by P D Ceanneir
‘There is something different about you,’ he said. ‘Anyway, the Cürious can take six easily, although with a Rawn, I would like to keep that at four…just to be on the safe side.’
‘So,’ added Powyss, ‘does that exclude me?’
Elric nodded and Gunach gave the commander a lacklustre smile and then made a hesitant step onto the spiral. ‘Well, I have always wanted to go for a stroll in the mountains.’
Powyss groaned, ‘you two be careful,’ he said with a distinct tone of fatherly affection that surprised Havoc and made Gunach chuckle.
‘It is all right, Ercat, I will bring them all back safe.’
‘One more,’ interrupted Elric.
Furran felt Little Kith’s hand on his back and the big Paladin pushed him forwards. Furran stumbled and shot Kith a dark scowl. ‘You big oaf!’
‘Well volunteered, Furran,’ smiled Havoc as the stocky knight grumbled and stepped beside the prince.
Furran turned to Elric, ‘what can we expect in this Sjardhiem?’
‘Oh, not much. A Necromancer, so I’m told, haunts the ground and is protected by his army of half-dead Fyrandian Legionnaires…and the mountains are infected by Ice Tors as well, so no real danger.’
‘Ice Tors?’
‘Uh ha,’ nodded Elric, ‘big hairy things with sharp teeth and hunger for human flesh.’
Furran turned to Gunach, ‘are you sure Ness Ri can’t come with us?’
Little Kith, now with a slightly worried look on his face, unbuckled his Spit Gun belt and passed it to Furran. ‘You’re a far better shot with this than me,’ he said, ‘take care.’
Powyss did the same with his Spit Gun and handed it to Havoc, ‘It pulls a bit to the right and watch the recoil…come back safe.’
Havoc nodded in reply. He could not help but notice the look of concern on his old friends face. Throughout all of this, Lord Ness remained where he stood at the edge of the spiral and continued to watch with an amused expression. Beside him, the Administrator stirred in his sleep.
‘Don’t worry, I will wipe Köthal’s memory of events and Little Kith can have a… “persuasive word” with the guards before they get too rowdy. We will be back on the Cybeleion within the hour.’
‘Good, give Captain Danyil my regards,’ said Havoc, while at the same time he tapped the Muse Orrinn on the Sword that Rules and made the shape of a flying bird with his hands to signify Mirryn. Lord Ness nodded in understanding. The Red Kite would be able to find the Orrinn anywhere and the mime signified a certain lack of trust in Elric Stormstrider that the Ri was very much aware of, yet his confidence in the prince overruled any concern he had in this mission.
Elric, however, was listening to this exchange with interest. His blind eyes even noticed the prince’s hand movements. When the talking stopped he said, ‘everyone ready?’ They all acknowledged with a yes. Elric took his hand away from the wall and pushed the red crystal further into its slot.
The Cürious thrummed and the blue light rose around their feet for a few seconds and then shot upwards in bright columns that danced over their heads. Just as quickly as the whole process started, then the glow receded back into the spiral which was now empty of its previous occupants.
‘I don’t like this!’ growled Powyss.
‘Neither do I,’ agreed Lord Ness as he stared at the fading blue light on the floor, ‘but we must trust in the prince and this Marauder Doom for now.’
7
Unlike Driftwalking, travel by Cürious was only meant for short hops. This was certainly the assumption that Havoc fathomed as the long tedious drone of the trip spun by in a collage of white and blue light. Driftwalking was flawless and instantaneous, magical transportation seemed clunky and synthetic by comparison. Fortunately, there was no pain after materialisation, more of a feeling of nausea and a light-headedness, which soon passed.
Unfortunately, bone-chilling cold found them and literally took their breath away.
They stood on a similar Cürious inside a ruined building. The roof and one wall were missing. A snow-blowing wind raced by the wall opening which revealed a two hundred foot drop into a misty gorge below. Instinctively they all stepped back except for Elric who sniffed the air.
‘Lower Way-station,’ he explained, ‘Fyrandian supply transporters dropped their cargo here for Sjardhiem. We have a ways to go yet.’
