Darkin: A Journey East (15 page)

“Mind your tongue, metal brain. Weakhoof is going on as best he can manage, and we should be grateful for any horses at all,” Erguile said with a hint of anger in his tone. Slowin didn’t respond; he merely completed filling his canteen. Flaer drifted off on his own to survey the land, the scents, and the grey-blue horizon.

“I suppose we should eat something now, given we have two more hours of riding before we reach the city,” Adacon said.

“Eat your fill; but I fear we have been delayed by Weakhoof, and three or four hours is more likely now,” Slowin admitted.

“Lay off him!” Erguile roared. It seemed Erguile took Slowin’s words personally, and that he had formed some strange attachment to his old horse.

“I am sorry, Erguile. As a golem accustomed to slower travel on tortoises I should have more acceptance; it is just that I fear for Remtall if he is kept waiting long, alone, at the Point,” Slowin said, fear in his voice for the first time. Flaer turned around at Slowin’s words, then walked back shaking his head, and he patted him on his giant shoulder.

“What is it you fear?” Adacon asked.

“Kalm Point. Though it’s isolated and abandoned, it is no place for a drunken gnome to camp alone, with no wits about him. Carnalfages are said to hunt its grounds meticulously, and at any cost I would reduce his stay there,” Slowin said solemnly. Flaer appeared as if he very much wanted to chime in, but he sighed and hung his head instead.

“What are Carnalfages?” asked Erguile. Flaer shook his head, disapproving of the question.

“Parasites of the sand, flesh mongers of the beach,” responded Slowin. “And while they would pose no threat to me, Remtall is made of such stuff as those creatures would reckon a delicacy.”

“Or us then, for that matter,” Adacon worried. “But, do these Carnalfages only live there then? We have nothing to worry about ourselves?”

“They can appear wherever ocean meets land, but at the Point they hold special abode, and that is the reason the place is so rarely traversed by flesh-draped sentients,” Slowin answered, and Adacon quivered for a moment.

“But won’t Remtall know to expect them, what with him choosing the Point himself?” Erguile asked.

“He certainly knows of them. It is that he has been stricken by his liquor, that I fear for him—besides that, this is his first trip away from Rislind in many years,” Slowin said, growing agitated with the line of questions, deciding that perhaps he should have kept his fear to himself.

Flaer began to prepare a quick meal from the fresh biscuits and dried meat given to him in Rislind, and as fast as possible they all ate. They filled their water from the stream and drank heartily, only to refill again. When not a half-hour had gone past in silence, Slowin looked up.

“Let’s move on, the sun falls in the sky!”

The troop mounted their steeds, this time Erguile getting on properly before the others, and Weakhoof led them away from the water and back onto the road. Soon the three horses were in full gallop again, heading fast for the eastern cape-city of Saru Gnarl.

The riders pressed on hard, and in the eastern horizon the sky darkened prematurely before the sun had waned behind them. Dark clouds rolled in the distance, and a clap of thunder was heard before long. The terrain had thickened with shrubbery and hunched trees that hugged the edge of the road. The air grew humid, and the fresh green blades of Rislind were all but forgotten in the mire they now surveyed. The streams that covered much of the land earlier were now turning into wider pools of muck, foaming in spots, abound with slimy stones. Adacon began to notice bugs on the surface of the marsh waters next to the gravel road; bugs that seemed to grow larger and larger the deeper they traveled into the swampland.

Soon, all the land that had been solid disappeared, and the only thing left was the gravel road. At the edge of either side of the road was a steep drop that went three yards down into the opaque marsh. Looking back, Adacon saw no trace of firm soil. Up ahead the sky grew increasingly dreadful as thunder sounded closer.

Stretched out as far as could be seen was dark muck, and the even the trees and plants that had been intermittent in the water were gone now. Around them appeared to be a vast field of tar with no end in sight; it gave the appearance of firmness, but Erguile suspected the putrid water would not hold a man’s weight. Occasional bubbles came to the tar’s surface when oddly shaped insects would land and take off. An odd mist began to settle on the surface of the swamp, clumping in spots here and there. As they rode on the grey fog seemed to thicken around them, and the various balls of mist welded themselves together to form a sheet over top of the road. Although none of them could see more than ten yards in any direction, Adacon started in terror and halted Flaer and Fablefen.

