Armies of the Silver Mage (10 page)

“We need two daggers. Short swords if you have them.”

The smith nodded. “Ah yes, I can see why. Dangerous times these are. Why, I just heard tell that the dark mage’s army is moving this way. Finally unleashed to claim us all. Dark times indeed.”

“Indeed,” Norgen agreed. “Word travels fast these days. When did this happen?”

“Just this morning, but you know everyone has spies and experts in rumors. Who can say what to believe anymore? Wish times were better. Maybe business would pick up.”

“Wars have a way of blessing and ruining business when we least have need of it,” Norgen said with a curt nod. He found himself liking the smith. The man had an honest atmosphere and that meant a good deal.

They walked back through the shop, past rows of half finished swords, plows, and hammers. There were barrels filled with nails and tacks. A pile of metal bands for the local cooper sat off in the corner. The shop itself was very clean and orderly. Norgen found himself liking the man more and more.

“Perhaps these will do.” The burly smith pulled a covering back to reveal newly forged two foot short swords. Neither was decorated, but even the boys noticed the craftsmanship involved in their making. The smith beamed with pride. “They may not be fancy. That’s not what I was going for. See, there here are special. Only three were ever made. I sold the first to King Maelor himself. For his son it was. Your two friends have a familiar look to them, one of royalty. I could part with these for a fair price.”

Norgen eyed the man suspiciously as only a Dwarf could when it comes to

haggling.

“Fair for whom? I’ve no need of untested weapons. They can kill you as easy as clumsiness.”

“I can assure you these blades will serve their purpose well. Ask around, my work is as good as gold in times of need.”

Norgen hefted the first blade and went through a series of jabs and thrusts. He grunted. The blade danced in his hand. Most of his folk preferred the heavy double headed battle axe but this was giving him a second thought. The balance and weight were almost perfect. This truly was a sword made for a king.

“Is it not fine?” asked the smith.

“Fine enough to keep them alive long enough to get back home,” Norgen nodded.

The smith smiled. “Shall we discuss a price?”

Norgen set the weapon back down. “A gold apiece.”

Disappointment flashed behind his eyes. “I was thinking more along the lines of two. These are finely crafted blades worthy of the greatest lord.”

“Good as they are, I have yet to find a replacement for a good battle axe.”

“Ah, but times are hard all around,” the smith tried to say.

The Dwarf agreed. “Tis true. Harder than most care to accept. We do not create the times though. One gold apiece or my friends and I are leaving for another smithy.”

They wound up paying a few extra silvers for the daggers and left him with an unhappy look. Norgen went over the basics of sword play with the boys later that night, promising to begin their training the next morning. All three went to sleep feeling slightly better about the future.

* * *

Night usually made Tarren feel comfortable, seducing her into the never realms of sleep. Tonight was anything but. She figured Alloenis was more than another day away. Distance wasn’t the problem. Being watched by everything unseen was. There was no way of knowing how far ahead the stranger in black was or even if he was still there. A man like that could easily have doubled back to stalk her. The thought of him waiting off in the bushes one night made her body tremble and left a sickening thought in her mind.

Going through Rellin Werd had been a terrible experience. Every sound was a monster. Every pair of eyes an evil coming to claim her. Her fears hadn’t been realized and were more than likely absurd if not for the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Doubt was smoothly settling in. Tarren wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on. Her body wasn’t made for endless days of forced travel with minimal rations and an undefined sense of direction. Part of her wanted to go home. The only thing stopping her was her love for Delin.

“What have I gotten myself in to,” she whispered to herself.

She was cold, wet and tired. The storm raged through, catching her in the open. It was all she could do to find some semblance of shelter and ride it out. A crisp hoot from a storm owl answered her. Tarren settled in against a large maple tree and watched the forest. She knew she had to sleep but was determined to stay awake as long as possible. Tolis Scarn hid behind every bush and she wasn’t going to be caught unawares. Her eyes drifted close moments later.

She awoke to the gentle prodding on her shoulder. Her first instinct was to draw the tiny dagger given to her as birthday present by her father some years ago. Tarren opened her eyes and drew back to attack. She knew she had been caught and meant to inflict as much harm as possible. A gentle whuff made her lower her guard. Her eyes adjusted and a large dark form took shape. It was a pony. Young and golden brown with velvet eyes.

