Shard

by Wayne Mee

"What --- what happened? Everything suddenly went aswirl and --- Did I faint?"

  Timin was the only one that could meet his eyes. "It took you again, Thorn. You --- you wounded Erin."

  A moan of anguish escaped from the pale Kirkwean and he buried his face in his hands. Silent dry sobs racked his body and Timin knelt close, able only to share, but not heal, his cousin's pain.

  The rest stood round in silence and watched the shadows grow longer.

  ***

  Chapter 49: 'OVER AND UNDER'

  "What's that?!" The urgency in Twigg's voice was driven by fear.

  "Wolves," Roary said as he handed the wineskin back to Erin. "Many's the time I've heard a hungry pack runnin' down their prey."

  Nobert intercepted the skin. The plaintive howling came again, only louder. Nob paused in his drinking. "Gettin' closer right quick. Perhaps we should be findin' some higher ground --- just in case."

  They all agreed and soon Twigg was leading them up the steep, pine-studded hill known as Dragon's Spine. Erin, trying unsuccessfully to hide the throbbing pain in his leg, was forced to lean on Kel. When they reached the top, he was breathing heavily. The sound of the wolves seemed closer.

  "What be that?", Nobert demanded, pointing at a jumble of moss-covered stones at the crest of the hill. His concern for Zoean caused his rough tone to be even rougher than usual. Twigg, trying to mask his fear, launched into a rambling explanation.

  "That? Why, that's the remains of the Dragon Tower, or so the legends go. Built ages past by the Nim-Loth to ward against Fire Drakes. They say a Great Drake, or 'Dragon' as you big folk call them, attacked the tower and destroyed it, but not before the creature itself received its death blow. Crashed into the tower it did too! Why, they say its very bones make up the crown of the hill!"

  "Hmmph!", Nob snorted. "Well, tale or truth, those fallen stones will make as good a place as any to make our stand! Let's away 'fore yonder beasties mount the hill!"

  By the time Kel and Zoean had brought Erin into the protective circle of the jumbled stones, the tall mercenary was limping badly. They sat him on a toppled stone and Zoean raised the hem of his mail shirt. What she saw made her gasp. The gash was still bleeding and a sickly bluish-black bruise was rapidly spreading round the wound.

  Her greenish eyes gazed into his slate-grey ones. Unspoken thoughts passed between them. So much to say and so little time. She reached out and gently squeezed his hand. He returned the gesture in kind.

  "Don't flash yerself, lass. I've been dealt worse 'n still pulled through. Just get me propped up 'n put my sword in my hand 'n to the Pit with the rest!"

  Zoean knew it was all bluster. Erin's wound was fast festering, and if something was not done soon, he would loose his leg.

  The tall manling must have read her thoughts, for he squeezed her hand again and pulled her to him. "Ah, lassie, we gave it a good try, didn't we?"

  The howling of the wolves drowned out her answer, yet it was there in the tears in her eyes.

  "They're coming!", Twigg yelled. "They've found our trial!"

  Timin turned to his cousin. His own eyes were wide, though more from wonder than fright. "Thorn! I remember this place! We used to call it the 'Wizard's Wall' when we were just wee tads! We'd come here and refight the Fire Drake! Remember?!"

  Thorn, sitting alone and dejected with his back to the moss-covered stone, hardly seemed to hear. Timin however, pressed on.

  "You must remember! Once we found a half-buried door of sorts, but we were too small to open it. But now --- " He knelt down and grasped his cousin's pale hand. Thorn looked up at him, hearing him clearly for the first time. Suddenly the heavy mantle of guilt he was carrying was replaced by something lighter --- hope.

  "Yes, Timin! If we could but find that door --- "

  "We could all escape the wolves!" Timin finished the thought.

  Together the two Kirkwean began to search the base of the ruined tower for the long lost door of their childhood --- while at the base of Dragon Spine, Lucfelian's conjured 'Hecket' continued to howl.

  ***

  "That's it! Put your backs into it! Lear smote me, if I were only a male!" Zoean continued to curse as Roary and Nobert grunted at the door. Ever so slowly the ancient hinges began to move. Zoean wedged her way into the crevice and lent her strength to the straining men.

  The dark slit widened to half a vel and would go no more. "Quickly!", she yelled to Onooga. "Get the others!"

