by Reaves, Troy
Tana shared what she knew of the demon blooded orcs that had until recently caused so much trouble in the area. Gregor's face became more troubled the longer she spoke. He felt sure that the manipulation and creation of such creatures was beyond the powers of even Father Tur'morival, and he said as much. Gregor could find no logic in the creation of such a force, even if the dark summoner could control such numbers of the creatures. Something else had to be behind the demon bloods.
The young knight’s attention was drawn to Tana as she finished addressing him and Boremac. She was talking low to Three-Paw while examining his maimed paw. As the huntress spoke a few reassuring words to the wolf, she enclosed the damaged paw in her hands and closed her eyes as she meditated, communing with her Goddess. When she drew her hands from Three-paw a moment later, his maimed paw was restored. Three-paw seemed to be as amazed by this as Gregor was, and the wolf let out a bark as it touched the renewed paw to the earth. Tana shooed the animal toward the forest with a few words of praise and a wave of her hand. Gregor found he was wondering just how much power Tana had over the natural creatures, as the lame wolf that had kept him company bounded into the woods toward its pack, once more whole.
Boremac began addressing the group. “Not really all that hard to figure out once you have all the pieces to the puzzle laid out before you." Boremac shook his head. "Of course, extracting things intentionally hidden is more in my line of work than the rest of you. Two motivations come clear if you look at it properly. The two most basic motivations of all mankind amplified to the level of power said man, or demon in this case, wields. Fear and revenge, Lord Lightsword, are as old to our people now as to the ancient ones that first emerged from the wood to conquer the lands. Your Father Tur'morival fears that sword. That is obvious from the lengths he is going trying to obtain the blade. What reason would he have to fear the weapon, you ask? Simple enough really, so I will let you puzzle that one out on your own. I will tell you this. The hilt is not lost, and I suspect it is much closer to Father Tur'morival than one might think. So who has the hilt? The same demon who took it in the first place, no doubt, and he still hungers for the flesh that escaped him. That would be you, holy warrior."
"I can find no argument with your reasoning, though how Father Tur'morival is able to exercise his will over the demon is a mystery. It gives me no pleasure to know that the Tharnorsa has returned to this land, even bound to the demonologist. He will pay for the blood of the Knights I served." Gregor grew silent for a few moments as he considered the rogue's words. "Is the true blade the only thing that can slay Father Tur'morival? Why would he allow the hilt to remain so close to him, as you suggest, knowing the demon he controls would destroy him at the first opportunity? The demon must seek a great prize to be at the mercy of any mortal. Lord Silverwing is heading to face father Tur'morival and knows nothing of this. We have to find him before...”
"Yes, before the trap is set." Boremac finished the knight's thought. "Unfortunately, Master Gregor, Father Tur'morival seems to have put everything into motion quite well. Lord Silverwing is the bait."
14
Into the Unknown
Lord Silverwing was already far from Zanthfar as his messenger set out to rescue Gregor from the Black Hands. The last remaining original Knight of the Golden Dragon found the company he kept was well chosen for their task, and the journey into the mountains had gone largely without incident. He could have had no way to know his destiny was laid out before him long ago. The knight had departed the gathering accompanied by the strongest and most resourceful rangers and druids that were available. Thirty-five strong men and women were now part of this largest incursion into the forsaken volcanoes. Soon the sturdy trees that dared the ragged mountainside would give way to the scrub brush and hardy grasses of Master Stonecutter's homeland.
Silverwing took some time to review the composition of the group he and Fasurel led into the mountains. Fasurel was still a mystery to the knight. He spoke little, favoring action over the broken words of his people, to demonstrate his capabilities. The mountain man was well thought of by the others of his clan that traveled with the mixed band of warriors and priests. Three mountain rangers that had accompanied Fasurel to Zanthfar spoke of him in a way that bordered on reverence. They said that many of their clan would join them once the party drew near their homes. Fasurel only shrugged when Silverwing questioned him about this, saying that he would take no more than the villages could spare. Master Stonecutter saw no reason to diminish the numbers of protectors that were still in the mountains. “We be strong in spirit and arms, Lord Silverwing, an' those with us will serve.” Fasurel's words echoed now in Silverwing's mind. The statement left no room for discussion at the time, reinforcing Fasurel’s reticence.