Tarren glanced nervously about. She was frighteningly concerned about her surroundings. This had to be a trap. No one in their right mind would leave a perfectly good pack animal about in the wild. But what if the owner was dead? She looked the pony over and noticed it looked like it’d never been saddled. Curiously, the pony seemed to be smiling down on her. Tarren smiled back.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” she asked in a gentle voice. “I used to know why I was here but that was before the storm. All I know now is that I’m tired and want to go home. But I can’t!”

Tears welled in her eyes. The pony stepped closer and rubbed it’s muzzle against her.

“My friends are in danger. They need me and I don’t know that I’m strong enough to help them,” she confided.

She took silent comfort from the animal. It drew away the doubt and suffering she’d been going through and gave her new hope. Tarren knew she had a chance. Her spirits lifted. A new day was upon her and she had much to do to save her love.

THIRTEEN

Melting snow and ice turned the roads into a muddy slush, slowing travel to a miserable crawl. Temperatures stayed low but just above freezing. Distant mountaintops remained buried in perpetual snow with strong winds swirling the loose powder about. Winter was still weeks away yet the skies were constantly growing darker.

Norgen calmly combed the ice from his beard and watched the boys spar with carved wooden swords. They’d continually improved since leaving Feist a handful of days ago. The Dwarf knew it wouldn’t be enough to keep them alive in combat, but it was just enough to give them a chance to run. He prayed they never learned what combat was. The very nice they left Feist Norgen knew his prayers went unanswered. He felt that familiar chill. He knew then that a Gnaal had found them. They were being hunted.

He managed to keep his fears to himself despite their constant nagging. Gnaal’s were horrible creatures with blood thirsty appetites and never relented. That he managed to survive one already was a miracle. Many good friends lay dead and rotting from one. Axes and swords were useless against their blackened flesh. The Dwarves fought with extreme valor and didn’t so much as cut the fell beast.

Finally having had enough, Delin and Fennic lowered their swords and rejoined the Dwarf in youthful laughter. They were exhausted and drenched in sweat. Norgen had them rinse off at a nearby stream to keep from getting sick. They came back and shared a meager meal of dried meat and traveler’s bread. Norgen ignored their protests over not having a fire and bade them eat in silence. The sun was setting and that old chill returning.

Creeping shadows stretched across the world in an open invitation for dark creatures and evil desires. A dead silence settled over their camp and all Norgen could do was watch the night. His knuckles were already white from the grip on his axe. Fennic was the first to notice.

“What’s bothering you, Norgen? You haven’t been the same since we left Feist,” he commented. His own hand dropped to Phaelor.

The Dwarf’s eyes were cold and distant. “There is danger near. We would do well to use caution. I like this not.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing I care to speak of.”

Then came a rustling deep in the woods, followed by a high pitched scream. Some terrible menace was at work in the dark places of the world. Norgen leapt to his feet, axe in hand and ready for battle. His muscles bristled under the tight leather armor. The boys were suddenly aware of how powerful and lethal a Dwarf could be.

“What?” Delin asked before drawing his own short sword.

“I don’t know,” Fennic whispered, “but I feel it too.”

Norgen’s deep voice rumbled in the dark. “There is a Gnaal close. We are being hunted. Prepare yourselves.”

“A Gnaal!” they exclaimed in unison. “What does it want?”

“Death.”

Delin’s stomach rose to his throat and he felt sick. He absently fumbled through his pocket. The purple stone offered courage and hope just from a touch. The next scream ended that feeling.

“Death is the only way to satisfy them. Cold and overpowering, they continue their hunt until their prey lay broken at their feet. Whether it comes for me or you I cannot say,” Norgen continued.

“That’s not reassuring,” Fennic said.

“We must flee. Now!”

Delin hesitated. “Shouldn’t we find some place to hide and let it pass?”

“Gnaal’s do not pass and there is no place to hide. They will hunt us until they die or their master calls them off.,” Norgen growled. “Quickly. Pack up the camp and let us be away before it finds us.”

