A Fire in the North

by David Bilsborough

  ‘If we can’t find a way in down below,’ Nibulus reassured them, ‘we can always come back and try these places instead.’

  But a way leading down to the main gate was not to be found. To their dismay, they reached a section of the path that had simply crumbled away. It recommenced further along, they could see, but there was at a least fifty-foot gap. Forced to backtrack, they were only about twenty yards from the first of the chambers when Paulus cried out a warning.

  ‘Stupid damn Peladane, why did you have to kill that spider? The smell’s drawn its entire family!’

  Bolldhe, leaning dangerously out over the drop to see past the horse, the Peladane, the two priests and the mercenary, screwed up his eyes to make out what lay beyond. They opened wide in disbelief. A few yards beyond the first doorway the cliff was alive with movement. The way the Nahovian had described it, Bolldhe had expected to see the whole rock face a-crawl with a white blanket of spiderkind creeping and leaping towards them. But there were not thousands, nor even hundreds, just several score.

  Except these were several score fully grown polar spiders, each the size of a large lobster, each growling like a rabid cur and advancing with horrible deliberation towards the baby-killers dithering on the narrow pathway.

  ‘Oh . . .’ was all Bolldhe managed.

  No way back, forward, up or down. They were trapped. Strung out along the narrow path, they would be swamped one by one. None there knew for sure just how dangerous these creatures were, but no one with a half-ounce of imagination could deny they were an abominable sight and at all cost, to be avoided. Paulus, realizing he would be the first under attack, wasted not a second in sprinting towards the cover of the nearest doorway.

  There was, of course, nothing else for it, so the rest of the company followed him without hesitation.

  Paulus was one of the nimblest among them. Haring along the path, he made it to the door easily, ducking his head and disappearing inside. Finwald came next, and succeeded in gaining the chamber only by slashing wildly at the first of the spiders to attack. Luckily his sword-cane hit it squarely, the blade sinking into its mandible/ eye cluster. It penetrated only an inch or two, however, and vibrated so strongly it almost fell from the priest’s grasp. By the gods, these things were tough!

  For the rest, it would not be so easy. Appa had frozen in fear, knowing he would never be able to drag his old bones up that path fast enough to gain the chamber. Meanwhile, for the others there was not enough space to squeeze past him.

  ‘Just get a bloody move on, will you!’ Nibulus bellowed, red-raced with frustration. Without waiting for a response, he simply lifted the little man up by the waist, held him in front of him like a large shield, then charged up the path. Behind followed Zhang, Bolldhe and Wodeman in hot pursuit.

  Screaming weakly, the old man was for the second time that day propelled along the path by a much bigger being. The first of the spiders had reached the doorway, gurgling murderously, and some had already even entered, after Paulus and Finwald. By the time Nibulus reached it, the entire doorframe was crawling with the eight-legged demons. Appa’s eyes widened in terror as with a grunt of disbelief he was hurled bodily through the opening. He landed on the cold stone floor with an impact that drove the wind from him, then writhed in horror in the darkness, with several spiders attached to him. Others were swarming over his crow’s beak staff where it had clattered to the ground.

  Paulus was far too busy gleefully skewering arachnids to come to Appa’s aid, but a second later Nibulus entered and, with Finwald’s help, set about kicking the foul creatures from the screeching priest’s bucking body.

  Then the desperate yet strangely muted grunts of this battle were joined by a low whinny of fear, as Zhang lurched awkwardly through the doorway. The baggage, piled high on his back, had scraped several spiders into the chamber with him across the stone door jambs, and the acrid stench of their wreckage filled the stale air.

  Bolldhe and Wodeman were yet to be seen, but could be heard shouting and cursing outside.

  The hateful chittering of one of Appa’s assailants was silenced as Nibulus’s boot smashed into its face and sent it flying through the air, pale legs flailing madly. It crunched against the far wall, then folded up like a closing flower. Appa, weaponless, had seized another by its scrabbling forelegs and was whining feebly as his two runny eyes stared into the spider’s eight and he tried desperately to hold it at bay just inches from his face. At the same time Finwald was attempting to stab a third spider that had folded its limbs around Appa’s thigh. He was no swordsman and did not wish to sink his blade into the priest by mistake.

