by J. K. Barber
Jared motioned to Talas, Sasha and Ruharc, getting their attention, and pointed to the right side of the camp from where they squatted in the darkness. The three nodded and moved in a low crouch out of sight. The woodsman pointed directly at Marcus and crooked his finger at the boy, indicating he should follow. Marcus looked confused and opened his mouth to speak. Jared quickly put a finger to his lips, asking for silence, and waved the boy forward. As the boy came closer, Jared spared a look towards Gabe. The bowman already had an arrow nocked and simply nodded moving off to the left into the shadows.
When Marcus was close enough, he tried to whisper, but Jared signaled again for him to be quiet. They both rose and followed Gabe into the shadows away from the fire. As they passed Sasha’s mount, where she was tethered to one of the caravan wagons, Jared patted Hoarfrost’s neck and sent silent thanks to the huge horse.
Fully enclosed in darkness, Jared squatted down waiting for his eyes to adjust. He grabbed Marcus by the front of his shirt and hauled him down to a sitting position, when the young man almost walked into him. Maintaining his grip he pulled Marcus close and whispered into his ear.
“What is it?” Jared tried to keep the impatience out of his voice but knew he did not succeed. He had no time to coddle a small town boy with visions of glory in his eyes.
“What are we doing?” Marcus whispered in response.
“Corvan didn’t come back from his shift on watch. If something happened, do you really want who bested him to find you asleep?” Jared replied.
The young man’s eyes widened, as he fumbled to draw his longsword from its scabbard with his left hand. Jared reached out and put his hand atop Marcus’.
“Relax,” the woodsman whispered. “Take a deep breath, gather your thoughts and then slowly draw the blade.” The youth relaxed some and then unsheathed his sword. “Now, be quiet and stay close to me.”
Marcus nodded once, and then his eyes went wide, as he looked over the woodsman’s shoulder. Jared’s head spun around, following Marcus’ gaze, but saw nothing. He quickly looked back to the youth. “What? What did you see?”
The young man, who had left his small town to see what the world had to offer him only made a gurgling sound as blood began to well up in his mouth and pour over his bottom lip. Jared sat stunned for a moment, seeing Marcus’ eyes glaze over and their light fade.
Jared’s instincts took over his body, as he dove away from the dying boy, and rolled sideways to land in a low crouch. A line of fire was drawn across his back and he felt the cool night air against his skin, just above his belt. Something had cut him as he had rolled away, but he could see nothing in the darkness. He heard Hoarfrost’s loud whinny, as she began straining against her tether. He heard her massive hooves slam against the side of the caravan wagon, to which she was tied, and then he saw a gout of flame burst from their withering camp fire. In the horse’s thrashing about, she had put her back hooves into the embers of the fire. Some part of him was concerned over the pain she would be in, but that part was quickly overwhelmed by his own instinct for survival.
In the weak light of the now rekindled flame, Jared saw a form in the darkness move and take a more defined shape. A tall figure, whose features were lost in the folds of a dark cloak that seemed to be more a part of the blackness around them than the figure itself, rushed forward. Jared yelled a warning to Gabe and then danced to his left out of the thing’s reach and towards the fire. As Jared’s feet settled into a combat stance, he crouched near the higher blaze and saw the figure more clearly. The person was tall and incredibly thin. As the assailant stepped closer, the man’s face, for Jared could now clearly see that it was a man at least in form, was illuminated by the fire behind the woodsman as he rose. His skin was cadaverously pale and the eyes held no color. They were milky white in a face that Jared had seen before. Or more to the point, he had seen faces like them before on people who had long been dead but were unmarred by decay. His was the face of people who had gotten lost in a winter storm and were found days later; people who had frozen to death, life completely vacant from their bodies, yet their flesh perfectly preserved by the cold. Only this corpse, rather than lying in an icy grave, walked towards him, his cloak undulating in some unseen wind. His empty eyes were haunting, and he held a familiar black metal dagger with a skull-shaped pommel.
