BlackThorn

by DeWayne Kunkel

  A soft warm breeze blew across the hilltop stirring his mottled robe, bringing with it the smell of jasmine and wildflowers. Winter was coming to the world, but on Eol it could take no hold. The island had been perpetually blessed by the warmth of spring.

  “Where are you now old friends?” he asked the quiescent stones. “Now that the season has turned and you are needed most.” He stepped forward, placing his slender hand upon the fiery runes.

  The rock flared to life beneath his touch, the light within it intensifying. “So’san,” he said aloud reading the inscription. He looked up as if expecting some response from the rigid stone.

  “In our youth we failed, and it was by your desperate act that this world was given another chance at freedom.” His eyes wandered across the circle. His mind recalling memories he had long thought forgotten.

  “But the cost of our desperation was high. A terrible price this world has paid, and now it may have all been for naught.” He removed his hand, the light fading in response. “I alone must succeed now, where we at the height of our power could not.”

  Marcos walked across the carpet of soft grass to the center of the ring. Marked by a broad flat stone that rose slightly above the ground.

  It was a sizable rock, dark gray with bands of sparkling quartz running through it. Countless rains had worn the edges smooth over the ages. A dark shaft pierced its center, its bottom disappearing into darkness.

  As he drew near the stone, the earth trembled. The sound of rushing water disturbed the stillness. Rising from the depths, the shaft quickly filled to within a few inches of its top.

  Marcos extended his hand over the water. Deep within its depths eight points of argent light flared to life. Spiraling about in the fluid darkness they grew in size as they rose to the surface.

  “Sa’ramir,” he said softly. “Long have you guarded the tokens of our power. The time has come once more for you to release your icy hold, and free your charges.”

  The water roiled, overflowing onto the stone. The well glowed as if the water itself burned. Suddenly the surface burst, and eight brilliant rings of light rose into the air. Resembling the stars above, they shone with a clean pure light. They revolved slowly a few feet above the well’s mouth.

  Marcos reached out and one of the rings settled in the palm of his hand. The glow faded revealing a band of gleaming gold, fashioned from three separate strands, tightly woven together. The ring's weight seemed to grow as he placed it on his finger.

  The other rings dimmed and sank back down into the well, disappearing from view. The water's surface once more became tranquil as it slowly receded back down into the dark depths.

  Marcos made a fist and a point of light flared upon the gold. “So simple a thing,” he said softly lowering his hand. At one time the wearing of the band had filled him with excitement. He had felt that nothing was beyond him. The long years since he had earned the band had taught him the truth of it. The gleaming token was a fetter that could not be broken. The responsibility that came with it would make the courageous recoil from its touch.

  Ravin Suni stood just outside the circle. He was scarcely discernible, a dark shape standing within the moon-cast shadows of the monoliths. He had heard little of what Marcos had said.

  His attention was focused elsewhere. His eyes were constantly searching out the darkness. Alert for any threats to his charge. Almond shaped and dark they gave him the appearance of being half-asleep. A dangerous assumption many men had made in the past, often it would be the last mistake they would ever make.

  He wore a simple Linen tunic of light green, belted about his waist with a broad band of dark leather. Two iron staves were tucked through the belt. Their metal was dark and reflected no light. On his feet he wore sandals of soft leather, their thongs wrapping tightly about his calves.

  Marcos left the ring of stones his shoulders slumped. He wore his dark hair short. The lightest touch of gray graced his temples. His face was narrow, with a thin nose above a well-trimmed goatee. He looked to be about forty but his eyes burned with wisdom beyond his apparent years. Their color shifted from gray to blue and green as he looked about.

  He gave Suni a nod as he strode past, his ring-laden hand resting on the hilt of the long sword that hung from his waist. The scabbard swinging with each step he took.

  Suni followed him in silence as they walked a seldom-traveled path down to the forest edge. He walked without making a sound, his gait smooth and graceful.