“Something ahead, on the road!” he wailed. The other horses stopped and came together in a huddle. The road was barely six yards wide, a thin strip of earth amidst the vat, and each member of the party looked in vain through the fog to see something. Thunder clapped loudly and rain poured down; light drops came at first, soon turning heavy and furious. Weakhoof neighed in anxiety.

“I can’t see a thing,” Erguile said.

“Neither can I,” said Slowin. They all looked to Flaer who shook his head, having not seen anything either.

“But it was there!” Adacon said as he pointed directly ahead down the road. Still, nothing but dense grey fog and a charcoal sky filled their view, now accompanied by the cool downpour of heavy rain. Thunder clapped again and for a moment the sky lit up. Only Erguile had been looking directly ahead when the flash came, and in the brief light he had seen a tall striding figure.

“There! There’s a man coming this way!” Erguile yelped uncontrollably, much too loudly.

“I still see nothing…” Slowin said peering ahead, straining for any shape in the distance; he did not yet seem alarmed.

“How far away Erguile?” Adacon asked. Flaer wasted no time questioning the validity of the sightings; he drew the Brigun Autilus.

“The orb!” Erguile remembered, and Adacon reached frantically into his pocket and withdrew the orb of light that Slowin had given him. Immediately it shone in a unidirectional manner, and Adacon focused the beam of pearly light into the fog ahead. Against the dense rain and mist the light of the orb reflected back at the group, the glare blinding them. The orb of light shut off, but not before Slowin made out a human silhouette that flickered in the distance. Flaer saw it too, a mysterious stranger closing in on them.

“To the ground,” Slowin commanded as he hopped off Thunderhoof with shocking grace. The others followed suit and Slowin bade the horses back off behind them. Next to Flaer Slowin aligned himself, drawing quickly his weapons into his hands—mallet and dagger. Erguile drew his broadsword while Adacon equipped his bow, hoping he could still fire it in the rain with some accuracy. The four stood in front of their horses, forming a wall across the entire width of the road. The ferocity of the pelting rain increased, as did the volume of the thunder and lightning. It was a full blown storm, and the constant lightning gave away the approaching figure: a man’s shadow drifting in and out of darkness nearly twenty yards away.

“Brace yourselves,” Slowin prompted, and then he roared into the storm so loudly that Adacon and Erguile both trembled: “Who goes there?”

No response came, yet the shadowy figure continued toward them.

Several yards away the dark stranger stopped. He was cloaked in black from his feet to his neck, and a dark bandana covered neatly around his soaking head. There was a momentary pause, and Slowin questioned the shadow again:

“Name your business, stranger,” Slowin commanded.

“Is this road not public, for use by all in Grelion’s register?” responded a hoarse voice, barely audible over the din of rain. The stranger’s face was almost completely concealed by black wraps, leaving only slightly glowing red eyes to look upon.

“Then pass,” Slowin ordered, and he gestured for Flaer to step aside so that a gap opened in the road for the stranger to go through. The shadow did not move, it only continued to gaze at each of them. After several minutes, the stranger spoke again:

“I am sorry friend, but it is you who mustn’t pass. The way to Saru Gnarl is flooded ahead, and the city is become an island for the time being,” the man rasped.

“Then we will survey it for ourselves,” came Slowin, and he strode forth toward the stranger. The black man put up his arm, as if commanding Slowin to stop where he stood.

“Sheer might alone will not gain you passage this way, dear Slowin,” coughed the dark figure, and his eyes began to glow bright within the veiled visage.

Thunder and lightning echoed, coming in turbulent waves. Weakhoof had taken to excessive neighing, and the slaves feared the horses would run, so they held fiercely the reins. Flaer stood ominously behind Slowin, Brigun Autilus in hand.

“How do you know my name? Reveal your purpose here tonight,” demanded Slowin, raising his mallet and dagger slightly.

“Folly would it be to strike with weapons such as those against me, metal golem of the Red Forest. You wander too far from home, on an errand you are not fit for,” replied the dry voice. Adacon couldn’t believe what he was witnessing, if only because Slowin’s might was being challenged; the slaves had now reckoned Slowin to be invincible.

“We shall see,” Slowin said. Suddenly the giant golem raged forth, dagger and mallet twisting in a death-thrust at the stranger. A scarlet-orange flash issued from the eyes of the man and Slowin was quaked down by an earth-tremor at his feet; his weapons flew from either of his hands out into the swamp.

