The Grim Wanderer (54 page)

‘The Shadow is rising,’ Ragad grimaced, ‘covering my country in darkness. Every year the Shadowlands spread westward killing the land of my people, claiming what was once Cromarch and turning it to Zezometh. The war already rages along our border, as fiercely as it does in Sarcaedia, but we have neither the warriors nor the stone castles to hold it back.’

‘You are no normal adventurer,’ Taem said, moved by the Northman’s eloquence. ‘You desire neither fame nor fortune – why are you not in the North? Defending the country you love so much?’

Ragad was silent for a time. Taem hoped he had not offended Ragad by questioning his purpose. His fears were allied when the Northman spoke again.

‘Among my people there are soothsayers,’ Ragad said, ‘who listen to the wind and the whispers of the earth. They watch the skies and read the bones. They told me the war against the Darkness could not be won from within Cromarch, that the Shadow could not be defeated by strength of arms alone. They told me,
The one who can save the Everwinter Lands will not be of our blood
. It was decided I could best serve my people by scouring Hathlore, for anything that could win the war against the Dark. That search has led me on this quest. My heart longs to be back in Cromarch, defending my people and fighting a war that cannot be won, but I must find what I search for before I return.’

Taem wondered why the giant Cromarch always said “my” people, as if he had some tie to all of them.

Ragad sat staring to what he knew, by the Wayfarer’s Star, was the north-west. Taem realised Ragad’s longing gaze drifted towards his homeland, faraway across mountains, land and sea.

‘I am a Prince of Cromarch,’ Ragad said simply.

Taem’s mouth hung low with incredulity, and even Logan’s eyes went wide.

‘Yet I do not know what the future holds,’ Ragad stared into Taem’s eyes, measuring the young man. ‘But what I have seen over the past weeks has made one path clear. I will follow you Taem Dratana, to the ends of the earth and beyond. I swear it on the lands of my people; the Everwinter Lands that are so dear to me.’

Taem was astonished, and lost for words.

‘But I am a
countryman
,’ Taem whispered, ‘a farmboy! How can I receive an oath from a prince? What possible difference can I make?’

Ragad smiled, ‘My father once told me,
“Nobility is not a birth right, it is revealed by a person’s deeds”.
In the war against the Dark, do you think Men will follow lords and kings – who care only for riches, lands and titles? Or will they follow a common man, who they can
believe
in?’

‘If it is in me to be such a man,’ Taem murmured, ‘I will accept your oath.’

Ragad bowed his head.

‘I have trained Taem most of his life,’ Logan put a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. ‘Readying him to bear that sword.’

‘
Swordbearer?
’ Ragad whispered, looking at Taem in awe.

Logan nodded.

‘What does that mean?’ Taem said.

‘Scarce more than you know already,’ Logan said, holding back the truth. ‘It is a long story, better suited to the comfort of a hearth, not these dark mountains. We will speak of it when we return west, I promise you.’ Logan touched Taem on the shoulder. ‘But you claimed the blade from the blue flame… And you have the true heart of a Sodan.’

Logan paused; he knew how the weight of destiny and responsibility could destroy a young man.

‘But now is not the time for the stories of old,’ Logan threw more wood onto the fire. ‘You two should get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.’

When Logan was certain all the companions were asleep, he reached deep into the Wizard’s backpack, and found the secret pocket. Logan took out the tattered piece of parchment, yellowed and torn with age, that Hirandar had shown him long ago. By the light of the campfire, Logan unfolded the ancient paper and re-read The Prophecy of the Swordbearer. These were the words that had ended the Grim Wanderer’s lonely quest, the words he had read many times before:

No throne but a blade he will claim,

Look to the thaw of the North frost;

Come the Wanderer seek no fame,

Guard of the Old Ways that are lost.

The Hand of Fire is forged anew,

Drawn by her might come heroes true;

Blue Star Light is Demon’s bane,

Only one can draw sword from flame.

The sun was already high in the sky, by the time the company was ready to move again that next morning. Taem felt so weary, as he, Logan and Ragad had shared the night watch between just the three of them. The other companions looked no better rested though, still exhausted from the battle and healing.

