BlackThorn

by DeWayne Kunkel

  Urbas led them southward keeping the dark wall of the Braelin wood on their left. The road swung to the west a thin line in the sea of grass running to the distant horizon. The Caravan continued south out onto the vast plain.

  The grass grew tall, waist high to a man. It was vibrant green swaying with the gentle breeze that blew in from the east. The verdant waves were crested in places by dense patches of wild flowers of every color imaginable.

  On their second day out from Aenos they spotted a distant herd of plains deer bounding away from the slow moving intruders. The bucks tore at the grass with antlers that spanned eight feet across.

  Urbas was riding next to Casius when they had spotted the deer. “Magnificent creatures,” Urbas commented as the deer raced away.

  “That they are,” Casius replied watching in awe at the sheer grace and power they projected. “Dangerous as well, I’d say judging by the look of them.”

  Urbas shook his head, “Not really, the deer always give ground, and rarely do you see one close by, unless it’s wounded. Then again any wounded animal can be a fell beast to contend with.” Urbas spat a cheek full of quall onto the ground.

  “Now the Greensward Bison is another thing altogether. A great black beast with massive horns that weigh as much as three horses put together. The bison stands seven feet at the shoulder and can run a horse to ground for a short distance. They are known to attack any who stray too close to the herd. The Bison charge in mass led by the biggest bull, once their ire is raised they are relentless until their bloodlust is satisfied. Whole caravans have been lost due to carelessness.”

  “Have you ever run into one?” Casius asked, trying to imagine a bull of such size.

  Urbas laughed, “Anyone who is worth their salt in this business has. I was a driver in my youth, one day we strayed near an old bull who had lost his herd to a younger male. He had grown quite mad in his solitude. He stalked us for days, late one night he charged into our encampment killing men and horses with abandon. Four drivers and twenty one horses died that bloody night, until we brought that cloven hoofed devil down with a well placed arrow.”

  Casius shook his head, for all he had read he was amazed at his ignorance of the real world. “I hope we don’t run into any of them.”

  “Not likely,” Urbas replied. “Where you see plains deer, the bison are scarce. Then again on the Greensward anything is possible, we still have six days until we reach the Carec Mountains, that’s a fair piece of travel yet.”

  One day led into another, mile after mile the long train of pack animals slowly plodded southward. The scenery hardly changed, the wide-open grasslands brimming with the colors of spring surrounded them on three sides. The dark forbidding wall of the old forest lay a mile distant on their left.

  Casius quickly fell into the routine of the merchant train. He began to get to know the drivers that followed Urbas across the trackless plains. They were tough men, hardened by a life spent in the wilds. Urbas was very particular about the character of those he traveled with, not one of his men could be considered anything less than honest. Trustworthy companions who would defend one another against any threat, either large or small.

  Casius was welcomed among their number and he spent the nights sitting about the various fires listening to their exaggerated adventures while he practiced with his Ka’rich.

  On the fourth day, a line of distant mountains crossed their path far to the south. Old and worn by countless eons of howling wind and rain, they offered a gauge for Casius to judge the caravans slow progress by.

  That evening, just after the last of the sun’s light had faded a Brightly painted minstrels wagon rolled up to the camps edge.

  Urbas welcomed the performer gladly; the old Bard did not offer his name and it was not requested. Traveling minstrels simply plied their trade for the love of music. They rarely sought wealth or fame and out of respect for this tradition a minstrel was never asked to identify himself.

  The man wore a crown of wild hair the color of new fallen snow. His eyes burned brightly set within a maze of wrinkles. He played a battered old lute that had seen better days. The instrument sounded far better than it looked, his skill a pleasant surprise to all who heard.

  After an hour of nonstop playing Urbas passed him a steeping cup of tea. “What news do you carry from afar?” The caravan master asked seating himself next to the Bard.

  The old man frowned, deep furrows crossing his wrinkled brow. “Nothing good I’m afraid,” he replied sipping at the tea. “My travels have carried me far this last year, from the rocky shores of Ao’dan to the deep bay of Ship haven in the south.