Fifteen forest dwellers filled their ranks as well. The wood rangers’ weapons, which consisted of short well-tended swords and longbows, were in sharp contrast to the heavy picks and axes favored by the mountain rangers. The sturdy, broad mountain men wore the only heavy armor among the members of the group, each suited in loose fitting chain mail. The chosen protection of the others ranged from light leathers to the heavily studded leather plates Fasurel himself favored. The two Ardataure, the long-lived people that were the protectors of the Ancient Forest, were the ones that Silverwing found the most curious. Each was armed with a longbow that measured his full height and was made of a wood that Silverwing could not identify. The pair also carried small daggers, little more than keen knives, for close confrontations, however Silverwing doubted anyone or anything ever got very close. They moved with no more sound than spirits, disturbing nothing where they passed. Each kept a falcon as a companion, which made them excellent scouts. Few creatures escaped their attention, and they interpreted the movements of the natural beasts well, allowing the group to have a good deal of warning concerning potential threats. Silverwing had found it curious at first that the pair of Ardataure sent their companions back to the woods before entering the forsaken mountains, however their reasoning soon became clear. One Ardataure explained that there was little use in putting their companions at risk within the harsh lands that were their destination. Silverwing had seen the wisdom in that and suggested that the mountain men might release their charges as well. Fasurel had only laughed before giving an answer to that thought. “Ya thinkin'? That be something ya not likely see. Lizards tha’ follow us built a’ hardier stuff and not likely ta go without a boot. Las' one tha' got a boot took a leg wit' the boot, so don't wait ta see that.”
Silverwing nodded in understanding and posed a question to Fasurel that had tugged at his mind for some time. “Why do you not have a companion, Master Stonecutter?”
Fasurel's smile faded, his eyes wet as he turned to the fire, avoiding Silverwing's gaze. “No, no companion fer some time. He was a terror, he was. 'Fraid a’ nothin’ an' sadly that was what undone 'im. Kilt a bunch a’ orcs 'fore they had 'im. Poor Claw, 'e never knew wha' hit 'im and I should be glad for it. The one tha' put the bolt in 'im paid tho', be sure a’ that. Kilt the ones tha' Claw didn' then tracked that bastard three days and nights till I tore 'im apart. Didn' bring me Claw back ta life but I keep ‘im ‘ere.” Fasurel tapped his chest as Silverwing brought a hand to the mountain man's shoulder. Silverwing found tears of his own tracing down his face as his new friend finished speaking. The knight would not fully understand the meaning behind Fasurel's words for a few more days.
***
Master Stonecutter joined Lord Silverwing at the fire. His concern was evident as the mountain man dropped his solid form next to the ranger. “We 'ave no words from the tree dweller gone scouting. Don' care for the lack, knowin’ those demon bloods were so near last word. The one bein' in camp gettin' jumpy too as his partner hasn' come back. No good us staying 'ere so long. Goin' need some ground under our feet soon. Jus' what I be thinkin'.”
Silverwing had hoped for better news but the mountain man's words were no surprise to the knight. “We cannot commit more scouts t
o find the others. Break up those that remain into small groups and have them spread out in a rough perimeter. The demon bloods behind us have the numbers on their side, but I do not think they are pursuing us. We need to take them off guard and destroy them before they reach the mountains. Too many innocents will be sacrificed if they do.”
“Whatcha thinkin' to do for yourself, Lord Silverwing? Don' want you going off by yourself and get yourself kilt now. We fall as one or not at all, and I prefer not at all.” The strength of conviction in the man's tone made Silverwing certain there would be no arguing with him.
