BlackThorn's Doom (24 page)

Fullvie motioned Casius to the fire with a wave of his thick-fingered hand. “Sit then, and speak.” He said in a voice that left no room for disobedience.

Casius took a place near the fire that was made for him by the shifting men. He suddenly found himself alone as the odor from his clothing drove the men back. He cleared his throat and began once again to relive the horrors and grief for the second time this day.

Burcott exhaled loudly and leaned back as Casius finished his tale. He studied the young man setting across the fire from him. He was thin and battered, covered with filth and half healed burns. He wore the look of a man who had traveled many hard miles. From beneath the cloak his rust stained Keshian armor shined dully.

Hardly a well-seasoned warrior, Burcott thought. But he moves with the grace of a swordsman. The young man had told a tale that was almost beyond belief, yet his fire scarred visage conveyed truth to his words.

Burcott sipped his tea and looked over the steaming cup to Jehnom. The forest warrior caught his eye and shrugged as if to say he did not know what to think.

The men quickly sheathed their blades. They had followed Burcott far and trusted his judgment. Even into the lands of the dead they would venture if he would but ask them.

Casius held the blade so that all could see. Dark was the steel, the color of a moonless night. Along its edges it glowed with the faintest trace of light, the phosphorescence changing hue from deep blue to vivid scarlet.

“This is Aethir,” Casius said for all to hear. “Blackthorn in our tongue. Forged many thousands of years ago for one purpose, the death of Sur’kar. Thoron’Gil bore the blade and before it could fulfill its purpose the creator’s hammer struck.”

“The breaking.” Jehnom stated looking on the weapon in wonder.

Casius nodded. “Thoron’Gil survived the devastation and journeyed into the west. He was dying and sought a place to conceal this blade.” Casius laid the sword down onto the ground next to him.

“Together with other survivors he came at last to a great cavern within the Mountains of Moinas Ard. Within that stone sanctuary he died. His followers became the Mahjie and they jealously guarded the weapon until I was chosen to bear it forth and fulfill its doom.

Casius sheathed Aethir before anyone else would attempt to grasp it. “I cannot do this alone.” He admitted, even though he loathed the thought of bringing anyone else into this dangerous venture. “I must be able to reach him. To do that I must get past his army.”

“The horde has moved through the tunnel and into Trondhiem.” Burcott informed him. “Only a token force now holds Timosh, a few hundred at most.” Burcott leaned forward his expression becoming deadly serious. “If I can get you to him, is it within you to do this deed?”

“If you can do that,” Casius replied as gravely. “I’ll gut the bastard!”

Burcott grinned; he could see the fire of determination burning in his eyes. He now held hope, although it was a long shot they may just manage to save mankind from a fate worse than death. “Then lets see if we can introduce you to him.” Burcott stood and brushed the dirt from his legs. “Get this man some clean clothes and a hot meal.” He said to a nearby warrior. “Some warm water as well.” He smiled.

Casius ducked his head in gratitude. “I may need a lake to wash the stench of the Ravenslaugh from me.”

“For our sakes make an effort.” Burcott replied. Turning to his captains. “Break camp we move within the hour. Timosh will be taken ere this day ends.”

The warriors of Trondhiem smiled, at last they will be striking back at the enemy who was now marching into their homeland.

Casius was amazed at the speed in which the army was readied for travel. In little more than an hour the Ahmed led the mounted warriors out of the vale and down into the vast graveyard that stood before the keep.

Everywhere one looked laid half frozen corpses. Morne by the tens of thousands intermixed with Giants and Fell hounds. The closer they drew to the shattered walls the worse the carnage became. In some places the bodies were piled more than six deep, forming a grim berm of corpses that the men had to climb over.

The men defending the walls had stood bravely against insurmountable odds and it had cost the Morne dearly in their attempts to storm the keep.

Casius was at a loss for words. So many had died needlessly. Though they were the enemy he could not but help but feel a pang of sadness looking down at their faces, frozen in grimaces of fear and pain.

The army gained the Keep without incidence. The Morne rear guard had retreated to the tunnel at the sight of the approaching warriors. From within the darkness could be heard the sounds of the Morne preparing for an attack.

“We must press through and run down any who escape.” Burcott ordered. “We cannot allow word of our coming to reach Sur’kar’s ears.”

The Ahmed drew their swords and formed tight ranks. The men in front bearing shields while those behind carried spears. At a command from the Sahri the Ahmed surged forward into the dark their shields filling with the shafts from Morne bows.

The Battle was short lived; the Morne stood no chance against the Ahmed. The nomads rushed out of the tunnel and parted allowing the mounted Taur Di passage. Once through the great stags fanned out and rode down out of the hills searching for stragglers.

The riders bearing south came upon two Morne fleeing the tunnel. Within moments any chance of word reaching Sur’kar’s ears died upon the forest warriors spears.

