Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy)

by Jefferson Cram

  Realizing that he was still quite drowsy, he made his way back to bed. The nightmare mostly forgotten, he drifted off and woke late.

  On the desk, the spilled ink had formed into the twin spots of blackness of those nightmare eyes.

  Chapter 9

  In the absolute darkness of the ruined tower’s basement, Hade felt about, hoping to get a sense of the room. It must have been some sort of root cellar, as the floor was cool earth, and the ceiling was only four feet above. He could crouch, but for the moment he stayed on his knees.

  He lay down his bow, unhooked his scabbard from his belt, and slung his quiver from his back, laying the weapons within easy reach. Next, he began to feel about on his hands and knees, taking it slow; he didn’t want to fall into a hole or bumble into a wall and cry out. No doubt the goblins were crawling through the woods outside, hungry for man flesh.

  After several minutes, he was satisfied that he was alone in the small chamber, as he found no signs of an animal’s nest. All he could feel were dirt, stones, and some rotted wood that may have been crates of some kind. He briefly contemplated trying to light a fire with the wood by striking a stone with an arrowhead, but quickly discounted the idea.

  Not only would it be exceptionally hard for him to find the right kind of stone in the dark, but the wood probably wouldn’t light.

  Even if it did, the smell of smoke drifting up through the trapdoor would surely alert the goblins to his presence. He was forced to content himself with curling up among some of the broken crates, shivering in the cold. It didn’t help that his clothes were damp, but he supposed he should be thankful that he’d found a place that was out of the wind and rain, and offered the best chance of escaping detection.

  Eventually, what little adrenaline he’d been running on faded and exhaustion overtook him. He slept fitfully for a few hours, starting awake here and there, alerted by a furtive noise, a crack of twig, or the rumble of thunder. Just before dawn he fell into a more restful sleep that was unbroken for more than an hour.

  When he woke the last time, lying on his back, he was completely disoriented and gripped with fear. He lay in the darkness, heart thumping in his chest while he tried to sort his confused thoughts. With his other senses returning, he gradually became aware of his surroundings and remembered.

  The previous day’s events came storming back into his mind and he blew out a harsh sigh. Goblins. The giant. Everyone dead or lost. For a short time, despair overtook him.

  He was incredibly tired, sore, and heartsick. It was all so dreadful that it threatened to paralyze him. The storm soon subsided, though, as Orin Hade was not one for bouts of self-pity.

  He rolled to his side and immediately regretted it. His joints screamed in protest, and the dull flame flickering in his left arm burst into an inferno. He let out an involuntary groan. Inwardly he cursed at the noise, but it couldn’t be helped. He sagged onto his back once more and blew out a low hiss.

  His body definitely wasn’t what it had been when he’d first joined the army. Years of fighting, wounds, and constant activity had begun to wear on his frame. He was frequently forced to remind himself to take things slower, to take on tasks that he’d normally have leapt blindly into with a bit more of a measured approach.

  He began to flex his fingers and arms, while at the same time rolling his ankles. After a few moments of popping and cracking, the complaining in his joints dulled to a weak protest. He began to move his legs and welcomed the slow return of warmth to his body.

  This time, as he rolled to his hands and knees, the pain was less immediate. Frowning at his infirmity, he crept toward the trapdoor, now a square of soft light in the gloom. As he reached the area where he’d dropped his weapons, he stopped and held his breath, listening.

  The rain had stopped. He could hear sounds of the forest changing shifts, from nocturnal duties to the work of the day. He strained, but could hear nothing that belied the presence of goblins nearby. He gave himself another good two minutes before he collected his sword, stomach rumbling. He slowly drew the blade from its scabbard and then moved to crouch below the opening.

  Taking a breath, he rose to his full height. The tower ruin was cloaked in gray light, the stones and rubble showing no signs of having been disturbed in the night. He could see through the broken opening in the wall, to the mist-shrouded forest beyond.

