A March of Woe

by Aaron Bunce

  The animal screamed in the storm, followed by another terrified whinny, and then all she heard was the howl of the wind and the creak of the trees. She wrenched to the side, pulled Roman’s bow off the pile of stacked bags, bending her finger back painfully as she wildly reached for the quiver.

  Tears formed in her eyes from the pain, but she managed to pull an arrow free, slap it against the bow’s body, and fumble the nock onto the string. Holding the bow horizontally to the ground, Dennah drew back as a dark form appeared in the snow. She loosed the arrow, her eyes filled with tears and snowflakes. She blindly reached for another arrow, unable to differentiate between the swirling snow, the horse, and the beast.

  An arrow slid free, and she had to tear her eyes away from the storm for a heart-freezing moment, to nock it. Numb arms and hands fought her, but after several clumsy moments, she succeeded and hefted the bow. Her arms felt leaden, fighting to draw the string back.

  A shadow split the snow. She blinked, and it was gone. Dennah quickly scanned from right to left, fighting the urge to blink until she couldn’t resist any longer. The shadow appeared again, without any warning, moving towards her with frightening speed.

  Hooves thundered in the snow as the horse’s form solidified from shadow, and stopped just outside the Deer Run. It reared back, tossing its head and whinnying in terror. A smaller, darker form appeared from the depths of a nearby tree, slithering in and out of the snow like an inky serpent.

  The wind shifted, swirling back before gusting in the opposite direction. In that moment, the darkness and blinding snow parted. The horse reared in the clearing, shrieking as the creature snaked around its legs and up around its neck.

  Dennah’s heart clenched in her chest as the large animal reared up violently, before tumbling in a spray of powdery snow. The horse nickered and screamed in pain and terror, its legs thrashing violently. The other horses next to her answered, snorting and trying to pull free. Dennah understood the urge driving them, as she felt it as well.

  The horse screamed one final time, its cry cut short as the dark creature wailed horribly. Everything went quiet for a moment, and then the wind swirled back in and blanketed everything in a blinding, stinging mix. The creature crawled atop the still horse, its dark form only distinguishable thanks to its gently glowing, green eyes.

  Dennah twitched, her numb fingers slipping off the string. The arrow shot forward, disappearing into the storm. The creature howled and melted phantom-like into the blizzard.

  “Roman, I could really use you and Tusk right now,” Dennah whispered. Her friend remained motionless next to her as she numbly fished another arrow out of the quiver, his foggy breath the only indication he was still alive.

  She nocked the arrow, her stiff fingers fighting against her. A massive clump of snow broke loose overhead, raining down a few paces away. A rock clattered down somewhere further down the line. Dennah whipped the bow at each, her nerves wound tighter than the bowstring in her fingers.

  It was playing with her. Perhaps it would dance around in the storm, flitting from shadow to shadow, teasing her until she ran out of arrows. Then what would stop it from swooping into their small shelter and killing her, and butchering Roman in his sleep? Dennah let the tension out of the string and took a deep, trembling breath.

  “I’m patient! Are you?” she screamed into the darkness, dropping the bow and arrow back onto Roman’s still form. She lifted the sword, and with several pulls managed to tear it free of the scabbard. Wiping the snow free on her pants, she hoisted it before her.

  It was going to be a cold, dark night, but if the beast thought they would be easy prey, well, then it had another thing coming.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Long Road Home

  Julian slid down a slope, jumped onto a rock, and sprinted through the trees. The armor didn’t rattle, bunch, or bind. It felt like another skin, guarding him against the stinging mountain air and infusing him with confidence.

  The armor also did something to his connection with Tanea, or it might have been the silver choker suppressing Pera’s will, he wasn’t sure which. All that mattered was her heart was still beating, strong and true, and intuition told him he wasn’t just moving in the right direction, but he was getting close.

  Julian’s boots slid on the frost-covered stone, a steep cliff dropping out before him. He jumped down onto a large rock, before hopping quickly down the steep, finger-like formations.

  A cloud of mist hung just above the ground when he got to the bottom. The vapor smelled strongly of rotten eggs. It stung his nose and burned his eyes. Despite watery eyes, Julian smiled. Craymore was close.