  ‘Stop faffing about, you pillock!’ yelled Nibulus at Finwald, who was indeed, it had to be said, faffing about. At this, the mage-priest steeled himself, put his trust in Lord Cuna, then plunged his weapon into the creature’s abdomen. He yanked the blade sideways with a two-handed wrench and, with a hiss, the monster’s legs contracted around Appa’s thigh in a death grip. As it expired, its abdomen split in two, and brown fluid soaked the old man beneath it.

  Amid the slicing and dicing, the hacking and kicking, the cries of fear and disgust in the dark, Bolldhe and Wodeman now appeared. Bolldhe, unable to use his flamberge as there was still a wriggling spider impaled upon it, had simply dropped the weapon and its burden by the door and charged straight through the skirmish into the welcoming black depths beyond. His only concern was to get as far away from these hideous things as possible.

  Wodeman, though, had a weapon better suited for this sort of task. Ignoring the new-fangled iron implement Elfswith had given him, the shaman reverted to his quarterstaff. As he ducked and dodged the pouncing enemy he dextrously and methodically flicked one spider after another over the cliff to plummet, legs a-flail, into the gorge. His trusty staff truly came into its own that day. But still they came, and eventually the shaman was forced to retreat inside the chamber. By then each had succeeded in dispatching the last of the foe that clung to him, miraculously without suffering any punctures from those dripping fangs. Amid yells of panic and revulsion, they gradually retreated deeper into the chamber, blindly following Bolldhe into wherever he had disappeared in the dark. Meanwhile the creeping, hissing horde continued to pour in through the door and window openings behind them.

  Just then a bright flame flared in the darkness, and there he was, Bolldhe, holding up the lantern he had been desperately trying to light. They charged after him, but were instantly checked by a loud cry behind them. They turned and saw Finwald. Still by the doorway, he was trying to snatch up Flametongue from the floor where Bolldhe had abandoned it but the entire doorframe was a heaving mass of polar spiders.

  There are such things as agility and skill. There are such things as strength and bravery too. There are also desperation and devil-may-care abandon in the face of impossible odds. There is even downright insanity . . .

  And then there was Finwald. The prime mover in this whole mad enterprise, he alone of those present would have attempted to rescue the flamberge. None there could understand how he managed it. But manage it he did. ‘And now,’ he warbled insanely as he sprinted towards them, ‘we GO!’ Without stopping he charged right through them and was first to follow Bolldhe into the passage leading deep into the cliff fortress beyond.

  To try to escape from the spiders by heading deeper into lightless and confined spaces may have seemed like folly. Those monsters could see in the dark, could crawl upon every surface and furthermore knew the territory well. But now the travellers were here, they had little choice but to press on.

  ‘Shine that lantern back here,’ Nibulus growled angrily. ‘I can’t see a damn thing.’

  He kicked at a rock he had just stumbled over, sending it clattering away down some side tunnel. In possession of the lantern, however, Bolldhe was now temporarily the leader and he had no intention of slowing down – even if it meant leaving the others behind. The pattering of the rapidly approaching spiders was creeping closer with every second,
and though that reminder was dreadful enough for any of them, for Bolldhe it held even greater terror. For him it sounded horribly like the swell of the rising tide in a sea cave, and for some unknown reason this sound provoked a shudder to his very soul.

  ‘Come back here, you coward!’ the Peladane cursed, and plunged almost blindly after the gradually receding light as it bobbed away down the passage.

  The lantern’s beam soon fell upon the petrified wooden planks of an ancient door. It was stoutly built, banded with bronze that had melded over time into the wood, and was so old that it appeared almost like the stone of the walls. Bolldhe did not hesitate. He threw himself straight at it, putting all his weight behind his shoulder, then crumpled to the floor in a daze. He had succeeded in shifting it about as much as those no-legged birds shifted the cliff face they habitually slapped against.

