Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy)

by Jefferson Cram

  The burly barkeep, slathered in black blood up to his elbows, let the head of his axe drop to the ground as he regarded the elves. The handful of men around him seemed to be waiting to follow his lead as the two groups unconsciously formed opposite ranks. After a moment, he sniffed and scratched at his beard, leaving a smudge of goo.

  “Whelp, don’t I feel the fool,” he grunted. He held out his hand to the princess, who wiped an errant hair from her face before gladly accepting the man’s offer.

  “We all have our moments,” she started, before the budding scene of reconciliation was interrupted by a blood curdling scream from behind, to the east. Everyone turned as one, weapons coming up.

  A woman ran into the street from an alley. Her nightgown was smeared with blood - red blood - and she hugged herself as she ran.

  Men and elves broke to meet her, when two lanky trolls, one still holding the limp form of a villager in its savage claws, loped into view behind her. They splintered the corners of the surrounding buildings with their massive shoulders, clearing the alley and straightening to their full eight foot height. They stopped and faced the group as the woman ran past, heading for the inn.

  Hade barked at the innkeeper, “Get everyone into the tavern, and bar the door! Tables, chairs, I don’t care. Just get it secure!”

  The portly man didn’t wait to be told twice. He nodded to his companions and they jogged toward the Whetstone.

  The elves formed up, while the troll with the captive casually reached down and bit off the person’s head with a wet crunch. Hade’s stomach heaved as it jawed the skull while the body twitched. He thanked the stars the hostage had been unconscious or dead beforehand.

  Ethelrynne was at his side, “This won’t be as easy as the goblins.”

  The soldier looked at her incredulously, “That was EASY?”

  She smirked, but her eyes remained on the beasts. The one on the right had discarded its snack, and began to flex it long talons. The other was licking its lips with a black tongue. Still, they began to advance warily, beady eyes on the elves.

  The princess made a clicking noise with her tongue, and the elves sprang into action. Three of the rangers held back and drew bows along with Ethelrynne, while Chazmyr took three with him into melee range. The trolls bellowed their approval and stomped to meet them.

  Hade was left unsure of where to be, but he quickly ran at the beasts, sure that his marksmanship was not as good as the others’.

  He moved up to engage the head-eater, and found himself immediately pressed. It had batted aside Sprig, given Brendle a savage rake across the chest which sent the elf staggering back with rents in his woodweave. It lunged toward the soldier with mouth agape. The sight nearly paralyzed him.

  At the last second, fletching appeared in one of the creature’s eyes and, as if a switch had been turned on inside him, Hade rammed his longsword up through the thing’s jaw and into its brain. Its momentum carried it into him and they tumbled to the soaked earth.

  Chazmyr and his men had the second one surrounded by that point, dodging its wicked claws while darting in to score hits with their curved blades. Despite their obvious advantage, they were making little headway.

  The thing’s rubbery flesh seemed to take hit after hit with nary a mark to show for it. Any gashes that did open in the hide merely seeped a gooey ichor before sealing again.

  Arrows flew over the elves’ heads and sank into troll flesh. It stumbled and went to one knee with a gurgle. The rangers hacked at it while it feebly tried to wave them off with its lanky arms. Eventually they were chopping at its corpse to ensure it was dead.

  Sprig was helping Brendle to his feet while Hade wriggled his way free of the stinky prison.

  “I’m all right,” he breathed, as Chazmyr offered him an arm and pulled him to his feet. He looked at Ethelrynne as she joined them, shaking his head.

  “You certainly made it look easy,” he said. She shrugged.

  “Never fought a troll at this range before. Thought they’d be tougher.”

  Her men laughed. Even Brendle joined in, his armor having taken the brunt of the troll’s blow.

  Sprig’s laughter turned to a choke as blood erupted from his mouth. The others turned in shock and horror as they saw the four points of a troll claw bursting through the front of his armor. He was lifted into the air in agonizing slowness as the head-eater troll, still sporting the fletching of Ethelrynne’s arrow in its eye, rose to its feet.

