Shard

by Wayne Mee

  Mithdar's angry stare turned on the grizzly Dryfallen, but the scarred warrior stood his ground, though beads of sweat suddenly appeared on his receding forehead. Then the wizard dropped his stare and became a kindly old man again --- though all there knew they were now seeing the 'shinier side' of what at times could be a very 'dark coin'. Mithdar sat down, suddenly tired.

  "Excuse me friends, it's just that the name Jarlish-Xyx brings back unwelcome memories."

  Zoean moved up to the old man and smiled. "All of us have memories from the past that we'd rather not relive. I wish there was something I could do to ease yours."

  Mithdar sighed, then squeezed the young woman's hand. "Thank you child, but an old man's memories are long past healing. Like an ache in the bones, we must learn to live with them."

  He stood up then and pointed eastward. "I'm afraid I must leave you for awhile. I have to see someone east of here. The rest of you go on. I will meet you below the waterfall at The Edge of the World in three days."

  In the stunned silence Mithdar began gathering his things to leave; then suddenly Kel stood before them. His eyebrow raised as he saw the seven dead Balikie, then, kicking out their small fire, he spoke quietly to Erin. The tall mercenary swore, then addressed the group.

  "Kel tells me that there be a large bunch o' Karns up ahead n' comin' this way. Also there be some o' 'those' followin' our trail from the south." Erin pointed to the dead mercenaries from Jarlish-Xyx. "I suggest that we all 'tag along' with the good tinker on this 'sudden sidetrack' o' his --- since all other courses seem blocked for the moment."

  "What about Flynnial?!", Zoean demanded. "We can't just leave him!"

  Erin adjusted the blood-red circlet on his forehead, shouldered his pack and slung his black shield on his back. "He'll follow our trail westward n' probably catch us before we have to cross the lakes."

  "And if he doesn't?!"

  "Then, me darlin' girl, we'll see if he can live up to that title o' his."

  "You're a cold-hearted bastard!"

  "I agree, lass. All 'ravens' are."

  Zoean would have said more but Nobert hurried her away. Moments later all ten of them were heading westward into the setting sun --- and once again into the very heart of The Tarn.

  ***

  "How many?"

  Kel held up one open hand and a thumb.

  "Shit!", Erin said, then shrugged, thinking that it could have been much worse.

  All through the night they had pushed westward, stopping only to grab a hasty meal and a short rest before dawn. With the coming of the sun they had set off again. Now they sat on the eastern bank of a wide lake planning to steal a boat from a party of Karns.

  It could have been worse, but it could also have been a hell of a lot better! Zoean had fallen in a swamp and lost her pack and small shield. Snorn had been bitten by a snake and now had a swollen calf that slowed him down --- and Flynn had not returned. Erin felt sure he would have to tie Zoean up to get her into the boat; if, that is, there wasn't three or four boatloads of Karns already waiting for them in the next cove! He swore again, then motioned for Cynwulf and the two other Delgii to circle around to the left. He, Kel and Thorn would move in from the right. The other four would come quickly when they heard him call. Zoean hadn't liked it, but the tall manling had given her little choice, smiling sweetly and reminding her that he was, after all, 'The Raven'. She had swung her fist at him but he had merely caught her hand, kissed it, and propelled her backwards into Nobert's waiting arms.

  Now that all was ready, Erin drew the heavy throwing knife from his belt and, flipping it so that he held the blade, stepped out of the forest.

  ***

  Gluck was hungry, and hunger made him angry. He spit out the raw fish he had been chewing and cursed. The two Karns closest to him looked up, then turned away. Gluck was never one to cross even at the best of times --- and these, they all knew, were far from the best of times'.

  Tossing the fish aside, Gluck stomped over to the pair and demanded the skin full of Nash they were sharing. It was while pulling out the cork with his yellow fangs that he saw the manling. An evil grin smeared itself across his broad, cruel face. Now there would be something better to eat than fish!

  Gluck spit out the cork and nodded in Erin's direction. The pair squatting beside him looked, then grunted, pulling their weapons out as they stood. The three by the boat followed suit. One barked something guttural to the two further along the shore, who quickly gave up fishing to join in what looked to be 'meatier sport'.