  Fortunately, Zhang was right behind him, and the slough horse was considerably heavier, more solid and even more terrified of spiders than his master. Under his repeated onslaught the portal was battered open, and Zhang plunged through the doorway. Immediately the whole company – including a groggy Bolldhe – piled in after him, just as the spiders came leaping and skittering round the corner.

  As soon as Finwald, the last in the line, had picked up the fallen lantern and himself darted through, Nibulus and Paulus put their whole weight against the door and heaved it shut. With their combined strength they managed to get it shut just before the spiders reached them.

  Wedging it into place with a fallen lintel, they heard a series of dull thumps from the other side, followed by an uproar of squealing protest. The monsters would not get through that in a hurry.

  The company finally dared to release its breath.

  ‘Now where are we?’ Appa stammered, on the verge of collapse. The old man had been dragged bumping along a rocky path by a panicking horse, used as a human shield, hurled through a blanket of polar spiders – one of which was still attached to his leg – and soaked through with the thick meaty gunge that had spilt from the one Finwald had killed. And now he had lost his beloved staff. Even now it was back there being ‘filthed-over’ by those things. All this on top of that terrible week-long trek across Melhus.

  The old man was alive, but he had definitely seen better days.

  In answer to his question, Bolldhe snatched the lantern from Finwald and shone it around. While Appa endeavoured to prise the dead spider off his thigh, they peered at the rough-hewn cave they were now in. Its confines stretched beyond the lantern’s range; clearly a sizeable chamber then. Indeed, their voices did not fall so flat here, and there was a definite movement of air.

  ‘There have to be openings not far ahead,’ Wodeman assured them. ‘Can’t you smell the seawater? If we keep close to this wall on our right, we should be out of here soon.’

  They had to trust to the Torca’s uncanny sense of direction. In any case, they had little choice. There was an insidious scratching still coming from behind the door, like ghosts behind the wood panelling of a mansion, so they knew there was no going back that way. But the freshness of the air did at least give them the impression they were within reach of the outside world and not simply journeying ever deeper into the mountainside.

  A wet crunching sound came from near the door. They all turned to see Finwald hauling the flamberge from the nasty ruin of the spider it had impaled. With a grimace of disgust, he curtly thrust the sword back into Bolldhe’s hand.

  ‘For gods’ sake, Bolldhe,’ he breathed in exasperation, ‘d’you think you could just hold on to it for once? Or would you rather someone else carried it?’

  Bolldhe took the weapon with neither word nor expression and slid it under his belt without cleaning it. Glaring at the priest, he took hold of Zhang’s reins in one hand, the lantern in the other, and once again set off, leading the way.

  Several minutes later they emerged into daylight again. There were no spiders to be seen, and they realized that they had come out further along up the higher of the two paths, not far now from the head of the fjord. Continuing along this alternative route took them finally, and without further mishap, right down to the harbour that directly fronted the Maw.

  They had arrived at last. Their journey was finally, unbelievably, at an end. And it was no longer fear of polar spiders, raptorial predators nor any other twisted denizens of the fjord that blanched their faces and widened their eyes. For now they stood right before Vaagenfjord Maw itself – and this is where the fear really began.

  For now the great looming wall of the Maw was mercifully veiled from sight behind a thick shroud of sea fog. It was not far off, they could sense, a dark menace awaiting them somewhere beyond that louring miasma. But for the moment they could only avert their eyes and turn their attention away. They chose instead to focus on the harbour in front of them.

  The chill fog fastened the entire area in an uncanny stillness. Not a thing moved; hardly a sound could be heard. In such cemeterial quiet the company felt like mean, shabby intruders, small, exposed and resented. They paced through the disquieting hush, eyeing each shadowy form that emerged from the gloom as they progressed: ruined battlements, empty storehouses, abandoned barracks. The ground was littered with frost-split boulders, treacherous puddles of ice, rusted and mouldering remains of broken artillery and other such debris.

  Sometimes one or other would snag a foot on pieces of a grey-red rock-like mineral that might once have been iron weapons but were now returning to the stone. Occasionally they encountered evidence of more recent intruders: familiar tools, well rusted but still usable; leather bags stiff and empty; the crumpled remains of banners that not so long ago would have dazzled the eye with their brilliant colours but which now resembled piles of old handkerchiefs. Also, they found barrels, still in fairly good condition, now empty of food but retaining vestigial smells of the provender they had once stored.

