Shard

by Wayne Mee

  The fire crackled and danced. Fat dripped from the spitted hare Timin slowly turned while brooding over his precious little pots. One contained potatoes he had brought along and flavored with some wild herbs, while in the other brewed something he laughingly called Cat Nip Tea.

  The western horizon was ablaze with reds shot through with pink. Above that strands of royal purple faded into a clear, deep blue, while directly overhead a few eager stars winked into existence, pale and distant in the deep black sky.

  Cutting through this tranquil scene came the sharp clatter of weapons. In the fading light both Thorn and the tall manling were hard at it. On the first day of their journey Erin had suggested that Thorn learn to do more than 'carry' his famous short sword, and the wiry little Kirkwean had willingly agreed.

  Though Thorn had seldom used a sword before, his natural dexterity and nimbleness allowed him to advance quickly. From the start it was clear that he would never have either Erin's force or the skill, yet he was fast learning to parry and thrust in such a way that both of them were more than ready for Timin's call to eat.

  "Keep your bloody shield up!", Erin growled as he stuck a half-pulled blow on the Kirkwean's small shield.

  "Erg curse the thing!", replied Thorn, nearly knocked off his feet from the blow. "What need have I of a round anchor on my arm anyway? It slows me down!"

  Again Erin hammered at the small shield, this time with greater force. His new sword Glenrig carved away the top half and sent it spinning. Timin, watching nervously by the fire, didn't notice that one of his precious pots had boiled dry.

  "It -- might -- just -- save -- your -- head!" Erin punctuated each word with a blow, so that when the sentence was finished, Thorn's nearly numb shieldarm held a much smaller and much battered buckler. The wiry Kirkwean grunted, tossed the useless thing away and attacked. So quick were Thorn's darts and feints that Erin was forced to give ground.

  "Be careful of ---", Timin shouted. But too late. The tall manling had backed right into the fire. Timin's kitchen collapsed.

  "Now just look what the two of you have done! The hare's singed and the spuds are full of ashes. Well, you can just eat them, for I'll not be peeling more!"

  Erin and Thorn, grinning broadly, clapped the pudgy Kirkwean warmly on the back. "Be not over angry with your small friend, Timin, for it was my fault entirely. So fiercely did he come at me that I feared for me quiffin' life!"

  Thorn grunted. "Its overly hard for one that's 'already killed' to threaten another's life. If not for that shield you hacked up, I'd of been dead several times over!."

  Erin poured himself a mug of Timin's 'cat nip tea'. "A shield or buckler has its purpose, but as you said yourself, it weighs on the arm 'n slows you down. You've a good 'attack', Thorn, but a weak 'defense'. A weaponsman needs both to stay alive."

  Timin, carefully wiping the dirt from the potatoes, asked why.

  Erin sheathed Glenrig and sat on a fallen log. "In any kind o' fight, be it an honor duel or a hack 'n slash, the other fella's going to get in a few solid swings. If he's good, he'll get in more than a few. Armor can help, but I've seen the best chain or scale split wide open if hit just right. Leather's not worth shite. A buckler be the best. Smaller than a heavy shield, 'n lighter. You can use it as a weapon too if ye get the chance."

  Thorn took the plate Timin handed him. "How is it that you know so much of killing? That Loamin of yours must be savage land, if all men learn such things."

  Erin's wolf-grey eyes took on a distant look, as though he gazed not into the darkening night, but rather the distant past. When he did speak, his usual liquid voice held a touch of sadness mixed with longing. "Loamin be a land much like any other, though to one born 'n bred on its green, rolling hills, it ever tugs at the heart. The folk are both slow to change 'n fiercely proud. Clannish you might say. Quick to draw both blade 'n blood, yet just as quick to break into a song or lend a helpin' hand."

  "Why then, if you long for it so, did you leave in the first place?" Timin's clear face showed both concern and puzzlement. He wasn't at all sure if he 'liked' this tall manling that killed so easily, yet he did respect his open and frank ways. Whatever else this Erin ap Conn might be, he was not a man who told half-truths.

  "Ah, now Timin-lad, that be a rare long tale, 'n one best told over several jars o' strong drink."

  Thorn leaned in. "Suppose you 'whittle it down' a might, so that the winter winds won't find us all stiff from boredom seven moons from now." Though the words were sharp, the tone wasn't, and Erin took no offense at the Kirkwean's dig.

