Dark Paths

by Markus Heitz

  But what is normal anyway, down here in Phondrasôn? Sisaroth was at the head of the column together with Tirîgon. It would have attracted too much attention if he had checked out the provisions wagon to keep an eye on the box that held the skull. Now his brother knew about the hiding-place, he was afraid to betray himself further by looking directly at its location. Crotàgon has always got his eyes on me.

  Shucto reined in his horse on the bank of the lake. ‘We’re here. This is the place. If you go into the water and let yourselves be drawn up in the cascade you will end up on the surface. The cycle is nearly through. Then the current will change direction and the waterfall will come down rather than going up. It will be another two thousand heartbeats until the next change after that. Make your preparations.’ He pulled his ugly mount away from the water and was about to ride off, his grisly sacks dangling from his saddlebow. The trophy heads thudded together as he swung round.

  ‘One moment.’ Sisaroth noticed some large cracks in the roof of the cave. Rocks and large stones occasionally fell from where the waterfall surged in. He grabbed the barbarian’s reins. ‘What’s the significance of that?’

  Shucto seemed to be in a terrible hurry to get away. He scowled. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Looks to me as if the roof might cave in,’ Tirîgon said. He had noticed the cracks, too. ‘The constant changes, and perhaps the magic, are damaging the rock formation here.’

  ‘Balodil could lecture us on that,’ laughed Sisaroth. ‘We could do with him for once, but where is he when you need him?’ In the best place he could possibly be.

  A large lump of rock broke away from the roof and crashed into the water, causing a wave to surge out and cover the night-mares’ hooves.

  ‘It’s not going to hold for long,’ Tirîgon guessed. ‘Look! It’s already changing direction!’

  In the blink of an eye the waterfall had altered its current and was behaving as one would expect a waterfall to do. The thundering at the base made it impossible for the column of refugees to hear themselves if they did not shout. Water vapour and spray soaked their clothing and settled on their weapons and baggage.

  ‘We ought to get through on the next cycle,’ Tirîgon shouted, not taking his eyes off the damaged roof. ‘I think we’re in trouble otherwise. The cascade isn’t operating properly. I don’t think we can rely on having more than one attempt at crossing through. Unless you can do something with one of your spells, cîanoi, to repair the roof?’

  Sisaroth had already been considering his options. ‘Too dangerous. The water itself seems to be imbued with magic and it’s impossible to predict the effect of a clash.’

  Shucto tugged at the reins. ‘Good luck. May the gods be at your side. I must leave.’

  ‘Why are you in such a hurry?’ Sisaroth kept hold of the reins. You knew perfectly well the cave was unstable. ‘Why not stay and keep us company? We would appreciate it. The Zhadar commanders are gone. Your people are safe now.’ But that’s immaterial, isn’t it?

  ‘I’ve got to get back. We’re expecting an army to arrive to march on the mercenaries. And I want to take these trophies home to show everyone.’ Shucto looked round. ‘Where’s Firûsha? I’d like to say goodbye and wish her well.’

  ‘She is making sure our night-mare tracks are removed,’ Tirîgon replied. ‘The iron shoes leave burn marks on the rock. She’ll be setting fire to the tunnel to eradicate our tracks.’

  Shucto’s eyes grew large. ‘But how am I supposed to get back, then?’

  ‘Not at all, really. You’ve served your purpose now.’ Sisaroth let go of the bridle. Tirîgon drew his sword out of its fastenings and stabbed Shucto through the chest. The blade made a half-turn. ‘Your death bears the name of Tirîgon,’ he intoned, looking the dying man straight in the eyes. ‘And I shall be the last thing you ever see.’

  Shucto slid from the saddle with a groan. The movement pulled the sword free of his body. He landed on the ground with a thud.

  ‘Follow your master, hideous fish-horse.’ Tirîgon severed the creature’s neck and it collapsed, burying the barbarian under its mass.

  Come on, Sister-heart. Where are you? Sisaroth looked back at the entrance to the cave. ‘It’s time Firûsha caught up. I have the feeling our Shucto took us the long way round. I expect he was hoping the roof would fall in with us under it.’