  The tall manling stood like one turned to stone. His long, green cloak covered his entire right side, but Gluck could see the longsword still sheathed on his left hip. Gluck's sneer widened. Though the stranger carried a shield, he wore no helm, just a red circlet with what looked like a large, black disk in the center of his forehead. The fool was too dumb-struck to even draw his blade!

  Still the stranger did not move. Gluck studied the face. No beard. Browned by the sun. Armour all black --- like the eyes. The first ripples of fear began to touch the big Karn's heart, but he pushed it away.

  "You two!", he growled in his own harsh tongue. "Kill me this man-pig!" As the pair began to move Erin let his cloak fall and shifted sideways. Gluck could now clearly see the manling's longsword still in his scabbard.

  "I want your boat," Erin said. "Go now 'n I'll leave you your lives."

  Gluck's overlarge jaw sagged. He understood 'Common' better than most, but he repeated the word 'boat' just to make sure. When Erin nodded, Gluck began to laugh. "Boat Karn boat! One you. Many we!"

  "Many or few, filth, t'is you who'll die first."

  Gluck's smile vanished. He pushed down the icicle of fear that had suddenly pierced his empty stomach and raised his notched axe. "Kill him NOW!", he roared.

  Gluck saw the tall manling's right hand flash upwards. A moment later something smacked his leather breastplate. Glancing down he was surprised to see a long knife handle sticking out of his chest; then the pain reached him and he wasn't surprised any more --- he was dead.

  The rest happened quickly. Erin pulled Glenrig and charged. Cynwulf, Bragi and a limping Snorn erupted from the forest, while Kel loosed shaft after shaft and Thorn's sling hurled it's deadly little stones. Moments later Zoean came running with sword in hand, followed by Nobert, Mithdar and a puffing Timin. Flynn the Narthrond was with them. It was over however before they got there.

  Erin cleaned his swordblade on Gluck's filthy cloak and rammed it into his scabbard, then, pulling his throwing knife from the dead Karn's chest, turned towards the Narthrond. "Glad you finally found us, Flynn-lad. The darlin' princess here thought you dead."

  Flynn smiled, though all could see that he had been through a great ordeal. His clothes were caked with mud and his left forearm was bandaged. "I ran into a little trouble. A half dozen or so Balikie chased me a good piece, but I lost them in the swamp."

  As Zoean began to fuss over Flynn's wound, Mithdar addressed the entire group. "I like not this business of the Balikie. The men of Jarlish-Xyx are a brutal lot, and finding them here and in such numbers bodes ill for both the Nim-Loth and the Delgii. Now, more than ever, I must away eastward!"

  "'N just who or what, Friend Tinker, be you seeking towards the east?" Erin's tone held a sharp edge to it. "Gildar 'n his Hundred have gone north, 'n north be where Dingle 'n his Delgii have need o' us!"

  The wizard's silver brows met in a fierce frown. For a moment it seemed that his 'darker side' was about to emerge. "Too many things are happening for my liking! Karns attacking everywhere; Thorn's 'burden'; the 'sending'; the huge Grel we met. And now these mercenaries from distant Jarlish Xyx! I must consult with one who has the power to see more clearly into the meaning of all this; for we must choose the right path for to follow, for more than our own lives depend upon which way we now turn!"

  It was Cynwulf that spoke up first. "Well, I for one am sure of where my path leads me, back to Tyree to stand with my kin! I came south see
king aid. The Zorka has agreed. One hundred Nim-Loth have gone ahead and the young Zor Arthdain follows with a mighty host. I and my two Delgi march north!"

  Thorn stepped forward. "But both Karns and these dark-skinned men lie between us and the Delgii of Tyree. Would it not be better to go eastward with Mithdar? The Tarn can't go on forever! Once across it we could then head north, perhaps even overtake Bar Gildar, or even join up with Prince Arthdain!"

  Cynwulf scowled and stroked his thick beard. "It may be that our path northward is indeed blocked, but if we follow the wizard here, then we lose precious time! Gildar's band, if they still live, are far ahead by now, and who can say when Arthdain's host will reach Tyree?!"

  It was Mithdar who spoke next. "Who can say indeed? Yet it often proves wiser to go around an obstacle than to confront it. My business eastward will not take long. There is a village there of sorts, a foul place to be sure, but horses could be found and the time lost could be easily made up."

