BlackThorn

by DeWayne Kunkel

  Casius lowered his blade letting it hang at his side. “I have never aspired to being a swordsman Connell. I have no desire to take a life or to prove myself on the fields of battle.”

  “No man of honor wishes to Casius, but there are times in ones life where he must.”

  “Aye Connell,” Casius agreed. “If I am ever to live without fear I must abandon the path I have chosen and follow the way that you have offered.”

  “You are a good man Casius, where it otherwise I would not teach you. With skill lie options, many of which do not lead to deaths door. Remember good intentions will not turn the Raiders blade.”

  “When do we start?” Casius asked.

  “We have already begun, in Haven we will find you a better sword. For now let us focus on balance, the key element to the art of the blade.”

  While the light lasted Connell had Casius leaping about on one foot then the other. He taught him several practice patterns and had him repeating them over and over. Casius felt like a fool he feared that someone would walk into their camp and laugh at his antics.

  Connell as if sensing his discomfort drew his sword and repeated the patterns, emphasizing each movement with feints and attacks. He moved with amazing skill, his sword becoming a web of flickering steel.

  Casius was awed by his skill; no wonder the Raiders feared him. The sheer speed and agility of Connell was surpassed by the total control he maintained over the weapon. When he had finished Casius noticed he was not even breathing hard.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  Connell sheathed his sword. “In Kesh, the art of the sword is taught at an early age. I was fortunate to have had the finest swordsmen of the realm as my teacher.”

  “Who was that?” Casius asked sitting down on the lush grass.

  “My father, Connell replied. “It was both good and bad; imagine trying to live up to his expectations. I grew up in a household of strict discipline, living a life devoted to duty and honor above all else.” Connell stretched out his saddle blanket and lay down. “Still it was a better life than most, from what I have seen in my travels most men consider themselves fortunate if they can go to bed with a full stomach.”

  “We can never go back can we Connell?” Casius said feeling the loss of his family weighing down on him.

  “I’m afraid not Casius,” Connell answered. “Such is life, always changing. You have little choice if you are to succeed.” Connell paused rising to his feet. “Don’t rush tomorrow Casius, it will come on its own accord soon enough.”

  “You speak as if you were a wise man, Connell.”

  “Nay Casius,” Connell laughed softly. “I am as big a fool as ever did walk this green earth. I remember bits and pieces of the wisdom spoken to me in my youth. Seldom have I ever heeded the advice given me by others.

  “Get some sleep Casius, I’ll take the first watch.” He walked off into the deepening darkness checking on the horses.

  Casius lay back and watched the stars slowly emerge from darkening sky. Despite all that was on his mind he drifted off to sleep quickly, the weariness of his body taking control.

  Connell awakened Casius shortly after midnight by placing his hand across Casius’s mouth to keep him silent.

  Casius knew something was dreadfully wrong, the excitement casting aside the cobwebs of too little sleep. In the darkness he could see the stars reflecting from Connell’s sword, small flickers of gleaming steel in the dark.

  Casius drew his short sword and followed Connell crouching low in the grass.

  They crawled slowly forward. The night was still; only the soft whistle of the wind through the grass kept them company.

  Connell stopped and they sat in the dark their ears straining. Faint snorting sounds came from the darkness ahead. Something was sniffing around moving in short bursts as it approached.

  Casius had heard pigs making such noises before; he was about to laugh at Connell’s mistake when a new sound reached his ears. Faint mumblings, whatever it was it was speaking in hushed tones. Half formed words drifted out of the blackness, Casius strained to hear but he could not make out what was being said.

  Intrigued by the sound he lifted his head slowly above the waving grass and was greeted by a most peculiar sight. Not more than twenty feet away the dark form of a very thin man was crawling about on all fours his head held close to the ground. In the gloom he could only discern the man’s shape. He gasped in surprise as the silhouette raised its head and two eyes of gleaming amber pierced the darkness.

