Into The Dark Flame (Book 4)

by Martin Ash

  Leth brooded on a thousand concerns. Not least was the ever-present, gnawing fear that his mind might have been tampered with, that his memories and perceptions, all he believed he knew, might not be his own. He strove to reassure himself and cast such thoughts from him. But Urch-Malmain's leering grin and his question, 'How do you know that I have not already done so?' lingered with persistence at the forefront of his consciousness.

  Urch-Malmain and Harg had alerted him to difficulties ahead, though neither had been specific. 'There are a number of levels to the Death Abyss, each with its own denizens and dangers. In the village of Sombren, beyond which the trail begins to descend, the folk are fearful and prone to superstition. Beyond it is the first level, where the wolfhearts dwell. We must be wary.'

  Leth wondered, should he succeed in reaching Ascaria's stronghold and actually slaying her, what then? Did the Kancanitrix truly guard a portal that would return him and Galry and Jace to Enchantment's Reach? It seemed unlikely that Urch-Malmain could know nothing of it.

  Still something else unsettled him. By slaying Ascaria he was opening the way for Urch-Malmain to return to Enchantment - allowing a hostile god to reclaim his former powers. What would be the cost of this?

  And again, what of the innocents who, as not only Urch-Malmain but he - Leth - and the children, stepped through the portal, would be randomly plucked from their own world and cast into this? Could he justify his own freedom, knowing what they must suffer?

  Leth looked at the bleak landscape around him, and at the sky. Did Urch-Malmain's Eyes of Vigilance lurk here somewhere unseen, observing his every move?

  To distract himself he turned to Count Harg. 'I’m curious. You are from my own land, are you not? Where exactly did you reside?'

  Harg seemed mystified. 'I think you are mistaken, Swordbearer. This land has always been my home.'

  'By Urch-Malmain's account, someone of interest to me came through the portal from my world. I assumed, by your subsequent appearance, that it was you he referred to.'

  Harg shook his head. 'Not I, Swordbearer.'

  Leth frowned. Then who? Or did Harg lie? Or did he simply not know? For the first time it dawned upon Leth that Harg was one of Urch-Malmain's creations, a man whose memories had been erased, others substituted in accordance with the whims or ambitions of the Noeticist.

  Might Harg be of Enchantment's Reach, but unable to know it?

  Ah, but what had Lakewander said, after they had escaped Harg and his band at the stone bridge? She had spoken of Harg as a former notable of her community, who had absented himself and then returned a changed man, a cutthroat and brigand. Plainly, then, Harg had come upon Urch-Malmain during his travels. Willingly or not, he had undergone his ministrations.

  And Leth recalled his own sense of familiarity when he had summoned the Orbsword to him. As though it was not the first time. As though he was recalling buried memories, the memories of a former god, which Lakewander, Summoner and Master Protector insisted he had been.

  Leth shivered. What is happening here?

  iv

  Late in the morning they came upon the village of Sombren: a shabby cluster of dirty grey clay-and-wood dwellings huddled in a dusty declivity. Leth and his band rode down at an easy pace, scanning the village and its surrounds. A few peasant folk could be seen about the dwellings or in the nearby fields. All of them ceased their business and hurried indoors at the sight of such grim and unambiguously-accoutred warriors.

  'It would be a good idea to rest in the village for an hour or so,' said Harg, nodding towards the village's sole tavern, set to one side, its roof sagging, its signboard long since bleached by time and weather so that neither name nor emblem could be read. 'We might garner some useful information.'

  Leth steered his mount towards the tavern; the others followed. They dismounted and entered. Within the common-room the landlord leaned upon his counter, in conversation with a pair of peasant men who sat at separate tables. At the arrival of Leth's band the two customers promptly took their hands from their tankards, rose and with nervous haste took their leave.

  Harg addressed the landlord. 'Hail, good fellow! We are tired and hungry and our throats are caked with the foul dust of this unforgiving land. Stoke up the fire, for we are also chilled, and bring ale and good red wine - and let not either the ale or the wine be watered, or your head will dangle from the sign outside! And food! With what marvellous fare can you tease our tongues and tempt our empty bellies?'

