“Get up, both of you—quickly!” shouted Iirevale. Adacon and Remtall stirred slowly from their sleep, until Iirevale began to slap them hard. “Now!” Iirevale commanded. With much groaning, the two sleeping outlanders got up from the moss; the mat was quickly tugged from underneath them.
“What’s the intention of smacking a gnome, rude elf?” stormed Remtall. Adacon looked about, sad to be awakened from a pleasant dream in which he had been cradling Calan in his arms. He noticed it was the middle of the night; the camp fires were still strong, speckling the trail with orange-yellow glow.
“In the sky!” Iirevale pointed, and then he rushed off to rouse the others. Adacon and Remtall turned to look where he had pointed: in the sky, seeable through the tree tops, the sky was ablaze with red fury; between the trees it appeared that part of the jungle behind them had become a lit furnace. Despite the late hour in which they stared, the trail behind them shone as if it were day, as if a storm of red light overtook all the path they had thus far traveled. Adacon felt a terrible heat, and his skin began to burn. A loud eruption of cracking sounded, several thunderous pops, and in the southwest a great plume of fire went up into the sky, visible by all despite the thick canopy, where an explosion had scorched from the earth a mile-wide section of jungle.
“Carbal Run!” shouted several of the elves. Calan rushed to join Adacon.
“We must move!” cried Calan, and the whole troop began suddenly marching again northeasterly, leaving the flaming jungle behind them. Adacon couldn’t help but stare back at the enormous fire that transformed the sky, high above the trees, a burning sun of conflagration where Carbal Run had once been.
“Vesleathren…” Adacon wailed as the troop pressed on with their greatest speed yet.
“No—only Aulterion could conjure such a devastating force of magic,” Remtall said.
“But the post—what about the families, the children?” Adacon cried. Calan could not respond; she wept openly into his arms.
“Come on,” Remtall called back after they’d stopped moving for a moment. “There will be time for grieving once the head of that black wizard rolls.” Calan continued to weep. Adacon stood holding her in his arms, unresponsive to Remtall’s command, despite the heat that began to sear them both.
“Now, move!” Remtall roared with all the vigor of a gnomen captain, and as such he was finally heeded. Calan wept as she walked again forward, and Adacon held her, as the company of elves jogged away with increasing speed. No words came for a long time—not elf nor man nor gnome spoke. The night wore on. Soon dawn came, barely noticeable through the canopy, and slowly the weak rays transformed into morning’s full blossom. Adacon thought he heard noise from the elves for the first time since they had escaped the fire; at first he dismissed it as his imagination, and he looked to Calan, whose tears ran lighter down her soft emerald cheeks. Suddenly, a mysterious tune carried through the ranks, and Adacon knew he had not been mistaken. A song of sorrow had been taken up by the troop of elves. Adacon could do nothing but listen as the song wavered and peaked, ascending ominously in the morning sky: a lullaby for the departed. The words were as if hummed to the human ear, but Adacon could tell the language was elven, though he could understand none of what was being sung. It did not matter, as the song was as beautiful as anything he’d ever heard. Soon, surprisingly, Remtall joined into the song. Though the gnome did not know the words, he appeared with a gift for music, and kept his tongue in key, adding various harmonies where he could. Even Calan began to sing with the party, and soon a great melancholy set into the forest, as the song of mourning bore its noteful fruit to the waking creatures of Carbal Jungle. Adacon was still unnerved, but he couldn’t help but join in; he entered at the level of a whisper, and he knew then that all of the loved ones of Carbal Run had been lost to the Artheldrum.
It was nigh a week before any of the elves spoke comfortably again, and Adacon did not notice how quickly the days had passed. Since the fire explosion there had been no signs of danger, and the march had gone smooth enough. Remtall had run out of liquor, and as a result was becoming increasingly irritable. The nights passed calmly enough, and Calan had started to sleep by Adacon’s side. It became known to the elven company that the two were entranced with one another. Adacon did what he could to comfort her, but it mattered little; Calan’s spirit had changed. She seemed eager to battle, as much of the elven company did, and spoke of little else. Remtall and Adacon joined the company’s hunger for war, feeding deeply upon a spirit of revenge. No longer did the elves simply pay a debt to Krem, and no longer did they march for anything other than vengeance. On the seventh night after the explosion, a vitality that Adacon had feared to be lost in Calan’s spirit returned.