“Ughrrr,” Slowin groaned, tasting mud as he stumbled to the ground, his knee boring deep into the gravel. Flaer’s blade suddenly lit to an extraordinary brilliance; the light transformed into a ruby-pearl hue that blinded the slaves. He leapt toward the stranger; Adacon squinted and saw the strange man attempt to quake Flaer with energy from his eyes as he had Slowin, only this time the blast emanated out only to be absorbed directly into the Brigun Autilus. At seeing his attack fail, the shadowed man drew a sword from his side and blocked Flaer’s downward slice; blue sparks flitted.

Adacon fixed an arrow on the black stranger and let it fly as Erguile stood by waiting to strike. The arrow glanced off the robes of the stranger, appearing to stop short at some kind of invisible wall. Slowin slowly regained his feet and stood up once more.

Flaer dueled ferociously with the cloaked figure, working him away from the rest of the group. Slowin prepared to rush forward again, but only stayed at seeing Flaer with the fight well in hand; the Brigun Autilus was throbbing bright as ever with each strike, and the dark figure seemed beaten back almost to defeat.

“Ragh!” screamed the shadow, and an eruption of fire emitted from his dark folds. Flaer fell back but kept his footing, as the Brigun Autilus absorbed most of the blast; still, enough energy shot past, and Flaer stood dazed for a moment. In the lapse of attack, the man raised his arms skyward and issued forth a foreign-tongued command. The gravel road began to shake, and the horses fled away down the slave road, galloping toward Rislind. Adacon and Erguile both fell to their knees on the tremulous road, and soon even Slowin stumbled. Flaer stood strong and raised his sword again.

“Who is it in Slowin’s party I have not accounted for—what strange power was missed?” said the vile figure, glaring at Flaer.

“You have not accounted for Flaer Swordhand, erstwhile known as Flaer the Slayer,” belted the Brigun Autilus itself as Flaer brought the charged sword down upon the stranger; he was quick to block with his own sword, but this time he fell backwards and to the ground at the might of Flaer’s strike.

“It cannot be—Swordhand is long dead, killed in the final blast of the Five Country War,” the stranger said in bewilderment, face buried in mud and gravel of the road. Flaer’s sword spoke no response, instead readying itself for a death pierce into the head of the cloaked enemy. The Brigun Autilus came down with force after the stranger rolled to the side, barely escaping; he jumped back to his feet and backed away, stammering in anger:

“Be you Flaer or not, it is no matter now. The hour of Vesleathren’s assault is at hand, as is the death of all those who might oppose him. Friends of Vapoury, behold your end. Even Lord Grelion will kneel before the true savior soon,” rallied the mysterious black figure. He backed farther away as Flaer stood in guard. Lightning streaked across the sky, and the black man spoke once more in his retreat:

“Know that your friend, Krem the Vapour, is dead—and know that he didn’t die before giving away your route—so that you could be destroyed.” The stranger dove head first from the side of the road into the murky depths of the swamp. He started swimming away on the surface of the water, and before he disappeared he shouted once more to them:

“It is too late for you—I have already summoned Holfog, spawn of Delfog! He issues forth now, so fly away, if you can muster wings.” The stranger cackled hysterically with laughter in the swamp, finally diving underneath the water, disappearing. Bubbles rose where he submerged, and an impact tremor distinct from thunder echoed from the road ahead. The tremor continued in intervals spaced several seconds apart. Slowin stood wearily and shouted, “Footfalls!”

Flaer turned and ran back to the others, signaling them into a formation. The slaves retrieved their swords once more.

“Who is Holfog?” asked Adacon.

“The Fire Wyvern that approaches us now,” answered Slowin. The group reformed the blockade of earlier, barring the western road. The storm had not lightened, yet amid the thunder Holfog’s footsteps could be heard clear. Soon the thunder-steps were paired with scaled legs emerging from the fog ahead; massive tree trunks sprouted up from jetting talons. The enormous wyvern walked stridently towards them, revealing its form to the party. Lightning lit the creature’s coat of scales aglow, shiny ocher-jade glimmering around several jagged scars. The head of the creature was as a serpent’s; beady eyes were set glossily in the back of deep sockets, and they glared hungrily. A limp tongue flicked from its wide mouth, and hundreds of serrated teeth momentarily showed. Enormous bat-like wings took the place of arms, tucked sturdily down to its muscular haunches. It eyed the party without slowing its advance, as if choosing its first meal.