  The landlord was a short, thin man with a mass of curling cloudy grey hair. He jerked into fearful motion, putting jugs to spigots and grabbing tankards. 'Sirs, welcome! Welcome! The hospitality of my house is yours. But we are poor folk in Sombren, sirs, and can offer little to excite the palates of refined folk such as your good selves. All I have, sirs, is stew, with good coarse bread, if that will suit you.'

  'Stew? Stew?' Harg dropped himself onto a wooden stool before a table near the hearth. 'It is rare indeed to find stew on offer in a tavern such as this! Very well then, stew it shall be. However, my good friends here. . .' - he indicated Rasgul and the other three Abyss warriors - '. . . prefer their flesh fresh and uncooked. Can you oblige them?'

  'I can have a goat slaughtered, if that will suit you,' replied the landlord.

  Rasgul gave a curt nod.

  'Most excellent!' declared Harg. 'Set about it then, landlord. And waste no time. These four especially are impatient when famished. If their appetites are not quickly satisfied they may throw themselves upon you and your family.'

  Leth flashed Harg an angry glance, which Harg failed to acknowledge.

  The drinks were brought, and in short order the food too. As he ate Harg addressed the landlord once more. 'Now, good man, what news from the Abyss?'

  The landlord seemed to draw in upon himself. 'Sir, we know little of the Abyss, and would wish to know even less. We do not venture there, nor question any who pass through from that direction.'

  'Wise fellow. But has there been activity in recent weeks? Have its vapours risen? Have you suffered visitations? What of the wolfhearts? Have they come up over the lip?'

  The landlord shook his head, wringing his hands. 'No, sir, none of those things, not recently.'

  'Good. And have any of your children been taken?'

  'No, sir. But there are no children in Sombren, nor have there been for a long time now.'

  Leth leaned towards Harg and asked, in an undertone, 'What is this about children?'

  'The Great Sow abducts the children, by physical or magical means,' Harg replied. 'It is possible she has taken too many.'

  'For what purpose?'

  'She needs them, to stoke her dreams.'

  'I don't understand. What are you saying?'

  Harg flashed him an indulgent smile, spooning stew to his mouth. 'Her own are pallid, diluted affairs. She can barely imagine. Other dreams are required to achieve her aim. She takes the dreams, the pure imagination, the wonder that children generate naturally and spontaneously, and she adds her own corruption, transforms their dreams into an energy of her own. It is with this corruption brought out of stealing the dreams of the young, that she eats our world.'

  There was a strange gleam in Harg's blue penetrating eyes. He seemed to take pleasure in the sight of Leth's face as he absorbed this revelation.

  'And. . . what of the children, when she has done?'

  Harg's smile was cold, almost sneering. 'They are children no more. They can barely be termed human. You will see. They are less than shells.' He hesitated, glanced at Rasgul. 'Some become warriors.'

  Rasgul glowered at him momentarily, but made no other response.

  The blood drained from Leth's face. For a barely controllable instant he was overcome with the urge to ram his fist hard into Harg's face, for the man was amused. Amused by what he was telling Leth and the impact he knew it was having on him. But Leth controlled himself, then thrust himself out of his seat. 'Then what are we doing here, drinking and feeding our fac
es?' he roared. 'Up! All of you! To your feet! We go, now!'

  'You are over-excited, Swordbearer. Calm yourself. All in its proper time,' said Count Harg evenly, as though nothing were amiss. 'Juson and Trin are vile company when their bellies are not properly filled. As am I, come to that. And these Abyss men, if they hunger, are as likely to turn upon us as they are our enemies. Besides, I wish to question the villagers a little more before we depart. So be seated and clean your plate.'

  The others were eating with vigour and paying Leth little heed. He stood for a moment longer, in two minds but, knowing that he could not continue alone, he sat again. His appetite was gone. He waited restlessly, trying to dispel the terrible images that impressed themselves upon his mind.

  When Harg had finished his meal he stood, drained his tankard, and left the tavern. A short while later he returned. He took coins from a pouch at his belt and paid the landlord. He leaned on the counter pensively, stroking his chin, then turned and nodded to Leth. 'Now we go.'