  The complex was a lot larger than any of them had expected, and in its heyday must have been as busy as a nest of ants in the summer. Now it stank of a thousand different kinds of decay, the stench held in place against the tugging winds by the high cliffs rising all around.

  Eventually they arrived at the sea walls and stared out at the dismal scene before them. About a dozen quays there were, long black fingers of crumbling stone that thrust out into the listless water. The sea was clogged with lumps of yellowy ice and a particularly noisome strain of seaweed the colour and texture of spilled brains. Out of this, several masts thrust up, leaning sadly, the ships below them having long foundered. Their blackened timber was caked with a type of frost that resembled a fine scabbing of necrotizing fungus, and the rigging hung limp and dripping, like the ragged garments of a hanged man.

  These were the remains of the ships that had visited the Maw more recently. The Rawgr’s fleet had been destroyed centuries before, of course, and the Peladane or Oghain-Yddiaw ships were strewn across the seabed further out in the fjord, little more than scatterings of barnacle-encrusted disintegrated timbers lying deep beneath the lifeless water. These remnants rested among the boulders that had sunk them, their only company the odd pale bone, fragments of rusted armour, gossamer-thin ghosts of sweethearts’ scarves or the long-sullied gold of lovers’ keepsakes.

  As they gazed out over the water, the new arrivals fancied they could half-hear the songs of the warrior ghosts still remaining – those unlucky souls who had never gone home to a hero’s welcome and the cheer of a warm longhouse. They were not sad songs, but slow stirring melodies made all the more tragic by the haunting discordant harmonies that overlaid them. Like the ruins of the harbour all about, they carried an air of terrible sadness and the finality of death.

  Wordlessly the six men and the lone horse made their way along one of the quays, from where they regarded the only ship in the harbour that was still even partly afloat. There was a faint hope within them that it might remain serviceable enough to get them off this island, if only as far as the mainland nearby. None of them could b
ear the thought of re-crossing that terrible ice field. However, on closer inspection they found the vessel so low in the water and tilted at such an unfortunate angle that it was plain to even the most desperately optimist it would never sail again.

  ‘What d’you reckon, Paulus?’ Nibulus asked. ‘Seen anything like it before?’

  The hull was so wide as to be almost square, the prow remarkably short, and there was no tell-tale figurehead or sign upon it to give any clue to its origin. This was a large craft of a very plain, utilitarian design, a simple merchant’s ship intended for carrying cargo rather than undertaking exploration or engaging in warfare. Clearly whoever had arrived in it had been expecting a large haul.

  ‘Could be from anywhere.’ Paulus sniffed. ‘But that’s of no concern to us. Whoever they were, they died like all the others.’

  ‘My opinion exactly, and . . .’ Nibulus replied, but Paulus had already stridden away, leaving Nibulus to blink after him despondently.

  Died like all the others, right, Bolldhe pondered, and what of us?

  He came up behind the Peladane and studied the vessel more closely. ‘Doesn’t look that old, does it? And it’s cold enough to preserve rations well. What do you say, shall we have a look?’

  ‘A bit risky,’ Nibulus replied. But like all the others he was keen to postpone the task they had come all this way to undertake, and any excuse would do. ‘Go on then, let’s give it a go. There must still be some cabins that aren’t submerged.’

  They lashed themselves together with a length of rope tied around their waists, in case one of them should slip on the steeply inclined icy deck – or fall through it. The others shuffled together on the quayside and stood watching, curls of steam rising from their nostrils.

  The two men stepped up from the quayside onto the gunwale tilted down towards them, hurled their grapnels till they snared on the opposite side, then began hauling themselves cautiously up the sloping deck. This was hard going, for the planking was as slick as an ice rink, but various remnants of mast, spar or rigging were frozen to the deck and provided convenient footholds. Bolldhe was the first to reach the deckhouse and booted the rotten door into splinters. Then, lantern gripped in his teeth, he slipped inside. Nibulus followed close behind, and also disappeared from sight.