The Eighth Power: Book I: The Book of the Living

by Paul Lytle

  “Go, Barrin!” called out Draffor, understanding only just enough to realize that the Thane had betrayed them, and that he would kill them all given the chance. The lord did the last thing the Thane expected – he charged. A simple and sudden push upon the sword’s flat moved the weapon out of the way, and the noble was upon the warrior. Iylin looked wide-eyed at the event, then turned to look farther outside, where an armed gathering, made up of ern and men alike, were advancing upon the building. His hand became taunt around the clothing in his arms, but still he only stared, confused as to what was happening.

  The farmer started forward to help his lord, but backed away suddenly. Draffor had the Thane’s arm pinned, but was struggling. And then, suddenly, he let go, and the surprise threw the Baron’s man off-balance, and the sword slipped from his hand. Draffor reached for the blade, and though struck by the man’s armored hand from behind, grabbed onto the hilt. The Thane rose up, but Lord Draffor drove the weapon into his chest.

  He turned to Iylin and repeated, “Go! Go to the Baron. His soldier might have betrayed us here, but he never would. Put yourself in no one’s hands but his. Go!”

  The dark forces were coming upon the landowner, yet so were the men from the town. They had heard the battle and had come with weapons ready. But Barrin wouldn’t see how the battle turned out. He darted back into his house and through the back window, out away from the town and toward the fields. The wheat was only weeks from being harvested, and so it stood tall that Autumn, despite the seemingly ever-present drought, and Iylin ducked with his child into the high stalks. Ayrim began to cry, and Barrin couldn’t help but curse. What he expected of the child in such a frantic moment, he couldn’t say, but he needed to escape, and the loud wails would not likely help him.

  He cut through the fields, ever hearing sounds like thunder and whistling around him, though whether the wind or the enemy, he did not know. There was a swishing, a rustling about the area, dancing within his ears. One moment he was convinced it was Serren, and another, the ern. Lastly (and he thought this one most likely), he thought he heard Tarite. The God of the Dead did not truly come to collect passed spirits, for that was Serren’s duty, but in that field, the black-clothed deity seemed more appropriate. He had no time to consider how years of religious teaching could be overcome in a moment of fear, and he was not one to seriously consider such topics anyway, but Tarite was foremost in his mind, and he shivered.

  The farmer sprinted parallel to the town, pushing his way through the crops like a knife through bread, and leaving just as noticeable a trail. Behind him he heard a sound, and there was no mistaking it this time. He dived to the side as a mounted ern came at him, galloping over where the man had just been. Iylin rolled over and climbed to his feet, ever clutching his terrified and screaming child to his chest, and the horse was turning back around. He only caught sight of the enemy when the wind turned the stalks a certain way, but it was enough.

  Why did I leave my sword behind? he wondered, but could not go back. He would have to get to Saparen Castle unarmed. He turned radically in a different direction, the noises he and his son making as clear a trail as the physical one left by bend stalks of wheat.

  The ern followed, his stead much quicker than Barrin was upon his feet. For a while they danced in the fields, the horse coming upon Iylin just before the man turned another direction, giving Barrin just a few more seconds to escape. Ayrim was wailing, and the cries were like a beacon for the pale beast behind them. But still Barrin ran, and he ran until his lungs burned with every breath, and until his legs screamed just as loudly as his son did, so great was the pain. There did not seem a way out of the dance, save the most distasteful way imaginable, but he would seek another way until his last breath.

  And then Barrin had an idea, and he almost stopped running at the epiphany. It was dangerous, to be sure, but no more so than the situation already was. If it didn’t work, though, he would never forgive himself. If it didn’t work – but it had to. He couldn’t outrun the horse, or outmaneuver it for long. He had to defeat this ern, or die trying.

  He laid Ayrim upon the ground, the boy still crying as loudly as his little lungs would let him. With tearful well-wishes, the father retreated, disappearing into the stalks only a step away. The shadows and field engulfed him, and only the bent plants gave a hint as to where he went.

