by Damien Lake
“We should move as soon as we can. Staying still is a bad idea.”
“I know that,” Sloan replied, clearly believing Marik an idiot for thinking that needed to be said.
“What you might not know is this forest.” He held his voice steady so Sloan would know he was clearheaded. “I grew up close by. Countless strange things happen in these trees. Most people think these woods are haunted, and I’ve heard wilder explanations than that, but it is a fact that hunters have encountered several damned bizarre things.”
Sloan neither laughed nor agreed. “If you want to walk out and fight the demonlings, you are free to go.”
“I wasn’t saying that! I doubt anything in the forest is as bad as them. That doesn’t mean we would want to encounter them! We’re only a mile or so inside the forest so we probably aren’t in serious danger, but as long as we’re moving we should be left alone. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”
“Moving or not, if there are phantoms in the trees, we’ll have to deal with them sooner or later. We’ll move when we are ready.”
“No, he is correct,” countered a third voice. Marik glance over Sloan’s shoulder, finding Colbey perched atop a large stone emerging from the roots of the sergeant’s tree. When had he shown up? Colbey leapt from the stone with ease, stepping closer. “The Rovasii is renowned for its malicious heart. The longer a man stays within its boundaries, the greater the forest’s wrath when it at last falls. Men have been found torn to shreds or skinned alive. When I lived in Surrill, I once found a hunting party that had been burned in a flaming pyre, yet not a single leaf around their bodies had wilted.”
Colbey took a strangely eager posture while he asserted this knowledge. Marik puzzled at this change in the otherwise despondent man. He asked, “Surrill? I know that name, I think. It’s a village off to the southeast, isn’t it? Right near the shore of the Southern Sea and the Rovasii both.”
“Yes.” The reply was terse. “I know these woods well. I worked as a hunter-guide.” He refocused on Sloan. “Moving keeps the forest from noticing you, unless you are moving deeper in. I can lead us to the Stoneseams, and then north to…to rejoin our shieldmates.”
Kineta had wandered close enough to overhear. She demanded, “To the west? The enemy soldiers were deploying in that direction, and took all the land between us and the mountains while they chased us into the trees, I’ll wager!”
Sloan kept silent. Colbey glared at Kineta with his cold gaze. Marik ventured, “That’s a lot of land, sergeant. There weren’t that many black soldiers at the battle.”
“They were flowing around the outpost like water! For all we know there could have been thousands. The units chasing us might have only been forerunners.” She shook her head curtly, addressing Sloan next. “We need to stay in the trees and head east for five or six miles. That should put us beyond the beast force, if it’s still waiting where we entered the trees, and behind our patrol line. We can work our way north, especially if we find an army patrol to join.”
“A fine plan,” Colbey casually dismissed, “if the eastern woods were not already swarming with these black soldiers and beast-creatures both.”
“What?” Kineta sounded shocked. Sloan looked interested.
“During my scouting I have located no less than five enemy forces, numbering over a hundred men each. I estimate the creatures at fifty or so. They have set camps to the north where we entered. Our paths north and east are blocked,” Colbey announced, “and we cannot risk angering the forest by pushing deeper in to the south. This only leaves west, to the mountains.”
Kineta set to stripping Colbey’s skin off for not telling her sooner, a losing prospect since Colbey cared not in the slightest how angry the sergeant might be. Sloan interrupted to ask Marik, “You can see people, right? And sense things? Tell me about the forest.”
A good idea, Marik thought, though Colbey grew angry. No doubt the insinuation that his report was untrustworthy touched a sensitive nerve in the scout. Marik remembered that from before against the Noliers.
He opened his magesight. The three people before him shifted from ordinary bodies to glowing auras, their features only visible under their colored illumination as men standing in the moonlight. Kineta shone a yellowish-orange that fit Marik’s image of her. She had a temper, despite refusing to allow it to rule her thinking.