  Less than an hour later the company halted at the soaring lip of the Death Abyss. Here the trail narrowed and wound down steeply into a cleft flanked by rough walls of rock. It was necessary to proceed in single file as they commenced their descent. The four Abyss warriors went first, followed by Harg, then Leth. Jusun and Trin brought up the rear.

  Leth looked out across the great Abyss. Its opposite face could be seen, bare and jagged, perhaps half a league distant. Between it and Leth was the emptiness, falling away to dense shifting cloud a long way below. The air was cold; colder than before. The chasm fell away sheer and dizzying only inches from their horses' hooves. Their motion sent grit and small pieces of rubble skittering over the side.

  As he began to descend Leth was reminded of the descent from the great city-castle that was his home and the pulsating heart of his kingdom, Enchantment's Reach. From the gates of that city the way swooped, commonly through chill mists which could freeze one to the bone, to the swelling green forest at the foot of the massive scarp. But there the comparison ended. For now he was descending into the unknown, the yawning Death Abyss of Orbelon's world, home of the Great Sow, Ascaria, and the other sure horrors that it concealed.

  FOUR

  i

  'That’s the one! The one I met beside the pond!'

  Arene's trembling finger pointed directly at Shenwolf.

  Issul gaped. She was unsure of what to make of the old woman's outburst. Had Arene taken leave of her senses?

  Shenwolf stood stock still, blinking in blank surprise, a slight frown furrowing his brow.

  'It is he, Queen Issul! Believe me, I’m not mistaken! It is he!'

  'Shenwolf, is this true?' asked the Queen, her voice cracking. An awful hollowness was beginning to form inside her.

  'I--' The young soldier seemed for a moment at a loss. 'I’m unsure. What is it that is being stated here?'

  Issul's voice shook. Don't let it be so! 'This woman claims to have met you just weeks ago, in the forest beside a pond just a few leagues from here. There was a child present also, and its warden.'

  Shenwolf's brow cleared. His eyes went to Arene. 'Why, of course! I remember you now!'

  Issul was aghast. Her thoughts spun in turmoil. 'Then it's true?'

  Others of her Guard observed curiously.

  'Yes, we met, but briefly. But what is wrong?'

  Issul could barely find words. The hollowness within her had become a chasm. Betrayed? By the one I had come to trust so completely? By the one who I had begun to- -

  She cut that thought dead in its tracks. Now blind rage threatened to consume her. And Shenwolf stood there so cool and unperturbed.

  'Majesty, what is the matter?'

  Issul's hand went to her tunic. She wrenched forth the blue leather pouch, all but tore it open. She thrust the ivory carving at Shenwolf. 'And this? Do you know what this is?'

  Shenwolf drew back, seeming shocked at her venom. He peered at the object she held, then nodded with a quizzical expression.

  'You know? Then tell me now, what is it?' Issul's voice rose in pitch. Her hand was shaking. 'And why did you give it to the Child?'

  She was dimly aware of commotion away to her left. Loud cries; sudden sharp whinnies of horses. She twisted. At the edge of the clearing where they had rested there was fighting. She stared, disbelieving. Hirsute brown forms were materializing out of the forest, dropping from the trees, falling upon her soldiers.

  'To arms! We are attacked!' Issul yelled.

  She reached for her sword, staring wildly about her, instantly forgetting all else. There was more shouting now. Grullags were attacking from at least three directions. Beyond Shenwolf a group of them burst roaring from the undergrowth.

  Issul's Guard fell into defensive formation around her. Shenwolf was among them as the first of the creatures slammed into them. The grullags came with mindless ferocity - huge, man-shaped things with broad, flat skulls and blunt snouts. They roared and bellowed, some swinging clubs or heavy sticks, most relying upon fiercely clawed hands, teeth and brute strength.

  The first creature was downed by Issul's Guard, but more were pounding down in its wake. How many? Glancing around Issul estimated at least a score. How could this be? Never in her life had she heard of grullags behaving so.

  Anzejarl, where are you? Show yourself and I will slay you with my own hands!

