A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One

by William Kenney

  Chapter Six

   

   

              As the day passed, the company found the forest floor covered heavier with leaves, a darker green blanket upon the soft ground. The air around them grew hazy as they drew closer to battle, the trees appearing as tall and slender wraiths in the distance. The archers became gradually more nervous as visibility became worse and many of them had bows in their hands, arrows at the ready. They could smell fires burning somewhere in the near vicinity, which disheartened them greatly. Just the thought, made Hagan cringe.

  Elfwhere burned.

  Conversations had drawn to a halt and over each rise they expected to confront the enemy.

              Vedaene drew in his horse and sat quietly for a moment, listening. He silently dismounted, dropping lightly to the earth and placed his open hand against the nearest tree.

              “We are very close,” he said with eyes closed. “Ready your weapons. A group is moving this way, running quickly. Friend or foe, I cannot be sure.”

              Swords were drawn and arrows nocked, their owners staring through the grey and soot-filled air, their eyes watering from the thickness of it. Vedaene returned to the saddle and they slowly descended the next hill. Instantly, they could hear branches snapping and the trample of leaves underfoot as many things moved toward them. Then came harsh shouts echoing eerily in the now ghostly forest. They could make out an officer giving orders to his men in the Elven language, but could not distinguish the words. High-pitched shrieks suddenly reached them as something beastlike pursued the soldiers. Shadowy figures appeared within the farthest trees, running in their direction. They appeared to be fleeing chaotically through the burning forest at a near-sprint.

              “Regroup! Regroup! We cannot fight them alone!” someone screamed and then fell strangely silent. Hagan felt the urge to protect Shindire, he was not sure why but as he looked to her, he relaxed. She had produced a thin blade from somewhere within her clothing and by the way she held it, she could handle herself fair enough. He made up his mind not to worry about her welfare.

              The figures came closer and the archers took aim over their heads. Then out of the smoke, large masses of darkness appeared with smaller masses astride them. From their location, they could not make out their true form but they knew it without question. Some two-score of the Pith rode hard toward them on the backs of their great, scaled war-beasts, barbed spears and scimitars in their claws. Like animals they growled and slobbered on themselves, hungry for blood and flesh. As they drew closer and their outlines solidified, the archers released their first volley. Seven of the creatures fell, shafts in their bodies. The second shower of arrows was not as productive, only dropping two more. They would only be allowed one more volley and the Pith would be among them.

              They brought down three more of the black creatures, arrows in their chests and then shouldered their bows. At close range, they would rely on blade work. The company heeled their horses, launching into their enemy’s charge.

              A howling Pith warrior came down quickly on D’Pharin, eyes piercing points of ebony and the young man froze.

              He could not believe the face of the Pith. Part wolf, part bat with great elongated ears that stretched back and away from its head. Its skin was dark, nearly black and its body was covered with a short coat of oily fur, except for its small leathery wings. It had large slits for nostrils that glistened with moisture as it breathed him in, twitching with anticipation. Its small black eyes followed his movements like a wild animal; it’s only thought that of survival. Great fanged jaws spread wide, snakelike tongue playing behind its lips and it screamed.

              It swung its wicked spear in a wide arc toward D’Pharin’s unprotected head and he was paralyzed. Fear had taken hold and death was coming quickly. At the last moment, his horse reared, eyes wild with fright and took the blade across the neck. D’Pharin was thrown from its back as blood sprayed into the hazy air; the horse kicking frantically as it hit the ground. It bared its teeth in pain and drove its head into the forest floor.

              Reality grabbed him suddenly as the horse died.

              That could have been me.

              He imagined himself, wallowing on the ground, his lifeblood spilling out all around him. This was enough to shake him awake.

              He retrieved his sword from the ground and raised his eyes as his attacker bore down on him. It rode a great horned lizard, all scales and wicked claws. Its eyes held no color as those of a corpse. As D’Pharin’s eyes cleared, his knees nearly gave as he truly beheld the beast’s features. It was the face of a man. Somewhat twisted and deformed but shaped as a man.

              What unnatural horror is this? This thing was simply wrong. It should not be.

              The Pith’s steed stood nearly to D’Pharin’s shoulders and as it reached him at a gallop, rows of teeth gnashing and snapping at his face, its neck lurched out and D’Pharin jumped. He threw himself up and to one side, narrowly avoiding the gaping maw. At the same time, he cut a wide circle with his blade, his arm extended to its full reach.

              His elbow shuddered as he made contact, the rider hunching in the saddle, bowels spilling into its clawed hands. It howled once and rolled from the lizard’s back.

              D’Pharin hit his knees and somersaulted into the low brush that grew nearby, his sword brought up in a defensive posture. Through the dense, grey air he could see two points of light moving toward him, swaying in a pendulous motion, back and forth. After a brief pause, the face of the beast was on him once more, hurtling toward him. Its long snout struck him hard in the chest, nearly shattering his sternum and throwing him far into a group of trees where he lay crumpled like a doll. It slowly padded to him, its stinking breath hissing through its nostrils. D’Pharin was nearly unconscious, unable to move though he tried ferociously.