But Logan got the shattered warriors moving. The Sodan knew the Nargs would be back. They had to move, or they were dead. The Hand of Fire headed east. Looking back, Taem could see nothing but mountains and their snow-capped peaks, through where the Blizzen Paths ran. He was glad to be able to put his Rhungari blankets away into his pack, as the company walked through the low mountains. After the freezing peaks, it was a relief to feel the warmth of the summer sun bathe his arms and face again.

Logan and Taem scrutinised the trail as they walked. Taem noticed how swathes of tall grass had been flattened near the trail, but he knew there were many herds living in these lush valleys that could have done that – if the Nargs had not killed them out of malice.

The company stopped to lunch on the grassy banks of a low mountain, and headed on, descending into verdant meadows and through native orchards, where wild flowers grew at the trees’ feet. They had seen no sign of Nargs all day, and the companions were even laughing again, as they plucked the delicious fruits and flipped them to each other, eager for their friends to try the juicy berries, grapes, apples or pears.

‘This is a beautiful place,’ Baek tossed a blackberry up in the air, and caught it in his mouth.

‘Yes,’ Hirandar grinned, ‘these wild valleys have not seen Men or Rhungars for hundreds of years.’

‘
Narg ahead!’
Taem growled.

Further down the trail, as it dropped over the next hill, Taem could see a Narg-Baal was lurking. Its shoulders were hunched over and its weasel ears pricked back. It stood just on the edge of bow range. The companions readied their weapons, and Baek drew back his bowstring, but the Narg slunk down over the rise, out of sight.

Logan held up an open hand, and the companions spread out into a circular formation around Hirandar, as they advanced through the high grass.

‘Could be a trap,’ Taem scanned the surrounding hills.

‘Or just a scout,’ Jvarna said, the long grass brushing against her midriff.

‘Live bait,’ Forgrun said eagerly, his eyes determined.

‘It’s all possible,’ Logan watched the ridgeline. ‘But we have no choice but to go forward. Best to cover this open ground quickly. Baek watch the rear, Ragad the left, Forgrun the right.’

In a couple of minutes, the company reached where the weasel-Narg had been standing, and took in the sweeping view. Taem gazed down the hill into a valley that sloped away from the companions.

‘Down there!’ Baek pointed.

A quarter of a mile further down the trail, Taem saw a group of ten Defenders of the Gate, sitting idly. Their blue and yellow uniforms were obvious as they sat resting on the grass.

‘To their left!’ Taem shouted in alarm.

Coming down the slope of the valley was a horde of forty Nargs.

‘If Nargs attack them,’ Hirandar said, ‘they must still be with the Light!’

‘Forward!’ Logan commanded.

Backpacks were dropped and the company hurtled down the trail, towards the impending battle.

The Defenders spotted the Narg threat and jumped to their feet. The soldiers formed a battle-line and shot their crossbows into the oncoming horde. Half a dozen of the bestial frontrunners fell, tumbling on down the hill, but the other Nargs charged onwards. Their savage cries echoed through the valley. Taem bounded toward the imminent combat, and he could see the Defenders of the Gate were drilled, disciplined troops. They reloaded their crossbows swiftly – despite the pressure of the onrushing Nargs. The Defenders loosed another barbed volley, dropping eight more beastmen, before close combat was joined. But the Nargs were ferocious foes. Even though the Defenders were trained soldiers, they were outnumbered. Taem shuddered as he heard the terrifying screams of battle. He was horrified at the sight of Nargs tearing men to pieces. But he charged on. The Nargs had killed most of the Defenders by the time the Hand of Fire joined the melee.

