Haagen’s eyes were white, glazed and sunken deep into their sockets. His face was contorted, probably from the horrors he had faced before death. His long white hair was matted with blood and gore and his tongue was black and swollen. A long scar graced his heavily weathered face from his forehead to his chin. It was a prominent feature, although the beard covered a good portion. It didn’t look recent.
Dra’kor cautiously pulled the beast loose, both repulsed and afraid, as if it would spring back to life and take a swipe at him. He noticed the deep gashes in the chest of the man, cut right through his stiff heavy leathers. His entire body was full of cuts and clawed gouges, although it was difficult to tell what killed him for sure because the warm days were unkind and were quickly rotting the body. Dra’kor imagined that the man fought valiantly, but in the end, he had succumbed to his injuries, bleeding out. Too bad, he would have loved to sit down with the man over a couple ales.
Dra’kor wondered why no one had come to collect his remains; surely, he would have been noticed to be missing by somebody. The wounds looked to be at least a week old, probably older. Dra’kor strained as he used the spear to leverage the two wolven over the edge of the raft, which rocked unsteadily as the beasts were swallowed up by the cold mountain water and washed over the falls. He lashed the spear to the railing, figuring it would come in handy if he and Men’ak ever met the wolven in person. He pried the sword free and strapped the scabbard over his shoulder.
Dra’kor began pulling the raft across the river, grabbing the thick rope on one side of the raft using the leather grips that were laced over the rope, and pulling hard until he reached the other. He loosened the leather grips, slid them back over to the other side, and repeated the motion.
It was hard work and blistered his less-than-callused hands. The raft was difficult to pull through the eyelets in the anchor posts as the strong current stretched the rope tight and pressed hard on the cast iron rings. Dra’kor’s arms strained. They ached and he knew that he would be sore the next day, but he kept going.
The water fought the progress and surged, the day’s runoff was at its peak as the sun melted the winter snow high in the mountains. The water kept trying to drop the raft over the falls, mostly because Dra’kor was unused to balancing on the raft. He kept overcompensating, causing the corners to dip under the fast flowing water, which pushed the corner even deeper, making the raft pitch wildly. Once the weight countered the current, the raft pitched upwards and leveled out, smacking down hard on the water as balance was restored.
When he reached midstream, he was only a scant three or four feet from going over the edge. He paused to catch his breath and rub his aching biceps, thinking about what Grit might have thought as he felt his grip fail. Not much sense in wondering, he thought, what was done was done. I’m sorry Grit, but I just can’t think about you now. Not and survive!
Although the raft pitched precariously and it took him far longer than he had figured, as the sun crawled across the sky forcing the ravine back into the shadows, he eventually made the shore where Men’ak was waiting. He seemed to be in a better mood reveling in the fact that Dra’kor had made it across and back.
“Come on over,” he called out to Men’ak, “we need to hurry, daylight is fading.”
“You made it!” Men’ak exclaimed excitedly, his spirits improving. “I was concerned; the raft was really being tossed around out there.”
“It’s not too bad. Lash the packs to the tie downs and give me a hand,” Dra’kor commanded as he shook the cramps out of his hands.
Men’ak grabbed the packs and took a step into the cold water and onto the raft through the small gate. He looped the rope across the gate and firmly secured it to the end pole. He set the packs into the middle and tied them down on the iron eyehooks used to secure the wagons. They used some scraps of rope that were looped around the railings to lash Men’ak to the raft by his waist.
Men’ak pointing to the dead man tied to the corner rail of the raft. The man’s gray face was contorted in agony and Men’ak instinctively knew he had died a slow painful death. He shuddered at the thought that he and Dra’kor might meet the same fate. “Who’s that?”
“I think it might be Haagen, assuming the falls were named after him, or his family,” Dra’kor stated flatly. “Here, give me a hand pulling us across. We should be able to make it in half the time.”