  “Strange things are afoot in the north,” the man said softly with the exaggerated facial expressions of a long practiced storyteller. “Men tell of strange riders in the dark, riding through the less settled lands. Great hounds as big as bears loping along at their sides. Many believe the Morne are stirring once more.”

  At the mention of the dreaded Morne the idle banter nearby ceased as the speakers waited for the Bard’s next words.

  The minstrel paused allowing the tension to build, “They claim that the Ice Trolls have left the northern wastes and rove the deep woods, slaughtering careless travelers.”

  Urbas laughed breaking the minstrels spell, “Morne and Trolls!” He slapped his leg, “You are a master of your craft,” he said as his laughter subsided.

  The Bard smiled at the compliment. “I only repeat what I have heard whispered in the taverns during the still hours of the night.”

  “Ah…” Urbas quipped. “The yarns spun by drunkards and Brigands.”

  The Bard shrugged and drained his cup. He wiped his long mustache with the back of his sleeve. “Take care in the hill’s good sir,” He said seriously. “I passed through a camp two nights past, never have I seen such roguish men in these parts before. They knew me for what I am and assumed I was without coin and left me well enough alone.”

  The smile on Urbas’s face faded, “How many?”

  “Ten perhaps more,” The Bard guessed. “Not enough to try your sword arms.”

  Urbas spat, “Cowards,” he exclaimed. “Should they get brave enough to test our mettle they are in for a rude awakening. My drivers are all veteran soldiers from the king’s army. There are a few of them here that I would swear were born with a blade clenched in their fists.”

  A gentle rain fell that night dowsing the flames of their fires. Casius spent the remainder of the evening huddled beneath a canvas tarp that kept most of the water out. Many of the men simply lay out in the open wrapped in blankets with cloaks propped on sticks covering their heads.

  The rain lasted most of the night, ending sometime before dawn. Casius awoke to the sounds of the camp stirring, the smell of bacon and coffee drawing him out of his shelter as a moth is drawn to a flame.

  He joined the men about the fire, as he ate he noticed a subtle change had come over them. Their banter was subdued, eating quietly their eyes constantly watching the forest edge. The Bards warning was not being taken lightly, Casius noticed that nearly all of the men were now wearing swords about their waists.

  The camp was a nightmare of mud; pools of standing water were everywhere. The wet grass soaking their legs as the men broke camp.

  It was in all a miserable morning; the heavy clouds above only promising more rain yet to come. Even the distant forest appeared all the more forbidding beneath a steel gray sky.

  It rained off and on throughout the day; the men’s mood was as bleak as their surroundings. The land began to rise in rolling hills, many of which were crowned with small groves of pine and birch. They had left the plain and now were entering the lower reaches of the Carec Mountains.

  That night the rain returned in force, the sky was ablaze with dazzling bolts of lightning, the rumbling peals of thunder shaking the ground, causing the bravest among them to flinch. No one slept much that night; they sat together beneath hastily erected shelters of canvas and stout poles.


  The morning came in a blazing sky of orange and red, only a few dark clouds remained above, thin remnants of the night’s storm.

  Casius emerged from his shelter stiff and sore, he stretched his arms savoring the smells of wet grass and fresh coffee.

  They must have made good progress yesterday; the mountains appeared much closer, looming over their encampment. The bare peaks caught the morning sun, the stone blazing with reflected light above their shadow cloaked lower reaches.

  Casius stood holding his horse’s bridle admiring the scenic beauty of this wild land. He could understand the lure of the long road. These men who followed Urbas enjoyed a freedom that few men would ever know. For twelve days he has traveled with them and now felt a part of the company, no longer a stranger.

  Only after Urbas had called his name for the third time did he come to realize that he was holding up the caravan. With a mumbled apology he mounted his steed and took his place at Urbas’s side as the caravan surged forward.

  “We’ll have fair weather today,” Urbas said looking to the sky. “By evening we’ll be well into the foothills. The pass itself is an easy trek, it lies low and is usually open the year round.” He frowned in thought, “With all this damn rain it’s going to be slow going, the pass is likely knee deep with mud.”