              This can’t be it. No. Wind, no.

              The shadow of the beast covered him and its ghoulish eyes lowered to meet his. For a moment, it studied him, sniffing his clothing and hair. It recoiled as if to strike and suddenly disappeared from his sight. It screeched as if in pain and he could make out the sounds of an incredible struggle. He heard bones breaking and flesh tearing. Then, at once it was over.

              Heavy footsteps came closer and still he was unable to move. He strained to see what approached and went rigid with dread.

              “Young Marindel, are you still with me, friend?”

              It was the voice of a very familiar Troll. Gorin had saved him. Thank the Wind.

              “D’Pharin?”

              “Ah ... I’m still here, Gorin. I just ... I can’t move ... ”

              Strong, stone hands reached under his arms and gently lifted him into a sitting position. Gorin’s face was splattered with dark blood, small trails running down onto his chest, a strange contrast to the black tattoos that adorned him.

              “Were you struck in the chest, D’Pharin?” he asked, his eyes covering him, searching for wounds.

              “Oh, yes. Very much so ... ” D’Pharin croaked. His ribs and back felt like hell. He was almost thankful that he could not move. He knew that when he did, it would hurt badly.

              “Hmmm, then you are very fortunate. Most who are hit with the heartstrike do not survive. It will take many days to fully recover. You will be able to stand momentarily. I will watch over you until then.” Gorin said, watching the haze around them. The sounds of battle had moved off to the south. There did not appear to be Pith in their vicinity.

    
          “Hagan and Windenn?” D’Pharin asked.

              “Swept away with the others. We had the upper hand when I saw you hit the ground so you need not be overly concerned. Hmmm ... ”

              D’Pharin only grunted a ‘yes’.

              “Now you see the horror that is the Pith, spawn of Mournenhile. Created far to the east to be his servants and army. Those that they kill are eaten if possible.”

              D’Pharin shuddered.

              Gorin noticed this and smiled.

              “The effects of the heartstrike are wearing off. It will not take long now.”

              “Good. I’d like to be on my feet. I can’t exactly help from down here.” D’Pharin said.

              Windenn and Hagan fought back to back, three unmounted Pith assailing them at once. Two assaulted the Woodwarden and one, Hagan. Pick the weakest foe and eliminate them first. Hagan was having a hard time with his opponent, the Pith’s strength nearly ripping the sword from his hands on several occasions. He wondered how Windenn was keeping two at bay?

              She held two short swords in her hands and batted away attacks smoothly allowing the creatures to wear themselves down. She surprised herself at how easily she defended herself and allowed a quick smile to cover her face. Just as she did, one of her blades was stripped from her hand and the Pith jumped toward her. Instinctively, she threw her palm out, catching fire to the fur of her opponent’s stomach. It cried out, recoiling in pain and ran.

              What? Fire?

              Her remaining attacker paused; staring over its shoulder at it’s fleeing companion. It stared down at her empty hand and bolted away into the forest, soon becoming a blur in the void of smoke.

              Hagan found an opening and soon dispatched his challenger, kicking it once in the back as it lay dying at his feet. He turned to Windenn and brought his brows together, puzzled. Both of her opponents were gone?

              “What the hell happened?” he asked looking all around him.

              “I’m not sure. They just ran off together. Something must’ve spooked ‘em.” she answered, not wholly telling the truth. She wasn’t sure what had happened but she knew that she had been the cause of it.

              “Strange ... ” Hagan added as he stared back the way they had run.

              A group of Elves ran up, panting from extreme exertion. Many were wounded, some severely. Some of them would not survive, Hagan knew.

              “Where are D’Pharin and Gorin?” he asked, suddenly afraid.

              “I saw the Troll run in that direction.” An archer wheezed, pointing off to the north. He held his shoulder and seemed to favor one leg.

              “Come on.” Hagan called to Windenn. Together, they raced into the trees, their eyes scanning the ground as they ran. They called out their friend’s names as they went, fear building in their breasts. Where were they? They knew the stories of the Pith’s prisoners. If they had been captured, there was no hope.

              Then, they heard the low call of Gorin. They turned somewhat westward, following the sound and in a small grove of crooked trees, they found them. D’Pharin now sat up, his back against a tree and Gorin stood waving them over. He had obviously seen his share of battle. As they hurried toward them, they saw the mangled form of the giant lizard off to one side, resting in the brush. Something had torn it to shreds. It’s lower jaw hung from its skull, only tendons and strands of cartilage held it in place. One eye was completely missing and both horns. Along the side that faced them, an enormous hole had been punched, exposing row upon row of pale ribs.

              “D’Pharin! Are you hurt?” Hagan asked, running to his brother’s side.

              His brother looked up at him weakly and groaned.

