by Wayne Mee
'The Master takes better care of his filthy 'flyers' than he does poor Shag!', he muttered out loud --- something he had begun doing more and more of late. 'Even Skatha, the dung-brained Nar-Graith, got a new, shiny hook when the thieving Wee'n cut of his arm! But not poor Shag! No! All Shag gets is swore at and kicked! No 'strong water' for faithful Shag! No 'juicy red meat' for Shag! Never! Just scorched bones and dry bread!'
Shag was repeating this 'litany of woe' to himself when a sudden thought broke in. Always more cunning than bold, he had spent most of his miserable life finding the easy, safe way of doing things. Now, as he stood hunched over in the shadows, watching the three cloaked Kirkwean moving quickly down the road, he suddenly saw a way to raise himself up in his Master's eyes. He would follow these three. Perhaps Lucfelian would be interested to know just why they were out after curfew!
Chuckling to himself, he eased out into the road behind the three hooded figures, already seeing in his mind's eye the Master praising him above Hook-Hand Skatha and even the dung-eating Brakarns!
***
"Erg shatter me!", Timin muttered as they passed the field by the lake where row upon row of tents were pitched. "Never in all my days would I have guessed that I'd see great, ugly Slathlanders walking the Wold! Bold as brass, too! Right in the very heart of The Root!"
"And did you note that lot down yonder by the lake?!", Twigg demanded in a whisper. "'Brakarns' they be! New in from someplace up north! They say they eat their meat raw!"
Thorn motioned them both to silence. It had taken them longer than expected to get round the many guards and time was running short. Twigg had told them about the curfew and it wouldn't do to be caught out after it was full dark. He had also said that Narya sometimes stayed at the Forge, since the cruel leader of the Slathers had turned it into a prison where some of the womenfolk were kept. "To make sure that the lads don't cause any trouble, the Slathers only feed the womenfolk when Twain is brought up from the mines!"
"But you said the Erg-Leath stays at Granther's house?", he asked.
"Now and then. They let her move about to tend the sick or see to the females. The Erg-cursed Slathers work us something fierce, and there's a small, ugly Karn that's the worst of the lot!"
Neither Thorn nor Timin paid this last bit of news much heed, so intent were they on finding Narya.
Fernleaf's name had not been mentioned since Twigg told them she was being held with the other females. For a brief moment Thorn wanted to draw Shard, rush into the ancient stone building and save his love, killing all who got in his way. The lust to kill had nearly overwhelmed him, yet even as his hand reached for Shard's black hilt, a picture of Erin laying out of his head with pain, his leg slowly turning black, filled his mind.
"Fern would want you to first save your friend", a voice said softly. Thorn was surprised to find that it was himself who had spoken. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the broach Fernleaf had given him glowing a warm, soft green. Suddenly the rage was gone and he knew what to do.
"Well," he said; "since the Forge is too well guarded, we'll have to risk going to Granther's. I had wanted to, but thought it too dangerous to go up into the trees. Now there's no choice."
Silently the three of them worked their way round to a little used ladder at the back of one of the giant pines. Overhead the odd light filtered through a shuttered window, but for the most part the beautiful little Kirkwean tree houses were dark and quiet. No small feet made their merry way along the wooden walkways, no young couples stood star gazing on the arched bridges or sheltered arbors. The customary sounds of soft voices, bits of song, ancient verse and the high, happy sound of children's laughter were gone. Only the cold, distant starlight filtered through the greenery, leaving the shadows stark, silent and empty.
But not all shadows were empty, for Shag, as quiet and quick as a spider, darted from blackness to blackness not a spears cast behind them.
Few Slathers actually came up into the trees, and so their progress was not hindered. Arriving at Granther Higg's closed door, Thorn felt strangely out of place. For well over a year he and his friends had wandered the wild, braving hardship, war and death. In that time he had changed greatly: he had seen and done things that few other Kirkwean even dreamed of; he had left the familiar forest trails of The Wold and trod the high mountains, he had talked with bearded Delgii and long-lived Nim-Loth and even befriended a wizard --- and he had killed.
Those things in themselves would be more than enough to change anyone, but through it all he had also carried Shard.
