Up here a fierce cold wind bit at him. He waited for his foes to reveal themselves. When they did not, he flashed the Guardian’s Blade brightly and cried, “Out demons. Out foul servants of Rectar. Out and meet your end.” From a sliver of a shadow across the platform emerged a wounded spectre. It clutched at its side, smoke rising between its fingers, and stumbled to face Blaine. It had peculiar flaming hair; short spikes and lemon yellow in colour. Blaine recognised it as the one who’d taken his finger.
“Struggling, scum?” Blaine spat.
“The Master lied to me,” it said in a high, scraping voice. “Lied,” it repeated, in some pain. “I shall watch over you, Kraz. Always, he said. I remember. You can’t forget a voice like that. Not one in your mind.” He grinned madly. A few teeth at the front had been chipped or knocked clean out. Blaine looked around warily, wondering if this was some trap. The spectre babbled on and Blaine doubted there was any semblance of control left to even prepare an ambush. He stepped forward, Blade raised, and was within reach of the spectre when he spoke again.
“Everything’s a lie,” Kraz cried. “The old one lied to me as well. Curse Dukoona. Master, curse him.” Blaine halted. That name was familiar. Kraz wouldn’t stop his wailing. “He tried to have me killed. Curse him for abandoning us. Lies. You lied.”
“Silence!” Blaine’s voice brought the spectre back to reality. Kraz focused his black eyes on him and gasped. “I will give you a quick death, wretch,” Blaine went on, “if you tell me about this one you call Dukoona.” He prayed that the gods would not be angry at him for talking with this spawn of the Shadow, but he had to know.
“Dukoona?” Kraz said, eyes popping. “Dukoona. The old one. He led us, led us all for years.”
“And then what?”
“I know,” Kraz said, unhelpfully.
“Know what?”
“Why he left,” Kraz said. “Clear now. So, clear. We tried to stop him. We failed.”
Blaine seized Kraz with his free hand. “Tell me why he left,” he demanded, shaking the spectre. Kraz’s wound smoked more profusely smelling of rust and death.
“He hates the Master,” Kraz said. “The Master told me so.”
“Your own leader? Dukoona works against Rectar?” Blaine asked. This was surely some lie, something to distract or disarm him. But if it was true, then Darnuir might—
“Why,” Kraz shrieked. He stumbled back from Blaine, dripping blood. “Why Master have you left us to die? Did I displease you? Do you not need us?” He was stepping unwittingly close to the edge of the platform.
“Wait,” Blaine said, lunging for him.
“No,” Kraz screamed, swiping wildly with a conjured dark dagger. He did not stop creeping backwards. “The Master only spoke when he needed us. To use us.”
Then he fell.
Blaine moved carefully to the ledge and peered over. Kraz was falling, a black speck soon lost against the writhing mass of demons and dragons below. If that was their leader, or one of them, then this battle would be over soon.
Blaine pulled back from the edge and extinguished the light on his Blade. Within seconds he felt nauseous from the magic he’d used. Lack of sleep hit hard as well, now there wasn’t a burn of Cascade energy fuelling him. Phantom pain from his lost finger flared. Days away from that transcendent moment upon the Nail Head and his grip had begun to feel lax again. He’d have to train or learn to switch hands; not something easily done.
For now, he stole a precious half-minute to collect his breath and let the poison drain down his arm. All the while his thoughts were fixated on Kraz’s troubling words. This spectre lord, Dukoona, had gone rogue and fled east. Would he seek to cut some deal with Darnuir? His sympathetic grandson, so concerned about alliances, might very well listen. The gods would not tolerate that. He’d known Darnuir was in no fit state to lead either but he’d not stopped him. Another failure, but one Blaine would rectify.
I should not have let him go alone. We shall forgo rest and sail east to Aurisha with all speed.
For the idea of Darnuir meeting this Dukoona worried Blaine.
It worried him more than anything.
