by P D Ceanneir
The look on Pagan’s face revealed the truth of the comment.
‘I…I…still have the Katávri,’ said the Felwraith, ‘they will aid me.’ He lifted his head and summoned the undead with long, guttural sounding words. Clearly, the language to summon reanimated flesh was different from the tone used to control the spirits.
Pagan grinned his sharp-toothed smile, ‘I have broken the magical barrier around the fortress. Now the Imperial Legionnaires and Ice Trolls come to my call. But the Insane Host will finish you off first.’ He said pointing to the main opening above the stairs.
Beyond the opening, a mad caterwauling of screams and angry rants echoed down to them, drawing closer and getting louder by the second. Furran and Elric moved towards the Blacksword and joined Gunach by his side.
‘This may be the shortest rescue attempt in history,’ murmured Elric as he handed Gunach back his axe and reclaimed his Mara Swords.
‘Trust in the Blacksword,’ whispered Gunach and Elric nodded.
‘Elric Stormstrider,’ hissed the Blacksword who was staring at the Necromancer who, in turn, was glaring back; his face a leer of evil malice and his nose a red mass of pulp that streamed dark blood down his chin.
‘Yes.’
‘The prince had confided in me the code words you seek. It is your name.’
Elric smiled and nodded, ‘Understood. Tell him thanks, but…’ he looked over to the entrance at the top of the stairs because he had to shout over the noise of the fast approaching horde of the insane denizens of Sjardhiem, ‘getting a chance to use the code will be a problem.’
‘Leave that to me,’ said the Blacksword.
The insane Katávri streamed through the opening and fanned out along the stairs. Others took to climbing the walls on all fours with amazing skill and supernatural ease. Most of the horde was burnt due to the damage that the Blacksword meted out on them when he destroyed the coned roof earlier, some to an unrecognisable degree, yet the sheer level of damage to their charred flesh did not pain them. Their dark yellow eyes took in the sight below, but mainly focused on the small group beside the tall black-cloaked figure. They chittered and screeched with hungry enthusiasm.
‘KILL THEM!’ yelled the Necromancer. The Katávri surged forward but the Blacksword held up his hand.
‘HOLD!’ it was only a low whisper but it seemed loud to everyone in that cavern. There was a distinct level of authority to its tone and the Katávri were compelled to obey for a brief moment.
‘The Necromancer no longer has any dominion over you now that your souls are severed from his control. Remember your pain. Remember your suffering all of these years by his hand. Harness your anger and rend justice to his flesh,’ said the Blacksword without any hint of emotion.
‘No…what are you doing?’ Pagan said, obviously flustered at the words.
‘I have given them back their lives,’ hissed the Blacksword.
Up on the stairs, the mass of Katávri were now looked directly at the Felwraith. The silence that filled the cave was eerie
Then they charged forth, running, diving or pouncing upon the long figure of Cornelius Pagan. The Necromancer, even with one arm, fought valiantly, his superior strength showed as he batted groups of the attacking zombies away. He screamed at them with a mixture of fear and rage.
‘Let’s move!’ the Blacksword snapped and the other three broke their eyes from the battle before them and realised that the stairs were now clear of Katávri. They all rushed upwards towards the exit. The Blacksword left last, once the others entered the opening at the top of the stairs he turned to look down at the fight below.
Pagan, alone and reduced in power, was no match for the mass of undead, soon they piled on top of him and began to tear at his flesh. There was an agonising, primal scream issuing from the centre of the mound of flesh, muffled, yet loud enough to echo around the cavern. The spray of blood that erupted and splashed the floor and walls behind meant that the Felwraith’s body had finally burst under the feeding frenzy. A severed leg oozed out of the mass and was grabbed and pulled by various hands before being ripped to shreds. The last thing the Blacksword saw of Pagan was his head as it bobbed to the surface, jawless and covered in blood, before it was borne away out of sight by the tide of walking corpses.
22
‘Arcun!’ screeched Furran as he, Elric and Gunach exited the opening and ran into a carpet of ravens silently watching them. There were hundreds littering the ground or roosting on tables and rafters. None of them seemed to be concerned about the still smouldering roof-collapse several yards away or the cloying smoke that hung in the air. In the distance, the group could all hear the roar of Ice Tors, which was getting closer by the second.