  The mighty oaks of the Fa’lain wood towered above them. The thick canopy rustled in the darkness, blocking out the moon and stars above. A deep gloom enveloped the thick boles. Broken by soft patches of phosphorescent light emitted by long sheets of hanging moss that swayed in the breeze.

  A thin footpath led deep into the wood, coming to a collection of ruins. Thick roots cracked the stone, pushing aside ancient walls as the forest reclaimed the ground. Tall spires of stone had once touched the sky, but now all that remained were piles of rubble and broken foundations. Thousands of years ago this had been a thriving city. Now it was nothing more than a sad testament to the people who had once lived here.

  Through the tree and rubble strewn thoroughfares they walked in silence with Marcos leading the way. They traveled less than a mile when they came to a circular building with a conical roof of tarnished bronze. It stood within a small plaza. The polished marble paving remained untouched by the encroaching forest. A low ivy covered wall enclosed the area, festooned with bright blossoms of red and yellow. The delicate flowers filled the air with a sweet fragrance.

  An arched opening led into plaza. Where a small fountain gurgled in the shadows. The flowing water spilling over into a shallow pool teeming with fish.

  A small garden grew here, in large planters of stone. It had long ago grown wild. Flowering vines spilled out onto the ground in a delicate carpet of many colors.

  Marcos lowered himself onto a stone bench, watching the water as it flowed down into the pool. The flashes of color as the fish struck at small insects on the surface always intrigued him. There was beauty here, both simple and elegant. He would often come here to relax. The sights and sounds soothing his troubled mind.

  Suni stood a few paces off, allowing him his solitude. Marcos would speak when he was ready. Until he did Suni maintained his vigil. The Anghor Shok was a patient man; he had spent a lifetime perfecting the skill.

  “The time for us to leave our seclusion has come Suni,” Marcos said softly. “Our enemy is stirring and I have felt the echoes of his castings. His servants have openly used their power, Confident in their masters strength.” Marcos looked to his stoic companion. “I only pray that he has not grown so powerful that we cannot stop him.”

  Suni inclined his head as he spoke, offering a rare piece of wisdom from his studies. “Victory is never certain, until it has been accomplished.”

  “The universe is rarely certain on many things,” Marcos answered. “I will ask you once again old friend. Will you not take up the sword?”

  Suni shook his head, “I cannot forsake my vow. It encompasses all that I am. No Anghor Shok can wield an edged weapon, and remain Anghor Shok.” Suni rested his hands upon his staves, “The Kalmari are the weapons of my order.”

  “And yet you do know the way of the sword,” Marcos said somewhat flustered by Suni’s refusal. “Did you not wield one in training?”

  Suni nodded sharply, “A blunt edged blade only. To know the weapons of your opponents gives you the advantage. Ignorance often guarantees defeat.” Suni looked unflinchingly into Marcos’s eyes. “What you ask would violate my very nature. Have you grown so desperate that you would make me akin to So’san?”

  Anger flashed in Marcos’s eyes, a faint aura of power surrounded him. He took a breath and calmed himself. Suni had only spoken truly. Who was he to ask this man to toss aside the doctrines he had followed all his life? The nebulous glow around him faded, “Forgive me Suni.” He asked knowing Suni had felt no insult, no A
nghor Shok allowed his emotions to rule him. “What So’san did was an act of desperation, in despair he lashed out. His might was enhanced by his emotions and for the briefest instant he shone as the sun on that dark day.

  “His mind pulled the creator’s hammer down from the heavens, a burning mountain of stone and metal that smote the armies of Sur’kar, and the forces of freemen as well. Millions died in the inferno of fire and wind. The earth nearly cracked in twain from the force of the blow. Rivers of molten rock burst from the tortured ground, igniting the forest of the world. The heat was so intense that the oceans boiled in places and a thick blanket of dust darkened the sky.

  “A deep winter seized the earth, lasting decades. Glaciers crept down out of the mountains, driving men out of their lands. A third of the world starved, and yet we persevered.

