by E. V. Greig
“Have you been drinking with Slo’annathorys and his minions again?” Lonrari swam back towards the edge of the pool where she had left her clothing. Stepping out of the clear waters, the golden haired dryanth stretched languorously before beginning to dress. “Those three mercenaries are a bad influence on you, Luath.”
The bard sighed and shook his head. “I have not been drinking, priestess. You can see for yourself – the grass is winter stubble where it should be lush and verdant.”
Lonrari frowned and knelt at his side, still fastening her tunic. “I see it, Luath. You have done well to tell me of this. Come – we must hasten back and ensure that the Ca’Ryln is safe. After that there will be time to investigate this strangeness.”
The two raced nimbly through the withering grasses to the crest of the hill and down into the now leafless willows. Where before there had been flowering plants and tall shrubs, there were now only dry stalks. Nothing stirred – no sign of life. They passed a dead elk and Luath yelped as he spied the countless tiny corpses of insects, arachnids and small birds littering the ground. “Everything is dead!”
Lonrari raced ahead of her companion, suddenly terrified at what they might find. They burst from the trees and sprinted towards the cabin, pulling up short as they spotted the carnage. Halfway between the river and the cabin, close to the withered trees, was what remained of Uleno. The pale horse lay ripped apart: the ground around his corpse churned to mud. “Haph, grant me the power to find Kaiwan! Let her be safe!”
The air rippled and sparked at that. Luath flung himself flat and closed his eyes in terror. The sound of earth rumbling made him open them again. As he stared helplessly, the ground beneath Lonrari’s feet split open and thick roots shot forth. The roots whipped tight around the esthanth and dragged her down into the gaping chasm. Then the earth closed after her.
Luath staggered to his feet and stumbled forward to where she had been standing. He tried to speak but no words would come. Lonrari was gone. Haph had taken her. They had failed to protect Kaiwan and Haph was angry. He dropped to his knees, clawing at the earth and sobbing frantically. “Lonrari – Lonrari! Come back!”
Chapter Five
Bandhir got to his feet and looked about the refectory. Naomi was still on the floor but he could see now that she was stirring. More importantly, Lord Von Rosenhof was incapacitated - this was his chance to at last be rid of the nosy old fool! He could blame his demise upon the one-eyed vagabond and tell Naomi that the two had fought to the death. The desert warlord smiled as his hands closed around Ranulf’s neck.
The dog slammed into him - snarling despite the muzzle. “Accursed hound - Naomi is mine now and there is nothing that you can do about it!”
He grabbed the dog by the chain, dragged him to the door of the refectory and hurled him bodily into the corridor. As the great hound bayed and scrabbled to his paws, Bandhir slammed the door closed. “Never again shall I be forced to stay my hand!” He picked up his falchion and raised it above Ranulf’s neck.
His wife’s voice stabbed at his ears. “Put down that blade and step away from my uncle!”
“Be silent - I am master of Briersburge now and unlike Skegyl I did not wed you for the pleasure of hearing you speak out of turn!"
A fist connected once more with his jaw, sending him reeling across the room. Once again, the falchion fell from his grasp and clattered across the floor. Bandhir blinked in utter astonishment as he caught sight of his assailant. No - it was impossible! Ranulf had slain this lout only moments before; he had seen it happen! What manner of fell sorcery is this?
Hugo squared his shoulders, clenched his fists and advanced upon the black robed man. He had dropped his greatsword for he realized that there had been too much blood spilt within the walls of this sacred place already. “Your wife is a goodly woman, and her uncle is known for his noble deeds. He may have tried to kill me but I can understand why: especially given how the circumstances must have appeared to him. I can forgive him. You are another matter entirely, Efrym Bandhir. I have heard of you. I know all too well the sort of deeds that you are capable of, you butcher! I know what happened at the siege of Quezzabec - all of those helpless women and children, all of the murders! Partola would still be alive had I but known your face sooner. As it is, I spare your worthless life.” With that, he proceeded to kick and punch Bandhir all the way out of the keep. “If I ever see you again I will kill you!”
