Child Of Storms (Volume 1)

by Alexander DePalma

  “It buys us time,” Braemorgan said. “And that is precisely the resource we may be most in need of right now. A few days or a week, it hardly matters. Time is time. We will rally what men we have left for an attack.”

  They went ahead with Wulfgrim’s plan. As Jorn and the elves made their way south, six hundred soldiers headed north. It weighed heavy on Jorn’s mind that he was not going with them, but he was barely able to even ride a horse let alone command men in battle. He found himself glancing to his right as he rode along, in the direction of The Westmark. Defeat enraged him, the very novelty of it intolerable to his sense of honor..

  _____

  Their journey south the first day was quiet, and it passed without major occurrence. On the column plodded over the hills in silence through the never-ending snow, grateful to go unnoticed thus far by the enemy.

  Rhydderch and his elves kept to themselves, ignoring the others and whispering amongst themselves in their strange tongue. Among the elves, only Falanos ever spoke to any of the non-elves, tending to Jorn’s shoulder carefully. He seemed pleased with how the lad was faring.

  “It still hurts like all hell,” Jorn told the elf.

  “It could be months before it is truly healed,” the healer said, carefully changing the dressing as they sat close to the campfire that evening.

  “Just keep it up with that wormwood broth,” Jorn said. “What’s it called again?”

  “Flannae,” Falanos said.

  “Flannae,” Jorn repeated. “Grang’s teeth! That stuff tastes like shit. But it makes my shoulder feel better.”

  “As well it should. It is a most ancient remedy.”

  They camped that night at the bottom of a deep cleft, setting up their tents around a small campfire invisible fifty feet away thanks to the cliffs and boulders all around. It provided some warmth, at least, and they huddled close around it. A flavorless dinner of salted pork and dried cheese was eaten without enthusiasm.

  The elf guards spent a tense night on watch. They could hear the howling of wolves in the distance and one of them spotted what looked like a wolf or perhaps a wild boar passing by a hundred yards from the perimeter of the camp. In the morning, they found a thin set of tracks in the snow where the guard saw the animal.

  “Many wolves roam these hills,” Rhydderch said, staring intently at the tracks. “But I do not think we have anything to worry about. No wolf would approach a party this size, no matter how hungry he might be.”

  Ironhelm said nothing, crouching down next to the tracks and studying them carefully as the other returned back to camp. Each print was at least six inches across.

  “Ach! Tha’s some wolf!” he muttered.

  _____

  The second day of their journey began with the climbing of a steep hill hundreds of feet high. Their path led up the side of the hill in a twisting, rising pattern until it finally reached the nearly-barren top. Only a few sparse trees grew there amid several large boulders covered in ice. Perched on the high branches of one of the trees sat a dozen huge crows. Every member of the party looked at them uneasily, the crows sitting there silently uttering hardly a caw as the column passed under them.

  “Grang’s teeth! I don’t like their looks one bit,” Jorn said.

  “Damned winged devils, tha’ they are,” Ironhelm muttered.

  Morag looked the birds over carefully. She hoped they were normal crows and not in league with the dark wizards of the enemy, evil familiars set to watch the hills. She did not sense any magic about them, but there was no way for her to tell with any certainty.

  The path descended next into a narrow wooded valley and crossed a frozen stream before rising sharply yet again then following a long path for some miles. At the top of the next small mountain they broke for a bland, forgettable lunch.

  The weather remained clear that afternoon as they continued south, still apparently undetected by the enemy. Once or twice they heard the sounds of wolves howling in the distance behind them. The elves peered into the woods in all directions, watching and listening carefully.

  More howls echoed off the hillside from the opposite side of the earlier howls.

  “They are to either side of us,” one of the elves said.

  “They would never molest a group this size,” Rhydderch said. “Such a thing would be unheard of.”

  They continued through the snow, following the twisting path along a small stream which ran along the bottom of a steep drop-off to their right. One of the elves at the front of the column shouted something and pointed off to the left through a thick cluster of beech. At first, Jorn didn’t see anything, but then a bit of movement drew his eye. Something that looked like an immense gray wolf was moving parallel to them.

