland began to run. That afternoon he reached the area of the burned-out village. He knew that it would be at least a week of hard running from here back to Skult. He wondered how many days of hard running his wounds could stand. A warrior is only defeated when he quits! Velryk’s voice was loud in his mind. Are you going to cry and take up a life of farming or knitting? Are you wasting my time with your whimpering, or are you going to put your teeth together and press on!
Roland ran until the sun had made a full circle and was rising again in the east. Pure exhaustion engulfed him. He dropped to the ground and slept where he lay. He awoke three hours later and rose. He began to run again. This time he was able to push himself for a day and a half straight without stopping. The sun was sinking in the west when he collapsed again and was unconscious before his body had finished falling to the snow.
Roland felt something nudge his shoulder. He awoke and saw by the stars that he had been asleep for nearly four hours. He rose and retrieved his helm, but when he got it on and surveyed the area around him, he saw no one. He ate another flower and drained his water skin. He refilled the skin at the river’s edge and began running again.
He ran. His vision swam, the sun and moon played tricks with him as they circled the racing warrior. He felt his injuries tear open and felt the warmth of his own blood trickling down his skin. He tried but could not remember his name, or his destination. He laughed at the trees and wept for the mountains. The clouds in the sky mocked him and the shadows of the forest whispered his folly. He must run.
His lungs cried out for rest, his muscled starved for blood and strength. The Runner could only remember the face of a child. A face that he saw when he and his friends freed the young slaves. That face with a broken nose, an eye swelled shut, and rope marks around her neck. That
face pushed him on beyond exhaustion, beyond pain, beyond consciousness. He laughed, and he wept. The Runner ran on.
He heard voices, and shouts from apparitions that surrounded him, and ghosts sent to harass him. He hit something, hard. He struggled to his feet and felt overpowering dizziness due to the lack of motion. He was not running!
The Runner lurched forward and again struck something that yielded not an inch. The last thing he knew, a panicked thought, was he was not running.
Chapter X
Duty or Pride?
Eldryn had heard the lookout’s reports and sent Tin and Pala to watch the southern gate just in case. He took Facl and Kodii with him to the northwestern gate. Marnie, who was rarely more than ten strides away from Eldryn since his return, followed them closely.
Eldryn watched in pain as Roland came running down the road, blood streaking his armor from shoulders to knees. His heart ached for the suffering his friend must have endured. He ran out of the gate toward him but Roland would not hear his cries. Eldryn continued to hail him as he followed Roland toward the city walls. Eldryn watched as Roland ran straight into the wooden wall of Skult. Eldryn ran to Roland’s side. As he reached him Roland staggered from the ground and bounded into the wall again. Roland fell back and Eldryn caught him.
Facl, Kodii, and Marnie helped Eldryn and they carried Roland to the hospital inside the city. Eldryn watched over him as Roland slept for two days and nights. The tale of the rescue of the children and the recovery of Shrou-sheld Blancet swept through Skult on a much-needed wave of cheer. It was a rare piece of good news and the men there were in need of good news, and good cheer. It had been a long time since they had either.
Prince Ralston himself had heard of Roland’s run and of the items he had retrieved. He and Sir Brutis, one of his father’s knights and close advisors, had already reviewed the map delivered by Eldryn. They saw many possibilities there. The Prince came by the hospital to see the Roland of these stories with his own eyes. He ordered that Roland be moved to a knight’s vacant room within the Keep of Skult and be treated there by two nurses and a priest dedicated to no other duties than to see to his injuries. Prince Ralston had refused to accept any of the artifacts retrieved from Lord Mandergane’s fallen body until Roland was well enough to present them himself.
