He was barely able to get his sword drawn when the wounded beasts leapt onto the rock before him. Casius swung, his sword catching the Fell hound across the mouth. The steel rang as it shattered one of the massive canines.
The Hound leapt for him, Casius stepped to the side and cut a deep gash along the beast’s flank as it plunged past. The Fell hound kicked out with its hind legs in anguish. Casius jumped back to avoid the razor sharp claws, his foot slipped off the stones edge and he fell onto his side.
The Fell hound was mortally wounded but it could sense his prey’s vulnerability. Its claws scrabbled on the blood slick stone as it spun about. Its eyes narrowed and the ears on its head lay flat. Blood mixed with saliva dripped from the ruined stump of its Canine.
Casius was on his knees when the Hound attacked. He rolled onto his back thrusting his sword out, hoping that the beast would gut itself on his blade.
Suni appeared striking the Hound’s chest with his shoulder in mid flight. They fell from the stone together, the hound landed face down on the hard ground with Suni upon its back.
Reaching forward before the beast could react Suni grasped its remaining canine and wrenched the hound’s head to the side. A resounding crack heralded the death of the beast as its neck shattered under the strain.
Casius got to his feet and turned just in time to avoid the slashing canines as another hound leapt up at him. The Hound crashed into him knocking Casius from the stone. He fell and landed on his back among the terrified horses.
Rolling onto his side Casius avoided the stamping hooves, and pressed his back against the rock. The Hound was not so lucky and landed further out in the hollow.
The horses reared and kicked, the beast went down beneath a flurry of hooves. The Hound dashed for freedom but took a savage kick to the head crushing the right side of its skull. With its right eye ruined the hound backed away shaking its head against the pain.
Casius reached out and pulled his sword from under the stomping hooves. The horses jostled him as he rose to his feet. The smell of blood and the growls of the wounded hound driving them mad with fear.
The retreating hound did not move fast enough. Connell’s mount reared and kicked it brutally. The hound fell onto its side and was reduced to a lifeless husk by the stamping stallion.
Casius sheathed his sword and scrambled up the side of the stone. Suni and Marcos grasped his arms and helped him to the top. Casius looked about and realized that all of the hounds were dead. Connell was jumping from rock to rock until he stood among them.
Connell was breathing heavy, and he was covered with gore. A deep scratch across his forehead seeped blood down into his eyes. “Are you injured?” He asked Casius. “I saw you fall down among the horses.”
“I fared better than the Fell Hound who pushed me.” Casius replied, suddenly feeling exhausted.
Connell wiped the blood from his eyes. “We were fortunate that they did not come upon us in the open.”
Marcos nodded, “Fell Hounds travel in large packs, if these have found our trail others may not be far behind.”
Riding hard they gained the foot of the pass as the sun set. Leading their mounts they used the feeble moonlight that shone through the broken cloud cover to find their way.
In the darkness the fury above Tarok nor dominated the sky. Casius flinched as booming thunder shook the landscape and fiery flashes of color raced across the cloud bottoms. In the distance the broken peaks of the Vurgwall Mountains glowed with reflected light. The Vurgwall loomed higher than any other mountains in the known world and the snow crowning their peaks seldom thawed.
Casius forced his eyes away from the tormented sky. For a fleeting moment he felt a pang of regret at having chosen to follow Connell on this mad quest. He knew that if they found this weapon they would eventually have to enter the dark realm beneath those fires of sheer power.
The thought of confronting Sur’kar in his stronghold sent shivers down his spine. He shook his head fighting back the waves of fear and doubt. It was too late now to turn back, Connell was depending on him, and the fate of the world rested on Connell’s shoulders.
He looked over at his friend and wondered how he could simply go on, burdened with such a responsibility. Connell trudged on leading his horse; a man who had shunned the duty of his birthright and had willingly accepted a far graver task.
They walked for hours, across a rugged landscape that rose with every step they took. By midnight the land changed and the hills grew smaller each one lower than the one before.
They stopped at the head of a long slope leading down into the narrow fold of land lying between the Vurgwall and Rahlcrag Mountains.
To the northwest the darkness was ablaze with the light of thousands of campfires. The golden motes flickered brightly out shining the stars above.
“Sur’kar’s army,” Marcos said. “Beyond them lies the cursed fortress of Vi’Eruk, the gateway to Tarok nor.”
“So many,” Casius exclaimed softly, amazed by the sheer number of fires. He looked up at the sky and knew that the hour was late. “We had better get moving if we are to slip past them in the dark.”
“We should await the light of day,” Marcos suggested. “The sentries who ward at this hour have eyes well suited for darkness. In daylight we will only face Morne and men. Our odds will be better then.”
Connell nodded in agreement. “We need rest as well.”
Casius had no desire to linger this close to the army. “Can we not swing further south and give them a wide berth?”
“No,” Marcos answered. “There lies the Gaul Tyrian waste, a scorched realm of sand and shifting dunes. Without the expertise of the nomads who dwell there we would surely stumble into one of the Anatha Di, swallowing sands in your language. Walk into such an area and you will face a suffocating death as the ground pulls you down into itself.”