The scarred man stepped back towards Briersburge. Then he paused and stared around him, frowning in consternation, for this was no place he knew. He stared for a few more moments at the strange landscape, before turning and walking slowly back into the keep. He pulled the gates closed and barred them.
“Fetch your mistress,” he ordered a nearby guardsman. “Tell her that the devil has been driven from Briersburge, and that I want an explanation of what is going on. And tell her to bring me my sword.”
Naomi was not long in appearing. She handed Hugo his blade with some measure of trepidation. “The guard said that you wanted to speak with me - and that you had driven my husband out. Do you mean to seize Briersburge for yourself?”
Hugo scowled at her and sheathed the weapon. “I’m not in the temper for such foolishness. You know full well that I defended you against that beast - you and your uncle.”
“Of course you did - I am sorry. What then would you speak of?”
He dragged her to the edge of the parapet on which they stood. “Take a good long look out there. Tell me: where in the kingdom of Alnaiea are we?”
“Ah - well you see, we are no longer within Alnaiea, or indeed anywhere else upon Kaseden. We had to flee in order to survive. Our world was doomed. A powerful entity known as the Vor’Barysk was invading. We had no hope of standing against him. All we could do was to gather as many poor folk together here as we could and flee. To this new world, wherever it is. That was why I said that there was no more time.” She shook her head. “I’m so very sorry for what happened to Partola. I never once suspected that Efrym would do such a terrible thing.”
Hugo laughed bitterly and let go of her arm. “That one has done far worse, believe me. I only hope that he does not make me regret sparing him.”
“Why did you?”
“I had my reasons. So we took the coward’s path then, and now only we remain, eh? A fine affair this is; why we do not even know whether this world is safe to dwell on!”
Naomi opened her mouth to reply and then frowned. Staring past Hugo at the distant skyline, she shaded her eyes for a moment. “Did you see that? There was a flash of silver striking down towards that little valley over there. Almost like light glinting off metal.”
She pointed. Hugo turned wearily and followed her gaze. As he watched, the tall cedar trees at the far rim of the valley seemed to buckle in on themselves and a cloud of dust rose up to choke the air. The blacksmith paled and uttered an oath, then ran down from the parapet and into the stables. He saddled the first horse he came to and leapt astride it. “Open the gate!” He kicked the startled animal into a gallop. “Ready a unit of men - tell them to bring buckets, shovels and blankets! Be ready for fire and death - that was a wyrm diving to attack!”
∞∞∞
Ruiryk steeled himself for what the sylvanth was about to do to him. Moorgi grant me courage…
Tyras merely cuffed him lightly about the ears. “The name of the sylvanth that you serve, boy! I have no appetite for torture. All we want is his name so that we may find him. We have a proposal for him – work that he may wish to consider taking. We know him to be a mercenary of no small ability: a sword master of the Striking Griffin School, no less! Tell me his name, boy and I’ll let you up.”
“I’ll never talk – wait…are you saying that you came here to hire our help?” Ruiryk gaped in utter astonishment. “This is about a job? Well, why didn’t you just say so to begin with? Unchain me and I’ll take you to him. My name is Ruiryk De Laney.”
Tyras laughed aloud at that.
“Free him,” he ordered, standing up. “It seems that simple diplomacy would have served our purpose all along.” He pulled out a slender silver flask and took a long draught of its contents. “Ah, Talaskan wine! There is none finer!” He proffered the flask to Ruiryk with a broad smile. “No sour feelings, I trust?”
Ruiryk rubbed at his wrists and forced himself to nod. “I thank you for the wine.” He accepted a small sip out of politeness. These sylvanthir must not discover the women, he thought grimly. I’ll lead them to Slo’annathorys and Banor – they will know what to do about
This pup is hiding something, mused Tyras as he pocketed the flask once more. I wonder what?
“What about that wind, sir?” Another of the sylvanthir spoke then. He was younger and dressed in a far plainer fashion of simple linen for his cloak.
“Fear it not, Khaevar.” Tyras smiled again and patted his subordinate on the shoulder. “'Twas only a wyrm – we have naught to fear from it.”
Ruiryk gasped. “A wyrm?”