  Bolting forward, Julian sprinted through the small canyon, the caustic mist leaving an unpleasant residue on his face and bare head. He leapt up the rock wall to his left, jumped to the right as the fissure tightened, and squeezed his body through the narrow opening, landing in a splash of mucky water.

  The snow was gone, the ground now covered in the telltale dark water that gave the Black Moors their name. Julian took only a moment to orient himself, glancing up at the sky and the hazy, half-covered sun, to confirm his bearing. He could head due west, skate the edge of the mountains, take the northern Laniel approach, and travel to Craymore in comfort on the Council’s Road. But he didn’t have time for that.

  Julian turned back to the swamp and kicked into a run, throwing all caution into the boggy wind. His confidence faltered as his boot sunk knee-deep into the muck, before squelching back out of the rut and into shallower waters. The mist closed in around him quickly, blocking out even more of the light. Soon, he could no longer tell the deep water apart from the shallows. It all looked black.

  “Just move, Ama’lik. No chains this time, no Spider, no damn collar around your neck. Now you have control. Just move,” he growled, urging himself forward.

  Julian bounded forward, fighting panic and doubt, moving with single-minded focus. Something incredibly long moved through the water to his left, its body breaking the surface of the foamy water. Large, spiny fins cut into the air, the skin mottled with sickly colored spots.

  Mire ghost, Julian thought in a moment of panic. He’d never seen one before, only heard the stories of the large, but incredibly shy serpentine predators. Muckers, who worked on the fringes of the Black Moors collecting medicinal bog flowers, told tales of mire ghosts over a hundred paces long sliding up onto solid ground to drag unsuspecting victims back into the water. A quick death by troll sounded preferable to suffocating slowly in a beast’s gut, as it burrowed down into the crushing black to digest you.

  Betrayed by his thoughts, Julian suddenly looked down at the water and struggled against a stab of panic. He rested his hand on the pommel of Nightbreaker, the sword starting to vibrate ever so slightly at his touch. Somewhere behind him the slimy form broke the surface of the water, a deep sucking noise filling the air as the thick, loamy water churned.

  Julian surged forward as something brushed against his leg. He pulled his feet clumsily out of the water to run, but it was too deep now, the water far too silty and heavy. The creature reacted, ropey tentacles bursting through the surface in a foul smelling spray. He kicked and turned. The water shallowed out, allowing him a few longer strides, but he tipped forward as the ground unexpectedly dropped away again.

  Not now…just find shallow water, maybe a tree to climb.

  Thick muscular tentacles crashed into Julian, knocking him back and into the water. Thrashing, he pushed off, his hands digging into the thick, squelchy mud. He broke the surface just as a coil of slithering tentacles circled him, the water boiling. The mire ghost appeared from beneath the surface, its innumerable spiny fins twisting and flicking. Julian’s panic instantly turned to fear. The creature wasn’t some small beast as he feared. It was massive. Easily ten times his length, with a thick, muscular body.

  The ball of tentacles pulled him towards the creature, its spotted flesh splitting open, exposing a round, sucker-like mouth, curved teet
h flexing, ready to hook and pull him in. Julian felt the writhing appendages surging around him, hooking his legs and arms and worming around his midsection.

  His right hand dropped to the sword at his side, struggling as a tentacle wrapped around his arm. He wouldn’t die like this. Not when he was so close. Nightbreaker pulled free of its scabbard, the weapon vibrating, the metal ringing like a struck bell. The caustic, smothering mist instantly repelled, and stranger still, so did the tentacle squeezing his arm.

  Julian brought the sword down, the blade sliding through the water and parting the thick tentacle so easily he thought he’d missed. He brought the sword down again, severing a squirming mass of smaller limbs, the dark water churning and frothing with the creature’s blood. The mire ghost gurgled and screeched, its cry of pain and anger distorted by the thick water.

  He lifted Nightbreaker above his head, and came forward to strike, but the beast shrunk away, keening as it drove its body into the waist-deep water. As quickly as it had appeared, the mire ghost was gone, the severed tentacles floating around him the only evidence it had been there at all.

  Julian wiped his face with his glove and turned, his heart hiccupping as Tanea’s increased in speed. Pain, confusion, and fear poured into his body. Something was happening. He closed his eyes tight, gripping the sword hard. Faint, distant images popped into the dark quiet of his mind. She was hurt and alone, some place dark.