‘Transporters?’ asked Havoc as he threw on his green rain-cape. His Raider armour would keep him warm up to a point but the thick waterproof material in the rain-cape would act as a good windbreaker. Beside him, Furran did the same and Gunach already wore a long fur jerkin over his leather carapace. Elric by comparison did not seem fazed by the chill. Thick leather bracers and Torcs were the only items covered his bare arms.
‘Dirigibles,’ explained the warrior, ‘hot air filled balloons with gondolas the size of war galleys, brought the goods here. Bringing it over land was impossible.’
Furran adjusted his cape and strapped Little Kith’s Spit Gun belt on his left side. He was mumbling again, Havoc could not hear what he was saying but Elric chuckled, ‘Ice Tors are the least of your worries, my friend,’ he said as he walked out of the ruins.
‘Gods! I can’t even talk to myself,’ complained Furran.
Havoc noticed the stocky knight was ready. He used infantry signals indicating for the Paladin to keep an eye on Elric. Furran nodded once and nimbly stepped out of the building. Havoc passed Gunach the Spit Gun that belonged to Powyss.
The dwarf, although the inventor of the remarkable weapon shook his head, ‘never was very good with it, Kervunder, I'm short-sighted. Give it to Elric.’
‘Yes, but he’s blind.’
‘Really? He certainly does not show it.’
‘That much I’ve noticed.’
Outside the ruins the snow fell heavily, but it had not lain long on the ground. Occasionally there were howling gusts of wind that jabbed the ice particles into their faces. They followed Elric for what seemed like miles as he climbed up a notable path, which curved around the mountain and into a small copes of fir trees. They gladly took shelter amongst the trees.
Gunach and Furran went in search for firewood and Havoc brought a pile of stones together. He used the Fire Element to heat the stones until the glowed red.
‘That should do until they return,’ he said.
Elric grinned, ‘Aye, it’s certainly handy having a Rawn around.’ Although he did not look the least bit cold, he stood near the stones and waved his hands over the surface.
‘How much further to Sjardhiem?’ asked the prince.
Elric nodded his head towards the northeast, ‘further up the mountain,’ he said, ‘we will come across the Cerro Gorge. It’s not far after that.’
‘Pretty far for the supplies. Why did they not have a Cürious in the Castle-mount?’
Elric shrugged. ‘In the days when the Imperial Realm controlled this area the winters were warmer and the pass more accessible. As for the Cürious, well, Fyrandians are suspicious of their enemies and travel by magic was still impossible to “block” at the other end, so no Cürious was ever built at Sjardhiem.’
‘And this Necromancer you spoke of?’
Elric seemed a little hesitant, but said, ‘old tales from before my time tell of a dark presence inhabiting these mountains. People mention this Necromancer a lot. I didn't meet any threat at the Castle-mount that last time I was there. Although, I was in and out fast and quietly, few would know I was there.’
Havoc frowned up at the tall warrior just as Gunach and Furran arrived with bundles of dry tinder. ‘Why did you go there in the first place?’
‘Ah! I went to satisfy my curiosity,’ said Elric, ‘it is said that the embalmed heart of Grendal the Wayfarer is in Sjardhiem. So, I sent myself on a quest to find some part of a great man that was so pertinent to Marauder Doom history.’
‘And did you find it?’ asked Furran as he began to strike his flint and start the fire, but Havoc waved his h
and and the wood bundle next to the newly dug fire pit burst into flame.
‘In a way, I did. Yet I did not see it. It is encased inside your Elemental Marker and I did not wish to break it open. So, I scratched my name onto the surface and left.’
‘You graffitied the Marker!’ cried Gunach.
‘I announced to any who saw it that I had been there, friend dwarf,’ said Elric sternly. Gunach rolled his eyes and went about feeding the tinder into the fire. Havoc unstrapped SinDex and propped it up against the nearest tree, then he took his rucksack and rummaged around in it for provisions. He noticed that Elric was staring at the sword, Havoc watched him. The big warrior had the eyes of a predator and the prince could not get the idea out of his head that, even sitting, the Marauder Doom could move quickly with deadly precision.
‘A fine sword,’ said Elric and Havoc felt guilty for staring so long. ‘I have seen many dwarven swords before, but that one seems…different,’ he held out his hand, ‘may I?’
