by A. D. Green
Rivers Run Red by A D Green
Book One of the Morhudrim Cycle
1st Edition - October 2019
© Andrew Green (A D Green)
All characters in this work are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
All Right reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing of the Author.
Cover artwork by vikncharlie
Map artwork by Sam Henty
Edited by M. C. Green, Bsc and Graduate Diploma in Arts (English)
Contents
Map of the Rivers Region
Prologue
Chapter 1 : The Hunt
Chapter 2 : On the Trail
Chapter 3 : The Chase
Chapter 4 : Homestead
Chapter 5 : The Lesson
Chapter 6 : The White Stallion
Chapter 7 : Road to Thorsten
Chapter 8 : Campfire
Chapter 9 : Friend or Foe
Chapter 10 : Road to Thorsten Part 2
Chapter 11 : Taken
Chapter 12 : Red Priest
Chapter 13 : The Broken Axe
Chapter 14 : Black Crow
Chapter 15 : Strange Times
Chapter 16 : Thorsten Market
Chapter 17 : Northfields
Chapter 18 : A Meeting of Unequals
Chapter 19 : The Flow
Chapter 20 : The Red River
Chapter 21 : Dead Boat
Chapter 22 : Oust Bridge
Chapter 23 : Into Darkness
Chapter 24 : Illgathnack Ford
Chapter 25 : Little Hope and None
Chapter 26 : Spark
Chapter 27 : Bad News Travels Fast
Chapter 28 : High Chair
Chapter 29 : Aftermath
Chapter 30 : Blue Eyes
Chapter 31 : Delayed Departure
Chapter 32 : Plans and Manipulations
Chapter 33 : Unexpected Company
Chapter 34 : Contact
Chapter 35 : Intoxicated
Chapter 36 : Bonding
Chapter 37 : Battle Plans
Chapter 38 : The Trail North
Chapter 39 : The Trail South
Chapter 40 : A Tight Spot
Chapter 41 : Bloody Reunion
Chapter 42 : Leaving The Broken Axe
Chapter 43 : The Redford Road
Chapter 44 : Quarry
Chapter 45 : New Companions
Chapter 46 : Assimilating
Chapter 47 : The Holdstead
Chapter 48 : Santranta’s Boil
Chapter 49 : Mappels on Oust
Chapter 50 : The Grim Road
Chapter 51 : Not As the Crow Flies
Chapter 52 : The Circle Closes
Chapter 53 : Fallston
Chapter 54 : Movement
Chapter 55 : A New Power
Chapter 56 : A Good Lesson
Chapter 57 : Life and Death
Chapter 58 : Aftermath
Chapter 59 : South Tower
Chapter 60 : Hellfire
Chapter 61 : The Woodsmith Carves
Chapter 62 : Empty
Chapter 63 : Goodbyes
Chapter 64 : Red Cloaks
Chapter 65 : The Oath
Chapter 66 : Slaughter House
Chapter 67 : Besieged
Epilogue
Principal Characters
Ilf dictionary
Map of the Rivers Region
Prologue
1006 cycle of the 4th Age
3rd Cycle of Ankor (The Wane - Autumn)
A lone figure trudged pale footprints in the snow. An icy wind blew from the north, beating against him as if to drive him away. Undaunted he walked on, cloak snapping behind him. He was near the jagged teeth of Tal’Draysil and a single glance at the enlarged sun overhead told him that he'd reach the ruins before nightfall.
Stopping to take water, his dark eyes studied the cracked and fallen towers ahead. It had been many years since his last visit but they looked just as he remembered them. He shivered, as an uneasiness settled over him that had little to do with the cold. Stoppering his water skin, he pulled his cloak tight and set off once more.
He reached the ruins at daylights fade and set up camp outside its bounds. What needed doing was best done in the hard light of day and he was unwilling to accept the relative shelter the ancient town offered. It held too many ghosts and no comfort for him.
