Shadows Page 14

  He departed the glade and followed the tracks into the forest. He surmised that his quarry traveled with haste, and with little regard for secrecy. Branches and undergrowth were snapped and broken, and a multitude of footprints scraped across the snow. Of the score of smaller prints, there remained two sets larger than the rest. He didn’t know who the larger tracks belonged to but, with the lieutenant dead, he assumed the two were somehow associated with Morryn and taken captive.

  By the light of a pale crescent moon, Lorik continued to follow the tracks. Being mounted, he hoped that he might overtake them. Frost and snow glistened in the soft moonlight, and the frigid night chilled his skin. But he burned with the memory of his slaughtered men, and those images forced him to press on. He wished that he had defied the lieutenant’s orders, challenged his authority, but Lorik refused to dwell on regrets. Now his singular obsession was the possible rescue of two comrades. His imagination failed to conjure any idea of who ran before him, but he was determined to find out. Lorik held onto hope—the hope that if he caught up with them he might find some answers.

  Night wore on and weariness crept into his bones. Even his mount showed signs of exhaustion as it took one labored step after another. Lorik, worn out, knew he and his horse needed to rest, so he stopped and dismounted in a small clearing. The trail of footprints continued north and disappeared in the dense forest. The clear night, with stars that shimmered in the cold dark sky, showed no signs of snow. Lorik did not fear he might lose the trail. His own weariness weighed him down like an anchor around his neck. He rubbed his eyes to try to stave off sleep, but with each passing moment, his eyelids grew heavier. Lorik forced himself to assemble his small shelter and clear a place on the ground for a campfire.

  The frigid night wore on as he gathered scraps of wood. He set the wood, along with the kindling he carried, into a pile and struck his flint. With a brilliant spark, the wood ignited, and a warm campfire came to life. The warmth was welcome. He held out his cold hands to gather in the heat as the fire radiated its welcome glow all around the clearing. It was enough for Lorik to enjoy a comfortable night.

  Lorik sat on the cold ground under the shelter of his canopy. He melted snow in a small cook-pot and boiled some dried beef into a warm broth. He sipped at the warm potage, and enjoyed the savory taste, though insufficient to satisfy his appetite. He needed to sleep; his eyes felt like some unseen agent had thrown sand in them. Well, there’s nothing to it, he thought, I’ll just roll up in my blankets and trust my night to good fortune. Wrapped with his blankets, he collapsed to the ground and fell asleep.

  ****

  Lorik woke to a bright and cold morning. His blankets were covered in frost, though within them he felt warm and protected from the elements. His horse stood nearby grazing on scrub grass that grew through the snow. He stood and stretched his stiff, weary muscles in the frigid air. The campfire had died, and he stirred the coals only to scatter the ash that remained.

  “Well,” he said to no one in particular. “I better get moving if I intend to catch my quarry.” Lorik quickly dismantled his makeshift shelter and tied it to the back of his saddle. Then he foraged for more small sticks of wood, suitable for the next campfire. Always better to have dry wood, he thought. As he gathered the small sticks, he noticed an object. Under a fallen log, half buried was a torn piece of cloth, its color and fabric resembled a piece from a guardsman’s cloak. Where the cloth had settled, a large spatter of blood had stained the snow. With a renewed purpose that warmed his thoughts, Lorik placed the torn swatch in his saddlebag and resolved to press on with greater determination.

  Lorik bundled the wood he gathered and secured it to the saddlebag, mounted his horse, and continued north. Broken branches and trampled grass provided a clear trail to follow. Those he pursued were ahead by several hours, but he was determined to catch them. With the tenacity of a bloodhound, he spurred his horse and traveled through the forest as swift as the terrain allowed.

  Hours passed, and Lorik pressed on. He came to a large valley which descended into thick trees and heavy undergrowth. Still the tracks continued, following a narrow path that switched back and forth down the wall of the ravine. In the distance, Lorik heard the reverberations of a raging river as it rolled and crashed along at the bottom of the valley. The trail he followed vanished down the embankment and disappeared into the thick foliage of the valley before him. Without hesitation, Lorik spurred his mount down the ravine.