Havoc hesitated. Gunach looked up and then regarded the little scene with a worrier frown.
‘Erm…best not to. The sword has a Fire Orrinn on the pommel. If anyone other than me holds it then pain will follow.’
Elric stood up so fast that the prince’s hand almost went to his Spit Gun.
‘Let me be the judge of that,’ said Elric.
This is a test, said the Blacksword, he knows we don’t trust him. Let him hold it.
Havoc shrugged and then extracted the Sword that Rules from its sheath and handed the weapon hilt first to Elric. The moment he gripped the twin dragon hilt the pain hit him, but he barely flinched. There was a mere widening of the eyes and then his steel resolve took control again. He swept the sword around in a wide arc, did a few experimental lunges that betrayed his expert swordsmanship and then spun the weapon in blurred figure-of-eight twists in front of him. He was showing off. Everyone there knew it, but they could not help feel appreciation at the wonderful display he was giving them.
He gave the sword back to the prince, ‘as swords go, that is the best, and the worst, I have ever held.’ Havoc acknowledged the remark with a nod. ‘Now! What is this contraption?’ said Elric as he took the spare Spit Gun from its holster. He brushed his fingers over the muzzle and trigger guard before gripping it properly.
‘We call it a Spit Gun. It’s a form of miniature crossbow developed by Gunach. It fires four Wolfram tipped bolts at remarkable speed,’ explained Havoc.
Elric nodded in appreciation, ‘amazing, friend dwarf, truly remarkable!’ He swung the gun up to the right with a straight arm and then snapped the trigger. There was a low PHUTT! noise and three inch black bolt was lost inside a fir tree about twenty feet from the fire. There was a loud squawk and a plump dove fell from the tree amongst white feathers, the bolt sticking out of its chest.
‘Hmmm…pulls a bit to the right. I will have to compensate for that,’ he said, ‘anyway, get plucking. I’m going to hunt for the main course.’ With that, he stormed off into the forest leaving Havoc and his friends dumbfounded.
8
Main course was a large polar hare, which Furran skinned and Havoc cooked on a spit while basting it in dove fat and herbs. More snow fell as the night drew in. The cold became more acute but the prince had warmed up more stones and Gunach made a second fire.
‘You will make a good wife some day,’ remarked Elric when he bit into the cooked hare flesh. Havoc laughed.
‘I learned to live off the land for some time during the civil war with the Vallkytes,’ explained Havoc. ‘You soon learn that everything in nature has it’s uses.’
‘You speak the truth, youngster. I still prefer a meaty stew, cold mead, a warm bed and an even warmer girl, though,’ Elric grinned.
‘Here, here!’ said Furran.
‘I’m afraid roast hare is all you’re getting from us,’ chuckled the prince. Elric barked a laugh and slapped his thigh.
‘You are not as I imagined, young prince, ‘said Elric, ‘you have a likeable nature about you.’
‘Imagined?’ questioned Gunach who was sucking on his tobacco pipe and the cloud obscured his face until he waved it away.
‘Oh, we hear many stories from Tattoium-Tarridun about the many victories of the De Proteous, which are told repeatedly throughout the land by wandering bards and minstrels. Dare I say it, but you have more songs sung about you than Grendal the Wayfarer.’
‘Are there any songs with me in them?’ asked Furran with genuine interest.
Elric frowned and then said, ‘sorry. Who are you again?’
Gunach laughed loudly, ‘don’t worry, “Sir Furran the Brave” will be a hit should anyone have the patience to write it.’
Furran sighed, ‘remind me why we brought the dwarf again?’
Suddenly, there was a loud roar in the distance. It echoed off the surrounding hills making it difficult to place a direction, everyone stood up apart from Elric who continued eating.
‘What in the name of Arcun’s chiselled beard was that?’ cried Furran.
‘Ice Tor,’ said Elkin, ‘probably male. Males have lots of territory to look after. They tend to howl a bit.’
‘I thought Ice Tors inhabit the far polar north?’ said Gunach.
Elric nodded, ‘usually they do, but the cold winters and good hunting bring them south.’
‘Will the fire draw it to us?’ said Havoc.
‘More than likely,’ said Elric who started picking his teeth after finishing the meat.