  Positioned round the rim of the jumbled boulders, the rest of the Companions were flinging arrows, stones and curses down on the snarling black things that prowled the base of the ruined tower. All save Erin, who stood with his back against a fallen wall, his long blade's tip resting on the ground, gathering his remaining strength for the last desperate battle.

  Onooga reached him. Kel a moment later. "It's open! Come!"

  Erin cursed as they helped him over to the door.

  Moments later all had squeezed through the narrow opening. Twigg struck flint to several candle stubs produced from his overlarge coat. The inky blackness faded back to reveal a twisting, downward slanting tunnel.

  Nob and the bard tried to shut the door but to no avail. "The bloody thing won't close!", the Dryfallen cursed. Roary wedged a knife under the stone portal and heaved. He was rewarded for his efforts by the snapping sound of his blade.

  Nob grunted and glared at the bard.

  Erin's smile flashed in the flickering candlelight. "Looks like someone will have to stay behind to 'greet' yonder four-legged beasties." He motioned to his swollen leg. "N' since I be the one with the weak shank --- "He shrugged and drew his belt knife, the tunnel being too narrow for his sword.

  Zoean started to protest, but Erin cut her off. "Take her, Nob. Crack her over the head if you have to, but take her!" His voice softened. "You know I'm right."

  Nobert held his gaze for a long moment, then began to pull Zoean deeper into the darkness.

  It was then that Kel moved up silently to crouch by Erin's side. His slanted eyes were fixed on the rapidly darkening slit. Outside night was fast approaching --- as were the Hecket.

  "By Quent's curly thatch, what be YOU up to?!"

  The Chin's gaze never left the partially opened doorway. His voice was maddeningly calm. "The honour debt is still not paid, Shamma. If you are to die, then so am I."

  "Shit on a stick!", Erin cursed. "Get ye gone, ye heathen bastard. I did'na ask for your company!"

  Kel's response was to lay aside his longbow and draw his two wicked looking a~sa. Erin's brow creased into a frown of furry.

  It was then that Thorn spoke up. "I also will stay. It is my fault that you're wounded. I will not now run away and leave you to die alone."

  "Sweet Shawna's tits!", Erin exploded. "Why don't the whole daft lot o' ye stay n' let me be after crawlin' down the quiffin' tunnel?!"

  Thorn's worn face creased into a mischievous smile. "I doubt you'd get far, Erin; not without some of us to prop you up." The smile vanished as he looked around at the others. Each nodded in silent agreement. "So there it is. Either we all go, or we all stay. What's it to be?"

  Outside the snarling stopped and the blood-curdling baying began again. The black Hecket were mounting the hill.

  The wounded mercenary cursed and flung out his arm. "Give me a hand, one o' you, n' Ran strike me stone dead if I ever side in with a bunch o' lack-wit simpletons again!"

  Moments later , with torches sputtering and Twigg's little candle casting giant shadows ahead of them, they were all scurrying down the tunnel. Timin and Twigg led the way; followed by Nob and Roary supporting Erin; while Thorn, Kel and the two women brought up the rear.

  ***

  The sound of the water all but drowned out the snarling of the foul breathed Hecket. The flickering candlelight glistened off the high, damp walls of the cavern they now found themselves in. Kel had killed one of the red-eyed creatures with his bow and the rest were momentarily occupied with devouring their fallen comrade. They ha
d gained a few precious moments, but only a few.

  "It's an underground river!", Timin said, having to shout over the thunder of the falls. "See! It comes out up there near the roof and falls into this dark pool!"

  "But where does it go from here is what I'd like to know?", Roary said, breathing deeply after depositing Erin on a smooth piece of limestone. "It must get out someway, or this whole damn cavern would be flooded!"

  Onooga came forward and began pulling off her boots. "Let's find out, shall we?" The candle gave off just enough light to show her half-mocking smile and the teasing twinkle in her eyes. "We can swim down and see where it comes out. Then come back and get the others."

  Roary closed his gaping mouth, then opened it. "N' what if we both drown?"

  Onooga, now standing in her thin shift, shrugged her pale, bare shoulders. "At least we'll die together."

  The bard grunted. "We can stay here n' do that, lass."

  Onooga's head came up and there was iron in her eyes. "If I'm going to die I'd rather it be in cold, clean water than in the filthy jaws of a damn wolf!"