  The noise of the river grew louder as he followed the trail into the valley. Damp air clung to his clothes like an icy film and cold penetrated his flesh. Vapors coursed from the horse’s nostrils as its warm breath mingled with frozen air. Lorik guided his mount through the twilight of the dense forest. Winter snows failed to penetrate with any force, and the ground beneath him was bare and brown.

  Within the grove of trees, crushed grass gave evidence to the passage of many feet. Those he followed must have taken rest within the grove’s protective shelter. He dismounted, searched the area, and found the direction of the tracks. The heavy sound of a mighty torrent indicated he was very near the river. Lorik left his horse in the copse of trees and proceeded on foot, careful to follow the trail left by his quarry.

  As he passed through the foliage, he heard what sounded like a detachment of men shouting over the din of the river. Lorik crept through the brush and drew near to the water taking extreme caution not to be seen or heard. He peered through the dense undergrowth.

  At the edge of a raging river stood a score or more of small, stout men dressed in leather and mail shirts. They wielded large battle axes and waited in a clearing at the edge of the river. Through the crowd he noticed two others who sat together, blindfolded and hands bound. As he watched, he caught a glint of gold on the cloak of one of the men, the insignia of the Royal Guard! He was right; two had survived somehow and were captured by these diminutive soldiers.

  Then, a change came over the river. The water took on a hollow, resonant tone. A rough, stone structure started to rise from beneath the water. It was slow, yet it continued to crawl from the depths of the torrent. Then, as if it had always dwelt in that very spot, a stone bridge stood over the white water. He had never seen such machinery, or perhaps this was magic. He didn’t know.

  Once the bridge had reached its full height, and the river flowed beneath it, the stout soldiers crossed over. The two men of Celedon were forced to stand. Then horror stuck through his heart. One of the soldiers was his own captain.

  He almost gave his position away but squelched the desire to gasp aloud at the incredulous circumstances that unfolded before him. His mind raced to understand how or why the captain and, he assumed—Private Rayn, were taken captive. He wanted to free them but knew that a direct assault on the group of soldiers was pointless. “If the captain was captured,” Lorik whispered to himself, but let the thought trail off. He decided to remain concealed and wait for a time to rescue his commander.

  As the last soldier crossed the bridge, it sunk back into the river and vanished beneath the rapids as mysteriously as it had appeared. He continued to keep his attention on the diminutive warriors as they marched up the narrow pass in a column of two until they disappeared into the spires and rocky crags.

  Lorik crawled from the foliage. “There must be some way to activate that bridge hidden around here,” he murmured. I must find a way to cross this river and rescue the captain.

  ****

  “We travel swift; we must make the door before nightfall,” Kaurn shouted over the noise of the torrent. The stone path was slick with ice and frost. Aaron and Rayn stumbled along, blindfolded and guided by a dwarf. The steep climb and rapid walk exhausted Aaron, but still he marched. Below them, the sound of the river dimmed.

  Aaron lost track of time in their cold, uphill march. Soon each footfall became a weary grind, and it forced the dwarves to slow their desperate pace.

  The dwarf commander berated Aaron and Rayn and cursed their diminished strengt
h. “Give them some more draught! We can’t delay in these mountains for long!” Grateful, Aaron accepted some of the potent drink. It warmed his tired muscles and renewed his strength.

  It wasn’t long, though, before the dwarves stopped again. The wind whipped and howled through the peaks of the Shadow Mountains. Aaron listened as even the dwarves complained about the frigid conditions. From the sounds around him, he could tell the entire contingent huddled together. He could only surmise they took shelter behind a rock formation of some sort that offered protection from the bitter wind.

  “Commander!” shouted the dwarf who guided Aaron. “We must take care and start a fire. Most of our men will be frozen before we reach safety!” Aaron heard the desperation in his guide’s voice.

  Kaurn shouted back, “Very well! Get a fire started and bring the prisoners.”

  The rattle of wood sounded as a dwarf unbundled brands for a fire. Footfalls shuffled all around as dwarves moved about the small campsite. Soon, Aaron heard a small crackle and felt the warm radiance of a campfire.

