Windenn snapped suddenly awake.
Had she been sleeping? No, couldn’t be. A Woodwarden was trained for this sort of thing.
She stretched out with a wide yawn, still confused and felt a biting pain in her shoulder.
“Damn ... ” she muttered, gripping her arm just above the elbow. The skin felt hot. Too hot. Something was wrong.
She knew she hadn’t broken any bones.
She pulled up her sleeve and tried to examine the site of pain by moonlight. There was a jagged cut there across the bicep. She frowned in concern. She had only fallen wrong when she had hit the ground. She hadn’t been cut. What was this?
Whatever it was, it was badly infected.
Just then, from the corner of her eye, she made out a lone shape leaving the encampment below.
D’Pharin.
“Now where’s he got too?” she grumbled, dropping her sleeve.
“Oh, damn. He’s gone to Tree Towers, the fool.”
In one leap she lightly hit the ground far below. She didn’t like leaving the camp unguarded so she retrieved four Wardstones form her chest pocket. These had been somewhat misnamed during the early days as they were made entirely of polished wood. Of what little magic she possessed, this was some of the most practical. She placed the Wardstones around the camp at each compass point. This would serve to protect the camp from evil, casting an illusionary shell over it. From a distance, a traveler would see nothing but giant rocks.
She hoped to catch the boy before he reached the ruins or before something reached him.
D’Pharin was pulled toward the ancient city like a child to a willowisp. It dragged him forward with wide eyes and thumping chest. Clouds drowned most of the moonlight and he had to pick his way carefully. Soon, he stood atop a high, grass-covered hill that overlooked what was once the entry garden. Tall walls, now mostly fallen, had surrounded the cobbled walkways and shrubbery. From here, he could see that the massive gate had been nearly blown off of its great hinges. He could see the dark forms of what he assumed were statues beyond the fallen gate.
And beyond that-the towers.
Three of the foremost still stood, leafless now and blackened by long dead flame, but somehow still majestic. Reaching nearly to the clouds themselves, he could not make out their tops. The darkness of their bark was dotted at regular intervals with windows even darker still. Scattered remnants of wooden scaffolding and catwalks littered the ground beneath, only a handful still attached to their original moorings.
Some such dangling pieces swayed in the night breeze producing a steady knocking noise from above, a hollow sound that served to remind D’Pharin of the utter emptiness of this place.
Directly below the hill on which he stood there stretched a flat field. Several hundred yards of level ground dotted with many large low-lying stones. He would have to carefully pass through these to finally reach the gates. With a deep breath, he began to descend, sword in hand. A touch of fear crept in as he reached the base of the hill. The boulders resembled large flat tombstones, he thought, the moon beginning to show its face from above.
As he made his way around the first, he halted. He scanned the ground in front of him and then looked to the boulder directly to his right.
Was that a helmet? A rounded shoulder and arm?
He jumped back, gasping.
What ... ?
He knelt and reached out with the tip of his sword. It was stone, not flesh. He breathed easier and moved close.
Wind ...
As he leaned over the rocky shape, the moonlight caught the chiseled features.
It was the body of a Troll.
Windenn was just climbing the hill when D’Pharins scream reached her.
She threw her bow across her back and accelerated to a full run. She reached the bottom in three giant steps, nearly somersaulting on the third.
Regaining her balance, she leapt forward and toppled over D’Pharin as he sat hunched over himself.
“Dammit.” she muttered. She immediately jumped up and slapped him hard at the back of the head.
He made no move to avoid it.
“What are ye doin’, boy? Is your arse where yer head should be?”
She pushed hair from her face in disgust. He glanced up, caught her fiery eyes and stared at the ground again.
“How ‘bout this? Next time you decide to go wandering off on yer own ... Don’t!”
She straightened her disheveled clothing.
“If ye weren’t a friend o’ Grimandin’s, I think I’d-“
She stopped midsentence as she recognized the shape behind him. In turn, she studied the others within view and frowned.
“They’re still here. They’re all still here ... For three hundred years, they’ve lain where they fell.”
She reached out a trembling hand and touched the shoulder of the nearest Troll. She slowly moved around to its face. It had died in agony. Eyes clenched. Mouth wide. Veins still stood out along its throat and at its temples. Most of its armor had long since deteriorated, being mostly leather, except for the great iron helm. It sat lopsided, barely upon the Troll’s head, half-eaten by rust.
