by P D Ceanneir
The Castle-mount of Sjardhiem impressed Havoc by its sheer size. It nestled against the granite cliff of the Sjard Mountain encased inside a partly dilapidated wall. The main building rose high above the battlements and curved into a series of confusing arches at the roof, though it retained a series of roundhouse levels of which Havoc could only see three from his viewpoint. The towering spires and flying buttresses branching off from the main building spouted a gothic taste mixed with Hinterland simplicity.
Strangely, no snow covered the Mount, just the tops of the outer walls. Again, the feeling of oppression pressed down on him and he sensed an evil watching him.
The feeling of being watched heightened from somewhere behind him. Havoc quickly pulled his hand free of the snow and stood up. The rush back to his mind was instantaneous and slightly dizzying. In a flash, he had his Spit Gun in his hand and pointed at Elric Stormstrider’s head.
‘Ah, damn! You knew I was there,’ Elric grinned.
Havoc frowned. The grin, under any normal circumstances, was friendly and respectful, yet Elric had managed to sneak up on a Rawn Master with only a few feet to spare.
‘Apologies, young prince, but it is a game with Marauder Dooms to touch a Rawn without them detecting us,’ explained Elric.
Havoc, still with the gun levelled at Elric, said, ‘and have any of you accomplished such a difficult task?’
Elric looked down, ‘another six feet and I would have been the first,’ he chuckled.
Havoc holstered the gun. He wanted to change the subject so he hooked a thumb over his shoulder too late to realise that Elric could not see it, and said, ‘Ice Tors four miles east of us.’
Elric nodded and then sniffed, ‘aye, three of them.’ He nodded toward the north, ‘there’s another three up the mountain path.’
‘You can smell them?’
‘Aye and they stink!’
‘Will they come near us?’
Elric shrugged, ‘depends. Ice Tors keep away from humans. We don’t taste nice to them, but they have been known to attack while in packs, like wolves. I just hope there are wolves here.’
‘Why?’
‘Mountain Wolves hate Ice Tors. They have been known to hunt them…and humans too, I suppose.’
‘Well, we just have to hope they find the Tors first.’
10
The morning hike up the mountain path was long and arduous on the legs. The snowfall made it even more difficult and at times so deep that they lost Gunach on three occasions.
‘I think I have a cow bell in my backpack,’ Furran quipped as Elric pulled the dwarf out of another deep snowdrift, ‘ring it before you freeze next time.’
Gunach glowered at Furran, ‘any more remarks about my height and I will ram that Cow Bell up your…’
‘Gunach!’ snapped Havoc, but he also grinned.
‘Sorry, Kervunder, but dwarves and deep snow is a bad combination. Childish comments make it even worse.’
Elric laughed and turned to Furran, ‘words of warning, sir knight, don’t antagonise a dwarf. They are vicious when riled and tend to go for anything within reach…usually the kneecaps.’
Furran and Havoc’s laughter echoed off the mountains. Gunach grunted in response and trudged onwards through the snow, leaving the other three grinning behind him. Eventually the drifts thinned and the path became easier to traverse.
After a while they found a four-foot tall obelisk at the side of the path etched in a long list of Ogham characters.
‘Waystone,’ explained Elric when Furran asked what it was. ‘It’s a marker similar to sign posts back in your homeland. They tell the way to certain places of interest and travellers tend to add to them, purely to expand on any information added already. As a rule, any new Ogham added must be kept short and pertaining to the area.’ He knelt down and brushed his fingers over the surface of the stone, tracing the inscribed cuts of Ogham with the tips.
‘Hmmmm…’ he said as he reached the bottom of the writing.
‘What?’ Havoc asked.
‘Well, apart from the usual pointers that the stone describes, there is an addition at the bottom by Thallic the Steadfast and his intrepid band of trappers that traipsed this ways over a decade ago. They found the path to Sjardhiem without knowing what it was and turned back.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the bridge over the Sjard Gorge is down.’
