by Emmet Moss
“And why did you leave?” Bider asked cautiously.
Staring intently at Bider with eyes twinkling, Gavin smiled. “That, my friend, is not your concern.”
Bider was looking forward to another restful sleep and the renewed energy it would surely bring. Their long journey would continue in the morning. Gavin had made a tidy little profit playing the part of minstrel, and although they were thoroughly enjoying their stay at the Tankard, there were more pressing matters at hand.
Tumbling into one of the room’s small beds, Bider could barely contain a feeling of pure contentment. As the days had passed, and the slow process of healing had continued, he kept up his belief that events would continue to improve. With distant rumblings of thunder forewarning a wet evening and an even wetter morning, Bider closed his eyes. Lying there surrounded by thick pillows and warm blankets, he suspected that Gavin was standing guard. A last glance before falling into a deep slumber confirmed that belief. At the window, arms crossed over his chest and with a familiar determined look on his face, stood Gavin Silveron. Sleep came swiftly for Bider.
An incredibly loud crack of thunder jolted Bider from his sleep. Grunting as the pain caused by the sudden movement jarred him, he looked towards the room’s window. A momentary flash of lightning illuminated the pensive face of the Fey’Derin captain, the man staring intently out into the storm.
“What is it, sir?” Bider asked, noting a subtle change in Gavin’s stance.
Gavin spoke without moving his eyes from the window. “I believe that our visitor will arrive soon. Whatever has been hunting us possesses far more endurance than I expected. I think it has travelled a long distance to find us. Do you feel it?”
Confused, Bider pushed aside his blankets and began searching for his discarded clothing.
“Your tattoo, Coren,” Gavin indicated by touching his chest. “Do you feel it?” He reached for the crossbow purchased earlier that day. In one swift motion, Gavin pulled the drawstring taut and notched a steel bolt. “We’ll soon have company.”
Once mentioned, Bider immediately detected a faint itch over his heart. How Gavin had so easily detected the slight sensation was impressive. As he donned his leathers, Bider could sense that whatever magic was involved was rapidly drawing closer.
“Where do you need me, sir?” he asked hesitantly, his quivering voice revealing how afraid he truly was.
Gavin marched across the room and gripped him hard by the shoulders, “What hunts us is a creature of dark magic, Coren. It’s not something we can face together, not with your injuries. I ask of you only two things —”
“No, Captain! I may not be mobile, but I still have my daggers and my mind. I can be of some use,” Bider interrupted.
Gavin shook his head. “Coren, I will order you if I have to.”
“Fine,” Bider conceded reluctantly.
After the scout’s reluctant nod, the Fey’Derin captain continued. “Good. First, prepare the horses for departure, and leave a bag of coin with the innkeeper. There’s no reason for us ignore our responsibility to our host.”
“Secondly, take the crossbow and wait for an opening. You’ll have one shot to slow this beast down, and if I’m in need, you’ll be the only one able to buy me enough time to stay alive. Understood?”
“Yes, sir ...” Bider managed to whimper. Talking had suddenly become difficult and his breathing shallow.
Then came the steady tread of a large creature. Even over the rain and thunder, the booming steps could be heard. Whatever pursued them was massive, and the Fey’Derin mark began to burn painfully. Fighting a terrible urge to scratch the tattoo, Bider stumbled out through the doorway and cast one last glance at his commander. Still at the window, Gavin Silveron was steadily checking his weapons, the straps on his boots and gauntlets, the position of his daggers, and the tightness of all bindings.
As Bider pushed through the confused and worried patrons downstairs, concern for his captain weighed heavily on his mind. Trusting Gavin, he exited the inn and hurried towards the stables, crossbow clutched tightly in hand.
A Sciloc.
It was a demon. It hailed from Lok’Mor, a plane of existence forbidden to humankind. A place where it is said the first Gath-like creatures called home, if such a barren landscape could be called such. It had been more than a century since the last of its kind had terrorized Kal Maran, and at that time it had been the machinations of a madman that had brought forth the demon.