Sloan, as always, shone the mossy green that the scout’s once had. Colbey’s aura had worsened since the last time Marik studied him. The deep green had bled into a dull, earthy red like rust or blood flaking off a days-old corpse…and the black nothingness had spread in a fungal growth, large patches floating within his energies as they fluctuated. He wished he had remembered to ask Tollaf what that might mean! Colbey appeared healthy. His attitude was somewhat changed, but everyone was under pressure and he had scarcely possessed an outgoing personality in the first place.
Marik pushed away the unanswerable questions to concentrate on Sloan’s order. He spoke as he peered into the forest. “I don’t see anybody, only deer and other animals.” After a moment spent drifting through the trees at dizzying speeds, he flew south, toward the deeper forest. “I don’t see or sense anything unusual about the forest, either. I’m not sure I would. I don’t know about haunts and the like.”
He reentered his physical shell in time to hear Kineta question Colbey’s report. The scout replied through grinding teeth, asserting, “I found foreign soldiers and beast-creatures in the woods! Do you question my honesty?”
Marik leapt in before Kineta and Colbey could go for each other’s throat. “How close were they? Three miles? I can see up to three miles away with my…my sight, and four if I really push my limits.”
Colbey straightened and relaxed, if only slightly. “I would say about five miles from this clearing.” He glanced at Kineta. “Five miles…yes…that is why I did not tell you immediately. There are not close enough to be an immediate threat.”
“Even so—”
“Stop,” commanded Sloan. He studied the men sitting around the clearing. “I do not bow to wives’ tales nor drunkards’ fantasies. Still, perhaps it is time we move from this place. Colbey, you will scout ahead for enemies or…other hazards.”
Kineta might have disagreed except Sloan shouted loudly for all the men to hear. The few who still remained motionless groaned, then forced their aching bodies through the mud to the water.
With nothing else to do, Marik and Dietrik filled their water skins and checked their packs. Marik thought he felt Colbey’s eyes locked on him the entire time.
* * * * *
:A few more days. With these idiot outlanders believing that enemies hound them, we can be in place in only a few more days.:
Yes, Colbey agreed. That damnable mage had nearly upset the cart. He had not known the mage could see into the distance in such a fashion. Fortunately the fool had revealed his limitations before the sergeants could grow suspicious. In the Green Reaches, the mage had insisted that he needed to be very close in order to see into the Nolier camp with his weirdling sight. Another deceit, meant to lull others into underestimating him. Colbey added the lie to the mage’s ledger, a heavy total that grew weightier with every selfish scheme the man employed. When the mage’s time of reparation came, he would pay in blood.
As long as these mercenary outlanders thought the invaders had penetrated the forest, then they would move according to his direction. Colbey could almost wish the invaders actually had. Black-armored figures dashing through the trees would have the outlanders jumping to obey his commands without question.
:The Dead Man will come to the forest, following behind his men,: Liam whispered. :He has come to claim it at last, after failing before.:
Yes. When he had slipped away during the battle at the pass, he’d crept through the steeper reaches. The Taur forces were shock-troops, used by the invaders to break enemy defenses. Behind them came the soldiers to finish whatever fighting the Taurs left. From the higher slopes, Colb
ey had witnessed the gathering.
A sizable army, nearly three-thousand strong at a loose estimate. They had waited to flow through the pass from a mesa cradled within the mountains. The monsters they controlled warred below. At the massive force’s head traveled a colorful procession that must be this army’s leader. He certainly issued commands from his heavy mount with the imperiousness of one who expected nothing short of total obedience.
Visible, but outside my reach! It had angered him terribly, a temple-throbbing pulse, and it still angered him as he wraithed through the forest. Far too many others had surrounded the Dead Man. But he likes to ride at the head. He enjoys being close enough to see the destruction his orders wrought.
That would be his downfall. Surely, he would come to the Rovasii. It was what he had returned for, after all. Must be! He lusted after the power they protected, exactly as Councilor Orlan had surmised!