  Erin's eyes changed from cloudy grey to the harshness of slate, as the long past but painful memories washed over him. Only the wind murmured through the tall pines. Then the 'homeless mercenary' spoke of his home.

  "An orphan I was, with no knowin' on me o' my rightful mother or father. I was raised by a weaponsman. Conn ap Connell and his wife. She was o' the Rill, Loamin's 'Fair Folk'. Conn was a chieftain of a small isle. Loamin, you see, be made up o' many islands, all separated by the cold blue sea. Conn's was one o' the furthest removed from the main isle, where the High King rules.

  "It was a good life, but hard. Conn, though a fair man, demanded much. Weapons trainin' half the day; sailin', huntin' n' learnin' our letters the rest. The use o' arms came easy to me, 'n bein' overproud o' it, I dug in me heels when another youth named me 'bastard'."

  Here Erin gave a mirthless snort. "All the more fool was I, since 'bastard' is likely what I am! Anyway, we fought. A 'matter o' honor' I thought at the time. At the end of it the youth lay dead. It was all fairly done, but the lad's father took it hard, 'n since he had the ear o' the High King, I was declared outlaw n' banished from all the many Isles o' Loamin."

  "Then you've not been back since?" Timin's round face clearly showed his concern.

  "Nay lad, I've not. A headsman's axe waits me if I do, so it's been rovin' the wide world I've been now for nigh on seven long years." He glanced around at the tall mountains and smiled. "'N it seems I'll be rovin another seven at least, for those are fair size 'hills' you be takin' us into, friend Thorn."

  Thorn's pipe had gone out. He knocked the dottle out on the sole of his boot. "The Tol-Eldars are said to be the largest mountain range in all of Oma-Var. They can be both fierce and forbidding for those who don't know their way, but with Granther's map we should reach the Plateau of Hyree in, oh, five or six more days."

  Erin heaved himself to his feet, his black mail trimmed with red reflected the setting sun. "Well, back home we've a few wee hills 'n dales, but nothin' like these." He yawned and sretched. "But for now it's a snug bed n' a warm cloak I'm after wantin'. One o' you stout lads can be havin' the first watch."

  As Erin went in search of fresh pine boughs for his bed, Timin leaned closer to his cousin. "He's a right strange one."

  Thorn strung his bow and glanced around. "We've a long ways to go, Timin-lad, and yonder 'manling' knows his way around in the outside world. These mountains are rumored to be home to more than just the Delgii. We may yet have need of 'friend Erin's skills'."

  "You mean Karns?", Timin said, his eyes growing wide.

  Thorn shrugged, then went to find a place to stand watch. Timin tossed another log on the fire and started cleaning his precious pots. All the while he kept a sharp eye on the lengthening shadows, for though he dearly loved stories about the bearded Delgii and the magical Nim-Loth, Karns were another thing altogether --- especially when they were said to be at their fiercest in the dark!

  ***

  The sun had long since set. The tall pines stood like silent sentries beneath a moonless sky, while the distant stars blinked down in all their uncaring majesty. Deep in the shadows, Nex, Ragnol and a dozen Slathlanders waited. Ragnol at least, was far from content.

  "And I say we go! Slath curse you Nex, I'm still in command here!"

  Nex turned his cold eyes and his even colder voice on the hated foreigner. "You were given command of a Glitch Slath. The High Gnash Himself
charged you with the finding of the Wee’ns and their Black Gold. You, not me. And in all those things you have failed! Now it is I who will command --- and if you so much as open that foul mouth of yours, I'll have one of my men cut out your tongue!"

  Ragnol's face worked like a man fighting pain and loosing. In the end he turned and stomped off into the shadows. Even in his rage he knew that Nex wouldn't hesitate to carry out his threat.

  And so they waited. A dozen armed men, each eager to settle the score with the Slath-cursed 'Wee’ns' and the thrice cursed 'slave'.

  Nex gripped Tarif's arm, a man that had been with him on several campaigns. "See there, Tarif? The thin one has turned in, leaving the fat one on watch. The 'slave' still sleeps." His cruel mouth became crueler. "Soon he will sleep for eternity!"

  Tarif glanced around nervously. "Er, beg pardon Sir, but what about the Chin? I've heard tell those slant-eyes can be real bastards in the dark!"

