by Paul Freeman
Suddenly, further down the valley, beside the circle of stones the Duchies army broke under the onslaught of Rolfgot’s Nortmen and the dark-cloaked warriors. The defensive lines splintered and ran pursued by the southern tribesmen across the valley in every direction. The Nortmen continued towards them.
The small group of red-cloaked warriors beneath a banner displaying a red dragon turned to face the larger force of Nortmen advancing towards them. Arrows peppered the bigger column but had no effect. The raiders did not even raise their shields, simply took the projectiles and ignored them.
“They cannot fight shades such as those,” Rosinnio said.
Rosinnio suddenly started running towards the red-cloaked men beneath the banner. Crawulf cursed and ran after her, his own men following. “You’ve lost your wits,” he panted, sucking in breaths when he caught up with her, his mail weighing heavy on his shoulders.
“Wait! I can help,” she cried out.
The leader of the red cloaks turned with several of his men, while the rest prepared to meet the advancing Rolfgot and his crew. “And who are you?” he asked, taking up a defensive position, sword raised.
“I am Jarl Crawulf, and we have not come here to fight you,” Crawulf answered instead.
“Crawulf? The same Crawulf who raided Elsward’s lands?”
“Aye, what of it?”
“We are not friends, Nortman, and as you can see I am a little preoccupied.”
“Aye about that. My lady here believes she may aid you.”
“You cannot fight them. They are not men,” Rosinnio said, sucking in air as she caught her breath.
“They are Nortmen, barely men I’ll grant you,” Normand answered, adding, “no offence.” Crawulf scowled in reply.
“They are shades under the control of a powerful mage. I believe I have a way to stop them.”
“Well then you had best do it quickly,” the duke replied as the Nortmen bore down on the small group.
Panic suddenly surged through Rosinnio. What if the horn didn’t work? What if she’d led them all to their deaths for no reason? Then she began to wonder if the Shadow Mage had drawn her here? Was it all a cunning ruse to get her to travel to him, where he could exact his sworn vengeance on her ancestor by killing her? The clash of swords on shields and sounds of men doing battle brought her back to her senses.
“Hurry, my lady,” Rothgar urged as black-eyed Nortmen closed in on them.
She heard a scream and saw a red-cloaked warrior impaled on a sword, another struck down with an axe. She raised the horn to her lips and blew.
***
Tomas marched towards the dream-witch, his mind barely registering what Djangra Roe had told him before he died. Behind him all was chaos as the tribesmen and Nortmen overwhelmed Duke Normand’s force of warriors, thanks mainly to the unnatural ability of the sea raiders from the Pirate Isles. What was driving him now was fear, fear of what he’d seen forming in the mist between the standing stones, fear that the mage may have spoken true. He had followed Elandrial in order to gain revenge for the death of his friend and to find a cure for his woman. He had listened to the priestess’s plans to call upon her god and to rid her land of the usurper, even agreed to help her in return for her aid with Aliss. Now though he was afraid, and deemed it time to leave. He would seek help elsewhere for Aliss, go back to the Great Wood and confront the witch, let her remove the curse that bade Aliss long for the blood of an innocent.
First though, he was confronted by three black-garbed tribesmen who stood sentinel before the Shadow Mage and the two women. Aliss, he saw, still joined hands with Elandrial, her complexion pale, almost translucent. How long has she looked so sickly? he wondered. The mage too stood beside them with his eyes closed. Tomas could feel the power crackling in the air around them, feel the magic pulsing in waves from them, so powerful even one without the gift of magic could sense it.
“Cease this, Elandrial. You don’t know what it is you are summoning,” he said as he approached. “What are you doing to her?” he added when he saw the pained expression on Aliss’ face.
“The glory of Eor shall descend from the heavens and smite our enemies,” the priestess answered, opening her eyes.
“No! That is no god you are releasing from those stones. He has led you false.” He pointed his sword at Harren Suilomon.
“And who are you, blacksmith, to decide what is and is not a god?” the Shadow Mage answered, malice dripping from his words. “Have you suddenly been blessed with divine powers?”