  The ern approached upon the horse, its sword brandished. At first, it was hurrying toward the sound, but then stopped. The father was nowhere to be seen. Only the child remained. The ern chuckled as he saw the boy. Did the man think he would be spared by this offering?

  But then Barrin was upon the creature, leaping from the concealing crops and into the cold, damp skin of the ern. The two fell from over the horse, and the spooked animal leapt forward and out of the way. Together the ern and man collided with the soil, and the combatants grunted at the jolt. The ern pushed upward, throwing its powerful hands into Iylin’s chest, but the farmer struck downward with his fist, and the latter prevailed. The ern collapsed backward a moment, stunned, and it was then that Barrin realized that the ern had dropped its sword.

  Draffor was able to do this against a Thane, thought the farmer as he lunged forward toward the weapon, the thought giving him strength. But the ern went for it as well, and, intertwined, the two caught each other just before the rusty hilt, and the skirmish began anew. The ern, though seemingly frail, had great strength, and it threw its entire body into its enemy, and both rolled backward, but this time with Iylin on the bottom. The ern threw two punches, connecting soundly with each, and the human’s nose splattered blood.

  The monster scurried away then, and, for a moment, the dazed Barrin thought he had forced the ern to retreat, but then he remembered the sword that waited only a few paces off. He leapt to his feet just in time to see the ern’s hand close over the iron hilt, and the farmer went at his pale enemy with full speed. The ern turned with a dark grin, but Iylin was already upon it, and the sword in its hand mattered none. Together, once again, they fell, but this time the sword became so twisted in the fray that it tasted flesh, and the ern impaled itself upon the weapon.

  Barrin wasn’t yet sure that it was over. He rose to a kneeling position, and waited for the ern to get up again. It didn’t. Slowly, he reached down and placed his hand on the sword’s hilt, and with a jerk the weapon came loose, and still the abomination did not stir.

  And then, though the sound had been continuous throughout the battle, Iylin heard his son’s cry as though for the first time. He wiped off the blade and returned to where he left the child. On the way he wondered if the scared horse hadn’t stepped on him, or, in the battle, they had accidently rolled over him. But neither had happened. The boy was still there, safe, at least for the moment.

  The widower picked up his son and set off again, and this time it was he who followed tracks. The ern’s horse probably hadn’t gone far, for it was an animal trained for battle, even if it was trained by the evil ern, and so the man found the trail through the wheat and chased after the beast. Sure enough, he found the horse only a few score yards away, waiting for its master. Its master wouldn’t return, but Barrin would make good use of a good steed. He mounted bareback, as the ern had ridden, and they set off again, galloping generally westward through the fields of grain, toward the Castle of Saparen.

  Chapter 15

  For a full day did Barrin ride, resting only when the horse threatened to collapse in exhaustion. He did not eat nor sleep, but galloped with a singular purpose: to reach the castle before the outlaws and ern caught up with him. Fortunately, the horse was strong, seemed willing enough, and pushed for long periods when a lesser horse would have fallen to the side. Yes, the ern’s animal was strong, and well behaved, for even with only one hand upon the reins did Barrin have full control over the horse. With his other hand, Barrin cradled the child as best he could. A lesser animal would have dropped them both, but
this horse kept the journey relatively comfortable. Perhaps the ern were better at training beasts than people had assumed.

  So they went, over the low valleys of the Saparian Barony, southwest along the bank of the thin Tarmine River, which giggled on its trip from the lake that lay beside the castle and toward the sea, which was exactly the opposite direction that the travelers rode. The land in that area was so near to the level of the stream that, under heavy rain, the water would almost immediately overflow and flood the entire area. But too much water was not often feared in that land, and the low ground provided easy irrigation.

  On the other hand, so shallow was the river that it occasionally dried up completely in a drought. More people worried about that than the floods. There was evidence to the south of a much wider riverbed that had once been, but the river had rerouted itself at some point and become a stream along the way. In the time of Barrin’s ride, it seemed that the stream would sooner become a dry gully than a river once again.