  Behind it, the other troll pulled itself upright, its hacked flesh mending before their eyes. The group stood, mesmerized by the gruesome death of their comrade. Brendle was directly in front of the other troll, and turned to bring his blade to bear, but the thing batted it aside with a laugh.

  The elf looked up at his doom. He could hear the shouts of his friends but he knew they’d be too late to save him. His vision became hyper-acute, noting the strange, almost fish-like quality of the troll’s hide, the gleam in its black eyes, the sun blazing over its shoulder.

  As he watched, the light became impossibly bright and he thought he was hallucinating in the seconds before death. As if underwater, he slowly raised his arm to block out the stabbing light.

  Astoundingly, the troll’s flesh burst into flames.

  The group staggered back as the thing was completely immolated. Its companion shrieked in chorus with its death wail, and leapt to the side. Pandemonium reigned in the square.

  The flaming troll jerked and flailed violently, trying to put out the flames with no avail. Hade rubbernecked, trying to find the source of the fire.

  He finally noticed a man striding down the road, from the opposite direction they’d come the night before. He held his hand high and forward, toward the engulfed monster.

  The elves set to the second troll, hacking and chopping through its feeble attempts to defend itself. The princess turned and joined Hade in studying the new arrival.

  He was a human of roughly 60 years, if his wrinkles and silver hair were any indication. He wore earth-colored clothing; a shirt of brown, a green vest, deerskin breeches, and dark leather boots. A green cloak hung from his shoulders, and in his trailing hand he held a wooden cane that lessened his limp. From his eyes blazed blue fire.

  As they watched, he moved his hand slightly, and fire leapt from the burnt corpse of the first troll to the other, sending the elves scattering. The second troll writhed as gooey flesh sloughed off its bones. In seconds it was still.

  The elves regarded him warily as he approached. He cut his outstretched arm tightly to the left and, as he did so, the flames evaporated. Only roiling black smoke remained.

  “Wizard,” said Hade to the man, as Ethelrynne fingered her bow.

  The man nodded, his blue eyes dimming to mere brilliance.

  “Indeed. I’m Osric Glenshadow, Wizard of the Realm, trained in the Arcane by the lord mages of Freehold.”

  His voice was a rich baritone, and seemed incongruous with his slight frame. While his introduction impressed Hade, the others kept their grim expressions.

  Hade coughed before remembering himself, “May I present Her Majesty, Ethelrynne Rivenbow, princess of the elves, and her retinue.”

  Osric bowed graciously. If he was surprised to see elves in Ormery, he didn’t show it. Ethelrynne, cutting a figure of visceral beauty with her blood-matted hair, spattered armor and gore-speckled face, nodded in return.

  “I’m Orin Hade, footman in the king’s army,” Hade added lamely.

  As other introductions were made, Ethelrynne knelt beside the still form of her ranger, Sprig.

  Tears welled in her violet eyes as she closed the lids of his verdant ones. His face was still, showing no signs of the agony and terror of his last moments. She, of course, couldn’t forget.

  Ethelrynne had never lost a man in combat, and it ripped a hole in her heart that took her breath for several moments. She choked back a sob, remembering her other rangers, men that still looked to her as their leader, their princess.
She felt an arm on her shoulder and looked up at the bloody bearded face of the human soldier.

  Hade only nodded to her. He understood all too well what she was going through. The understanding was plain in his eyes, and Ethelrynne almost sobbed at its earnestness. Instead, she stood and embraced the man, not in hopes of support, but in thanks. She didn’t quite trust her voice.

  The others looked on in quiet accord. Some might have balked at the sight of an elf maid, let alone the princess, embracing a human. None were present. Osric stepped forward as they separated, clearing his throat.

  “I’m filled with sorrow that I hadn’t arrived earlier, Princess,” his eyes were kind and his brow creased with regret.

  “I’d been traveling to Ormery, collecting herbs for my medicines, when I heard the screams.”

  He shrugged apologetically, “I’m afraid I’m just not as fast as I used to be.”