  ‘Firûsha will be all right. She had an excellent fighting tutor, even if you can’t stand him.’ Tirîgon studied the copper-coloured blood on his sword. ‘Look how shiny it is! That must have happened when the life-juices of the two species mixed together. I’ll take a sample with me. I can use it on my carvings.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll tell the others to get ready.’ Two thousand heartbeats will soon pass. Sisaroth was pleased his brother would be temporarily occupied by his aesthetic pursuit; this way Sisaroth could do all the organising and check on the skull’s box away from prying eyes.

  Sisaroth rode along the column, issuing instructions.

  Leather bags and pig bladders were inflated and provisions securely stowed in such a way that they would float to the surface when the current pulled them through to the Moon Pond. Nothing was left to chance.

  He approached Crotàgon towards the end of the column. He was too close to the provisions wagon holding the skull for Sisaroth’s taste. Does he know? Did he hear Tirîgon and me talking about it? His ears can’t be that good.

  Carmondai was perched on top of the box, an open notebook in his hands. ‘What a moving sight,’ he called down from his vantage point. ‘This is such a significant moment in our race’s history. As good as exterminated, we were, but now we shall rise again out of our place of banishment, to regain power. An actual re-birth.’

  ‘With the help of the Infamous One, we shall succeed,’ Sisaroth replied. He could have bitten his tongue. Why did I say that? The last thing he wanted was to provoke Crotàgon now. He vowed silently to him: Once we are in Tark Draan, it will be over. You will be the sacrifice I offer to Shëidogîs and he will bathe in your blood and your life force.

  ‘Indeed. And we shall be accompanied by the Young Gods,’ Carmondai added happily. ‘It’s a title that I’ve established will go down in history.’

  Sisaroth raised a hand to acknowledge his words and then turned to Crotàgon. I have to get him to move away. Otherwise I can’t take the relic out. ‘Please ride to the front and check on our progress. As soon as the cascade switches direction, the first ones need to go straight in, even if I’m not there. Your presence will calm them if they’re feeling nervous about the venture.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you and your brother go in first?’ he protested. ‘The honour of leading the entry to Tark Draan must be yours!’ Crotàgon placed his broad hands on one of the heavy boxes of food. ‘I’m needed back here. We have to accelerate the unloading. Muscle power will help.’

  He knows what I have in mind. ‘You have your orders,’ Sisaroth said coldly, keen as a sharpened blade.

  ‘I don’t take orders from you,’ the warrior replied calmly. ‘I joined you of my own free will. The others may look on you as a Young God, but in my eyes you are nothing but a cowardly murderer, hiding behind lies and deception.’ Crotàgon’s true emotions were hidden. He exercised strong self-control. ‘I am going to work on the unloading and if you try to stop me because of something concealed in one of the boxes, you will have to kill me first to get at it. Do you dare to do that, Sisaroth?’ Crotàgon drew himself up to his full height. ‘It might be problematic to kill one of your own kind with everyone watching; it’s quite different to driving a red-hot knife into the body of a chained victim in a darkened chamber where no one else can see.’

  Sisaroth looked up towards Carmondai, who was busy scribbling his notes. ‘For pity’s sake, don’t write this down!’ he shouted.

  ‘I, on the contrary, would request that you record everything, the whole truth,’ Crotàgon interjected. ‘Our descendants should learn what the cîanoi and his private demon have based
their power on: the sacrifice of his own people’s lives.’ He turned back to the work he was doing and unloaded the first of the many boxes.

  ‘Mind you don’t go too far!’ Sisaroth urged his night-mare forward, to push against the warrior, but then thought better of it. It would be stupid to make the scribe suspicious. When Crotàgon dies I’ve got to show as much surprise as everyone else. And I shall be seen to be mourning him.

  ‘You have already gone too far,’ was Crotàgon’s response.

  There was a cracking noise as two boulders came loose from the roof to crash into the lake, sending up fountains of spray and surging waves.

  ‘The waterfall!’ the call went from mouth to mouth. ‘It’s changing direction! Everyone into the water now! At once! Forget about the luggage. Leave everything behind!’