From behind him he heard Sasha scream, and Jared’s heart grew cold in his chest. Stupidly, Jared spared a glance towards the sound of the shriek, and the figure lunged again at him. The woodsman was barely able to parry the black dagger with his blade, as he took another step backwards towards the campfire. He held his sword with both hands in front of him and pointed it directly at the figure’s chest. Jared cursed himself for letting his defenses drop and moved his left leg behind him. He changed the grip on his sword from two hands to one and turned his body to face the creature before him at a shallow angle. Turned sideways, Jared presented much less of a target to the thing before him, and it would also allow the woodsman to make better use of the reach his longer weapon afforded him.
From somewhere in the darkness in front of him, Jared heard the twang of a bow string being released, and the dark figure jerked slightly but did not fall. Twice more in rapid succession, Jared heard Gabe’s bow loose, and the creature briefly jerked with each landed hit but otherwise remained still. The bowman uttered a curse, and the sound of the Easterner’s saber sliding from its sheath could be heard in the darkness. Jared could spare no time to look for Gabe’s shape though; the dark figure advanced once again.
As it moved further into the light, Jared could barely make out the loose fitting brown clothing of a desert dweller beneath the inky black cloak that fluttered around the closing figure. Its head was wrapped in a dark colored cloth that let no hair escape, but the thick gauzy veil hung to the side of the thing’s pale emotionless face. Dead eyes hungrily regarded Jared, as the creature moved closer.
Again, Jared heard Sasha’s voice cry out, only this time it was thick with rage and much closer. Jared was startled, catching a flash of firelight on metal out of the corner of his eye. A figure, bearing a gleaming longsword, rushed past him, headlong into the creature. He saw the sword fall in a death stroke, the full weight and momentum of the wielder behind it, as Sasha buried the blade in the creature’s chest. Her weapon cleaved down through its shoulder at an angle, stopping just short of its sternum.
The swordswoman took a step back to admire her handiwork, waiting for the creature to fall. But it simply stared at her for several long seconds with its lifeless eyes. Suddenly, its right hand struck out and, though startled, Sasha’s shield arm was quick enough to deflect the ebony dagger. The creature’s left fist, hidden within the folds of its cloak, punched out, striking Sasha full in the chest. Jared heard the dull thud of flesh upon metal, as the young woman sailed through the night air several yards to land at the feet of Talas, who was now visible in the firelight.
Looking back to the dark figure, Jared watched the blade of a horseman’s saber thrust through its chest. Thick black ichor began to slowly drip from the sword, as the creature staggered from the blow. Gabe half-appeared in the shadows behind the dark figure, a look of triumph on his clean shaven face. Unfortunately, the expression was short-lived, as the creature spun quickly and drove the pommel of its dagger into the Easterner’s temple. Gabe’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the wet grass like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly cut.
Now able to see the figure’s back, Jared saw the shafts of three arrows protruding from the creature. One was dead center and should have pierced its heart. The other two were placed perfectly to either side to strike his lungs. Any of them should have been kill shots. However, the ineffective arrows sprouted from the creature’s back above the hilt of an equally useless saber. The blade of Sasha’s longsword also hung still imbedded in the dark figure’s shoulder.
The creature turned slowly to face Jared. He heard Talas mumbling something under his brea
th, as Sasha was helped to her feet, coughing. Both Sasha and Gabe’s weapons had proven ineffectual. He had no illusions about whether his blade would harm the creature either, but it was not in his nature to roll over and die. He thrust forward with his curved blade, trying to slip its tapered point past the creature’s defenses, but his weapon was turned aside by a black dagger.
Desperate, Jared launched into a series of thrusts and feints and cuts, both one-handed and then two-handed, as he tried to put more and more force into the strokes. Each time, his sword was either turned aside or his blade had struck without result into the creature’s body. Each time, the abomination continued to advance until Jared could feel the heat of the fire behind him. He angled his retreat back and to his right, away from the fire and towards where Sasha and Talas stood. The old warrior was still muttering something under his breath. Closer now, the woodsman was able to make out an invocation to the Great Mother. Was Talas asking for protection or performing last rites? Jared thought. And if it was the latter, then for whom was he wishing final rest: the walking corpse before them, for me, or for himself?
