by Aaron Bunce
At the bottom of the hill they came to a small field. Julian ducked low, moving as quickly as he could to get out of the open. Once he reached the shade of the cottonwoods, Julian slid down the snow covered bank, jumped over the shallow creek, and joined the two archers on the other side.
Heart fluttering and breath ragged, Julian leaned against a thick sapling growing out of the creek bed. His breath returned after a moment so he filled his water skin from the creek. As he took a drink his stomach gurgled loudly, so loudly that Sky heard it next to him.
“You’re no good to her weak and starving, you know,” he said quietly.
Julian waved him off and crawled to the edge of the bank. He could see the shack through the trees, but he could also see a large camp scattered throughout the timber around it. Several figures emerged from the trees and settled before a fire. Even from a distance Julian could tell that they were not men.
Quietly, Julian, Sky, Nirnan, and Asofel crept from the creek bed. They stayed low and fast, moving from tree to tree. Banner and Tristan followed a short distance back, arrows nocked and ready.
A large rock sat on the edge of the camp, its form rounded and smoothed by untold seasons of rain and wind. Julian stopped behind the massive stone and then dropped painfully onto his belly, inching his way forward until he could see over the edge.
His throat tightened as the wooden shack and the woods that concealed it came into view. Clustered around the shack, and sprawling back as far through the woods as he could see was a sprawling camp, consisting of dozens of campfires and hundreds of tents. Stringers of dead animals hung between trees. Fresh kills the hunters had yet to skin and butcher.
Julian heard a rustle of leaves and the crunch of snow behind him and someone pulled on his pant leg. He ignored them as a group of figures emerged from the trees and walked around the shack. He had to blink several times to clear his eyes. They were so tired he couldn’t be sure he was seeing straight. The group of figures walked closer still, until finally emerging from the shadow of a large clump of trees.
They were men, dirty and poorly dressed, but men nonetheless. Walking close behind the men were gnarls. The mottled beasts and men walked together, as freely as common travelers might.
The bulk of the group settled into the nearest camp, while one of the gnarls, a clumpy-furred and unhealthy looking creature, headed for the shack. The gnarl pulled open the door and tossed in a sack it had been carrying over its shoulder. After barking in its strange, hoarse tongue, it slammed the door and walked away.
Julian pushed himself back, carefully letting his battered body slide down the gentle slope of the massive rock. Sky grabbed him under the arms and helped him to his feet when he reached the bottom.
“What’d you see?” he mouthed.
“The camp is large, but it looks mostly empty,” Julian whispered in response.
“Well, how large is large?” Nirnan hissed, leaning in with Asofel practically climbing over him to hear.
“Big,” Julian replied simply.
Sky looked pleadingly at him, but Julian wouldn’t meet his eyes. He knew that Sky wanted to go back to Craymore, to garner support, and get more men. He also knew that returning in strength gave them a decided tactical advantage, but he could not spare the time, especially now that they were so close.
Julian focused on the rhythmic pulse of Tanea’s heart. He knew she was close, his logic told him that she had to be. He could feel her, sense her fear and pain, but the connection didn’t feel any stronger.
If I am moving towards her, shouldn’t I be able to feel it?
“Okay, so no one else will say it, fine. I will. There’s six of us and J’ohaven knows how many of them. We know where they are now, let us be back to the city. Jiqou will listen to you now, Julian. He will give you more men and we’ll come back here and route the beasts,” Asofel said, jarring Julian from his internal struggle.
The younger man’s face glistened in the afternoon sun as he glanced between Sky and Nirnan, silently begging for support. Sky never took his eyes from Julian. He watched him, studied him. Nirnan however, started to nod at Asofel, but it was Sky who spoke first.
“He is right, Julian. We aren’t good to anyone, let alone ourselves. Getting ourselves killed serves nothing…” Sky started, but Julian interrupted him.
“I am not going anywhere without her!” Julian pushed Sky aside and broke from cover.