  Aaron’s escort sat him near the fire with Rayn at his side. He remained blindfolded and bound. Despite their situation, Aaron was grateful for the warmth of the flames. Several others gathered near them. Two dwarves who sat close by enjoyed a spirited conversation.

  “No,” said one gruff dwarf in his rich baritone voice, “I don’t think that we’ll be home before a week. It is a long way through the passage, and with these two blindfolded it’ll slow us down.”

  “You’re right,” said the other dwarf as he spoke between bites of food. “I wonder what Lord Dunstan will do with these two? Lock them up to keep them out of trouble I suppose.”

  “He may just interrogate them and return them to the other side of the river. I don’t think that they will pose much of a threat… we took them captive easy enough!” The dwarves laughed.

  “So much for that Royal Guard,” mocked the second dwarf, “there’s not much fight in them.”

  Aaron was handed a strip of dried beef and blindly he ate, thankful for the bite of food.

  “We will enter the passage in two hours. When it’s time to go, make sure nothing remains; remove all signs of our journey.” Kaurn addressed his men.

  The first dwarf spoke in a low tone under his breath to his companion, “Two hours…do you think they’ll show up?” Aaron could hear the fear in his voice.

  “I don’t know… we’ve seen no sign of the horros, but they might be hidden in the crags above.” The second dwarf said, his voice anxious.

  He felt Rayn lean over and press against his shoulder. “Sir,” Rayn whispered, “do you know what a horros is?”

  “No,” he whispered in return, “But if these dwarves are concerned, I imagine that we don’t want to meet one.”

  The dwarf guard closest to Aaron overheard their conversation and responded to the captain’s concern. “You don’t want to meet one!” His harsh, deep voice resounded in the hollow alcove. “A horros is a fierce, bloodthirsty beast that lives in these mountains. They travel in packs and are predators of the worst kind. They possess jaws that can crush a dwarf and claws that rip flesh from the bone. They feed on the wild animals of the mountains, bears and mountain goats. But in these winter months, they will attack an entire legion of dwarf warriors.” These words chilled Aaron worse than the frozen air. “Don’t fret, we are nearly safe. Just a little longer and the way will be open and we can enter the passage. One thing is certain,” the dwarf continued, “you don’t want to be in these mountains by yourself. No one ever survives here alone.”

  “It’s time,” Kaurn ordered. “Get these prisoners up and move out. The way is open and the passage clear for travel.” The company of dwarves rose and words of gratitude washed through the group like a wave at the announcement.

  They had traveled a few hundred yards when a howl echoed through the mountains. The dwarves froze in their tracks, and a chill rushed down Aaron’s spine. It was loud, like the cry of a wolf mingled with the roar of a bear, and it reverberated up the canyon behind them. Above another howl answered back—the malicious call of a hungry beast. The dwarves began to murmur among themselves. A sudden dread came upon Aaron. Blindfolded, he still sensed the presence of the predators and knew they closed in on the small band of warriors. From the passage ahead, Aaron heard the sound of claws clicking the stony path. The dwarves hurried their pace up the narrow ledge.

  “Captain,” Rayn said, his voice trembling, “at this rate we’re going to stumble off this mountain.”

  Aaron had the same concern. “Rayn,” he said, “try to keep near the rock face.”

  At the head of the party, Kaurn shouted orders. “Move! Keep your heads. Faster!” The howls behind them grew louder, closer, and were answered by guttural growls ahead.

  “The horros are upon us! The horros are upon us!” Shrill shouts were heard from ahead, followed by the clang of metal; the sounds of battle rang out loud across the ridge. Dwarves shouted and screamed as they fought against their assailants. Kaurn’s voice boomed over the din as he gave orders and directed his men in the fight.

  The two dwarf guards who led Aaron and Rayn abandoned them and joined in the fray. Aaron, bound and blindfolded, groped along the sheer rock wall until he found Rayn. With some careful maneuvering they helped each other remove the blindfolds and leather straps that bound them.

