Dark Paths

by Markus Heitz

  ‘What are you going to do before joining us?’ Sisaroth wanted to know.

  ‘Are you quite sure you won’t come with us now?’ Tirîgon made a token attempt to change the groundling’s mind.

  ‘No. Nothing can make me go through some stupid waterfall and a wretched pond. I’ll make good use of my time here; there’s a fair bit of tidying up to do down in these caves and tunnels,’ Balodil replied with a knowing smile. ‘And somebody down here is wearing a suit of armour that isn’t his.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it. I doubt the Zhadar sees it like that.’

  The groundling bared his teeth and touched the scar on his head. He ran his fingers over the eye patch. ‘Exactly. It would be boring if he agreed with me.’ He turned serious. ‘I want to thank you for everything you have done for me. I owe you my life, my memories; I can’t repay you.’

  The two brothers looked at him with satisfaction.

  Firûsha knew what they were thinking. Didn’t we do well? They were patting themselves on the back. He was their own creation, through and through.

  ‘Don’t forget to keep taking the medicine,’ Sisaroth reminded him. ‘I’ve left you a good supply and the recipe is in the little box next to the ingredients if you need to make more up. There should be plenty for the next few divisions of unendingness.’

  ‘I won’t need it as long as that. I’ll find a way out, you’ll see,’ Balodil countered. ‘You can brew me up a fresh supply when I see you next. Perhaps I shan’t be needing it by then. Once I’ve killed the Zhadar,’ he vowed soberly, ‘I’ll make a complete recovery. I’ll be healed from all the effects of the wrong he has done me.’

  They shook hands once more and the älfar brothers cantered away from the tent on their night-mares.

  Now it’s up to me. Firûsha fought down the fluttery sensation in her stomach. It was one thing to prevail in combat against a horde of enemies, but the challenge facing her now was of a completely different kind.

  Balodil was surveying the headless barbarian corpses strewn round the tent, their blood soaking into the ground. ‘No one will notice the guard has gone missing but the stains will seep up into the canvas,’ Balodil said, wiping Bloodthirster clean on a dead man’s cloak. ‘When they see that they’ll know something’s up.’

  Yes. We’ve got to act before we lose our advantage, our head start. ‘That’s when you’ll have to give your performance.’ She tossed the sack over to him. ‘You should get back inside if it’s going to be believable.’ Firûsha cleaned the broad blade of her sword, admiring yet again how light the weapon was in her hand. The extended cross-guards had been a great advantage in combat, especially at close range. At one point, she had thrust the sharp end right through an enemy breastplate. She held it up. ‘This weapon, Balodil. Perfect work.’

  He grinned at her. ‘I’ve done a lot of perfect work in my time. Your armour, your swords, the weapons for all your troops . . . and that won’t be the end of it. I love forging metal. The things I produce are of higher quality than ever, now that I can incorporate my knowledge of magic and älfar runes.’ Balodil ran his fingers carefully along the blade of his eccentric-looking sword. ‘If I had only known that älfar and dwarves could be good friends, I would never have attacked your leader long ago. I’m missing Sisaroth and Tirîgon already. I shall miss their conversation.’

  My brothers can be proud of their achievement. Firûsha nodded. ‘I’m sure they’ll make friends with the Thirdlings in Tark Draan,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. Your folk and my own race will be allies.’

  Balodil looked at her. He seemed concerned about something. ‘Before we part, Firûsha, tell me. Have I done anything to offend you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You have always kept your distance, whereas I feel very close to your brothers. We have hardly talked and I’ve always had the feeling you don’t like me. So I’ve been wondering what the reason is.’

  Firûsha gave a faint smile. ‘You are imagining things, Balodil. I have always valued your friendship, just as the others do. I’m just less demonstrative than they are,’ she lied, forcing herself to pat him on the shoulder. She was not about to confess that she did not trust him and that she had been expecting the true Tungdil to emerge any second and try to kill her. If she been honest she would have told him she was delighted he would be staying behind in Phondrasôn. As soon as I leave, you can do whatever you want.

  ‘Thank you for that,’ the groundling said, greatly relieved at her response. ‘I didn’t want . . .’

  The sound of loud footsteps intervened.