  At the sound of his gasp the man sniffed loudly the amber lights narrowed. Then with a terrifying scream the figure leaped forward its long thin arms held out at its side.

  Casius struggled to pull his sword up but the long grass had become entangled in the weapons guard.

  The figure was almost upon him when Connell launched up out of his concealment. Striking the attacker in the chest with his shoulder. They staggered backwards, the force of the blow knocking them both off their feet. The air whistled as the figure lashed out with one of its hands.

  Connell rolled out of the way, the figures hand thudding into the ground with incredible force. Connell got to his feet and struck the figure across the chest as it stood.

  Ignoring the wound the figure attempted to work its way around Connell seemingly intent upon Casius.

  Connell’s sword formed a barrier, the flashing steel forcing the figure back. Several times Connell evaded the figures attacks, stepping out of the way and countering with attacks of his own. He had struck solid blows each of them capable of killing a man but the only effect they had on this figure was to enrage it further.

  The creature howled and ignoring the blows that Connell delivered, it charged and struck the man across the chest.

  Connell was lifted several feet into the air and landed on his back his breath knocked from him.

  Casius abandoned his sword and pulled the Ka’rich from his belt as the figure charged.

  The gangly form moved with incredible speed, running on all fours.

  Casius threw the blade with all his might.

  The two amber lights suddenly became one, the being howled in anguish and fell to ground thrashing wildly in the grass. Its piercing cries did not last long, with a final gurgling moan it ceased to move.

  “By the Gods!” Connell exclaimed drawing close to it. He held his sword ready not trusting it to be completely dead. “What the hell is that thing?”

  Casius was shaking it took him a moment to find his voice. “I don’t know,” he croaked, his throat suddenly as dry as a desert. “I thought it to be a crazed man.”

  “As did I,” Connell sheathed his sword and squatted beside the body. “Until I saw the light of its eyes.”

  “My sword struck true more than once, but it felt as if I was hewing timber instead of flesh. How did you manage to kill it? No strike of mine so grievously injured it.”

  “I threw my Ka’rich into its eye,” Casius answered moving closer to get a good look at it. “Remind me to thank the caravan master for it, should I ever see him again.”

  “A Calephean throwing knife?” Connell laughed. “And you were worried about your swords length.”

  Casius could not help but smile, seeing the irony of it.

  “A good throw Casius,” Connell complimented him.

  “Pure luck and desperation.”

  “Nonsense you hit your mark.”

  The figure was not a man, it was man shaped but its skin was covered with thick knobs of bone and scale, completely naked, without clothing or hair on its hide. The head was small with a broad toothless mouth. The eyes were spaced wide and were lidless; the light in the remaining one was gone and all that remained was an orb of pallid flesh devoid of any sign of a pupil.

  The long arms ended in a single wicked claw where a hand would be on a man. From its tip a thin bead of yellowish fluid seeped.

  “Poison,” Connell commented tapping the claw with his knife. Connell stood sheathin
g his knife. “I have no idea what this is, but let us pray it was alone.” He looked up at the sky, “There are a few hours of darkness yet. We’ll come back once the sunrises and see if the light reveals more.”

  They returned to their camp, neither man felt like sleeping after their harrowing encounter. They sat watching the sky brighten in the east as the sun slowly crept skyward.

  Finally they could wait no longer, retracing their steps they came upon a macabre scene.

  The body was little more than a pile of bones lying within a pool of bubbling slime. As they watched the roiling slime evaporated into a thin cloud that reeked of corruption. Within minutes even the bones had turned to dust and were carried away by the plains ever-present wind.

  No sign of the creature remained, only the flattened grass were it had lain and the glittering blade of the knife that had killed it.

  “This is foul work,” Connell said picking up the small blade and passing it to Casius. “In all the years I have traveled this land I have never heard of such a thing. Why would it decay so quickly?”

