The Grim Wanderer (22 page)

‘We need this Key-Piece,’ Hirandar said purposefully. ‘We
cannot
allow the Baledemon to be released. The creature would start a second Great War.’

Everyone was quiet for a time, thinking of the magnitude of the task ahead. Taem turned from staring into the fire, and caught Baek’s eyes, saw the determination there.

‘So,’ Forgrun planted his massive fists on the table, ‘this be ye quest o’ which yhee spoke. It be ye greatest adventure o’ our time.’

Taem saw the excitement in the Rhungar’s eyes. Taem knew that for all Forgrun’s life he had been waiting for such a challenge.

‘During the Great War of the Dark,’ Logan said, ‘Gorzaemon could not be killed. No weapon on earth could be used against it, and many brave heroes died trying. We must not let this old evil rise again.’

‘I think we were meant to take up this quest,’ Hirandar looked at each of the warriors in turn, ‘I do not believe it is pure chance alone that brought us together. I feel the pull of destiny, and the Light is with us.’

‘It is,’ Logan said reluctantly, ‘but faith will not save us, when the Nargs come in the dark. Only skill and courage will save us then.’

‘Still a sceptic, Logan?’ Hirandar smiled.

‘We are each masters of our own destiny,’ Logan glanced at Taem.

‘Agreed,’ Hirandar nodded. ‘We start for Dolam at dawn, it’s one month’s ride along the Mountain Way.’

Taem watched the smile spread across Baek’s face, and he knew the Aborle could not wait to see a city. Taem felt excited about seeing a city too – and not just any city, one of the biggest in Hathlore!

‘I suggest you all get a good rest for what remains of tonight,’ Hirandar said. ‘I think we will all find the road arduous.’

‘Curse them!’ Remar said under his breath for the thousandth time. Of course, Remar was careful not to be loud enough that the ones he was cursing would hear, as he and his two companions drudged on through the endless dreary countryside. How Remar hated the countryside! Nothing but fields, hills and trees for as far as the eye could see.

‘Did you say something,
Servant
?’ Garslinn hissed, as he walked alongside Remar.

‘No?’ Remar looked down to where he was stepping his feet, anything to avoid meeting that terrifying gaze. The worst thing about this journey, by far, was Remar now found himself taking orders from Garslinn. That bloody peasant lunatic! Although Remar had once been a lord in the realms of Men, Garslinn was a higher Servant of the Dark than he. What had his life come to, Remar wondered? He was yielding to a disgusting peasant, who smelt like he bathed in horse manure!

‘Have a care with your tongue, servant,’ Dagmar said harshly, from atop Remar’s horse. ‘You can still serve our Dark Lord without it. And Garslinn likes the taste of human meat.’

Garslinn grinned. Remar looked up at Dagmar with dread, and he was met by the sinister glare of that green eye staring down at him. Sometimes Remar was convinced that dark emerald was glowing. Sometimes it was so dim it seemed to be drawing light in. At night it was another story entirely. That green eye disturbed Remar as much – if not more so – as the unhinged Garslinn. At least Garslinn was predictable and stupid, Dagmar was neither.

Garslinn smiled as he licked his lips, and Remar thought the freak looked more animal than human with those red jagged facial tattoos.

‘Yes, High Servant,’ Remar said submissively. But inside he was seething. The high-born Remar was grovelling to a common peasant! And that jewel-eyed criminal had taken his horse!

In the service of the Bandit King, Remar had suspected Garslinn was a Dark Servant Maliven. When Graveldeep prisoners were found with their throats cut and their skin slashed to strips, there had only ever been one suspect in Remar’s mind. If Garslinn was disturbed like that, he had to be a servant of the Dark One. But it was only now they were alone, amongst other “friends”, that there was no reason to hide their Dark allegiance. Remar was sure he had got away, but Garslinn and his handler Dagmar had caught him on the road north. He wished they had not, for Dagmar was a trusted servant of the Dark Seer of Dolam.

‘Do you think the Seer will reward or punish us?’ Garslinn asked.

A cold terror swept over Remar as he thought of the Seer. He would rather be going anywhere else in Hathlore than back to Dolam.

‘The Nefar do not like failure–’ Dagmar said.

‘No they don’t!’ Garslinn laughed. ‘Do you remember when the traitor Rageese was flayed alive! I liked that!’

Remar shot a look of pure horror at Garslinn.

‘But I don’t believe we failed.’ Dagmar said. ‘We did as we were ordered; you spread as much chaos as you could. The Seer will not punish
me
, anyway.’ Dagmar smiled at Remar, ‘You, on the other hand, I’m not so sure.’

Remar felt a lump rising in his throat.

