by C. M. Gray
Turning back to the darkness, Pardigan shivered. He figured it was just his imagination and was about to give up and return to the fire when he sensed the movement again. It was only a small thing, but a shiver of apprehension ran through him, something was there. He was straining his eyes to see, but then quickly stepped back several paces as a dark shape, bigger than any bat, stepped out towards him. A moaning cry echoed around the cave as whatever it was closed on him raising an arm, reaching out towards him. Pardigan cried out and hopped back even further, tripped over a rock and fell painfully to the cave floor. 'Whaaaaa!'
It wasn't as big as a howler, but it was a lot bigger than Pardigan, and he scrabbled backwards his heart thumping loud in his ears. The thing missed him and hit the floor with a thump where it lay unmoving. Quint and Mahra rushed forward and once Pardigan had regained his feet, they edged closer to about three steps away. Whatever it was, it wasn't moving, just lying on the rocky cave floor, a dark lumpy shape covered in scraps of cloth and fur tied around with hairy twine.
'What is it?' hissed Pardigan. Mahra shrugged, and Quint stood still, silently holding out his sword ready to stab forward should it leap up.
Mahra lit a glow globe, and it floated closer to what they could now see was a person, not a howler, lying face down. They edged closer still, and after Pardigan had kicked the prostrate form, much to Mahra's displeasure, they rolled it over.
For a few moments, they stared down at an unconscious face, covered with a dusting of frost and wrapped tightly round with strips of animal skin and fur. As the glow globe moved slightly, Pardigan leaned forward, so his face was closer to the dirty, bearded features that stared up through sightless eyes.
'Oh, Source… I don't believe it. This is Bartholomew Bask!'
'What… are you sure?' Quint came forward, as did Mahra beside him. They studied the ravaged features; the eyes fluttering slightly as some level of consciousness began to return. Pardigan moved back, and the eyes focused on him, the lips began to quiver. It was as if the merchant was trying to say something, but he appeared to be almost frozen solid.
'Well, you certainly find some very strange things in these mountains,' said Pardigan. 'What are we going to do with him?
'We're going to help him, even though he would never help us. He'll die if we don't,' replied Quint as he took hold of the merchant's arm. Struggling with the incredible weight, they managed to drag him over to the fire, where they sat watching as the hated merchant began to thaw out.
His jaw was the first thing to regain movement, his teeth chattering noisily as the little piggy eyes darted from one face to the other as if he couldn't quite believe his rescuers were the same group he had fought with on so many occasions.
'M… murderers… thu… thugs…' he murmured trying to rise.
'Mr. Bask, we just saved your life! There's no need to…' Quint began, but the merchant managed to lift his hand and waved dismissively.
'Not… y… you… them!' he pointed out of the cave just as the first of the Barbarian warriors came rushing in.
* * *
Chapter 9
A Time of Ice and Fire
Pardigan glanced up and out of the cave to see bulging eyes staring from a face possessed by the chase of the hunt, the bloodlust that had driven the huge warrior up the rocky slope and on towards the cave's narrow entrance. Every fibre of the man's being was steeling itself, ready to maim and to kill, to live his calling as a Barbarian warrior.
Pardigan scuttled back, colliding with Quint in his haste to retreat and get out of the warrior's path. A stab of fear robbed him of reason as the warrior loomed up, his ragged black beard flecked with spittle and snot held loosely in place by the freezing cold.
Hefting a crude double-headed axe the warrior swung back, and seeing the element of surprise had gone, screamed out his battle cry that echoed booming throughout the cave, 'Yaaaahhh!' And then it was abruptly cut off as Quint's blade slashed forward, taking the man's head from his shoulders, silencing him forever.
Quint leapt past Pardigan and kicked at the huge body as it sprayed blood against the roof of the cave in a fountain and tottered, sending both head and body back into the arms of the warriors bunched up behind, covering them in a shower of blood, which didn't seem to bother them at all.