  Dusk shone upon the narrow passage with an eerie orange light. It illuminated a horrific scene and filled Aaron’s heart with dread. Large, dog-like beasts leapt down from above. Their dark, massive bodies might have been mistaken for small horses with hair that grew matted and long. They possessed long, powerful claws and massive jaws. Aaron knew the creatures indeed had the power to rip through flesh and bite off a man’s leg, though armored head to toe. Four horros leapt from the mountain cliff and three more stalked down from the passage ahead. Behind, at least four more of the beasts advanced up the path.

  “We have to get out of here!” Rayn’s voice quivered.

  Aaron looked toward the dwarves. He had never abandoned a people in such desperation, and he wouldn’t start now. “We can’t leave, but we can help fend off these creatures.” Aaron stood tall, his sense of duty clear. He spied their swords, cast aside with the other equipment when the battle began. “Follow me,” he ordered.

  The two soldiers rushed forward, unseen by the dwarves who fought for their lives ahead of them. Aaron unsheathed his sword and faced the predators. The two soldiers stood their ground against the horros. The narrow ledge provided just enough room for them to stand abreast, with little space to maneuver. But they stood their ground and waited for the attack.

  The horros leapt upon them with surprising speed and lashed at Aaron and Rayn with their long, razor-sharp claws. The beasts snarled and growled like rabid animals. Aaron weaved and parried, desperate to hold his ground against the predators. Two horros fell immediately as Aaron struck with lightning quickness. The other horros growled at each other and clawed for the remains of the fallen beast. Distracted only for a moment with the carnage, the beasts turned back to Aaron and Rayn.

  Again the horros lunged and forced the soldiers to step back against the assault. Aaron refused to yield, and Rayn held his own alongside him. Against every attack, Aaron and Rayn fought the horros with expert skill. They slashed through the creatures and struck at them, forcing the beasts to back off. They worked in unison, a deadly display of grace and agility, rejecting all fear. Two more horros fell. Though Aaron and Rayn dispatched the first creatures, several more approached from the passage behind them.

  As Aaron fought, he caught a glimpse of the dwarves as they stood firm against the horde of beasts. One dwarf had fallen, but the others held their ground as axes swirled in coordinated motion. The two dwarves who had guarded Aaron and Rayn rushed to their aid and joined the soldiers in the fray. They leapt over the two men with an agility that took Aaron by surprise.

  The dwarves sprung over the battle and landed on thei
r feet with a thud. Now, behind the remaining horros, the pair of dwarves raised their weapons against their adversaries. They wielded their battle axes with impressive skill and struck with a ferocity that Aaron had never seen. The two dwarves fought like berserkers against the ferocious creatures and pressed their advantage. With renewed momentum, Aaron and Rayn continued their attack, filled with an improved hope they might survive the onslaught.

  In a matter of minutes the battle was over, dead horros lay strewn across the path while others had fallen to their death over the precipice. Two dwarves were killed in the melee. Exhausted, each person stopped to take in the scene. Aaron breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have survived. The dwarf commander stumbled to him.

  Kaurn was injured. He nursed multiple wounds to his arms and one large gash across his face. Blood trickled down his features and matted his beard. He walked with a limp and used his axe as a crutch. Still he looked the two men up and down as he wiped blood and sweat from his eyes, and shook his head in disbelief. The hostility in his expression was gone.

  “So, you are warriors… hmm,” Kaurn pondered. Aaron held his sword, stained with the blood of the horros, a defiant expression on his face. “I see that you are familiar with battle.” Kaurn continued. “I assumed you would try to flee from here, and I would have branded you as cowards. But now… now I must acknowledge that you fought with us.” Kaurn took a deep breath and rubbed his matted beard. “In our realm, courage is honored above all other virtues.” He paused and gauged Aaron and Rayn. “You’ve earned my respect. I will allow you to carry your weapons; but our laws demand that you are blindfolded again to keep from learning our secrets.” He ordered the two guards who had joined Aaron and Rayn in the battle to blindfold them once again. However, Kaurn permitted Aaron and Rayn to walk with their hands free and their weapons at their side.