BlackThorn's Doom (15 page)

“Once Timosh is freed we may be able to gather enough men to assault the black gates of Vi’Eruk, but we have not enough men to do so now.”

“What of Moinar-Thur?” Sahri asked during the brief rest. “How lays the land?”

“It is rough country, treacherous to the unwary.” Burcott answered. “The ground is rarely level, mostly broken hills crisscrossed with deep ravines. To the north it is wooded with stunted trees and thorn-laden brush. To the south lies a foul marsh. The Ravenslaugh, a seething mass of stagnant water and hidden patches of sucking mud.

“It is poison, effluent from Tarok-nor. Foul beasts and loathsome spirits are said to roam its depths. We will go around this obstacle, circling around to the east.”

“It was most fortunate that you had the foresight to ask Lord Burcott along, Jehnom.” The Sahri complimented the Taur Di warrior.

“It was fortunate for both our people that he agreed.” Jehnom answered.

Burcott patted the muzzle of his horse. “If we push hard we can enter the Gorcrahlg after midnight. I can think of no better time to do so.”

“Gorcrahlg?” Jehnom asked not liking the sound of the word.

“It is the narrow pass that leads into Moinar-Thur.” Burcott pointed across the low mountains. “There are three ways into Moinar-Thur, the Gorcrahlg which we intend to use. The Un’eldur, a narrow fissure that leads into Tarok nor, and the tunnel warded by Timosh.”

“Can we not use this Un’eldur and invade the heart of Tarok nor, bypassing the siege of Vi’Eruk?” Jehnom asked.

“Nay,” Burcott answered with a shake of his head. “It is both narrow and treacherous. Barely more than a goat track among the cliffs, a few well armed men could hold an army at bay in those heights.”

“Then Sur’kar uses it not.” Jehnom said in understanding.

“He moves the bulk of his forces through the pass that we will trod.” Burcott answered. “If we move quietly and quickly we may go undetected. If we’re lucky Sur’kar will believe his enemies are trapped in the east and will not look for an army moving along his path.”

Burcott grabbed his reins and swung into his saddle. “Mounted warriors will take the fore and secure the path. Have the Ahmed escort the wagons. Should one become damaged and unable to continue it must be pushed from the pass. We have not the time to tarry while a wheel is replaced.”

The Sahri ducked his head and turned calling for his captains. He explained Burcott’s instructions as they readied to march.

“Can we do this?” Jehnom asked Burcott as they rode towards the path. “Can we liberate Timosh?”

Burcott shrugged it was a question that he had asked himself many times in the last few days. “We will know better once we lay eyes upon the enemy.”

The track through the low mountains was five miles long. A winding treacherous path that clung to the sides of steep slopes and passed through deep cuts in the stone.

The mounts covered the ground quickly while the wagons crawled slowly upward. Eight long hours the trek took, only one wagon was lost when it broke a wheel upon the jagged stone.

It was two hours past midnight when the last of the wagons rumbled down into the rugged foothills within the Gorcrahlg. Burcott ordered a rest and the men collapsed onto the frigid ground, bone weary and sore.

The land of the pass was dark; a heavy cloud cover blocked most of the moon’s light. In the gloom the land before them was a rough rolling plain dotted with stony outcroppings that resembled fortresses assembled by some mad mason. Scouts were sent out and a picket was set about the army.

The men of the encampment leapt to their feet drawing their swords as they did so. A single rider entered the camp sliding from his saddle before his horse came to a complete stop. He stumbled on the uneven ground his right leg bleeding from a deep gash in his thigh.

Burcott pointed to one of the men grasping the blowing steeds reigns. “Walk the horse!” He shouted rushing to the injured mans side.

“Dead,” The wounded man replied. “Tam and Guall were killed when the pack attacked. They were as large as a pony with terrible fangs longer than a mans arm.”

“Fell hounds!” Burcott spat. “Sur’kar’s curs.” Burcott kneeled next to the man. “Rest now, you have fulfilled your duty and have given us ample warning.”

Burcott paced the camps perimeter, staring in the dark waiting for his scouts to return. It was a full two hours later when the last patrol returned.

“Mi lord,” One of the men greeted him as they entered camp. “We found tracks in the snow, at least two thousand mounted. Heading northeast, perhaps a day or two old at most.”

“Can be naught else but Morne.” Burcott said for Jehnom and the Sahri’s benefit.

“There is more,” The man continued. “We found a track that defies belief. As if a great cloven-hoofed beast moved among them. The prints sank deeply into the hard earth, where it passed the snow was melted from the ground.”

Burcott frowned in consternation, he had never heard of such thing. “Go get some rest we will be moving in a few hours.” He said dismissing the scout. He headed back to his bedroll a faint memory stirring within him.

“Do we press on then?” Jehnom asked once they were seated.

“If it is Morne, they will continue on through the night.” Burcott answered trying to grasp the memory that was evading him. “Sur’kar’s minions prefer the cover of darkness.”

“And should we stumble upon their encampment tomorrow?”

“There in lies our dilemma.” Burcott looked at the weary men around them. “We will await the dawn and should we come across an enemy encampment then we will either sneak past or drive them into hell.”

“And the Fell hounds?”

“They would never attack a group as large as us.” Burcott said with a yawn. “Our numbers grant us some measure of safety.”

The men settled in for what remained of the night. Wrapped in heavy blankets they grabbed what rest they could before the coming sunrise.

With the dawn the army was once more upon the move. A vanguard of fifty riders rode out ahead, leaving an easily followed trail for the main body to follow. An hour before midday they found a sheltered vale and waited for their comrades to arrive.