“Aye lad – silver, from what we glimpsed of her. What of it?” Tyras felt less assured now: he knew true fear when he heard it.
“Oh no – Moorgi preserve us all, she found us! We must hurry!” Ruiryk made to sprint towards the cedar ridge.
Tyras seized hold of the young Anyosian by his arm. “Nay, lad – we won’t be going anywhere until you explain yourself to me! What do you mean by ‘she found us’? Do you know that wyrm personally?”
“Let me go!” Ruiryk struggled to no avail – the sylvanth had a grip like steel.
“Speak, boy!” Tyras snarled. “What do you know of that wyrm? You spoke as if you had encountered her before. Explain your meaning, boy – else we carve the truth from your quivering carcass!”
“Tyras, stop it! You are terrifying him!” Isyl Luenvyrh grasped Tyras’ wrist. “Let him go, friend. He will be of no use as a guide if he is witless.”
“I swear that if you know of a surer way to make him comply then I would gladly hear it, Isylth!” Tyras replied coldly.
“Give him to me,” the caster answered steadily; his dark eyes unreadable. “I will sort the truth of the matter from whatever else might be in his mind. However, for the spell to work I will need him to be calm and quiet. Give him more of that wine and stop crushing his arm.”
Ruiryk kicked backwards at Tyras’ shins as the sylvanth loosened his grip. “Let go of me, damn you!”
Tyras grunted and bent Ruiryk’s forearm up and back, slipping his other arm around in front of the human’s neck. “Give up, boy,” he warned. “We can do this the hard way if you insist but you’ll only end up with unnecessary bruises.” He waited for Ruiryk to have choked himself into submission and then nodded at Khaevar. “Get the wine from my belt and pour a fair dose of it down his throat. Be sure not to drown him.”
Khaevar drew the flask as instructed. “I have drugged racing hounds and coy maids aplenty before now! I know the trick to it.” He forced open Ruiryk’s mouth and cupped his jaw with one slim hand, tilting the young man’s head back and to one side. “Hold him steady, please sir.”
The wine was lilac in colour – thick and full-bodied as it trickled down his throat. Ruiryk felt his eyelids start to droop and his balance grow unsteady. He kicked out again; this time at Khaevar, who stepped nimbly aside. Tyras’ arm tightened briefly across his throat. “Quiet now, boy. Let the wine do its work.”
The sylvanthi Isylth cupped his smooth, long fingered hands around Ruiryk’s skull and stared into the middle distance as though in a deep trance. “The wyrm has crossed their path before. The boy fears that she has tracked them here out of vengeance – a trinket he stole from her lair!”
“Ha! We have captured a thief then!” Tyras smirked.
“His master is on the ridge; amongst the cedars. There is an old varynthi warrior with him. They are brewing mead. That is all.” Isyl Luenvyrh decided not to mention the others for whom the young thief was so worried. Women and children, a male par’anth…they were no threat! Let them stay clear of this unpleasantness.
Tyras looked almost disappointed. “Silly little skree’akh; you have wasted more than enough of our time!” He dropped Ruiryk as if the youth were a grimy rag. “Come, the rest of you!”
Isyl Luenvyrh kept his face impassive despite his irritation. He could not afford to anger Tyras and his men – their support was too important to the resistance movement. He kept quiet as they made their way up towards the trees. His companions were excited at the prospect of finally meeting the infamous mercenary who had dared to live outside the tenets of sylvanthi society.
He had become an almost mythical figure in Sylvangarde. Various rumours abounded as to why King Gilvaneous allowed him to remain alive at all. Some said that the king feared the red-cloaked sword master. Others suspected that he was yet another of Gilvaneous’ many spies. Isyl Luenvyrh had asked Isyl Kolbez why he wanted to hire such an unknown quantity but his mentor had not deigned to reply.
There was something too still, too silent about the cedars. It ought to have warned them, but the sylvanthir were too preoccupied with their thoughts to heed the signs. The first time they noticed the old varyn was when he cannoned into their midst. “Why tha’ pointy-eared band of misbegotten oath breakers...!”