Catching the Nargs unaware, the companions cut them down without mercy. Taem stormed in with fury, his Sodan blade smashing through Nargs. Ragad obliterated a Narg-Vak with his titanic hammer, following up again as the Shadowsworn lay writhing on the floor. Taem’s shining blade flew. The Sodan cut through a Vak torso, armour as well. He leapt in and cut a different horned Narg in half. Jvarna impaled the lookout Narg-Baal on her spear, whilst a huge Kul took all four of Drual’s crossbow bolts before the monstrous thing hit the floor, gurgling on its own blood. Logan scythed a wide path through the foul Nargs. The Master’s Sodan blade moved faster than the eye could follow. Within moments, Logan had left a trail of five decapitated or cloven Narg corpses. A ball of pure arcane energy – leaping from Hirandar’s hands – and Baek’s bow killed five more Nargs between them. Forgrun cut one of the Nargs into two. Taem impaled an enemy on his blade point. Logan felled another with a reverse swing. The Sodan Master stepped through with a return strike, severing inwards through a different Beastman, slicing down to its naval.

Taem saw one of the Defenders still stood. By his decorated clothes this Defender was their captain, and he – at least – knew how to use the longsword he carried. This captain hurled out his great longsword, removing a Narg’s bull-like head from its massive body. Taem halted, stepped back. A bestial enemy flew at him from the side. The Narg howled as it swung out a rusty sword. Twirling his blade in a figure of eight, Taem knocked aside the Narg sword, and smashed through rusty armour and ribs.

Logan jumped beside the Defender captain to take on an advancing Narg. The Sodan Master blocked to his right, deflecting a blow aimed at his face. Logan followed through with a horizontal swing that left a gaping hole in the Narg’s chest. The Defender captain slew another of the beastmen, whilst Forgrun and Ragad took on the last remaining Narg, hacking the vile creature into pieces as it still stood.

The captain was the only Defender still on his feet. He had striking features, with charismatic green eyes and grey hair. This captain had a presence about him, of someone who was both distinguished and majestic.

The Defender captain gasped for breath as he nodded at Logan, ‘Your sword has kept its sharpness over the years, Logan.’ The Defender captain kept his eyes fixed on the dead Nargs that lay around him, expecting one to try and attack.

‘As has yours, Balthus,’ Logan plunged his blade through a dying Vak.

‘You’re bleeding,’ Taem said to Balthus, gesturing at the gash that was turning his yellow and blue Defender’s coat crimson. But Balthus just stared at the bodies of his dead soldiers.

‘I’ll live,’ Balthus said nonchalantly, ‘this man won’t,’ Balthus knelt down beside a dying soldier.

‘How could he betray us, my King?’ The young Defender choked, as Balthus gently held the soldier’s head up.

Taem saw the dying Defender was barely older than he was. Taem grimaced at the tragedy of the wretched young man. What remained of the soldier’s body was a mangled and pitiful sight. The Defender had lost his right leg below the hip, and his left leg had all but gone as well. His left arm was broken and useless, the elbow shattered. The soldier also had a wound to his stomach, so wide he had lost some of his intestines.

Balthus grasped the young Defender’s hand as he knelt beside him. Taem felt sadness course through his heart. It was a deep sorrow for another soldier who had died before his time, fighting in a land far from his home.

‘Your own councillor,’ the dying Defender spluttered up to his King, ‘sworn to the Shadow?’

‘Hush, lad,’ Balthus tried to sooth him.

Hirandar rushed over and touched the young Defenders forehead, a golden glow shining out from underneath the Wizard’s palm.

‘Don’t worry about that now,’ Balthus murmured, as Hirandar tried to heal the dying soldier. But these terrible wounds were beyond even her power, so she settled for numbing his pain. Easing his suffering was all the great Wizard could do.

‘I assure you,’ Balthus said bitterly, ‘one day, I will kill the traitor Isornel.
I’ll see he gets everything he deserves
.’

The warriors of The Hand of Fire encircled the King of Grantle, as he held the dying soldier, with their heads bowed and their eyes full of sorrow.

Hirandar shook her head at Balthus, as the glow under her hand faded, ‘This is beyond my power. He has but moments. He needs the comfort of the King he loyally served,’ Hirandar touched Balthus on the shoulder before walking away.

‘My King,’ the dying Defender struggled. ‘Forgive me. I could not save the Princess Alyssa from the Black Servants. Forgive me… my King… I failed you.’

