by Wayne Mee
"And so, if you think that you can leave me behind, then you are sadly mistaken! Why, who's going to see that you eat properly? You'll starve in less than a week if I'm not there! Erg strike me, but I nearly choked the last time you cooked anything! And don't be looking at that great hulking 'manling' over there! Oh, he'll probably kill everything in sight, but you burn everything to a crisp and he more-than-likely eats everything raw!"
Granther waved the stem of his pipe in Thorn's direction. "Timin's got a point, lad. There be more to 'roving' than waving a sword about. Long ago I learned the hard way that a good pair of boots and a change of socks helps a body far better than dragging around a weight of iron at his hip, and that a hot meal warms a cold night almost as good as a warm lass!"
The elder Kirkwean drew on his pipe and began one of his 'roving tales' about days long past but strongly remembered. "Why, one night up on the Hyree Plateau this long-bearded Delgi and me were so cold that our fingers wouldn't pull out the cork on a jug of my Honey Mead I'd just traded him! Slagan Longtooth was his name. I remember 'cause he had a tooth that came down longer than the rest." The 'retired rover' leaned back and smiled to himself, lost now to the shining days of his vanished youth. "Good old Slagan. It was that tooth of his that saved us. Drilled right through the cork he did! And then the two of us sat up there in the snow sucking down my brew like mother's milk!"
Thorn had heard it all many times before. He was wise enough also to hear the love and concern in his friend's words, and so, in the end, he nodded to Timin.
"Hmmph!", the pudgy little Kirkwean snorted. "It's about time you came to your senses! I'm going home to say goodbye to my Ma and Aunty. I already told them I was going, so they should be all cried-out by now. Old Uncle Jeth will look after them right enough till we get back." At the door he stopped. "Mind Granther now and pack some extra socks. And take your thick cloak, the one with the hood. I'll tote the rest."
As the door shut behind him, Thorn looked over to where Erin sat sipping Granther's powerful brew. The archer, Kel, sat cross-legged on the floor, braiding his sleek black hair into a kind of top-knot. Erin had returned the Chin's weapons to him sometime earlier. Thorn had thought that foolish at the time, but the slant-eyed stranger had merely bowed slightly and walked down to the stream to bathe. Thorn had watched as the Chin had gone through a strange kind of 'silent dance'. As he moved, both Kel's hands and those two strange daggers seemed to merge into one, and a cold shiver had passed down Thorn's spine. It was not the last time he would have such a sensation.
***
Chapter 8:THE LEAVETAKING
It was mid-morning when they were ready to set out. A large crowd had gathered to see them off and wish them well. Timin had overseen the packing of a sturdy little pony, and though the 'four adventurers' were to go on foot, they would not go laden down with heavy back-packs.
High Warder Broadbeam blustered and went on about there being nothing to worry about concerning the Slathers. No sign had been seen of them since their escape down river and all guessed that by now they were well on their way back home. 'With their tails between their legs and little desire to come again!', was how the High Warder phrased it. Most there heartily agreed with him.
Norgi and Granther Higgs shook both Thorn and Timin's hand, the older Kirkwean muttering: 'If I were only a score or more years younger --- !' Thorn held him tightly, remembering how he had been both father and mother to him for so very long.
Then Fern appeared before Thorn. Her red hair, though blown about her pretty face, could not hide the tears that came from her sad, brown eyes. The two of them had little to say, and in the end she merely pressed into his hand a beautifully wrought cloak pin. It was her most prized possession, for it had been her mother's. It was made of twisted silver wire, fashioned in the intricate spirals and interlocking circles the Kirkweans so dearly loved. At its center lay a deep green river-stone that seemed to catch the light and hold it. Fern's mother had often called it her 'talisman', and had claimed that it had 'secret properties', since it was said to have been crafted by the 'Fair Folk' or Nimloth ages ago.
Thorn had merely smiled when first told the story, for it had been many years since any Nimloth had passed through The Wold. Now, however, as Fern freely offered the broach to him, he thought it the most precious thing he had ever seen; not so much for its obvious beauty, nor even because of the tale of its strange origin, but rather as a remembrance of the gentle heart that gave it.