  That was not a full two thousand heartbeats. Sisaroth cursed out loud and glared at the heavily overloaded wagon. The relic is right at the bottom.

  ‘So what do you do now, cîanoi?’ Crotàgon grinned knowingly.

  Phondrasôn.

  Let the final stage follow, completing my mission. Firûsha took a deep breath and opened the door. Inàste, be at my side!

  She left the hall laughing out loud; this drew the attention of the two guards.

  One she stabbed, the other she kicked, throwing him against the wall so that he let go of his halberd; he flourished his second weapon, a short sword.

  Ramming her blade through his right shoulder, she pinned him to the wall. With her extra-long sword, the man was unable to reach her with his own weapon. ‘You barbarians are such simple creatures,’ she mocked. ‘Do you think the Zhadar doesn’t know what you are up to? I’m to present my master’s compliments. Before the army takes over your ridiculous fortress I killed all your commanders. I shall let you live so that you can report it all. Take this as a warning!’

  The soldier groaned and battered away at the long sword with his puny blade to demonstrate that he was not giving up. ‘We shan’t surrender to anyone! You traitor! What you have done will only make our hatred grow stronger!’

  Excellent. I shall make my message clearer still. Firûsha made use of the powers she was born with, and produced fear to envelop her victim. ‘I shall report to the Zhadar and then go to your own home cave to kill all the children. I won’t stop until I have speared every newborn baby on my sword!’

  The first black waves of fear rushed out of her eyes towards the man – but then a flash of intense light pierced her head, causing unthinkable pain. She screamed. It was as if she had been struck by lightning.

  What was that? She drew back, yanking her sword out of her enemy. She took shelter in the darkest corner.

  She had forgotten the peculiarities of the fortress. It will react to any enchantment that is deployed. That funny feeling I had, the tingling, it wasn’t just excitement. It was magic!

  Her heart was beating fit to burst and she could hardly breathe. Firûsha was trembling like the foliage of an aspen tree and she felt sick. Had she not been wearing gauntlets her sword would surely have slipped from her grasp, her hands were sweating so. I have been given a taste of my own medicine. This terror is three times the strength of what I expelled.

  The injured sentry swapped hands on his sword and retreated, calling for reinforcements. ‘To me! Murder! Murder! The messenger is a traitor!’

  She heard boots approaching and armour clanging.

  His reaction was exactly what she had wanted but she was in no fit state to take on a large number of opponents.

  Every rustle, every movement she heard terrified her. She cowered in the corner where she thought she might be safe. Where are you, my brothers? I need you!

  Soon she was surrounded by armoured barbarians in tunics of various colours. A sea of spear points swirled around her.

  The injured guard told the others the threats she had made and how she had betrayed them. Some of the soldiers hurried into the hall and returned horror-struck and quivering with anger. There was a lot of shouting; curses flew through the air in condemnation of the Zhadar; there was a heated discussion about what the fate of the captured traitor should be.

  I have to eradicate this fright or I’ll never be able to defend myself in combat. I’ll be easier to kill than a wounded gnome. Firûsha calmed herself and attempted to shrug off the paralysis that had taken over her body. She was lucky the soldiers were so conflicted about what should be done; their arguing had won her some time.

  She counted twenty-two barbarians, male and female, surrounding her, and thirteen weapons. I ought to be able to cope. She breathed in and out a few times. I can cope!

  ‘. . . take her to Sojól Keerin. She can stand trial and give evidence that she was sent by the Zhadar,’ said a sensible-looking barbarian.

  ‘Rubbish! She’s already confessed,’ shouted the injured sentry. ‘My word will be sufficient. I say let’s kill her now, before she . . .’

  Firûsha could see in people’s eyes that the decision had been made. Against me. A wise decision, but it comes too late. I am stronger now.

  One of them lunged forward to jab the sharp tip of a halberd through her throat, but she leaped up and pushed herself away from the wall, executing a forward roll in mid-air over the heads of her captors.