  ‘By all the demons of Zrôl! What’s happening? Why have the älfar ridden off?’ Before Balodil could wriggle into the sack, the tent flap was flung open and a broad-shouldered warrior stormed in, only to stop in his tracks, finding his way barred by a heap of dead bodies. His boot splashed into a puddle of blood.

  He was probably more than two and a half paces tall and was wearing a grey animal skin over his armour. On his head was an impressive horned helmet.

  Gripping the hilt of his long scythe-like weapon, he stared into the gloom, catching sight of Balodil. His eyes widened in astonishment. ‘You?’

  Firûsha listened carefully but could not hear anyone else approaching the tent. He was on his own. Excellent.

  ‘What an unpleasant surprise. This is Ehiow, who has been secure in the knowledge that I was dead. He has been really glad about that.’ Balodil laughed as he made the introduction. ‘He is another one of the Zhadar’s trusted men, but he’s never been as high up the pecking order as me. I mean, back when the Zhadar still had need of me. Ehiow was always jealous of my status and tried many times to get rid of me.’ The groundling lifted Bloodthirster and pointed it at the intruder. ‘Was it you the Triplets were supposed to report to? Was it you the Master sent?’ He gave a spiteful laugh. ‘That was thoughtful of him. Now I can kill my rival before moving on to deal with the Zhadar himself!’

  Ehiow surveyed the scene of slaughter. ‘Was this a rebellion against the Master?’ He drew his weapon out of its sheath. There was a damp sheen to the blade. ‘He will reward me for stamping it out at the source.’

  Firûsha was astonished at the barbarian’s brazen courage. He must know what he’s letting himself in for. She was relieved that he was not alerting the camp. No alarm was being sounded. He is one of those who overestimate their own capabilities.

  ‘Ehiow uses poison,’ Balodil warned her. ‘And he’s full of tricks and deception. Don’t trust your eyes.’ He raised Bloodthirster and attacked the Zhadar’s envoy.

  The barbarian uttered a curt laugh – and vanished!

  ‘What the . . .?’ Firûsha held her sword horizontally in front of herself as a protective barrier. She caught sight of a flicker from the corner of her eye to the right. That’s him! She ducked.

  She felt the air whip past her and there was a snapping sound as one of the supporting tent poles was sliced through by an unseen hand. The tent was still erect.

  Firûsha executed a wide sweep, taking full advantage of her sword’s unusual length. The blade met no resistance. Where has he gone?

  Balodil seemed able, even with his single eye, to see more than she could. It looked as if he were attacking thin air but she heard the crash of Bloodthirster meeting metal. ‘To me!’ he yelled over to her.

  Firûsha hastened over to the groundling’s side. He had been thrown backwards by a powerful blow. She felt ungainly as she fumbled with her sword like a novice. ‘Coward! Show yourself!’ The unseen opponent laughed, provoking her further.

  She hit out to the right, but the enemy struck her on the other side, glancing off her armour with a harsh abrasion, sending up a shower of sparks.

  She whirled round in a reflex action and crouched down, catching sight of the corner of a bloodied leg guard.

  Ah! I see! Where the blood’s splashed up his leg! She wasted no time. She jabbed the spiked end of her sword’s cross-guard through the metal leg protecto
r. The enemy’s leg and her weapon were now fused.

  Grabbing her sword with both hands she forced it to one side and heard the barbarian crash to the ground. As she had hoped, Ehiow had tripped over the pile of fresh corpses, and now he was marked with their blood.

  Now I can see what I’m aiming at! She swung her sword with both hands up over her head and hurtled it down with all her strength.

  The blade struck him in the chest and Ehiow reappeared in view. The blow had knocked a horn off his helmet. But he had a small silver pipe between his teeth . . .

  No! Firûsha tried to exert more pressure, to dispatch her opponent before he could give the alarm signal.

  But with his last breath he gave a shrill whistle that seared through the canvas and penetrated the far corners of the camp.

  When the sound had died away voices were heard on the other side of the tent walls. Some soldiers had already approached at the sound of fighting, even before the alarm was given.

  ‘No time left.’ Firûsha picked up Shucto’s banner and helped the groundling into the sack he had travelled in before. She fastened it with a knot so there would be no dispute when Balodil claimed to have been taken prisoner. She was relieved to have seen the last of her unwelcome ally. She had even considered killing him – secretly, without telling her brothers, of course. But I need him alive now as a diversion, so I can get away.