‘
No
,’ Balthus said vehemently. ‘It is I who failed you and the men. You fought valiantly, and always did your duty. The Light receive you, and honour one who has served with a noble heart.’

‘Thank you… King,’ the young soldier sounded relieved, as the last remnants of colour drained from his face. ‘The Light aid you in… avenging our deaths…’

‘Go in peace,’ Balthus said gently. ‘Walk in the valleys of the Light, my loyal warrior.’

‘You honour me, my King,’ the Defender said laboriously. ‘I feel the warmth of the Light…’ the young soldier gasped his last words.

Taem watched as the young Defender passed away from his last grasp of life, with a smile on his face and the king he had served by his side. The Defender’s chest went still. His eyes went blank. Balthus moved his shaking hand to close the dead soldier’s eyes, and dropped his head to his chest. Hirandar placed a hand on Balthus’s neck, and the golden glow of healing shone out. Balthus barely realised what was going on as the gash down his side sealed itself.

All the mournful companions stared at the dead soldier, killed well before his prime. Taem could see the fury in Logan’s eyes, and the despondency in Hirandar’s. Forgrun glowered at the dead Nargs. Ragad’s face was stone, whilst Drual shook his head in sadness. Baek placed his palm on his heart and dropped his gaze to the ground, and Jvarna touched her forehead and then her chest, the gesture of the Light.

Taem
hated
the Nargs for what they had done. He loathed their very existence. Above all, Taem hated their evil maker, Malveous.

‘
Isornel!’
Balthus cried out. ‘
Damn you traitor
!’ Balthus shook his fists up to the sky.
‘By my blood,
’ Balthus took a dagger out of his belt and cut his palm, squeezing his hand back into a fist so blood dripped to the floor, ‘I will send you to hell when we meet again!
I swear it
.’

After that outburst, Taem was sure Balthus would kill the Maliven Wizard.

The company buried the dead Defenders in a line under the branches of some willow trees, whilst Hirandar torched the Narg corpses, engulfing them in magical fire. Taem saw how Balthus was inconsolable with grief. His eyes were empty. Balthus was a man who had seen countless battles, but Isornel’s betrayal had hit him beyond hard. Even Logan, his oldest friend, could do nothing to bring the King of Grantle round. Taem had never seen a man look so broken. Everything Balthus thought he once was, everything he had once believed in, had been taken from him.

‘The Light welcome these souls into its last embrace,’ Hirandar swept her staff over the graves, and the air shimmered with mystical energy. ‘These were good men, brave men. May their path into the Light be swift and straight, like the first rays of the dawn sun.’

Whilst the company readied themselves to move, Balthus still knelt, with his head in his hands, by the graves of his men.

‘Come, Balthus,’ Logan put a hand on the shoulder of the broken King of Grantle. ‘We must leave this place. There are still Nargs in these mountains.’

Balthus got to his feet and joined the standing group of companions. The Lord of Dolam did not venture a word for the whole afternoon, as the sombre company strode through the eastern mountains.

By nightfall, they had stopped to camp. The company had been quiet all afternoon, leaving Balthus some peace in his mourning. But by the evening, the companions had returned to their usual exchange of jovial banter and serious conversation.

As they enjoyed mountain deer roasted over the campfire, Forgrun told the other companions the mirthful tales of Helf Ugursbane, the most legendary Brother of Gromm. Forgrun said – whilst using exaggerated hand movements – how Helf had carried a slain sea wyvern’s skull around with him, at all times! Dragging the monstrous thing behind him on a long chain. The creature – before it met Helf – had been known to swallow sailors whole, but Helf had been adamant that he would take his most prized trophy with him everywhere he went, despite the skull being twice the size that he was!

The warriors laughed long and loud at Forgrun’s story, but everyone went quiet as Balthus began to speak.

The King of Grantle told the company how his powerful Wizard advisor had told him about a secret quest, for an item of great power – that
had
to be retrieved for the sake of Dolam. Isornel knew Balthus was eager to get away, to find a new adventure, and he ensnared the Lord of Dolam with tales of this great quest, which would take them deep into the Lost Realms, to the City of Night.