“I can see that you are killing Aliss. Release her now.”
“No, Tomas,” Elandrial answered. “We need her, just as she needs us. We are joined, we three. Come. You too are part of the circle.” She reached out a hand for him to join them.
He felt a draw on his mind then, an urge to join the three magic wielders. He stepped forward into the embrace of Elandrial.
“He lied to you,” he said once he’d stepped past the guards, “whatever promises he made you to help win back your lands and call your god. He used you.” He rammed his sword into Elandrial’s chest then. He did so with not a little regret, but the only way he could break the connection between the dream-witch and Aliss was to kill her. He had not the time to try persuasion.
Elandrial screamed as the blade smashed through her breast bone and died instantly. Aliss collapsed to the floor as if she were nothing more than a child’s toy.
“You fool!” the Shadow Mage shrieked, his fat jowls turning red. “Kill him,” he ordered the tribesmen.
The three black-robed tribesmen turned on Tomas. The first two stabs were excruciatingly painful as the curved blades entered his side. The third he didn’t feel at all as he dropped onto his knees. He reached out a bloody hand to his woman who was lying on the cold, hard ground, but his vision blurred and he realised he could no longer control the use of his arms. He slumped forward onto the ground. In the distance he heard the sound of a hunting horn, his mind unable to fathom what it could mean. All he heard was a cry of anguish coming from the Shadow Mage at the sound of the horn – that at least made him smile.
Hidden valley, Mountains of Eor
All around her men screeched and wailed as death held sway across the valley. The cursed crew of Wulfgar visited pain and suffering on all who stood in their way; Crawulf’s men and the Duke’s Dragon Knights. She blew a long blast on the horn as the sound of steel ringing on steel and of men dying filled the air. Rothgar stood over her, alongside Crawulf battling undead Nortmen they were unable to kill. She felt tears welling, blurring her vision as she tried to summon the blue fire that had killed the wolves and the were-beast. On both of those occasions it had just come unbidden to her. Now there was nothing. She watched helplessly as the giant leader of the Nortmen bore down on Crawulf. She heard her husband shout out his name in a challenge, ‘Rolfgot’. She’d never seen a warrior look so fierce, not even her husband or the big axeman, Rothgar.
Rolfgot’s black eyes held no recognition or any emotion as he launched a fierce attack on the jarl. Crawulf blocked the blows with his shield until there was nothing left of it but splintered wood. He flung it aside and stabbed his own sword at his opponent’s head, while Rothgar attacked from the side, swinging his axe in an arc. It plunged into the back of the massive Rolfgot, but the Nortman didn’t even flinch. He swung his sword backhanded towards Rothgar, slicing a savage blow across his chest, smashing through the interlocked rings of mail. Rothgar fell back as a crimson spray arced through the air.
“Nooo!!!” Rosinnio screamed as her protector fell down at her feet. Rolfgot meanwhile turned back to Crawulf… and then stopped.
The giant warrior looked down. A shadow seeped into the earth like a stain at his feet. His face took on a quizzical, almost comical expression as the shadow became a cloud submerging his feet and then his ankles. A similar black cloud was swirling around each of the cursed Nortmen. Rosinnio saw the horn in her hand pulse with a bright light, as the undead warriors s
truggled to free themselves. Translucent, skeletal hands and faces appeared in the clouds, wrapping themselves around the warriors.
“Soul Reapers,” Crawulf said as he pulled Rosinnio back. She felt almost sorry for the warriors then as each of them was enveloped by a cloud and dragged, struggling and crying out, into the hard earth.
She fell on her knees then beside the body of her protector, Rothgar. His great chest was still as the heart within it no longer beat. Tears clouded her vision as she reached out to touch him, beseeching her own gods and those of the Nortmen to give her the power to heal him, to bring him back to life.
Crawulf’s men—those who remained standing—formed a defensive arc around her as the jarl bent down to touch her shoulder. “He is feasting with The All Wise now.”
