Shadow Of The Mountain

by D. A. Stone

A sudden thought danced across his mind, frightening and obvious all at once: they were being hunted.

  He called Accostas’s name and pointed them out.

  “Keep riding, little mage!” the tall warrior yelled over the thunder of hoofbeats. His amiable smile was no longer present and it made Tenlon feel sick.

  Their path maintained its steady incline and Tenlon kept looking into the deep forest at his right. The Blackwolves were everywhere and he longed to be rid of the trees that slowed them down. To his left the terrain continued to drop, growing ever steeper, becoming a treacherous slope extending far down into the valley.

  Ahead Kreiden’s saber suddenly lanced out at a leaping beast. The steel blade punched through its furry chest to exit out the back before the champion wrenched it free. The creature yelped and howled as it was skewered, falling short of its target. Accostas anchored a hand on the pommel of his saddle and leaned out, swinging his sword down into the beast yet again as they passed.

  Tenlon heard a startled scream and snarls behind him, but this time he took Desik’s advice. He didn’t look back.

  It happened once more to another riding at his back, and Tenlon could swear the beasts were pursuing just a few inches away, breathing down his collar, eyes burning, teeth dripping. He felt in his heart that if he dared glance back the trailing creatures would rip into him and he’d die a ghastly death.

  His heels dug into Darkfire’s side, pushing the horse harder.

  After another agonizingly slow mile, Killian Forest began to diminish into evening, with only another hour or so of daylight remaining. Already there were shadows growing beneath the trees and the steep drop at his left opened up, dark and ominous. Time was running out. Not even Darkfire could maintain the speed they needed to outrun Blackwolves through a forest night.

  Accostas called out his name as they continued to climb.

  “After we reach the crest of this rise, the forest drops back down and opens to more flatlands,” he yelled. “We are going to have to break through the wolves you pointed out. If they push us back into the valley, we’ll have no chance!”

  Tenlon once more looked to the black shapes bounding up and down parallel to their position. There were maybe two dozen of them now and his escort had already lost three riders. He twisted his grip on Darkfire’s reins, feeling the warmth of the important bundle strapped to his back.

  I will get to the coast, he told himself through clenched jaw. They died for me, and I will not fail them. It is the least I can do. It is all I can do.

  Up ahead in the distance Tenlon could see the summit of the small mountain they had climbed all afternoon. The trees thinned at the top and what he saw waiting for them sent his heart spinning into the deepest pit, the sight nearly pushing him from the saddle.

  To his left the forest had turned to a veritable cliff. It was far too dangerous to traverse and even if it were possible, they wouldn’t be able to climb back up the valley before nightfall.

  They rode for the crest, about a quarter mile ahead, where Tenlon could just make out the shattered image of a golden sunset beyond the trees.

  On top of the peak they needed to pass were perhaps thirty more of the waiting Blackwolves, their tattered capes blowing in the wind that swept over the mountain ridge. Even worse were the riders in black armor Tenlon saw pressing towards the summit from behind the flanking creatures. The Volrathi riders were still some distance away but would arrive in minutes.

  The beasts had funneled them up against the cliff and towards the peak magnificently. There was little chance of escape now.

  The Amorian riders began to close the distance to the crest, still a hundred yards from it and the waiting Blackwolves. Fenton had pulled back behind Kreiden and the remaining seven men of his escort formed a modified wedge, overloading the right side and front, leaving Tenlon’s left against the cliff completely unprotected.

  “You ride!” Desik roared next to him, gripping his spear. “Do you hear me? You keep riding. You never stop! No matter what happens, you push through!”

  Sweet merciful skies above! This was it; this was the moment.

  With the cliff to their left and creatures all around, they were effectively surrounded.

  The great wolves running parallel to their right cut towards the riders like locusts.

  The other beasts waiting at the summit followed.

  They were pinched into a corner now, and as the golden sunset behind their mountain weakened to blood red, the death trap snapped shut.

  ***

  The distance between beast and man vanished, and for Tenlon the sands of time almost slowed to a stop, falling one grain at a time.