“It ... must have been terrible.” she whispered to herself.
“Hmmm ... It was.”
Gorin’s voice boomed from out of the darkness. His form came into view and his anger was evident.
“Both of you, back to the camp.” he ordered.
“Grimandin, I-“ Windenn began.
“Now!”
The shadows of his cavernous eyes met them each and they had no choice but to go. Together they ascended the hill and quickly trotted on their way.
Gorin looked all about him at his fallen people. The Trolls of Rathnok had a tradition; they always carried their slain home. Not in this case. This place was rumored to be cursed and none would set foot here. None would ever come to gather the dead.
Gorin raised his eyes to the sky and wept.
They had held their own for twenty-nine days. They had driven back the vile Pith countless times and faced their demonic steeds. By this time, most of the Runepith had fallen, leaving very little sorcery on the side of evil. The warriors of Rathnok were as a wall.
That misty morning all was silent as S’Darin climbed to the top of Hollow Hill. There to end the battle with one terrible sorcerous assault, he brought naught but his elegant staff of wood. He was so majestic against the rising orange sun, long robes swaying about him as he confronted the Runepith. At the first magical blast, the war drums had begun and despite the fiery combat, the ground had swarmed with footsoldiers. Down into the vale and up against the wall of Stone Trolls.
“They’re attacking blindly, fellas. They know there’s no hope.” shouted Raginta, captain of the Red Flank, a division of the army of Man. Covered nearly head to toe in snow-white armor and draped with a crimson cape he rode along behind the front line of Trolls yelling his support from hors
eback.
“They know they can’t cut through stone, the bas-“ he stopped short, turning.
From behind, a blue-robed mage came running at full speed, a frightened look in his eyes.
“No ... ” he muttered. “Something is not right. Pull back, all of you. Pull back!”
His voice had become a hoarse scream as everyone stared in confusion.
No one understood. The Trolls glanced to one another dumbfounded. The assault was almost upon them, thundering across the flat plain. At the forefront, the mounted Pith would reach them first, crashing with full force.
Gorin spun his head to see behind him, catching a momentary glance of the indigo robes and the arms flailing about in warning.
A horrendous crunching shook the earth as the two armies met and Gorin turned to meet it. The initial push sent the Trolls back only steps and then they became the aggressors. Metal glanced on stone, easily turned aside. Spear tips shattered. Shields buckled.
To Gorin’s left, three of his kindred wrestled one of the Pith’s lizard-like riding beasts to the ground. To his right, the Trolls fended off swinging scimitars with their huge forearms. A company of Eastern Men persuaded to Mournenhile’s side wielded these weapons with insane savagery. After destroying the blades, great hammering fists destroyed the bones of the attackers. It was all too easy.
Gorin avoided a thrown spear and tossed its user far to the side toward the Red Flank. For such small beings, the Men proved worthy allies on the battlefield. Occasionally, a small group of Pith made it through the line of Trolls to be brought down swiftly by the battalions of Man and Elf.
In front of him on the horizon, the clouds blackened and the winds shifted. The harshest crack of thunder shook the plain sending many on both sides to the ground. Both sides paused mid-swing and stared at the eastern sky in awe.
Another thunderclap.
The clouds above seemed to writhe and twist like a dark serpent.
Directly in front of Gorin, one of his comrades drew back in surprise as small droplets of black liquid landed upon his left shoulder. He stared for a moment, then his mouth opened wide as the liquid sank into his skin.
Cries of pain and terror erupted all around him as Gorin struggled to comprehend what had happened.
The first drop to hit him dripped down the front of his leather tunic, melting through and touching the bare flesh beneath. The pain was pure agony. Never in his long life had he experienced this sort of torture.
Many Trolls made the mistake of looking to the sky and were blinded. They fell by the hundreds, curled into themselves like crushed insects.
We will all die out here. We must retreat. Seek shelter.
The Men nearest him all but dissolved in the rain. Their soft flesh did little to hinder its corrosion. They died in mere seconds.
The Stone Trolls, who had never known fear in battle, fled. In every direction they ran to escape the falling death. The slobbering Pith burst through the scattering defenders and stormed the trees. Flames erupted and consumed the gardens. Then dark shapes like horseflies quickly climbed the nearest of the trees as the army of Mournenhile sacked the city.