Once free of the tunnel Burcott looked down upon the fire-scarred earth. “How does one kill a demon?” He asked Casius, fearing that Sur’kar may send the brute their way.

“Aethir may be the only way.” Casius guessed. “But I would not wish to relive the experience.” He said touching his scarred face. “I do not know if I could survive another such encounter.”

The trail before them was easy to follow. The light snow upon the ground was trampled by thousands of feet and left a broad swath down out of the foothills and onto the plain.

“Look!” Burcott shouted pointing to the east.

Casius looked and could see where a large force had moved down the low hill. “Did the Morne split their forces?” He wondered aloud.

Casius gripped Aethir’s pommel until his knuckles turned white. He knew if he failed then Gaelan and his men would be but the first to die. “All I have to do face is and immortal God.” Casius muttered.

“Tis no God we face Casius.” Burcott said angrily. “It’s a black hearted Devil.”

“You speak more truly than you will ever know.” Casius responded remembering the horrid trek through Tarok nor.

Burcott looked to the sky noting the position of the sun. “If we push hard it will be well after nightfall before we reach Delin’ tor.”

After a mile they came upon the first signs of combat. Morne and Keshian warriors laying about a field of churned up earth.

Burcott shook his head. “They are throwing their lives away to buy Gaelan time.”

They passed through the bodies and after another mile came upon the site of a second battle. And after that they found a third, fourth, and fifth field littered with fallen Keshian warriors and Morne corpses.

After several hours they began to come upon bodies of men who had died on the retreat. Wounded and exhausted they had pressed themselves beyond what their bodies could take. At first it was one or two every couple of miles, then it quickly became six or seven for every mile.

The men rode in silence, anger grew upon their faces and fire burned in their veins. They would avenge these fallen heroes, and the Morne would soon learn the true meaning of fear.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mile after torturous mile the men pressed on. Their pace was grueling and their steps faltering with weariness. Gaelan was now afoot leading his horse, upon its back sat two warriors whom had nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Their respite would be brief, for there were many men in need of rest.

Gaelan’s heart was troubled deeply; he had watched men drop dead too many times in the past few hours. But he knew if they were to stop Sur’kar’s forces would slay them all. It was better to keep moving and lose a few than to slow their pace and lose all. Even though he knew this was the best choice given their options it did little to ease the grief he felt as he passed the fallen warriors.

The sun was now directly overhead and its cheery light offering little warmth. The plain stretched for miles ahead of them. The land gently rising and falling in snow dusted slopes of brown grass. On their right rose the rugged foothills of the mountains, Gaelan had considered moving his forces up into those rock strewn slopes but he knew any stand there would be swiftly overrun by the sheer numbers of Morne. Their best chance of lasting even a day lay in Delin’ Tor.

Gaelan looked over his shoulder. On the distant horizon he could make out the dark smudge of Sur’kar’s forces giving pursuit. He knew before that horde raced Connell he only prayed that the brave Keshian warriors would not have died in vain. Even with the horse lords engaging them the Morne were slowly gaining ground.

A row of tree crowned hills appeared on the horizon before them. Gaelan ordered a short rest and water was passed around. They had traveled nearly twenty miles and their destination lay only a few miles before them. The men could see the Morne clearly now, Sur’kar’s army was less than six miles behind and closing fast.

After only a few minutes Gaelan got his forces moving again. They pressed hard and the weary men redoubled their efforts.

The gentle rise of the land grew steeper, slowing their advance. They passed from the open plain into a more rugged terrain dotted with small groves of leafless oak and birch trees.

More men fell during the final leg of their flight. Their hearts bursting from exertion, they simply fell forward onto the frigid ground and lay still.

At last Delin’ Tor came into view, like the prow of a giant ship the low plateau emerged from the foot of a tall mountain. Known as Graymane, the weathered peak rose high above its neighbors. Crowned in a mantle of snow and ice the peak shone as a beacon in the daylight.

The sides of the plateau rose sheer, thirty feet at it’s lowest, stretching for a mile it formed a broad wedge upon which grew a thick forest of hoary old oaks who jealously held onto the thin soil with thick gnarled roots.

A thin crack marred the northern rock face, within the fault a steep stair had been carved long ago by a forgotten tribe of men. The steps were badly eroded and crumbling, in many places ice still clung to the fractured rock. Making the stair a dangerous place for the unwary to tread.

The men filed up two at a time, it took an hour to get the marchers onto the plateau. But the horses could not be forced to attempt the stair. The animals went wild with fear if they were brought close to the rock face, bucking and biting as if they had suddenly gone mad. Even the best-trained mounts turned savage when brought forward.

The remaining Keshian warriors rode up the hillside. Their numbers greatly depleted. Out of six thousand fewer than two survived to reach the plateau. Even their mounts went wild until they were led away.

“What has gotten into them?” D’Yana asked nearly unseated by her horse’s sudden bout of madness.