Tyras’ fist silenced him. The sylvanthi captain sighed and rubbed at his knuckles. “I am tired of dealing with subordinates! Come – let us find this mysterious renegade and find out if he is all that the stories describe him as being!”
∞∞∞
Hugo’s steed galloped unerringly along the thin, winding game trail, which led down into the hidden valley. In the distance, the tall cedar trees were steady now but the birds and small creatures that dwelt in them were still in full flight out of the area. The harsh tang of ozone hung in the air even at this distance, overlaid by a vague tracery of sulphur. The mercenary in him remembered that stench all too well, and Hugo shivered as he regarded his surroundings.
There were no obvious signs of habitation: the trees that blocked in the trail on both sides were ancient and undisturbed by any woodsman. The floor of the valley itself was a wild meadow, carpeted in waist high grasses and drifts of delicate looking flowers. Most unusual of all were the reactions of the wild creatures to his presence. None showed even a hint of fear - indeed few even appeared curious. What strange world is this that the dumb beasts have never known to fear the presence of man?
His horse snorted warily as it splashed across the shallow river that dozed its way across the valley. Hugo tightened up on the reins and slowed the animal to a walk. There was a worrisome degree of stillness to the air. Ahead of him, a broad thicket of gorse and spindle blocked the view of the rest of the valley. The trail wound to the right of it and then angled sharply between a pair of fang like stones. Almost like pillars at some forgotten gateway.
He reined in and stared at the outcropping with a measure of suspicion. “What am I doing here anyhow? This is no responsibility of mine. There might not even be any people living in this valley! Even if there are, who am I to expect them to welcome me? No – it is far better to leave now, whilst the relief column is far enough away. Let the folk of Briersburge name me as a coward and a horse thief! At least I will be well away from whatever strangeness this valley holds.”
Beneath him, the black horse was drenched in a cold sweat of nerves. It struck the soft turf with a fore hoof and whinnied impatiently. Hugo chuckled drily. “So you would face whatever waits for us? Well, I will damn myself before I play the coward before a horse! A man must draw the line somewhere, after all.”
He loosened the rein a little and the horse sprang forward through the stones. Trees surrounded them once more - young saplings this time, oak and ash for the most part, with a smattering of wild cherry that reminded Hugo of the monastery.
The air shattered around him then: a bloodcurdling screech of rage, followed by a child’s terrified wailing. It was a mark of his horsemanship that he was able to rein in short
of the boy. “Look out!”
The child stared up at him. He was somewhat long of limb and fair-haired. Hugo guessed that he was little more than six years old, if even that. His face was a pale, terrified mask. Before Hugo could speak further, the boy ran to him, sobbing incoherently. Staring across the little glade, Hugo saw why.
Throughout his years of wandering, he had borne witness to much. He had fought vandreths, slain daemons, and even faced up to ancient and malign godlings. He had never encountered anything such as this. It was part hag, part spectre and shrouded in shadows. A slender figure struggled weakly in its talons, almost hidden by the writhing mass of hair.
Kicking his bootless feet free of the stirrups, Hugo drew his sword and sprang to the ground. “Stay with the horse, lad!” He did not stop to see whether the boy had understood him. Hefting the huge blade above his head, he charged forward.
The creature spun to face him. “Interloper!” The sound of its voice was like a knife rasping on stone. Its eyes were cold, dead pools. “They are miiinnee!”
He recognised the tongue in which it spoke as being that of a daemon. “They shall not be yours, she-fiend! Not whilst I draw breath!”
So saying, he swung the blade around and down: slicing off one of the monster’s arms and cutting her deeply across the right leg. The thing howled and scrabbled backwards away from the now glowing sword. “So, you recognise my blade do you hag? Daemonslayer and I have fought many of your kind together – there will be no quarter shown to you!” He stabbed at the creature once more and she yowled. A thick slick of ichor ran down her belly from where his blade had caught her.
Stumbling away from the one-eyed man, the she-fiend dropped her intended victim. Ducking aside, she managed to evade his next attack. “Thiss iss not ovverr!” With that, the creature scuttled into a patch of shadows beneath the trees and was gone.
