Darkin: A Journey East (25 page)

“It’s a week long march to the end of the jungle, and another day to the dwarven city of Oreine. The Wall of Dinbell is just a day’s march beyond that,” Calan said, ignoring Remtall’s harassment.

“A fine journey, I might say. I hope they have brought enough food for us,” Remtall said, coughing between gulps.

“We elves of the Carbal know ways to find nourishment from the forest, and there is hardly a stretch on the road where the jungle doesn’t lend herself to our appetites in some way or another,” Calan said.

“Are there many fruits along the way?” Adacon said excitedly.

“Certainly, a great variety of them: some delicious, some healing, some fatal.”

“And what of ale on the journey?” Remtall asked, calculating that he had not brought enough now that he knew the length of their march.

“I am afraid we have not had the time to secure such a luxury for this trip, as haste has become our greatest ally now,” Calan explained, winking at Adacon. Adacon smiled, and Remtall fell suddenly silent as the three marched on at the tail end of the elven troop. For many hours they continued on without any event.

Late in the day, when the golden rays of sun finally stopped lightening the shades of green above, Gaiberth brought the company to a halt. In elven speech he addressed the assembled troop, which numbered fewer than thirty.

“What’s he saying?” Adacon asked.

“We make camp here tonight,” Calan answered. Soon all the elves were rolling out mats of fuzzed moss that had been strung to their satchels. Adacon, Calan, and Remtall squeezed onto the end of one of the largest mats, sharing the company of several elves. Fires were started in spots along the length of the troop, running down the middle of the trail. A small meal was prepared for everyone, and to Adacon’s delight, there was Miew stew again. Calan went off to speak with Iirevale, and Remtall and Adacon sat alone after their meal. The sun had nearly set, and a darkness enveloped the forest in shadow, save for the flickering illumination offered by the small fires. The flames crackled softly, harmonizing with the nightly beasts that awoke for the night to sing or chirp or squeak or hunt.

“Remtall, I long for news of the others,” Adacon moaned.

“As do I, boy. But Krem made no mention of them in his letter, and I fear the worst now. But don’t let it weigh you down; we still carry the mission, and our purpose has grown more important.”

“I know, but I am saddened—I don’t know of anything that could kill Slowin or Flaer, if only they had made it to land alive. I daresay the two of them together are invincible.” Adacon smiled in fondness of the memory of his friends.

“I know, I think the same as well. Let us hope in our hearts that we meet them again, and Erguile and Weakhoof; but we cannot dwell on what has come to pass. It makes me sadder still that just as you had acquired your new weapons from the pirate stash, they were lost to the sea,” Remtall grumbled. “And now we are given these flimsy elf blades.”

“I think there is more to these wooden shields than meets the eye—the odor alone I have never smelled from a wood,” Adacon responded.

“It is the smell of rotting!” roared Remtall, and one of the nearby elves eyed the gnome in disgust before returning to his own conversation. “Forget all that, and let’s sleep soundly tonight.” Remtall borrowed some flame from a nearby fire, and soon they had their own small fire going beside where they sat, on the edge of the trail, beyond which was interminable darkness. Adacon noticed that, strangely enough, the mist that clumped near the fire seemed unaffected by the heat and smoke. Instead it shone brightly, not being dissolved to vapor, but dancing in reflection of the leaping tendrils of flame.

“I don’t like sleeping at the end of the line, so close to the darkness,” Adacon said, filling with fear at the many strange noises emanating from the jungle.

“Pay those noises no mind, boy, and know that you sleep next to the most feared gnome in all of Darkin,” Remtall said; strangely, Adacon felt safer. He looked up the trail in the hope of catching a glimpse of Calan, but she was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she was talking to her brother. Tired from marching all day, Remtall and Adacon both stretched out on the moss bed; they found the mats extraordinarily comfortable for things that looked so scratchy and moist.

“Good night Remtall,” Adacon said, his eyes shutting with heavy fatigue.

“Night boy.” The gnome sat upright a few moments longer, puffing on his pipe, before joining Adacon in the realm of dreams.

*                  *                 *

“Get up, both of you—quickly!” shouted Iirevale. Adacon and Remtall stirred slowly from their sleep, until Iirevale began to slap them hard. “Now!” Iirevale commanded. With much groaning, the two sleeping outlanders got up from the moss; the mat was quickly tugged from underneath them.