The rain did not relent. Gorin grabbed a large shield from one of the fallen Elves and covered his head. He had no choice but to flee and hope he could reach the nearby countryside. Soon, drops of metal ran down his shoulders and froze there, forever part of his flesh. A silvery reminder of his darkest day.
And he ran.
Crossing the horrible battlefield, the screams of his brothers nearly turned him about. A flash of blue robes in a heap as he passed.
“Gorin!” they called. “Help us, brother ... ”
He knew there was no help. Nothing could beat back this unholy onslaught. Still he ran and did not rest for days.
The rain had been centered over the battlefield and once he had escaped it, he discarded the shield. His wounds stung sharply and he winced as he jogged away. Not only from the deep holes in his body but for his fallen people.
Not since that battle had the dark rain fallen. Not since then had the side of good taken such heavy losses.
He shuddered at the memories as he sat among the remains of it all. He wished that somehow he could carry the Trolls home to the mountains. He knew no one else would ever come here. So they would remain. Forever.
He hoisted himself up and with a final look across the field and up at the few towers that stood; he turned and walked away. Ironically, the low rumble of thunder growled in the distance.
“He rarely loses his temper like that.” Windenn remarked as they neared the camp. A light rain had begun to fall and they raised their hoods against the wet.
“I had to see it. I’ve read about that place since I was a boy.” D’Pharin said, staring at the ground.
“And what are ye now? A man? Then, act like one. Ye knew not to go there ... ” she scolded.
Hagan stirred as they approached and quickly jumped to his feet.
“What’s going on? Where have you been?” he stammered groggily. “I didn’t even hear you leave ... ”
There was a time when he had slept lightly. It would have been impossible for someone to sneak up on him. At least, since leaving Lauden he was improving. He seemed to become himself more and more each day that he was away from that place.
“Well, your foolish brother here decided to visit Tree Towers.”
“What? D’Pharin, what were you thinking?” Hagan yelled.
“He wasn’t. That’s the problem.” Windenn answered.
“D’Pharin, you never know what lies waiting in the ruins of any city, let alone Tree Towers.” Hagan said, dropping back down to his bed. He yawned wide and stretched.
“Where’s Gorin?” he asked, pulling his blanket up and staring out into the night.
Windenn produced a frown.
“He followed us and he’s not too happy. He sent us away and stayed behind. I’m sure he’ll be along soon.” she said.
“Oh no ... ” Hagan whispered. Tree Towers was the last place Gorin would ever want to see again, he was sure. He knew the stories. “Maybe I should go get him.” he added. He dragged his blanket a little closer to the immense boulders for shelter from the increasing drizzle.
“No,” Windenn said calmly. “Leave him to his ghosts. He’ll deal with it. He always does.”
“Everyone has a limit.” Hagan said, settling down to sleep once more. It was a few hours before dawn and he felt he needed the rest.
“D’Pharin, tomorrow’s gonna be a hard ride with no sleep. You’d better try to get a few hours, at least.”
Windenn circled the camp once, removing her Wardstones. Their magic was strong, but she wished to save them in case of emergency. No sense depleting them so soon.
As expected, she woke them just before dawn and as D’Pharin and Hagan rubbed the sleep from their eyes, they noticed that with the morning came no sun. Only a more torrential rain. Gorin readied a quick breakfast, huddled over his small fire to keep the downpour out. Bread and strange blue eggs he had gathered on his way back. He seemed oddly
calm as he served their plates and warm mugs of tea. The ground around them had gradually become one large mud puddle. They had managed to stretch a light tarp of burlap between the boulders and held the other end with a stake driven into the ground. This seemed to keep most of the water off of them, but they were soon soaked to the skin nonetheless.
“Hmmm ... We have three or four days travel to reach Elfwhere. If we take the Illdredge River south from there, we should reach Harquinn perhaps three days after. That is, if there are no more surprises awaiting us. Windenn, what are your plans?” he asked as he set about scrambling the remainder of the eggs, water dripping from his brows and chin. The rain didn’t seem to bother those of the Troll race. D’Pharin found himself hoping there was plenty more breakfast to go around. He was unsure of the species of bird, but the eggs were delicious.
