BlackThorn's Doom (4 page)

“What by the gods was that?” Jerudan asked watching as a large fire burned amid the Morne host.

“That was Sur’kar eliminating the competition for his chosen commander.” King Wolhan guessed.

“We have been fortunate that he has not used that kind of power against us.” Jerudan mused. “A few blasts and he could level these walls.”

“Something has stayed their hand.” Gaelan suggested. “They learned a harsh lesson during their first attack. I believe Timosh is warded, by what I do not know, but I am grateful for it.”

King Wolhan nodded remembering the burning fog that wreaked such havoc among the Morne. “Pray that it holds.”

Chapter Three

Casius awoke with a start, glancing about he remembered that they had taken shelter in a hidden cave known only to Yoladt and the warriors of his Seh’ja. Sitting upright he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His dreams had been vivid and dire.

Unlike most dreams, these terrible visions of death and destruction remained fresh in his memory. He shuddered at the imagery of a sky turned to fire. Watching helplessly as people died by the millions, as the very ground beneath their feet wrenched open spewing fire and ash.

Mountains sank into the earth and the seas emptied out onto the land. The lush forest of the world vanished as if a great hand had simply brushed them aside.

In the dream he had stood upon a blackened hillside, high above a plain choked with the bodies of countless men. Their clothing smoking beneath suits of armor that glowed a dull fiery orange from the heat.

He looked at their contorted faces and did not recognize them. Their mouths gaped in agony on faces made horrific by fire-blackened flesh.

Their ruptured eyes gaped at him, accusing him of the crime of living. From the south survivors staggered into view and followed him westward as he forced his broken body across the desolation.

He shook his head forcing the dream aside and returning to the present. The others within the shelter were stirring and would awaken soon. All but Suni who was alert and standing near the tunnel mouth leading to the chasm that Yoladt had warned them about.

“Your sleep was troubled.” He stated flatly.

Casius stood stretching his muscles. “That would be an understatement.” He said after taking a drink of cool water. “I’m surprised I did not scream out loud, never have I dreamt of such horrors.”

“What visions disturbed your slumber?” Marcos asked sitting upright.

“I saw the world being destroyed.” Casius answered. “The sky on fire, mountains laid waste and new ones being violently thrust upward from the smoking ruins of the plain.

“The worst thing of all was the overpowering stench of burnt flesh. The bodies of thousands of warriors lay burnt and broken all about me.”

Marcos nodded sadly. “You saw that which Thoron’Gil beheld on that fateful day. The blade is a potent artifact and some of his most vivid memories may lay within it.” Marcos closed his eyes recalling that dreadful day. “The creators hammer wreaked much havoc, for centuries the air reeked of death and decay long after the bodies had returned to the earth.”

“I wonder what other horrors this sword will reveal to me?” Casius laid his hand upon the dark hilt. “I hope that was the worst of it.”

“There are none that could compare to that day.” Marcos opened his eyes. “Do not concern yourself Casius, the blade is attuning itself to you.” Marcos looked to the center of the chamber where the Mahjie were preparing a meal.

Sniffing the air he smiled. “They are preparing a meal for us to break our fast.” He took Casius by the arm and steered him towards the food. “Let us eat now, it may be many long days ere we eat a hot meal again.”

It was a frugal affair consisting of hot bread and thick gravy with bits of roasted goat. Each man was hungry and soon the pot was empty.

The cave was quickly put into order and the Mahjie led them out the hidden entry and back into the bitter teeth of wind. Yoladt came last ensuring the door was once more concealed.

The sky was sullen, cloud laden and gray. The sharp wind cut through their cloaks and chilled them to the bone.

By the time they reached the foothills a heavy snow had begun to fall. The large wet flakes clung to their shoulders adding to the discomfort they were feeling.

The Mahjie led them northward, away from the path the party had originally taken during their quest. They pushed hard during the day covering many miles. Before nightfall they made camp within the scant shelter provided by a low ridge of stone.