When Rosinnio looked up she saw the joy on her husband’s face as he genuinely revelled in the glory of a warrior’s death, happy that his friend met his end with the blood of his enemies on his axe. I will never understand them, she thought, unable to find any happiness in the death of a friend. And he was a friend, she realised, even though her first wish for him was to have him slain for insulting her. I have come a long way.
She took Crawulf’s hand and he helped her up. “Was your…”
“No,” the jarl continued her line of thought. “My brother was not among them.”
“Perhaps he yet lives,” she said.
“I hope not,” Crawulf answered as he stared at the spot where Rolfgot had been dragged into the hard earth, not a mark or sign remained to give any hint he was ever there – save the bodies he left in his wake.
The black-robed tribesmen withdrew once the Nortmen met their end and Duke Normand’s warriors began to rally, drifting back to the battlefield now that the only enemies remaining were those who bled and died as they did. Rosinnio followed the tribesmen with her eyes until she spotted a fat man dressed as a Sunsai noble moving towards them. He was the focal point for the nomadic warriors of the south. Shadow Mage, an icy thrill of fear ran down her spine. She could feel his hatred for her burning her mind. And something else… he was afraid. The same dark magic that had bound the cursed crew of Wulfgar also allowed him to exist in the world. If that foul link could be broken, then could not the poisonous glue allowing him to live as a parasite within the bodies of others not be broken too?
“I see you, Harren Suilomon, and I do not fear you, nor the curses you have invoked on my family.” She doubted her words would carry across the battlefield, yet she knew he would hear them.
“Something stirs within that strange mist,” Crawulf said, pointing with his sword towards the circle of stones. The runes carved into them pulsated a silver light.
“He is calling on some foul power,” she answered.
“How is it you know such things?” Crawulf asked. His face was covered in grime and blood, his eyes blazing fiercely, a sight that would have frightened her witless not so long ago, and yet now… feelings stirred within her.
“Madam, you are a most unusual Nortwoman,” Duke Normand said, moving beside them.
“This is the Princess Rosinnio, of Sunsai and Wind Isle,” Crawulf answered, then added. “And my wife.”
Normand’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, this is a most interesting development. Doubtless it is an important piece of news worthy of consideration, in the outside world. However, right now there are more pressing matters.”
The circle of stones began to rock as the mist shone with an eerie silver light. The dark shape hidden there grew, stretching upwards and outwards. While the remaining tribesmen now formed a line in front of the Shadow Mage and began moving up the valley towards them. She could feel strands of dark magic probing her mind as Suilomon sent out tentacles of power to entrap her. She brought the horn to her lips once again, just as a blood-freezing roar rent the cold valley air. One of the large boulders shattered.
She felt the strong arms of Crawulf pulling her back and away from the stone circle as debris landed at her feet. Six of his men remained alive, all raising their shields over her as small stones and larger chunks of rock shot forward from a second exploding stone.
“I think it would be best to leave now,” Crawulf said.
“Agreed,” Normand concurred.
“No.” Rosinnio shook him off. “Not while Harren Suilomon still lives. He will hunt us down. He will unleash terror unto the world like no other seen before.”
“Worse than he has already done?” Normand asked.
“Far worse.”
“What must we do?” Crawulf asked, resigned now to following his wife’s lead.
“I can feel the grip on whatever monster he is calling loosen. The link has been weakened.”
“I saw the dream-witch fall,” Normand said. “Perhaps she was aiding him. This was, after all, once her domain.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Rosinnio answered. “If she possessed power she likely was.”
Another stone burst apart, while another bowel-loosening roar came from within.
“What will happen if the link between the two breaks?” Crawulf asked.
“I… don’t know,” Rosinnio answered before bringing up the horn and blowing a long note, just as before. Only this time, nothing happened.
“Look!” Crawulf gasped. A crack appeared in the horn snaking its way up the centre until the bone instrument fell from her hands and turned to dust. “Well, bollocks to that,” he said and hefted his sword once again as another boulder shattered, leaving the circle half broken.