"I want you to... to...." Her voice choked off and she turned away.
Thorn would have tried to comfort her but the Erg-Leath's hand on his arm held him back. "She will be fine, Thorn, but it will take some time. Your putting off the leavetaking only makes it all the harder. Keep ever close the fair maid's gift, for there may come a time when you will have dire need of it. Now go, and may Great Erg pound you gently on His anvil."
And so they left the Root. Thorn in the lead, with the unfamiliar weight of Shard at his side. Timin came next, guiding the pony, weighted down with food, equipment and Erin's helm and heavy shield. Erin came next, striding boldly along, a towering figure in his black scale-mail. The new broadsword he had named Glenrig hung proudly at his side. The name meant both 'protector and watcher' in the tongue of Loamin. In the rear came Kel, the silent Chin, the rings on his leather armor catching the rising sun, his over-large longbow and a score of black feathered arrows sprouted over his right shoulder.
They were a bold, brave sight as they walked down the southern path leading from the Root. Many Kirkwean marched alongside them, wishing them well and Erg's speed. More than one young lass ran up to give them a kiss, much to the enjoyment of Erin and the embarrassment of Timin. Thorn, however, saw only the lone figure high on the bridge near his home. A girl with wild red hair blowing in the wind. He raised his hand to wave as a tear stung his eye.
***
High on a distant hill another pair of eyes gazed down on the joyous scene; eyes filled with smoldering malice and hatred. Every detail of the four adventurers was taken in; from the arms at their side to the loaded pack-horse. The watcher's mouth was set in a thin, harsh line; his face as cold as the body of the dead 'warder' that lay at his feet. And then he did a rare thing --- he smiled; yet it was a smile containing little warmth.
Without a word Nex turned, motioned for the other Slather to follow him, and started back to the others with his 'news'. Not only had he found the 'Wee'ns' village, but the 'slave' that had started all the trouble was walking right into his hands!
'Oh Great All-Seeing Slath!', Nex thought to himself. 'Sweet indeed will be my revenge --- and long and painful will be the bastard's death!'
***
Ragnol reg Das, called 'Halfhand' by some, though seldom to his face, breathed deeply through his mouth. His nose still pained him. Yet he welcomed the pain, for it was a constant reminder of his hatred, for hatred was all he had left.
His once proud 'command' had been all but whipped out by a single slave and a handful of 'Wee'ns'. His crew had been reduced to a half score. Adding insult to injury was the fact that his ship now lay beached several kilvels down river, nearly burnt to the waterline by a freak accident. One of his wounded men had knocked over a cooking pot, scattering hot embers and grease into the hold. They had put the fire out, but not before the upper deck, mast, sails and most of their supplies had been lost. Of course most of the slaves, still chained to their oars, had been burnt alive. Now they were stranded in this Slath-forsaken land with no way to return to their glorious homeland.
Not that he really wanted to return, for leaders who failed in their missions were seldom welcomed back with 'open arms'! Ragnol had but one chance to redeem himself; wipe out the cursed 'Wee'ns' and take their 'Black Gold'. This done, he could somehow repair his ship and limp back. The All-Powerful High-Slath might brood over the loss of a fine ship, but having its hold full of the legendary 'Wee'ns Black Gold' would surely soothe even His Royal Temper. Ragnol would yet vindicate himself
--- but before he did, he would find that arrogant 'slave' and choke the life out of him with his bare hands.
Just then one of the sentries called out. Ragnol spun round, his wicked 'shim' half drawn as Nex strode into the small clearing. There was a cruel look in the Slather's eyes and an even crueler smirk on his face. Ragnol knew that Nex had found what they both wanted.
***
The afternoon sun shone down like a friendly companion, warming their backs and lifting their hearts. The two Kirkwean sang as they tramped along the forest trail. Kel was somewhere up ahead hunting.
The strange archer with the slanting eyes had proved as good as his word. For three days now Kel had 'served' Erin, saying little and staying out of the way, yet always ready to do more than his share of the work. No task seemed below him, though the one he did best was providing fresh meat for their pot. He would slip away, only to return as silently as he had gone, always with a brace of hare or partridge for their evening meal. Not killing the Chin had turned out to be one of the best things the tall mercenary had ever done.