  What came next was carnage.

  His escort screamed their battle cries as over thirty creatures raced towards them. Desik let fly his spear. The throw took the lead beast through the chest and it slumped to the ground face first, sliding to a stop. The rest of the wolves continued their charge liked demons, fangs exposed in horrific scowls and saliva glistening within their jaws.

  The Blackwolves hit the escort hard, slamming into them at full charge, leaping and snapping at both rider and horse. They were everywhere you looked, filling the small clearing with their snarls and bays for blood. The Amorian warriors hacked into the springing beasts, all the while maintaining their direction towards the crest.

  ***

  Accostas’s mount was pulled to the ground by one of the larger creatures, sending him sprawling into the mass of dark fur and tattered gray capes.

  Rolling with the fall, he came up fast and wildly slashed his sword left and right. Two bodies of black fur were cut down, splashing their foul blood to the forest floor. He screamed and hacked his way into the angry horde, wounding and killing three before being brought down to a knee by two wolves from behind. More fell upon him then and he lost his sword.

  The vile animals tore into his neck and sides. Blood gushed from his wounds and flesh was pulled off his back and shoulder in sinuous strips. Crying out with rage, he drew a long knife from his belt and grappled with a final beast, throwing an arm around its thick neck to haul it in close. His blade worked furiously, plunging deep strikes into the thrashing creature’s stomach and chest as other Blackwolves tore into him.

  As Accostas’s life slipped away from the world, so did his strength, and the pack ripped him apart.

  Three other Amorians protecting Tenlon from the onslaught were overpowered by the wild and savage charge. The Blackwolves had pulled two Amorians down while the third was pitched screaming over the steep cliff, mount and all.

  The first to go down scrambled to his feet and stabbed his sword out at a leaping beast. His blade slid deep into the creature’s torso and became stuck. In a flash more wolves set upon him, ripping into his face and throat. Blood burst from a severed jugular and the black forms practically consumed him. He died with a gurgled, agonized scream.

  The other rider came nimbly to his feet, swaying to the left as beasts leapt and snapped. Tenlon saw it was Paloran, the bearded man who had spoken with Kreiden about his wife before they’d left camp at Goridai.

  Paloran swung his long sword one-handed, drawing a second, shorter sword. His blades licked out, slicing into bone and hairy flesh, killing two. A large beast raced in from behind, clamping fangs onto his thigh to violently wrestle him down. Lifting his short sword high into the air, Paloran pushed it into the creature before working it clear through the side, separating flesh and bone.

  Struggling to his feet, he looked up just in time to see three more beasts charging towards him. Paloran prepared for the attack, but a black-feathered arrow from a Volrathi rider took him high in the neck, tossing him to the ground before he was lost to the frenzy.

  ***

  Desik, upon seeing Accostas pulled from his horse, stopped his momentum up the summit and went berserk against the onslaught. His sword hacked and cut, ripping into the wolves. Madly he struck out, his sharp blade scoring terrible blows against the beasts. He’d scat
ter one or two at a time, only to see them replaced by three or four. There were simply too many.

  Black-feathered arrows hissed all about the riders. Desik’s mount backpedaled as it became surrounded, its flanks shredded by sharp fangs. The warrior swung his heavy longsword down, all but beheading one attacking beast, followed by another. They swarmed him, but the angry warrior would not go down. He had lacerations all over his right side, and his mount was near death. Soon it lost its footing and began to fall. Kreiden, Fenton, and Tenlon charged past him, pushing into the remainder of the attacking horde.

  Desik’s mount collapsed and he rolled from the saddle, putting his horse between himself and most of the attacking wolves. The beasts jumped over the horrified stallion, only to be clubbed down by his long sword. The gray-caped creatures honed in from all sides and he could hear the whispers of arrows slicing through the air.

  Pulling a hunting knife from his belt, he fought desperately, two-handed, spinning and hacking. They were overwhelming him, roaring and biting, with one creature closing its jaws on his elbow in a painful bite.