“I am sorry, Adacon,” Calan whimpered, as they lay close to each other near their fire.
“It’s alright. I have known loss all my life. I understand your pain, but I cannot console it,” Adacon said, holding her tighter.
“We will continue on—we will overcome this great evil, it must be so. Gaigas still aids those who care for her,” she said. Adacon warmed with hearing the first words of faith from her in many days.
“Yes, we will,” Adacon replied, and he leaned at her; they kissed, lying twined upon the jungle floor. A loud snore startled them, echoing from Remtall who slept nearby. They laughed together; Adacon’s heart rejoiced at the healing of laughter, and he felt at ease for the first time in days.
Morning overtook the troop, and a brief breakfast was prepared for the company. Remtall managed to procure additional sap liquor from one of the elves in the troop, through some secret bribe of which he would not speak, and he was in better spirits once more, though still belligerent.
“One more day of marching and we’ll be out of this blasted, sweltering jungle—and good riddance to it I say,” Remtall complained, drinking freshly from his refilled flask and eating a stale elven biscuit, along with a purple fruit that Iirevale had gathered from nearby brush.
“Yes. And then we go to the legendary city of Oreine,” Adacon exclaimed, forgetting the sorrow of days past with renewed hope of seeing the fabled dwarven city.
“The Blue-Grey Mountains are beautiful,” Calan smiled; Adacon stroked her arm.
“Quite the strange couple you two make—elf and human, an odd combination—though I must admit my wife was human. I am most proud of you Adacon,” Remtall said.
“Thanks,” Adacon laughed.
“Don’t hold his inexperience against him, fair lady elf,” Remtall replied.
“Much as I don’t hold your leering eyes against you, master gnome,” Calan retorted.
“Pah! Never mind a gnome’s age; though you’re elven, know that gnomes live almost as long as your race, and in some instances longer,” he boasted.
“Well, the day I think of you as young will be the day—” Calan began; she trailed off as Iirevale rushed up to the three of them where they sat eating breakfast.
“What’s wrong brother?” Calan asked.
“Our scouts have just returned—they’ve spotted a rogue warpede ahead on the trail,” Iirevale informed.
“Warpede?” asked Adacon.
“Gazaran: the armored centipedes of war, corrupted with Feral magic. This one is without rider—it’s thrashing about unchecked, eating wild boars of North Carbal, and likely us if we get too close,” foreboded Iirevale.
“I’ll have at it, just stay back and wait for me to clear her out,” Remtall said with great seriousness, and he drank heavily of his flask before extinguishing his pipe. Suddenly, Remtall drew forth his dagger in one hand and his elven blade in the other, and leaving behind his shield, he rushed down the trail at a sprint.
“Remtall—wait!” called Iirevale, but the gnome had caught a spell of madness, and could not be stopped by words. Iirevale began to chase after him, but Remtall cut madly into the wild bush surrounding the road with an uncanny burst of speed. Iirevale stopped his pursuit and returned, unwilling to leave the company; he was saddened th
at Remtall had deserted, but he knew he must remain with the elves and work with Gaiberth in commanding them—for if they did dare approach the warpede, they would have to do so in a carefully orchestrated ambush.
“I am sorry Adacon,” Iirevale said as he returned to them. Adacon sat still in shock.
“I can’t believe it—he’s run off to kill himself! What good will that do to avenge his son?” Adacon said, standing up; Calan sensed he was about to run after the gnome.
“I fear he’s lost his wit from too much drink,” Calan restrained Adacon, now ready to spring off and chase down the errant gnome.
“Then we must not wait; we have to run on and save him!” Adacon pleaded.
“We will march on, but we must first form a plan of attack; and Gaiberth ultimately commands this company—he would not have us wander recklessly to our collective doom,” Iirevale replied.
“Please brother, send a party ahead to save him—there has been enough needless loss already,” Calan asked.
“I am sorry, but the approach of such creatures is grave. A small party, let alone a single gnome, confronting a warpede is certain death. Even with the might of thirty Carbal elves, we must be thoughtful beyond error in our approach,” Iirevale explained.
“Then nothing can be done? We forfeit his life?” Adacon cried.
“It is not my decision—it was the decision of the gnome, and the choice he made shall bring him to suffer his chosen fate,” Iirevale said coldly.