:But he will play it safely,: Sylvia predicted. :He is not the blind fool. His men will deploy to hold the surrounding land so he need not worry about an outlander attack. He will come to the forest while they protect his flanks.:
:And then we will kill him!: Liam thundered. :Just when he thinks he has arrived safely, he will find us waiting!:
Yes. Then Colbey would deliver a suffering upon him equal to all that his people had endured. That man, who was the walking dead, would feel the pain of death not once, but hundreds of times over while he relived each life ended! The black mist clouded the forest trees while Colbey walked, enveloping him in a cool, comforting blanket. Strip his flesh off, grind his bones with my dagger tip, burn his skin with glowing coals. Then I’ll make a Healer restore him so he may suffer it all over. We’ll cut off his fingers a thin sliver at a time, a hundred cuts for every knuckle, salting the blade between each slice, then—
:Against…:
Colbey paused. Against? He waited. Liam made no response. Neither did Sylvia. The voice did not repeat, nor, as he listened over in his memory, had it truly sounded like either. Who are you? Councilor Orlan? Councilor Farr? No reply to his silent inquiry. Celine? Alli? Boran?
Still the voice kept quite. It must have been a villager he’d hardly known. Close enough to make his voice heard. Too weak to speak for long. Or, perhaps…the voice of all the villagers, combined into a whole.
Reminding him to proceed as he had been taught. Yes, of course that was it. They were telling him he must move against these murderers before he could exact their revenge. One step at a time.
After the battle, Colbey had meant to return to the pass immediately with the mage. When he’d arrived at the outpost, the mage had already been asleep between tents. Rest would probably increase his effectiveness, so Colbey chose to leave the next morning instead. The return, as planned by the outpost captain, had made it unnecessary to fight the mage to his purpose, and had seemed a blessing.
Perhaps it truly had been. He had cursed long while they were pursued…until they had come home. Here. To the Rovasii. Where the soul strength of his fellow villagers would surely be at their peek. And, too, with a full half-squad at his disposal, rather than the mage alone. The Lady Goddess Fate surely favored his quest.
One step at a time had brought him additional tools to use against the murderers. Tools enough to allow final justice at last. His people, beyond the veil, could see the outcome. They urged him to at last bring his wrath against their vial assassins. He finally possessed the strength he needed.
Noises foreign to the forest quickly caught his attention. The birds had long since grown silent from the outland fools trampling through the trees a mile behind him. This new silence came from the north.
Colbey ghosted through the foliage with less noise than the breeze. He quickly discovered the intruders. Twenty black-armored soldiers fought their way free of a briar patch that two in their number had fallen among.
Rage set his blood to boiling. How dare these butchers desecrate the Rovasii with their presence! These men with bloodstained hands deserve a slow death!
:No,: Liam ordered, halting Colbey when he stepped forward. :Their path will cross the outlanders. Let them see these men in the trees. They will follow our orders unfailingly then.:
But…Colbey wavered. These killers loose in the forest! Colbey would ensure that the Dead Man would die before ever crossing into the Rovasii again. These, his men, in the forest was an obscenity!
Liam made a sound argument, though. The outlanders would stop questioning his words and follow him west to the Stoneseams, then north into what they thought would be safety. In the pass, Colbey had seen the Dead Man start south at a much slower pace, hugging the mountain range. He would likely continue to do so until he reached the Rovasii. When Colbey dropped the outland mercenaries atop the Dead Man’s retinue, they should draw off enough of his private forces that Colbey could slip in close. Then, at last, he will be mine.
But first they needed to learn not to doubt his word when he warned them of danger. Colbey climbed a tree to find a good perch near where the two groups would meet. He watched, and waited, and felt Sylvia’s caressing fingers massaging away his tension.
* * * * *
Distracted is the man who juggles multiple thoughts at once, and Marik blamed his not noticing the men who attacked their party on this simple fact. While he walked he worried about the forest, sifting his memories for any stories about the Rovasii he might have forgotten, stories containing important knowledge. He also analyzed his battles to find any method to inflict greater damage when they next encountered the hell-beasts, and furthermore he pondered Colbey. The scout troubled him, especially after that morning’s brief meeting.