‘And that doesn’t concern you?’
‘Ice Tors have a nasty disposition, but they are not stupid. Anyway, who would mess with a Marauder Doom, a Rawn Master, a Dwarf and…’ he looked questionably at Furran, ‘…Furran the Brave.’
‘Oh, you’re sooo funny,’ replied Furran.
Elric chuckled, ‘well, we should get some rest. I will take first watch.’
‘No!’ said Havoc loudly, ‘I will.’ He laced his voice with remarkable authority, his “Commanders Voice” as Powyss called it. It had the effect he wanted. Elric nodded and said, ‘As you wish, your majesty.’
9
As the group slept around the fire, Havoc stepped out into the clearing at the edge of the trees. He looked around the darkness as the snow slowly whispered to the ground. The wind had died to a barely felt breeze and this reduced the chill factor of the surrounding temperature. He heard one more roar towards the east, more distant than the first, then silence.
‘What do you think?’ he asked the Blacksword.
You really don’t want to know.
‘I do, that is why I asked.’
About Elric? He is hiding something. About the Tors? They are being summoned by someone or something higher up the mountain.
‘I wish I never asked.’
Told you. You know I speak the truth, you have felt it also.
Havoc nodded. He had felt a tension in the mountains, something cloying yet impalpable. There were times when his Rawn instincts were a great aid to sifting through life’s little mishaps. Occasionally it could be a hindrance.
‘I need to know what we are dealing with. I feel danger everywhere.’
Agreed.
‘Your senses are far more acute that mine. Can you cast your mind out to search the mountains ahead?’
I could, but you would be able to as well, if you use the snow. Remember, you can link the Water Element to mist and expand your senses further, so use the snow in the same way.
Havoc was impressed, ‘You’re very clever.’
I know.
Havoc knelt, took his right gauntlet off and buried his hand deep in the snow. The last time he tried this trick was when he and the Paladins were running from Vallkyte soldiers in the Old Woods back home. He had linked to the elemental energy of Water inside mist droplets and increased his ability to detect life forms around him by the power of ten. He was even able, if he tried, to Thought Link with others though the mist. Using snow was even easier. He was surprised at the inst
ant connection, mainly because of the close bonding of the snow crystals. His mind rushed so quickly he consciously slowed his pace as his mind zipped through trees, over hills and mountains. As long as the snow covered the land then there seemed no limit to this ability.
He found the first Ice Tor after thirty seconds of searching. It was feeding ravenously on a freshly slaughtered deer about four miles east from their position. The thing was a clear foot taller than the Blacksword, bipedal with long arms that dragged in the snow. Its body mass was bulky and muscular with a shaggy white fur all over it apart from a slightly downy patch on its stomach. It had a large elongated head with thick brow ridges, dark eyes and a mouth full of long sharp teeth. Truly, the creature was an imposing sight.
Ugly brute! Said the Blacksword.
‘Uh ha,’ agreed Havoc. As he watched, he sensed two more of the creatures as they ambled out of the woods towards the feeder. They had a strange way of walking, apelike on shorter legs, yet they moved fast through the snow, especially when they used their thick arms to pull themselves along. Havoc was even more surprised by the leader of the two. It was obviously older and larger than the rest with a wider head and obvious bone-like ridges running along its cranium and a thicker covering of body hair.
It’s a male, said the Blacksword.
Havoc nodded at the obvious statement from his alter ego. He also found himself startled by the simple fact that the original Tor, still ripping the deer carcass to shreds as the others approached, was actually a smaller female.
He decided to move on and left the Tors noisily eating behind him. As he sprinted away, the sounds of splintering bone and hungry grunts faded. He rose up over a high mountain and down its icy cliffs. Suddenly he saw the Castle-mount sitting on the other side of a deep and wide gorge.
In the early years of Hinterland history, Castle-mounts were made of wood and surrounded by high wooden palisades. Most of the landed Jarls kept their main roundhouse buildings simple, utilising the grand hall as a throne room and dining area around a huge circular fire. In later years, the homes of richer nobles became stone and mortar. Huge square keeps in the style of Rawn citadels took the place of the old roundhouses and palisades disappeared as high thick stoned battlements became a cost effective and secure alternative.
