The Grim Wanderer

by James Wolf

  The nights were the worst. Taem tried not to sleep, but Storm needed the rest. Travelling on horseback he must have far out-ran the Nargs, but that was small comfort in the dark of the night, when he sat shivering in the gloom, with no blanket and no fire to reveal his position. All Taem could think about in those long nights, was the red glow of Nargs eyes out in the darkness. They were out there, somewhere. Taem was well-schooled in woodcraft and hunting, but he was forever running, so he had to scavenge what little food and water he could find as he fled. And he had to be wary of Nargs in front as well as behind. It was extraordinary for them to be so far south. Had they invaded the whole of Aritas? Or had they just come down from the Dredgen on a raid? Watching for enemies in every direction, was grinding him down to the ground.

  During the day, Taem passed the odd traveller on the Mountain Way, a farmer or a merchant train, heading south. He tried to warn them of the Nargs to the south, but they always looked at him like he was crazy, and hurried on past. The more insistent he was about the monsters, the quicker other travellers wanted to get away. They would only believe when they saw it with their own eyes, when it would be too late.

  Taem was slumped over in the saddle, asleep, when Storm stumbled, jolting him back awake. Taem opened his eyes, and was confronted by the enormous Borleon Forest. The massive hardwood forest stretched from the base of the Dredgen Mountains to as far as the eye could see westwards. It roared up over the land like the crest of a green wave. People said Borleon Forest was haunted, but Taem knew it could be no worse than what was behind him. The quickest way to the north was through the forest – to go around would increase the journey time three fold. Taem crossed the threshold into the shadows of the trees, and he felt there was something watching him. The trees towered over his head, ancient and domineering. An eerie breeze whistled through them, and Taem shivered. There could well be Nargs hiding in the depths of the old forest.

  Night had fallen in the vast forest, and Taem could understand why people were wary of being there. Without a fire, it was so dark he could barely see his hand in front of his face. The trees around him seemed to loom up with menace, as if angry he was trespassing in their forest. Storm was resting her head on Taem’s knee, as he sat with his back to a tree. She was so tired she was sleeping lying down. Taem rubbed the poor beast’s nose, and it soothed her a little. She was even more frightened than he was.

  Creatures of the night hours called to one another, causing Taem to jump and shiver each time some ominous cry echoed through the darkness. Those calls were different to the menacing roar of the Nargs, but it was hard to be sure of anything any more. As another harsh cry rang out through the forest, Taem was thankful he had Estellarum. His trembling hand closed around the hilt as he stared out into the darkness. He tried to stay awake, but his eyes became so heavy.

  When Taem next opened his eyes, dawn was seeping through the trees. With hollow legs and an empty stomach, Taem struggled to his feet. There was birdsong amongst the trees this morning, and he hoped they would alert an enemy’s approach. Taem wolfed down a handful of nuts and berries he had collected yesterday, but he needed a proper meal. He patted Storm’s head, took up her reins and led her on through the forest. He would not ride her today unless he was in danger, she needed the rest.

  They stopped late afternoon by a stream to drink. Taem managed to scoop a trout from the water. He was so hungry, he risked a fire by the daylight, to cook and eat the fish. The forest seemed quite ordinary during the daytime. Woodland animals bustled about their business, scurrying through the undergrowth as they cast him wary, yet curious, glances. Birds fluttered between the great trees, singing a pleasant chatter of competing tunes, and insects buzzed between the scarce flowers, barely aware of anything beyond their own existence.

  Someone shouted in the forest. The rabbits stared that way, turned and scampered off. Taem sat dead still and listened. There was no birdsong now, and he could make out feint sounds of metal crashing upon metal. He left Storm by the stream, and crept closer to the noises. He knew there was no mistaking what the sounds were. Taem glimpsed movement in a clearing up ahead.

  Taem drew his sword and stalked closer. He placed each foot to avoid snapping noisy twigs. His body tingled. Suddenly he became more aware of everything: the sound of his quickened breathing, the touch of his boot to soil, and the movement of every leaf in the wind. He shot from tree to tree now, using them as cover, skulking his way towards the clearing. The ringing of clashing blades had finished. What did that mean? Taem felt his blood rush. Fear surged through him. The urge to run flared up from the back of his mind. But something held him back: “Honour above your own life”, Logan’s words resounded through Taem’s head, and he remembered The Code.