  With that she turned and dove into the frothy foam. Roary, shucking off his boots and jacket, groaned once and followed.

  Moments dragged by. Two black shapes, over-long and quick, their eyes burning like living coals, darted into the far end of the chamber. Kel shot one with his bow and Thorn wounded the second with his sling. The rest remained howling at the entrance.

  One of their two remaining candles guttered out and their view was cut in half. The howling and the living coals crept closer. "If only Mithdar were here!", Timin muttered.

  Then Onooga was back, followed closely by a gasping, sputtering Roary.

  "It's not far!", she yelled. "Another cavern with starlight showing at the far end. The current's swift coming back, but we won't have to return. Come!"

  Soon all were in the boiling, frigid water. Zoean clasped Erin to her, feeling the heat of his fever as she dragged him into the pool. Twigg was last to enter, but one howl from the hel-hounds behind sent him splashing into the icy water.

  ***

  "I kn-kn-know where we are!", Timin stuttered through blue lips. They had floated down the underground river and out a low cave into a thick woods. The others were also scrambling out of the water, glad to be once again under the distant, twinkling stars. "It's n-n-ot too far from old Stallworth Scrapeskin's!", Timin went on through chattering teeth.

  "N' just who or what might this 'Scrapeskin' be?", Roary demanded as he emptied water from his beloved lute and wiped off the clinging droplets from the silver stings.

  "Oh, he's the Root's tanner," Twigg put in. "A right fierce old Wee'n he is too! Keeps a pack of big wild dogs!"

  The bard winced. "I'm after thinkin' that we've all had more than enough of wild dogs for one night, thank ye kindly!"

  Just then Erin moaned from where he lay on the river bank. Zoean, cradling his head, looked up fiercely at the others. "Dogs or no, Erin needs help! His wound is fast spreading and he's fallen into a fever-swoon. We MUST find him shelter!"

  "Then the tanners it is!", Nob grunted, bending to lift Erin's limp form over his shoulder. "But it best not be too far away, or the lot o' ye will soon be havin' two bodies to carry!"

  Scrapeskin the Tanner's welcome was a brusk one at first, but upon hearing who and what these strangers were, he soon willingly brought them into his house. The tanner was a widower with two children. Meg, the youngest, was a wide-eyed young lass of some eight or nine winters. The boy, they were told, had been taken by the Slathers to work in the mines. Scrapeskin himself had been spared this ordeal only because his right foot had been ruined years ago when a large vat of boiling lye had spilled on it, leaving him a hobbling cripple.

  It was into the son's bed that a feverish Erin was put. Zoean stayed with him, ladling spoonfuls of broth into his purple lips. The blackened wound, however, continued to spread.

  "Aye, t'is an evil lookin's nick your tall manling has there, lass!", the tanner rumbled after checking Erin's leg. "Needs to see the Erg-Leath he does. I fear he'll loose the whole shank, if not his life, less somethin' be done right quick! I've some salve I use on my dogs that might slow down the infection a bit, but it'll not save him in the end."

  Zoean began gently spreading the sticky substance on Erin's darkened flesh as the gruff old Kirkwean left the room to join the others. They quickly told him of their latest adventure and he agreed to help all he could, though it was plain to see that he thought it a lost cause.

  "Erg curse the heathen Slathers!", he rumbled, producing a jug of homemade brew from off a top shelf. "Took my boy they did! Took all the healthy lads round here to dig in the mines! May Erg shatter them on His anvil!" He took a long pull on the jug then passed it around.

  "Come mornin', me n' my little Meg here'll hitch up our old pony n' amble back down to the Cat Woods. I've been to see Ergrain a few times 'bout my old foot here. Me n' Meg will bring her back here, though it'll still take most the day." He gave a worried look at the closed door behind which Erin lay wrapped in fever. "Only Erg Himself knows if yonder manling will still be alive by then."

  Thorn quietly rose from his place by the hearth. The weary Kirkwean reached for his cloak and began to fasten it with the River-Stone broach.

  "Were are you off to, cousin?", Timin asked. Thorn's bark eyes had a determined look in them that Timin knew all too well.

  "I can't wait for good Tanner Scrapeskin here to bring Ergrain all the way back from the Cat Woods. Erin will be dead long before she gets here."

