Shard

by Wayne Mee

  "It takes a steady hand to hold a lance against a charging boar," Ragnol continued. His twice broken nose gave his voice an irritating nasal quality. "Steady nerves as well." He grinned through cracked lips, yet his eyes remained cold.

  "Terrible things live in Weirwood," Tartif muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Gulocks 'n glucks 'n darker things that don't even have names!"

  "Shut the quiff up!", Nex growled. "Look yonder! By the edge of the forest!"

  Ragnol followed Nex's trembling finger and saw a thin column of grey spiraling upwards from just within the bounds of the woods. "'Where there's smoke there's fire'!", he quoted. "Fire means people and people mean food."

  'And women and weapons!', Nex said to himself as he followed Ragnol down the rocky slope. Behind them Tartif sat shaking, his lips forming one silent word over and over again: 'Weirwood!'

  ***

  Chapter 17: CIRIMOTH DAG SHARD

  The small fire flickered off the stones and banked earth set round to shield its light. All knew that they shouldn't have lit it, but all knew too that a 'light in the darkness' was needed just then.

  Overhead the cold stars blazed forth; an uncaring backdrop for the full moon that hung above them like a pale, bloated eye. Off in the woods an owl screeched, followed quickly by the fainter scream. One more victim for those that dwell in the shadows.

  Timin huddled by the fire, casting worried glances at his cousin. Thorn sat well beyond the fire's warmth, staring into the inky blackness. His hands, still covered in blood, were clasped tightly round the hilt of the strange shortsword. When Timin could stand it no more, he stood up and moved over to where Mithdar was sewing up a long but not overly deep slash in Erin's shield arm.

  "Easy there, tinker! That's not an old sock you be darnin'!"

  Mithdar, not taking his eyes off his work, spoke quietly. "Come morning he should be over the worst of it, Timin. For now it's best that we leave him alone."

  "But he's hurting inside, Mithdar! Hurting something awful!"

  Erin, gritting his teeth as the last stitch was pulled tight, added his own words of comfort. "The Yiffrin will sometimes do that to a man, laddie. It be like a red rage that grips the mind, washin' out every thought save the urge to kill." The mercenary laid a calloused hand on Timin's shoulder. "Like this 'pot-mender' here says, Timin; Time be the cure, for no physic nor potion can ease the hurt --- 'cept maybe a flask or two o' strong grog!"

  Large, liquid eyes looked at Mithdar. "Was it this 'Yiffrin-rage' that took him? I mean, what he did --- His voice trailed off and he cast yet another glance at the shadowy form sitting just beyond the firelight.

  Timin, blinking back the tears, moved slowly over to his cousin. His head still hurt where the spear had struck his helmet and one eye was all but swollen shut, yet even blind as a bat he couldn't help but feel the inner hurt his lifelong friend was suffering.

  "Mind if I sit with you a spell?"

  Thorn's gaze never left the silver acorn set in the pommel of his shortsword. Timin sat, waiting silently. When it was clear Thorn wasn't going to speak, he himself began. "I -- I want to thank you for saving my life. I'd be dead now if you hadn't saved me."

  Thorn's wild eyes looked into Timin's swollen ones. "'Thank me?!'" The anguish in Thorn's voice tore at Timin's heart. "Erg strike me, Timin, I HACKED THEM TO PIECES! BUTCHERED them with THIS!" Thorn stood up and made to throw Shard into the night.

  Timin caught his hand. "Thorn, no! The Erg-Leath herself gave Silverleaf to you! Our holiest of relics! You can't just toss it away like an old boot! You've a RESPONSIBILITY, for Erg-sake!"

  Thorn looked at his friend through tormented eyes, then pulled himself away. The shortsword was still in his hand, the reflected fire dancing along the black blade. "Look at it, Timin! Look closely! Even now, after I cleansed the gore from it, see how it yet drips blood! How it silently calls out for more!"

  Timin, seeing his lifelong companion in such a frantic state, tried to place a reasuring hand on his cousin's shoulder; but Thorn pushed him roughly away.

  "Don't come near me, less I treat you as I did them!"

  Timin moved closer, ignoring the raised blade. "If not for you, those beasts would have killed me! Is it wrong to give back death to a pack of attacking wolves?! Why, Karns are worse than beasts! Foul murderers; kidnappers of women and children; spoilers of all that is good in the world! It wasn't a easy thing you did, but one that needed doing; and I'd have been right there to help you in the bloody work if they hadn't laid me so low!"