11
A gorge with a depth of a hundred feet or more into inky blackness and a width of half that would be a difficult thing to bridge, yet the Sjard Bridge was a remarkable feat of engineering many centuries ago. Years of bad winters had taken their toll on the crumbling mortar and winter storms had tossed the bricks into the gorge below. Now all that remained were slightly arched sections of the bridge at both ends. Obviously, the trees on either side of the gorge caused part of the bridges destruction. Their encroaching root work hung in twisted clumps under the bridge and their dead branches stretched over the gap like reaching claws of some aged and gnarled creature.
‘Gods, that’s that plan buggered!’ Furran groaned, ‘is there any other way across?’
‘None,’ informed Elric.
Havoc had ventured out onto the section at their end. He was only able to walk about ten feet onto the bridge before slabs and loose masonry stated to fall away underfoot. He backed up and placed his hand on the bridge parapet and that shook as he lent on it.
‘The rest is going to fall with the next strong gust,’ he said.
Elric was pacing up and down behind him. He was craning his neck to listen to something. ‘Are there any trees on the other side?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Havoc, ‘they look dead, though.’
Elric nodded. He kicked and scuffed the ground until his boot struck a small rock. He picked it up, hefted it with both hands above his head, and threw it over the gorge. It was a mighty throw. The rock struck the edge of the other bridge section and then it tumbled into the gorge.
‘Right, fine. Master Gunach, could I borrow your axe a moment?’
Gunach looked at Havoc who nodded and then he handed his tall dwarven double-headed axe towards Elric. ‘It is the legacy axe of my forefathers, please be careful with it.’
‘I will treat it as if it was my own,’ said Elric with a bow and a hand over his heart.
Elric took the axe, which looked smaller against his huge girth and walked some distance away before turning. ‘Would you get out of the way, please young prince?’ Havoc did so and as the prince walked over to Furran and the Gunach he heard the Marauder Doom says, ‘and could you catch the axe when I’m finished with it? There’s a good fellow.’
‘Eh?’ said Gunach a little alarmed.
Elric went into a spring with long loping strides as he sprinted towards the edge of the gorge. He ran at an angle, missing the broken section of the bridge and leapt from the edge with a loud grunt. He sailed high over empty space and Havoc felt his heart thump in his chest when he realised the Hinterlander was not going to make the full distance. Nevertheless, he should have realised that this enigmatic man was full of surprises. Elric raised the axe over his head and used the half-moon curve of the blade to hook one of the grey branches of the overhanging trees which grew from the other side. He used the momentum to swing around the branch three times before letting go just as the fourth swing brought him to the apex he needed to give him some more lift. He flew over the last few remaining feet and landed on the other side with barely a few feet to spare at the edge. He tucked his legs under himself and rolled to break the speed of his fall.
He jumped to his feet, spread his arms, and bowed.
Havoc and Furran actually cheered and clapped, but Gunach yelled and pointed at his axe, which was now falling from the branch and into the gorge. Quickly, Havoc reached out his hand and summoned the Wind Element to grasp the falling weapon. It hovered over a cushion of hardened air and then spun towards them. The prince grabbed the shaft as it flew past him and handed it to a
grateful Gunach.
‘Never trust a Marauder Doom,’ the dwarf mumbled.
‘That’s a change from yesterday,’ noted Furran, ‘he was praising him, then.’
Gunach mumbled as he walked to the spot where Elric began his run.
‘Gunach, what are you doing?’ Havoc asked.
‘I’m not going to be outdone by a human, Kervunder!’ he said.
‘I don’t think…’
Too late. Gunach started his run. His legs may have been short but they were powerful. In a few short steps, he broke into a lumbering sprint as he headed for the broken bridge.
‘I can’t watch,’ said Furran covering his eyes with his hand.
Gunach leapt from the broken bridge and flew across the opening in a slightly less athletic way than Elric but the distance to the other side shortened, yet he was dropping faster and was in danger of missing the opposite bridge section if he had not rammed his axe into the broken brickwork of the bridge. He hung there for a few seconds before Elric grasped the axe and hauled him up.
‘Thank you,’ said Gunach panting heavily.
‘Don’t mention it. Good axe.’