  Cynwulf conferred with Bragi and the ever-silent Snorn. In the end it was decided that all would go eastward with Mithdar. The decision being made, little time was lost in launching the sleekest of the Karn-craft and hoisting the sail. The other two boats were left on the shore with gaping holes in their bottoms. Soon the growing dusk swallowed them up as they headed east across the Tarn.

  ***

  The volcanic mountain that was Tol-Slath rose up before them like a great, black boil on the green plain. As the three horsemen rested their winded mounts on a rise overlooking the heath, a crack of distant thunder split the pre-dawn air. Jagged shafts of lightning sizzled across the gloomy sky, yet all eyes were drawn to the gigantic hill that dominated the rolling flatland. Tol-Slath, crowned by the mighty seven-walled castle that housed one of the most powerful monarchs in all of Oma-Var, Alexis IV, the all-powerful High Gnash of mighty Slathland.

  They had killed two horses getting here and reduced several others to worthless skin and bones, yet they had made the ride in less than four days. At the beginning Dragoon Sagan had advised caution, only to be told to 'keep up or quit'. Nex cared little one way or the other, for he was in a rush to reach the Capital, and after the failure of the entire expedition, the mere loss of another man and a few horses seemed immaterial.

  Scattering peasants, thralls and merchants alike, they galloped down the cobbled road and up to the first wall. A sentry made to bar their way but one look at Nex's grim expression brought both fear as well as recognition to the startled man's face. A horn was blown, the massive gates were opened and the three horsemen thundered on.

  By the time the last and seventh gate was passed the animals were breathing hard. Lather streamed off their steaming shanks and the poor beasts could do little more than crawl up the steep slope. Nex whipped his wild-eyed steed unmercifully, then, grunting in disgust, quit the animal, pulled a lancer off his horse, mounted and pressed on. Sagan and Ragnol both sat astride their winded mounts.

  The travel-weary dragoon swore. Being the youngest and least ambitious son of a career officer, he had but three passions in his life: women, gambling and horses. He had seen how the great 'Lord Nex' had treated the last; it would be interesting to see how he handled the other two.

  As for Ragnol, he simply dismounted and strode away, the guards snapping to attention as he passed. Sagan turned and went in search of a tavern.

  ***

  Chapter 26:'BLACKWATER'

  The cottage seemed more a natural part of the woods and rocks that surrounded it than a dwelling constructed by human hands. Situated as it was on the isolated finger of land jutting out into the murky waters of The Tarn, it might easily have gone unnoticed by all save those brave few that dared come calling on the old crone that dwelt there. Yet even those few came with racing hearts and palms sweaty from clutching their copper coins, their mouths dry and their feet eager to be gone.

  Mithdar had told Erin to let him off on the narrow strip of land just as false dawn was tinting the eastern sky. The mercenary from Loamin was to then sail towards the distant lights twinkling through the mist-laden shore. There they would find the tiny hamlet of Blackwater, a village perched on the edge of The Tarn like a drab piece of flotsam washed up on an unfriendly shore.

  The inhabitants of Blackwater were, for the most part, 'oilers', men who eked out an existence skimming the black ooze from the bubbling springs and pools scattered along the shore of the great swamp. This oil was sold to traveling merchants who exchanged spices , steel, wool and various contaband for the smelly barrels and shipped them overland by caravan to light the lamps of distant lands. What few others lived there did so more out of a need to hide from the outside world than anything else. Thieves, brigands and cut-throats, most with a price on their head and no place left to run. Blackwater was a sour, surly place, where any stranger not from a trader's caravan was looked upon with suspicion.

  "Erg save us! What manner of place is this?", Timin whispered as the weather-beaten warf materialized out of the fog. The lopsided buildings beyond, devoid of any paint, care or tender touch, looked like leaning wraiths in the early morning gloom. Thorn pulled his cloak tighter about him, trying to shake off the strange feeling he had about the dirty little hamlet. Karns and the dark men from Jarlish-Xyx were bad enough, but this place had an eerie quality about it that made him shudder.

  Just then a heavily accented voice called out to them through the gloom. "Halt there, curse ye! Name yerselves right quick or I'll call out the watch!"

  "Friends!", Erin yelled back. "We but seek food 'n shelter!"

  "Have ye coin to pay with?!"