“Why would anyone willingly live in a desert when there is so much fertile land about?” Casius wondered.
“The nomads are few in number but they are resourceful. They see the desert as the forge of the creator, living within it they are strengthened and prepared for that which follows death.” Marcos replied. “To them there is much beauty in the ever changing sands and the rare oasis that lie within its heart.”
“There is protection as well,” Connell added. “Even Sur’kar’s minions would be reluctant to go into those wastes.”
“If the sands don’t kill them the nomads would.” Marcos added. “They are skilled hunters and jealously guard their realm from intruders. People from the outside are seen as less than human and are as likely to be slain as not.”
“It just keeps getting better,” Connell quipped sarcastically.
“So it does,” Marcos said with a slight grin. “Prepare yourselves, the world beyond the eastern kingdoms is harsh and unforgiving. Here Sur’kar’s influence has grown strong, even after the breaking his spirit has polluted the minds of many.” Marcos looked to the north, a fire of anger burning in his eyes. “Now he has come into his power and he seeks to crush the world and make it his own.”
“Yet you waited,” Connell said disapprovingly. “You could have stopped him long ago before he had grown so powerful.”
“He was a spirit,” Marcos said in explanation. “Working in the minds of men, influencing their decisions. Never did he reveal himself. Now he has taken corporeal form, he is at his weakest while his power waxes great.”
Suni looked to the brightening sky eastward. “We should seek shelter lest we are discovered.
Marcos took the lead; his vision was better than the others in the darkness. He chose the safest route down the long slope of loose stone. Turning slightly southward he led them to an exposed ridge of stone descending from the Rahlcrag Mountains.
It was within its shelter that they awaited the coming of dawn. Suni climbed the rock face and hid among the boulders above keeping watch on the distant camp.
They lit no fire and sat huddled upon the loose
scree. The air was warmer than the night before, but only by a small amount. Casius and Connell sat huddled within their saddle blankets attempting to grab what sleep they could.
They waited until the sun cleared the mountains before riding out into the Gorcrahlg pass. The golden light at their backs added to their subterfuge. The Morne encamped nearby could not look into its glare long enough to see that the dark riders were men.
They rode along the well-worn tracks used by the Morne patrols throughout the night. Passing between the mountains they raced out onto a sun baked plain. To the south rose a line of dunes burning bronze in the early morning light. Along their crest clouds of blowing sand roiled in the air.
Their horses stirred up a cloud of fine dust that clearly marked their approach.
They rode within bowshot of the camps outer fringes, Morne by the tens of thousands set about their daily routines. They resembled a shuffling sea of black robes amid the smoking remnants of their fires. Only a few looked at the riders but it was only a cursory glance, none examined them closely.
Beyond the army stood the Vurgwall, a massive Mountain range of razor sharp stone as black as midnight. The Mountains rose nearly sheer, they looked as if they had been blasted upward from the earth by an immense explosion. A large keep stood within a narrow cut in the mountains.
Behind high walls a wide tower loomed. Rising upward in a series of four levels. Each one slightly narrower than the one below it, black smoke poured from its crown etching a dark line across the sky.
Within the smoke a single banner the color of blood fluttered from an iron pole, a black serpent bearing two heads upon a field of scarlet. It was the herald of V’rag, the banner of Sur’kar. Long had it been absent from the world, but now the very earth quailed at its rebirth.
Casius’s heart pounded within his chest, he thought that at any moment a wall of bloodthirsty reptilian warriors would charge them. When Vi’Eruk came into view his body felt a chill of terror. The dark bastion exuded a sense of watchful malice.
The encampment was so large that after two miles they finally came within sight of its western edge. Here they came upon another encampment, much smaller than the first. It contained a little over six thousand men, the likes of which had never been seen within the eastern kingdoms. They were all short, the tallest barely five feet in height. Powerfully built with long arms and broad chests. Their skin was deep brown and their heads clean-shaven. Dressed in kilts of tanned leather they spent their time polishing emerald colored suits of armor, with helms fashioned in the likeness of ferocious animals. They watched the riders pass with open glares of hostility and distrust. Some of the men gripped the hafts of iron hammers as if expecting an attack.
“This does not bode well,” Marcos commented to Connell. “For so many Morne and men to be outside the citadel of Vi’Eruk can mean only one thing.”
Connell stole a quick look back to the keep.
“There are many rooms in that fortress, deep catacombs and pits where the light of day never touches. Sur’kar has many servants, the most dreaded are in that keep hiding from the light of the sun awaiting the night to do their work.”
“Trolls?” Connell guessed.
Marcos nodded. “And worse.”
The Vurgwall swung northward in a broad arc, cutting a swath across the otherwise barren landscape. The dunes to the south continued westward, disappearing below the horizon. Ahead of them opened a vast vista of shattered rock and an occasional acacia tree.
They turned northward following the foothills until the upturned earth shielded them from the encampment.
Sweat poured down Casius’s face, the salt stinging his eyes. He let out a long exhalation of relief and reached up to lower his hood.