The cave's entrance immediately became a killing ground as the Barbarians threw themselves in, fighting each other to be first through the entrance, quickly blocking out the daylight so that only the flickering flames of the fire lit their coming. The clash of metal meeting metal rang out loud in the close confines of the cave as first Quint and then Pardigan rose to meet them. The clashing of steel, heavy panting and the grunting sounds that accompanied it was interspersed by cries of both rage and pain echoing through the cave. Then the panther leapt, Pardigan and Quint's swords flashed in the weak light, and the Barbarians fell. They had rushed in expecting a fat defenceless man, beaten and ready for the slaughter, but instead the sounds of their screaming echoed to the back of the cave where Bartholomew Bask had managed to scramble to lay trembling from both the cold and his fear.
Barbarian warriors corralled around the cave's entrance, hampered by their size and number as those at the rear blindly pushed those in front onto Quint's blade and Mahra's claws. Seeing a chance, with a glimpse of daylight and the outside world, Pardigan place-shifted out to clearer ground where he used his small size to dart amongst the taller warrior's, stabbing his dagger and murmuring, 'burn, burn,' sending out short cracks of energy that sizzled into the Barbarians' backs.
His burn magic was becoming far more powerful and vastly more effective especially on those wearing metal armour. When he had first received the ability as a gift from 'The Book of Challenges,' he had been able to deliver no more than a shock that would cause more surprise than harm. Now each crack of energy was sending full-grown Barbarian warriors screaming in agony, and one was writhing on the floor pleading for his long forgotten mother to aid him. As warriors turned and fled, the number around the entrance quickly diminishing and those few that remained were starting to wish they had never come across the cave in the first place.
'Demons, demons! We've awoken demons in the cave,' shrieked a female warrior as she pushed out and fled past Pardigan, cradling her arm where four jagged cuts bled freely, the result of Mahra casually swiping a huge paw in her direction. If the female warrior's cries weren't enough, then the sight of the Black Panther ripping the throat from a heavily muscled warrior as it leapt from the cave mouth was more than enough for the rest. Their ranks broke as panic filled them and as one, the survivors turned and ran down the hill, screaming in confusion and terror.
As the panther gave chase after the fleeing Barbarians, a heavy-set warrior turned, brought up a crossbow, and fired. The bolt flew true and struck the panther in the shoulder, the punch of its impact sounding as a meaty thwack. Mahra collapsed and rolled, her agonised roar echoing around the mountains. She slowly regained her feet and her yellow eyes narrowed as she sought out, and then found the crossbow-man frantically attempting to reload. Mahra sprang forward and landed on his chest, driving him back into several comrades who had stopped running when she was hit, scattering them down the slope. The fallen man didn't last long. Pardigan and Quint quickly joined Mahra to chase the ragged remains of the group from the slope and back into the tree line.
The mountainside returned to silence, and they stood to the side watching as the few remaining injured helped each other up. Limping warriors cast furtive glances at the two boys and black panther as they shuffled past, unsure how they had been so quickly beaten, and by so young a band. Mahra growled as the last of them passed, and the warriors hurried on.
Shimmering back into her human form, she inspected her wounded shoulder. The bolt was twitching slightly as the blood pumped around it. She reached up and with a cry, ripped it free then sank to her knees - blood continued to flow freely.
'None of us can heal you,' said Quint, bending down to examine the
wound. Mahra flinched back. 'All we can do is bind it and hope we can stop it bleeding until we can get to Tarent or Loras. Does it hurt much?'
'Of course it hurts, stupid boy!' spat Mahra, making Quint jump back in surprise at her anger. 'I will heal it a little myself, but I need Tarent or Loras.'
'I'm sorry you got injured I know it must hurt. Just remember it wasn't me that did it. Come on; let's get back to the cave. I don't think they'll be coming back again any time soon.'
'I'm glad it was you that asked if it hurt,' whispered Pardigan as they trudged back up the slope. 'It's me that usually says stupid things that she doesn't like.'
They helped her back up to the cave, and Quint bandaged her shoulder. She stared at him, growling softly while Pardigan sat the opposite side of the fire and studied Bartholomew Bask. It was the first time he had been able to get this close to the fat merchant without having to run, hide or fight. Bartholomew, who had thawed out and was now well enough to sit up, had his hands outstretched towards the flickering flames as he returned Pardigan's attention.
'So we save your life twice in one day… how strange is that Mr Bask?' Pardigan began to sharpen a knife across a small whetstone with slow rasping movements, his eyes never leaving the fat merchant. 'Maybe you'd like to tell us what you've done with the skulls you stole from Stirling temple. The King knows it was you and the Hawk that took them.'