Shard, the accursed blade of the renegade Nim-Loth, Lucfelian, who, ages ago, when they first came to Oma-Var or 'New' Oma, from their homeland in the Western Sea, had led a bloody revolt a --- and had lost. Shard, made ages past from the broken bits of Arack, one of the three Blades of Power. Broken, defeated, his physical body wounded and dying, Lucfelian had used his evil arts to transfer some of his fading spirit into the forging of the shattered blade, creating a smaller, but wholly evil weapon. A weapon the enslaved Kirkwean had taken with them long ago when they broke from Lucfelian's rule That weapon now hung at Thorn's side, and had done so for over a year.
Standing outside the place that had been his home for as far back as he could remember, Thorn was not fool enough to believe that he was still the feisty, naive Wee'n he had been when he left. He had both seen and done too much to ever hope to recapture his lost innocence --- and Shard had left its hard, cruel mark on his tormented soul. So it was with a trembling hand that he tapped lightly on the door.
Timin and Twigg, standing just behind him, eyed each other nervously, their overlarge Kirkwean eyes speaking silent volumes. Each had noted how Thorn had remained silent on the way into the Root and now, he seemed strangely hesitant to enter his home. Only Timin guessed that it wasn't personal fear for his own life that bothered Thorn, but rather, fear of what he himself might cause or do to others.
Timin was just about to urge Thorn to knock again when a voice called out from inside.
'Who's there? It's late for visiting!"
"Open up, Granther! It's me, Twigg, and I've got a couple of long lost sheep with me!" The slight Kirkwean gave Thorn and Timin a nervous wink. In that brief moment Thorn saw that Twigg still saw all this as a great game. A terrible, dangerous game to be sure, but a game none-the-less. Thorn sighed, praying that Twigg and all those like him would not have to learn their mistake at the cost of their lives!
The door opened a crack, spilling out golden beams into the darkening night. Granther Higg's time-worn face appeared at the crack.
"Twigg, you young fool! What are you doing out after curfew, and who's that you've got with you?"
Before Twigg could answer, the door swung open and a gnarled but still strong hand hauled him into the small house. The others followed.
Shag, hidden in the gloom, padded up to the closed door, stopped and then did a very strange thing. He caressed it almost lovingly with his hairy paw, his gnarled fingers touching the iron hinges and the bright red paint. Then he sighed, for in all his pathetic life Shag had never had a 'door of his own'. Suddenly he shoved the uncomfortable thought aside and crept on to the shuttered window, once again mischief his main motive. Through a tiny crack he continued to spy on the four Kirkwean, a sly smile spreading across his grotesque features.
Inside the cheery, cluttered rooms, as his eyes adjusted to the light, Thorn heard the older Kirkwean gasp out his name.
"Thorn-lad! Is it really you!?"
"In the flesh!", Twigg beamed, rushing in to fill the awkward silence. "Buffer and I found them wandering around in the southern marshes two nights ago. Took the lot of them for Slathers at first, but then Egrain got one of her 'feelings' and --- "
Timin jabbed the talkative Kirkwean in his skinny ribs. "Later, Twigg. For now just let us all get used to being home."
"It is me, Granther," Thorn said softly. "I've come home."
The old fellow held out his arms and Thorn found himself r
ushing into their welcome embrace. Feeling like a child again, he sighed as Granther pulled him to his breast. Timin, standing misty-eyed beside a pouting Twigg, nervously cleared his throat. The old fellow looked up and motioned for Timin to join them. Soon all three were hugging and sniffling.
"Well," Granther said gruffly, making a poor attempt to seem stern. "Enough of this confounded 'leaking water all over my rug'! Come, sit yourselves down and tell me all the news! I've still got a jug around here someplace!"
The three younger Kirkwean sat near the hearth while Granther rummaged around in a back room. He returned with a dusty bottle and four cups. Soon the fiery liquid seared Thorn's throat, releasing a flood of memories in the process.
The whole story was too long to tell, but a shorter version from Timin soon allowed the older Kirkwean to see just how things were. Granther Higgs, having been a Rover as well as High Warder, needed little instruction in the cruelties of the outside world.
"So, you've come back then!," he said, turning to his grandson. "Just like the prophecy said you would!"