Connell stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Don’t let your guard down just yet.” He warned Casius. “There may be patrols about.”
They rode for the better part of an hour before leaving the relative safety of the hills for the open plain. Heading westward they drove their mounts hard putting as much distance between themselves and the Vurgwall as was possible.
They rested only briefly in the middle of the day, a sip of water and some cheese broke their fast.
“Drink sparingly,” Marcos warned. “Water is life here, entire tribes have been exterminated for nothing more than a muddy well.”
That night they slept lightly, sharing the watch. Desert foxes prowled around their campsite, while scorpions as long as a man’s arm emerged from their subterranean lairs and scuttled about.
Who ever stood watch spent much of their time spearing the overgrown insects with their swords. Suni tested his skills by provoking them and catching their stingers in mid strike. With a flick of his wrist he would fling them onto the hard soil with such force that their exoskeletons shattered.
At sunrise they searched their equipment and clothing for more of the pests., before getting dressed. Another frugal meal was consumed in silence their throats were parched and talking only added to the discomfort.
Five days passed and their supply of water was nearly exhausted. The Landscape remained virtually unchanged, a sprawling flatland from horizon to horizon. Punctuated by sun blasted rock and dried brush.
Chapter Thirteen
They rode throughout the day, putting many miles behind them. Making camp that night within the scant shelter provided by a group of three withered acacia trees.
“We have entered the land of Morne,” Marcos said ominously as they ate a spare meal.
Casius set aside his meal and stood looking about at the darkening plain.
“Sit,” Connell said with a short laugh. “It remains unchanged, though now you know its name.”
As the darkness across the landscape deepened a faint golden flicker shone in the north. Casius felt a pang of envy, they had lit no fires for several days now and he missed the warmth and sense of security the cheery blazes could provide.
With a nod to Marcos, Suni vanished into the night. After several hours he returned, appearing suddenly out of the dark as silent as a ghost.
How he could find his way to them in the darkness amazed Casius. They did not question him, knowing Suni would speak when he was ready.
“Morne warriors,” He said calmly. “The fire is small but they number one hundred an seventy.”
“A trap,” Connell ventured.
“Perhaps,” Marcos answered. “But for whom?”
“A priest of the Storm God is among them.” Suni added.
Marcos grimaced. “It is a trap then. They are looking to capture a victim to sacrifice. Those Morne are answering the call to arms. They will march with the army we passed, before doing so they seek to garner Sur’kar’s favor. Rather than sacrifice one of their own number they have set a trap for anyone foolish enough to draw near their fire.”
“They will see us when the sun rises.” Suni warned. “We should leave now.” He looked over his shoulder, for a brief moment regret flashed through his narrow eyes. For there sat the ancient enemy of all who bore the name of Anghor Shok.
They broke camp quickly and led the horses away into the night. They headed south giving the Morne a wide berth.
They covered many miles walking throughout the night stopping only when they absolutely had too. With the approach of dawn they rested near a pile of broken stone.
As the sky brightened they could see that the stone upon which they sat was part of a ruined wall that once surrounded an irrigated field. Less than a mile away stood a low stone tor, twenty feet tall and several miles long. Upon its top lay a broken curtain wall shielding ruined buildings in various states of decay. Deathly silent, it shone brightly with reflected sunlight.
Casius was surprised to find that they had unknowingly come so close to a city of such size in the dark. They would have been in a precarious position had the city been inhabited. All about them lay the ruined walls and foundations of a vast irrigation system.
“I do not know this place.” Marcos said s
ounding as surprised as the others felt upon the revelation of the ruined city.
“It appears to be abandoned.” Connell said, after studying the broken ramparts. “Whatever the cause no one lives here now. They had water once, perhaps we can find yet some trace of it.”
Marcos shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a wise decision.”
“Our water is almost gone Marcos,” Connell argued. “We have no other choice.”
“You are correct Connell,” Marcos ceded after a moments thought.
Connell took his horses reins and led them towards the ruined city. They came to a spot along the wall where a large section had fallen outward, the broken stone forming a crude ramp leading up into the city.
The walls were not very thick, ten feet across at the base. Constructed of sandstone, which could be found in abundance upon the plain. The edges of the rock had been worn smooth by the harsh dry winds that blew across the landscape.
The opening led into a walled courtyard behind the collapsed shell of a building. Within it stood the limbless trunk of an ancient tree that grew beside an ornate fountain whose basin now held only dust.
The wind eddied about the ruins stirring up clouds of dust that scratched their throats and stung their eyes.
Connell’s mount tossed its head pulling at its reins as it tried to go deeper into the city through a vacant gate in the wall.
“Let the horse go and follow.” Marcos suggested. “It was born to these lands and the Morne train them to seek out water.”
Connell released the reins and allowed the horse to pick its way through the rubble. The going was slow; the narrow streets choked with broken stone and clay tiles from roofs long since gone.
Near the cities center they climbed a low stair and entered a broad circular plaza. Surrounded by finely carved pillars of white marble, each crowned with basins of tarnished bronze.
Aethir Page 19