Morning's first light arrived casting Tal’Draysil in half shadows. Entering the ruins through a cracked and broken gatehouse the traveller wandered streets that had seen no life in a millennium. Only the Ilfanum came to this place now and only to check its prison lay undisturbed and its warding held strong.
The traveller stopped. He was stood at the ruin's centre in a large square surrounded by walls of fallen stone. A slim tower, stark in its completeness, rose like a spear at its heart.
Reaching up he lowered his hood revealing the sleek head of an ilf, red and gold leaf skin edged in blue moulded smoothly to the contours of his humanlike face. Thick vine like tresses sprang from his crown and were gathered and tied at his nape to fall down his back. The dark orbs of his eyes surveyed the tower. Something was off. His memory picked out the change. The scattered remains of a beast, little more than a lump, hardly distinguishable in the hard frost from the surrounding debris.
Closing his eyes he centred himself and focused, sensing the subtle shifting of energies around him. Life was everywhere, from hardy lichen on the walls to moss lying in the damp sunless corners of the ruins. It was the energy surrounding the tower though that he sought. It was strong, standing like a beacon against the pale backdrop of surrounding life.
But it was changed. The weavings, cast so long ago, swirled and eddied still but were different. Like a thread picked and unravelled from a garment, there was a hole in the weave; a scar that breached the swirling ward.
Walking to the tower the ilf examined it. The hole was subtle, the energy around it cunningly reworked so that the warding appeared at first glance to be whole. How it was done intrigued him. It should have been impossible to rework a living ward without collapsing the whole. This was precise, surgical in its execution, and it fascinated his intellect. This was beyond his art.
The intervention, the reworking of part of the ward was impressive too for its audacity. Had it been removed incorrectly or broken, the ward would collapse and the subsequent cascading release of energy would be catastrophic. No trace of Tal’Draysil would remain and what lay within the tower would be no more.
That Tal’Draysil and the tower still stood spoke for itself. Closer inspection of the breach offered no further clue. It was so well worked he couldn't discern where the weaves had been changed or whether it was wrought from inside or outside the warding.
The shadows were short, the sun at its zenith, he had been stood long in contemplation. How it was done would have to wait, of more import was what lay within. He already knew the answer but sat anyway. With a thought he conjured a ball of light in his hand and sent it through the breach.
Inside, the tower was dark and empty but for a staircase that spiralled up the interior wall. The ball of light rose until eventually it reached a platform. Light bathed it streaming in from a doorway. The door itself lay smashed and broken on the floor, its frame charred black. The ball hovered momentarily, the ilf taking in the scene, before moving through the entrance to the room beyond.
There were no windows yet, through some artifice, light flooded the room emanating from the ceiling above. Its stone
floor was etched in gold runes which surrounded four iron posts that seemed to grow from the floor. Blackened chains hung broken from the posts. Although expected, the ilf still found the scene disturbing. The Tainted was gone. Da'Mari and the other Nu'Rakauma would need to know. It was too soon.
The ball of light vanished with a blink.
The ilf stood, worry lining his face. It was a long journey back to Da'Mari and time was of the essence. Weighing his need and deciding it was great enough he started etching a rune onto the frosted cobbles of the square with his staff. It was a long laborious process and the sun had about vanished behind the western mountains by the time he'd finished.
He felt a rippling of energy in the aether and, alarmed, turned to face the tower. A shadow detached itself from its girth. Its energies had been hidden by the tower's warding else he would have sensed it as soon as he entered Tal’Draysil.
The shadow was large, eight feet or more in height and vaguely humanoid in shape. Bathed in a dark swirling mist that clung to its frame it was indistinct in form but hinted at long limbs and an elongated, spiked head beneath its black tendrils. Morhudrim. Fear pervaded even as a weight clouded his mind pressing in on him. The pressure grew forcing him to his knees as the shadow glided forward. Dark fingers of smoke snaked out from the Tainted, reaching.
Incanting, he whispered a mantra and the pressure against his mind eased, enough that he could regain his feet. Stepping onto the rune he thumped his staff down in its centre and with a thought triggered sigils etched along its length. Energy flared and the rune on the ground blazed into life even as the shadow fingers reached him. Latching onto his face they sought egress through mouth and eyes.