“Then I cannot stay. Remtall saved my life upon the sea, and I owe him at least the same. I am sorry Calan, I must go,” Adacon said. He turned and kissed her sharply; it smarted upon her lips, and then he faced Iirevale.
“Go—but know what fate awaits you alone in foreign jungles, young traveler,” Iirevale said, making a last effort to deter Adacon from succumbing to the madness of Remtall’s flight.
“Farewell—Gaigas let us meet again soon,” Adacon grunted, and he sped away up the trail, much to the bewilderment of the company of elves who watched, patiently awaiting word from one of their commanders. Iirevale looked to Calan and knew immediately he was to lose his sister also.
“I know there is nothing you can do, but please—at least let me go unhindered,” Calan said gravely. “All our family is dead.” Iirevale glared at her; a dilated moment slipped by.
“You must not go!” Iirevale roared, and the others of the company quieted to witness the confrontation.
“I am gone,” Calan whispered. In a flash she vanished into the brush, too fast to be grabbed. Iirevale ran after her, forgetting his better judgment and duty. The company of elves turned toward a disheartened Gaiberth, who, at once accepting the loss, began to instruct them with a course of action against the warpede.
Calan ran north as fast as her strong legs would carry her, parallel to the trail. Trying with all his strength, Iirevale could not catch her, though he ran only yards behind. She flickered in and out of vision: he caught sight of her, only to lose her again behind a bend of thickets or branches. Ahead in the distance Iirevale could hear another noise on his right, coming from the road. He glanced in that direction to witness a man running along the main trail—it was Adacon. Suddenly, Calan cut out of the dense jungle and onto the trail, alongside Adacon, surprising him, and they ran north together. Iirevale manifested a fiery burst of energy from his spirit, and cutting back onto the trail he caught up with them.
“At least let me join your miserable rank then!” Iirevale shouted. “So that we might kidnap this maddened gnome and return him to our company alive.” Adacon and Calan continued running at human speed, and Iirevale took the lead.
“You know you’re both mad—completely mad,” Iirevale chided.
“Not as mad as Remtall, at least,” Adacon said, smiling at the company of the elves. “Who’d have guessed he could run so fast?”
“I feel the quaking of the warpede,” Iirevale said, and Calan nodded, though to Adacon’s dull human senses nothing could be felt.
The three pressed on fast, rounding a sharp corner that led them to a vine-girded stretch of road. Adacon finally felt the vibrations; noises of thrashing, and the cracking of tree trunks echoed at them from ahead. Another bend came in the trail, circumnavigating an outcropping hill of thorns. After the road wrapped back around, the runners beheld Remtall, standing in a cleared field of splintered trees. The trail disappeared where the warpede-strewn carnage of mangled branches and felled trees buried the road—and directly in front of Remtall was an erect monster, glinting in shining gold armor: there upon its many-legged haunch stood the warpede, a Gazaran. It reared its head, and down its abdomen, on either side, ran a thousand-spiked row of wriggling feet. It looked to Adacon like a horrific worm, covered in armor, several yards in girth, countless yards long. The creature’s face undulated with writhing mandibles of pus-ridden needles, the frightening teeth that protruded from all sides of its armored head. Remtall stayed his feet before the giant centipede’s uncoiling body, and the two locked into a stare of death. The warpede dove toward the tiny gnome, mouth gaped, and several pincers seized Remtall to feed him into its jaw.
“No!” Adacon shouted, rushing forward, tackling Remtall out of the grip of the pincers; in confusion the warpede struck its armor-plated head into the earth, burying itself several feet down. All about them the jungle was destroyed, leveled by the rancor of the centipede, and a Feral slime coated the trees wherever the creature brushed against them. In a frenzy the warpede struggled to withdraw its head from the earth; Remtall broke from Adacon’s grip and plunged his dagger into a slit between the beast’s armor. Putrid black ooze coursed from the wound; the warpede shot up from the earth with a high-pitched squeal, again facing its attackers. The centipede launched itself high, opened its jaw, and shot down for another strike. Adacon drew his elven sword and shield; Remtall stood with a dagger in one hand and his elf blade in the other.
“Drive home to my spike, foul worm, and be glad I give a better fate than has become you!” screamed Remtall at the armored face of the creature; its body was nearly covered in golden plate mail, so that its skin revealed only at several spots. Its eyes were unguarded, and Remtall angled his blades to pierce the warpede blind.