Men’ak and Dra’kor pulled the raft back across the river, both using both their hands to tug on the leather straps. Finally, they reached the far side and tied off the raft on the small dock. The trip back went more smoothly because they could keep the rope moving and Dra’kor had already figured out how to keep the raft from pitching so much.
Men’ak unleashed the packs and threw them onto the shore.“What’ll we do with him?”
“Too late to bury him, we need to find some shelter for the night. I don’t think we can make town before dark,” Dra’kor said, thinking out loud. “We better set some wards. Grit’s wards won’t do us any good.”
Men’ak nodded solemnly and went about setting up his wards, while Dra’kor put his overcoat on and gathered their things. Dra’kor reached down and removed the heavy cord necklace made of bone and stone tied around the dead man’s neck. He shoved it in his pocket. Maybe someone in the Three Rivers would know about the man. They stepped off the raft and walked up the hill a ways, leaving Haagen leaning against the railing, lashed tightly under his arms —
“I feel badly about leaving him here,” said Men’ak sadly, looking back at the raft.
“I do too. But we need to git! We’ll come back and bury him later if we have time,” Dra’kor said, agreeing with his friend as he picked up his pack and flung it over his shoulder.
Men’ak nodded and the two started up the trail toward the town. They hadn’t traveled very far before they heard the distant howling of wolves echoing in the air off in the hills.
Men’ak stared out across the valley. “Wolven? Oh, by the gods! Did you hear that? The wolven are coming!”
Dra’kor’s eyes narrowed as he shrugged, “It could just be wolves … or it could be wolven. Let’s calm down, and stay focused.”
“I think we better figure out a place to stay for the night,” a worried Men’ak uttered. “Those howls sound too close for my comfort.”
“I couldn’t agree more …,” Dra’kor echoed, looking around. “It’s better to be safe — now, focus!”
The two spread out and searched the mountainside, trying to find a place to stay. The landscape was desolate and sparse, and the trees weren’t well-suited to climbing and spending the night aloft.
“Doesn’t seem to be a good place to hole up for the night,” Men’ak said, concerned because the howls were getting closer. He kept looking off into the forest in the direction of the howls, “we could make a run for it to the town —”
“It’s too barren here,” Dra’kor mumbled, “but there’ll be even less to hide us once we get into the valley.”
“We could go back and stay on the raft in the middle of the river,” Men’ak suggested.
“We could,” agreed Dra’kor, “but I’d hate to backtrack if we didn’t have to!”
Men’ak understood his reasoning, but he was fresh out of suggestions, “What do we do?”
Dra’kor scanned the horizon and was dumbfounded about what to do when he was struck with an idea.
“Why don’t we stack these rocks into a hut against that hollow in the hill?” he said, pointing to a small steep-walled gully on the slope. “We could spend the night inside. It won’t keep us warm and we won’t have a big fire, but it’ll probably keep the wolven out.”
Men’ak wrinkled his face. “You think that’ll work?”
“Hell, I don’t know! But — it’s the only building material we have and we can use our magic to help move the stones and maybe use some of these dead trees for the roof. It’s either that, or run back to the raft and spend the night floating in the water away from sh
ore. It would be a long wet night.”
“I guess it’s worth a try. The sun is setting fast —” Men’ak observed. “I don’t think we have much time.”
“Well, we better get working,” said Dra’kor convincingly.
The two mages cleared a small circle a little more than two paces across in the gully and began moving the hefty boulders around the ring. The first ring went quickly, because they used the largest stones. After that, the work went slower, because the boulders were still good-sized, but much farther away. At least they weren’t concerned that the wolves would be able to move them.
Dra’kor mumbled his spell and waved his hands at the next boulder, which shuddered before lifting off the ground. He moved his hands, directed it to where he wanted the rock to be placed and carefully set it down on top of the others he had already set. He hadn’t even completed half the wall and already his knees were getting weak and his forehead was dripping from the exertion.