They rested for an hour and pushed forward once more. Across rolling hills they marched until the shores of the Ravenslaugh came into view.

Brown reeds and steaming pools of reeking muck intermixed with stagnant water stretched to the distant mountains on the western horizon. A foul stench reached the assembled soldiers from a half-mile away.

“The Ravenslaugh,” Burcott announced needlessly. “Let no man or animal drink from its waters. In that way lays certain madness and death.”

The Sahri stood between Jehnom and Burcott’s mounts. “A philosopher once said, True beauty can only be found in still water.” He said wincing against the foul sulfurous stench. “I wonder what he would say if he stood here among us?”

They once more resumed their march, the land rising gradually before them. Leaving the fetid mire behind they entered a rugged landscape, the blanket of snow dotted with thick clumps of dried yellow grass. On their right the wall of the Rahlcrag grew mighty. The jagged snowcapped peaks lost in the clouds above.

Ten miles more they covered before taking shelter within a lonely copse of stunted trees. The fallen leaves crunching loudly beneath their feet.

Weary from many days of marching the men collapsed within the scant shelter of the barren trees. Only a few remained awake to watch the strange play of emerald lights in the sky, flashing from the direction of the rank mire.

“Tis the witch lights of Ravenslaugh.” One of Burcott’s men told the astonished on lookers. “My Grand sire served the king in his youth and he saw them often during the Morne wars.”

“Your people have fought the Morne before?” Jehnom asked Burcott after over hearing the warrior’s remarks.

Burcott was honing the edge of his sword; he placed the sharpening stone down and wiped the blade with an oily cloth as he spoke.

“More than once, Jehnom.” He said sheathing the blade. “The Morne have always been a thorn in Trondhiem’s side. Every few decades some tribes would unite and send raiders into our lands. Though few in number, they would sneak through hidden passes in the mountains and destroy remote homesteads. The king’s men would eventually slay them, their survivors returning home to swear vengeance in their dark god’s name.”

“Your King’s never invaded their lands and eliminated the threat?”

“The land of Morne is vast, with many tribes. The ones we would seek would simply vanish and their brethren would rise up and fight to the death.” Burcott shook his head. “It would be a bloody business that neither side would win.” Burcott looked to the lights playing across the western sky. “Upon horseback the Morne are fierce warriors with great skill.

“It is in siege warfare that their skill is lacking.” Burcott continued. “For this very reason they have failed in all their attacks upon Timosh. To beat the Morne it is best to draw them to you, and do so on rugged ground where their Horses cannot be utilized with any effectiveness.”

Somewhere in the dark a man screamed, a blood-chilling cry that sent the camp into motion. Weapons were drawn and companies formed, each becoming part of a large ring defending their bivouac in its center.

“They’ve caught the scent of something not to their liking.” Burcott muttered looking over his shoulder at the disturbed mounts. “Take twenty riders and check our perimeter.” He said looking back at the forest warrior. “If anything is amiss sound your horns and rejoin us.”

Jehnom bowed and disappeared into the darkness gathering his men about him.

The Taur Di riders rushed out of the camp, their stags moving as silently as shadows on the snow clad landscape, surefooted in the gloom.

Long minutes passed as the Taur Di circled outward in a growing spiral. The riders cautiously searching the landscape for any concealed threats.

They had not traveled far when they suddenly stopped. One rider rushed back while the others sat watching the surrounding landscape.

The rider rode to Burcott and brought his mount to a stop. “It is one of the Ahmed.” He announced in a thick accent that took Burcott a moment to understand. “He has been badly mauled by some beasts, Fell hound by the looks of the tracks.”

Burcott cursed. “What was he doing beyond the picket line?”

“Relieving himself.” The warrior answered.

Burcott slammed his sword into its scabbard. “He felt it necessary to leave camp to do so?” Burcott asked looking to the Sahri. “We have dug a latrine, why not use it?”

“Among my people there are many taboos.” The Sahri answered. “One of which is privacy when performing such acts. Perhaps he was uncomfortable being near so many men.”

Burcott chewed his lip allowing his anger to cool. “Uncomfortable or not, no one is to leave our camps once the watch is set. A full bladder is not worth losing your life.”

“It is a hard lesson.” The Sahri said genuinely upset by the loss of one of his men. “But we will adapt.”

The Sahri called out to his captains and spoke softly to them in his native tongue. “If you will forgive me,” He said turning once more to Burcott. “We must see to our fallen brother.”

The Sahri wrapped his scarf about his head and walked into the darkness. The entire army of Ahmed followed their leader. They kneeled upon the ground and placed their foreheads against the earth in prayer while the kin of the slain man washed his body and wrapped him in the silken cloth of his tent.

One by one the men stepped forward and placed a small stone upon the body. A cairn of rock slowly took shape, the final resting place for the warrior.

The Sahri was the last to place a stone upon the cairn. He wept openly as he did so. Once more the warriors bowed and turned their backs on the grave. Removing their scarves they returned to the campsite in silence.

Burcott looked on the Sahri and wondered how the young man would hold up when his men died by the hundreds.

Throughout the remainder of the night dark furtive shapes stalked about the camp, feral eyes searching for a weakness that would allow the hounds to claim more victims.

Chapter Fourteen

Into darkness plunged Casius, the wind roaring in his ears as he fell. He cried out in anguish as fire burned within him. His mind was under assault; a powerful force tore at his sanity striving to rend him from his body.

His conscious mind fled as images of terrible destruction and death overwhelmed his thoughts. Even as the darkness swallowed him, he was unaware of the brilliant argent light flaring upon his right hand.