The Blacksword entered the room, turned and waved his hands at the opening. Somewhere inside there was a dull rumble as tons of rubble collapsed into the corridor. He then stalked his way through the ravens, which parted without complaint, to appraise the situation.
The collapsed roof acted as a barrier, but not completely. There was still a gap on the right where huge wooden beams had wedged against the wall. It was small, but large enough for the Katávri to enter. He looked up into the high rafters and then regarded the ravens at his feet.
‘Find a way out,’ he said and the unkindness of ravens rose around him with a ruffle of feathers and cacophony of squawks. They gathered into a dark cloud and swooped together around the room twice before finally thinning in numbers and disappearing through an opening near the gable-end wall at the other side of the room.
‘That’s our way out,’ said Gunach with a grin.
‘Great,’ added Furran, ‘now all we need are wings.’
Gunach turned to Elric, but he had gone. He was running for the gap in the rubble.
‘Elric!’ shouted the dwarf. ‘What is that crazy fool doing?’
‘He’s going after Grendal’s Heart,’ hissed the Blacksword, who was suddenly behind the other two. He had moved so fast that even the dwarf was surprised. The Blacksword wrapped one arm around Furran’s half-naked torso and grabbed Gunach’s harness strap. Then, he leapt into the air. The trio shot upwards at incredible speed, neither Furran nor Gunach had time to scream because a split second later they were set down on a walkway directly before the opening in the roof.
The Blacksword shoved them towards the exit, ‘go!’ he said and then leapt to the next beam and the next, easily crossing one thirty-foot gap to another and was then lost in the billowing smoke of the collapse.
‘But, what about the prince?’ Furran said as he watched the Blacksword depart.
Gunach grabbed him, ‘do you trust me?’ he growled.
Furran looked surprised at the dwarf’s tone, ‘That’s a stupid question. Of course I do.’
‘The trust me when I say that the prince is safe. Now, let’s go.’
23
Elric moved swiftly.
Ice Tors were large, bulky and slow to react to his speed. He dodged them with ease. The Katávri legionnaires were far more nimble, yet his appearance from the smoke startled them briefly and he was able to slip by them skilfully before they had time to react. This gave him extra, precious, seconds.
Sounds reached his ears, scents infused his nose, movements in the air reacted with the hairs on his bare arms and it all added to aid the image that he constructed mentally of the world around him. Fortunately, Elric’s strongest powers were his heightened instinct and second sight, a combination that always pre-warned him of danger and gave him time to react. Even if he had ever used the magical glyphs given to him years ago by the Morgani Witch, they would pale in comparison to the natural senses he had developed over the years.
He actually began to laugh.
Accepting the glyphs from Omivra was a sacrifice he had to make in order to bring him here years later, in this time, in this moment, it was here that his visions brought him within reach of Grendel’s Heart, within reach of the greatest artefact a Marauder Doom could hold.
&nb
sp; Oh, there were more than just sacrifices. There was the realisation that the Prince of the Roguns and his Dark Bani would aid him. Elric was a Marauder Doom and Marauder Dooms did not require aid on their quests, yet Elric, more than anyone else, knew the pull of a powerful Bani when he met one. Havoc’s life events pulled at Elric’s just as much as Elric’s did to the prince in return, but the truth that Elric could see quite clearly was that the indomitable pull of the Dark Bani was far stronger than Elric could foresee, far stronger than his or the prince’s. While Elric could walk away from the future the Blacksword controlled, Havoc was bound, no, enslaved by its dominance.
He dodged a group of three Katávri and somersaulted over a fourth. By the count of his steps, he knew he was close to the feasting hall entrance. Unfortunately, the undead legionaries seemed to realise his intended destination and a dozen had grouped together behind a wall of their tall shields. He extracted his Mara Swords and prepared to make a fight of it. Suddenly, something dropped from above, landing just in front of him. He felt the prickle on the nape of his neck that always told him when a Rawn Master was using the Arts. Something invisible, charged with a great amount of energy and consequently extremely destructive slammed into the Katávri wall of shields and sent them spinning high into the air. The entrance to the hall was clear.