Sasha had recovered and again rushed at the creature, bellowing in anger. “Where is she?” She howled. “What did you do with her you bastard?” Shield raised before her and a dagger in her other hand, she first slammed shield into the creature, forcing it back with the momentum of her rush. She buried her dagger up to the hilt into the side of the figure’s neck, using the handle of the dagger as an anchor to hold the thing’s head in place, as she bashed her shield into the creature’s face.
The creature, still staggered from Sasha’s initial attack, stood dumbly as its head bounced off the metal of swordswoman’s ivy-inlaid shield once, twice and then a third final time. Recovering from the blows, the creature’s left hand flew with preternatural speed to the swordwoman’s throat, lifting her up and off the ground. Sasha lost her hold on her dagger and grasped wildly at his headdress. As the covering was ripped free, the creature’s pale bald head was revealed in the dimming fire light. Hairless, its alabaster cranium was covered with strange, sickly purple symbols that pulsed and throbbed. The figure’s head tilted, as though it was studying the redhead. Jared was forgotten as it looked at the young woman with new interest.
Seeing Sasha’s feet dangling in the air, as she pounded her right fist into the creature’s arm and struggled for air, Jared rushed forward to aid her. Filled with an anger that quickly blew to a full rage within his chest, Jared leapt forward with a lupine snarl, burying his sword into the creature’s chest up to the hilt. Turning its head towards Jared, the corpse ignored the woodsman’s blade and raised his own, grip reversed for a downward thrust. Jared released his sword and grabbed the assassin’s arm as it descended. For one brief, agonizing moment the dagger stopped its downward arc, but then it began to move once again. Jared watched his death approaching as the black blade moved slowly but inexorably down towards him. His attacker was just too strong.
The woodsman pushed harder, but still the dagger came for him, its black-skull pommel seeming to grin in the dim light. He heard Sasha beside him, still hanging in the air, grasping for breath and the dull thuds of her fist and shield beating against the corpse’s arm. He thought of his promise to help her and her sister, which would go unfulfilled. “Sorry,” he snarled to her, as the dagger moved to within inches of his chest.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sasha fall to the ground, her limp form hitting the earth with the clatter of metal-clad flesh. Howling in pain and rancor, Jared managed to hold the dagger back for several more seconds, before his arms weakened. The weapon made contact with his chest, piercing through his leather armor, although Jared still pushed against it. The more the weapon’s cold point pressed into his skin, the more woodsman’s mind raced through his life: from his first memories, those of his parents’ death to ravenous flames, and to his first meeting with the young woman who now lay unmoving at his feet. As the dagger cut into his skin, drawing his blood, he whispered into the night, “Great Mother, receive now your servant into your embrace. Forgive him his mistakes and set him free to run across your earth again.”
Jared felt a vibration travel down his opponent’s arm, and the creature suddenly went rigid before him. The dagger stopped its relentless movement towards him, leaving only a small bloodstain on his jerkin. Jared looked confusedly up into the creature’s face. The pulsing runes along its barren scalp ceased their throbbing and then faded from a gangrenous purple to a dark black. Jared, no longer pinned beneath its dagger, took several steps back, as a look of relief appeared on the creature’s pallid face. Expressionless up until now, the pale man’s eyes glistened, and its lips mouthed a silent “thank you” to Jared before falling motionless to the ground.
“She doesn’t want you just yet,” Corvan’s normally boisterous voice croaked weakly from where he stood before them. His mace in hand, he clutched his side, and Jared saw the blood that seeped from between the big man’s fingers. “Not that she’d have a piece of horse dung like you anyway.” A hoarse laugh from Corvan quickly turned into a wet cough as blood began to fleck his colorless lips. The large man’s mace slipped from his grip, and he dropped to his knees.
Talas moved hurriedly towards Corvan, retrieving his shortsword from the creature on the way. He had driven it into the thing’s left side beneath the arm that had been strangling Sasha.