  But there were no Karai faces.

  Issul had no more time to think. A grullag had broken through the ranks of her men. Two of her Guard were down. She lunged with her sword, pierced the grullag's breast, darted back beyond its reach before its swiping claws could tear her open. A soldier hacked into its flank, another stabbed from the other side. The grullag's roar became a soft sigh and it crumpled to the ground.

  Issul retreated a few quick paces, trying to take stock and gauge the focus of the grullags' thrust. To her left was carnage. Half a dozen of the creatures had pushed through her men's defences; others came behind. Several grullags lay dead or wounded, but a greater number of her men were injured or dead.

  A group of grullags were close to the area where Grey Venger was being held. Issul cursed. Her men had been taken wholly by surprise. They fought valiantly but were divided and in disarray. Though sentries had been posted around the clearing, they had barely had time to cry out an alarm before the grullags were upon them. She scanned the clearing, and the forest beyond, still seeking the white, wrinkled faces of Karai, but finding none. And then a terrifying thought rocked her to her core.

  Had Shenwolf brought these creatures back with him?

  He had gone to reconnoitre Ghismile. He had returned with a tale of grullags occupying the village. And then this.

  She searched for Shenwolf, could not see him. The fighting was too close and confused. She felt panic-stricken. Another thought slammed through her, tripling her fear.

  Orbelon!

  She had to protect the blue casket at all costs. Her horse was tethered ten paces away, the casket in its chest on the saddle. She yelled to her Guard, 'Fall back!', and dashed for the horse.

  A dark rust-brown blur loomed, blotting out the sky. She glimpsed a long, powerful arm upraised and swinging at her. Instinctively Issul ducked, threw herself to the earth, rolled, came to her feet and slashed hard with her sword. The beast's scalding blood sprayed her face. It split her ears with its shriek. Two soldiers hurled themselves upon it and hacked it to the ground.

  Issul reached her horse, leaped into the saddle, swung about. A grullag rushed at her, fangs bared, arms high. From somewhere a crossbow bolt thudded into its hide, then another. The creature twisted its body and bellowed. Issul lofted her sword, brought it down, splitting the grullag's skull. It toppled forward, exhaling its last breath, its dead-weight crashing onto her terrified horse and all-but knocking it to the ground.

  Her soldiers were falling back as best they could to re-establish a protective ring around her. Across the clearing as many as a dozen had reached their horses and were battl
ing their way towards her. But more of the grullags charged from the trees, cutting into their path. Issul spotted Arene stretched motionless in a ragged heap on the ground, whether alive or dead she could not tell.

  Her horse reared suddenly, shrieking. A grullag's long arms were wrapped about its neck, fangs tearing into its throat. The grullag bore the poor creature to the ground. Issul was thrown from the saddle. Half-dazed, her one thought was for the blue casket. She scrambled forward on hands and knees, seized the handle of the chest, wrenched it free.

  She rose, crouching, deafened by the cries and roars all around. A riderless horse rushed by. She ran out, grasped the saddle one-handed and leaped onto its back. She could not tell how the battle was going, but the number of fallen men alarmed her. A handful of soldiers fought desperately a few yards away, but were in danger of being overwhelmed. None had gained their horses. She realized she had become separated from the larger body of her troops.

  Issul now faced a terrible choice: to return to the fray and face the very real threat of being overcome, losing the precious casket and all it signified, and perhaps being killed; or to flee.

  In reality it was no choice; everything depended upon Orbelon and the blue casket. Even if it meant abandoning her men.

  She scanned the clearing in a last desperate hope.

  'To me!' she screamed. 'All who can!'

  There was an avenue of escape to the rear, leading directly into the forest. A pair of grullags were bearing down on her from her left. If she did not go now she might not have another chance.

  Issul wheeled her horse around. Bending low she spurred it forward. She swung at the first of the beasts as she charged by. She could not see if any men had succeeded in joining her.

  She dodged a swinging limb, raced on. Suddenly she was free of the carnage, galloping between the trees. Her ears pricked at a strange sound: a voice, highly pitched, hailing her. 'Run, Aunt Issul! That's right! Run! Run!'