  Nothing moved in the gray. A few saplings stood like black bones spreading into scorched skeletal fingers as they rose, but no figures moved through the stands. Again, he strained to hear anything that would tell him that goblins (or worse) were still in the vicinity.

  Nothing. The normal sounds of the forest in spring comprised the total of his detection.

  He eased himself out of the basement, and crept forward over the moss-covered cobbles to peer out through the gap. His fingers tightened around the grip of his sword, and his breath came quickly. If there was a goblin or two waiting for him, he’d go down in a lake of black blood.

  It was silly, of course. If any of the goblin horde had suspected that he was hiding in the ruin, they’d have rooted him out and gnawed on his flesh. Still, a warrior’s training was not an easy thing to dismiss.

  Eventually he’d made a full circuit of the tower, and, having found nothing other than signs that several goblins had stopped by in the night, he returned to retrieve his bow and arrows. Once he’d donned and adjusted all of his weaponry, he sat on the ruined stair and thought about his way forward.

  He figured that his best course was to make for the trail, and head back to the ‘Folly. It seemed, as best that he could reckon, that the goblins were making in the same general direction, which did nothing for his anxiety. If the horde came upon the small outpost with no warning, the men of the fort and the folk in its small village were as good as dead.

  There was a possibility that the savages would continue past the fortification, but it would be due to pure luck, and after the day he’d just had, Hade wasn’t keen on trusting to such a fickle force.

  The only other option would be to strike for elven lands to the north. Their Realm was many leagues, but rumor had it that they ranged into human lands with impunity; their magic made them nearly invisible to the eyes of men.

  If he did meet a band of elves, he might be shot on sight, but then again, he might be able to take advantage of the tenuous truce that existed between the two kingdoms and, if not gain immediate support against the goblins, perhaps use some of their magic to help get word to the king. It was the longest of shots, but some part of him entertained the idea.

  In the end, his loyalty to the men and women of Kelleran’s Folly won out. He couldn’t, in good conscience turn his back without knowing what had befallen them. Perhaps he wouldn’t be too late.

  He headed right out of the tower’s gaping hole, striking in a generally northward direction. He’d left the path last night to reach the ruin, hoping it was far enough out of the way that the goblins wouldn’t even bother with it. He knew this area quite well, having ranged it for years.

  As he drew closer to the path, the enormity of the goblin army became more apparent. The underbrush became trampled more and more, with hundreds, and then thousands of booted and bare footprints stamped into the mud. Saplings were bent over and here and there trees had chunks hacked out of their bark, as if in gleeful, gratuitous violence.

  He nearly missed the trail; so much of the brush to either side had been driven into the mud. Still, once he found it he picked up his pace. The sun was fully up and his tired body had loosened-up considerably. Even his arrow wound throbbed less urgently than normal. He’d always had a hearty constitution.

  He thought of what he’d do when he reached the fort, but it all seemed fruitless at this point. There was no way to know exactly what had happened, but as time went on and the general bulk of the horde seemed to follow the path, his heart sank lower. There was no doubt the beasts had made for the ‘Folly.

  He broke into a loping jog as he neared t
he final slope that would lead to the valley in which the fort had been built. He thought he smelled smoke, and now and again the weak breeze carried what could have been roars of glee and shouts of rage.

  He came to the lip of the ravine and stopped cold. Below was a scene out of his worst fears. Smoke roiled up from the burning wall of the fort. Green-skinned forms clad in rags swarmed through the gaps in the flames, slaughtering anyone in their way. A token defense was firing from the watchtowers mounted at the four corners of the wall, but it was for naught. The village itself lay in ruin.

  Hade had never before witnessed nor heard of a goblin force of such size. There had to be ten thousand or more of the beasts down there, with larger, more twisted forms sprinkled throughout the throng. He saw the giant, which gave his stomach a lurch, before he saw the hulking forms of several more.