Secure from the worst of the wind they slept soundly. The labor of the day’s trek having taken its toll on them all.

The following morning the sun rose over a landscape covered beneath a thin blanket of snow. Heavy clouds hid the fiery orb from view.

Hard packed earth and naked stone protruded from the glistening snow, blemishes upon the plain. The rocks were small no larger than a man’s head. From horizon to horizon nothing grew. The sterile land made the southern plain appear to be an oasis in contrast. “This is no good, we would be easily spotted.” Connell remarked not liking the path before them.

“The Northern wilds are not frequently traveled.” The Mahjie warrior answered. “Even the Morne shun the place. It is a cursed land where nothing grows. There will be no one to see us pass.”

“How long to cross?” Casius asked.

“Three days until we reach more hospitable lands, where there will be water.” Yoladt answered. “Once there we will travel by night and hope to remain undiscovered.”

“I pray that your luck is better than mine.” Casius mumbled following the Mahjie’s lead out onto the barren ground.

In three days the pace set by Yoladt covered many long tedious miles. The land was well suited for travel with little to impede their progress. At sunrise on the fourth day they sighted a line of low hills laying to the southeast upon the horizon.

Yoladt pointed to the faint hills. “There lies the boundary of this land.” He said. “Once we pass those hills we will be in more hospitable regions. Where the Morne do tread.”

Casius shifted his pack seeking some relief for his raw shoulders. At his feet he noticed one of the strange black rocks that littered the ground. It appeared half melted, the dark mass having flowed around a large sun bleached mollusk shell.

“Odd.” He commented prodding at the shell with the toe of his boot.

Marcos came to his side and looked at what had drawn his interest. “Long ago this was once a shallow sea, a place of calm waters and fair shores. These dark stones are the remains of Trothgar, Sur’kar’s mountain that lay within the heart of Tarok nor.

“Blasted high into the sky by the hammer they came to rest here, in a sea whose waters were boiled away by the cataclysm.

“The lingering filth of Sur’kar’s power still lies within them. They have poisoned this land, and as the sea retreated nothing has taken root.” He turned looking to the line of hills. “There stands the ancient shoreline, a pale reminder of the paradise this once was.”

“Then this land shall forever remain desolate?” Connell asked.

“No,” Marcos replied. “The ill wrought in this stone weakens. Many centuries must pass but this ground will yet again bear fruit.”

“We are to near the hills to remain in the open.” Yoladt warned. “Let us seek the safety of their shadow, then we can talk at length.”

Without waiting for a reply he set off to the southeast at a brisk jog.

They reached the hills in a few hours time. They were low and badly eroded by wind and time. Tufts of stubborn grass sparsely covered their crowns, the yellowed blades poking through the thin crust of snow.

Yoladt led them into a shallow depression, it was cramped but they were all free of the growing wind. They made themselves as comfortable as possible and gathered what sleep they could before the coming of nightfall.

The hours crept past slowly, above them the cloudy sky darkened until Yoladt was satisfied. He led them through the hills and out onto the arid plain, the familiar flat lands of the Morne.

They entered a thin wood of tangled brush and thorn bearing trees. The twisted branches made their progress unbearably slow. Aided by Marcos’s superb night vision they were able to avoid the densest patches.

For two miserable days they plodded eastward in the woods shelter. At its edge they made camp for the day, not a man among them was free of the punctures and scratches left by the long thorns.

The coming daylight showed the way ahead to be easier going. The trees dotted the land in thick groves that could be easily avoided and yet offered cover should the need arise.

For seven days they traveled in this fashion, keeping to the open during the darkest hours and camping within the trees at daybreak.

They encountered very little in the way of wildlife. Owls and rodents could be seen on occasion, but the most plentiful inhabitants were insects. Large beastly things spawned from a child’s worst nightmare.