  Rhydderch shouted something in Elven. The elf seated next to him pulled back on his bow and took careful aim. He fired the arrow, somehow aiming it through a maze of trees and rocks and hitting the wolf in the hind quarters. The creature let out a yelp and tried to turn and run off, but two other elves fired upon it. One arrow struck the animal in the back, the other in one of its legs. The creature limped off into the woods, a pair of elves riding off after it.

  They returned a few minutes later dragging the dead wolf behind one of the horses. It was a large animal, nearly two hundred pounds of sinewy muscle and teeth. Its eyes were bright orange, now glazed over in death.

  “Grang’s teeth!” Jorn gasped.

  “That’s no normal wolf,” Morag said. “But some creature of evil.”

  “It is one of the uthin-nor,” Rhydderch said, scowling. “Malicious, evil wolves in the service of Kaas. I have not seen any uthin-nor in these parts for longer than I can recall. They are bold. They will attack when they feel ready.”

  “And we’ve still a long way to go yet,” Ironhelm said. “Ach. We won’t reach the river before late afternoon tomorrow, we won’t.”

  “Then we had best not tarry,” Rhydderch said curtly.

  “Damned devil crows,” Ironhelm said to Jorn, scanning the trees above them as they resumed their ride. “Ach. I told you they always bring evil, laddie, didn’t I?”

  _____

  They camped at the base of a steep hillside and made a single campfire. It was just as cold as ever, and to make it worse a brisk wind began to blow. Rhydderch ordered walls of snow built around the camp.

  “We shall need every advantage,” he said. “If the uthin-nor come tonight.”

  And so the elves rolled and packed the snow into clumps and piled it around the tiny cluster of tents until a chest high wall surrounded them and their horses. They then took water melted in pots over the fire and pored it over the walls, soon turning them into barriers of hard ice. Ironhelm inspected the final result, grunting his approval. In less than an hour they’d built a solid stockade around their camp. Tents, horses, and campfire all fit inside. As an added bonus, the walls kept out most of the wind.

  They ate their bland dinner quickly, saying little and keeping close to the fire. Even in the cold, wet snow, a wave of Morag’s hand and the uttering of few words of magic set damp logs suddenly to roaring flame. They built another campfire to help warm the horses, covering the poor animals in heavy wool blankets against the night’s chill.

  “I’ll command the guards of the first shift,” Rhydderch announced over dinner. “We’ll leave before dawn. I want to be in Llywarch sipping brandy by my own fire tomorrow evening.”

  “I just hope we don’t have to fight our way through,” Ironhelm said. “Ach. It won’t be any-.”

  He stopped in mid-sentence as a distance howl echoed from the darkness.

  Everyone stood, grabbing weapons and peering into the darkness. Several more howls were heard. As the minutes passed, the howls grew closer. The elves took up positions at the wall, bows drawn and arrows notched. A few times, luminescent pairs of orange eyes appeared from out of the darkness. The elves would fire arrows and the eyes would recede away again. It went on for hours, gradually tapering off sometime past mid
night.

  “Ach. They’re testing our strength,” Ironhelm said, brandishing his axe.

  “If I didn’t know better I’d swear the devils were just trying to get us to use up our arrows,” Morag said.

  “If only they’d come a bit closer,” Jorn said.

  “They are trying to draw us out to them, young Ravenbane,” Rhydderch said.

  “They’ll soon see tha’ our defenses are too strong for ‘em to breach,” Ironhelm said. “Aye, they won’t attack us here. They’ll wait, they will.”

  “Till when, Dwarf Lord?” Rhydderch asked.

  “When we’re out in the open,” Ironhelm said. “Aye, when we don’t have a barrier of ice to stand behind. Tha’s when they’ll come.”

  Gradually, the howls and the appearance of the eyes in the darkness lessened until they occurred no more. It was near midnight when it finally stopped. Rhydderch ordered his elves to keep a double guard, the others retiring to their tents. Ironhelm pulled his fur-lined blanket close to him, his hand on his axe. Morag went around, as she did the prior evenings, casting spells to warm the tents. The magic would last all night, enveloping Ironhelm in a cocoon of pleasant warmth.