“Well. If ye think I’m goin’ off alone again with the Inquitis after me, you’re mad. If no one objects, I’ll join ye on your way to Harquinn.” she said as she glanced from brother to brother.
They both shrugged their approval, cheeks full of victuals. Hagan noticed the way she still hugged her arm against her body, though she tried to hide it.
“Is that still bothering you?” he asked.
“Eh? No, no. I’m fine.” she lied. Hagan read it in her face.
“Let me have a look.” he said, reaching out to take her wrist.
“No.”
The raised voices took Gorin’s attention away from the cooking pan. He walked to where Windenn sat and bending at the waist, he stared curiously at her.
“Hmmm. Let him have a look, Windenn.” he said.
She frowned at him, then loosened her arm and allowed Hagan to examine it.
As he pulled the soaked sleeve up, purplish swollen skin was visible even before he saw the wound itself. The shallow cut had grown bright pink and leaked a yellowish fluid. A strange webbing of blue veins branched out from it just below the skin.
“What the hell happened?” Hagan asked with concern. Immediately he let go of her arm to avoid hurting her and to avoid exposure to this unknown infection. He had never seen a wound attacked in this way.
“Hmmm ... make room.” Gorin grumbled, pushing his way into the small space, close to Windenn.
Her face grew more frightened as her secret was revealed. She looked like a little girl begging for help.
“I ... don’t know what it is, Grimandin. I don’t remember the cut. In fact, I would swear to it. Nothing touched me.”
Gorin’s gigantic hands held her arm gently as he attempted to study it in the grey light of the storm. He stopped after a moment and looked directly into her eyes. For a moment, she simply stared back. She knew what he was thinking.
“It can’t be.” she whispered to him. “It hasn’t happened since-“
“Do not worry, Windenn. I will find you help.” the Stone Troll stated firmly. He stepped out into the storm and stared off to the north in thought. His deep voice carried back to them.
“Wait here. I will return soon. Do not move from this spot.” he looked to D’Pharin on that last word, embarrassing him for his previous foolhardiness.
“Where-“ Hagan began, but the Troll was gone into the curtain of water before he could finish.
The storm had grown intense in the last few hours and it produced a constant hammering sound on the tarp overhead. Hagan was agitated. One thing he hated was waiting.
Nowhere to go. Can’t even see through this storm.
“Well, for someone in such a damned hurry, Gor –“ Hagan started, his voice almost a scream above the pounding of the rain.
“Be silent!” Windenn yelled.
Hagan turned angrily toward her. Seeing the look on her face, he quickly calmed himself. She was terrified. This was obviously more than what it seemed.
“If I am not treated properly-and soon ... ” she said, her voice catching in her throat.
“What? It’s that serious?” D’Pharin asked. He had been silent all this time, feeling a little like a hindrance.
She turned moist eyes to him.
“I’ve got maybe two days. If I’m lucky. It all depends on when I was hit.”
Both Marindels asked the same question in unison.
“What is it?”
“This hasn’t been seen since Grimandin’s youth. They call it ‘The Kiss of Mournenhile’. It was a power that the Inquitis possessed before they were destroyed. In the past, their touch could cause wounds such as this in their selected victims. But, they had to be in close contact and undisturbed for a good length of time. I wasn’t touched. Ever. I’m sure of it.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Gorin is going for help?” D’Pharin asked. “Out here?”
She nodded.
“Grimandin knows of many things. He searches for that which cured many in the past.”
She paused.
“When S’Darin fell all those years ago, the Pith drank of his blood. They gathered a piece of his essence. His power. But, they weren’t the only ones.”
“As the battle moved into the city and left the battlefield, a group of - well, a sort of cult, I guess - came to S’Darin’s body. They took that which remained. They gathered the precious little lifeblood that remained and his broken staff.”
“The blood was encased in glass amulets that each wore around the neck as a tribute. No one is sure what became of the staff. It seemed that the amulets protected the wearers from evil, the blood of S’Darin being so potent and powerful. But, there is a reason that only a handful of chosen people ever wield the fierce magic that he commanded. Most mortal bodies cannot contain it. S’Darin’s parents were both powerful mages and we all know that sorcery is in the blood. If ye aren’t born with it, ye will never be a mage. Unless, of course, you try a more sinister and devious approach ... ”
“What do you mean?” asked D’Pharin.