Pain ripped through him like nails driven into flesh. His mantra almost failed but he held it, just. Convulsing, gasping for breath as the dark tendrils choked him, light flared suddenly. It forced the shadow back screeching.
With a tearing sound the air inside the rune parted. With his last conscious effort the ilf tipped forward collapsing through the portal which zipped shut behind him before disappearing with a snap.
The Morhudrim screamed its rage, the sound echoing in the amphitheatre of broken stone.
Chapter 1
: The Hunt
1017 cycle of the 4th Age
3rd Cycle of Ankor (The Wane - Autumn)
Nihm hunted.
Crouching low she examined the forest floor. The crush of leaf and moss was an arcane language, signs decipherable with study. It told Nihm she was close. Drawing up she was moving again, feet gliding silently.
Wind rustled the trees and weak shafts of sunlight broke through in places to relieve the dusky gloom. Nihm felt the familiar surge in her veins. She knew the hunt, its dangers as well as the thrill. She had to stay focused. Her quarry was near.
The ground rose gently, shrubs lining its crest where an old kaorak tree had fallen leaving a break in the canopy. Moving up the slope she smelt the air and listened to the life of the forest. A White-crown warbled high in the tree tops and was answered.
Nihm scanned ahead, tracking, following the tell-tale up the rise; there wasn’t much, just bent leaf and bruised moss to show the way. Nearing the top she slid into the shadow of the fallen giant. Peeking over the kaorak's trunk into the dell below Nihm glimpsed a figure, dark hooded and cloaked. He sat on a stump, silent and unmoving, with a large black wolfdog at his feet. Nihm was downwind but even so the wolfdog's head came up, ears erect.
Ducking back down Nihm unlimbered her bow, smoothly fitting an arrow, a puncher with a blunt head. It didn’t fly well and was only accurate over a short distance but the man was no use to her dead. She glanced again over the trunk before standing, bracing and drawing her bow string back against her cheek, all in one smooth practised motion. As Nihm sighted down the shaft she took a breath and held it before releasing arrow and breath together.
The arrow flew true. With a thump it smacked solidly into the man’s back. It bounced, falling away and the figure toppled forward with a loud clatter onto the ground. Too loud, the noise was off. Nihm stared into the hollow. The wolfdog looked over at the fallen man but otherwise didn’t move. Something was wrong. Leaning against the dead tree she considered the scene. In a heartbeat a hand shot up, gripped Nihm’s tunic and yanked her unceremoniously over the fallen giant. Crying out, she was launched into the air and over, her back crushing a small shrub as she landed heavily. Lying winded, a black bearded face loomed above her.
“Dead!” said the face before disappearing from view.
Groaning Nihm rolled off the shrub and onto her hands and knees. She glanced at the retreating back of her father, Darion, as he ambled into the dell. Her Da was a big man but despite this moved with an easy grace and sureness.
“Didn’t have ta throw me so hard Da,” Nihm moaned rising gingerly. Hands on hips she stretched her aching back out. A line of fire seared her lower back where the shrub had crushed her pack against her. Something hard inside had scored her through her leather vest.
“Stop ya whining girl. I gave ya a soft landing didn’ I?” Darion chuckled, then turned and caught her scowling face. “More an you deserve lass,” he strolled up to the prone figure on the ground, the wolfdog watching him all the way, tongue lolling.
“Good girl Bindu.” He ruffled the wolfdog’s ears. Bindu nudged a nose under his hand. “Go on away with you,” he growled and Bindu raced off towards Nihm, tail wagging.
Darion deftly removed the cloak and overcoat from the fallen man revealing a bunch of bound sticks cleverly tied to give a frame for the hanging. He bent and rummaged among the bundle and pulled a flat pan out. He ran a finger over its base and felt the tiny knuckle where the flathead had struck. He smiled briefly before painting a frown on his face and turning to Nihm.