‘Go!’ said the Blacksword, ‘I will hold them off.’
Elric acknowledged with a nod, sprinted into the hall, around the tables, and stopped in front of the marble replica of the Skull Throne. He eased his breathing, calmed his heart within seconds, a trick all Marauder Doom were taught.
He spoke his name, loudly and clearly. If Elric was expecting some form of fanfare, a glow of magical light or an unearthly voice, he was sorely mistaken. There was a soft click and the seat section of the throne popped up about an inch. He reached in and pulled out an object wrapped up in brown gauze. He unwound the covering and felt a glass object, egg shaped, about ten inches in height, etched with numerous scrolling and Ogham lettering. Inside laid the mummified heart of Grendel the Wayfarer.
‘At last brother, I have found thee,’ he whispered. “Brother” was a designation all Marauder Dooms gave to one another.
Outside the feasting hall, Elric could hear the battle that the Katávri and the Blacksword waged. Occasionally, he felt the soft prickle of ice on his neck as the tall being used the Rawn Arts to thin the numbers of undead. He knew he had to be quick.
‘I call on thee, King Grendal and your Bondsmen. Come forth into this life’s plane and aid those that are True of Heart. I call thee to…’ he stopped. There was the echo of dozens of swords being pulled from sheaths behind him. He turned slowly, unsure, yet elated.
That was when he was able to see through his eyes for the very first time.
24
King Grendal and his four-hundred Bondsmen were attired in ancient Hinterland armour, right down to the horned shoulder guards and blade encrusted wrist straps. Grendal was the only one with huge wings sweeping back from his helmet. The group stood in a cloud of white glowing protoplasm. They themselves glowed with an ethereal blue halo around them, but they looked perfectly alive, flesh and blood warriors. This was all so clear to Elric. It was as if the power from these revenants allowed him to see. Even their shining aura revealed the hall in which they stood in very clear detail as if daylight had just broke free of clouds.
‘Hello Brother,’ said Grendal, who was as tall, muscular and handsome as the legends say.
‘My king,’ acknowledged Elric.
‘You called, we answered.’ He pointed towards the glass-encased heart that Elric held. ‘Keep that safe, for it is the only Anchor we have to this world.’
Elric nodded, ‘I will. Ah, there is danger…a fellow warrior needs our aid…’
Grendal held up his hand, ‘we know of him, all in the Halls of the Heroes sing of his deeds. We will gladly help him.’
With that, Grendal turned and raised his sword and roared. His Bondsmen roared with him. They all moved incredibly fast as they flowed out of the hall on top of the low layer of glowing mist like an unstoppable tidal wave. They swept past the Blacksword and crashed into the Katávri, lifting them off their feet and pushing them back with skilful hacks and cuts from their ethereal swords. The Ice Tors stood no chance as Bondsmen butchered them where they stood, but the undead quickly fell back behind shields only to be surrounded and slaughtered in their groups. They left a smear of dismembered bodies twitching on the floor.
The Blacksword watched all of this without emotion. A ring of beheaded Katávri bodies lay at his feet. He only moved when Elric silently joined him by his side.
‘Like I said,’ said Elric with a hint of a smile, ‘if the prince had given me the code to open the throne in the first place, we would not have had to go through the heartache with Pagan.’
The Blacksword just grunted in response. He then pointed a long white finger at the glass-encased heart. ‘Did the spirits tell you to keep that safe?’
‘They did. And it will be.’
‘Good. See that it is.’
Morning was fast approaching as daylight began to seep through the holes in the roof. The Blacksword wobbled on his feet and fell to his knees. Elric was so surprised he reached out a hand to steady him and, even though the Blacksword’s arm was stick thin, it was as strong as iron. His cloak turned to dust and sloughed off him like a snake’s skin. Elric stepped back in shock.
Havoc suddenly breathed in loudly as blood rushed back into his face and the black eyes reverted to their usual green. The wave of dizziness, that always accompanied the metamorphosis, slipped away quickly.