'It was you young thieves that drove me to it…' shouted Bartholomew, spluttering, 'scoundrels the lot of you! Yes, I took the source damned skulls, but I don't have them now do I… yer ragamuffin scum,' he held out the sides of his ruined coat and let them fall, showing he had no skulls miraculously hidden in the many folds. Then he slumped forward in misery, his voice and temper wilting with him. 'I'm going home, to Freya. I'm sick of all this… this adventure business. Demons, skulls, thieves, and that black hearted, double crossing hunter, Matheus Hawk… Handed me over he did, let them beat me and humiliate me. He could have stopped them with a wave of his hand… but he didn't.' Bartholomew's face became redder with anger, and he clenched his fists in frustration. 'Source rot him, I'll see him hang, so I will!' He glanced up and wiped his chin as if suddenly aware of where he was, and noticed both Quint and Mahra following the exchange with undisguised interest. He turned back to Pardigan and lowered his voice to a rough growl. 'Want the skulls do yer boy? Two of them are with that deceiving witch, Morgasta, good luck to yer there. The other is with the Hawk, taken it across the desert, I reckon. Down to his friends across the Great Expanse. Down to the Soul Eaters.'
'The Soul Eaters?' muttered Pardigan. 'What's a…'
'Don't know lad, and I pray I never find out,' broke in Bartholomew with a shudder. 'They changed our Mr 'Awk, so they did, and it weren't for the better neither. He's more powerful now, but he's also changed, and it's a change for the worse. Likely he'll slaughter you lot soon as he finds you.' He drew closer and stared intently into Pardigan's face. 'Don't like you very much, don't Matheus Hawk. Dreams of killing you all… killing you very slowly.' Pardigan glanced over at Quint who merely shrugged.
'And the skulls you gave to Morgasta, do you know where they are?' Pardigan watched as Bartholomew's face split into a big grin.
'I suppose that if yer feelin lucky, they'll still be in Morgasta's camp… it's not far from here, just several thousand of her 'orrible Barbarians guarding it, that's all.' Bartholomew's smile grew as he waited for the inevitable question.
'And if we're unlucky?' asked Quint as he walked over and squatted down next to Pardigan.
'Listen, boy, first, you promise me you'll get me to my ship on yer bird thing, and then I'll tell yer. Reckon I'll have to trust yer. Yer seem like a nice bunch a lads, now I've had time to meet yer like.' He treated them to an oily smile that made Pardigan shudder, but Quint nodded agreement and Bartholomew continued. 'I reckons that if'n yer aint so lucky and the skulls aren't still in Morgasta's camp… you'll find them in her capital. Sits astride both sides of what passes for a river, more like a sewer if yer ask me. But her palace,' he grinned, 'or what she calls her palace, is in Bedlam. Course, yer may be really unlucky, and find she's hid them skulls in the Chaos temple, which is on the other side of the river. Nasty place it is… makes Bedlam seem nice, so it does… made me go there once. Yer don't know it yet, but the west side of the river is named Mayhem, and may the Source preserve you all if yer venture there, that's all I can say.'
'Bedlam and Mayhem… you're lying, you must be. Nobody calls their city Bedlam and Mayhem,' spluttered Pardigan.
'No,' interrupted Mahra, 'he isn't lying. Bedlam and Mayhem do exist; I've also been there. A long time ago and I prayed then that I might never have to return, but the twin cities do exist. Oh, Quint just pray that we don't find the skulls have been moved already, we do not want to go to Bedlam and Mayhem.'
'I'll second that,' muttered Pardigan, 'it sounds awful.'
'And the Hawk's skull, how do we find that when we have the other two?' asked Quint.
'When you have the other two?' laughed Bartholomew, rocking back. 'Well when you've found the first two,' he stopped as his laughter became too much to speak, his chins wobbling silently, before getting a little more control and carrying on, 'well… well yer fly that funny beast of yours over to the desert, the Great Expanse, look for the biggest, nastiest army yer've ever seen, and… and…' He suddenly stopped his laughter, and gazed round at the young people listening attentively around him. 'And by then… it'll be with, The Great Lord, Djinn Tsai, their Emperor… the one they call the, Lord of Shadows… and may the Source have mercy upon you. We've had our differences, lads, I'll grant you that, but I would not wish any man… or child to go against the Lord of Shadows… very few survive… or so they say, not quite human… nasty fellow by all accounts, a very nasty fellow indeed.'