“I am going hunting, my friend, and it would appear from your words that you are, too. Disperse the others and meet me back here at the fire. You and I will find the demon bloods and draw them within range of the archers’ bows. Tell them to watch for a signal before they move to strike. I want the creatures well within the circles of light cast by our fires before the first arrow flies.” Lord Silverwing stared into the fire, waiting for Master Stonecutter's reply.
“An' what signal you wantin’ them to look to?” Master Fasurel was more than ready to take the fight to the creatures that threatened his homeland. Still this knight was a mystery to him, and for all the time they had traveled together, the mountain man had yet to see the ranger draw his weapons. Some things one just accepted on faith, he reflected as Lord Silverwing answered his question.
“They will know it when they see it. Just tell them to be ready and move as one when they do. Fasurel, I need you to restrain your vigor once we meet these creatures. I should have little trouble drawing their attention from range. You should not engage the demon bloods until we know how many they number.” Lord Silverwing's eyes studied the flames before him as he prayed in preparation for the fight to come.
***
“Strike now, Fasurel!” The small number of demon blooded orcs felt the bite of Lord Silverwing's arrows as they scattered from the bonfire below. The silver tipped points struck true, and the demon bloods burst into flame before collapsing in a pile of ash. His quiver grew light with the speed of his shots, and Lord Silverwing quickly secured his bow at his back before drawing his blades to engage the creatures. Fasurel ran from the trees, flanking the creatures and swinging his double-edged ax in wide circles to kill the demon bloods as efficiently as possible. The sturdy mountain man was surprisingly nimble on his feet, dipping below the long claws that appeared to be everywhere at once. The brutal creatures' arms swept harmlessly over his stout form as Master Stonecutter cleaved away the limbs of his foes. Lord Silverwing had little time to admire the mountain man's skill. He faced an assault of his own as the darkness nearby swelled with the sound of inhuman howling, and more demon bloods flowed from the tree line.
His powerful thrusts did little to turn away the first wave. Lord Silverwing realized his error soon enough as his arcing blade tossed one of the creature's heads into the air, dissolving the charging demon blood's form before its skull struck the ground. Silverwing spared what breath he could to shout to Master Stonecutter. “Take their heads!”
He had no time to laugh at the loud reply. “I be take’n what I can!” The pile of writhing bodies that formed around the great ax wielder gave truth to his words as he lifted the angle of its travel to take them at their necks. Moments later the mountain man disappeared behind a grey swirling cloud of disintegrated foes. It was not long before the uncoordinated attackers were undone, and the two men met at the center of the camp.
“We done good, I be thinkin'.” Fasurel moved around the area, quickly beheading the demon bloods that still lived. The man's height had made it easier to carve away their legs at the start of the melee, and he was amazed to see the wicked creatures still clawing after him with only their arms to carry them.
“Too good.” The knight stared at the ground where he crouched near the tree line. “Too many tracks leading out to account for the small number of them we faced. It was a trap.” Without another word, Silverwing drew an arrow from his quiver and shot it skyward. “We have to hurry!” The path of the arrow ignited and burst into a brilliant shower of light as it began to fall toward the earth, turning the moonless night into day. “God of Light save them, God save them all.” The two warriors ran back toward where the other rangers had remained.
The bright glow rapidly diminished from the sky, but Lord Silverwing could see all he needed from the remaining light of the rangers’ campfires. Easily three times the number of demon bloods Silverwing and Fasurel had slain formed loose patrolling groups, moving inside the clearing near the now ransacked camp. There was a rough circle of the creatures formed near the center of the encampment the pair of leaders had so recently left as well. The inner circle of creatures, growling and shouting in a language Lord Silverwing could not decipher, surrounded a handful of rangers and druids, some lying prone while others did what they could to heal the most wounded of their number. Some of the demon bloods waved what appeared to be makeshift clubs at their captives. The true nature of the weapons became apparent as several orcs within the central group bit deeply into the clubs, rending flesh from the bones of the limbs they carried. An unknowable number of his brethren had been torn apart, taken by surprise as the waves of demon blooded orcs had swept into the ranger’s camp. A loose outer ring had formed around the inner ring that was taunting the captives. Each of the creatures forming that group faced outward, searching the darkness, tossing a large oddly shaped stone between each of their clawed hands.