‘I am Pledged to the Great Lord,’ Garslinn said softly. ‘My soul I give to the Darkness. My heart exists in the black of the Shadow.’

Even though Remar was himself a Dark Servant, it still made him shiver to hear the Black Pledge spoken aloud.

‘It displeases you to hear our Pledge?’ Dagmar asked Remar, on seeing the fear in the nobleman’s face.

Garslinn snatched a dagger from his belt. He snarled as he thrust the blade up onto Remar’s throat.

‘No!’ Remar yelled, as Garslinn’s dagger drew a drop of his blood. ‘I serve the Dark One! My soul and my life belong to the Dark! I exist to serve our Great Lord!’

‘Ha!’ Dagmar snorted. ‘You do remember the words!’ Dagmar motioned for Garslinn to release Remar.

Garslinn grimaced in disappointment, as he took his dagger away from Remar’s throat. Remar shivered as the tattooed freak licked the blood from his dagger, and glared at the nobleman with hungry eyes. Garslinn smiled before he turned and followed after Dagmar. Remar let out a sigh. And promised himself he would be more careful from now on. Remar knew Garslinn or Dagmar would kill him, without hesitation, if they thought he was not committed to the Dark.

Remar glanced back down the wooded trail, but he knew he would never make it far. Even if he was able to give Garslinn and Dagmar the slip – which he was not – there were Maliven everywhere and he would be found. Remar knew there was no escape from the Dark Cult, as he wearily trudged after the other two more fervent believers.

Logan led Hirandar, Taem, Baek and Forgrun north through the hills, forests and plains of Aritas, and then Grantle. The Sodan Master had the warriors practicing with their weapons during those light summer evenings. Baek and Forgrun soon found that not only was Logan a master of the sword, but he could also teach them the skills of axe and bow.

‘Come on!’ Logan would shout as the younger warriors trained. ‘Faster! Concentrate on the perfect technique! Don’t drop your guard! More power!’

Up and down Forgrun swung his axe, as Baek loosed arrow upon arrow into a nearby tree. Taem twirled his sword with all the speed and power he could gather, until his muscles quivered and he was gasping for breath.

‘Let’s go again,’ Logan would say after a short break, and the Sodan Master usually picked up his sword to join the practice, once he was satisfied the other warriors were performing correct techniques.

After skills training physical training would follow, leaving the warriors heaving in huge lungfuls of breath, at the point of collapsing with fatigue. Logan had them running and jumping, or lifting and carrying, until sweat ran freely from their exhausted bodies. At each campsite, Logan found his students some new exercise to enjoy. In his mind, tree branches could be used to hang from and pull yourself up with your arms, rocks could be jumped over or up onto, and big stones and small tree-trunks could be hauled up and borne aloft, or hurled as far as possible. Some evenings the warriors would even run whilst carrying each other on their backs. During those training sessions, the dusky countryside would echo with the companions cheering each other on.

‘Go on Taem!’ The other warriors would cry.

‘Run Forgrun! You’re almost there! Keep going!’

‘One more lift Baek, you can do it!’

‘Come on Logan!’

At times during that journey, Taem felt sorry for Forgrun. It was the Rhungar’s first time he had spent hours in the saddle, and that coupled with the harsh training, meant Forgrun could barely walk for the first two weeks his legs were so sore. But to Forgrun’s immense credit, he never once moaned. Taem found it sometimes comical to watch the Rhungar limp around the campsite, but he also realised he was seeing an amazing display of iron-hard will. Now he could see why Rhungars made such formidable warriors!

Spirits were high in the company, and friendships grew. After training and food, the companions sat and talked and laughed by the campfire. Logan would share some of his battle experience or Sodan lore, or Hirandar would tell them a story, or Forgrun would explain how fantastic the Rhungari Empire was – whilst Baek asked countless questions of everyone. As the days flew by, Taem realised how happy he felt, to be in the company of such good friends.

A month on the Mountain Way passed swiftly. The companions had travelled through a handful of villages along the way, but mostly they crossed the wilderness without seeing any dwellings or people for days on end. But then, one morning, the traffic seemed to grow and grow, as other roads and trails joined the Mountain Way. Under the summer sun, the companions came upon the expansive view of Dolam, in the river valley below them. Logan gestured for the company to halt at the top of the shallow rise.