  Screams of the townsfolk were intermittently drifting up. Hade’s tortured heart wanted to rush to their defense, while his mind knew there was no way he could help them alone. Hopelessness and shock held him in place.

  He was nearly set upon by the goblin scouts before he’d even sensed their presence. His mind reeled as two greenskins flanked him from behind, shocked that the savages had even thought to post a rear guard. Just the same, his sword flashed free of its sheath and he immediately dropped into battle-readiness.

  The slavering monsters came at him as he shifted so as to try and keep them from coming at him from both sides. They grinned through jagged teeth as they waved their notched blades in slow circles. Stopping just out of reach, they feinted and jabbed at him, while jeering in their crude tongue.

  Hade was pressed. Behind him the trail descended sharply, and the goblins cut off any chance of withdrawal. He decided to see just how cunning the bastards really were.

  He slipped in the mud. It was just a slight jerk, but he lowered his blade in order to balance and the goblin to his left laughed as it came in for a killing blow. Having braced on a rock, Hade was able to pivot past the clumsy strike, reverse grip on his blade, and plunge it with a backward stroke through the goblin’s torso.

  Its yellow eyes widened in surprise as Hade used its momentum to heave it behind him and down the slope where it bounced and crumpled like a rag doll.

  The other monster simply stared as its stupid grin faltered. Obviously the quick and easy kill it had been envisioning was going to be neither quick nor easy. It began to second-guess its course of action.

  Hade let the gears turn, however slowly, in the beast’s mind. He needed a chance to recover and the thing’s disbelief allowed him to situate in a more stable spot and get his blade in a better defensive position. It was then that he noticed the horn dangling from its belt.

  A bitter rage shone in his green eyes as he thought of the foul creature sullying the sergeant’s prized possession.

  Something in his countenance struck the goblin, and it thought better of engaging this human. It slipped only slightly in the mud as it turn to run, dropping its crude axe. Hade smiled, stabbed his blade into the ground, and hauled out his longbow.

  He nocked and drew, blowing a long breath through his moustache. The thing was trying to zigzag through the muck, but was really only stumbling from fear. As it finally had the thought to grip the horn at its waist, hoping to warn the horde, Hade loosed.

  The arrow sunk home in the goblin’s black heart, killing it instantly. It dropped sharply to the mud and twitched comically.

  Hade was not ashamed of the grim satisfaction he took as he strode forward to retrieve the ram’s horn. He had to roll the still-twitching corpse onto its back to reach it, and it was then that he noticed the strange symbol for the first time.

  Emblazoned upon its ragged tunic was a black rune, with green trim. It was exceptional work for a goblin, and Hade guessed that it had been sewn by finer hands. It resembled a stylized skull with horns and wicked fangs. It immediately engendered a feeling of unreasoned dread in the man.

  Why was this goblin wearing such a patch? Come to think of it, he must have seen it on the others he’d fought. Flashes of memory were jumping forward in his mind.

  Yes, there had been others with this symbol sewn into their rags. A cold feeling spread into the pit of his stomach.

  No one had heard of the disparate goblin tribes gathering under any uniformity. Even within the individual tribes themselves, rarely was such iconography used. If someone, or something, had found a way to unify the unwashed masses of blackbloods into a driven force, as seemed evident by the past day’s events, then the Realm of Men was in great peril.

  Tying the horn off to his belt, he started away, hoping to skirt the rim of the valley to link up with a trail that would lead him toward elven lands. The nation of the fey folk held the closest military outpost, a fact that often rankled the human army, but it was Hade’s best shot at making a difference.

  He stopped, and as an afterthought, went back to the corpse. He took the crude knife from its belt and cut a swath out of its tunic which contained the symbol. He wadded it up and stuffed it down the neck of his tunic and slid the blade through his belt. His own knife he’d left in the eye socket of some goblin during the previous night. He grinned at the memory.