After a short while, they had the first three rings set and the wall was almost three feet high. Dra’kor moved their packs into the middle and found a big flat rock to use as a door. He rolled it into the middle, figuring to set it in place after they finished and had crawled inside.
“I’m not sure I can keep up this pace,” Men’ak said, as he steadied himself, trying to clear his double vision.
“I’ll keep it up till I drop,” Dra’kor stated flatly, “either that or we’ll end up getting killed or —”
Men’ak nodded and strained to lift another boulder into place, sweat rolling down his cheek. He lost his concentration and watched the rock quiver midair and then drop, tumbling down the hill. He swore under his breath and ran after it.
Dra’kor finished raising one side to four layers of rock so that the roof wouldn’t be flat and the back of the structure would be high enough to sit under. Meanwhile Men’ak had found a couple long logs from some trees that had been downed by a storm and he was hacking the branches off with Dra’kor’s sword. Dra’kor joined him after he finished what he was doing, and together they removed the remaining branches before they laid the stripped logs and some of the larger branches across the rocks to make a sturdy frame for the roof.
Dra’kor moved a few more boulders to the back so that they would only have to guard the front. Men’ak took a breather while Dra’kor finished the back, lining the logs with outsized stones, anchoring them to the wall.
Next, the magi worked in unison, stacking awkwardly-shaped flat moss rocks across the logs and branch frame, creating a makeshift rock roof. It wouldn’t keep the rain out, but it would keep the wolves at bay. The two continued to stack smaller flat rocks on top of the bigger boulders forming a more tightly knit roof.
The roof poles moaned as the weight of the rocks came to bear, forcing the magi to magically enhance them and make a center pole to help support the weight. Dra’kor crawled into the shelter and wedged a short thick pole he had cut to length with the small sword under the center support. He used his back to lift the poles while he slid it into place in a notch he had cut into the bottom of the log with his sword.
They prayed it would be good enough because the light had faded and they couldn’t see well enough to continue. They inspected their handiwork in the dim light using a light globe because the White moon hand not yet risen.
Men’ak pulled his hands through his hair. “You think it’ll hold?”
“It’ll have to,” nodded Dra’kor as he turned to face the ever louder howls. “Do we have enough wood inside for a fire?”
“I think so,” said Men’ak. “I filled one whole side with all the smaller branches we trimmed off the logs —”
“— Good,” Dra’kor nodded. “At least we’ll have a little warmth without having to use magic.
They quickly gathered some more dried wood from around the new campsite and tossed it inside. Dra’kor had taken Haagen’s spear and his small sword before they left the raft and he carefully placed those in the small stone fort.
Men’ak’s head shot up.
“My wards just went off,” he cried, terrified. He stood straight and scanning the dark hillside.
“Quickly now, into the fort,” yelled Dra’kor, crawling in the small entrance. “It’ll have to be good enough —”
“Hurry, hurry!” Men’ak moaned as he pushed Dra’kor through the small door. “Move! Th-th-they’re coming. I can h.h.hear them …”
The two mages clamored to get inside the small tight entrance, crawling on their bellies. They grunted as they both struggled to get the large keystone boulder in place across the small opening.
“Watch your hands,” Dra’kor yelled as he pushed the heavy boulder into place and ground it into the dirt securely.
Dra’kor grabbed the sword and faced the door. “Men’ak, why don’t you try to light a fire? Maybe it’ll scare them off …,” he shouted forcefully as he pointed the blade at the door.
Men’ak stacked some small twigs off to one side of the room using the wall as part of the fire ring and sent a spark of magic into the pile. The twigs burst into flame. Men’ak’s hands were shaking as he tried to stack some bigger branches onto the newly started fire.
“Not too many,” Dra’kor cautioned. “We don’t want to burn the roof or ourselves. Besides, we need to make our supply of wood last.”
Dra’kor could see the sweat draining down his friend’s face. The whites of his eyes showed brightly in the orange-yellow light of the fire.