“Fetch my pack.” He nodded behind her at the old tree. Then sat on the stump and stared off into the forest waiting.
Nihm was angry. She’d failed. She glared at Darion’s back. If look was an arrow she’d be going home alone, yet it was herself she was mad at. Then Bindu was there demanding attention. Hunkering down Nihm threw arms around her neck breathing in her scent. Nihm loved the old dog and felt calmed.
“A lotta use you were you old rascal. Ya could’a warned me.” She scratched behind Bindu’s ears.
“I can’t hear ya moving lass. Stop your mooning.”
Scowling, Nihm let Bindu go and went to recover her bow from the forest floor. It was autumn and she brushed fallen leaves off its curved length, checking it quickly for damage. A little damp; she'd have to wipe it down before it set in and ruined her string, or worse yet her bow. Nihm walked the few paces back to the kaorak trunk and hefted her Da’s pack, grunting as she hitched it over a shoulder. Picking her way carefully down to the clearing she slung it at Darion’s feet before easing her own off and laying her bow upon it.
Crouching opposite her Da, Nihm watched as he pulled tinder and flint from a pouch. She could see, as he knelt over the bundle of sticks that it was already packed with dried leaves.
Darion mumbled as he struck the flint and a small puff of smoke trickled out of the kindling. He blew gently on it and a small flame licked out and suddenly it was a fire.
Nihm marvelled at his skill. It sometimes took her half an hour or more to get a fire started but her Da never needed more than one attempt. “One of these turns I’ll tell ya the secret to it.” He’d told her once. She was still waiting.
“We’ll overnight here. Set up camp and I’ll get supper,” Darion said rising, “Bindu, stay.”
Nihm fetched loose branches from the undergrowth feeding the little fire to stop it guttering out. The sun had about run its course and a dusky gloom had settled by the time enough firewood had been gathered. Bindu slept near the flames, enjoying its warmth.
After unpacking the bedrolls and laying them out, Nihm took a cloth and rubbed her bow down. Satisfied, she leant on its tines and straining deftly removed the bow string placing it in her belt pouch.
“Ho.”
Nihm turned and watched as her Da walked into camp. Darion settled down next to his pack placing a neatly gutted trout and water skin on the ground. Bindu looked interested but didn’t bother to get up.
That night they dined well on fish and arrowroot and afterwards settled on their bedrolls.
“Did I do so bad? You’ve said nothing about my test,” Nihm said.
“Test? There’s no test. Only life and doin,” Darion said lying flat and closing his eyes.
“What! You told me to track and tag you,” Nihm exploded. “Said you thought I was ready. How is that not a test?”
“Calm lass. Ya temper illustrates ya ill-discipline. That’s why you’re dead and I’m not.”
“You’re such an ass sometimes. Can’t you just explain like a normal person?”
“Mind ya tongue, lest my mood fail me.” Darion snapped, then in a more measured tone. “'Stead of venting ya bad temper see if’n ya can explain your own failing. Now what did I ask of you?”
Nihm huffed, then considered, thinking back to earlier that morning. “Okay lass,” she mimicked in a deep voice, “ya've tracked deer and hunted boar. See if’n ya can track me? Give an hour and see if ya can tag us by sunset.”
There was a grunt from the bedroll. “Continue.”
“Continue what? I tracked you. It was easy. I found and tagged you too if you hadn’t tricked me at the end there…I’m still sore now.” Nihm rubbed her back at the memory.
Darion sat up and stared at his daughter. “Ya disappoint me. There’s life and doin’. Ya want me to explain?”
Nihm was silent, her anger gone as quick as it came. That one sentence cut deep. Da had never been disappointed in her before. Finally, sullenly, she muttered. “Yes.”
Darion settled back down tucking his hands behind his head and began.
“I asked ya to track me. Tagging made ya think it a game and it was and it wasnae,” he said. “Life isn’t just for you lass, there are no rules. If ya hunt deer and the deer smells you it runs away. If ya hunt boar and the boar smells you maybe it runs or maybe not, maybe the boar charges. Do ya understand now?”
