Cornered, the Northman was far more dangerous. But even backed by fear and panic, his injuries took their toll, robbing him of the energy to maintain the fury of his attacks. His breathing came in labored gasps, and blood ran freely from his growing number of wounds, soaking his clothes.
“Give it up. You’re defeated,” Xandor said amid strikes.
The golden flames from the ranger’s blades reflected off Mladen’s wide eyes. “Never! You’ll have to kill me!” As he spoke, the Northman’s cutlasses crashed against Xandor’s defenses.
“I don’t have to kill you. All I need to do is wait,” Xandor replied. The ranger shoved Mladen back using both his blades. Above their heads, the roar of the lion echoed off the walls of the ravine.
Again, Mladen charged. He led with both blades extended, each aimed at Xandor’s head, but at the last second, he dropped his guard. Xandor’s block turned into a thrust and cleanly slipped between two ribs, piercing Mladen’s heart.
Mladen stared up at the ranger as he fell to his knees, his eyes open but unseeing.
Taking a step back, Xandor felt a freezing cold shadow pass over the Northman. Yellow eyes glared out of the darkness with such malevolence it almost became a physical barrier.
Sheathing one of his blades, Xandor reached for the cross around his neck.
The shadowy form ignored the ranger. It dug both its hands into Mladen’s body, wrenching out his heart as if flesh and bone were mere paper. Anchored to the heart was the frail image of the Northman. It screamed and writhed, trying to escape the shadow’s grip, and all Xandor could do was watch. Even shutting his eyes, the image stayed with him.
Then all was quiet, the feeling of malevolence gone.
Xandor opened his eyes and prayed.
* * *
The cat was waiting for Xandor when he reached the top. “You fight well, San Sebek-wy. Are you not going to eat of your prey?”
“He’s only fit for the vultures, sister.”
She thought for a moment, then said, “That was an impressive leap. You would make a good cat.”
“Thank you,” Xandor said. Turning toward the sky, he added, “But I would prefer to stay human!”
The great cat stared at him curiously, but let the comment pass. The two continued silently as Xandor retraced his steps.
* * *
Light emanated from a small stone, enabling Chert to see the rim of his shield. He grabbed it firmly with both hands, placed one foot on the opposite edge, and pulled, slowly bending the warped metal back into a round shape. He raised the shield and eyed it critically, then shook his head in dissatisfaction. It would never be truly round again, and he needed a proper forge to repair the holes caused by the Anak’im’s spiked club. Still, it was all he had for the time being. He would have to make do.
The dwarf was busily hammering the bent and split edges back together around the holes when the ranger materialized out of the darkness.
With a start, Chert yelled, “I hate it when you do that!”
“Sorry. Habit.”
The dwarf surveyed his friend for a moment and asked, “Did you get him?”
When Xandor didn’t answer, Chert stood and said, “Let’s take a look at those wounds.”
They were both silent while the priest bandaged and dressed the ranger’s wounds, healing the more grievous ones. While he worked, Chert studied the ranger, noting the distant look in his eyes. Finally, he asked, “You alright? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
If he weren’t watching so closely, Chert would have missed the slight shake of Xandor’s head. Frowning, he took the glowing stone and directed the light into the man’s eyes for a moment before pulling it away again, watching the pupils respond.
Xandor jerked his head back. “What are you doing? Trying to blind me?”
“No. Just checking for a concussion.”
“What?”
Chert eyed his companion warily. “Were you hit in the head? Come on, let me check you for lumps on that thick skull.”
Pushing the dwarf away gently, Xandor sighed. “No, I wasn’t hit in the head. It’s just . . .” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts before saying seriously, “Something’s out there. Something evil. It took Mladen. I can still see its face.”
Xandor heaved a loud sigh and added, “I’ve fought and killed before, but this—this was different…” He drifted back into silence. From out of nowhere he asked, “Do you ever forget the people you kill?”