Erin, sweating slightly in his fine stolen armor, hooked his cloak on the baggage pony and glanced around. For the first time in years he actually felt free. Even before the Slathers had chained him to an oar he had not been truly free. For seven long years Erin had lived the life of an 'outcast', a man with a price on his head. Sailing from port to port, always just one step ahead of those who followed, for no matter how far Erin went, the father of the man he had killed always seemed to able to find him. Seven times men had come to claim the 'blood price'. One for each year of his exile. Three times he had managed to escape without a confrontation. The other times he had been forced to fight --- and still they came. Erin had been running still when the Slathers found him.
And now, in this strange new land with his even stranger new companions, his worries were over. After all, who in their right mind would follow him into the vast unknown Southlands? Here, far from the sea, he would make a new life for himself. These strange little people had given him much: a new sword, new friends, even a new name: 'The Watcher'.
It was a name that suited him. The beautiful Lady Narya had given it to him and he in turn had given his word that he would indeed watch over Thorn. It felt good to be a man with a purpose again, to have his word mean something. This too had given him a type of freedom --- perhaps the only kind that truly mattered.
Erin intended to keep his word at all cost.
Having crossed the Nal Verg-Loth, the wide river that marked the western boundary of The Wold, they had climbed steadily for a day and a half. Continuing south by southwest, they were now in the foothills of a vast mountain range the Kirkwean called the Tol Eldars. Somewhere high up in those lofty peaks was their first destination, the Plateau of Hyree, home of the mountain Delgii, (a word Thorn had translated as meaning Dwarves).
When asked why they were to visit long bearded Delgii, Thorn had merely smiled and said: "For as long as I can remember, Granther has told me tales of the Mountain Folk of both Hyree and the Deeve . Now I wish to see them for myself."
Erin, not really caring in what direction he went, so long as it was away from the Isles of Loamin, had shrugged. When you are homeless, one place is as good as another. Besides, he had never seen one of the legendary Delgii, though stories of their 'hoarded gold' had often colored his childhood. It couldn't hurt to have a wee look.
The pony halted and Timin puffed his way back down the trail to rummage in one of the sacks. The lathered animal sawed at the sweet snake-grass that grew beside the path. Timin pulled a round bundle from the pack and opened it. Taking a large bit, he offered it to Erin. The tall mercenary cut off a piece of the yellow-orange cheese.
"Nothing like a good slice of Woldish to chase away the hungries!", Timin mumbled. Erin had to guess at most of this, for Timin's mouth was full. Erin smiled and took a bite.
"That Chin of yours is killing me with rabbit", Timin continued. "Can't he bring back something else for a change?"
Erin grinned at the little Kirkwean and walked up ahead to stand with Thorn. He found him bending over a map Granther had given him. Though the runes were in Kirkwean, Erin recognized a good portion of the map.
It showed little beyond The Wold itself, the north being sketched in as a vast rolling ocean, with a cruel dragon's head that Erin took to mean Slathland. The south and east seemed to be either grassland or desert. Of Kith, or Dur, there wasn't a sign, and the Sea of Anon was vastly distorted, while the narrow Kingdom of Anon-Hep extended on past the edge of the map. Of the Isles of Loamin in the northeast there was no mention.
The far south, called the 'Hot Lands' by the experienced sailors of Loamin, was mostly empty. The map held only a blazing sun under which could be made out a pot bubbling over. The map called this vast desert, 'The Cauldron'. Toman-Glith it seemed, as well as Helmar, and Kel's own distant homeland of Chin, were far beyond the Kirkweans' knowledge.
"And will you be tellin' me just where we are on that great, all-encompassing chart of yours? Or has the famous 'Wanderer' gotten us all lost now that he's out of his own back yard?" Erin's lilting voice had a laugh-filled ring to it, and over the last three day march both he and the twinkling-eyed Kirkwean had exchanged many a friendly barb.
Thorn took out his pipe and began to fill the carved bowl. "I suppose a 'great sea-rover' like you claim to be has no doubt seen far better --- but for now, this is all we have. Unless of course, when you leapt naked from that
Slather 'pleasure cruise' you took the time to shove a map or two up your arse?!"