  Ethelrynne reached out and grasped the man’s shoulder, eliciting a surprised look from the wizard. She nodded to him, a single tear blazing a path through the grime on her cheek.

  “You saved the rest of us, good sir,” she said, her voice only slightly wavering.

  She cleared her throat, “I’m glad to meet you, Osric Glenshadow.”

  That day went on for what seemed like forever. There were dead to bury, monsters to burn, and families to be accounted for. Luckily, most of the buildings in town had survived the attack unscathed. The populace, unfortunately, couldn’t say the same.

  Fifteen men and teenage boys had been slain defending Ormery, and it was a grim, sorrowful job to lay them to rest. The princess made the surprising choice to have Sprig buried among the villagers, a decision that gave them no small measure of pride.

  The people had all thanked the elves profusely after the battle, and welcomed the warrior’s interment with as much grace as they could muster.

  Osric lent his considerable healing skills to the wounded, and even managed to save the woman who’d been chased by the trolls. For some reason, that bolstered Hade’s spirits, in spite of the dread he felt.

  The rangers scouted the surrounding woods, finding no more trace of goblin forces. It seemed that they had indeed been a raiding party, sent to scout, pillage, and burn. They were probably to grab all the supplies they could, burn the rest, and murder as many as they could.

  In all there had been the two trolls, and twenty-five goblin warriors. All of them bore the strange symbol that Hade had torn from tunic of that one beast. It became the center point of his argument for the people to leave the village.

  Night had fallen, and nearly everyone in town was crammed into the common room of the Whetstone Inn. There were low conversations happening all over, creating a mild din that Osric, Hade, Ethelrynne, and the innkeeper, (who they’d learned was named Bruce) had to speak over to hear one another.

  “I’m telling you, there will be more. Many more.”

  It was Hade speaking. He had been trying to convince Bruce to speak to the mayor about evacuating for nearly an hour, to little avail.

  “And I’m telling you, he won’t go for it,” the burly man responded.

  “Perhaps we can appeal to the people, get them to agree. Then it won’t matter what the mayor thinks.” This came from Osric, who, as it turns out, was simply visiting the town on his way to the Holdwalls.

  He had been traveling from Vizerburg to the east, gathering herbal supplies and making notes of old ruins in the area. It was by happenstance that he arrived in Ormery when he did.

  Bruce shook his bushy head then shrugged, “I suppose it could work, but I don’t know how many people you’re going to get to concede. We’re frontier folk, and have faced goblin incursions before. When the fear fades, they’ll be thinking of their homes.”

  Hade knew it was true. Even with the trolls, the people would confuse their luck with grit. The goblin army was a boogeyman; it would be near impossible for most of them to believe there were thousands of goblins marching this way until they felt the thunder of its steps.

  Ethelrynne had said little. Hade thought that it was probably to do with the death of her man, but the truth was she wasn’t sure what she could say that would matter. Part of her wondered why they were bothering with trying to get folk to save themselves when their main mission was left waiting. She decided to keep that thought to herself, however.

  Osric looked to Hade, “Getting word to the king and the army is more important than defending this village.”

  He held up his hand as Hade began to respond, “Let me finish.

  “I will stay behind and work to get the people to evacuate. Even if they won’t, I can give them a chance to flee once the main force becomes impossible to deny.”

  Hade sighed, “I suppose you’re right. None of the elves are possessed of any magic to expedite our journey. We’re going to have to push hard.”

  “Then you and the elves need to get to my tower in Vizerburg. My apprentices will help to speed you on your way to Freehold.”

  He worked a ring free of his pinky; it was gold and silver, with a carving of a curled-up fox on the face of it. He handed it to a hesitant Hade.

  “This will ensure that my students believe you. It will convince them of the urgency of your quest.”

  Hade took the ring, looked at it a moment, then pocketed it. He looked uncomfortable.

  “That’s very noble of you, Osric,” the princess said, with a smile. She reached out and took his wrinkled hand.

  Hade frowned, “I don’t like it, but you’re right. We can’t stay here any longer.”