Gavin knew of only one way to summon the creature that approached the inn: magecraft. That the renegade Fallen were in league with the leaders of the new Protectorate was now undeniable. This could only mean that his plea for support from the Silveryn mages desperately needed to succeed. Without arcane help there would be little courageous men or the strength of arms could do in the coming battles. The Council needed to send aid.
Finally satisfied with his armaments, Gavin calmly made his way down to the main entrance of the inn, unable to decide whether the demon posed a greater threat than the Fallen. Breathing deeply to calm himself, Gavin made his way methodically through the awakened customers of the inn. It took him long minutes before he reached the other side of the common room. Pulling his cloak over his head, he ducked out into the storm, pausing only a moment to adjust the dagger in his boot top.
Bravely taking his stance in the middle of the drenched road, Gavin waited. The rain poured down, and if not for the frequent slashes of bright lightning, the road would have been covered by darkness. Pelted by the biting cold of each drop of frigid spring rain, Gavin ignored the rampant screams from the Tankard and neighbouring buildings, focusing solely on the road before him.
The steady tread of rumbling footsteps signaled the creature’s presence. Gavin found himself fighting off a tightening grip of dread that threatened to sink his courage. Conjuring up long years of strict mental training under the tutelage of the Koriani masters, Gavin flexed his fingers and continued to wait.
It advanced on his position in such a flurry that to have blinked may have cost him his life. The creature never slowed, suddenly appearing in the midst of the heavy rain. Charging with claws upraised, the Sciloc shrieked, the cry so inhuman it was impossible to describe.
The demon stood at least twelve feet tall. Its skin was a reddish brown, the colour of the wet sands of Kaleen, but it was also covered in patches of thick, dripping ebony fur. The Sciloc’s sloped forehead and ridged brows concealed a blank, dead stare. One glance at those eyes almost broke Gavin’s confidence, already under heavy siege. Solid legs the size of tree trunks covered the distance between the two combatants, and long sinewy arms thrust outward with edged claws.
Throwing himself clear, Gavin was almost skewered by the initial lunge. He tossed his sodden cloak aside, knowing that anything impeding his agility would mean certain death, and drew his sword. Men were never meant to do battle with a Sciloc; at least not those that hoped to live and tell the tale. Fighting defensively was his only option, he thought, dodging two more deceptively quick swipes by the glinting claws.
As the battle raged across the yard, Gavin studied his foe. The Koriani, if they had taught him anything, had instructed him in the ways of the duel. With adept skill, as he had that winter dueling in the courtyard of Dragon Mount, he slipped back into old habits. Every opponent possessed a weakness, and it was the exploitation of that flaw that would grant him the advantage he so desperately sought. The demon out-reached, out-muscled, and potentially out-maneuvered him. Any attempt Coren might make to aid him would involve waiting for the right moment — the perfect opening. There would be no need were he to fall in the opening exchanges of the battle.
What Gavin did ascertain from the Sciloc’s initial charge was that it was already lost in a berserker frenzy. As with the Gath, here was an enemy that cared little for its own safety. It was mindless, a being whose sole purpose was to hunt a target and slay th
em.
Unaware that the bout was now being witnessed by the majority of the customers at both The Brimming Tankard and the surrounding establishments, the man and demon spun, circled, lunged, and attacked one another across the breadth of the road.
Gavin fought in silence, his eyes locked on his opponent. The Sciloc was much the opposite, shrieking in fury and howling in frustration, forcing many onlookers to cower in fear. Ducking an incoming strike, Gavin leapt forward and scored a blow to the beast’s arm, black blood flying wide.
Ignoring the stab, the Sciloc nearly decapitated the mercenary captain with a return swing, the sharp claws whisking mere inches from Gavin’s face. To have risked so much for a wound that seemed to have accomplished so little caused Gavin some concern; staying alive had suddenly become a much more difficult proposition. Again the tireless demon launched itself forward, and Gavin fought hard for the next few moments just trying to keep his balance.