  Casius shrugged, “Perhaps it is the sunlight.” He guessed. “After all it had lain unchanged through half the night.”

  “I fear you may be right, and that only makes this all the more disturbing.”

  They returned to their camp in silence and started packing their meager supplies.

  “Urbas, the caravan master told me that there are things out on the Greensward that men have never seen. Old things that have outlasted their time.” Casius said to break the silence.

  “Yesterday I would have scoffed at such a statement.”

  “What of today?” Casius prompted.

  “Today,” Connell paused lifting his saddle onto the blacks back. “I would say heed Urbas’s words, he may know things of worth.” Connell finished tightening the straps and swung up into the saddle. “Let us be away from here, I will sleep better once we reach Haven.”

  They started off at a brisk trot both men looking back on the scene with unease.

  Chapter Nine

  The door to Gaelan’s chamber burst open flooding the darkened room with light. A giant of a man with a dark beard streaked with gray and a wild mane of hair to match stood in the doorway. In his thick-fingered hand he clutched a wildly swinging lantern. The light it cast sent shadows racing across the walls.

  “My Lord,” he hissed loudly. “Wake up!” He kicked the bed firmly.

  Gaelan covered his eyes, shielding them from the offending light. “Burcott,” he groaned. “It is not yet dawn.”

  Burcott closed the door, “I know what the hour is.” He pulled at the linen bed sheets, uncovering Gaelan. “Now get dressed. There’s something afoot in the Kings tower. If I was a gambling man I’d lay good money to say that cur Goliad is involved in this.”

  Gaelan sat rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You do gamble Burcott, have you been drinking?”

  Burcott grabbed Gaelan’s clothing from the floor and tossed it onto the bed. “Of course I have. Why else would I be up at this hour?” Burcott tossed Gaelan’s boots onto the bed as well. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my wits about me. I just passed Lord Vernal and a dozen of his men running full out across Galloglass hall. The weasel had his sword drawn!”

  Gaelan jumped out of his bed pulling his clothes on frantically. He had never trusted Lord Vernal, he was known as a troublemaker. As one of the most powerful lords of the lesser houses he carried much influence. And often used it for his own financial gain. If he was about and openly involved in something, no good could possibly come from it.

  Buckling his sword belt about his waist he shoved Burcott out of the room.

  They raced through Thorunder Hall, the lantern’s light dancing in the darkness. They slowed as they came into Galloglass Hall. It was dark and gloomy with only a few oil lamps burning. Servants packed the hall many of them still wearing their bedclothes.

  Burcott’s massive frame and harsh glares quickly cleared a path for them to the stair that led up into the King’s tower.

  Climbing the broad stair to the levels above, Gaelan began to feel a sense of impending doom. The royal guards were missing on the landing. In their place stood a heavily armed group of warriors. Gaelan recognized them as Lord Vernal’s men by the yellow crosses on their hauberks. The men did not block the doorway to the King’s chambers but the expressions they bore were just short of murderous.

  The king’s parlor was filled with people. Lord Vernal along with other members of the lesser houses stood at the entry to the bedchamber. There were at least twenty armed guards loyal to Vernal in the room.

  “What goes on here?” Gaelan demanded annoyed to see so many armed men in his father’s chambers.

  Lord Vernal looked into the prince’s eyes. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he spoke. “The king is dead, your highness.”

  Gaelan drew his sword and the crowd pushed back away from him. “You would bear such ill tidings to me with a smile upon your jackals face?” Gaelan shouted in his rage. He shrugged off Burcott’s restraining hand and stepped forward. “I should run you through for such callousness.”

  “Has there not been enough killing tonight?” A thin voice spoke from beyond the darkened doorway. “Or does your blade yet require more blood to quench its thirst.”

  Blood pounded in Gaelan’s temples, he knew that viper’s voice. It belonged to the spreader of lies who hung within the shadows fearing the touch of daylight. Why his sister had allowed such a villainous man to wed her he would never understand.