  Taem went down into a crouch, and crept up to a tree trunk through a patch of dense undergrowth. He winced every time he made the slightest sound, pausing for a moment, listening for signals he had been detected. He crawled to the base of a wide oak. Taem’s thundering heartbeat threatened to burst from his chest, as he edged his head round the knotted roots to see.

  In the clearing, Taem saw his enemy, and all his fear was lost. A pack of Kruns had attacked some men and women. Two men and two women lay dead on the ground, as did six Krun. Taem saw a third man still had life in him, and he lay wounded and gasping for breath not two yards from Taem’s concealed position. A deep crimson gash ran down the man’s leg, and his side was pierced by one of the Kruns’ crude arrows. Five more Kruns still stood, in a huddle beyond the injured man.

  Taem recognised the Krun by their horrifically sallow skin – it was a rotting, gangrenous yellow, akin to raw meat that had decayed beyond festering purple. Their wizened hides were leathery and flayed, akin to sun-scorched carcasses. The Krun were no more than five feet tall, they were skinny and ungainly, and lurched with a characteristic stoop. Their foul stench filled Taem’s nostrils and it took all of his discipline not to make a sound as he retched. The Kruns’ hooded yellow eyes, beady and devious, darted around with crafty malice. Those eyes were sunk in a face that looked as if it had been mauled by a rabid beast. A sinister hooked nose hung over a wide gaping mouth full of crooked, filthy teeth. The Kruns were armed with an assortment of vicious weapons, which were all afflicted by a rusty pestilence. Taem gagged again as he took in the clothes they wore. Their disgusting tunics and armour were stained dark by dirt, and infested with crawling lice.

  In many ways Taem could see the Krun were frightening creatures – but they did not frighten him. A cold fury overcame Taem. He remembered when he had seen the Krun once before, from a distance, as they butchered his family and childhood friends. He remembered how they took such delight from the mindless slaughter of innocence.

  One of the enemy walked up to the injured man – a particularly nasty Krun with a horrendous cut splitting its chin, and a badly stitched scar that ran through its missing eye.

  ‘We is gonna cut you good,’ The Krun hissed at the injured man, as it raised its jagged spear.

  Taem leapt forward from his hiding place in the undergrowth. Taem drew Estellarum as he exploded forward. He parried the Krun spear as it was thrust at the downed man. Taem reversed the direction of his blade’s swing, decapitating the Krun with the return strike. The severed head rolled away as the body collapsed into a twitching heap.

  ‘Kill im!’ Shrieked one of the other Kruns.

  The remaining four Krun rushed towards him. But Taem was ready. He sidestepped the first, bringing his sword into its stomach. The Sodan blade sliced clean through. Taem was already moving on. The second Krun came at him from his right, swinging its wicked scimitar, screaming for his blood. Taem swayed like a willow in the breeze, dodging the Krun’s wild swipes. Taem blocked with ease and countered swiftly. The enemy fell to the ground clutching its ruined throat. The third Krun tried to bring an axe down on Taem’s head. Taem jumped back to evade the attack. In one fluid motion, he brought his sword up above his right shoulder and down through the top o
f the Krun’s head. Taem charged towards the final foe, catching the Krun unaware, impaling it through the chest on the point of his blade.

  Taem glared into the Krun’s dying eyes. He saw their terror. The Sodan withdrew his sword, and the last enemy crumpled to the forest floor. The fight had happened so fast, but Taem had reacted with instinct. Taem’s gaze swept the clearing, still in a high state of alert. Moments before he had been oblivious to all but his enemies, and now his senses were bombarded once more with the sights and sounds of the forest. But he caught no movement in his periphery, and heard nothing but the whisper of the wind. The enemy were all dead. It was over. Taem turned over Estellarum’s blue blade and saw the glisten of oily blood marring its keen surface.

  ‘I thank the Light for shining on my blade,’ Taem deftly flicked the blood from Estellarum, and sheathed the sword back in its scabbard on his back. He looked down at his hands, and saw they were shaking. He had almost died again, one wrong move and he would be lying cleaved and gutted on the floor. That thought filled his muscles with ice.