A horrible, high pitched wail broke through the tree only a few meters away. Fennic strapped his pack on as a huge shape burst into the tiny glade. The odor was overwhelming. It stank of rot and decayed flesh, disease and malice. Worst of all, it stank of death. The beast drew darkness unto it, stealing definition from the writhing limbs and grotesque flesh riddled with boils and lesions. The Gnaal hissed a noxious gas and bellowed loud enough to frighten the gods asleep in their ancient halls and mountain thrones.

“Run!”

Norgen shoved them away and took a mighty swing towards the Gnaal’s midsection. The axe blade hit the hardened flesh and bounced off. Norgen was slapped to the ground, barely managing to roll away before the Gnaal punched down into the ground. Fennic’s shout drew its attention away long enough for Norgen to escape. The Dwarf dashed forward while Fennic stepped toward the Gnaal with Phaelor in hand. The Gnaal cringed and retreated a step before lashing it’s tail at the boy. Fennic ducked. The scaled appendage whistled over his head to strike a maple tree.

The tree exploded with a loud crack and sent splinters flying. Norgen scooped up the boy and carried him into the night. Phaelor’s golden light somehow wounded the beast. For perhaps the first time it became aware of its mortality. The Gnaal knew fear. The creature of darkness clutched the wound and folded back into the night. Norgen wasn’t about to trust to luck. He pushed them harder and faster, and easily out ran them both.

“Hurry lads,” he ordered between deep breaths. “You’re sword hurt it, but there’s not much time before it’ll be back.”

Delin dropped to his knees from sheer exhaustion. “We can’t run all the way to Paedwyn. Fennic wounded it. We should stand and fight.”

“Have you learned nothing this night? Nothing we do can kill them,” Norgen spat.

“But you said I hurt it,” Fennic said. “And if it can be hurt, it can be killed.”

“Not by any of us. Do you have the courage to look into Death’s eyes?” He sipped from his canteen before adding, “I do not, not a second time. Both of you are too young to know such horrors. We’ve run half the night. Let us find a place to rest for a spell. Pray the demon does not return. Once dawn comes we head south for the road to Paedwyn.”

“How can you be so sure of where we are?” Delin asked. “I’ve been lost from the moment we set off this night.”

“My people have long looked to the skies to show us the way. Each star has its place in the night sky, as does the moon. See that bright one up to your left? That is named Gru in the Old Tongue, and always points the way north. Once you find her she will guide your way.”

Fennic decided the theory went beyond his working knowledge and let the matter rest but for one question. “What happens when there’s no moon to guide by?”

His question was cut off by the crisp burning sensation running down his leg. Phaelor’s warning came moments before the Gnaal struck. Fire spread across the treetops. Thunder rumbled overhead. The ground began to shake as the Gnaal stepped from the darkness. Fennic vomited uncontrollably. Rotten flesh covered the creature’s skull. Two rows of horns ran down the center of the head. Deep set eyes burned the foulest shade of green, whispering pure malevolence. Hugely muscled and standing ten feet tall, the Gnaal had massive wings curved with spikes.

The Gnaal swelled in size, drawing up to almost double the height. The sound of swords being drawn echoed in the glade. Delin couldn’t control his shaking for he was sure the end had come. The Gnaal stepped closer. Norgen prayed for his friends, knowing he’d soon be amongst those already slain by the demon. He doubled his grip on the axe haft and prepared to attack.

“Get down Dwarf!”

Flaming arrows sped from the night to strike the Gnaal in the neck, chest and thighs. The monster roared even as the shafts erupted in flame and melted away. Phaelor blocked a swing from the heavy cudgel. The shock struck Fennic in the shoulder and knocked the boy unconscious. Another flight of arrows hit the Gnaal in the face. Then another. And another, giving Delin enough time to dart under and drag Fennic away.

The assault intensified. Arrows were now pouring in from three sides. The Gnaal reeled back under the relentless assault. Four shapes rode out from the night with swords drawn. It wasn’t until they stopped to pick up the Dwarf and his companions that Delin saw them for what they were. Their upper bodies were of muscled men while the rest were huge, barrel bodied horses. Each had long hair tied back with jeweled bands. They hefted the three upon their back and turned to run.