***
Tomas’s eyes snapped open. He grimaced and flinched as pain shot through him. “Don’t move,” Aliss said softly as she laid her hands on his chest. He could feel a soothing warmth emanate from her touch, slowly flowing over his body and easing his hurts.
“You were always a fine healer,” he said, his voice cracking. She smiled sadly and took his hand in her own when he reached up to touch her face.
“It’s all I ever wanted,” she said.
“We can leave this cursed place,” he said. He could still sense the charged air as the taint of magic hovered all around. In the background he could hear men cry out in pain, the smell of blood clinging thickly to his nostrils.
“You walked into the flames for me, Tomas,” she said gently rubbing his cheek, “and now I’m giving you back your life. Flee from here. There is nothing for you but pain and suffering in this valley. Elandrial is dead, killed by your own hand. But she made false promises to us, Tomas. She was never going to help us, just as Harren Suilomon led her false. She thought she was calling her god, but that was never his intention. He harnessed her power, and through her mine to call upon a beast he means to unleash upon the world. His only desire is to destroy.”
“You mean to stop him?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know if I can, but I will try.”
“I will help,” he said, pushing himself up, ignoring the pain.
“No,” she said, her strange swirling eyes boring into him. “I need for you to survive… I need that.”
“I’m not afraid to die,” he said. “If your intention is to sacrifice yourself then we will die together.”
“You still don’t understand, Tomas. I am already dead. I’ve been so since you carried me from the flames.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“I can’t do this if you are here.” Tears streamed down her face. “Please, I need to know you are safe.” She leaned in and kissed him then, the saltiness of tears mingled with the metallic taste of blood. “Go.”
He shook his head and dragged himself up, pain lancing his side and back where the blades of the tribesmen had pierced him. “I won’t leave you,” he said, his jaw set in firm determination. She nodded sadly, helping him up.
The Shadow Mage and his tribesmen warriors were advancing on the remnants of the duke’s warriors who were lined defensively just beyond the circle of stones. The large boulders began shattering and sending chunks of flying rock outwards, one by one.
&n
bsp; “Those stones are inscribed with words of power, charms to seal closed a gateway. The Shadow Mage is trying to break those locks. Elandrial was aiding him. She created a link between herself and me in order to use the magic growing inside of me. I could feel her draining me, using me to boost her own power, but I could touch her mind also and see what she and Suilomon were trying to do. There is another here, who opposes him, whom he fears. This I could also sense when we briefly touched minds through Elandrial.”
“Djangra Roe, the mage,” Tomas said. “He’s dead.”
“No, another. A woman. It was she who broke the spell binding the wraiths of the Nortmen to Suilomon.”
“Perhaps we may be of some assistance to her then.”
“Yes,” Aliss answered, smiling weakly. “That is my intention.”
***
Barely a score of warriors remained from Normand’s and Crawulf’s combined men. Together they faced at least five times that number, as the winter sun slowly bled a fierce crimson light into the overhead clouds. Black-robed tribesmen advanced warily once again, one eye on the circle of stones and what was barely held back by their ancient power. The Shadow Mage’s words of power could be heard drifting across the valley, stabbing the air around the cairn.
Crawulf picked up an undamaged shield from the body of one of his crew and joined the line of Normand’s men facing the tribesmen. There was no need for words; all were drained physically and emotionally. Those men still alive had faced mountain-men, fierce warriors from the south, spears of magic thrown at their ranks and wraiths of men no blade could kill. He caught Normand’s eye as the duke clapped his men on the shoulder, encouraging and praising, dispelling fear as a good commander should. The two lords the Fates had thrown together on this battlefield, men who should be enemies but found themselves on the same side, nodded to each other. Then the blood-letting began again.
Like a dark wave they charged across the valley, shouting war-cries in their own language, words that held no meaning for Crawulf, yet somehow he understood; it was not about the words, it was about filling the heart with rage and joy, fierceness and hatred, anything to quell the fear. The impact was loud and savage as men who knew they could kill or die on this day, came together.