Chert shook his head sadly and replied, “No, I remember every single face. Every last breath, it seems. Each one of them was trying to kill me, but their deaths still haunt me. Probably always will.” He eyed the ranger gravely. “What do you think is out there?”
“I don’t know.” The ranger sighed heavily. Shrugging off the phantoms, he stood, looked at the saddlebags, and asked, “What have you been doing?”
“Well, while you were traipsing through the forest, I took care of our large friend there, gathered the dropped weapons, and perused the contents of the horse’s saddlebags.”
“Not bad. I’m glad you thought to retrieve the horse.” At the dwarf’s shamefaced expression, he asked, “You didn’t think about it, did you?”
“No, blast it—Xerxes did! But I did go through the saddlebags!”
Xandor chuckled as they gathered everything together. Once done, he introduced himself to the rouncey. “You can go with us or go your own way. There is danger in both choices, but know that where we go, the danger will only be worse.”
The horse sidled closer and lightly butted the ranger in the chest.
“Alright, you’re going with us,” Xandor responded with a sad smile as he rubbed the horse’s head. They placed the bundle on the new horse, saddled up, and headed down the road at a comfortable pace, the road ahead lit by the priest’s light.
“You look like you were poleaxed,” Chert said, hiding a smile.
“Do not.”
“Do, too.”
* * * * *
Captured (October 25)
Jasper did not know how long he had slept. He woke with a throbbing headache and a mouth that felt like it was full of cotton. Opening his eyes was a mistake. Bright midmorning sunlight flared all about him, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt his surroundings and discovered he was in a small, rectangular cage with cold metal bars. Focusing, he used his other senses. He heard heavy breathing—probably from the others sleeping—he smelled the fresh air of the outdoors, and he heard something move near him. The tiny hairs on his neck rose. Whatever it was made a wet noise, similar to the sound of jelly sliding out of a glass jar.
He peeked through teary eyes and instantly wished he could take it back. In the cage next to him, a gray mass of pulpy flesh writhed and pulsed. Jasper couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like a human elbow stuck out through the folds of its gray skin. The thing shifted slightly, exposing blood-covered tentacles. Underneath were half-eaten remains.
As his vision grew accustomed to the daylight, Jasper spotted other small cages, filled with people, scattered about a clearing. He searched the faces of those near him and found all the teamsters asleep in similar small, metal cages—all except Grendel, Branimir, and Teodor. Looking further, it wasn’t just the teamsters who had been put in cages. He counted at least six more humans—two adults and four children. Blood ran freely from their noses and mouths.
On the opposite side, three more cages stood clustered by themselves. Two held prisoners with long, lean bodies—their long hair the color of corn silk. Despite being emaciated and severely dehydrated, the style of their clothes and pale facial features made them unmistakable: they were wood elves. The ruined remains of the third cage stood empty.
The two elves did not have the same symptoms as the humans, but they, too, seemed to be suffering from some type of illness. Their skin had a gray, unhealthy pallor, and their bodies seemed soft, almost mushy. At least, that was t
he only way Jasper could describe it.
Jasper turned and looked a little harder at the mess in the cage next to him; the more he stared, the more the pieces fit together. He had found one of the missing horsemen.
Beyond the cages, Jasper saw they were in a small grassy clearing surrounded by the barren trees of the Haunted Wood. There were no signs of people or guards. Nor were there any signs of the wagons, the soap, or the road. They'd been abandoned.
Checking his cage, he found a metal bowl filled with water and was struck by a terrible thirst. He reached down to pick up the bowl and was about to drink from it when he heard someone say in a hoarse voice, “Don’t.”
Jasper stopped and tried to find the speaker. The voice spoke the language of the elves, which narrowed his choices. One of them motioned weakly with his hand and repeated, “Don’t drink it; it will put you back to sleep.”
The noise must have attracted the creature next door, because it stopped eating. It didn’t have a head or anything that resembled ears, but it was poised as if listening.