Chapter 27
JUST ONE MAN
Garon – West of the Glen of Bhrath
GARON HAD NOT wasted his time before dawn. He sharpened his sword and dagger, brought out his bow from storage, re-strung it, checked the fletching of his arrows, trimmed them where necessary, filled his quiver, tied on his harder leather shoulder guards, making him appear about three inches broader and splashed his face with freezing river water to awaken him, and calm his nerves. The river ran in a clear ice blue from the mountains. Its water tickled his skin in a gentle burn that washed away the dirt of his travels and left his face feeling supple and fresh. Then morning came.
A layer of mist rose to meet the soft light and reddening leaves fell in pairs from the trees of the glen. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of lapping water. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly through his nose.
What should I do?
Ochnic was being restrained by the Silver Fur trolls. Marus seemed decided on appeasing Rohka and without the dragons behind him, Garon had little sway on his own. He tapped the scroll still at his waist. What would you do, Darnuir? What would you do, Cosmo? What’s the right thing?
Ahead at the eastern edge of this glen, Garon saw the first waves of dragons and kazzek warriors begin to move, heading to engage the demons under cover of the morning mist. Pel had kept her fairies back; the hunters remained as well, waiting for Garon to decide. They’d need their full strength against the demons if they were to succeed. But if the demons were pushed back, they were likely to turn their full attention on the Glen of Bhrath. Ochnic’s clan would be lost. His daughter killed. Garon had to decide.
‘On patrol, you never leave a squad mate behind,’ Cosmo’s voice reminded him. ‘Dead or dying you bring them home, just as you would want to be.’
“That’s well and good, Cosmo,” Garon muttered to himself, “but Marus has a point. Rohka is the kazzek leader and Darnuir wants unity. It’s not down to me to jeopardise that.”
He paced through the heather, torn. Then he remembered it was Darnuir who had risked all to bring the humans safely from Torridon to Val’tarra. He wouldn’t have been able to live with so many deaths on his hands.
‘You never leave a squad mate behind.’
Ochnic is my friend, Garon thought. He’s the best of us. And Garon made up his mind.
Half an hour later, Garon had made his plans and was approaching the Silver Fur guarding Ochnic with as much confidence as he could muster. The Silver Furs had camped by the edge of the treeline that ran towards the peak of the nearest hill. Distant sounds of battle from the east reached Garon. Marus had engaged the demons. There wasn’t much time. The Silver Fur didn’t seem to notice him coming. He was too busy looking in the direction of the battle, though nothing could be seen from here. He rustled around and kicked the nearby heather.
Ochnic was sitting crossed legged on the ground. His arms were tied behind a stake planted in the earth and he was still gagged.
“Why, hello there,” Garon announced loudly.
The Silver Fur snorted and whipped around. “Der is no need to be here, pack leader. Der is a battle to be fightin’.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” Garon asked.
“My Chief-of-Chiefs gives me this task,” said the Silver Fur. “Watch over Ochnic, Shadow Hunter, I must.”
“Ochnic is no threat,” Garon said. “He’s just worried for his family. Let him go. Who will fight the demons harder than him?” The Silver Fur furrowed his brow in thought and Garon took the moment to check the treeline behind the kazzek.
Ochnic moaned incoherently through his gag.
Garon snapped back to the Silver Fur. “You see? He’s very eager.”
The Silver Fur curled his lip up to reveal his fangs. “He stays here. Rohka commands it.”
“Well, I didn’
t expect anything different,” Garon sighed. He drew out his skinning knife. “I’ll just let Ochnic go myself then.”
The Silver Fur laughed a low, guttural sort of laugh. “No further, pack leader. You Lowlanders without the golden clothes are not so strong. I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“You’re right,” Garon said. “We aren’t that strong. But we’re quite good with a bow.” He looked to the treeline again and whistled loudly, a sharp, oscillating signal of the hunters: three short blasts to call an ambush. Griswald and a score of hunters materialised from behind the nearest trunks, their bows raised. Fairies flew out in a torrent of leaves from the trees as well. Pel lead them down to surround Ochnic and keep him safe.
The Silver Fur was aghast. “Der’s no need,” he said. He grasped his tusks, crouched and bowed his head to Garon.