“What’s the intention of smacking a gnome, rude elf?” stormed Remtall. Adacon looked about, sad to be awakened from a pleasant dream in which he had been cradling Calan in his arms. He noticed it was the middle of the night; the camp fires were still strong, speckling the trail with orange-yellow glow.

“In the sky!” Iirevale pointed, and then he rushed off to rouse the others. Adacon and Remtall turned to look where he had pointed: in the sky, seeable through the tree tops, the sky was ablaze with red fury; between the trees it appeared that part of the jungle behind them had become a lit furnace. Despite the late hour in which they stared, the trail behind them shone as if it were day, as if a storm of red light overtook all the path they had thus far traveled. Adacon felt a terrible heat, and his skin began to burn. A loud eruption of cracking sounded, several thunderous pops, and in the southwest a great plume of fire went up into the sky, visible by all despite the thick canopy, where an explosion had scorched from the earth a mile-wide section of jungle.

“Carbal Run!” shouted several of the elves. Calan rushed to join Adacon.

“We must move!” cried Calan, and the whole troop began suddenly marching again northeasterly, leaving the flaming jungle behind them. Adacon couldn’t help but stare back at the enormous fire that transformed the sky, high above the trees, a burning sun of conflagration where Carbal Run had once been.

“Vesleathren…” Adacon wailed as the troop pressed on with their greatest speed yet.

“No—only Aulterion could conjure such a devastating force of magic,” Remtall said.

“But the post—what about the families, the children?” Adacon cried. Calan could not respond; she wept openly into his arms.

“Come on,” Remtall called back after they’d stopped moving for a moment. “There will be time for grieving once the head of that black wizard rolls.” Calan continued to weep. Adacon stood holding her in his arms, unresponsive to Remtall’s command, despite the heat that began to sear them both.

“Now, move!” Remtall roared with all the vigor of a gnomen captain, and as such he was finally heeded. Calan wept as she walked again forward, and Adacon held her, as the company of elves jogged away with increasing speed. No words came for a long time—not elf nor man nor gnome spoke. The night wore on. Soon dawn came, barely noticeable through the canopy, and slowly the weak rays transformed into morning’s full blossom. Adacon thought he heard noise from the elves for the first time since they had escaped the fire; at first he dismissed it as his imagination, and he looked to Calan, whose tears ran lighter down her soft emerald cheeks. Suddenly, a mysterious tune carried through the ranks, and Adacon knew he had not been mistaken. A song of sorrow had been taken up by the troop of elves. Adacon could do nothing but listen as the song wavered and peaked, ascending ominously in the morning sky: a lullaby for the departed. The words were as if hummed to the human ear, but Adacon could tell the language was elven, though he could understand none of what was being sung. It did not matter, as the song was as beautiful as anything he’d ever heard. Soon, surprisingly, Remtall joined into the song. Though the gnome did not know the words, he appeared with a gift for music, and kept his tongue in key, adding various harmonies where he could. Even Calan began to sing with the party, and soon a great melancholy set into the forest, as the song of mourning bore its noteful fruit to the waking creatures of Carbal Jungle. Adacon was still unnerved, but he couldn’t help but join in; he entered at the level of a whisper, and he knew then that all of the loved ones of Carbal Run had been lost to the
Artheldrum
.

It was nigh a week before any of the elves spoke comfortably again, and Adacon did not notice how quickly the days had passed. Since the fire explosion there had been no signs of danger, and the march had gone smooth enough. Remtall had run out of liquor, and as a result was becoming increasingly irritable. The nights passed calmly enough, and Calan had started to sleep by Adacon’s side. It became known to the elven company that the two were entranced with one another. Adacon did what he could to comfort her, but it mattered little; Calan’s spirit had changed. She seemed eager to battle, as much of the elven company did, and spoke of little else. Remtall and Adacon joined the company’s hunger for war, feeding deeply upon a spirit of revenge. No longer did the elves simply pay a debt to Krem, and no longer did they march for anything other than vengeance. On the seventh night after the explosion, a vitality that Adacon had feared to be lost in Calan’s spirit returned.

“I am sorry, Adacon,” Calan whimpered, as they lay close to each other near their fire.

“It’s alright. I have known loss all my life. I understand your pain, but I cannot console it,” Adacon said, holding her tighter.