              “Well, Gorin tells me it could’ve been worse.” he said with a grimace.

              Windenn let out a low whistle.

              “Who did that?” she asked as she pointed to the lizard’s remains.

              “That is what did this to me. Luckily, Gorin came along just before I was eaten.” said D’Pharin.

              Hagan stared in astonishment at the Troll for a moment, then back to the lizard.

              Wind. That was a lot of damage.

              Windenn made her way over to Gorin, eyes wide.

              “Let’s get ye cleaned up, Grimandin. Ye all right?” she asked.

              “Hmmm ... I am fine. I almost did not make it in time.”

              She helped him clean the blood from his face and shoulders, gently wiping with a white cloth she had pulled from her pack. It was a strange but touching sight, the giant figure leaning down, the slight woman tending to him like a mother. He closed his eyes as she wiped the grime from his cheek. When she had finished, she walked over to D’Pharin still sitting against the tree.

              “Are ye gonna live? Grimandin tells me ye survived the heartstrike. Not many can make that claim. Ye should be proud but for the next few days, ye’ll be in too much pain t’be.” she laughed.

              “Ye ready to stand?” she asked.

              “No.”

              “Come on, give me your hand.” she said, reaching out.

              After much struggle, D’Pharin stood, still relying on the tree for support, clenching his jaw. It hurt, but it was already fading.

              “The soldiers tell us that the front is just over those hills. Hagan wants to go in quickly and get out. He knows you cannot fight in this condition and now we’ve lost your horse.” she explained.

              “I know, I know. It’s a shame. He was a fine animal. He shouldn’t have died like that.” D’Pharin said, glancing at his fallen steed.

              Soon, the Elves had gathered around them in a close circle. Their numbers had dwindled considerably, only half of the archers remained. The others had the appearance of many hard days of battle, their faces blackened with soot and crusted with dried blood. Their eyes held little hope, but much determination. Though they feared defeat, they would fight until the end.

              “The only chance we have is to get in and out as fast as possible. We cannot stand for long against an onslaught such as this.” Hagan announced to all gathered near.

              One of the weary soldiers stepped forward.

              “We had them at bay, Lord. All along our trenches, we have spiked poles driven into the ground. Their beasts could not cross. They were forced to dismount and fight at our level. The odds were much more even until, their master arrived.”

              “Hmmm. What do you mean, master?” Gorin asked. They could not be speaking of Mournenhile.

              “One of the Rone’pith. Their dark sorcerers.”

              Gorin breathed a sigh of relief and Windenn hissed under her breath.

              “With his help, they have breached our trenches and scattered our soldiers. I fear they move toward inner Elfwhere as we speak. A small group of our force was cut off from the rest and was being decimated when we were forced to flee. Our only hope is that the might of Greymander can hold them. They await the Pith but a few leagues from here. They are our last line of defense. If they are overcome, then Elfwhere has fallen." the soldier broke into tears and turned toward his comrades.

              Hagan stared at the ground and bit his lip.

 
            “They will persevere. Elfwhere will not fall so easily. I only wish that I could remain and lend my sword to this cause. I have been ordered to Harquinn by Councilcrane and cannot stay. I must however find Vasparian Grael and swiftly. Do you know of his whereabouts?” Hagan asked of any within earshot.

              The Elves murmured among themselves for a moment, looks of dread on their battered faces. At long last, one of them stepped forward.

              “General Grael led the charge. He was among those that were separated from us. He must surely be- “

              “No. Do not say it. If any still live, then Vasp is one of them. Who will show me the way?”

              The Elf nodded, tightening his sword belt. He had long since lost his blade and the others offered their weapons. He quickly chose one and walked ahead.

              “Any who would accompany me, come now. There is no dishonor if you choose to remain but it has been my unfortunate experience that if the battle is lost, there will be nowhere to turn. If you hide among the trees, they will come for you. If you do not drive them out now, then your home belongs to the Pith and to Mournenhile.”

              At the mention of that name, the Elves stood straight and proud. As one, they announced loudly that they would join Hagan. The decision was made to leave the few remaining horses, including Maelstrom in the care of the most seriously wounded of the soldiers. They would wait for their return or travel to Nael Daren upon the morn. Hagan tried to persuade his brother to stay behind with the others but knew it was futile. Gorin agreed to watch over D’Pharin as they traveled and finally Hagan gave in. Hagan looked over his shattered group one last time before they moved out. Many of them were so exhausted as to be little help in even the smallest of skirmishes but he was pleased to have their trust.

              Just then, the silhouette of a thin figure moved from behind a tree and all spun to face it. It was the High Elven woman, blade still in her hand. She slowly walked up to them, large leather case slung across her right shoulder.

              “Where’s-“ Windenn began.

              Shindire simply shook her head. Her assistant had been killed by the Pith. No more was said.

              “Move out.” Hagan said and they hurried off to the north.

  I’m coming, Vasp. Just hold on a little longer. If anyone can stay alive through this, you can.