  “Goliad!” he shouted pushing past Vernal. Gaelan stopped in the doorway, there lying on the floor was his father. His white robe stained scarlet from many stab wounds. Gaelan staggered backwards a few steps, grief and rage seeking to over power him.

  Goliad stood over the body his boots planted within a pool of spilt blood. Goliad smiled sadly his black goatee hardly moving as his lips curled. “Could you not wait for the fullness of your father’s time to pass, Gaelan?” He spoke softly his voice low and soothing, though his eyes burned with hatred.

  Gaelan tore his eyes from his father’s body and looked into Goliad’s face. “What say you?” he asked in disbelief.

  Goliad arched an eyebrow in surprise. “You would deny having a hand in this when you come in here bearing the very blade that took your fathers life.”

  “I had no part in this treachery!” Gaelan snapped.

  “Does not your blade yet bear the dried gore from your father’s wounds?” Goliad indicated the weapon Gaelan held with a casual wave of his hand.

  Gaelan looked to the blade and cursed. Along its three-foot length splotches of dried blood marred the polished steel. “This is impossible.” He muttered in disbelief.

  “Then perhaps someone else used your weapon while you slept.” Goliad said mockingly. “I have heard it said that you sleep with your sword at hand. A pity your father did not as well. Then it would be your corpse we are standing over and not his.”

  “Where are his guards?” Burcott demanded. “They will know the truth of this matter.”

  “Dead,” Goliad responded. “Apparently poisoned, one of them survived long enough to tell Lord Vernal that it was Gaelan who entered his father’s chamber while the king slept. Lord Vernal came upon this grisly scene too late to save his liege.”

  Gaelan had heard enough. He spun to face Vernal. The sound of a dozen swords being drawn stopped him.

  “Do not be foolish,” Goliad admonished. “Drop your blade or you will be cut down, adding your blood to your fathers.”

  Burcott glowered his hand on his sword’s hilt. He looked to his prince awaiting the command. He was not afraid of death and would take out more than a few of these traitors before he fell.

  Gaelan looked his friend in the eye and shook his head. The sound of his sword ringing upon the stone floor echoed loudly. Turning to speak he opened his mouth and a heavy sword hilt slammed into the back of his head. The room spun and he
fell to the floor. His last sight before darkness overtook him was that of Burcott charging forward his sword cutting a bloody path through the guards.

  Gaelan awakened a few minutes later, his head ached terribly. He tried to move and found his hands had been tightly bound across his back. In the darkened room he could hear Goliad and Vernal whispering behind him.

  “What nonsense is this?” Lord Vernal exclaimed. “This is not what we agreed to!”

  Goliad laughed, an empty sound devoid of emotion. “Gaelan is marked a King slayer, when he swings from the gallows it will be his sister who takes the throne. And through my wife I and I alone will rule Trondhiem.”

  “But it was I who was to be named regent!”

  “Lord Vernal,” Goliad said softly. “Deals change, is it not enough that the lords of the Landsmarch will lie in chains. Your house will rise up and their lands shall be yours.” Goliad raised his hand silencing Vernal’s protest. “Hold your vipers tongue, there are more chains in the dungeons.”

  Vernal clenched his jaw, “Very well Goliad, just ensure nothing else changes this day.”

  Goliad nodded, “Smile Vernal, after today you will be the second most powerful man in all of Trondhiem.”

  Vernal grunted and waved his guards over, “Take this traitor and his companion to the dungeon. Let them spend some time together before we hang them in the morning.”

  Gaelan was yanked to his feet roughly and shoved towards the door. “You will pay for this treachery!” He shouted.

  “Gag him!” Vernal commanded. “Lest he wakens the entire keep.”

  He was thrown to the ground and a cloth was shoved into his mouth and tied behind his head. Once it was secure he was wrenched upright and ushered roughly from his father’s chambers.