  Nex stood and drew his long 'shim'. "Don't fret about that whore's dropping. He turned tail on us didn't he? Run off? He's probably done the same here. Just get the men moving and tell them to keep quiet. The first one that makes a noise will pay dearly! Now move!"

  As word came down to the last man in line, he heaved himself to his feet, his bones aching from hiding out in the damp hills. Hefting his axe, he smiled, thinking how good it would feel to cleave a skull or two.

  He died with the smile still on his face. A strong bronze hand shot out of the shadows and clamped over his mouth. At the same time a long, slender blade passed between the lower ribs and pierced his heart. The body was dead even before it slumped to the ground. Overhead an owl flitted by, disturbed by the sudden movement below, yet the rest of the Slathlanders marked neither the owl's passing or Kel's, for both were predators of the night.

  As a Ja~Din, Kel had been trained almost from birth to kill swiftly and silently. With either weapons or Tanj-ka, the ancient Chin method of unarmed combat, Kel was a past-master. Tonight he was stalking his 'old shipmates'.

  Three more died as they slowly advanced on the unsuspecting camp. Always silently, always the last in line. One had his spine snapped by blow to the back of his neck; another's nose shattered, causing bone fragments to explode into his brain; a third died as the first had, the long bladed 'a-sa' driven into his heart. Four in all, leaving Nex, Ragnol and seven others to continue their attack.

  They had reached the base of the hill and began to bunch together. Kel thought it prudent to break off his stalking and retreat into the shadows. After all, he hadn't used his bow yet.

  ***

  Nex looked with glittering eyes at the camp. Nothing moved except for the little fat one, who seemed busy polishing pots by the fire. A cruel grin spread across his hard features.

  Ragnol's hungry gaze also swept the area round the fire. Impatiently he turned and hissed at Nex. "Well? What are you waiting for? Take them!"

  Nex's cold smile washed over the foreigner. "I'm 'waiting' for you. After all, you were the leader of this 'glorious expedition'. Go ahead. 'Lead'!"

  Ragnol burned to shove a knife deep into the Slather's arrogant guts, but he knew that if he killed Nex, the men would probably kill him. Then a new thought slowly took form in his ever-scheming brain. Perhaps this mutinous dog had unwittingly given him a chance to regain the men's lost respect? If he did lead the attack and either captured or killed the Slath-cursed slave and his runt followers, then Nex would loose his hold over them. Also, in a night attack there would be little chance of anyone spotting him slipping a knife into Nex's unguarded back!

  “It will be my pleasure, Number Two, to lead the attack.” Ragnol made a mock bow, turned and walked over to the shadowy forms clustered in the darkness.

  Nex watched him go, then pulled Tarif close. "When we go in, stay behind me. Ignore the 'Wee’n' brats. It's the slave I want. Oh, and Tarif, one more thing. If our 'fearless leader' should meet with an unfortunate accident, then according to Slath's own law I'd be forced to take formal command. If that happens I'll be needing a new Number Two." Nex let the idea sink in as he joined Ragnol and the others. In the darkness no one noticed that they were missing four bodies.

  ***

  The first Timin knew of the attack was when a loud cry shattered the peaceful night. Startled, the small Kirkwean all but fell off the log he had been sitting on. He had just time for one loud cry of his own before they were on him. Tall forms with drawn weapons seemed to be everywhere. The flickering firelight caught the glimmer of their mail shirts and brass bound bucklers. Cold eyes hot for blood glinted through noseguards and helms.

  "Kering!!", he screamed. 'Awake!!' Yet there was no need, for both Thorn and Erin had heard the first cry and were now on their feet with weapons ready.

  Thorn raced to Timin's aid and the two of them stood back to back, one with a long three-pronged fish spear and the other with Shard, the glittering black blade that had once belonged to 'The Wanderer'.

  Thorn yelled encouragement to his portly friend at the same time as he parried a savage blow from a Slathaxe. Thorn took its owner in the leg with a counterthrust of his own. "Jab at their legs or swordarm, not their bloody shields!"

  Timin, already sweating, nodded and tightened his grip. Three of the Slathers began to circle them, their cruel mouths split in satanic grins. One died with the grin still on his face. A black arrow had suddenly pierced his throat, twirling him around to fall in the fire. In the shower of sparks and smoke, Thorn saw his chance. Calling for Timin to follow, he leapt the now smoldering body and slashed the thigh of a stunned attacker. Together the two of them raced for the shelter of the trees.