  Below her came the sound of metal crashing as their weapons collided, leaving her untouched.

  As she flipped through the air she struck out with her sword, slicing three guards on the backs of their necks, where they wore no armour. She landed in a crouch and attacked the knees of five more with a hefty swipe.

  You ought to have killed me immediately. She whirled round, rising to her full height as she did so, taking her sword in both hands and cutting into the approaching soldiers.

  Her blade laid low several more and then got stuck in the armour of one of the dying.

  Firûsha remained collected, although two solidly built enemies were swiftly bounding towards her. Keeping one hand on the hilt of her sword, she retrieved a throwing disc from its fastenings with the other and tossed it at her foe.

  The circular blade sliced into the leg of one, halting his progress.

  She pushed her foot against the dead man and pulled her sword out of his body.

  His comrade in arms reached the älf-woman and belaboured her with blows that she warded off, ducking down under the broad blade of her sword and using it to protect herself – until she saw the chance to thrust the sharpened end of the cross-guard into her adversary’s hip.

  The barbarian gasped audibly.

  The two of you are too slow for me. Or maybe it’s that I’m too fast for you. With her free hand Firûsha drew her double-edged dagger and stabbed it home through the gap between helmet and body armour. The enemy fell with a gurgle.

  She whirled around to hack at the last opponent, striking through his armour into the collar bone. Not too deep. I don’t want him to die. I must not kill all of them or there’ll be no one to carry the tale. No one to spur the barbarians on against their overlord.

  She pulled her blade out of his neck and ran up the steps. I’ll be able to see from up there how to get back to where my night-mare is.

  Running up the spiral staircase, she found herself on a narrow walkway where she had a good view over the star-shaped fortress and the besieging army.

  The Zhadar’s troops had got into formation. There was a small figure in the middle of the army. It could be the groundling, she thought. It looks like he is holding his pre-written speech. She grinned. The little mountain maggot will be winning over hearts and minds by talking to their money-belts.

  Ten warriors came storming across the courtyard and disappeared into the building. She was spotted by one of the opposite watchtowers and a warning went up.

  ‘Long live the Zhadar!’ Firûsha vaulted over the stone surround with a laugh and landed several paces below on a sloping roof. She surfed across the shingles to the edge, where she took her sword to the tiles and hacked herself a hole to slip thro
ugh.

  She vanished through the newly created opening to find herself in an attic room, with a trapdoor to the building below.

  Not a lot of ways to escape. Pulling up the hatch, she met a soldier coming up the wooden ladder and kicked him in the teeth, sending him flying. It’s a good job these humans are so slow.

  She clambered down. She did not know where she was, but she broke the nearest window and jumped out.

  Firûsha landed on the stable roof and ran along until she reached the edge. From here she could see her night-mare, fighting the barbarians wildly as they did their best to kill it. A large wound gaped open on its flank and there was a stream of blood coming from its neck.

  You will pay for that with your lives. She leaped off the roof without making a sound. She killed three of the warriors before they even knew she was there, and the night-mare’s kick took care of the fourth.

  Firûsha tossed one of the bodies over her shoulder and climbed up into the saddle, storming for the gate which was now closed and barred. ‘Open up!’ she yelled. ‘Open up or I’ll kill him!’ She held her sword at the neck of her pretend hostage. She knew how to manipulate humans. Their weak points were obvious. Soft-hearted and simple-minded. Inàste, make it so this time, too!

  And it happened as she had hoped. The gate was opened for her and she galloped out.

  ‘Long live the Zhadar!’ Firûsha threw down the corpse and directed her night-mare towards the cave entrance. I need to get back to my brothers.

  A shudder went down her spine when she thought of the terror-wave that had struck her back in the fortress. If the barbarians had made use of their opportunity and attacked her when she was in that state, there’d be no more talk of triplets, only twins. The creating spirit was protecting me.

  She had carried out her task. The rest was up to Balodil.

  It looked as if his speech had gone down a storm. Soldiers were cheering and enthusiastic shouts accompanied her ride. Lead them against your ex-master, and die in battle, Balodil! That way you’ll be no more bother to us.