“We will continue on—we will overcome this great evil, it must be so. Gaigas still aids those who care for her,” she said. Adacon warmed with hearing the first words of faith from her in many days.

“Yes, we will,” Adacon replied, and he leaned at her; they kissed, lying twined upon the jungle floor. A loud snore startled them, echoing from Remtall who slept nearby. They laughed together; Adacon’s heart rejoiced at the healing of laughter, and he felt at ease for the first time in days.

Morning overtook the troop, and a brief breakfast was prepared for the company. Remtall managed to procure additional sap liquor from one of the elves in the troop, through some secret bribe of which he would not speak, and he was in better spirits once more, though still belligerent.

“One more day of marching and we’ll be out of this blasted, sweltering jungle—and good riddance to it I say,” Remtall complained, drinking freshly from his refilled flask and eating a stale elven biscuit, along with a purple fruit that Iirevale had gathered from nearby brush.

“Yes. And then we go to the legendary city of Oreine,” Adacon exclaimed, forgetting the sorrow of days past with renewed hope of seeing the fabled dwarven city.

“The Blue-Grey Mountains are beautiful,” Calan smiled; Adacon stroked her arm.

“Quite the strange couple you two make—elf and human, an odd combination—though I must admit my wife was human. I am most proud of you Adacon,” Remtall said.

“Thanks,” Adacon laughed.

“Don’t hold his inexperience against him, fair lady elf,” Remtall replied.

“Much as I don’t hold your leering eyes against you, master gnome,” Calan retorted.

“Pah! Never mind a gnome’s age; though you’re elven, know that gnomes live almost as long as your race, and in some instances longer,” he boasted.

“Well, the day I think of you as young will be the day—” Calan began; she trailed off as Iirevale rushed up to the three of them where they sat eating breakfast.

“What’s wrong brother?” Calan asked.

“Our scouts have just returned—they’ve spotted a rogue warpede ahead on the trail,” Iirevale informed.

“Warpede?” asked Adacon.

“Gazaran: the armored centipedes of war, corrupted with Feral magic. This one is without rider—it’s thrashing about unchecked, eating wild boars of North Carbal, and likely us if we get too close,” foreboded Iirevale.

“I’ll have at it, just stay back and wait for me to clear her out,” Remtall said with great seriousness, and he drank heavily of his flask before extinguishing his pipe. Suddenly, Remtall drew forth his dagger in one hand and his elven blade in the other, and leaving behind his shield, he rushed down the trail at a sprint.

“Remtall—wait!” called Iirevale, but the gnome had caught a spell of madness, and could not be stopped by words. Iirevale began to chase after him, but Remtall cut madly into the wild bush surrounding the road with an uncanny burst of speed. Iirevale stopped his pursuit and returned, unwilling to leave the company; he was saddened that Remtall had deserted, but he knew he must remain with the elves and work with Gaiberth in commanding them—for if they did dare approach the warpede, they would have to do so in a carefully orchestrated ambush.

“I am sorry Adacon,” Iirevale said as he returned to them. Adacon sat still in shock.

“I can’t believe it—he’s run off to kill himself! What good will that do to avenge his son?” Adacon said, standing up; Calan sensed he was about to run after the gnome.

“I fear he’s lost his wit from too much drink,” Calan restrained Adacon, now ready to spring off and chase down the errant gnome.

“Then we must not wait; we have to run on and save him!” Adacon pleaded.

“We will march on, but we must first form a plan of attack; and Gaiberth ultimately commands this company—he would not have us wander recklessly to our collective doom,” Iirevale replied.

“Please brother, send a party ahead to save him—there has been enough needless loss already,” Calan asked.

“I am sorry, but the approach of such creatures is grave. A small party, let alone a single gnome, confronting a warpede is certain death. Even with the might of thirty Carbal elves, we must be thoughtful beyond error in our approach,” Iirevale explained.

“Then nothing can be done? We forfeit his life?” Adacon cried.

“It is not my decision—it was the decision of the gnome, and the choice he made shall bring him to suffer his chosen fate,” Iirevale said coldly.

“Then I cannot stay. Remtall saved my life upon the sea, and I owe him at least the same. I am sorry Calan, I must go,” Adacon said. He turned and kissed her sharply; it smarted upon her lips, and then he faced Iirevale.