  Suddenly he heard a wild yell.

  Turning, Fenton’s mount filled his vision as the man raced in, slamming into the pile of attacking wolves.

  The beasts were momentarily scattered, with even Desik thrown from his feet. He recovered swiftly and the two Amorians fought together, Desik on foot and Fenton on horseback.

  Dead creatures were strewn all around them. The tattooed warrior shot a quick glance towards the summit a dozen paces distant and saw Kreiden and Tenlon charging their way through the remaining Bloodwolves near the crest. He watched as Kreiden’s mount violently rolled to the ground, throwing the champion from the saddle.

  When his gaze transferred back to the wolves set on him, Fenton stiffly fell at his side, an arrow buried in his left eye.

  With no time to spare, Desik vaulted into the empty saddle and took off.

  He threw his hunting knife at a nearby beast, but his release was off and the handle struck the creature on the snout with a clang. Another leapt towards him, only to be met by the murderous arc of his sword. As his mount drove forward, he was attacked from behind by a beast snapping at his side and was nearly shoved from the saddle. The bite missed its mark, but the animal had sunk its teeth into his green cloak with a hateful snarl and made to pull him down. Struggling with the reins, Desik dropped his long sword to release the brooch that was holding the garment on and was freed.

  Drawing a short sword from Fenton’s saddle, he rode for the nearby summit, desperately hoping to reach Kreiden and the boy in time. He saw the youth had not yet gone down, so there was still a chance.

  Several riders in dark armor could be seen nearing the hill to intercept them, sending more arrows in their direction. The boy raced past the fallen champion, whose sword slashed red and swift into the attacking beasts. The young apprentice passed by Kreiden in a mad dash. The youth was mere feet from the crest with no more protection, and three beasts standing in his way. Desik smiled as Tenlon kicked his heels and Darkfire exploded forward, reaching nearly impossible speeds for a horse racing up an incline after already powering through such an arduous climb.

  Darkfire slammed the lead beast aside with his mighty chest and scattered the other two like dry sticks, not missing a step. Then they both disappeared down the far side of the mountain, vanishing like smoke in the breeze.

  “Ha!” Desik cried out, crunching his blade into the skull of a rearing creature. “Not today, you ugly bastards!”

  Men in dark armor entered the clearing, but it was too late.

  Tenlon had done it; he’d broken through.

  ***

  Two wolves came at Kreiden together and he put a throwing knife through the eye of each. The first tripped over its front legs and fell to the side. The second stumbled clumsily a few paces before meeting its end by his sword. After dispatching another beast with a crushing blow, he cast a quick glance to the summit.

  For him the whole scene was pressed against the setting sun, and he watched Darkfire and Tenlon charge through the remainder of the creatures to disappear over the rise.

  Damn fine bit of riding, he thought.

  Kreiden sidestepped a lunging beast, drawing the second short sword from his back to disembowel the creature as it sailed past.

  The mountainside clearing was littered with bodies and blood, and Kreiden now had wolves surrounding him. Arrows snapped in his direction. There were fewer beasts now and they seemed to back off a bit, charging in only when his back was to them.

  Kreiden spun on his heel, ramming his short blade into the neck of a leaping creature. He heard hoofbeats approaching and turned to see Desik on Fenton’s mount, pursued by several snapping and growling wolves in gray.

  Their eyes met, and after dispatching a howling beast, the champion jerked his thumb over a shoulder at the summit, indicating for the last Amorian to follow the boy. Desik nodded once as he thundered past, cresting the summit to catch up with Tenlon.

  Kreiden turned his sights towards the remaining pack. An arrow pierced his shoulder. He quickly hammered his fist against the shaft, snapping the feathered end off.

  The Volrathi riders were closing in, and he charged the Blackwolves.

  Hacking and slashing, he went insane with fury. His blades cleaved into them as they attacked, rending his flesh. He fought on, rising above the pain, stabbing and killing with all of his considerable strength. More beasts brought by the riders joined the attack.