“No need at all,” Garon said. He nodded to Pel and she cut Ochnic free. They replaced him with the Silver Fur guard.
“Rohka will be angered by dis, pack leader,” Ochnic said as he nursed his wrists.
“He can’t push the demons back without us,” Garon said as he sheathed his skinning knife. “He’ll deal with it. Now, we have to move quickly. You mentioned mountain paths into the Glen of Bhrath. Can you lead us to them?”
“I can,” Ochnic said.
“What of the demons?” asked Griswald. “Paths like that in the Boreac’s were steep slanting treks with sheer drops. I don’t much fancy having tae fight up there.”
“We will walk high,” said Ochnic. “Da demons should not notice us, if dragon legate is fighting dem.”
“Marus is fighting already,” Garon said. He hesitated for a moment. “You must try and forgive him, Och. He is only doing what he thinks is best for everyone.”
“As is Rohka, Chief-of-Chiefs,” Ochnic said. “But not you, pack leader?”
“I couldn’t bear it to let you down,” Garon said. “Not after we’ve come this far. I’m not sure I was ever cut out to lead armies and play nice in negotiations.”
“But Darnuir, Dragon King, chose you,” Ochnic said. Pel giggled.
“What?” Garon asked in mock indignation. “Think I was a bad choice?”
“A hunter with no experience of large scale command?” Pel asked. “You were the perfect choice.”
“I’m thinking you might have been more agreeable when you were hungry and cowed, Wing Commander,” Garon said. Pel flapped her wings playfully. “Look, Darnuir is expected to lead large armies and he never even got around to leading patrols first.”
“Aye, but that’s different innit,” Griswald said. “Magic sword, a wizard companion, long lost ancient mentor figure and all that.”
“Yes, a different set of rules,” said Garon. “I, however, am a hunter not a commander of armies. My experience is in hit-and-run, in quiet ambushes and toiling across hard terrain. And after coming this far you’d have to think me mad not to see this through to the end with you Ochnic. You’re our friend and we’re going to save your daughter.”
The troll broke into that toothy smile of his. “Glad for de help, pack leader.”
“Alright then,” Garon said. “Let’s go join Marus. There are demons to kill.”
They gathered the full might of the fairies and hunters and sped to the battlefront. As they came into view, Garon saw that Marus and Rohka had already cleared enough of a space to begin entering the mountain passageway. To the right, dragons stood in tight ranks with shields raised, holding back the demon horde in the narrowest corridor between the mountain slopes. Behind the dragons, the kazzek warriors dealt with stray demons that managed to worm their way over or around the Ninth Legion. To the left, a great archway was already materialising in the mountainside. Silver Furs were disappearing into the dark passage.
This will be our chance.
“What’s the plan?” Pel asked, drawing up beside him.
“We’ll need to hold the bulk of the demons here and secure this side of the mountain. I’ll take around a hundred hunters with Ochnic to warn his clan. The remaining seven hundred will stay here to fight.”
“What about the doorway on the other side?” Pel asked.
“Chieftain Orrock will know,” Ochnic said. At the battlefront, Marus’ line of dragons took a very visible step back.
“We need to move now,” Garon said. “Pel, help Marus. The moment things look stable here you fly to us and let us know it’s safe for the clan to leave.”
“Stay safe,” Pel said, then she took off. All her flyers followed her into the sky and hovered high over the demons, waiting for the hunters to send their arrows first. The dragons took another step back.
“Hunters!” Garon cried. “Into position behind the dragons. Three volleys then let the fairies descend.” Word spread around the hunter forces and their arrows cleared some ground, enabling the dragons to inch forwards again. Garon kept close to Ochnic as they weaved through the back ranks of the battle, towards the beginnings of the mountain path. Ochnic was already leading the splinter force of hunters up it when Garon heard his name over the carnage.
“Garon. Garon, turn around.” It was Marus, breathing hard as he limped to catch up. He had perhaps two score dragons with him.
“You don’t look bloodied yet,” Garon shouted to him.
Marus scowled. “I can hardly fight directly.” He looked up towards where Ochnic was climbing. “He shouldn’t be free.”