‘Hmmm.’
Elric chuckled and then sniffed the air. His face became serious and he placed his right hand on one of his Mara hilts.
‘What is it? Ice Tors?’ asked Gunach looking around.
‘Worse,’ said Elric and then shouted over to Havoc, ‘we are not alone!’
12
‘Is the little shit still alive?’ asked Furran still with his hand over his eyes. Havoc laughed and pulled his friend’s hand down.
‘You should have more faith in Dwarves, Furran.’
‘Oh, I do, Boss, but the bugger did not give me time to place betting odds.’
Elric was shouting at them. Havoc walked towards the bridge to listen when an arrow struck the ground where he had stood. Furran spun around, a Spit Gun in each hand. Havoc extracted SinDex and scanned the rocky bluffs to the rear of the bridge.
Something moved out from behind some rocks to their left.
‘Gods! What is that?’ said Furran.
During his years in the Academy of Rawn Arts, Havoc had learnt about many different countries and cultures. His lessons on the Fyrandian Empire of Xirmal, called the Imperial Realm, were vague, but he knew enough to recognise an Imperial Legionnaire when he saw one. He was short, at about five and a half feet tall, with high cheekbones that narrowed his eyes to dark slits. He wore the brass chest plate of Cohort Unit, leather skirt and sandals. Steel greaves covered his shins, which also protected his knees and he wore a short-sword at his hip.
What surprised Havoc the most was the fact that their attacker was skin and bone. His yellow skin stretched over gristle and sinew. The topknot of his once dark hair now hung in straggly strands, tinged with grey, and caked in filth.
There is something not right here, said the Blacksword.
The creature took another arrow and notched his bow. He seemed to breathe through dry lungs making a rasping, wheezing noise as it pulled back on the short composite bow.
Furran shot first. He put two black wolfram bolts into the legionnaire’s chest. The thing flinched and looked down in mock surprise at the two arrows protruding from its chest. Then his loosed his arrow.
Havoc waved a hand and the shaft turned to dust a few feet from Furran’s chest. Alarmingly, more of its colleagues appeared beside him and on the other rocky outcrops to Havoc and Furran’s right. Most of them armed with bows, some with sword and rectangle Pavise shields.
‘Oh shit!’ cursed Furran.
Seven arrows loosed in their direction. Havoc concentrated on the Rawn Arts and the missiles disintegrated into a cloud of powder. Furran shot at the attackers and, being an excellent marksman, was scoring direct hits as the black bolts punched through the legionaries tarnished chest armour, yet the creatures barely flinched as the sharp arrows struck them.
The original antagonist leapt from his place on the rocks and landed lightly with barely a sound. He notched another arrow and released. Havoc stood in its way and deflected the shaft with his sword blade. The soldier walked forward, notching arrows and firing as he did so, the prince swatted all of them away.
Suddenly, something struck the things head. A wolfram bolt punched through its face and tore a huge chunk of its skull at the rear when it exited, the legionnaire collapsed into a heap. From the angle of the shots direction, it was clearly not Furran who fired it. Havoc turned and saw Elric aiming his Spit Gun.
‘They are dead things; you have to aim for the head. It’s the only way to kill them!’ shouted the Marauder Doom.
‘Great!’ said Furran who now took down several of the soldiers with headshots, ‘if you have figured out a way of escaping this, Boss, then now would be a good time rather than later. I’m not picky.’
Havoc turned to his friend, grabbed the knight around the waist tightly, said, ‘hold on,’ and then leapt into the air at astonishing speed.
Using the Wind Element was difficult due to its energy dispersal. Any Rawn Master would tell you that most elements have energy “clumped” together in a solid form, including Water and to a certain extent, Fire. However, Wind Energy spreads itself over great distances and the knack to using it was to draw the energy together. This was why using the third element is easier outdoors than inside a closed room.
Havoc used a hardened area of air to float them over the gorge and give him lift. He also used separate bursts of gale-force gusts to push them into the direction he wanted. To Furran, screaming louder than the screech of the wind, the journey lasted a few seconds and they touched down with barely a jolt to their feet on the other side of the gorge.