“Their 'eads.” the mountain man’s solemn words confirmed what Lord Silverwing had also suspected. “Their 'eads!” Fasurel’s bellow took Silverwing by surprise. The heads that had been torn from the slain rangers and druids became projectiles, striking Fasurel as he charged toward the demon bloods. Fasurel's fury awakened Silverwing’s own. A flurry of arrows tore through the creatures nearest the trapped rangers just before the knight dropped his bow and rushed into the crowd of demon bloods. The pair of warriors hewed away the demon blood orcs that were directly in their path and made their way toward the wounded, intent on protecting those that remained. Silverwing tossed one of his swords at the feet of one of the less wounded rangers and turned to begin his harvest. He shouted over his shoulder at the young female as she took up the weapon. “Take their damned heads!” Instruction proved unnecessary, as she had already begun swinging the long blade out to the farthest reach of her toned arms. It was only moments before she disappeared into a deep cloud of disintegrating orcs, with only the occasional flash of firelight glimmering off the extended blade indicating she still moved. Lord Silverwing's arms began to grow weary despite the economy of his killing. The demon bloods would overwhelm them with sheer numbers if the battle lasted much longer.
Fasurel's initial fury diminished as he focused on the task at hand. There were too many of them to take with only the three remaining warriors. He had to do something and now was as good a time as any. The mountain man drew a great breath and let out an inhuman bellow that dropped the ax from his hands even as the change took his form. Claws suited to digging in solid rock replaced the ranger’s hands as a third pair of legs sprouted from his waist, ripping through his thick leathers. Thick scales sprouted from his skin to cover his form, as torn bits of cloth and studded leather plates fell away from his body. An elongated snout emerged to replace his mouth, filled with jagged teeth made for tearing. He wore his animal form as well as he wore his own, and set his claws and jaws to ripping the demon bloods apart with much more efficiency than his ax could have accomplished.
Master Stonecutter's call did not go unanswered. Several large lizards poured into the clearing. The ranger wielding Lord Silverwing’s sword mimicked Fasurel's example in part and raised her voice to the woodland creatures. Her night piercing howl was answered in kind and a pack of wolves ran into the clearing, joining the swelling number of lizards, to kill the despoilers that had come into their homes. Before retrieving his bow, Lord Silverwing marveled for a moment at the giant lizard Master Stonecu
tter had become. The master archer delivered his arrows with vengeance. Once more the demon bloods felt his sting, and the encampment lit brightly with those slain by the rapidly flying arrows. The ferociousness of the animals within the area was matched by their summoners. The demon bloods fell like wheat before the scythe. It soon became clear that there would be no quarter given from either side. Withdrawal was not in the creature's plans, and the demon blooded orcs that remained would not escape, of that he was certain. Lord Silverwing turned to survey the landscape after he had exhausted the silver tipped arrows in his quiver, leaving the animals and the remaining ranger to destroy those that were left. The knight sensed that there was other prey in need of his attention. Somewhere in the darkness, a servant of these creatures' creator was present, and he intended to find it.
A leathery flapping of broad wings drew his eyes away from the violence. The prey had been spotted, and Lord Silverwing fired two arrows into the night, catching the strange creature unaware. The missiles pinned the imp to the tree where only moments before it had hopped from one foot to the other, taking in the chaos that littered the ground with bodies and blood. The creature tore its sickly wings, trying to free itself, but it was too late. Another arrow from its tormentor’s bow lodged in its chest, leaving it drawing ragged breaths as the last of the demon blooded orcs were slain. Lord Silverwing moved to collect his prize almost casually as the thing renewed its struggle to flee. Its purpose here was complete. Its master knew the demon bloods had failed, but the knight had one last message to share with the creature's keeper before he killed it.