  The little Kirkwean gingerly touched his sore head, wincing from the pain. Thorn's heart caught in his throat.Suddenly Shard dropped to his side as all the brooding self-pity drained out of him. Slowly he reached out for his childhood friend.

  "Good old, Timin. Always there when I need you Come, we'll sit by the fire. You're sore hurt and need rest, but there's something I must tell you, for it's too heavy to bare alone."

  So, just as they had all their lives, sharing both joys and sorrows, Thorn told his cousin all of what Mithdar had revealed about Shard. The words came slowly at first, for he had given Mithdar his oath, but the enormity of it all was just too much for him, and he felt he had to share the burden or go insane. The moon had all but set when he had finished.

  Timin gently took his cousin's hand. "I'm glad you told me, Thorn. Though it frightens me, I'm proud that you felt you could trust me. As for old Mithdar's warning to keep it to yourself, let me worry about him! Besides, we're blood kin! Closer even than most brothers, and if you can't trust your own brother, then what hope is there in this world?!"

  The two friends sat quietly for some time, sharing the silence around them and the warmth between them. As the coals turned to ashes, they rolled themselves in their travel stained cloaks and slept side by side.

  ***

  The morning came crisp and clear, though a mist hung on the lake, making the distant shore impossible to see. By the time Mithdar roused the two Kirkweans, Kel was already gathering firewood and Erin was checking their boat.

  When the old tinker looked into Thorn's blue eyes, he smiled knowingly. Thorn felt a moment of anguish at having broken his word to keep silent, but seeing Mithdar's friendly gaze, all such feeling melted away like morning mist beneath the summer sun.

  "I was wrong, lad, to ask you to give me your oath before I told you the tale. Perhaps it is better that the one closest to you helps share the burden. 'Two pair of hands make the load half as heavy' as they say. Indeed, soon will come the time when all your band must be told, for none should walk blindly forward in such perilous times. But for now, let us eat and away, for much of the Tarn is still to be crossed."

  Visibly relieved by the old man's words, Thorn asked the one burning question that was foremost in his mind. "Yesterday, just after I drew the sword, I remember yelling something. I recall the words clearly, but I don't understand them. What means 'Cirimoth dag Shard'?"

  Though Thorn knew it not, those last three words came out in a guttural hiss, and the force of them made Timin flinch.

  "Speak not those words here!", Mithdar said quickly. "For they are fell words in an evil tongue, and even in the bright of morn should not be uttered lightly!"

  "But what do they MEAN, Mithdar?!"

  The old man glanced quickly about. Finding both Erin and Kel occupied with their tasks, he turned back to the two Kirkwean. "I had thought to hold this from you, till we at least reached the safety of Gareth Withrin, but since you have twice used the words of power, it might be best if you know their meaning. The tongue is a very ancient one, Glamrothian by name, spoken by 'The Outcast' and his followers. The words that you said call forth great power. I prey you, Thorn, do not speak them again!"

  Thorn gripped the tinker's arm. "But their MEANING, Mithdar! I MUST know their meaning!"

  "They mean," he said slowly; 'Death by Shard'."

  Thorn was silent for some time, his trembling hand hovering ever near the hilt of his shortsword. At last he
spoke, his voice as dead as dry leaves. "So it was Shard that made me butcher those Karns, not this 'Yiffrin' that Erin spoke of?"

  Mithdar sighed deeply. "I'm afraid so, Thorn."

  The little Kirkwean gave a strangled moan and buried his head in his cousin's embrace. Timin, rocking Thorn like a child, glared back at the old man. "There's more to this than you let on earlier, isn't there? You'd best tell us the rest of it --- now!"

  Mithdar hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward and began his tale. "Centuries past, two great Nim-Lothian armies clashed. One was led by Gerdolin Fingolfin, a great warrior-king. The other by a renegade Nim-Loth known as The Outcast. The two leaders met and Fingolfin broke Arack, one of the three Sword of Power that the Outcast had stolen earlier. The battle ended when Finglofin relieved the Outcast of his head. During the night the body was left on the field, along with the broken pieces of Arack. In the morning, both were gone."

  "But what has all that got to do with Thorn's sword?!", Timin demanded.