Casius awoke one afternoon to find a spider the size of a house cat crawling across his chest. He swatted the insect from him and sliced it cleanly in two with his blade.

His sudden action awakened Yoladt and the Mahjie laughed. “The Morne find them to be a delicacy if cooked properly.”

Casius cringed at the thought of actually eating such a thing. “I would rather starve.” He said softly, not wanting to disturb the others.

Yoladt chuckled, “I would have never thought of that.” He yawned and lay his head down upon his pack. “Keep a sharp eye out Casius.” He said closing his eyes. “I don’t like spiders.”

Casius walked around the campsite, probing the brush with his sword. He sought out any insects that may be lurking within the shadows. After two complete circuits about the camp he sheathed his blade satisfied that nothing lingered near the sleeping men.

Suni made himself known after his task was completed. The shared the watch until the sun touched the horizon, and the sky turned a deep purple color.

The travelers stirred from their slumber as the temperature dropped. They ate a hastily prepared meal in silence. Each man dreading the prospect of another long nights march.

Eight more nights pass; even the stoic Suni was showing signs of weariness. Worn and haggard with only a small amount of food and water remaining they spent the day within the ruins of a long forgotten tower.

The tower had been constructed upon an outcropping of dark stone giving it a commanding view of the surrounding countryside.

They stood outside its walls and watched in silence as the sun rose. It’s golden light revealing a flat featureless plain broken only by thick patches of yellowed grass. In the distance above the dismal landscape rose the jagged slopes of the black mountains.

The Vurgwall, an imposing ring of volcanic stone that formed a barrier between the outside world and the horrors that lay within Tarok-nor.

The dark razor sharp stone glistened with the reflected light from a veritable firestorm that raged in the clouds just behind their crests.

That afternoon the sky darkened until it appeared as if nightfall had come early. A wall of black clouds driven by a fierce wind roared in from the north. Freezing rain heralded its arrival, forcing them to seek the meager shelter of the open roofed tower.

Helpless against the storms fury they sat with their backs to the northern wall. Striving against the cold and rain, seeking to preserve whatever warmth remained within them.

The storm raged throughout the day and long into the night without abating. In the early morning hours the winds lessoned and the rain ceased altogether. A deep bitter cold gripped the land growing worse as the hours passed.

Thick sheets of ice covered the lichen-etched masonry. Strange hoary figures shaped of ice and snow hanging nearly to the ground.

Casius shivered as he tried to break the ice from his cloak. He had faced many cold winters in his life, but never had he dreamed of such cold being possible. “We must have a fire,” He said cracking the skin of his lips with his speech. “Or our quest ends here.”

“There is nothing to burn.” Yoladt said through chattering teeth. “If there was any wood to be had it would be to wet to set afire.”

Connell beat the ice from his shoulders. “This was no natural storm.”

“The Vurgwall is well guarded.” Yoladt answered. “I had hoped we could avoid such a tempest, but they are known to happen upon occasion.

“We must go back and seek its edge.” He said climbing to his feet slowly. “Fortunately they are small in size and we will find warmer surroundings perhaps a days march west of here.”

Marcos looked upon his companions, he too felt the bite of the cold but unlike the men his life was not at risk. He doubted they would be able to walk far, and to step beyond the meager shelter the tower provided would be a death sentence to more than one of them.

He piled loose stones on the towers floor. Mumbling softly to himself his ring flared dimly in the darkness, a faint whisper of light that flickered in and out of view. Within moments the rocks cracked and groaned, glowing a dull orange as they heated from within. The heat they cast set the party into motion. The men gathered about the rocks their cloaks steaming as the life giving warmth infused them.

The Mahjie sat in awe, they knew Marcos was one of the legendary old ones and now he had just proved himself in one small act of power.

“We are too close to Sur’kar’s seat of power for such a thing to go unnoticed.” Suni said disapproving of Marcos’s actions. “Could he not have sensed this?” He indicated the glowing stones with a wave of his hand.