  "Aye!", the mercenary replied curtly. "N' sharp iron for those who would keep us hungry 'n cold!"

  A shuttered lantern was opened and the light revealed a young boy in rags standing beside a raw-boned man wearing a dirty tabard over filthy clothes. The man held a long, bronze-tipped spear. "No need to get riled, friend. Us'n don't get too many strangers here in Blackwater. Traders mostly --- which you lot don't look to be.

  In response, Erin hefted a pouch of coins, the jingle of which caused a toothless smile to crease the old man's face.

  "A silver penny for meself n' a half one for the boy n'. Dockin' fees ye understand."

  Erin tossed up a single coin. to the boy.

  The man seemed about to complain, but thought better of it. "I'll throw us a line 'n I'll make ye fast!"

  As Bragi tossed up the bow rope, the lantern's light fell on his bearded face, causing the lad to give out with a startled cry.

  "Here now, what's this?", demanded the watchman as he peered closer. "Why, it's a quiffin' Stoner!" The thin man grabbed the lantern from the lad and thrust it closer to the boat. "A whole passel of 'em! An' a Nim or two as well!" He backed quickly away and leveled his spear towards Erin. "You at least look 'manish' enough! How come ye to be traveling The Tarn with a boatload of Stoners an' Nim?!"

  Erin made to step up onto the warf but the bronze-headed spear swiftly approached his chest. The tall mercenary from Loamin merely looked down at the weapon and smiled. "Do you really think THAT could stop me?"

  The guardsman caught his meaning and backed further away, lowering the spear as he went. "Gil", he said in an urgent whisper; "Run quick n' fetch Gessler n' the others!"

  As the startled lad moved to obey, he suddenly found himself held in mid-flight by Cynwulf's hooked pike which had snagged into his raggedly coat. Bragi and Snorn, weapons drawn, leapt out and stood blocking the startled guardsman's line of retreat.

  Then Zoean rose up, her cascade of thick hair reflecting the lamplight, casting back the shadows of the mist-covered warf. The old warrior Nobert stood in her shadow, one hand on his half-drawn sword.

  "Enough of this foolishness! Cynwulf, release that child!" Zoean's tone left no room for argument. She stepped lightly ashore and faced the astonished watchman. "I am Zoean Ithilian, daughter of Zorka Agwain of the Nim-Lothian Silv of Gareth Withrin. These are my companions. We have traveled a long way and have need o
f food and shelter. See to it immediately!"

  The guardsman's jaw dropped and his eyes bulged as the realization of just who it was that actually stood before him struck home. All in Blackwater had heard of the Nim-Loth of Gareth Withrin, though few had ever thought to actually see one --- yet here before his very eyes was a vision of beauty that claimed to be the Nim king's own child! The slack-jawed man snapped his mouth shut and made a hasty bow.

  "Of course, yer Ladyship! Right away!" He turned and gave the lad a cuff. "Well, Gil, are ye just goin' to stand there like a dumb fool?! Run along to the inn n' have rooms made ready for Her Ladyship!"

  ***

  To the two small Kirkwean the bustling village of Blackwater seemed like a vast warren of overgrown rabbits. Never before had they seen so many 'big people' crowded into one place before. Though just past dawn, the muddy streets teamed with both men and women, all bustling about doing whatever it was they did in this collection of shabby yet towering buildings. Stalls of produce and wares were set up in what Nobert called a 'market'. Horses and mules, sagging under their burdens, waded through ankle-deep mud, while angry drivers urged the beasts on with whips and curses. From a second story window a pail of slops was emptied out into the street, barely missing a wide-eyed Timin.

  "I don't like this place!", the portly Kirkwean whispered to his cousin. "It smells something terrible --- and there's so many 'tall folk'!"

  "Just keep your spear ready and your mouth shut," Thorn replied. "And for Slath's sake watch where you step!"

  Timin jumped back just as a large wagon rolled by, splashing the small Wee'n with a generous coating of black mud. The driver, taking the two Kirkwean for children, shouted something to them concerning the 'waywardness of their mother'.

  "Right this way, yer Ladyship." Sallar, the thin watchman, was pointing up the street to where his son, Gil, stood waving. A crowd had gathered round the lad in front of a three-storied building that, though once quite grand, had definitely seen better days.