  "But--- ", Timin stammered. "But you can't go back there NOW! What about those WOLVES?!"

  Thorn smiled at his old friend. "I'm not going back for Ergrain, Timin. I'm going into the Root and bring the Erg-Leath Herself back here tonight. The daughter will have to serve if the mother is too far away!"

  "But --- you can't go alone! Doffer told me that all the women-folk are kept locked up in the Forge! The place will be swarming with Slathers!"

  Thorn's smile was a cold, brittle one. "I'm not going alone. You and Twigg are coming with me. Quickly now, we've no time to loose!"

  Twigg, sitting comfortably by the fire, squeaked and fell off his stool.

  ***

  Chapter 50: 'A BOLD STROKE'

  Shag was miserable. All his life he had been miserable; miserable in the filthy warren where he grew up, miserable as a lowly member of the Hooded Man's vast army, and now miserable as Lucfelian's personal servant.

  For as far back as he could remember misery seemed to have hovered over his head like a dark cloud, clinging to his filthy rags and seeping into his soul the way mud seeped through the holes of his boots. And now, in this accursed Wee'n forest, misery seemed to pour from the very skies, dripping through the thatch of his hovel to run down his neck like a mixture of rain and blood.

  Blood! His black eyes glittered at the thought; his yellow fangs bared. Oh, he had seen much blood in his time! Blood enough to turn a river red! Black blood too! For wasn't he almost the last of his race? Hadn't the accursed Stoners and Nim combined forces to wipe out most of his fellow Karns?!

  Shag pulled his ragged cloak tighter around his bent shoulders. He was chilled to the bone and the accursed mist showed no signs of letting up. He had taken the cloak off a dead Slather. The blood on it had dried hard and black. Shag ignored it, his small eyes darting over the row upon row of Slather tents pitched in the middle of The Root. Several officers on horses trotted past him. Shad didn't like horses, mainly because they didn't like him. Always trying to stomp him with their large hooves or chomp him with their big, yellow teeth! One of the officers pointed at Shag and laughed. The others joined in. Shag muttered under his breath, but was careful not to be heard.

  The glamour that Lucfelian had first placed on him had mostly faded away, and Slathers, hating anyone or anything not from the 'glorious homeland', tended to make Shag the butt of their cruel jokes. But it wasn't the strutting, arrogant Slathers that Shag feare
d as much as Lucfelian's latest addition to his forces --- the hated Brakarns!

  Shag's gaze flickered to the section of the field the Master had allotted to his newest 'pets'. His tiny brain could not comprehend the number two hundred, but it could see that though there were many less Brakarns than Slathers, there were still far too many of the huge, cruel beasts for his liking.

  For Shag, (and just about everyone else), Brakarns were creatures out of legend, mythical beings that belonged in the 'long ago', and Shag would be more than happy if they had stayed there!

  Such, however, was not the case. Somehow, Lucfelian, in the guise as the High Gnash, had conjured up the beasts and made them appear here in the Wee'ns homeland. Cruel they were and savage, even by Karn standards. They stood almost half again as high as the tallest of his dead brethren, and, besides using 'casting weapons', they had the nerve to consider themselves smarter than Karns!

  Shag hated them even more than he hated Stoners and Nim; almost as much as he hated the Wee'ns themselves. This hatred had grown with every passing day that he was forced to dwell in this land of towering trees and sparkling water. It had eaten into his dark soul and gnawed at the very fiber of his being, leaving him more scarred on the inside than the Wee'ns knife had done on the outside to his poorly healed leg.

  Since, however, he could do nothing against the towering might of the dreaded Brakarns, he took out his festering rage on the captured Kirkwean. From dawn to dusk he kept them toiling in the dark pits, grubbing out cartloads of earth and stone in search of the elusive 'Black Gold'. Lucfelian, seeing the joy the scrawny Karn took in tormenting the smaller folk, had placed him in charge of the mines. The fact that very little the 'Black Gold' or 'Twain', had been found, only made Shag push them all the harder!

  It was while shuffling from tree to tree in an effort to stay unseen by the bullying Brakarns, that Shag saw the three hooded Kirkwean.

  'Now what be them lot about?', Shag thought. 'Skulkin' round after dark like thieves!' The old wound that Timin had given him in his leg was bothering him again. As he ran calloused fingers over the ridged scar his hatred flared anew.