  “What of the men the bard spoke of?” Casius asked still concerned about what lay ahead.

  “The pass has places that are well suited for ambush,” Urbas replied with a smile. “The men are among the best, we will not be caught unaware Casius.”

  “You would think the king would use the Senatum to keep the passes clear.” To Casius the mountains appeared more menacing than they had in the morning.

  “Ha!” Urbas guffawed, “Coming from someone as learned as you true naiveté is somewhat surprising.”

  “I am learning that books are a poor substitute to actually living in the world.”

  “Wise words,” Urbas said approvingly. “The Senatum are not concerned with the likes of us, often they are the brigands themselves.”

  Casius scowled, “The more I learn of them, the more I dislike all that they represent.”

  Urbas nodded in agreement, “Just keep your opinions to yourself in public. Those words you have uttered would buy you a visit from the headsman and his axe.” Urbas leaned forward in his saddle, his dark eyes fixing on Casius. “You truly have lived far off the beaten track Casius.”

  “About as far as one could get before falling off the worlds edge.”

  “And here I had thought Caleph was about as far as one could go.”

  “I am sure there are places far more isolated than our homes.” Casius said with a smile.

  “Aye,” Urbas shrugged. “And they’re all the better for it.”

  Casius agreed with the caravan master, “The more I learn of the world the deeper my heart yearns for the days when I lived in ignorance of the evil that men are capable of doing.”

  “By the gods!” Urbas exclaimed in astonishment. “You are far to young to speak such things.” Urbas’s eyes narrowed as he studied the young man. “Are you truly what you claim to be or are you a wizard traveling in disguise?”

  “I should think a wizard would shun the company of your smelly pack animals and travel abroad in a gilded chariot at the head of some grand procession.”

  Urbas feigned insult, “Smelly animals indeed! That my boy is the sweet aroma of honest profit.”

  “I’ll remember that the next time I step in one of your steaming piles of dropped profits!” One of the men shouted from the line. Drawing good-natured laughter from the drivers.

  The Caravan came to a well-worn track that led up the face of a steep tree covered slope. It zigzagged among the moss-covered trunks, disappearing beneath the thick canopy of leaves.

  The day had grown hot and the relentless sun beat down on their backs without mercy. Up the steep hillside the caravan wound. It was cool within the shade provided by the overhanging bowers.

  They crested the hill and Urbas halted the Caravan allowing the animals to rest.

  They looked down into a shallow valley that held a deep lake of still water that reflected the sky and surrounding mountains clearly. On the southern side less than a mile away a narrow gorge ran up between two peaks, through this flowed a narrow stream.

  Urbas pointed up the gorge. “There lays the pass,” he said. “We will camp at the opening in a small clearing.”

  They lingered on the hills crown for only a short while; once the animals had been tended Urbas led them down into the vale. They followed the narrow shoreline around the lakes eastern side. Coming to a small circular clearing that bordered on the waters edge.

  The men quickly set up camp; they were well practiced having done this for many years. A large fire was soon burning in a pit lined with stones polished by water.

  Casius saw to his horses needs and hobbled the animal in an area where the grass was thick and lush. He left the beast as it grazed contentedly on the verdant shoots. He wandered along the shore and walked a short distance up the gorge. A wide trail followed the streambed, winding around large boulders that had fallen from the rim some thirty or more feet above.

  The sound of rushing water grew louder the further he went until he came to a waterfall that plummeted from the heights above. Thick ferns lined the edges of the pool from which the stream flowed. The air was moist with blowing mist and smelled of rich earth.

  The gorge beyond the falls was dark its bottom lay in the shadow cast by the mountains. Casius remembered the Bards warning and suddenly the area felt threatening.

  He retraced his footsteps quickly, cursing himself for foolishly wandering off on his own. When he entered camp the feeling of unseen eyes upon his back faded.