  He was crushed from behind and felt teeth close onto his shoulder. His left arm was taken in a razor-sharp vice, shredding the nerves inside his wrist, causing him to drop the short sword. The champion’s heavy saber continued to cut into them, but it was almost pointless. There were too many and his strength was bleeding out with his life.

  His arms were badly wounded and fangs dug into his legs and sides, pulling him to the ground. Consumed by the creatures, they ripped at his skin and muscles, pulling at strings of gore. His once-golden hair was matted to his head in a crimson mess as fangs chewed into his skull; the sound of teeth-on-bone scraping through his mind as if he were within a deep cavern. He couldn’t feel his sword anymore, didn’t even know if it was there.

  Kreiden remembered he hadn’t worn his green cloak for the ride and the realization brought great bitterness with it. How could he have done such a thing? He fought and killed for that garment, was wed in it, lived the greatest moments of his life with it hanging from his shoulders and by all the gods above, he was meant to die in it!

  A high-pitched whistle filled the air and the mauling ceased immediately. The ring of wolves surrounding him slowly backed away with angry growls, their maws still dripping with blood and meat.

  He watched several dark riders on horseback canter up. There were around twenty, all wearing black plate armor and iron helms with curved horns that obscured their faces. The horses, too, were mostly large black stallions and mares with small sections of armor covering their chests and necks.

  Kreiden half sat up on an elbow and looked at his mangled body. His legs were useless, unresponsive, shredded and bloody beyond salvation. The gray of his intestines could be seen through the gaping tears of his stomach, flayed open like a doe. His arms were even worse; the left barely attached. Laying his head back down, he stared up at the shadowed green canopy. Night was approaching and the sun began to slip under the distant horizon.

  We were young once, weren’t we? He thought, strangely. Wasn’t there a time when the motionless brothers who now surrounded him would only train and drink and breathe? A sad thought indeed. Such a tragedy it is to grow old, to be forced to carry so much weight when one can still remember a time when no such burden existed, a time when life was still an open path forward instead of a passing glance behind.

  But perhaps warriors were never meant to grow old. Youth isn’t wasted on the young, he decided. It’s devoured by them.

  Kreiden blinked and the blackness that came with
it was thick. He wanted to see her again, to hold her, but he knew he never would, and that more than anything else was pain. More pain than he’d ever felt in his life.

  When his eyes finally opened again, a large warrior in black armor stood above.

  The man removed his horned helm and handed it off.

  His face was clean-shaven and pale, his hair long and greasy. Bending down close to Kreiden, he looked over the Amorian’s wounds. His blood-red lips stretched into a smile.

  “My name is Lantueron,” he spoke, voice deep and scratchy, breath foul. “And you do not look well, champion.”

  Kreiden stared into the warrior’s unnatural black eyes, saying nothing.

  The Volrathi dabbed a gloved finger into Kreiden’s open stomach, bringing the hand to his mouth. He closed his eyes as he tasted the blood, licking his lips as the edge of a smile appeared.

  “Your women will taste much better, I can assure you. Fear fires the blood to sweetness.”

  Rising to full height, he slowly stepped on Kreiden’s thigh, pressing down on a gruesome wound. The champion screamed out.

  The dark warrior waited for the cries to die down. “What were your men carrying?” he asked patiently.

  Kreiden coughed up blood, spitting it across the man’s boots.

  The pain was receding now and he felt warm all over, warm and tired.

  “My boys…are going…to pull you apart…” he said weakly.

  “Your boys are dead.”

  The man’s boot dug into his flesh even harder.

  Kreiden’s screams were not as loud or long this time.

  “Tell me what your men were carrying and I will end your life quickly. It must have been valuable. Your king sent away his champion on the eve of his army’s fall. What was it? Tell me, and you will pass with peace.”

  The champion let out a gurgled laugh as more blood filled his mouth, bubbling up inside his punctured throat. His breath was coming in gasps now. The Volrathi bent down close once more.

  “From here I march on your capital,” he whispered. “Your homes, your women. They will belong to me.”