  No, Julian realized. She wasn’t alone.

  Without hesitation, Julian kicked forward through the bog, Nightbreaker held out before him, the blade splitting the foggy gloom like a radiant, silver torch. Trolls keened mournfully as he moved deeper into the Black Moors, their shadows moving just beyond the limits of his sight. Several approached him, and each time Nightbreaker would glow brighter, the pale, silvery light driving the fog away and forcing the hungry beasts deeper into the gloom.

  Julian slogged through the stinking swamp for what felt like days, his muscles aching and protesting every step, but he refused to stop. The sky grew dark, the misty gloom taking on even more weight in the darkness. He walked quickly when the water grew shallow, and waded when it grew deeper, but always moved forward, clutching tighter to Nightbreaker, the blade’s silver glow the only perceptible light.

  Julian slashed the sword at shadows, or plunged it into the water to drive away anything that came too close. He started to doubt his direction, when thick, fibrous reeds appeared. He kicked forward eagerly, stumbling and tripping on the dark plants, moving towards the promise of an end. Finally, he chopped through a grove of thick stalks, fumbling to get through them in his haste, before crawling up onto soggy, but solid ground.

  Move, no time to rest, you fool, Julian chided himself. He pushed off with a loud squelch, the muddy ground trying to hold him fast. His legs shook and his stomach rumbled, but he managed to stand. He could endure the pain – he was alive, after all, and so very close now.

  Julian set off at a determined pace. The mists thinned, until finally, he stumbled out onto green grass, fresh air washing over him. Craymore sat straight ahead in the distance, a dark, sprawling city nestled beneath Bahlman’s peak, the sky now the deep purple of predawn. The city looked peaceful.

  “Welcome home. At least the city is still safe,” Julian whispered, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety at the sight. It was a view he thought he’d never see again. Hell, he walked away willingly, practically throwing his life to the wind, foolishly storming up the mountain, proving himself more than just a gullible dupe. Spider had successfully stripped him of his pride, his innocence, and his best friend. The road since had stripped him of pretty much everything else. Julian knew he couldn’t heap all the blame on the stunted, masked man. No. He made his own decisions, and allowed himself to be manipulated. It was all on him, and now he had to make up for it.

  He reluctantly sheathed Nightbreaker and looked himself over. His boots, despite trudging through the bog, were still dry. And stranger still, the muck and mud fell with a plop to the ground around him, the armor shedding the unwanted burden.

  Julian kicked into a jog, wondering if the tower sentries had spotted him emerging from the putrid fog, just as the gnarls did on the day of the first attack.

  Irony, he thought.

  Light quickly blossomed in the eastern sky, the glow warming the clouds and kissing the tree tops. Julian climbed over the stone wall blocking the Black Mores from the city approach, and trotted onto the road just as warm light hit the sleeping city. He stopped quickly, his boots skidding on the rocky road. The gate to the lower city, the New City, was closed, smoke trailing out of the clustered, sprawling buildings.

  His gaze followed the haphazard, interweaving streets, up to the colossal wall of the Old City. A hazy cloud of dust hung in the air, obscuring the tallest spires of the largest buildings. As he watched, a thick plume of debris billowed into sight, adding to the obscuring haze.

  Tanea! Julian wasn’t aware that his feet were moving, but his boot snagged a rock and he staggered. He sprinted down the road, past a line of abandoned handcarts and wagons. He jumped over a mound on the road, just barely realizing it was a person. More bodies lay ahead, scattered between the carts, like parcels tossed clear from a bumpy road. Several were pinned to the ground with crude spears, while others lay separated from arms, legs, or heads. They were all dead, facing away from the city.

  They were fleeing the city! he realized in horror.

  Julian followed the train of wagons and carts all the way to the New City wall. The banded gate was closed, and when he threw his weight into it, it didn’t move. Damn. He punched the door, pivoted, and ran back onto the road and grabbed a small cart. Julian pushed the cart off the road and onto the soft ground, intentionally tipping it over and against the wall.