  The injured man moaned in pain, and Taem hurried over to him. Taem knelt down beside him, examining his wounds. The man was taller than Taem, but much slimmer. The injured man had wild tawny hair, and was clothed in browns and greens – the colours of the forest. Around his shoulders was draped a woodland cloak that seemed to meld into whatever background it was laid against. Taem realised there was something different about this forest man, his face and his eyes were thinner, and his features were smaller.

  ‘You are skilled with the sword… friend,’ the forest man spluttered. ‘You saved my life, for sure… thank you.’

  ‘We are not out of danger yet,’ Taem looked warily around the forest. ‘There is bound to be more of them. They would not come so far from the Lost Realms in such small numbers.’ Taem peeled back part of the injured man’s shirt to see the arrowhead embedded in his skin. ‘Thank the Light,’ Taem murmured to himself, as he saw the arrow had gone in at a shallow angle. ‘The arrow has not penetrated deep,’ he told the forest man, ‘but I cannot remove it. If I do it will bleed heavily, and we have to move now.’

  ‘These were just the advance scouts of a horde heading westwards,’ The injured man’s voice was strained, but his bronze eyes were filled with purpose. ‘The enemy head towards my homeland. They are five hundred, at least. We were part of the border patrol… Warders who watch the boundary of the Forest Realm. You must go into the centre of Borleon… Warn my people, the Aborle. Go now, and quickly.’

  ‘I cannot leave you,’ Taem tore strips of cloth from the Aborle’s cloak to bandage the injured man’s leg, and tie around his waist to stabilise the arrow. The forest man flinched as Taem snapped off the shaft of the arrow and pulled tight the bandages around his waist.

  The injured man slumped with a look of weary resignation, ‘My name is Baek Malaran,’ he struggled to say. ‘You’ll never make it carrying me.’

  ‘I am Taem Dratana. I have a horse not far from here, she can carry you.’

  In the distance a deep pounding of a tribal drum resonated through the forest. The men shot worried glances to each other. They both knew the Kruns were close.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ Taem ran off and found Storm, and ran with her back to Baek.

  ‘I can’t get up,’ Baek gasped.

  Taem pulled Baek onto his feet, and lifted him onto Storm’s back. The forest man winced in pain as the arrow moved.

  ‘Which way?’ Taem stared in the direction of the drums.

  ‘West,’ Baek raised a weary hand, as he lay slumped on the horse’s neck.

  ‘Can you go on ahead,’ Taem passed the reins to Baek, ‘take my horse?’

  ‘I don’t have the strength to hold on,’ Baek grimaced.

  ‘I will hold you then,’ Taem put a hand on Baek’s back, as he led Storm eastwards.

  ‘It’s ten miles to my village,’ Baek gasped with pain. ‘They will catch us for sure, by

  the sound of that drum they’re almost on us.’

  ‘Save your breath,’ Taem said. ‘You will need the strength later.’

  Taem led Storm on for an hour, and twilight descended on the forest. The drums still pursued them, and Taem was ever glancing behind, expecting Krun to burst from the forest. Baek lay on Storm’s back, with his eyes closed and his face contorted in pain. Taem saw how every jolt the horse made was agony for the injured man. Taem examined the wound and frowned, the bandages were soaked with blood. Taem tore more strips from Baek’s cloak, and wrapped them round the injury, replacing the blood-stained makeshift bandages.

  ‘My people will welcome you with open arms…’ Baek said laboriously. His eyes were clamped shut as he clung onto the horse’s back. ‘You should see the great trees in the heart of the forest, Taem… they are truly a wonder to behold. We Aborle live in their boughs… At night, our lanterns rival the stars in the sky… It is a mystical place.’

  ‘You will show me the beauty of your home, my friend,’ Taem held the Aborle on Storm’s back. ‘But for now you must rest.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Baek murmured. ‘There is good in the world, if an outsider will risk his life to save mine.’

  On they trudged through the forest, and the endless sea of green faded into the darkness of night. No drums pursued them now, but Taem was concerned Baek was drifting away. The Aborle had gone silent, and Taem kept nudging his shoulder and talking to him to keep him awake. Baek’s breathing had become shallow and ragged, and Taem knew he would soon die without a healer’s aid. The bandages were soaked in blood, and Taem had run out of cloth to replace them.