  He looked to Ethelrynne with an apologetic face.

  “I know everyone’s tired, but I think we should head on tonight. We need to keep ahead of the army, and they’ll be even more active at night.”

  The princess nodded, her face serious, “Yes, of course. I’ll summon the men.”

  With that she stood and nodded to Osric and Bruce, “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you gentlemen, even if the circumstances are unfortunate.

  “May luck find you, wherever you are.”

  The humans stood with her, and nodded as she left, unsure of what to say to the beautiful woman.

  Hade shook hands with the other men, then excused himself as well. He was torn up over the idea of leaving the village without making sure the people would be safe, but convinced himself that so many more lives depended on them reaching the king.

  A few minutes later found them on the road to the west, packed with provisions given to them by Bruce and the townsfolk. The moon was out, so although the innkeeper had given Hade a lantern and some oil, he chose not to light it. The elves seemed to have no trouble seeing in the dim light, and he could make his way along the road well enough.

  There was little talk, as each of them could feel the ghost of Sprig walking in the dark beside them. It quickened their steps, reminding them not to allow his death to have been in vain. With luck, they could reach Vizerburg by the end of the next day.

  Hade wondered what Osric’s apprentices could do to speed their journey to Freehold - a good five weeks’ travel from Kelleran’s Folly. He could only guess at what magic might be employed to aid their mission.

  He had to admit that the old man had some potent abilities at his command, and so he held out hope.

  It would have to do.

  Chapter 16

  The journey from the temple to Galloway was to take roughly two weeks. First they had passed through Akilo, and while Dramus secretly hoped for a glimpse of Gwyneth as they rode through town, another part of him was glad that by the time they’d passed through, he hadn’t seen her.

  He felt guilty for leaving without talking to her, but there was nothing for it. He could only hope that he could explain things to her when he returned, perhaps with a gift from the port town? The thought had made him smile.

  That had been three days ago, and the smiles were getting considerably harder to come by. Colius was a wretched traveling companion. Erick hadn’t been much
better, and although Dramus didn’t really know the headmaster’s aide, he hadn’t formed a positive opinion of the man over the past few days.

  Colius himself seemed to alternate between his normally distant and arrogant self, to a more talkative, inquisitive version that, to Dramus, was worse. He seemed to take a bit too much interest in the page, and it was a comfort when he’d return to whatever thoughts kept him silent and aloof.

  Dramus had tried striking up conversation with Erick, but the aide was always nervous, as if he felt that Dramus would attack him if he said the wrong thing. He supposed that if he had to work directly with the headmaster all day every day, that he too would be a nervous wreck. Only three days had passed and Dramus was on edge.

  They were camped in the shadow of a stand of pines which rose together on the edge of small clearing to the side of the road. Dramus could tell that it was a commonly used campsite, as there were wagon ruts in the new grass, and a fire pit dug in the cradle of the pines had seen use recently. As Colius pulled the wagon off the road, he began ordering the two younger men to set up camp.

  Dramus cherished the few minutes he had to himself as he gathered wood for the fire. He had little fear of roaming into the woods, as no one had seen a goblin in these parts in ages. After ten minutes he was back at the camp, unloading the wood and helping Erick to start the fire. The sky was blazing with pinks and oranges painted over a lavender canvas.

  For the moment, Erick seemed content, going through the familiar motions of getting the wood lit. He was an old hat with fire, having lit and doused countless blazes for Colius, since the headmaster considered such tasks beneath him. In truth, the man was terrible at starting a fire.

  Dramus fell in to the new routine of reorganizing the supplies that had shifted during the day, and setting the headmaster’s bedroll out and beating the man’s pillow. A small part of him imagined it was Colius’s head that he was pounding, but it was a passing thing.

  By the time things were straightened away for the night, the fire was blazing cheerily while Erick set up a brace from which to hang their pot. Colius sat in a wooden folding chair, already nursing a bottle of wine. Dramus went over to take a whiff of the broth that Erick was stirring.