“She means murder.” Hagan answered. “The magic is in the blood. If you kill a wizard and drink his blood ... ”
“Is that really possible?” D’pharin asked, somewhat amazed at this fact.
“Absolutely.” Windenn said. “It has happened. However, those that drink are never sure if they can contain it. Just as easily as some gain power, others simply ... explode.”
“Wind ... ” he said. That seemed like a big risk to take for a little power.
Windenn’s teeth clenched as she suffered through another wave of pain. Sweat covered her brow suddenly and she wiped it away with her good arm.
“Those that fashioned the amulets were not aware of the lasting effects of the wizard’s blood. Their bodies were distorted and bent under its weight. Though they did not die, they were forever changed.”
“It was found that this remaining blood had a will of it’s own, in a way. The bearer of an amulet is unconsciously drawn toward the greatest need. In other words, if the Inquitis are to be found in the lands of good, then one of the bearers will be close by.”
Lightning flashed suddenly outside and thunder shook the earth beneath them.
“So this blood can heal you?” D’Pharin asked.
“So it is said ... ”
“And Gorin went to find one of these bearers ... ” Hagan murmured, peering into the blackness outside. Just as he returned his gaze to Windenn, lightning flashed once more and he saw something. From the corner of his eye he saw them.
Three tall silhouettes a mere stone’s throw away.
He quickly looked back but all had once again returned to darkness. Their horses stamped and whinnied, frightened by the presence.
“Is it-? “ D’Pharin started.
Hagan hurriedly hopped into a defensive stance, sword extended toward the downpour. His brother drew his blade as well and stood between Windenn and the darkness.
“Hagan ... ” he began.
“Shhhh.”
One of them nearly killed all of us. Now there are three?
Where is Gorin?
“Swords alone are useless.” Windenn said through clenched jaws.
“We don’t have much choice, Woodwarden.” Hagan answered, his eyes staring through the rain.
Lightning once more.
Nothing. He saw nothing now.
D’Pharin opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by Hagan’s outstretched hand.
The ground shook.
They held their breath.
Again. And once again, quicker this time. And closer.
Like footsteps.
A huge figure loomed before them, grey and wide.
Hagan drew back his sword.
Gorin.
They all exhaled in relief. He had returned. In his hand he clutched a length of rope. The other end led back slackly into the darkness. He tugged firmly on his end and a hunched and grizzled form lurched clumsily into the shelter of the tarp.
It looked to be more goblin than anything but it was evident that its form was unnatural. Its gruesome face seemed to melt from its deformed skull, one eye hanging much lower than the other. Scraps of coarse hair jutted from its mottled scalp in every direction.
It stood, eyes downcast, sniffling and chattering to itself. Its twisted and palsied fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, clenching and unclenching at the air and occasionally grasping the large amulet around its neck.
“Wind.” whispered Windenn, huddled, back to the boulder.
“Hmmm ... Its mind is gone. It is impossible to speak to it. It understands nothing and will not respond.” Gorin said, wiping the rain from his forehead.
Hagan had not yet lowered his guard, remaining frozen and his sword at the ready.
“Gorin, I saw them.” he said without turning.
“Hmmm ... yes. They are there. It is good that I returned when I did. This amulet is all that holds them back.”
The bearer had sunken to its backside and stared about blankly. Strands of drool hung from its open lips and pooled upon the mud beneath.
“Hm. We must make haste. Windenn, come.”
The Woodwarden moved on hands and knees toward the stunted creature. Its eyes suddenly followed her as she approached. Gorin stood to the side between the two, constantly monitoring the impenetrable rain outside the tarp.
“We must use as little as possible. I do not need to explain its value.” the Troll said.
Windenn sat cross-legged next to the bearer. It now seemed to pay close attention to her and nothing else. As she raised the sleeve of her soaked tunic, it recognized the sign of Mournenhile’s Kiss. It grinned, its crooked teeth becoming visible and its blackish tongue playing across them in strange glee.
D’Pharin looked questioningly at Gorin as if to say ‘Is this safe?’