  He watched the sacking of Kelleran’s Folly as he walked the lip of the ravine, wary of any more goblin scouts. His spirit felt crushed as surely as the wall of the fort, but his duty kept him putting one foot in front of the other.

  By noon, the fort had been fully engulfed, and the slaughter had ended. The looting of the fort’s stores was nearly complete, and so the main structure itself had been put to the torch.

  Hade was forced to turn away and put his back to the valley. Part of him entertained the idea that some of the people of the ‘Folly had escaped, made their way west. It was a pleasant fiction. He set his jaw, and plunged deeper into the forest, keeping the looming Holdwalls to his right.

  Traveling to the nearest town would take days, and he doubted he could outpace the horde enough to make a difference. Even though he thought it might be a flight of fancy, he held out hope that the elves could help.

  While the kingdom was far to the north, it was said they could travel with magic, and there were always reports by trappers and hermits that spoke of Fair Folk in the woods that hugged the mountains.

  Hade nearly laughed at the absurdity of what he was about to attempt. His only hope was that he’d meet an elf who was willing to talk, rather than shoot first and ask questions later.

  Chapter 10

  Deep beneath the Temple of the Sacred Scroll, past the wine cellar and the crypts, far beyond where almost any member of the order had been, stood the Vault of Secrets. It had never been opened since it was constructed, back in the mists of time.

  It had only been visited by the highest ranking members of the temple, and at one point, the headmaster himself had brought Dramus before the door to translate its inscription.

  Made of an incredibly hard, dark metal, it was impervious to any form of assault known to man. It was said to hold the most dangerous of knowledge that only the king himself could order uncovered. There was a bizarre panel set in the wall next to the massive portal, one with glowing buttons with unknown symbols upon them.

  When Dramus had seen the door, his heart had skipped a beat. He’d never, in all his life at the temple, even known of this place. It was so strange, and yet exciting to the young page. As he’d been drawn closer, the strange symbols on the door itself began to speak to him though his gift.

  Graven into the upper portion was a simple inscription.

  AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY!

  CAPTAIN’S KEYCODE REQUIRED FOR ENTRY.

  Dramus had wondered about which captain it referred to, but then his gaze drifted to the various symbols that adorned the lower section. There was a blocky glyph that denoted the reader should exercise caution. Another announced the presence of an alarm of some sort.

  Two symbols scared the young page more than any other. One was the yellow circle w
ith the black flower inside, which he knew meant that one should be worried about radiation. His brain was still working on what that meant, exactly, but he knew it would come to him.

  The second symbol was a variation on the first, with three circles formed by gnarled arms that arched out from the center on a field of orange. This denoted another hazard that Dramus’s mind equated with virulent disease. The knowledge had caused him to shudder.

  Satisfied, the headmaster had lead him away, but not before Dramus had seen the final symbol which rested at the bottom of the door: a circular orb with seemingly random striations through it. His gift told him it represented a place, called Earth. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he had dreamed of alien cities and metal carts that used no horses ever since.

  That had been a month ago.

  On this day, another figure found its way down through the bowels of the temple and to the Vault door.

  Brother Erick had no idea what had brought him through the twisting passages deeper into the dark. Even more of a concern for him was that fact that he hadn’t needed a torch to see once he’d descended below the lit halls. He told himself that there was a light source he wasn’t aware of, and that it was his sickness that muddled his perception.

  A few weeks ago, he’d been stricken with a fever and bedridden for days. The illness had come upon him with a vengeance, and while the physical ailments were uncomfortable to be sure, it was the nightmares that lingered.

  He continued to have horrible dreams about a pale man in who constantly jeered and cajoled him, showing him horrors unimaginable. He saw blasted landscapes and tortured bodies limned in flame. He saw armies of the dead descending from a full moon to sweep clear the cities of men.

  The man in his dreams warned him that an apocalypse was coming, and that if Erick didn’t act, the rivers of blood would be on his hands.

  “You think you’re safe here among your books and papers?” the specter had hissed.