  Because of the water, several fields sat near to the river, and though trees crowded against the stream itself, few other vegetation in the area was natural. As far as Iylin could see along the narrow dirt road that bordered the Tarmine were crops, set into neat rows that ran perpendicular to the river, and therefore the road itself.

  It shouldn’t have even been called a road, and, in truth, it did not have an official name, except that the people of Lanshire referred to it as “the Way to Saparen.” What was called a dirt road was really a path worn by travelers so that a dirt path had been formed. But few went the way to Saparen from the northeast, since only a few scattered villages were there, each about the size of Lanshire. A better road came from the south, and an even better one, built by the throne, came from the north.

  But it was on that little path, the Way to Saparen, that Barrin Iylin rode that day. There was no breeze, and the sky was cloudless, but the early Autumn air was cool enough, and Barrin was as comfortable as he could be, having ridden upon a horse the entire night.

  The farmer kicked the horse, trying to get a little more speed, but the animal neighed in protest, finally worn out by the hard journey. “Fine,” said Barrin, pulling on the reins. “We can rest for a few minutes.”

  He dismounted, his sleeping son cradled in his arm, while the horse walked down to the stream for a drink. Iylin thought it a good idea, so got one himself, only after the dirty horse was done, and a little upstream from where the animal had been. An ern had sat upon it, after all, so he couldn’t be too careful. Even riding on the now tainted horse was a risk, if the tales in taverns were to be believed, but it was a necessary one. He wasn’t sure what might happen to him, sitting where an ern had sat before him, but he was rather certain that there was some curse involved.

  The water was cool and refreshing, and he got Ayrim to drink a little. The boy was waking gradually and calmly. It amazed the father that his son had slept on such a trip. He envied the boy for that. Barrin himself didn’t imagine that he would get much rest over the next day. There was still some distance to go before he would be able to relax.

  They sat under the shade of a great oak that sat partially in the water, its branches hanging over the road and river both, and providing shade for passerbys such as these two: father and son.

  “I wonder what happened to them,” Barrin said, thinking on the little village. There weren’t too many of the raiders, but enough. He thought of Lord Draffor’s bravery, and tried to pray for the man’s safety, but found that his prayers were dry and unmoving. They had fought for him, so how could he then pretend holiness and pray for them? He could have just handed over the child and saved them all. No, he couldn’t have done that. Not even Lord Draffor could do that, and Ayrim wasn’t even his boy.

  “More sacrifice for you,” said the elder, looking at his son, who was being entertained by a butterfly that had lit upon a blade of grass. “Are you worth it?”

  “Jost!” cried out the boy abruptly, and Barrin’s mouth dropped in surprise. The child had spoken! Even in such a time was his heart warmed at the word, but then he thought about what Ayrim had said, and wondered how he knew the name.

  “Josette,” repeated the father, his tone melancholy. “I suppose I do speak of her enough for that to be your first word. It should have been ‘ma.’ But then, neither of us can help that now.”

  He brought his son close to him, embracing him as tightly as he dared with such a fragile boy. After a moment, he said, “I’m not doing very well with you, am I? I’m trying, Ayrim, I am trying.”

  When they had rested long enough, Barrin remounted the horse, his son cradled once more in his arm, and they were once again on the road. They had ridden far in a day, and if they were able to keep the pace, Barrin knew that they would reach the gate of Saparen by sundown.

  What he didn’t know was that five ern were but a mile behind him.

  Chapter 16

  The river sat lower into the land the farther west Barrin rode, and sharp but shallow declines, dipping perhaps a foot to the water’s surface, lined the banks. The trees were scarcer in that area, but the fields more prominent, for there was the ground softer than it was nearer to Lanshire, and Barrin knew that he was drawing close to Saparen. An hour or so more, and he would arrive. The sun was sinking before him, and her tip had already touched the horizon, no more to be seen until Ignar could carry her across the underside of the world from the west back to the east, and then to hurl her back across. It was his daily race, for he would leap from cloud to cloud in pursuit of the sun, which was, of course, Serren, arriving in the evening in time to catch her and carry her upon his massive back to the eastern dawn. Barrin wasn’t sure what Ignar did on cloudless days, but deities had their ways, and a simple farmer need not know all of them.