Gorin nodded although not entirely sure. He reached cautiously toward the bearer and carefully took the tarnished amulet in his hands. The leather thong that supported it had been repaired many times over the years. There were knots and frays all along its length. He turned it over once in his giant palm and located the clasp. It opened easily for him, revealing a seemingly glass vial, roughly half-full of thick red liquid.
Windenn stared in awe. She never thought to see such a sight.
“The blood of S’Darin ... ” she gasped.
The bearer twitched.
A small golden stopper was pushed into the small opening in the vial. Gorin’s fingers were too large for such a task, so Windenn twisted it loose. Electricity filled the area. The essence of power. S’Darins power. The horses screamed. There had never been a greater wizard. Never again had the land known such awesome sorcery.
With trembling hands, Windenn handed it back to Gorin and moved closer, her wound exposed. Its appearance had grown worse even in the last few minutes. It seeped a greenish fluid and let out a foul odor.
Gorin gingerly balanced the vial and tipped it slightly toward her arm. Slowly the blood moved, gradually making its way to the mouth of the small container.
Not a sound was made as they waited.
“One drop should be all we need.” Gorin noted to himself.
The crimson drop fell.
The moment it touched the wound, Windenn howled the harshest of screams. She threw herself backward in agony, scraping at her arm with her fingernails. The amulet snapped free of its thong and skidded across the slick ground. It stopped several paces away. She curled into herself and thrashed in the mud as D’Pharin and Hagan ran to her.
Gorin took a step toward her writhing form, then hesitated. He turned to check on the bearer who now shrunk into himself in fear. It backed toward the rain and the darkness, unsure of itself.
“NO!” the Troll bellowed, bounding in the creature’s direction. He had acted too late, he knew.
The bearer was snatched from behind and ripped from the shelter of the tarp by unseen hands. Gorin had met its pitiful eyes just as it disappeared into the storm. Then, over the pounding of the rain, they heard its screams of pain. Horrible sounds. They covered their ears but the sound still seemed to reach them. Rending of flesh. Snapping of bone. The sickening crunch of joints being pulled apart.
Lightning flashed and the three silhouettes could be seen hunched over the motionless mound of battered flesh. The tallest turned its empty face toward them and took a step forward. All grew dark again.
Hagan had since joined Gorin at the rain’s edge while D’Pharin tried to comfort the now inconsolable Windenn. She had stopped thrashing and now lay on her side, moaning. One hand covered the wound, the other her grimacing face.
“They’re coming.” Hagan remarked, looking about for a good spot to fight from. He now had the amulet in hand.
“Hmmm ... ” Gorin grumbled. “Poor creature. Perhaps it is better this way. Theirs was a misled cause. It is not as S’Darin would have wanted.”
“Ah, Hagan. The amulet protected the bearer and should offer us protection as well. We must stay close. Gather around the Woodwarden.”
They did so. They lay the amulet upon Windenn’s chest as she had since rolled onto her back and fallen into a fitful sleep. The others sat around her, each facing the wall of rain.
They sat motionless for minutes and then the first ghostly shape appeared just outside the tarp. One of the Inquitis. It stood as a white statue merely paces inside the falling rain. It stood and stared, its thin wings dragging the muddy ground. Waiting.
Soon, the others appeared spaced evenly on the storm’s edge.
Three frightening figures silently observing them with hidden eyes.
The downpour seemed not to affect them at all. They stood unmoving, no water touched them as if they were not part of the same reality. Not of this world.
“Damn.” Hagan said, fingering the tip of his sword. “Do we wait here until each of us is pulled into the storm and torn apart?”
Gorin did not speak. He simply returned the stare of the Inquitis.
D’Pharin mopped the sweat from Windenn’s forehead and face, more concerned with her than the watchers outside.
“I think she’s coming around. She’s gonna be alright.” He smiled.
“Hmmm ... how is the arm?” the Troll asked. D’Pharin gently rolled her to the side.
“It’s gone! There’s no sign of it.”
“Good”
Hagan huffed. “What’s your plan?” he asked anxiously.
“We wait.” Gorin said. “Obviously the power of the blood is keeping them at bay. W
ait until Windenn is back with us.”
Some two hours passed and suddenly Windenn sat upright, eyes wide. The others started, then reached to steady her. Hagan grabbed the amulet and kept it near.
“S’Darin ... ” she whispered. Her face turned quickly to each of them, a final look of recognition covering it.