The valley below was a sight that took Taem’s breath away. The first thing that struck him was the vastness of the city. Dolam was immense! Taem guessed there must have been thousands of buildings inside its walls, and tens of thousands of people. He had never imagined a city could be this big, this impressive. Dolam, The Gateway to the East, stood in the shallow valley on the western side of a gap in the huge Dredgen mountain range. Taem marvelled at the power and majesty of the towering grey stone battlements that encircled the city. That massive curtain wall seemed impenetrable, as it loomed up off the grasslands, dominating the country for miles around. How had this wonder ever come to be, Taem asked himself? How had it been built so tall? For a young man raised in the country the sheer scale of Dolam was incredible. Taem thought that an army of thousands could throw themselves at that great stone wall, and still the defences would not be breached.

Logan motioned for the company to all dismount, to give their steeds a rest. Even Forgrun was becoming accustomed to horseback after a month of practice, and he was the first to leap down from his mount. But then Taem realised why, as he saw a party of Rhungars heading towards the companions. Taem smiled, Forgrun did not mind riding in the presence of his friends, but he was too proud to let other Rhungars see him doing something so unnatural.

‘So much life,
everywhere
!’ Baek had barely ever dreamed of such a place.

‘This is the strength of civilisation,’ Hirandar said wistfully, as she leant on her staff. ‘It is the future.’

‘Well I prefer the mountains and the wild,’ Logan muttered.

‘Not everyone is such a grumpy lone wolf,’ Hirandar smiled wryly, ‘old friend.’

Taem gaped at the majesty of that gargantuan outer wall, interspersed by huge towers and commanding gatehouses. The round-based towers reached up well over a hundred feet to pierce the clear sky, and were crowned with roofs of yellow or blue tiles. At the highest points of those towers the flag of Grantle wafted in the breeze, a golden chalice on a blue field.

‘Those walls are magnificent!’ Taem whispered.

‘I have only ever read about such places,’ Baek gazed at the great city. ‘But no book could do this place justice.’

To Taem, the square gatehouses in the outer wall were each a castle in their own right. Each entry point to the city was an impregnable stone fortress! On the roofs of the gatehouses there were machines of war – bolt throwers and trebuchets – and numerous soldiers manned the sweeping walls.

‘It is a mighty stronghold,’ Logan rested a hand on his sword hilt. ‘But stone is only ever as strong as the men holding it.’

Miles away to the right, along the valley, Taem could see the fabled “Gate”. See how it was not just a giant unassailable doorway, but also a hundred foot high, twenty-foot wide, defendable stone wall. Taem’s jaw dropped low. The walls of The Gate were so enormous they dwarfed even the city walls of Dolam. The Gate was colossal! Taem blinked, as if he were not sure if his eyes were deceiving him – the
size
of it! A great smile swept over his face. The Gate Wall extended from mountain foot to mountain foot, for over five miles. What a sight it was! Taem imagined it as a monstrous dam, shoring up the gap in the Dredgen Mountain range from the tides of wildness and savagery in the Lost Realms.

‘That Gate wall must have been an
astronomical
undertaking!’ Taem murmured.

‘Yes it was,’ Hirandar smiled. ‘It was the year of the Light Four One Seven when the Lost Realms became lost. The following year, the Order of the Sceptre supervised the construction of The Gate. Even with the help of the wizards it took twenty years to build. But it still stands to this day, almost six hundred years later.’

‘Men do ’ave grown in might beyond ye Golden Days,’ Forgrun muttered, in reluctant respect, ‘if they be buildin’ a place such as this.’

‘Dolam is one of the great cities of Hathlore,’ Logan gazed at the towering city walls. ‘But have a care. It may look grand from the outside, but there is
plenty
to be wary of on the in. This is a dangerous place with thieves and murderers on every street. And rumours are rife that the Maliven spread their decay amongst the high and the low. We need to watch the shadows at all times.’

The other warriors all nodded. After a month training under the Sodan Master, they would follow him into the Shadowlands themselves.

Logan waved for the company to walk on, leading their horses by the reins, and they rejoined the flow of traffic on the road, striding down toward the city.

‘Grantle is a weakly knit land of just one very large city,’ Hirandar gestured her gnarled staff towards the great walls of Dolam, ‘provided for by a hinterland of farming villages.’

‘Grantle must have a royalty?’ Baek said.

Taem noticed the quick glance that swept between Logan and the Wizard, before Hirandar answered, ‘Yes, Grantle is united under a king – but not an all-powerful and dominant king.’ The Wizard paused, to check none of the other walkers or riders on the road were within earshot, then whispered, ‘In Grantle, the kingship is scarcely more than an honourary title. Political power here comes and goes like the changing of the seasons, and no king or queen of Grantle is ever truly secure. This is
not
Aritas. Grantle is a land where the nobles plot against the ruler and amongst themselves. Although the King of Grantle rules this country in name, his authority often only extends a little further than the city keep, The Rock – and sometimes it doesn’t even extend that far.’