  He clambered onto the rickety cart, bracing his weight against the wall as he climbed. The gate was stout, but the wall was not tall, and he just managed to grasp the edge and pull himself up and over. Dropping to the ground on the other side, Julian took stock of the square, before taking off. Water troughs and hay corrals were tipped over and broken, but there weren’t any bodies, or armed gnarls.

  Julian headed west, before cutting north between buildings, moving towards the Old City. He crept cautiously through the alleys, crossing the side streets quickly, but paused when he caught a hint of movement and color out of the corner of his eye. Julian dropped to a knee, pulling behind a tree, but whatever it was had gone. He slid around the corner, back to the spot and found a single, deep footprint pressed into a muddy puddle. The print looked no larger than a child’s.

  A bush rustled to his left, just as something small bolted free and between two houses. Julian trailed, low and slow. It didn’t appear at the far end of the building, so he moved around the corner and followed. Nothing moved between the small houses, nor was there any cover to hide behind. Then his hand brushed against something, a single plank sticking out just past the others on the house to his left.

  Julian dug his fingers behind the board and pried it loose. A man-sized section of the house’s outer wall pulled away, swinging like a door and exposing a small shelter dug out beneath the floorboards.

  A woman snarled and pulled away, one fleshy arm holding a simple dagger before her, and the other wrapped protectively around two young children. A girl in a thick, cotton dress, and a smaller boy, wearing brown trousers with a fur vest over a blue shirt.

  “Shh. It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” Julian hissed, his hands held up before him.

  “S…stay away from us. Or I’ll…”

  “I’m a friend. Please, keep your voice down,” Julian hissed, but doubted his own words. He imagined that he looked like anything but a friend. Regardless, he needed to find a way to make the woman trust him, and quickly. “My name is Julian Ama’lik. I was a…am a knight of the Silver Guard. I was attacked while on patrol outside the city and have only now been able to return. Can you tell me what happened? Please?”

&
nbsp; The woman’s arm shook as she held the dagger up between them, her eyes flicking between Julian’s eyes and his mouth, as if she actively fought to believe his words.

  “What’s wrong with ya face? Why’s your eye like that?”

  Julian turned away, frustrated that he hadn’t thought to do something about his appearance before entering the city. His left eye hadn’t been the same since Pera tried to claim him, the Nymradic’s presence burning forth as a green glow. Surely they would think him a monster.

  That can’t matter now, he thought angrily.

  “I was attacked by gnarls. Something happened when a healer tended to me. Please, I am here to help you,” he pleaded, reaching out and slowly cupping his palm over her blade, and lowered it.

  Tears flowed down the woman’s cheeks as she dropped the dagger, and instead smashed her children tighter to her body. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. We heard the bell toll, before the horn. Why? The bell doesn’t toll unless an enemy has breached the Old City and none approached the lower city walls. But it was too late. The ground…it shook and shook and shook. Like the footsteps of some horrible beast. Then we heard the stone start to howl and scream. It broke. The ground broke! It was frightening…so scared. We were so scared, sir!”

  Julian’s stomach clenched up. He knew this was coming to Craymore, and if he could’ve made it back in time, he could have warned them and saved so many innocent lives. Julian wanted to take the woman into his arms and comfort her, to console her and her children, but he also considered that he might be just as frightening looking as any other monsters they might’ve seen. He wanted to lead them out of the city and to safety, but he hadn’t the time. Tanea’s heart still pounded away in his chest, a strange and contrary rhythm to his own. She, and so many others, needed help.

  “Can I still get to the Old City?” he asked.

  The woman reached up and wiped her forearm across her face, smearing tears and snot into a shiny mess. “Buildings…they were falling. But before that happened, the gates came down. Anyone in the Old City after that was trapped. My husband, Gor, Mani bless his heart, put us here and told us to wait for him. I told him that it weren’t his place to be no stinkin’ hero, but he ran up to the old town to see what he could do to help. He came back, told us about the gate, and went back. That’s the last we seen of him. We heard all manner of screaming and crying for help all throughout the last night,” she said, her shoulders bobbing, “but it got quiet. So I sent my little one here out to look for food, and maybe word of Gor. He’s small, and quick as a jackrabbit. But you’re the first face we seen. What happened? What’s going to happen to us? You’ll help us, right? You’ll find my Gor and get us out of the city? Please, sir. Please!”