  ‘Yell as loud as you can!’ she urged, before racing out. The men had taken up their positions outside the tent, but she was so quick that they were taken completely by surprise. She wounded and killed several of them with her circling blade, slicing through armour and opening up barbarian flesh.

  She heard Balodil shouting from inside the tent at her back. ‘The shadow warriors of the Zhadar! They’ve killed our leaders! Stop them! Stop them! They’ve cut down Korhnoj and all the commanders! The Zhadar’s special warriors have done it!’

  Not bad at all! He knows his stuff. Firûsha jumped onto her night-mare and raced through the advancing throng of soldiers, knocking them to the ground. She used her sword mercilessly, to incite as much hatred towards the Zhadar as possible. ‘Die! In the name of the Master! Die!’ As she yelled she laughed scornfully at the dead and dying at her night-mare’s feet.

  She murdered her way through the enemy ranks, through the camp and out, leaping over the ditch and the palisades, and off into open country.

  She headed for the stronghold where the rebels were holding out, the hooves of her snorting mount throwing up clods of earth from the floor of the vast cave.

  ‘Shucto has sent me!’ she called, looking up at the imposing walls of the structure. ‘Let me in! I need shelter! I have killed Korhnoj and his commanders for you! They’re dead!’ She waved the banner that she was supposed to have left behind in the tent near the slaughtered officers. Inàste! Make sure they recognise it! ‘See! I bear your colours!’

  She was being hotly pursued by four dozen furious soldiers on horseback and arrows were whizzing past her ears, but the Zhadar’s archers were not up to the challenge of hitting a speeding rider on a night-mare. Not so far.

  The night-mare raced on, bearing her towards the large entrance gate.

  But it refused to open for her.

  Phondrasôn.

  Sisaroth, Tirîgon and Shucto rode to the meeting point previously agreed with Crotàgon and Carmondai.

  ‘At last! My father will now be able to free himself and the other rebels. Thank you!’ The barbarian was overjoyed at the apparent success of their venture.

  He had the severed heads in their leather sacks like trophies, dangling from the saddle of his mount.

  Without Shucto noticing, the älfar had left signs all the way along their journey, so that their sister would see the markings on the cave walls and be able to follow them to the waterfall.

  ‘Of course. Shëidogîs was on our side.’ Sisaroth had to restrain himself from trying to goad the barbarian’s horse into speeding up. The ride was taking far too long because the ugly beast was burdened with the extra forty heads. Sometimes the bags would get twisted up between the horse’s legs. ‘Do you think we could go a bit faster now?’

  Shucto did not seem to mind the brothers’ attempts to hurry him along. He had what he had asked for. ‘Doing my best,’ he said.

  The trio eventually made it to the cavern where the other älfar had encamped.

  ‘There’s suddenly an awful lot of us Siblings,’ Tirîgon remarked, seeing the faces turned towards him. ‘I shall have to get used to the Triplets not being anything special.’

  ‘We are still special. Our parents took great pains to create the miracle we represent.’ Sisaroth surveyed the surviving älfar. ‘It’s only magic that’s produced all these.’ He still thought it likely the imitations would suddenly cease to exist. That would be disastrous in the middle of a battle. He watched Crotàgon give the signal to begin departure. He wasn’t even interested in hearing how it all went. ‘It seems our deputy is in a hurry.’

  ‘So am I.’ Tirîgon told Shucto to take the lead for the rest of the journey to the cascade. He pointed to Carmondai, who was sitting at one side, closing his notebook, ready to go with them. ‘He’s still writing his notes and making his sketches, I see.’

  ‘The records he has made will bring us great fame,’ Sisaroth said firmly. ‘Fame for ourselves and fame for our infamous god.’ Shëidogîs deserves it.

  ‘So where have you got him hidden to keep him away from Crotàgon and Firûsha?’

  ‘Somewhere safe.’

  His brother grinned. ‘You’re so suspicious that you’re not even going to tell me? Remember, I was the one who assisted with your rituals and helped you find your sacrificial victims. And with keeping everything secret.’