  “Ach. Damn devil hills,” he murmured as he drifted off to sleep.

  _____

  Their course was slow-going the next morning, crossing the rocky valleys at the southern end of the hills. There was no sign whatsoever of the uthin-nor, not even a distant howl.

  “They’re out there, laddies,” Ironhelm warned. “They want us to think they’re not, but they are. Clever devils.”

  By noon it was as though they were almost out of the hills. The track they’d been following was certainly more discernable and the terrain less rugged. They even passed an abandoned stone cottage, its roof, front door, and windows long since gone. All that was left was a stone shell covered by a century of ivy growing up its sides. Whatever hunter or swineherd built it was no doubt long dead, but the sight of the once-occupied little cottage gave them hope they were almost at the river.

  “Perhaps we eluded them,” Morag said.

  “I don’t think so, lass,” Ironhelm said.

  Not five minutes later they heard a wolf’s howl behind them.

  “That’s close,” Jorn said.

  “Hurry along,” Rhydderch shouted.

  They reached a broad, flat area next to a frozen stream on the right and a gentle rise on the left.

  Nearly a dozen gigantic wolves emerged atop the rise. Some were white, others gray, others a mix of both. One hulking wolf stood out from the others with his jet-black fur broken only by a small patch of white on one leg. He had eyes brighter and redder than the others and was the largest of the entire group.

  “This is it,” Ironhelm said. “Stand fast, laddies!”

  The great black wolf growled at the approaching column, its lips curled back to reveal rows of long yellow teeth. It let out a terrible snarl and charged forward, the other wolves surging forward alongside their leader.

  A dozen more wolves appeared on the far side of the stream only moments later, growling and barking as they ran across the ice and straight at the column.

  “Stay close together,” Rhydderch yelled. “Form a circle! A circle!”

  The elf-warriors did their best to follow their lord’s advice, but the wolves were too quick to enter formations. Elf arrows cut down several, but many others were soon leaping up and biting at the horses. The horses reared and bucked, throwing more than one elf out of the saddle and onto the snow. If the elf was lucky, he leapt to his feet and drew his sword before any of the wolves were upon him. If not, the powerful jaws of the uthin-nor sought out the elf’s throat and clamped down.

  Jorn drew his sword and slashed down at the wolf nearest him. His sword cut the creature’s snout deeply, and sent it cowering away. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, and he doubled forward in agony and almost fell off. Falanos reached out and steadied him with his hands, an elf-warrior moving in front of Jorn to shield him from further attack. Jorn cursed in pain and frustration.

  “No, Jorn!” the elf healer told him firmly. “You may re-open the wound.”

  Ironhelm, meanwhile, was bringing his axe down upon the wolves’ skulls with a dogged efficiency. He felled three wolves in rapid succession, turning and bringing his axe down onto a fourth wolf’s head. Ironhelm’s weapon brought forty pounds of dwarven steel down with a tremendous force upon the creature’s head, smashing through its skull with brutal ease.

  Morag surveyed the battle, taking hold of the wand Braemorgan had given her. She pointed it at the hulking black wolf with the glowing red eyes. With the utterance of a single magical word, a great jet of fire issued forth from the tip of the wand and struck the black wolf. The beast was suddenly consumed in flame. Not merely burned, the magical fire swallowed-up the wolf whole. She held it on him for several seconds, and then turned it towards two other wolves charging towards her. The charred remains of three wolves soon lay smoking in the snow, the smell of burnt fur and flesh filling the winter air.

  Morag pointed the wand at another pair of wolves, the rest retreating in panicked fear of this woman with hair the color of fire who turned their leaders into smoking heaps of charred bones.

  Elf-arrows cut down several more. The few surviving beasts retreated into the trees, scattering in all directions. Over a dozen other wolves lay dead in the red-stained snow along with several of the elves.

  Jorn straightened up in his saddle, the waves of pain pulsing through his shoulder gradually subsiding.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, sheathing his sword with some effort. “Grang’s balls! That hurt like hell.”