But amidst all the frantic movements, the beginnings of a plan started to form as Gavin watched the demon shift quickly from position to position, always ready to strike, always on the attack. If Coren could glean even a small portion of his idea, Gavin knew he might have a chance. As it stood, even though he had scored a number of minor wounds to the beast’s forearms and chest, his opponent’s huge advantage in height and reach prevented the possibility of a critical strike.
Clearly frustrated, Gavin focused on keeping his footing on the increasingly treacherous ground. Even now, he could feel the mud giving way as the rain continued to pour down. Fighting the creature in much deeper mud would be disastrous. Warily confronting the Sciloc, Gavin dove to the right, barely avoiding another brief flurry launched his way. There was no time for a hurried word of warning, and Gavin knew that only one option remained; he would have to trust in the Eagle Runner’s abilities. Coren was intelligent enough to identify the ploy, he was sure of it.
Bider watched the two combatants with increasing worry. The demon creature was obviously bigger and stronger, but Gavin possessed the uncanny ability to narrowly avoid each and every attack directed his way.
From the onset of the battle Bider had searched for an opening that could aid his commander, but a clear shot at the beast’s head seemed far too risky. It tended to bounce its head back and forth, weaving erratically, and he feared a missed shot would be the end of the captain. With his considerable injuries, resetting the crossbow for a second shot seemed unlikely. He would have one chance, and one chance only, to make his attack count. Try as he might, Bider could not fathom why in Arne’s name Gavin kept diving to the right, never quite able to get the demon to expose its neck.
In the distance a ringing alarm sounded, and the hurried tread of the town’s militia could be heard approaching from the north end of Wickam. Even with a squad of soldiers, Bider feared the demon could easily tear apart any mass attack. A few lucky blows might land, but Gavin’s efforts had already demonstrated that the creature’s hide was thick beyond compare.
As a dozen or so figures emerged near the top of the street, the young scout could tell that these men were poorly trained and completely inadequate in the face of such danger. Panic stricken looks were etched on each of their faces, their weapons falling from listless hands. The demon allowed his gaze to sweep over the small company of militia for only the briefest moment, and yet they had all been unmanned. Cowering in fear, they could barely stand as they watched the combatants fight across the treacherous ground.
Once again, Bider winced as he watched Gavin evade yet another frantic bout of attacks, dodging to the side with less ease than he had at the onset of the battle. Bider was worried that the man’s endurance was flagging. He was already attacking with far less frequency and fervor. Every moment of respite that Gavin gained was used to conserve his fading stamina.
“Why do you keep going to the right side?” Bider agonized, calling out to no one. Behind him, the horses threatened to break his concentration as they struggled to break free from their tethers.
The demon strikes and Gavin moves right...not left...right...but why? Studying the opponent, as he had once been taught by Orn, it finally made sense. Gavin wanted him to focus not on the thick-skulled head of the terrible demon, but instead on something entirely different. Gavin was fighting in a manner that accentuated the creature’s mobility. Taking this into consideration clarified everything; the demon planted his clawed feet in the same manner each and every time Gavin evaded to the right. The mercenary captain had done so in such an inauspicious manner that Bider doubted the Sciloc had detected the ploy.
Bider could now see the opening form as the demon’s powerful leg locked for those precious seconds it would need to turn its girth to the side in an attempt to track the wily human. Raising the crossbow to take aim, Bider watched in dismay as Gavin’s boot suddenly slipped in the mud. Immediately, the creature recognized the advantage and closed in. Forcing himself to watch, Bider could barely breathe.
Gavin knew it was bound to have happened sooner or later. With the rain continuing to pour down in sheets, his footing was only going to deteriorate further. The second he felt his boot sink into the thick mud, he knew that his foot had found no real purchase on the solid ground underneath. The Sciloc would be faster this time, and there was little he could do but brace himself for the charge.