“I had to do it,” Garon said. He pulled out the scroll from Darnuir and threw it at Marus’ feet. “Orders are to help Ochnic and his people in any way we can. His people are trapped on the other side of his mountain.”
“That’s interpreting my King’s words very loosely,” Marus said. “You know what he really meant. I won’t be the one to cause discord between us and the kazzek. Now come back or I’ll have my men take you.”
“Rohka can take any anger out on me,” Garon said. “Ochnic saved your life, Marus. He saved both our lives from that red-eyed huntress. We both owe him.”
“I hate being reminded of that,” Marus grunted.
“Let us go and the debt’s repaid,” Garon said. “Give us the chance to save his only child.”
Marus pressed his lips together, ruffled his brow, and ground the heel of his crutch into the damp grass. “Go,” he said. Garon smiled and turned. He was about ten paces away when Marus called, “Wait!”
Garon halted. Revolved slowly on the spot. And saw Marus shuffling towards him.
“Yes?” Garon asked.
“Take care out there, human,” Marus said. He grasped Garon’s forearm. “Don’t die on us.”
Garon took the legate’s arm in return. “Why thank you, Marus. You stay alive too. Don’t get any more limbs sliced open.” Marus made a sound, which orbited a laugh, and Garon took it to be his equivalent to a delighted roar from Griswald.
On a narrow ledge, high above the battle raging below, Garon tried not to look down. He inched carefully along the ledge on his heels, back to the mountainside, arms pressed against it for dear life. He tried not to peer down and see where he would splatter onto the rocks, but he couldn’t help a glance or two. Their combined forces had gouged a chunk from the black mass of demons now, but their advance was slowing somewhat as they spread out. Mercifully, the demons had not noticed Garon and his company’s progress on the mountainside. Garon was even more grateful when the ledge widened out at a sharp turn, taking him out of sight of the battle.
Hours passed until Ochnic announced he was in sight of the Glen of Bhrath.
“Cannot waste time,” he called. “Da golems work without rest.”
“Golems?” Garon said under his breath. And then he saw their work. At the southern pass into the glen the earth churned. Boulders broke off the mountainsides and crashed down to form a blockage or crush demons. The golems themselves stood just below the height of the surrounding trees, upon limbs of dark stone webbed in blue lines like veins. Three in total, their silver eyes were the size of arched windows and they le
aned forward, pressing giant hands, glowing in a silver-blue light, into the ground.
“And I thought I’d seen all the extraordinary things the world had to offer this year,” Garon said.
“Bloody hell,” Griswald commented.
“Dey cannot keep dat up forever,” Ochnic said. “Let us hurry.”
On their descent, Garon saw the golems weren’t enough to hold all the demons at bay. Many made it through the tossing earth and were met with grey-skinned warriors of the kazzek, moving sluggishly compared to others of their kind.
How long have they been fighting for? It’s a wonder they can even stand up at this point.
Ochnic’s own energy seemed to redouble as they entered the valley, and he started running off to where smoke was rising.
“Ochnic,” Garon called but it was no use. “Come on then,” he said resigned to Griswald and the other hunters. They followed the troll up the glen. When Garon first saw the camp his stomach sank, as ‘camp’ was a generous word for what he saw.
Old trolls with thinning tusks and wrinkled hide lay unmoving under the sky without shelter. The children looked thin and shivered against the cold. Their blankets were worn and damp. One group was segregated from the rest. They were paler with patches of fur missing and Garon feared a sickness had begun to spread.
“Now that’s a sorry sight,” Griswald said.
“That it is,” said Garon. “I’m glad we came. Seeing this — it’s what it’s all about. What hunters should be all about: helping people. And I’ve never seen a group more in need, not even us when we were fleeing the Boreacs’.” Sadness and anger flared within him. He felt like crying and hitting something all at once. He looked away from the emaciated trolls and felt cowardly for doing so.
It was just so hard to see.
Ochnic was busy scanning the area; his eyes darting madly left and right, up, down, until his ears visibly pricked.
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