  “Our powers were hard pressed to even save a few, but we managed. Sur’kar’s tower, V’rag was gone, and the mountain in which it had been built was sundered in half. Of him we could find no sign, some of us thought him to be destroyed. But I knew better, something that evil and powerful is not easily done away with.”

  “Did you not search him out?” Suni asked. He knew the lore it was taught to those whom entered the temple of Isembahl. There the old ways remained, preserved by clerics.

  Only a few young men were chosen to enter its halls of learning. There they are taught the skills needed to become a guardian. Few ever finish the training; many died during the trials of blood. Suni was one of the few; he had mastered all that the war masters could teach.

  “His body was vaporized,” Marcos said. “He was little more than a spirit, a shadow of what he was. It would have been easier to find a child’s breath in a gale. Besides we were far too busy trying to save this world.

  “Much of the beauty that once was has been lost forever. My people could no longer remain, haunted by the knowledge of what we had brought here with us. It was in grief that they boarded the great ships and left. Returning once more to the darkling sea. I alone of the Tal’shear remained, convinced that Sur’kar would once more come to power and fulfill his malign ambitions.”

  “What course do we take now?” Suni asked.

  “We must seek out a man, one of honor. Who is a skillful swordsman with the fortitude required for the task before us.”

  Chapter Four

  Casius awoke gagging. He lay face down on the dirt floor in a pool of vomit. He tried to move and found that his hands were tightly bound behind his back. His wrist burned from the cord cutting into his flesh. Rolling onto his side he heaved violently as another intense feeling of nausea washed over him.

  Casius's head pounded as if at any moment it would to split open. His whole body ached with the effort of trying to empty an already vacated stomach. Once the heaving subsided, he lay very still. The bitter stench of bile assaulted his nose, threatening to start the whole affair over again.

  Opening his eyes he took note of his surroundings. He lay on the floor of the long house, near Baln’s table. How on earth had he gotten here, he wondered? The last memory he had was of being in his own bed. He still wore the long nightshirt that he slept in.

  Now he had awakened to find himself in the midst of a small number of women and children. They were in various states of wakefulness as well. They too were bound tightly. Many of them were just as sick as he. The air of the hall was repugnant, reeking of vomit and spilt blood.

  A light metallic clinking sound drew his attention away from his fellow prisoners. Seated in Baln’s very chair was G’relg. The Raider was a horror to behold. A nightmarish figure covered with blood from head to toe. From his relaxed manner Casius knew that none of the blood was his own.

  He was counting a small number of coins that lay piled before him. The soft clinking was the sound of them dropping from his gore-covered fingers into a leather bag. Leaning against the chair at his right hand was Lord Baln’s battle-ax.

  Casius’s hopes were shattered when he saw the weapon. He knew what it signified. There would be no rescue. Lord Baln and his men were surely dead. His father would be among that number as well.

  He closed his eyes and swallowed his grief; there would be time for it later. He heard the sounds of footsteps. Opening his eyes he watched as the remainder of the sailors crossed the halls earthen floor. Like G’relg they too were covered in blood. Casius wondered at what could have happened. It looked to him as if every one of the sailors was present and not a single man bore a wound. Even those who had arrived bandaged were hale without a mark. How could New Hope have fallen without the death of at least some if not most of these men? He wondered silently not daring to speak.

  G’relg finished his silent count and tied the sack tightly shut. He was not pleased by the amount. Casius could tell by the way he held his jaw clenched in anger. He stood and shouldered Baln’s axe, grunting with the effort of lifting the massive weapon.

  “Let’s get this offal aboard the ship,” He ordered.

  Casius was roughly jerked to his feet by the neck of his sleep shirt. The man held him firmly until he was steady. He nearly collapsed under a wave of nausea that struck him at the sudden movement.

  Dulrich shook his head; “We should wait out the storm.” He suggested.

  Outside the Long house the wind moaned mournfully. The door to the hall was open and the freezing wind slammed into them, bringing into the hall the smell of burning lumber and wafts of irritating smoke.

