BlackThorn's Doom (20 page)

Casius froze; one of the Morne was looking directly at him. The reptilian’s eyes glowed a pale blue in the dim light. After a moment the beast looked away and muttered something in their harsh tongue before returning to his stew.

Casius exhaled his pent up breath before stepping back deeper into the darkness. He did not wish to press his luck, he was weakened by hunger and doubted he could best two rested and well-fed Morne in his present state.

His luck remained true to form and his left foot came down upon a half buried branch. The brittle wood shattered loudly and he was forced to stagger forward to keep his balance. Into the firelight he lurched desperately drawing his sword as he did so.

He must have been a horrible sight to behold, caked with dark mud and slime wrapped in a tattered cloak. His hair missing over half his head, the burned skin beneath an angry red where it showed through the grime.

One of the Morne sat motionless his cold eyes bulging in fear and shock. His companion was quick to recover and leapt to his feet drawing his wickedly curved sword. The Morne roared and leapt to the attack.

Casius parried the reckless attack easily and on his counterstroke he laid the Reptiles throat open the keen edge of Aethir sliding along the thick vertebrae. The Morne pitched backwards and landed in a twitching heap that sprayed hot blood over the legs of his companion.

Casius whipped the blood from his face and moved towards the remaining Morne.

The second Morne was terrified, he knew not what it was he faced but he had just watched the intruder casually kill his companion with hardly any effort at all.

Casius circled the wary warrior and waited for the other to attack.

The Morne spun to flee and fell forward, tripping over the body of his friend. In desperation he swung his sword.

Casius knocked the blade aside and drove Aethir deep into the fallen Morne’s chest, the ensorcelled blade cutting through flesh, bone, and armor with ease.

The Morne’s face contorted in agony and a dark froth of blood and spittle leaked from its thin mouth. It took only a few moments and the Morne stopped thrashing as he finally succumbed to death.

Casius fell to his knees in the bloody snow, trembling with fear and exhaustion. He sheathed his blade without cleaning it. It was not an honorable attack, and yet he felt no remorse. These were Morne and they deserved no quarter. Too many good people had died because of their brutality.

He crawled close to the fire and grabbed a half empty bowl of stew. He tore into it voraciously, trying not to speculate as to what type of meat it contained. Casius emptied the bowl and despite the smell of the dead Morne he fell into a fitful slumber.

After several hours he stirred and with his strength returning he rummaged through the broken wagon. He found wool blankets and arrows by the hundreds. To the rear of the wagon he found clothing and several wineskins among a generous pile of foodstuffs.

Casius shed his soiled clothing and donned the new garments. He removed a long knife from one of the dead Morne’s belts. It was a simple blade but it held a keen edge.

He filled a leather pack with small red potatoes and two haunches of what appeared to be smoked mutton. His search did not turn up any signs of a saddle. The Horses were draft animals and more than likely unused to having a rider upon their back.

He thought about riding bareback but one of the steeds attempted to bite him as he approached. Using the long knife he cut them free of their fetters and watched them race off into the darkness.

Taking a long drink of the bitter Morne wine he kicked out the fire and headed eastward towards Timosh.

For two days Casius plodded onward, his feet following in the ruts left by the passage of many wagons. At night he camped far from the trail, lighting no fires he sat huddled in the cold sleeping in snatches, awakening at the slightest sound.

He was following the trail in the predawn light when he heard the muffled thumps of approaching hoof beats. He dove into the nearby brush and hid among the gnarled trees.

A Morne warrior stalked out of the mists slowing his horse he studied the trail before him. He drew close to Casius and reined his mount in. His snout sniffing loudly as the warrior dismounted and drew his sword.

Casius pulled the long knife from his belt, flipping it over and grasping it by the blade. He took a deep breath and flung it with all his might.

The Morne had just entered the tree line when the blade struck him in the right eye. With a muffled grunt of surprise he fell forward into the brambles his sword falling from his grasp.

Casius retrieved the blade and drug the corpse further into the wood concealing it from the trail.