In Kingshome he had shrugged off the concern since Colbey appeared in relative good heath. His attitude might be harsher, but the scout’s actions were basically the same. Still, those black patches, and the total shift in his aura’s color…how could those be positive signs? Tollaf once mentioned that auras never changed color unless the person, animal or plant generating it had taken sick.
Marik would ask Tollaf when they returned to Kingshome, assuming they escaped being slaughtered before then.
Why didn’t his etheric orb rip away the beasts’ skin to destroy the tissue and bone beneath? Could thicker hides actually repel the mage attack to such an extent?
They repelled our swords well enough. Only the strongest or highly skilled among us were able to wound them. What in the hells are they, and where did they spring from? I can’t believe they are natural. They are certainly being controlled the way Tollaf said sorcerers can control the Devils they summon. Are they actually Devils then? Or not?
Cork had adamantly proclaimed the beasts to be the caretakers of the damned, quoting several ridiculous religious passages he’d either collected from a raving priest or made up on the spot. When there is no room left in any hell, the dead sinners will walk the world with demons to shepherd their damnation.
Pure nonsense, and Marik would have scoffed at anyone saying so, not simply because it came from Cork. Still, the blasted man had been caught up in his own wild theory when they left the clearing behind that morning. His dramatic delivery of that single line made the phrase repeat through Marik’s mind, distracting him further when he wanted to concentrate on other matters. He shivered once at the mere thought of a true hell-born creature wandering loose.
As terrifying as these beasts were, they were mortal. They bled, and they died. They just took more killing than most creatures usually required. No. No demon nor sorcerer’s Devil be these.
His thoughts chased each other until startled shouts snapped him from his musings. He first thought the yelling came from Kineta with her unit in the lead. Instead the words were unintelligible, echoing from their right. Black figures shouted in foreign speech, their meaning obvious. They had noticed the mercenaries and were frantically calling for others to come.
Every man swore, except Sloan. Two candlemarks earlier and the black soldiers would have found easy prey. But since then, the
slow walk had worked most of the fatigue from them. They still felt the dull aches yet they moved at a level closely approaching their normal agility.
Marik drew his sword, silently expounding on his curses. The beasts were problem enough. What new horrors would these strange warriors prove to be?
Kineta readied her unit to meet the attack as eleven additional soldiers jumped from the trees. Surprisingly, they stopped dead in their tracks thirty feet away from her unit’s swords, alien battle cries fading on their lips. It took Marik fully five heartbeats to understand.
The trees that had prevented Kineta from noticing them had also hidden the Fourth Unit from their sight. This small force had leapt without realizing the trailing unit meant there were twice as many men as they assumed.
Quick, foreign shouts were overlapped by Kineta ordering a fast attack. Seven new soldiers ran from cover before the First closed the distance. How many other black soldiers were hiding in the trees? Marik prayed there wasn’t one bastard of an ambush waiting for the First Unit.
Sloan leapt after, hesitating only long enough to bark a command to join the battle. Marik followed in the pack’s midst. His strength working was in place and he was ready to dash between these unknown warriors, to aid any King faltering from lingering exhaustion. He knew that even at their best, his shieldmates might fall before this challenge. His superior skill and enhanced strength would protect them from too great an adversary.
It quickly became apparent that would be unnecessary this day. As strange as these soldiers appeared, the mercenaries met them on equal footing. Kineta killed the first after deflecting a sword stroke meant to behead her. The sergeant’s scimitar cut back in a flash of moonlight off an oasis pool, followed by a familiar scream. Human…a man…dying from a lethal blow.
They might cloth themselves in bizarre garb and odd armor, but they were still men. Men the mercenaries could deal with. After two days of fright and terror, sensations they were ill-suited for, the Kings were eager to flip this rock over.