He knew they were right, knew that he was too injured, tired, and hungry to fight anyone, but he also knew that he was running out of choices. Instead, he would have to use his agony, his fatigue, and the hollow pit in his stomach to fuel him forward. He would convert all of those pains and bolster his resolve.
Refuse to die. Live, because she needs me. Julian told himself. There was no other way but forward.
Julian felt sluggish as he ran between trees. Even without his steel chest plate, his armor felt heavy and burdensome. He rolled away from the last tree, holding to a cramp forming in his side, as he charged towards the camp. Gasping for breath and stumbling forward on weakened legs, Julian pulled his sword and growled.
The small group of gnarls had settled around a large cook fire. One of the creatures, a small jet-black figure with dog-like head snapped up as it spotted him, and barked a guttural warning into the air. The camp devolved into pure chaos as Julian charged in. He threw himself at the closest creature with complete abandon.
The gnarl held a short spear up to protect itself, but Julian’s rage would not be denied. His sword cut down, driving the staff into the creature’s face, splitting open its forehead and knocking it to the ground.
Julian pinned the gnarl to the ground and drove his sword down, finishing it off. Two creatures erupted from a large hide tent not far away and came at him, steel-tipped spears stabbing hard.
Julian turned, reaching back for the axe hanging on his belt while he slapped the first spear aside, but he couldn’t reach it in time. The gnarl flashed in, a cruel yellow-toothed grin on its face as it stabbed at his unprotected midsection. Julian contorted his body painfully, twisting as he tried to dodge the blow, but the creature was too close and too fast.
Julian cringed, waiting for the rusty spear’s bite, but something buzzed past him like an angry hornet. An arrow, fletched in white, passed directly over his left shoulder and burrowed itself deep in the gnarl’s chest. Another arrow flew over his right shoulder, striking the other gnarl in the face.
Julian turned to acknowledge the archers, but another gnarl streaked into the camp. It jumped over the campfire and bowled him over before he could react.
Julian and the gnarl toppled backwards, the gnarl shrieking as its momentum impaled it on Julian’s sword. The creature went into a frantic death dance, raking its claws and snapping its jaws. A shadow loomed over him and Julian felt the gnarl’s weight lifted away. Nirnan bent over and pulled him back to his feet.
“Of all the fool things, Ama’lik,” Nirnan grunted, but froze as a pair of mottled, yellow gnarls appeared from around the shed, shrieking and waving cudgels over their heads. Nirnan shoved Julian aside and lifted his axe high above his head, then dropped forcefully, flinging the mighty weapon end over end. The axe hit the closest creature, knocking it off of its feet and into its counterpart.
The last gnarl staggered and recovered before turning and bolting from the camp. Julian tried to give chase, but he was hardly fit for such a chase. He slumped to his knees as Banner and Tristan appear next to him, bows ready.
“It’s no good, Ama’lik. It’s too fast,” Nirnan said.
Julian could hear the creature’s guttural cries echoing mockingly in the trees.
“Female!” Sky yelled, kicking one of the dead gnarls over by the fire. “They are all females. Not a warrior amongst them.”
“So is this where their raiding parties have been coming from?” Tristan asked, but his attention quickly turned away. The door to the shack banged open with a crash and a small group of men ran out.
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“It’s a fair assumption. I’d rather not be here when the rest of them come back though,” Nirnan added. “Look at this, living with gnarls, attacking their own kind. I don’t know which of them is worse,” he finished, grinding his teeth.
The three men from the shack ran towards them, their movement disjointed and unnatural. They looked thin and malnourished, and their clothing was dirty and tattered. As they drew near, the three men hollered, their faces contorted into masks of horrible anger and pain.
Tristan nodded, stepping forward, nocking an arrow and drawing. He exhaled and released. The arrow hit the wiry man in the waist, dropping him in a heap. The other two men didn’t even flinch as he fell.
“No better than the beasts themselves,” Julian muttered bitterly.