Thanking the gods for his good fortune he grabbed the horses reigns and mounted. With a light touch of his heels the horse eagerly set forth, desiring to be away from the smell of blood.

By noon snow began to fall once more, Casius rode wrapped in a wool blanket. He kept his hands tucked within the cloth folds hunching down against the growing wind tearing at his back.

As the sun set the snowfall lessoned until it was nothing more than a light flurry. He came to a rocky outcrop of stone and set camp. Sheltered from the freezing wind he watched the darkening sky. Heavy black clouds were rolling in, threatening things full of the promise of new snow.

He desired a fire but he knew it would be foolish to light one. It would serve as a beacon for any Morne patrols in the area. He settled in for another cold night and ate a meal of potatoes and smoked meat.

Despite his fear, sleep soon overtook him, and he drifted off with Aethir’s hilt gripped firmly in hand.

Casius awoke with a start; from the light filtering through the clouds he knew it was well past dawn. The Morne horse stood where he had tethered it, the moist breath from its nostrils steaming in the morning air.

Rising to his feet he stretched and froze as a low rumbling growl reached his ears. Upon the boulder where he had taken shelter against stood a Fell hound.

The massive animal crouched low its muzzle pulled back revealing rows of vicious yellow teeth. Long ropey tendrils of drool hung from its saber like fangs. Its muzzle was scarred and covered with the dark stains of dried blood.

The beast was sniffing the air its feral eyes locked upon him. The beast is confused Casius realized. He smells the Morne scent upon my borrowed clothing and the presence of the horse has him puzzled.

Casius knew his own spoor could not be fully masked or the Fell hound would not be acting this way. Casius slowly stepped away from the rock trying to show no fear. He hoped the beast would move off if he did not sense prey.

The Fell hound stood, he was large for his kind his head rising easily six feet above the ground. He watched Casius with suspicion. Fell hounds were ferocious creatures but dimwitted at best. After a few tense moments the hound snorted and leapt from the stone and vanished into the trees.

Casius watched the Fell hound leave, his heart hammered loudly in the stillness. “A fine sentry you make.” He scolded the horse lightly. He now knew that the animal would not alert him to any foul creatures that may be about. To the horse a Fell hound was nothing more than another traveling companion.

Casius mounted the black steed and loosened Aethir in its sheath. One Fell hound did not particularly frighten him. It was the knowledge that these creatures hunted in packs and from the sounds within the trees there had been many more watching from the gloom.

He rode eastward once more, with the Sur’kar’s hounds about he knew the Morne were close as well. And among them he would find the kin slayer. For good or ill this nightmare he had been living would be drawing to a close. All that was left for him to do was to try and kill an immortal.

The cold fire of vengeance had taken root within him. He rode in silence the faces of his fallen friends clouding his vision.

Following the trail his pace quickened, several times he allowed the horse to run. The steed was magnificent, both strong and graceful. The horse had been bred for speed and it relished in its chance to lengthen its stride.

A well trained animal it obeyed its riders commands without hesitation, the Morne were many evil things but they were among the best at horsemanship and this animal was a testament to their breeding skills.

The Mountains loomed in the distance before him. The snow covered crags cast a long shadow into which he passed. He rode but a short distance when he came upon a broken ring of stones that marked the remains of a fallen tower. The air reeked, noxious smells drifted up from a crudely dug latrine nearby. A large force had camped here recently; the ground was chewed up from the passage of their mounts. He scouted about and found the tracks of both horses and men. Interspersed among these he found the cloven hoof impressions of large deer. Casius returned to the trail, he could not understand why such a large herd would choose to move about in an area where the spoor of man was so strong.

That night as he drifted off to sleep he heard the faint echoing call of a horn in the distance. He sat up and watched the eastern sky come afire with a brilliant emerald light. The ground beneath him shuddered and a thunderous roar reverberated through the hills. He came to his feet and as the rumble faded he could hear the horn cry out once more.

Chapter Nineteen

Gaelan leaned against the weathered merlon, fear gripping his heart as if he were nothing more than a child. He watched nearly paralyzed as the Ma’ul approached. The demons footsteps shook the very foundations of the great fortress. He knew a creature of such power had no place upon this earth.