D’Pharin offered her water from his leather canteen and she drank deeply.
Gorin still had not taken his gaze from that of the Inquitis.
“How do you feel, Woodwarden?” he asked.
“Strange ... I think I was dreaming. He was there or I was him or - I don’t know ... I think I’m alright ... ” she said rubbing at her arm.
“Looks like that did the trick, eh?” she added.
“You had us scared there for a moment.” D’Pharin said as he gathered the soaked cloths he had used on her.
She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts.
“I’ve never felt such fire. It burned but not as a flame. It burned inside. Inside my soul. I felt it. His power. It’s no wonder the bearers were twisted. No one can contain that much fire.” She lifted her eyes to the rain outside and shrank back.
“What-?” she blurted.
Hagan scratched his head and said, “They won’t come in. The amulet keeps them away.”
“W-What are we going to do?” she asked.
“Ask Gorin ... ” Hagan answered, obviously agitated.
“What are they doing?” she said.
“It looks like they’re waiting for something. But, what?” D’Pharin remarked.
“They are waiting for word from their master.” Gorin said. “Most likely, they speak with him even now. I am sure they will be ordered to retreat. We have protection and there is no way around that.”
“Gorin, what if we threaten them with the amulet? Could we chase them off?” Hagan asked.
“Hmmm ... I think it is best that we simply wait h-“
Then, they were gone and so was the storm. Quickly, rays of sunlight slanted across the sky and the clouds began to lift.
“Now, we go.” Gorin stated and went to Windenn. He gently cradled her in his arms, finally allowing the emotion to come through.
“Grimandin ... ” she said.
“Windenn. Hmmm ... For a moment, I-“
“I know. No more need be said, my friend. Once again, I owe you my life.”
She raised a hand to his cheek, weakly and held it for a moment.
“Hmmm ... You owe me nothing, dear girl. Your friendship means much to me. If you had-“
“Shhh ... ” she said and put a finger to his grey lips.
D’Pharin smiled, deeply touched and felt a slight pang of jealousy. Hagan moved to the horses and made them ready for travel.
“Let’s hope this amulet helps us reach Harquinn without further mishap.” he murmured.
He thought again of that once fair city, all in blue. Many balconied buildings and intricate stonework. And the council. Councilcrane.
Magic. Never had much use for it.
Never trusted it much either.
Roughly an hour after midday they rejoined the river, having met it at its gradual turn back east. They rode close together with Gorin striding tirelessly to their side. Though the pale sun shone down, its heat was hardly felt and their thick clothing still clung to their bodies, soaked with rain. They fidgeted uncomfortably in their saddles and complaints often filled the air.
Windenn rode hunched over behind Hagan, her cloak pulled tight and gathered under her chin, her head pressed against his back. She shivered now and then from more than her wet clothes. It was not unnoticed.
Gorin walked beside her, his head at level with hers.
“The Kiss is still with you?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“No, no. I think it is gone but I am weakened. This chill that has set in is not sorcerous. It is a natural sickness, Gorin ... ” Her voice was pleading as if she tried to convince herself of its truthfulness.
“You need warmth and dry clothing or this will become worse.” he said.
“I’ll not argue with ye, Grimandin. I do not wish to slow ye down. If ye wish-“
He cut her off.
“Hm. Nonsense.”
He glanced to the horizon, through the groves of trees and to the hills beyond. He stood for a moment in contemplation as the group halted, unsure. The brothers had heard nothing of their conversation, so were completely unaware of the situation.
Gorin turned to face them.
“Half a day’s ride over those hills is the nearest human city. If we ride now, we can reach it by nightfall. The Woodwarden needs a healer and we will find one there.”
Hagan shook his head.
“Are you talking about Overbrook? That is the one place we should avoid.” he said.
“Windenn needs shelter, a warm meal and a bed. One night, that is all.”
“Well, you can’t show your face there. From what I’ve heard, that place is not too kind to the Elder races and most assuredly not to Trolls.”
Gorin huffed.
“I am full aware of that fact. The three of you will go into the city and find the Wisp. I will remain in the hills above the river.”
Hagan rolled his eyes and spat.
“All this for a cold?” he yelled, his voice echoing across the landscape.
“Lord Hagan.” Gorin growled forcefully.
Hagan glared at him. He hated that title.