Banner hesitated only a moment before raising his bow and dropping another of the men. Even with his two mates dead, the last man charged in, a simple, rusty dagger clutched tightly in his hand.
“No, wait,” Julian said waiving Tristan off as the archer readied his bow.
“No, no, no!” the man said over and over as he neared. Julian and the others melted into a circle around the man, moving and dodging to keep him in the center as he slashed in wide ineffectual arcs.
“Why do you still fight?” Julian asked, easily sidestepping the man’s swing.
“Easy I said! Hey, hey, ease up, or I’ll split your brow,” Nirnan said, holding his hands up and trying to subdue the man.
“Kill me - you have to! I cannot stop, I cannot!” he cried, his arms flailing and nearly catching Nirnan in the face.
“We won’t hurt you, we just want to talk. We’re looking for a…” Julian said and the emaciated man turned towards him. His head was last to move, making him look like a deranged puppet.
He came at Julian, jerking spastically and jabbing hard with his dagger. Julian jumped back to avoid the blade, and ducked a sidelong follow up. The man’s arm seemed to lead him, while the rest of his body was always a second behind.
“Please, I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t stop,” the man cried, tears streaking down his ashen face.
Julian grabbed for the man’s dagger arm, but he ducked out of reach and lunged. Julian lifted his sword defensively before him, but it was too late. With a dry gasp, the man fell forward and impaled himself on the blade.
“I’m…sorry,” he gasped, falling to his knees.
Julian jerked his sword back and the man fell to the ground, his bottom lip twitching several times before finally going still. Julian struggled to make sense of the man’s behavior.
“What was that all about? What did we just see, Julian?” Sky asked confusedly.
“I don’t know. But I say we find out,” he said, limping up to the shack.
Julian ripped the door open, the flimsy latch breaking and falling into the snow. He stepped in slowly, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust.
Decorations were sparse, save for a straw mattress to his right and empty crates stacked along the wall to the left. Julian did a double take as he looked towards the back of the shack.
Rising from the moss-covered ground was a tree. It branched up in magnificent, thick limbs, which broke off just below the roofline. A large roughly hammered iron chimney stuck out the top of the tree like an artificial branch. Sturdy workbenches and tables, covered in hammers, tongues, and other smithing tools were scattered all around the tree’s base, spaced intermittently between the gnarly roots.
A gentle glow warmed the inside of the shack, but it did not come from candles or even a fireplace, but from within the tree itself. It was like nothing Julian had ever seen before. The monstrous trunk of the tree had been hollowed out and within its cavernous space someone had built a forge.
Julian walked forward slowly, searching every nook and dark corner for Tanea, or the masked man. But when he approached the tree Julian’s heart sank.
A large, broad-shouldered man lay face down upon one of the workbenches. He snored loudly, and as Julian watched, he lifted his head to scratch the tangled mass of beard covering his lower face. He wore an old soot-smudged apron. The fabric was so worn that several holes shone through to his clothing beneath.
Julian approached the sleeping man, followed closely by Sky and Asofel, who held his spear out, ready to strike. Julian poked the sleeping man in the belly with his sword, but he simply flicked his hand at them and rolled over. Julian poked him again, this time harder, and the sleeping figure almost fell off the table when he squirmed away.
“Dahh, ee told ya. Gunta need sleep, been hammerin all nigh. Can’t lift me arms proper, If yer ta kill me then just get on with it!” the man snorted.
“Where is the masked man?” Julian asked bluntly.
The sleeping man jerked at the sound of his voice, but did not immediately respond. Julian could tell from his breathing that he was listening.
“Felder told us where to find you. Now, I want to know. Where is the masked man?” Julian asked again, only this time he tapped the flat of his sword blade against the workbench, right next to the man’s head.
Slowly, the bearded man rolled over and sat up. He swung his legs hung over the far side, so that his back was fully to them. After a deep breath, the man hopped down onto the floor. His boots slapped against the ground, followed by the metal slap of heavy chains.