  “You must take more care,” Falanos said. “You’re lucky you didn’t tear your wound right open. Then what would we have done?”

  “You’re just not ready to fight, laddie,” Ironhelm said. “You’d do well to heed my words.”

  Jorn nodded, looking around. He counted fourteen uthin-nor dead in all, to six of the elves and two more wounded. They’d won, but only at a terrible cost. The dead elves were wrapped in their cloaks and slung over the backs of their horses. The surviving elves bowed their heads, uttering a solemn prayer for the fallen.

  “That may not be the last of it,” Jorn said. “There could be more packs out there. It’s a good thing for that little stick of yours, Morag.”

  “It is not all-powerful,” she said. “It cannot be used forever before its magic is gone. I wish I hadn’t had to use it so many times already.”

  They rode off quickly, finding themselves out of the hills not ten minutes later. Everything seemed silent and peaceful as they crested the top of the last hill and looked out over the mercifully flat scene before them. Hardly more than ten miles south was the River Brugerwyn. Beyond was safety.

  “I would have rather camped here until nightfall and crossed that land under cover of darkness, if given the choice” Rhydderch said. He turned back to the hills and sighed. “But if those uthin-nor come back at us in greater numbers, even Morag’s wand will not save us. We must ride on.”

  They descended the hillside, crossing a small stream and finding a wider track before them. More signs of civilization began to appear, a few remote cottages and hardscrabble farms along the edge of the hills. It was a relief to see, but they were not in Llywarch yet.

  _____

  The countryside south of the hills was dotted with tiny farms and pastures. Sheep, goats, and a few cows watched the column passing by, smoke wafting up from tiny stone farmhouses in the background. They saw few people, and then only at some distance from the road.

  “These are wary folk who dwell in these parts,” Morag said to Jorn.

  They soon passed through a stretch of dense woods and began to hear the distinctive sounds of marching men and shouts up ahead.

  “It might be a raiding party,” one of the elves said.

  “Get off the road. Quickly,” Rhydderch said.

  Slipping off into the dense tree
s, they paused and waited. They could hear the noises of men marching and wagons rolling along a bumpy road. A few of the elves dismounted, creeping forward and listening carefully, but the sounds grew neither louder nor softer. Rather, the troops seemed to be moving left to right somewhere in front of them.

  “There must be another road ahead,” Rhydderch said. “The road we have been following must intersect with it.”

  “Let’s take a closer look,” Jorn said, starting to get off his horse.

  “Young Thane Ravenbane, please,” Rhydderch said. “You are not yet recovered.”

  “Grang’s feet! I’m as good a scout as any elf in your service,” Jorn said, grimacing in pain and pausing. “Falanos, help me off this horse.”

  The healer glanced at Rhydderch, not certain of what to do. Rhydderch nodded, and Falanos helped Jorn to the ground.

  “There’s nothing at all wrong with my legs,” he said, walking forward toward the noise.

  “Ach! Laddie, you’re a damned fool,” Ironhelm exclaimed, leaping from his pony and hurrying after him. “I’ll be damned if I’ll have to explain to Braemorgan why I let you wander off and get yourself killed. Aye, tis true.”

  Rhydderch looked annoyed.

  “Go with them, both of you,” he said to Falanos and another elf. They dismounted, rushing to catch up to Jorn and Ironhelm.

  The little scouting party made its way through the trees for a hundred yards before finally spying the main road up ahead. It ran at almost a right angle to the road they had been traveling on, just as expected.

  “They’re moving towards the coast,” Jorn whispered, crouching down. “Out of The Westmark.”

  “Are they Einar’s men?” Ironhelm said.

  “I can’t tell,” Jorn said, creeping forward past several more trees. He crouched down low, peering carefully at the road. “Grang’s teeth! Those are Ardabur’s men!”

  “Ach! It can’t be, laddie.”

  “Look at their shields, the yellow-and-black.”

  Ironhelm peered carefully through the trees. He frowned, standing up and taking a few strides forward.