Clearing his mind, Jasper reached deep inside and found his magic. He focused his energy on the locking mechanism of his door, working it through the keyhole and around the tumblers until the lock clicked.
The creature must have sensed something was amiss because it slunk out of the large opening formed in the bars of its cage. Still groggy, Jasper tried to get out of his cage first, but the two ended up emerging at roughly the same time.
There was no head or eyes or any other sensory organs, just a writhing mass of flesh. It reared up and two of the tentacles lashed out, striking the mage hard in the chest. Jasper flew backward and bounced off a nearby cage.
The creature followed up with another crushing blow; this time, however, Jasper was ready for it and shaped the air in front of him into a shield. The tentacle smacked sickeningly against it, leaving traces of bloody mucus.
Grimacing, Jasper held his ground against the assault, using his low center of gravity to help keep his balance. He concentrated on one of the rings on his right hand and yelled, “Puros!” Instantly, a lance of yellow fire leapt out and struck the creature.
Tiny mouths opened along the underside of the tentacles, and a thousand screams echoed in the clearing as the creature flipped into the air. It landed several yards away with a squelching noise that made Jasper cringe.
Flailing with its tentacles, the thing struggled to right itself. Mouths opened and closed, spitting black mucus. Steam hissed from a gaping hole near where two of its tentacles connected to the main body, but the wound quickly filled with black slime. It sealed, without leaving a scar.
Advancing cautiously, Jasper watched the thing heal while he prepared another spell from a ring on his left hand.
The creature righted itself and struck again, this time lashing out with three of its tentacles. Jasper deflected the first two with his shield of air, but the third snuck past his defenses and wrapped tightly around his leg. Tiny mouths secreted acidic spittle, and pain coursed through the mage’s nervous system as they slowly digested his leg.
Compartmentalizing the pain, he made a fist with his left hand, focused on the ring, and yelled, “ēliou!” A bright white light speared downward into the tentacle, and the gray flesh peeled away as it melted, revealing a black mass of quivering muscle.
Sparks flew as Jasper grabbed his left hand with his right and intensified the light, moving it farther up the tentacle and cutting deeper into the body. The creature screamed in agony and let go. It quickly retreated, leaving a black trail of slime and mucus.
Looking down, Jasper saw acid had eaten through his pants. His exposed leg had tiny red circles where the mouths had fed.
Without a sound, the creature launched itself at Jasper, and flew through the air, catapulted by its tentacles. Spreading its tentacles wide, it blocked out the sun, and Jasper watched the mouths open hungrily.
“Jasper!”
Hearing his name, he looked around and caught sight of a long, wooden staff, blackened at one end, hurtling toward him. Reaching out, he concentrated and called the staff’s name.
The creature landed just as Jasper’s fingers closed around the wooden shaft. The impact knocked him to the ground, and the creature’s tentacles wrapped around him in an enormous hug. Its gray folds of flesh bulged and pulsated, hiding any view of the mage.
A loud clap of thunder echoed from beneath the creature. White smoke billowed out from under the tentacles as the central portion of its body exploded upward. Black and gray body parts flew through the air, covering the surrounding trees.
Surrounded by a smoky haze, Jasper sat up and, dripping black mucus, crawled through the newly-created hole while behind him, what remained of the creature’s body collapsed upon itself and dissolved into the earth.
“Take that, you bastard!” Jasper yelled in defiance.
Xandor and Chert ran toward the mage, armed and ready for action.
“What was that?” Xandor demanded.
Jasper bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping deep breaths. He held up a finger. “Give me a moment.”
“Where’s Grendel?” Chert asked, looking among the cages.
Jasper remained quiet, not sure what to say. The dwarf stood before the mage, giving him a dark look.
“Chert, I don’t know what happened to Grendel.”
The dwarf turned and grasped Xandor’s wrists, fear and anxiety written clearly in his eyes. “We have to rescue him.”
“We will. But first, we need to see about saving these people.”
Chert removed his helmet and began checking the people in the cages while Xandor waited for the mage to catch his breath. The dwarf looked at the teamsters first, quickly diagnosing ailments and injuries.