  Erin meanwhile, was being pressed by Nex and two other Slathers. Tarif and Ragnol also hovered just beyond the ring of iron blades, waiting for a chance to spring. The fugitive from Loamin had already killed one over-eager Slather and taken up his shield, and now, as the two remaining attackers advanced, Nex swore at them to give ground. As they began to back away, Erin fainted then twirled, neatly severing the slower man's sword arm. With a howl of pain the startled victim blundered into the second man, giving Erin the opportunity he sought. Glenrig, the broadsword fashioned from the legendary Twill or Black Gold, darted out and claimed yet another offering. Both men fell in a heap, one screaming and clutching a bloody gushing stump, the other trying in vain to hold in his innards.

  Nex, beside himself with rage, yelled at Tarif and Ragnol to close in from behind. Tarif swung his Slathaxe at where Erin should have been --- and received for his effort the heavy silver pommel of Erin's blade alongside the head. Tarif dropped like a stone. Ragnol swung at Erin's exposed side. Erin's new sword, Glenrig, came up to parry the stroke. There was a sudden blaze of sparks and a tearing of iron --- and Ragnol was left holding a broken blade. As graceful as a dancer, Erin twirled once more, slamming the hilt of his great sword into Ragnol's already broken nose. The overdressed foreigner dropped to his knees, blood streaming through his three fingered hand.

  Then Erin slowly turned to face Nex.

  ***

  Chapter 10: IN THE DELGII HILLS

  Nex knew he was about to die. Though only one man stood before him, he now had no doubt that this particular man would be more than enough to do the deed. Nex greeted the idea with a soldier's fatalism. Grinning, he advanced towards certain death, wanting more than life itself to kill the arrogant 'slave' that would soon kill him.

  Erin, the red Yiffrin licking at his sanity, crouched low. Long had he waited for this, and the thought of it caused him to all but drool like an eager hound. When the shadowy form appeared suddenly behind Nex, Erin thought for a brief moment that his eyes were playing him false. Then the dark form's right hand moved and Nex sank like a stone at Erin's feet.

  The wolf-grey eyes looked into the slanted ones. For a brief moment their gaze locked as equals, then Kel's seemed to smile and slide away. He bowed, then turned seeking other victims.

  A voice brought Erin out of his reverie. Glancing up he saw the tw
o Kirkwean emerge from the forest. Thorn walked as though in a daze, while Timin, his nerves screaming, ran ahead to Erin.

  "Did you see them? Three of the buggers followed us into the woods. But we got them all! I jabbed one with my spear and Thorn did the other two in right proper!" Then the little Kirkwean looked around him. Bodies lay strewn about like leaves in a forest. Red gore covered Erin from head to toe. Timin took a step back and all but tripped over Nex's prone form. "Erg strike me, it's him! The one from the river!"

  At that moment Ragnol moaned and tried to rise, his face a bloody mess from his twice-shattered nose. Timin had time only to point a shaking finger before Kel moved in and, with one short, swift blow, returned Ragnol to the blessed blackness of oblivion.

  "It's right bloody quick you be with those hands, lad. Nex there was mine." Erin's words were low and measured, but none missed their edge. Kel however, merely gave his mocking half bow to the man he had sworn to 'serve'.

  "He's none too slow with his shafts either," put in Timin. "Saved our lives a few times over there by the fire!"

  Kel glanced at the two Kirkwean in his inscrutable way, then went to retrieve his arrows. Thorn, slowly coming out of his trance-like state, stepped up to the tall mercenary and pointed at both Ragnol and Nex. "Well, now that we've got them, what do we do with them?"

  Erin, his blood still racing from all the killing, bent and cleaned his sword on Nex's cloak, then rammed it home into its scabbard. "Slit their throats 'n be done with it. They've caused us more than enough mischief already."

  Timin's large eyes opened even wider at Erin's cold words. It was Thorn however, who spoke.

  "No. There's been too much killing already." His blue eyes had the strange, haunted look of a dreamer that has dreamed too deeply and now desperately seeks reality.

  "What would you have us do with them then?", Erin demanded. "Spank their asses 'n send them on their merry way?!"

  "We could take their weapons and gear," Thorn replied. "The three left alive would have no choice but to limp back to Slathland. News of their defeat should help stop any further invasion of the Wold."