The man bent low and when he stood tall again he was hoisting a length of large chain over his shoulder. Slowly, and with a profound and pained limp, he walked around the bench and stood tentatively before Julian and the others.
Standing tall the man was easily two full head shorter than Julian, although he was significantly thicker in his legs and arms. Julian followed the chain all the way to thick shackles bolted around both of his ankles.
He took a step towards them, and then two, until the light streaming in through the windows could fall upon his face. Julian imagined that he looked no better, but that didn’t stop him from cringing.
The Smith looked up at him defiantly. Both of his eyes were black and blue, and blood, ash, and dirt caked his beard. He was gashed and bruised from wrist to shoulder, and angry welts were visible on his neck as well.
“Have ee come to put me down, or take me away? Because I’m fer saying, either one sounds better than the life ee been living,” the smith remarked.
“We are looking for a girl. She was taken by a strange man in a mask,” Julian said.
“The one with them stinkin, mutt-faced mongrels, yeah ee know him.”
Julian could not deny the electricity that coursed through him and he fumbled over the words as he began to speak. “Why…is she, where is he? Have you seen the girl, is she okay?”
“If she be the one ee think yer speaking about, ee ain’t seen her,” the smith said, and Julian felt his insides drop out. He clenched his sore hands, accepting the pain and holding on to a sliver of hope.
“Ee heard a woman, though….several of em in fact. They t’were never here long before they took em’ away though,” the smith added slowly.
“Where is she now, where did he take her?” Julian asked desperately.
The smith leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. He took several deep, labored breaths, and then proceeded to slump down onto a bag of straw.
“What’s to happen to me? Are you just fer leaving me, if ee tell ya?” he asked, holding his chain.
Julian recalled his previous conversation with Felder. The man before him was Gaston Greystone, the illegitimate child born of his wife’s adulterous relationship with a dwarf. They had expelled Gaston from Craymore, forcing him into the wilds to live as an outsider, unwanted by either people. He knew that he would put Felder in a compromising position if he brought Gaston back to the city. But at the moment, Felder’s fate was inexplicably tied to Tanea’s.
“Tell me where she is, Gaston, and we will bring you back to the city. Where you go after that, is your business,” Julian offered.
Gaston closed his eyes and nodded hi
s head tiredly, “nort end of the valley is a mindas tunnel. The dwarves, they used it to transport their ore down to a canal. That’s where they came from, that’s where he will have her.”
“Thank you,” Julian said, grabbing a hammer from the table and kneeling down before the beaten and battered smith.
“Now, let’s get you out of these chains.”
Chapter 30
The Faceless
Julian watched Gaston step outside his shack, shielding his eyes from the bright light reflecting off the fresh snow.
How long has he been bound and shackled in his own home? How long has it been since he saw the sun?
“You said there were hundreds of them, gnarls and men. Where did they all go?” Banner asked Gaston after the smith took a drink from their water skin.
“Ee heard em talking about something, an attack or something else…ee just dunno. They were hammerin and chopping morning and nigh for days and days, building gunta knows what. Ee spent so much time at me forge that ee lost track of time, lost track of everything me think.
“They didn’t let me sleep much, Gunta believe me, and ee started seeing things, hearing things. Then, a day ago or so and it all just up and goes quiet. The chaps who looked in on me, those fellars over there in the grass, ee see you already met them. Well, they weren’t fer telling me anything about what was going on past me own door.”
“They wouldn’t tell you?” Julian asked.
“They couldn’t. If they were told to do something, they had to do it…cruel bastards,” Gaston grumbled
“We saw…one of the men attacked us, but he acted as if he didn’t want to. Like something was forcing his hand,” Tristan said.
Gaston nodded darkly.
“The gnarls knocked down me door one night, an’ that masked fellar, he were with em. Had men with em too, just a few at first, but more came streaming in all turns o’ the sun and moon. Beasts of all type too, noisy stinkers the lot of em. Ee had to listen to em chattering away all hours, sun up, sun down…it didn’t matter,” Gaston frowned.