  The road before Iylin narrowed, and harvested fields, which had been sitting empty beside him for the previous several miles, waiting for the planting season, changed abruptly to thick brown wheat, not yet cut. Barrin frowned. He much preferred the open fields, where he could see around him for some distance. The wheat fields only left visible a narrow tunnel along the river, and the rest remained hidden.

  Ayrim gurgled slightly, and his father looked down. “Not long now,” he said, and pressed the horse a little faster, partially because of anticipation, partially of anxiety.

  His anxiety was not unfounded. The wheat beside him seemed to part with a sudden rustle, and out came an ern, mounted upon a great black steed and a blade in hand. Barrin’s own brown horse bucked and neighed, and Iylin ducked down, wrapping his free hand around the animal’s neck. The ern did not attack, but even if he had, the sudden movements of its foe would have caused the sword to swing too wide. But it held back, waiting for a better opportunity.

  The horse backed away and settled, and when Barrin looked forward again, he saw two more ern there, each horsed, and a quick look back, had he taken it, would have revealed yet another pair. But he didn’t look back. He hadn’t the time. His horse kicked once more, but Iylin controlled the animal, and urged it forward. The ern moved as well, squeezing the human within the circle, but, charging into an immediate gallop, Barrin’s horse rushed forward, then turned suddenly around, cut between two of the ern and into the fields.

  The monsters each took a swipe at the coming farmer, but Barrin ducked low on the horse’s back, and the swords cut nothing but air. Iylin turned the horse back onto the road, trying to use the path for speed, since Ayrim’s renewed wails would forbid them from simply hiding. Barrin might have beaten one in combat, but not this many of them at once. Ern were not typically very skilled with weapons, but they were strong, and they knew how to work together in a fight. He would have to outrun them.

  And so he was upon the road again, and the horse ran as though it knew that its life depended on speed. The ern were behind him, and with each glance back he saw their thunderous pursuit. They rode as a group, their swords raised and rea
dy, and the blades shown brightly red in the dusk. Faster, Barrin urged the horse, driving his heels into the animal’s sides. Two of the ern turned off the trail, back into the hidden fields, and Iylin cringed. He couldn’t know where they would emerge, so his only hope was to stay ahead of them.

  Further upon the dirt trail did the abominations pursue, and the land became as a blur to Barrin. He wasn’t sure it was from the speed or simply weariness, but he was no longer certain where he was or how far he had to ride. He would eventually reach the bridge before the castle, and the bridge would be guarded, but how long would that take? Was he a mile away, or ten? The difference might be between life and death. Neither he nor his horse would be able to travel much farther, and falling short of Saparen would prove deadly.

  And then disaster struck. Without warning or explanation, the road beneath the farmer and his horse began to crumble and fall away, creating a chasm just a step before him. The steed stumbled, but caught itself and kept running. Thank the gods, thought Barrin. The worst thing that could happen at that moment would be for the horse to break a leg.

  But what had happened? The human risked a look back, but he was going too fast to really get a good look at what had caused the hole in the road. Had it always been there, and had he simply noticed it too late? No, for in another few steps he saw the path before him tear apart, forming an ever-widening gully before him. The horse didn’t hesitate a moment, but leapt over the torn earth and kept going. Barrin’s heart began to pound ever more, and terror gripped him so tightly that he could not breathe.

  Did the ern have Earth Magic? Such a thing was impossible, for ern could not Invoke, and yet what else could explain it? There was some dark art at play there, and he didn’t understand it.

  His thoughts distracted him too much, and he didn’t notice until it was almost too late as a massive horse stepped into his path from the fields. One of them had overcome him! The ern upon it was as a ghost, but once again Barrin ducked out of the way, and the horse leapt into the river on instinct. The splash sprayed mist over the rider for a long moment, and the world was lost to him, and yet the animal seemed to know where it was going, if no one else did, and it galloped faithfully forward, just out of reach of the coming ern. Once again had the prey avoided his hunters, but both times had been little more than luck, and luck tended to dissipate after a time.