Thorn, who had sat quietly while Timin told the tale, finally spoke. His voice, however, was faint and far away; a soft whisper on the distant wind:
"Beneath the stars, beneath the moon,
Beneath the heat of the sun.
No rest, no peace, no hearth nor home,
Till the Swordbearer's task be done."
"THAT doesn't sound too promising!", Twigg sighed, reaching for the half-empty bottle. Timin jabbed him again and recorked it.
"There's been both enough talk and drink for now," the pudgy Kirkwean said with a frown in Twigg's direction. "What we need is to find the Erg-Leath and get back to Erin before it's too late." He glanced out the round window. "Be light soon. Thorn, we've got to go!"
Granther Higgs looked at Timin as though seeing him for the first time. From the start the old Kirkwean had seen the change in Thorn; the leaner form, the tightened movements, the worried glances and above all, the haunted eyes. Now he saw it in Timin as well, only where quiet Timin had grown outward, Thorn had grown inward, shutting off his feelings. Both his 'chicks' had outgrown the nest and he suddenly felt very old indeed. He heard himself speaking, though his voice seemed tired and flat.
"She'll be in The Forge with the rest of the females, but you'll not get her out of there. It's too well guarded."
"We have to try!", Timin said. "If not, Erin will die!"
Another awkward silence filled the room, one that even Twigg dared not break. Then Thorn stood, his hand on the hilt of Shard. "We'll need a diversion. "I'll draw the guards up to the dam while you two slip into the Forge. Free them all and head back to Scrapeskin's. I'll catch up along the way."
"You'll die there by the dam you mean!", Timin cried. "No! We go together or not at all!"
The two cousins eyed each other, neither one willing to give in. Finally Thorn sighed. "There's no other way, Timin." He drew Shard and held it up. The black blade seemed to suck all light and warmth from the room. An icy chill suddenly ran up Twigg's spine and he choked back a gasp.
"Only I can hold them off long enough." There was not the slightest hint of bravado in Thorn's voice; he was simply stating fact.
"I'll come with you, lad," Granther Higgs said, suddenly feeling years younger. "Together we'll make a stand these foul Slathers will not soon forget!"
Thorn returned Shard to its scabbard and took the old Kirkwean's wrinkled hands in his own. "Not this time, Granther. Timin and Twigg will need you to raise the alarm and send the guards up to the dam. Perhaps next time --- "
"There won't BE a 'next time', Thorn!", Timin half shouted. "Oh, you and that bloody sword of yours will kill the guards right enough, but even IT can't kill every Slathlander here! And what about those Brakarns?! You've seen how big they are and how many there are?! Sooner or later they'll slaughter you!"
"I --- I've got an idea," Twigg whispered, his former bluster long since having vanished. The others turned to face him. "Erg knows I'm no warrior, but like Timin said, no one fighter can face them all and live. But what about a fire? I could set the boathouse ablaze and then run screaming for help! Gaffer could do the same down by the Forge. With a bit of luck all four of us could slip in and out before anyone's the wiser!"
Timin, grinning like a condemned man just given a reprieve, suddenly hugged Twigg, lifting the little Kirkwean clear of the floor. "Twigg, you're a bloody wonderment!"
Granther looked at Thorn. "It should work, lad. A fire draws folks like moths. Why, the Slathers will come just to see the sport!"
"Are you sure, Twigg?", Thorn asked. For an answer Twigg produced his tinderbox and flint.
"Good!", Timin beamed. "Now let's away! One bold stroke and we'll all be back at Scrapeskin's long before dawn!"
As the four made ready to leave, Shag slipped further back into the shadows. He hadn't been able to follow the Wee'ns gibberish, but he had seen the 'hated one' draw Shard and that had been enough!
Part of Shag knew that he should report this immediately to Lucfelian, but another part of him, the lonely, twisted part of him, rebelled. He decided to follow and watch, waiting for a chance to kill the 'hated one' and regain his Master's sword. THEN they would all see just how important Shag was! He will have done what all the high and mighty Slathers and muck-eating Nar-Graith and stinking Brakarns couldn't! He alone would be the one to present the Shadow Lord with the Black Blade. Let them laugh THEN --- if they dare!