He managed to avoid the demon’s claws, but the thick forearm of his foe caught him across his midsection. He was thrown through the air like a child’s doll. However, the torrential rain turned out to be somewhat of a blessing. The softened earth yielded to his body, allowing a measure of cushioning as he landed, his breath crushed violently from his lungs. The unmistakable crack of several ribs, minor injuries considering the distance travelled, also greeted him upon impact.
Now I can only hope that Coren understood...
In response, an ear shattering shriek assaulted his senses. Scrambling to his feet, Gavin pushed aside the pain and exhaustion. Reclaiming his sword, he ran back at the Sciloc, the creature clutching at the long steel bolt from Coren’s crossbow. It had driven straight through the demon’s left leg, right near the knee, just as Gavin had fervently hoped. Unable to support its own massive weight, the creature had collapsed.
In four powerful strides, Gavin reached the Sciloc. Using the creature’s body as leverage, he pushed off its wounded limb and drove his sword directly up under the monster’s chin. The blade slid soundlessly through the flesh, piercing the demon’s brain. The stunned beast died with nary a sound.
Only the continued sound of falling raindrops broke the silence. At some point during the battle, the lightning and thunder had abated. The hushed cries of children drifted sporadically through the night air. No one it seemed, from the customers of the inns to the slack-jawed militia standing in the street, dared to utter a sound. They were all speechless after what they had just witnessed. Bider was as silent as the next person. Even with the demon creature felled, he was still clutching the crossbow in a rigid grip.
Gavin stood in the middle of the road, head down, and shoulders shivering in the rain. The mercenary captain appeared to be cut from marble, so still did he stand. Bider limped to his side and passed him his sodden cloak, collected from the wet ground.
“We can’t keep this up, sir,” he commented. “We’ll never make it to meet the company if neither of us can stand.”
“I know, Coren,” Gavin replied, his eyes on slain demon. “I know ...”
“What was it?”
“A Sciloc. A demon that doesn’t belong in our world.”
“The renegade mages?” Bider offered, wiping wet hair from his eyes.
“Yes,” Gavin nodded.
The two men stood silently side by side for long minutes, neither possessing enough strength to speak further. Come morning they would be on the road once again, but for the moment Dragon Mount was still leagues away. With a new partner in the Protectorate c
oalition now unmasked, any earlier optimism had quickly soured.
One of the militia finally crossed the street and approached the pair. “That was incredible, my lord. You’re a man of exceptional skill,” the soldier gushed.
Gavin still refused to look up from his slain enemy. “I am no lord, and I had help,” he replied grimly, pointing in Coren’s direction.
Confused by the response, the militia soldier shuffled from foot to foot, desperately trying to avoid staring at the large carcass laying only a few scant paces away.
“Umm...well, what do we do with it?” he asked hesitantly.
Gavin lifted his gaze and raised an eyebrow as he looked at Bider.
“Burn it,” the scout replied.
“We live to serve. It is all we know.”
—Scholaris Monk
Chapter XL
Scholaris, Druine Mountain Range
Alessan and C’Aelis sat quietly around the small fire, sipping water from a flask and eating lunch under the trees. The hot sun pierced the thick canopy of leaves above and danced as a multitude of spots upon the ground. Head nestled on one of her paws, Greiyfois dozed quietly in one of the sunbeams, oblivious to the chatter of the men.
“I’ve always wondered what it would have been like to have more siblings. Two sisters and a brother must have been amazing, I bet.” Alessan exclaimed.
Don’t be so quick to believe that! C’Aelis commented, the amused tone reaching Alessan’s thoughts. Oh, there are some advantages to growing up with an older brother, but it is by no means the easiest bond. I can’t count the number of times F’Eran and I found ourselves in trouble, with me being the recipient of much of the blame, no less!
“But they’re good memories all the same?” Alessan asked, hopeful that he was correct.
I guess they are, but still do I sometimes wish things had been different.