  Taem realised there were lights in the dark, in the distant trees ahead. He scanned from side to side, a hand on his sword hilt, searching for Krun. Dark figures stepped out of the undergrowth, twenty yards in front. Taem drew his sword.

  ‘Who goes there?’ One of the figures called, and Taem realised it was a woman’s voice.

  ‘Taem Dratana,’ Taem sheathed his sword, ‘and I have with me Baek Malaran on my horse. He is wounded.’

  Taem now saw figures surrounding him in the dark forest, and he saw the glint of drawn steel.

  ‘Step forward, outsider,’ a harsh voice said to Taem, ‘make no sudden movement. We have arrows drawn on you.’

  ‘He speaks truth,’ Baek gasped, ‘he is a friend.’

  On hearing Baek’s voice, the surrounding Aborle rushed forward to check him. Two of them got between Taem and his horse, watching him, standing in bladed fighting stances, with swords drawn.

  ‘Step away, outsider,’ One of them said to Taem.

  Taem considered dropping into a fighting stance himself, and drawing his blade.

  ‘No Hanrel!’ Baek said to the Aborle facing Taem. ‘He saved my life.’

  ‘A Krun Horde approaches,’ Taem glared at the Aborle facing him, ‘five hundred strong.’

  ‘Is this true, Baek?’ Hanrel touched Baek on the shoulder.

  ‘Yes,’ Baek gasped, as other Aborle led Storm and him towards the lights of the village.

  ‘Alert the village,’ Hanrel ordered the woman next to him, who went sprinting off. He gestured for other Aborle with longbow to turn and face the dark forest.

  ‘Where are the other Warders?’ Hanrel said to Taem.

  ‘Gone,’ Taem murmured, ‘into the last embrace of the Light.’

  The dozen surrounding Aborle all put their hands on their hearts, and dropped their heads. Taem found it bizarre that they would take their eyes off him, after treating him with such wariness.

  ‘My name is Hanrel,’ the Aborle extended a hand towards Taem. ‘Forgive my suspicion, our way of life is everything to us.’

  Taem was reluctant to shake the man’s hand. That was not the welcome he had been expecting. But he had little choice other than to reach out and meet Hanrel’s hand.

  ‘Outsiders never step into our villages,’ Hanrel said, ‘but you may enter. I will allow you to keep your sword, but you will have an Aborle guard with you at a
ll times.’

  Taem would be allowed to keep his sword? He would love to see them try and take it. ‘Follow me,’ Hanrel turned and walked off.

  Taem went after him, aware there were three armed Aborle following him. Hanrel led him on into the tree village, and Taem saw how the trees here were enormous. The Aborle had built houses in these trees, linked with walkways, and stairs to more houses above. Taem was amazed by the craftsmanship of these treehouses. They did not look like buildings, but part of the living trees themselves, as if they had been grown not built. Aborle men and women hurried all over the village, preparing to leave or fight.

  Hanrel led Taem towards an Aborle wearing a striking green cloak. There was a gold chain around his neck, holding a single emerald in the middle of his chest. Taem’s first thought was how dignified this older Aborle looked.

  ‘Elder Gerandel,’ Hanrel bowed to the older Aborle.

  Gerandel took one look at Taem, and saw the three Aborle guards surrounding him.

  ‘Where are your manners, Hanrel?’ Gerandel shook his head. ‘Do you really believe this swordsman is an enemy? After he has saved the life of my son – risked his own life – and struggled to bring Baek back to us?’

  Hanrel had a look of shame on his face.

  ‘You and your guards are dismissed,’ Gerandel said to Hanrel. ‘I will look after our guest.’

  Hanrel and the other Aborle bowed and walked away.

  ‘Thank you,’ Taem said.

  ‘No, you have my thanks,’ Gerandel bowed and shook Taem’s hand. ‘You saved my son’s life. I apologise for Hanrel. He has been taught to defend our village from his first breath. He knows no better, and has never stepped beyond the forest. We are a gentle folk,’ Gerandel gestured at all the people rushing about the village, ‘I promise you. But that is why we defend what we have so fiercely.’