  Mithdar frowned and the morning seemed to darken, as though a cloud had passed over the sun. Then he smiled and the world was bright again. "Patience, Timin; for the gaining of knowledge is a slow process."

  Timin reddened and the tinker continued. "The death of The Outcast marks the end of the First Age of Oma-Var. The coming of the dreaded Shadow Lord marks the beginning of this, the Second Age. Thorn has already told you that 'his' sword was reforged from one of the three Great Swords?"

  Timin nodded while Thorn sat wrapped in his own dark thoughts. With a sigh, Mithdar went on. "The Outcast's broken Sword of Power and the blade Brand Silverleaf carried into the Wold and are the SAME SWORD --- just as the Outcast and the Shadow Lord are the SAME PERSON."

  Timin's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. "But what you are saying is IMPOSSIBLE!"

  Mithdar shook his had. "Impossible or not, it is true. The Outcast's evil spirit was somehow changed into the entity known as the Shadow Lord, just as the broken pieces of Arack, the Sword of Power he stole, were reforged into Shard.

  Timin's eyes narrowed. "I have never heard of this 'Shadow Lord' before!"

  "Oh, but you have, Timin. He is known by many names in many lands. But Thorn knows his true name."

  Timin's gaze flashed to his cousin. Thorn, his tiny fist white-knuckled around Shard's hilt, stared back through tormented eyes. "Yes, I know his true name", Thorn whispered. "All Kirkwean do. We call him Lucfelian!"

  "'Lucfelion'?!", gasped Timin. "But -- but that's just a character from children's tales! A boogie man name old nannies use to scare each other with! He does not truly EXIST!"

  Again Mithdar sighed. "I would that it were so, good Timin, but the sad truth is that Lucfelian does exist. Most free folk think of him as you do; 'but a name in children's tales'. But ever and anon a 'shadow' returns to the land; and those that are skilled in such things have recognized it for what it was --- the deathless spirit of The Outcast; the dreaded 'Shadow Lord'."

  "And this then is His sword?" Timin's overlarge eyes fastened on the small blade.

  Mithdar nodded. "Reforged by Lucfelian himself from the shards Arack, one of the three great 'Swords of Power' I told Thorn of earlier."

  "But ---," stammered Timin. "But you said he was KILLED! How could he then REFORGE it if he was DEAD?!"

  "Ah," replied the old man. "I said his 'body' died, Timin. Such was the power of Lucfelian's twisted arts that his 'spirit' somehow lived on --- and still does."

  Timin fixed the old tinker with his most fearsome stare. "And part of his evil is somehow in Thorn's sword? Making him --- do things?!"

  Mithdar stiffened. "I believe so, though Thorn's will is very strong and he should be able to resist Shard's 'pull' for quite some time."

  Thorn pushed himself away from his cousin and stood glaring at the old man. "Like I did today when I hacked those Karns to pieces?! How long before I fall completely under its evil spell and turn on one of you?!"

  Mithdar held the Kirkwean's wild-eyed gaze. "Longer than you yourself might think, my young friend. Your Erg-Leath knew what she was doing when she chose you to be 'The Wanderer'. But enough for now. The day is swiftly passing and we've far to go if we wish to put a stout door between us and the night. Come, let us join the others and make our way to the Nim-Loth at Gareth Withrin. There we may delve into such things at our leisure. But for now, best keep it safe and best keep it hidden."

  ***

  For the rest of that day they travelled the watery highway, stopping only long enough to make a hasty meal and then push on. Mithdar thought it best that they make no camp, but keep on by the light of the moon. And so it was that on the second night since entering the Tarn, they came to where the chain of lakes narrowed down into a fast flowing river. There Mithdar called a halt and the weary band crawled into the high reeds and rested. Though a guard was posted, neither two or four legged creatures disturbed their slumber, and on the morning of the third day they made ready to pass down the river.

  "What be the name o' this black waterway?", asked Erin. "For though this great swamp be fairer than first supposed, I'll not be sad to be leavin' it. Sparklin' lakes where black hearted Karns lurk in the reeds be not to my likin'!"

  As he spoke he reefed in, lashed the sail, and unstepped the mast, for the river flowed swiftly and the great willows far overhung the shore, and there'd be little room for sailcraft.