Unexpectedly, mid-plunge, it swung around its whip-like girth, using itself as a tail, surging forward; from the sides of the warpede’s frame, which erect stood thrice as tall as Adacon, barreled its legs encased in armor, needle sharp: the swipe of its body landed quick, knocking Adacon and Remtall to their feet. The centipede returned its jaw to its fallen victims and lunged again where they lay collapsed.
“Meet the jungle’s own!” Calan shouted. Iirevale launched her atop the back of the warpede; as she landed on it she shoved her sword deep between two pieces of its armor. The warpede loosed a terrible whine and flailed violently, bucking Calan from its back. Remtall regained his feet, followed quickly by Adacon; not a moment was wasted as together they stuck their blades deep into the unarmored belly of the warpede. It screeched again its high-pitched cry, and suddenly the Feral beast went berserk, contorting its worm-body wildly, knocking trees down in every direction. The ancient bark cracked and fell in every direction, and Iirevale jumped, narrowly avoiding heavy debris. Calan rose from where she had fallen, ready to finish the evil beast; the warpede seemed unfazed by its leaking wounds. The warpede tempered its fury to strike at her with its right row of dagger legs; quickly she drew up her shield, just in time, and several of the centipede’s legs bore through the elven wood, scratching her chest. The warpede withdrew its body, dragging Calan’s shield away with it. Defenseless, she jumped behind Adacon where he held his wooden shield high. The warpede rose above them again to glare down before an assault, wiggling its gold-spike feet, dripping the black sludge of its blood upon their heads.
“Stand back!” Remtall cried, stepping in front of them as the warpede shot down, jaw wide. Adacon and Calan fell back at Remtall’s push, and the Gazaran smashed directly on top of Remtall; the tiny gn
ome vanished from sight.
“No!” shouted Adacon. Iirevale joined them as the warpede lifted itself up, preparing for another attack; to their amazement, Remtall clung to the underbelly of the centipede. It appeared that the tiny gnome had managed to dig both his sword and dagger into the belly of the warpede between armor creases, and slowly the creature drained of its gelatinous blood; underneath, clinging, Remtall became a faucet of pus. Despite its gushing wounds, the warpede showed no signs of relinquishing its life-force; it used the girth of its plated form again, its body acting as a whip, catching everyone with great force, knocking them each to the debris-covered ground in a cloud of dust and leaves.
“I’ll teach you—maggot-fiend—to tread upon my road—demon of the forest—meet the demon of the sea!” Remtall stammered, struggling to cling to the belly of the beast. Quickly he released his right arm, thrusting his dagger again and again into the belly of the warpede, dangling by his elven sword from its underside. The beast rose up on its back legs, high into the treetops, still unhurt from loss of blood. It shook violently as the tiny gnome struggled to stay on, mercilessly piercing its gut over and over, showering the fallen comrades below; finally the monster shook so violently that Remtall was thrown from a height of fifteen yards, crashing to the earth upon a pile of upheaved foliage. Grabbing his head where it throbbed, Remtall tried to open his eyes, half-consciously, but he felt overcome by a grey dimness. Calan, Adacon, and Iirevale did not move from where they lay. The warpede shot down toward its paralyzed victims; it dove at Remtall with all the power it had, intent to destroy the gnome that had stung it so many times.
Remtall surrendered—his body was ravaged; it ached from every pore—he decided that he had produced a valiant fight, one worthy of song. Suddenly a flash of clarity overtook the strengthless gnome—something flashed before his mind’s eye: was it Krem? He remembered the summoning stone; with energy not his own, he reached into his pocket and removed the tiny globe, and unknowing of how to use it, threw it at the warpede blazing down on him: the stone shattered, cracking upon the armor of the warpede. A choking cloud formed instantly, suffocating smoke of red and green that erupted from the stone’s point of impact on the gold armor. Out of the smoke a miraculous apparition overtook Remtall’s eyes, and soon it was no longer an apparition at all but a drake emerging from colored fog: a dragon the size of two grown men. It immediately belted a blue flame in the direction of the warpede, which had recoiled away from the smoke. Shades of green and red smoke were lit blue-white by the power of the drake’s fire, and the warpede began a dreadful hiss.
Darkin: A Journey East Page 20