Elric helped the prince to stand and both of them walked towards the tall entrance of Sjardhiem.
‘Your “Change” is quite astounding,’ said Elric.
‘You knew it was me?’
Elric frowned, ‘obviously. I have a good sense of smell.’
‘Strange. The Orrinn on the sword inhibits anyone making any connection between the Blacksword and me.’
‘I know, I witness it first hand with Sir Furran. But you already know that I see things differently from normal people,’ explained Elric as they exited the Castle-mount.
Havoc nodded, ‘had noticed. You’re an extraordinary man, Elric Stormstrider. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.’
‘Nor I you, your highness.’
Something screeched above them. Both men looked up. Havoc grinned and Elric sniffed the air.
‘It’s a bird of prey,’ he said as he sniffed again, ‘a kite…so far north?’
‘It’s Mirryn, my second pair of eyes, as it were. It means the Cybeleion has found us and we are rescued.’
25
Hjornfel two weeks later
Havoc stood alone on the pier as several harbour stewards bustled around him in the crisp early morning air. In the fjord, the quest ship bobbed silently as the tide lapped against her sides.
It had been a long struggle for Captain Danyil to negotiate the narrow inlets and valleys into the mountains, but with Mirryn’s help, they had managed to discover the original entrance into Sjardhiem Valley that was used all those years ago by the Fyrandian Dirigibles.
Everyone was pleased to see them all still alive. When the pall of smoke from the burning coned roof raised high into the morning air, they feared the worst. They too had heard the tales of this mysterious Necromancer and Lord Ness knew of the creature’s name from the stories in the Rawn Sagas.
Furran and Gunach had been discovered first as the Cybeleion hovered over the Castle-mount and they waved their weapons in the air from their position on the roof. A worried Maleene was tending Furran’s wounds by the time Havoc and Elric came on board and even though his wounds were minor she took him to her quarters and refused any visitors, including the prince.
It took two more days for the Cybeleion to exit the mountain interior and drop Elric off on the road towards the Marauder Dooms seat, the Isle of Finnalfjord. It was there, Elric
explained, that he would take the Heart of King Grendal and keep it safe.
Now, after several more welcome days of shore leave, the prince awaited the return of Elric Stormstrider.
As the sun rose above the mountains, a lone rider parted the light snowfall and trotted along the pier. He dismounted and knelt in front of Havoc.
‘You’re no subject of mine, Elric Stormstrider; you have no need to kneel.’
‘Ah, but you see I do. It seems the wise Elders of Finnalfjord have granted you the honorary title of Jütman for aiding me in retrieving the heart.’
‘Is that a lofty title?’ smiled Havoc.
Elric stood up, ‘it is as close to being a Marauder Doom as a civilian can get without being a Marauder Doom. Only three people in history ever held the title and they were all High-kings of the Hinterland.’
Havoc bowed, ‘tell your Elders that I am honoured.’
‘I already said as much. It was the least they could do after getting you involved in my mission for them.’
‘And the Heart of King Grendel?’
‘Safely locked in our strongest vaults.’
‘Never to be used unless in an emergency?’ asked Havoc.’
‘Ah, now. Therein lies the conundrum,’ sighed Elric, ‘seeing as the prophecy says only one of True Heart can summon Grendel and his Bondsmen to this plane, means that only a Marauder Doom has that ability alone. And seeing as a Marauder Doom will likely die a thousand deaths before dishonouring himself by seeking aid, then it becomes a moot point.’
‘You sought their aid,’ the prince pointed out.
‘True…I had to make sure it worked,’ smiled Elric.
Havoc chuckled, ‘so, your whole quest was pointless?’
‘Not really, The Argentium is grateful we discovered the route to Sjardhiem, which they intend to clear out the last of the dead and man within the year. Therefore, they have granted extended trade rights for your people through your father’s ambassadors and they have given me a pardon. Though I hear the High-king disagreed with the pardon, but the Argentium overruled him, much to my amusement. The Marauder Doom Elders must have had a word with them. Their influences in the royal courts are renowned.’