  "The river is known by many names and named in many tongues," Mithdar replied. "Though the one that might suit best would be Narn Dragonus, or 'Dragon's Tail', for from here it winds and twists a half days journey and empties into a great lake."

  "No doubt called 'Dragon's Head' or some such tripe!", muttered Timin, for he had grown quiet and moody of late.

  "Telum Dragonus it has indeed been called, Timmin," Mithdar replied. "Though most trevelers call it simply 'Long Lake'. The Nim-Loth of the Ithilian Silv however, refer to it as Gareth Withrin, which in their tongue means 'Sparkling Crown'."

  As they climbed aboard their craft and pushed off into the considerable current, Erin turned to Mithdar. "Be it not time, 'Master Lore-Giver', that you enlightened us further about these mysterious 'Nim-Loth' o' yours?"

  Mithdar told them briefly of the Ithilian Silv; how they were a 'splinter group' that had broken away from their ancient kin on the other side of the Tol Elder Mountains. Just why they had 'broken away' was not clear, though Mithdar suspected it had something to do with the encroachment of the men of Isgoth into their ancient greenwood.

  This new Silv or clan was ruled by the House of Ithilian, a family whose lineage stretched back to the First Age of Oma-Var; and though Mithdar had been greeted warmly enough by them, few 'Men' were welcomed. The Ithilian Zorka or 'king' favored the 'old ways', and looked upon the Race of Man as an uncivilized upstart. Their relationship with the Delgii was little better, though Dingle and his clan seemed to come and go rather frequently, for both Delgi and Nim-Loth had one strong bond in common --- they hated 'The Shadow Lord' and all that served him, especially Karns.

  "Then our welcome may be none too warm?", Erin said as they rounded a sharp bend in the river.

  Mithdar was about to reply when a huge boulder splashed into the water less than a vel away, soaking them all with its spray.

  "Karns!", yelled Kel, pointing up the steep cliffs on both sides. "They seek to smash us from above!"

  Two more boulders came crashing down; one close to the stern and the second, being larger, smashed into the base of the cliff and shattered, sending jagged rocks and dust over the river.

  Erin turned to Thorn. "Your sling, lad! Kel, use your bow! The rest get us to mid-stream! The current runs fastest there!"

  As Thorn and Kel sent their missiles upwards, the other paddled and the little craft surged forward in the quickening current.

  The dropping boulders came less frequently, and though the enraged Karns ran screaming along the cliff tops, they were fast falling behind. The river ran white with foam all about them. Erin
clung to the steering oar and grinned, seeing safety just beyond the bend. The rest clung to the sides.

  Rounding the bend their hopes died. Stretched across the fast flowing river was an enormous pine, felled from above and all but blocking their passage. Karns swarmed over it like ants on a dropped crust of bread. From beneath its boughs new boatloads of attackers emerged.

  "Timin!", Erin yelled. "Take the rudder! Steer for that gap betwix the log 'n the far shore!" The little Kirkwean scrambled back as Erin fastened his helm and shield and drew Glenrig. Moving forward to stand grim faced at the bow, he looked more like the figurehead on a dreaded Glitch Slath or 'Dragon Ship' than a man facing certain death.

  The current carried them towards the gap like a leaf tossed by a gale. The several Karn-craft were no match for the swifter current, and fell in behind them. The gap, however, was narrow and Karns waited eagerly on both sides. To the right they clung to the branches of the felled pine, while to the left they waded out waist deep in the swirling water. All screamed and brandished weapons, beating them upon their dented shields and rusty breastplates .

  "Stay down till I call!" the weapons-man hissed. "Then lash out at any quiffer that moves!"

  Closer and closer came the narrow gap. Louder and louder came the howling of the Karns. Kel, not heeding Erin's warning, sent shaft after deadly shaft into their midst, yet others pressed forward to close the gap.

  Then they were alongside the pine. Spears and javelins hailed down on them. Luckily their aim was poor, having no solid footing from which to throw. Still, the craft was hit far more than once, and it was only by keeping low and using their shields that they escaped unharmed. One spear would have taken Timin squarely in the chest had not Kel knocked it away with his bare hand. Timin looked with disbelief at the Chin, who merely nodded and raised is eyebrow.

  A determined group of Karns made to leap into the boat. Erin slashed about him and several fell back into the boiling water. Two made it. Using their paddles, Mithdar and Thorn knocked them back into the river.