A deep resonate note filled the air. Echoing from the walls of the comb, the horn of the keep sounded shaking the new fallen snow from the mountains lower slopes.

The nearly overwhelming sense of fear was brushed aside. The men upon the battlements stood tall, their faces filled with grim determination.

The Ma’ul was stopped in its advance as if some great hand had struck it. The fiery mane flared and its burning eyes sought for the source of their newfound courage.

Sur’kar was angered by the defiance of the men. He raised his hand and from his palm a bolt of emerald power raced forth. So intense was its heat that the very air was set ablaze. The stones of the comb cracked and large slabs of stone fell from overhead.

The Bolt of force struck the keep and was deflected back. With redoubled fury it drove into Sur’kar’s chest where it exploded in a deafening blast that shook the very mountain above them.

The ranks of Trolls and Morne were scattered. Bodies were set aflame and hurled high into the sky. Even the Ma’ul was tossed aside as if it were nothing more than a leaf in a windstorm.

Gaelan was momentarily blinded and a few men were thrown from the battlements to their deaths on the stone below. The mountain above them groaned in protest, the stone threatening to give way.

As the rumble faded the horn of the keep sounded once more, thin and feeble compared to the power of Sur’kar.

The Ma’ul recovered quickly, roaring in anger until the fires upon its back licked the stressed stone of the combs ceiling. Morne by the hundreds flared brightly, turning to ash in the intense heat thrown off by the demon.

The Ma’ul lowered its head and charged the great wall. The earth shook and more loosened rock fell from the ceiling.

The demon’s horns shattered the wall, broken stones flying high into the air. The force of the impact shaking men from their high perch, their screams dying as they joined their brethren on the blood stained cobbles below. The Ma’ul tore through the wall and into the bailey beyond.

Turning around the Ma’ul tore the gates from the towers base and strove to rip the keep down, stone by stone.

The Rock steamed and glowed white-hot where the Demon’s hands struck. Oozing pools of liquid stone flowed about the Ma’ul’s hooves. The fierce heat generated by its wrath killed men by the hundreds, their armor melting and any exposed skin bursting into flame.

Sur’kar climbed slowly to his feet, his resplendent armor destroyed, only a few half melted fragments clung to the blackened clothing he wore. With a voice ripe with power he summoned the beast back. He was tempted to allow his servant to sate its vengeance but he knew that the creature could very well bring the entire mountain down sealing off his passage to the east.

The Ma’ul reluctantly left the ruined tower and returned to Sur’kar’s side, the heat of its rage was so intense it melted the stone beneath its hooves.

Gaelan climbed to his feet, he was singed, and the skin of his right hand was bright red and beginning to blister. He shook his head and looked at the devastation in horror.

Timosh had been breached! The stalwart keep that had long warded his home was now little more than a smoking ruin. Two thirds of the structure lay strewn throughout the comb. Shattered masonry intermixed with the bodies of her fallen defenders. Only a small portion of the wall remained, a sad reminder of the strength this keep had once displayed.

On a hilltop a mile to the north four riders watched in stunned disbelief.

Connell drew his sword. “Now while confusion reigns!” He shouted. “Make for the keep!” He spurred his skittish mount forward. “Let nothing stop you, no matter what befalls us. Word must reach Gaelan of the quests failure.”

Spurring their mounts forward they galloped across the rough ground with reckless abandon. Leaping small fissures and ducking to avoid low branches they tore through the night.

The Army of Sur’kar was in complete chaos. Morne lay dead by the tens of thousands. Many more wounded cried out in the darkness as giants blinded by the brightness of the blast and driven mad in pain fell about themselves with their mighty cudgels.

The four warriors raced past wagons by the hundreds and into the heart of the devastation.

Connell’s heart sank as he could clearly see the damage done to the great keep. Several hundred years worth of arduous labor had been reduced to smoking ruin.

They rode through the scattered ranks, riding down any who failed to leap clear. Connell’s blade flashed in the scattered firelight, mowing Morne down as easily as a farmer reaping standing hay.