As soon as he came across Lucky, he wrenched open the door to the cage with a word of prayer. He knelt and unwrapped the bandage to check the seriousness of the wound. Fresh blood poured out and soaked the youth’s clothes. Chert pressed his hands hard against Lucky’s side, closed his eyes, and prayed to the Eternal Father to heal him. In response, the teenager’s skin glowed with a bright, blue light, and the wound closed, leaving an angry red line. Not wanting to take any chances, Chert wrapped the wound and continued praying until he knew for certain the boy would survive.
“Sleep. Heal,” Chert whispered to the youth when he was done. Next, he moved to the other prisoners, but when he saw the children, he stopped.
“Hey, take a look at this.”
Both Xandor and Jasper turned and walked toward Chert. On the way, Jasper whispered, “katharizōn,” and the black mucus covering him disappeared, leaving him looking cleaner and fresher. As they approached the unconscious human prisoners, they noticed clumps of their hair had fallen out. Oozing blisters and ulcers covered most of their bodies. Symbols written in what looked like black ink covered their bodies.
Xandor asked Chert and Jasper, “Can either of you read it?”
They both shook their heads.
“It doesn’t appear to be arcane in nature,” Jasper said as he studied the markings, still a little out of breath.
“It’s not arcane.”
All three turned simultaneously and saw a pale image standing next to the wood elf cages. It was the same ghost who had warned them about the Anak’im.
“What is it, then?” Jasper asked.
“It’s the language of Ka’Sehkuur.”
The three of them stared blankly at the ghost. Beside him, one of the elves coughed and raised his arm to wipe his mouth. Everyone noticed the black smear left behind on the back of his gray-skinned hand. They looked at the stuff dripping off the trees and back toward the elf. It was the same black mucus.
They approached the ghost cautiously, but it never moved from the sickly elf’s side. Looking closer, Xandor could see a resemblance between the two.
“Chert, let’s see what we can do.”
While Chert worked on the lock to the elf’s cage, Xandor quickly inspected
the elf in the other cage and saw he, too, drooled a small trail of black mucus from the corner of his mouth.
The empty cage sat next to the elf cages, and they could see a hole had been cut through the metal bars as something had eaten its way out. Inspecting the ground in front of the cage, a trail of black mucus led to the teamster’s cages.
The sickly wood elf pulled back his shirt and revealed more of the black markings. “He’s turning into whatever that was I just fought,” Jasper concluded.
The ghost nodded, and his eyes filled with hatred. Chert stopped working on the lock, a concerned look on his face. “Do you know how to stop it?”
“No,” he said simply.
“What is it?”
“A dwolma.”
“A what?”
“One of the beasts of Ka’Sehkuur.”
Xandor returned and motioned for Chert to continue opening the cage. The dwarf gave him a questioning look but bent to finish. With a loud grating sound, the door swung open.
Stooping down, Xandor gently helped the elf out of the cage and gave him some of the water from his canteen. The elf’s body slouched, as if his bones had lost their hardness and become spongy. The ranger had to help hold up his head while he drank. He tried to gulp down the water, but Xandor held him to just a few sips. When the wood elf finished, Xandor laid him on the ground so Chert could begin his examination.
Chert closed his eyes in prayer and placed a hand on the sickly elf’s arm. The elf screamed and Chert drew back his hand as if stung, leaving behind an ugly red mark. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do for you,” the dwarf said quietly.
Standing, Xandor asked the elven ghost, “What can you tell us about this Ka’Sehkuur?”
“He’s known amongst the humans as Cayn. One of the original brothers.”
Xandor, Chert, and Jasper stared at each other.
“Cayn? As in the brother of Havel?”
“Yes.”
Seized by a fit of choking, the sickly elf vomited the water. Chert sat him up so he wouldn’t drown. He looked at Xandor and said, “He doesn’t have much time.”
Son of Cayn Page 23