***
Chapter 51:'The Rescue'
The two Kirkwean waited anxiously behind a clump of bushes, watching the stone bridge that spanned the stream. The sound of the massive waterwheel behind the Forge filled the night. Under the pale moon, the dark form of a Slather could be seen on the bridge. Another Slather, silhouetted by the flickering flames of a torch, stood in front of the Forge itself. Timin anxiously clutched his fish-spear. Beside him, Thorn fitted a round stone into his sling.
"What's keeping Twigg?", Timin whispered. "He's had enough time to set the whole Root afire by now!"
Thorn attempted a nervous smile, but gave it up.
Then they heard it. A faint, high-pitched cry on the wind. 'Fire! Fire! The Root's on fire!'
Timin's hand tightened on his spear haft. The guard on the bridge cocked his head, then continued his pacing. The one out front gazed off intently into the night. Timin cursed under his breath, but then the call came again, closer than before.
"It's Granther!", Timin beamed. Even as they watched, a bent, small form, frantically waving his hands, ran up to the front guard. Moments dragged by. The guard called out to the one on the bridge, who hastily left his post. Both of them stood listening to Granther Higgs, then one of them smacked the old Kirkwean aside. Sauntering up towards the burning boathouse, their cruel laughter rang on the wind.
Up by the larger lake the sky had taken on a reddish-orange glow. Dark forms could be seen scurrying towards the burning boat-house, while cries of alarm in the guttural Slath tongue filled the night.
Thorn and Timin dashed across the bridge and met Granther at the front of the Forge. The older Wee'n was rubbing his sore jaw, but there was a merry twinkle in his eye that had not been there for many a year.
"I'm fine, lad," he beamed at Timin. "You just keep an eye pealed for those Erg-cursed Slathers!"
Thorn was already at the massive oak door, Shard now bare in his right hand. "It's locked!", he hissed, his voice strained and taught with emotion. He gave the door a solid kick and turned back to the others. Granther stood smiling like a cat full of fresh cream. In one hand he held his slender little Kirk-axe, in his other was a long, slender key.
***
As the three Kirkwean prepared to enter the Forge, another small form crept to the edge of the flickering torchlight. The dancing flames played across his dark, cavernous eyes, making his cunning face all the more cruel. "Soon," Shag crooned, rocking back and forth in the inky shadows. "Soon Shag will be rewarded; be the hero. Soooon --- "
Like a shaggy great spider, he crept to the side of the building and began to climb.
***
Thorn's eyes were bright, his voice taught as an overstretched lute string. "Granther, you open the door. Timin, you go left; I'll go right. If there are guards inside, kill them quickly!"
The heavy door was yanked open and, hearts pounding, weapons ready, the three darted inside;.
What they met were over a score of blank, surprised faces. A few of the females let out startled squeaks, but for the most part only cold, impassive silence greeted them. The people inside were too sick, too hungry, too sunk in a deep, dark despair to even comprehend what was happening. Off to one side, Narya, the Erg-Leath tended an aged dame laying on a pallet of straw.
Then someone shouted Thorn's name. Long skirts and flame-red hair flew as one of the females launched herself at the sword-holding Kirkwean. Fernleaf had recognized her love.
The two stood there clinging to each other, tears of joy freely running down their smiling faces. Granther and Timin also joined in the watery deluge. The others hesitantly began to gather around them. Strained, pinched faces mirrored their joy. The Erg-Leath beamed at the group.
"What's this?!", Twigg's high voice squeaked out from the open doorway. "This is no time for a reunion! I could have been a hulking great Slather and then where would you all be?! Come! We must away!"
Reluctantly Fern tore herself away from Thorn, yet when she addressed the wide-eyed throng behind her, her voice was a mixture of cool iron and warm pride.
"Quickly now, gather your things! We must flee! My Thorn's back and he'll lead us all to safety!"
Thorn turned to the Erg-Leath. "Lady Narya," he said in a rush. "I have great need of your healing skills. A friend of mine, the tall manling, lies wounded at Tanner Scrapeskin's. His leg --- "
"Ease your mind, good Thorn. I will care for your friend." She fixed him with her piercing eyes, her knowing gaze sliding down to Shard, then back to his troubled face. "But first we must get these others to a safe place."