‘Warn me when you are going to do that again,’ he said to the prince through gasping breaths.
Havoc chuckled, ‘sorry, did not have time to explain the plan. I felt a sense of urgency was required.’ He turned to Gunach and Elric who were both eyeing him with, what could only be described as, respectful awe.
‘Dead things, Elric. You failed to mention them on our journey here!’ Havoc frowned disapprovingly.
‘Apologies, my prince. Katávri are common in the mountains. We must move on.’ Elric set off at a fast jog as he took the path.
‘Katávri?’ asked Furran.
‘Corpse Walkers in the ancient Yeathani tongue,’ shouted Elric over his shoulder.
‘Zombies,’ Furran spat.
‘Correct.’
‘Is there anything else you need to tell us?’ said Havoc.
Elric, quick as a blur, unsheathed both of his Mara swords as he rounded the next bend. ‘Yes, there are more.’
13
The Castle-mount of Sjardhiem rose up in front of them out of the ice mist. The huge structure of towering buttresses and ribbed arches along the main hall’s roofline looked like the cavernous mouth of a huge monster awaiting its unsuspecting prey. To its front lay the ruined walls and dilapidated watchtowers that once looked over a majestic courtyard of rocky protrusions amidst grass and trees. Now a thin powder of snow covered everything and the trees were withered and grey. Garrison buildings made from wood and steep-angled slate roofs lay in ruins as they flanked the main road to the hundred foot high entrance of the Castle-mount. From within these ruins came the rest of the reanimated dead imperial soldiers. They raced out of their hovels fully armed and hissing malice at the new arrivals.
Gunach roared an unrecognisable battle cry in his guttural dwarfish and then raced forward swinging his axe into the group of Katávri directly to his front. They fell like sundried crop under a scythe. His axe split their bodies asunder with each powerful stroke.
‘What have we here?’ he roared, ‘things that fight with anger, but are empty dry husks!’
Furran emptied his Spit Gun bolts into two more that sprang up on his right and quickly reloaded with fresh magazines, ‘Arcun! There are dozens of them!’ he said as he spun to take down more that appeared behind them.
&nb
sp; ‘Then we shall even the numbers,’ grinned Elric, ‘care to join me?’ he asked Havoc.
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
Let me out! Screamed the Blacksword and the prince forcibly repressed his alter ego. True, the Blacksword would make short work of the fight, but Havoc wanted to keep him hidden for now. More and more about this mission filled him with anxiety and the Blacksword was the only safe bet he had for a safe escape.
The Rawn Master and the Marauder Doom raced into the mass of Katávri. The prince dodged left as a lunge from a spear point missed his chest by inches and he swung SinDex upward in a full arm arc to carve through his attackers head. He brought his sword back around to allow the black-blade to cleave open the chest of another before spinning around on his heel to decapitate his foe.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Elric moving through his assailants like an unstoppable flood. The warrior was very nimble and quick on his feet for such a big man. His movements precise and the Mara swords sliced, pierced and hacked with deadly exactitude. His technical ability showed through his skill. After each kill, he moved himself quickly to meet the next attack, dancing through the shorter zombies as they flailed their swords at him and missed.
‘Ah, the joy of battle!’ shouted Elric as he cut off the sword-baring arm of a skinny legionnaire to his right and kicked him backwards so Havoc could slice open the top of its skull with a short flick of the Sword that Rules before blocking another spear aimed at his legs.
‘I miss the days of endless slaughter…’ he flipped his sword in his right arm and stepped backwards so the blade impaled a Cohort’s chest and then jerked his head back to head-butt the thing to the ground, ‘…I and my brothers in the Marauder Doom could tell a tale or two about the glory days.’ He stepped away from a shield that tried to block his sword, but Elric knocked the bottom of the shield with a hard dunt of his sword and the legionnaire stumbled forward as his balance was forcibly shifted to his front. Elric took its head off with his next sweep and then returned to drive his other blade shaft into the head of the assailant he had knocked to the ground with the head-butt.