“Sasha!” Jared cried as he stepped over the corpse that lay between them. He ripped the glove off of his right hand between clenched teeth and hesitatingly placed his bare fingers on the young woman’s neck. The skin around her throat was already beginning to darken into a nasty bruise from the creature’s grip. He felt gently along her neck and sighed loudly, as he felt her pulse beating faintly beneath the skin. Sliding his fingers gently up one side of her throat and then down the other, he felt her windpipe. He opened her mouth and lowered his ear to her face, listening intently.
He turned to Talas. “She’s alive. She’s unconscious, but her windpipe seems intact. I won’t really know more until she wakes up...” Jared’s voice trailed away, as Corvan fell forward into Talas’ arms and his body went limp. Jared tried to read Talas’ composed face, trying to read the expression there. The veteran was acting with the coolness and solidity that comes with years of battle.
“He’s alive, for now,” the veteran replied to Jared’s unasked question. “He’s lost a lot of blood though. I’ll need your help to patch him up.” Talas’ calm countenance broke momentarily, and a look of worry briefly appeared on his weathered face. “After that, his fate is in the Great Mother’s hands,” Talas finished. He looked down at Corvan and began mumbling again, his concerned wrinkles smoothing as he spoke. Without the press of battle upon him, Jared was able to listen more closely to the words. They were a prayer, an entreaty to the Great Mother to save the fallen warrior’s life.
Jared’s eyes drifted from the veteran to the lifeless creature that lay face down on the other side of Sasha. Its cloak lay still across its form like a burial shroud. At the base of the bald skull, strange tattoos circled a smashed gem, a crystal so black that it seemed to suck the faint firelight out of the night air. The telltale signs of the impact of a mace surrounded the ruined gem and the caved-in back of the creature’s skull.
Voices intruded upon Jared’s reverie, as the other members of the caravan arrived at the site of the battle, asking questions that he did not hear. Talas quickly took charge, directing the care of the wounded and the dead. The older man’s abundant experience was brought to bear, as Jared sat cradling Sasha’s head in his hands.
Chapter 13
Katya’s sleep was fitful, as she lay on the bed of moss between two great roots of an oak. Cold sweat beaded upon her brow. In her dreams, she was falling endlessly in darkness. She tried to scream but found that the inky black stretched down into her lungs, cutting off her breath. She writhed as she fell, a pale flower caught in a whirling storm. No one was around to help her. Again, she mentally
grasped for her link to her sister. The sorceress’ body suddenly faded away, and all sensations of falling were gone.
Sasha was fully armored and fighting an enemy Katya could not see. She was yelling, and her long sword came down in a sweeping arc from above. A triumphant grin settled on her sister’s face, until an instant later she was flying backwards, swordless but with her shield raised. She was back on her feet in no time, charging the unseen foe with a dagger. Sasha grinned again as she stabbed the opponent and then bashed what must have been its head with her shield three times. Katya knew something was horribly wrong when Sasha’s hands went to her throat. Her eyes bulged. The swordswoman reached along her link with her sister in a silent cry for help.
Before she realized what she was doing, Katya felt her hands slide up and under the assailant’s tight grasp like water flowing under stone. The grip was still tight, but Katya’s once fluid hands hardened, preventing him from crushing Sasha’s windpipe. The sorceress panicked, as she also realized that her sister was still suffocating. Sasha’s eyes rolled back in her head and Katya screamed, her protective hands falling away from the warrior’s neck. Her sister’s body fell backwards and lay still, too still.
A stranger appeared above her. His shoulder length brown hair was matted to his tan face with sweat. He wore an off white shirt and brown breeches, tucked into soft leather boots. The studs in his green leather jerkin reflected what seemed to be firelight by the warm glow. Splotches of blood and some black liquid had dripped from his head down his stubbly cheeks. His dark brown eyes were intense as they stared down at Sasha. Katya couldn’t quite catch his expression, as her vision of the scene started to blur. He took off his gloves and knelt over Sasha, his hands reaching towards her neck…
Someone grabbed Katya’s arm, shaking her awake.
“Lady Katya? Are you okay?” Niko’s furrowed face looked down at the sorceress, as he shook her sleeve one last time, concern obvious in his voice. Katya sat up and blinked away sleep. Hundreds of little faces regarded her curiously from above in the morning gloom. “Your screaming must have woken the whole forest.”