“Stop calling me that, dammit! Look, if I have to cross the entire country because Davaris wants to talk, fine. Let’s get there! Look at her-“ he motioned over his shoulder to Windenn.
“She’s fine. Just a little sick.” he shouted. Then, she slid limply down the far side of his horse and crumpled to the ground. Hagan froze, stunned.
D’Pharin hopped down and checked her. She was unconscious and her forehead burned his palm as he tested it.
“Wind.” he said. He shot a glance at his brother. “She needs water.”
He poured a swallow of water into her open mouth and she took it on reflex.
“Alright, Overbrook it is. I feel that there are still things that you are hiding, Gorin. This is still Mournenhile’s work, isn’t it? She’s not completely cured of the Kiss, is she?”
“I had hoped that it was over, Hagan.” the Troll answered.
“It seems that as the years have passed, his power has grown. Many years ago, Windenn would have been fully recovered by this time. We are in need of the Wisp.”
“If she is still there ...” he added.
“Wind.” Hagan exclaimed. He jumped down and helped his brother return her to Maelstrom’s back. He sat her in front of him and supported her from behind. Her body was limp and she did not respond to their touch, her lids only fluttered as if in a frightful dream.
They struck out eastward across the dark green hills. The grass was tall here, nearly to Gorin’s waist and dotted with bright wildflowers. Yellows, blues and fiery oranges. Now and then, the faint buzzing of honeybees would pass them as spring came to life.
They kept a swift pace, each sensing the urgency of the situation. Windenn made no sound and moved not at all. This was more disturbing then her convulsions of earlier that morning.
They were mostly silent, only speaking when a pack of wolves was seen far off on the northern horizon. The animals simply stared, as still as statues, but the horse’s ears twitched nervously until they had departed.
The blood red sun had nearly sunk into the earth when Gorin stopped them at the base of another hillside.
“Hmmm ... This is where I leave you. Over this hill, Overbrook will be seen lying below in a deep valley. Find Twisting Way, an avenue buried deep in the center of the city. It is a confusing road, hence its name, however when last I heard a sort of path had been put in place. The street lanterns are all dead. All but a few. Follow these and you will find the Wisp. Near the very heart of Twisting Way, her old house stands, all others long since deserted. They fear her;
the city-folk and they keep their distance. It is said, that even the Inquitis avoid that place but, that may be a tall tale.”
“Please, Hagan. Do not tarry. Make your way as quickly as possible to the Wisp. She can help Windenn, but there are others there that would harm her. Speak to no one. Once inside Overbrook, do not stop for anyone or anything. Enter by the lower docks. Those are never guarded and will be busy even at this hour. I do not have to tell you to be careful. Under the city linger the worst of Overbrook. Keep your hoods up and cover your faces. You may not realize it but you are recognizable even here.”
“The vilest thieves and pirates lurk there among the shipping crates and ships. Make your way into the city quickly. And Hagan ... the Woodwarden means much to me. I am charging you with her protection. I am entrusting you with her life.”
Hagan loosened his sword in its sheath and tightened the strap that held it in place at his side.
“Don’t worry, Gorin. If someone harms her, they must harm me first. She’ll be taken care of.” he said. His memory twinged as some of his former self returned in a flash.
He remembered ‘Lord Hagan’. He had honor and protected his beliefs. He had been respected. He was strong, fierce and brave. Since leaving his hometown, the old Hagan was returning. Strange, it seemed.
“Hold it.” Hagan said. “The amulet. If we take it, you’ll be unprotected out here.”
“That is a risk that I must take for Windenn’s sake. Hmmm ... they are not looking for me, my friend.” Gorin said.
“I don’t like this, Gorin. What if-“
“Guard yourselves. I will meet you here at the same time tomorrow.” The Troll turned and grabbed most of the saddlebags and sacks of belongings. These he dropped to the soft earth and seated himself next to them.
“Walk with the Wind.” he said, smiling.
“Walk with the Wind, Gorin.” Hagan answered and D’Pharin followed suit.
Together they climbed the hill, the last rays of the sun warming their shoulders slightly. D’Pharin took one last look behind, barely able to see Gorin in the darkening dusk.
The Troll raised one huge hand in a farewell gesture and smiled again.
Chapter Four
A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One Page 6