“We’re gonna make it through this,” he said reassuringly to Men’ak.
Men’ak nodded and removed a few of the larger branches. He knew he had to calm down. His heart was racing and he was having a hard time taking a deep breath. He tried to breathe slowly, holding each breath.
It didn’t take long before they heard louder growls coming from outside, and heard the wolven pacing and circling the stone camp. They startled as one of the wolven jumped up on top of the fort and began clawing at the rocks. Dra’kor took the small sword and shoved it up through the openings in the rocks, hoping to get lucky. On the third try, he heard a yelp as the blade sliced into one of the beasts.
The beast howled loudly, sending shivers up Men’ak’s spine. He was against the rear dirt wall, shaking in fear.
“What’ll we do?” Men’ak moaned.
One of the wolven was trying to crawl into the entry and was ramming the heavy stone with its head. The rock teetered with each hit.
“Men’ak, make sure that stone doesn’t fall,” Dra’kor growled over the barks and howls.
Men’ak just sat there, not moving, his eyes wide with fear. Dra’kor shuffled over to him and gave him a smack on his arm, “Snap out of it man, we aren’t going to get through this if you don’t start acting like a mage!”
Men’ak stared blankly at him, causing Dra’kor to slap him harshly across his face, “Move it! Now!”
Men’ak seemed to snap out of his paralysis and jerked to the front door putting his weight against the immense rock. The wolven backed up a bit and threw itself against the boulder again, digging in with its rear paws, almost knocking Men’ak over. A sharply clawed leg pawed through an opening on the side narrowly missing his arm and causing him to jump in the opposite direction.
“Hack at the leg when it comes through.” Dra’kor grunted. “Use your knife!”
Men’ak pulled his hunting blade out of its sheath, fumbling with the catch. He held it at the ready in a visibly shaking hand.
Meanwhile, Dra’kor had his own challenges. He rolled past the fire and stabbed at another beast that was trying to dig its way in through a hole in the wall. Dra’kor hacked at its leg and snout as it tried to root its way into the fort. The wolven’s long fangs hung over its mouth and its tongue whipped about as it jammed its face into the rocks trying to bite the mage. It howled in anguish as Dra’kor sliced off part of its nose and tongue with a fierce downward swipe of his blade.
None of this made much sense to Dra’kor. He knew that the beas
ts were smart and were coordinating their attack. He was confused because the beasts were taking heavy losses.
Why didn’t they just hunker down outside and wait until he and Men’ak starved? Rationally, the only thing he could come up with was that the beasts were consumed by some blood lust or compulsion that drove them to attack. His eyes went wide as he wondered if a demon or dark mage was spelling them from outside the hut. He calmed down, reasoning that if either of those were around, they would have attacked directly. That didn’t preclude the fact that the beasts could be under a spell. He would have to store that information away to use at a later time when he —
Dra’kor snapped out of his contemplation and thrust his blade up through the holes in the roof, trying to cause as much damage as he could.
“I don’t think I can hold the rock over the door much longer,” cried a desperate Men’ak as he threw his shoulder against the face of the rock and hacked down on a leg that had poked through. A loud whimper followed by a howl made Men’ak cringe as his knife bit into the woven’s front leg.
“Hold it as long as you can. If he knocks it over, hit him with wizard’s fire!” Dra’kor shot back.
Men’ak nodded and pushed against the boulder again with his shoulder. The wolven hit the rock hard and Men’ak toppled over backwards as the rock fell in. The wolven shoved its head into the small room and snapped at the air, trying to dig with its legs and push itself into the room through the small opening. It was just too big to fit, the toppled boulder blocking its way.
Men’ak prepared his spell and released it into the wolven’s face. It exploded in a shower of sparks knocking the wolven back, but not doing any mortal harm, “I thought Zedd’aki said you could kill these things,” he screamed as he prepared another spell and let it loose. “The magic doesn’t do anything.”
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 35