* * *
A colossal cloud of dust rose from the desert of the Great Expanse, the dry, choking haze blanketing the army that marched beneath it. Rank upon rank of warriors travelling on foot, wrapped in loose cotton robes with scarves shrouding their heads as protection against the dust and sun. Their training had hardened them from the time when as children they were taken from their families and first made to hold a sword in the name of the Lord, Djinn Tsai. This was all at an age when their counterparts in Freya or Sterling, were still holding the hands of their mothers and playing in the streets. The desert continued to temper them each and every day of their lives in its scalding forge, the weak having fallen long before to lay lost and forgotten as the sand and sun stripped the flesh from their bones.
Among the warriors strode massive elephants each with four huge tusks, magical beasts, larger and far fiercer than their natural cousins and bred for the hot harsh conditions of the desert. Strapped to their backs were swaying platforms carrying archers, ready to fire down upon any enemy brave, desperate or unlucky enough to come close.
Behind the many warriors, came thousands of wraiths. Each of them hidden and protected from the burning sun behind dark masks and cloaks, their chattering speech like a forest of rustling leaves in this desert, this land without trees. The wraiths swarmed around a huge elephant, bigger than all the others and had little regard for rank or file, they just wished to be close. For upon the massive beasts back was constructed a small wooden palace, were the Great Lord of Shadows dwelt, the Emperor, Djinn Tsai himself.
Behind and to the sides of the travelling palace strode mounted camels. The riders swaying upon their backs carried golden lances adorned with pennants and prayer flags that hung limp in the stifling heat. The chinking of harnesses and the sounds of the camels moaning and calling to each other as they plodded on were the only other noises accompanying the hiss of sand as the colossal army moved forward, one weary footstep after another.
Archers and crossbowmen, Magicians and mages, sword-masters and spearmen, all marching as one while behind them lumbered another less orderly army. This second force was even larger than the first and was made up of wives and child
ren, cooks and workers, merchants and tradesmen, all the necessary accompaniments of an army on the move. By day, this force of beasts and humanity marched while by night, they rested, argued and laughed, loved and hated. They didn't travel quickly, but they did move steadily forward, spurred on by the abundant stories and rumours of the Kingdom of riches that lay waiting for them across the desert.
The Hawk's own beast soared above the throng, cutting through the vast dust clouds, to land close to the great elephant and its travelling palace. Huge wings scattered wraiths and blew more dust up before depositing its burden and returning to the sky, leaving the Hawk to make his way across to jump aboard the trailing walkway and climb up to the rickety structure high above.
Once at the top of the stairway, he stepped through a simple wooden door and inside. The swaying movement immediately ceased. The illusion of a small wooden construction replaced, quite magically, with the very real ornate stone and marble luxury of the Great Lord's palatial home, far away from dust, army and elephants. Matheus stopped to marvel at the strength of the magic used to create the link between the two places. Quite simply, it meant the Emperor never had to undertake the tiresome stress and inconvenience of travelling with his army yet could make an appearance when all was assembled and ready for him.
Stone walls decorated with precious stones set in swirling spirals, and geometric patterns echoed the Hawk's booted footsteps as he strode down the long corridor towards the throne room. To his side, through ornate windows and intricately carved screens could be glimpsed tinkling fountains surrounded by manicured gardens, the display of water shimmering in a cooler sunlight at odds with the desert the Hawk had just stepped from. Ahead, two elaborately uniformed guards holding long golden spears stood rigidly at attention either side of a massive door. The guards stared fixedly ahead, there attention impassive as if they hadn't noticed the Hawk's approach. They each had an impressive curling moustache waxed to a gleaming point, wide metal helmets edged in fur and topped with plumes of ornate feathers, black leather boots, similarly trimmed with fur at the knee, and blue satin jerkins edged in gold. 'Ridiculous peacocks,' muttered the Hawk under his breath.