  G’relg stood in the doorway looking up as well. “Scared of a small rainstorm?” he asked smiling. He waited but Dulrich offered no answer. “Let us go then, the tide waits for no man.” He said as he strode out into pre-dawn gloom.

  Casius was shoved forward by one of the men. He turned to look at him and was struck over the eye by the pommel of the man’s sword. Blinded by pain, he staggered. The man grabbed his arm and thrust him through the doorway. The sword's pommel had cut him deeply and blood was flowing down his face.

  The man followed him outside and threw him to the ground. “Look at me again boy,” he hissed. “And I will cut your eyes out.”

  Casius climbed to his feet. He kept his head down not wishing to provoke the violent man further. He was led with the others down to the shore. The sounds of crackling wood drowned out the noise from the sea. The Raiders had set New Hope ablaze and in a few hours there will be nothing left but burned out ruins.

  Heat and smoke assailed them as they staggered down the lane. Even the boats along the shore had been torched and were burning brightly. Bodies lay along the shore. He could not tell to whom they belonged. They had been covered in oil and now burned as brightly as the surrounding buildings.

  He was thrown against the hull and rough hands reached down grabbing his clothing; they were none too gentle as they pulled him over the railing. The wood scraped his back raw; he nearly blacked out as his head hit a rowing bench. With great effort he managed to sit upright. Bodies lay against him, pressing him against the hull. The captives sat frozen with fear, their eyes numbly reflecting the flames devouring their homes.

  The fire raced through the town. Towering flames leapt from roof to roof, the thatch exploding into flame. Even the Long house was engulfed. Writhing about as if it was alive, the fires hungrily devouring the large logs of its construction.

  Casius watched in mute horror. He had never seen anything like this in his life. He yelped as he was yanked harshly to his feet by his hair.

  “No need to sit with the women, boy.” G’relg said throwing him over one of the rowing benches. “There’s work to be done and you look strong enough to pull an oar.” He sliced Casius’s bonds with his knife. Taking little care as he did so, the blade cutting deeply into Casius’s left palm.

  Casius winced at the sudden pain but he kept his mouth shut. Ignoring the wound, he sat down and took up an oar. Hot blood flowed from his palm making the wood slippery. He kept his discomfort to himself. He knew that one should never show these animals any sign of weakness.

&n
bsp; G'relg laughed at his attempt at bravado. “Pray you row well, If not I’ll flay the skin from your back. He lifted a cat-o’-nine-tails from the deck. Cracking it loudly in the air. “Pull hard when I give the order,” G’relg reminded him. He lashed his back with the whip as he walked back to the vessel's stern.

  Casius risked a glance over his shoulder. He saw that all the captives had been set to benches. Even the smallest of children sat beside the adults. Their faces wet with tears.

  The ship began to lift from the bottom as the tide advanced. G’relg stood with his hands on the tiller. “Cut the lines!” he shouted. “Row!” he barked once the lines had been severed. “Row…Row…Row!” He shouted the cadence as the boat slowly inched back from the shore. Out into the choppy water they sailed. When they had gone a hundred yards he ordered them to shift positions.

  Casius ducked under the oar and swung around on the seat. His back now faced the prow and he looked directly aft.

  G’relg cursed and with his whip he soon had the others facing correctly. Once more the oars bit into the water. They cleared the breakwater and entered the open sea. Large rolling waves lifted the vessel high into the air.

  From where Casius sat he could see the conflagration upon the shore that had once been his home. He thought of his father and tears came unbidden to his eyes. He fought to hold them back, but there was little he could do.

  The wind was blowing steadily at their backs and G’relg had the sail raised. A much-mended square of white canvas, dirty and mildew stained. It flapped loudly as it filled. The rigging thrummed and the boat fairly leapt forward. On G’relg’s order the oars were pulled in. The captives sat hunched in their seats exhausted from the unfamiliar labor.