  ‘Until you told me I had to stop doing it,’ Sisaroth flung back at him. I shan’t be forgetting that.

  ‘I see. You’re angry at me for that.’

  Exactly. ‘No,’ he lied. ‘I could see where you were coming from. But it has not been easy for me to keep to what you said.’ Sisaroth watched Crotàgon organising the column of riders.

  The warriors, the women and the children took up their pre-arranged positions. Carmondai walked round, helping where necessary and sometimes stopping to make further notes.

  Sisaroth had plans for their writer. He will be the one to spread our message. He is so good with words; he’ll have them converging on us in swarms to sign up for the new religion. The älfar and Tark Draan are ripe for a new creed.

  ‘So tell me where the skull is.’ Tirîgon was not letting go. He teased his brother, aware of how Sisaroth was torn between revealing it and keeping it secret. The two of them rode past the column and the baggage wagons to get to the front where Shucto was.

  I’m . . . I’m not going to tell him. Sisaroth could hear the warning voice of the god inside his own head. Keep it secret. There is no Tossàlor to restore the skull if it gets damaged this time. He instinctively looked at the supply wagon and regretted it immediately.

  But he had been observed.

  ‘You hid it in there? In a barrel full of blood, I expect?’ Tirîgon laughed.

  ‘Stop looking at the wagon!’ Sisaroth hissed angrily. He’s winding me up.

  ‘It’s quite a high load on there. I expect the skull will be right in the middle,’ teased his brother.

  ‘Will you hold your treacherous tongue?’ snapped Sisaroth at a greater volume than he would have liked. He looked to see whether Crotàgon could have overheard. He was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘So I’m right?’ Tirîgon patted him on the back consolingly.

  But Sisaroth brushed him off angrily. ‘Go and do something useful. Ride with Shucto. And don’t forget to leave the marks for Firûsha.’ He turned and pretended he was heading over to the group of riders to check if things were in order. In reality he was trying to work out where the tall warrior was. I can’t relax until I’ve located him.

  He found him at the far, rear end of the column. He wa
s assisting one of the älfar, a pregnant female. She was having trouble packing her bag.

  Good. He was quite a long way away from where we were talking. Shëidogîs is safe. Sisaroth was relieved. He turned his night-mare’s head and rode over to them. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘It will be,’ Crotàgon answered coldly. ‘If you and your brother are back now, does that mean your part of the venture has worked?’

  ‘Yes. Firûsha has taken over.’ Do you think I can’t see what you’re doing, pretending to be so helpful? Sisaroth dismounted and offered the woman his assistance, which she gratefully accepted. I can win hearts and minds, too, by being nice.

  The woman spoke the words ‘Young God’ as she thanked him. Crotàgon reacted with a snort of suppressed laughter. The woman mounted her night-mare and rode to catch up with the others.

  ‘Well done,’ he said to Crotàgon, turning back to his dark stallion. I’m not spending longer than absolutely necessary at your side, Crotàgon.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well done for minding the camp while we were away. No one’s missing and we can set off for Tark Draan with our full complement. I hope we don’t have any losses on the way through the cataract.’ Sisaroth placed his foot in the stirrup.

  ‘I hope the losses we have are the right ones,’ the warrior said to Sisaroth’s back. ‘Perhaps I should help them along a bit.’

  So the friendly mask is being tossed aside. Sisaroth took his foot out of the stirrup and turned round. He was expecting an assault. ‘And just what, in your estimation, would constitute right losses?’

  ‘Anything dead? Anything possessed?’ He held his arms away from his sides. ‘They call you all the Young Gods. If you’re wise, you’ll make proper use of the way they respect and worship you, instead of palming them off with some trumped-up demon that’ll only weaken our people.’

  ‘I assume you had a good look for the skull while we were away.’

  Crotàgon nodded. ‘I did. Without success, unfortunately, or else I’d have got rid of it.’ Crotàgon walked past, barging into Sisaroth as if by accident and knocking him slightly off balance to stumble against his night-mare. ‘I shall be biding my time, cîanoi. I’ll be watching you. I’m sure you’ll want to grab hold of the artefact before you go through the waterfall. Then we shall see what we shall see. Not all demons are happy in the water.’ He swung himself up into his saddle and rode off.