  He joined the men at the fire eating a thick stew of beans and salted meat. Urbas said nothing of his foray but the look he gave him showed his displeasure at his venture.

  All of the men bore arms now; their weapons clinking in the growing darkness as they moved about.

  Casius lingered by the fire for a few hours listening to the night songs of crickets and the eerie croaks of frogs from the waters edge. His eyes grew heavy as sleep called him. He moved carefully through the camp stepping around sleeping forms upon the ground. He found his bedroll and wrapped himself in the warm wool, and watched the dazzling stars above for a few minutes before slipping into a deep slumber.

  In the early hours before dawn he awoke with a start, the camp about him was in chaos. Men were yelling and pack mules braying in terror. Above the din a deep primal roar pierced the darkness.

  Casius untangled himself from his blanket, grabbing his short sword he raced through the camp to where a line of torch bearing men had gathered. He freed his sword from its scabbard as he ran.

  What he saw at the edge of the camp filled his heart with terror. The men waved the brands and shouted keeping a bear of nightmarish size at bay. The roaring mountain of dark fur and gleaming claws stood upon its hind legs unsure as to whom to attack. Infuriated by the fire it roared incessantly blood and foam spraying from its cavernous maw twenty feet above the ground. Two men lay on the ground their bodies mangled by the beasts ferocious attacks.

  Arrows struck its breast sinking deep into the heavy muscle beneath the blood-smeared fur. The bear roared in response and lunged forward with incredible speed. Its twelve-inch nails narrowly missing a man’s face as he franticly retreated.

  The beast ignored the flames and plowed through the line of men, brushing them aside as if they were nothing more than a swarm of pesky flies.

  More arrows struck the creature, the small game bows the men were using were incapable of piercing the muscle deep enough to do serious damage. The bear spun snapping at the painful barbs embedded in its side.

  Two of the men stood their ground firing arrows as fast as they could fit them to string. The bear fell upon them in its fury. Too late the bowmen realized their peril. They could offer little resistance to the bear
as it attacked. One mans head was crushed within its gaping maw; his body limp as a rag as the beast shook its head. The second bowmen fared no better as the razor like claws tore open his belly spilling his guts onto the ground.

  Casius stared in horror, gagging as the stench of blood and bile reached him. Despite the gore he could not tear his eyes away from the scene as the man struggled to force the hanging loops of tattered intestines back into his abdomen. The shock on the man’s face would be forever in his memory; the bear struck him a mighty blow to the back of his head snapping his neck. The crack of splintering bone echoed in the night.

  The men renewed their attacks tossing burning brands onto the bear. The creatures fur smoked several places, one man charged with a spear seeking to skewer the beast. The bear swatted the weapon aside and tore the man’s arm from its socket with a vicious bite.

  A loud clack was heard over the din, the bear fell dead pinning the dying man beneath its bulk. A single shaft protruded from its left eye. A cruelly barbed iron tip dripped gore from the back of its head.

  Silence filled the camp, beneath the bears corpse the feeble moans of the trapped man stopped as his life ended.

  “How many men have we lost?” Urbas’s voiced bellowed in anger, he stalked into view carrying the heavy crossbow he had fired with such deadly accuracy.

  “Torel, Gawlen, Ednar, Vellon, and Kal.” Kehvlor, the camps cook spoke sadly. He was kneeling next to Kal, covered by the man’s blood. He had attempted to staunch the flow of blood from the man’s shoulder.

  “Damn!” Urbas cursed, “and the animals?” He asked once he had regained control of his temper.

  Several of the men spoke out at once. The bear had passed the horses and mules. Choosing to attack the sentries, driving through them to fall upon the unfortunate men as they slept.

  Urbas spat on the ground. “A man killer,” He said in disgust. “He’s probably followed our spore for days before attacking.” Urbas looked to Casius, “This is a Fel’Tuin, they usually live in the higher reaches of the mountains. This bear is old and was driven from his range, probably by a younger male. They are rarely seen but once one has tasted man flesh they become man killers forsaking all other prey. There are tales of entire villages terrorized by such beasts.”