Erin's deep laugh boomed over the rolling hills. "Ah, now Thorn me-lad, sad I am to say that I did not. I was about too mind you, but catchin' sight o' that ugly face o' yours drove all intelligent thought clean out o' my head!"
The little Kirkwean struck flint and tinder and lit his pipe before replying. "'It's hard to hold what was never held' is an old saying of ours, 'friend Longshanks'. Straining my neck looking up at you just now brought that to mind."
Erin squatted down beside his new-found friend. "It's a devilish sharp tongue you have in that wee head o' yours, boy-o, though in truth your map does need fillin' out in the south n' east. As to what might lie here in the west, I haven't a clue."
Thorn went on to describe the route he planned to follow up into the majestic Tol Eldar Mountains. "It's said that the land is wild and uninhabited for the most part, though I have heard tales of Karns and other foul creatures living in the hidden valleys."
"'Karns'?", repeated Erin, rolling the strange word around on his liquid tongue. "N' just what manner o' beastie be they? More o' Granther's 'ravin's'? That Wild Honey he brews up is potent 'nough to make a man see a tree stump strut about like a forest nymph!"
Just then Timin came along, and though his mouth was still half filled with cheese, he jumped into the conversation whole-heartedly. "'Karns' be the foulest, most Erg-cursed creatures to ever walk the wide world! Black they are, both their leathery skin and their cold hearts. And they love nothing better than to wait in the wilderlands to pounce on unsuspecting travelers!"
Erin's bright smile flashed in the late afternoon sun. "N' just how came you by such a detailed description, Master Timin? Is it yourself that has seen one o' these 'fierce creatures'?"
When Timin blurted out that he hadn't, but that Granther had told him about how in his younger days 'black skinned Karns' had set upon a trading party the elder Kirkwean had been leading into the lands of the Delgii, Erin's smile broadened.
"Aye, boy-o, it be just as I thought. More of Granther's tales from the bottom of a mead jar." Erin was about to say more when Thorn cut him off. The small Kirkwean's sky-blue eyes had gone a deeper blue, and his beardless jaw jutted out at an angry angle.
"'Manling', much about you I like, and though there is a wildness about you in battle, still I have willingly called you friend --- but if you ever speak ill of Granther Higgs again I will knock you down!"
There was a stunned paus
e, during which Timin's heart seemed to drown out the sound of the wind in the high pines. Then Thorn added dryly, his blue eyes once again atwinkle. "Even if I do have to climb a tree to do it."
All three of them laughed at this, and Erin swore on his new sword Glenrig that he would 'never again speak ill o' such an esteemed old gentleman as Granther Higgs!'
Soon they were heading up the ever steepening trail. Erin was teaching them a rowdy song about the 'Lasses of Bare 'n Willin'. Timin sang out the chorus through mouthfuls of cheese, yet as the westering sun dipped down behind the mountains, Timin gave more than a casual glance into the shadows of the tall trees and dark crevices that seemed to close in around them. Their earlier talk of 'Karns' and other 'wild things' had left him uneasy.
***
Though Timin's keen eyes probed the darker shadows on the narrow path, they failed to note the prone form watching them from high above. Cloaked he was, with both helm and breastplate removed so as not to catch a wayward glimmer of the dying sun. Long the form lay there, only its dark eyes moving, following the three figures and the laden pony as they wound their weary way up the steep and narrow path.
Nex swore under his breath. The absence of the Chin bothered him. The slant-eyeed little bastard had been with them yesterday when he watched them approach the foothills. Now he was gone. Yet even this fact mattered little, for after the unsuspecting fools had set up camp and taken to their beds, he and his men would swoop down on them. If the stinking Chin was there, so much the better. If not, then he would provide a little 'sport' come morning. Perhaps he'd see if he could arrange for the Chin archer to kill the foreigner Halfhand before he himself did.
With that rather pleasant thought in mind, Nex turned and made his way back to where his men lay waiting, a cruel smirk on his sly face.
***
Chapter 9:NIGHT ATTACK
