“Styx! Jex! To me! I need you!”
Styx rolled from the snow, and came up fighting. Jex staggered from the building with a sword-wound to his upper arm, face grim, and lifting his blade he leapt into battle. At the doorway appeared Nienna, face drawn grey in fear, her short-sword clasped in one hand, the blade edged with Jex’s blood. With a gasp, she turned and ran back to check on Kat…
Almost unconsciously, Kell, Saark, Myriam, Jex and Styx formed a fighting unit, a battle square upon which the albinos hurled themselves. Swords and Kell’s axe rose and fell, and they covered one another’s backs, pushing forward deeper into the forest as the albinos swarmed at them, and were cut down with a savagery not just of desperation, but born from a need to live.
Eight albinos lay dead, and the rest backed away a little, then split without word, six men moving off to each side for an attack against both flanks.
“Kell, what the hell’s going on?” snarled Saark.
“Long story,” growled Kell. “I’ll tell you when we’ve killed these bastards.”
“When?”
“Listen, just don’t trust this bunch of cut-throats!”
“I already discovered that,” snarled Saark. “Styx killed Katrina.”
“What?”
In eerie silence the albinos attacked, and again the clearing was filled with steel on steel. Then a sword-blow cleaved Styx’s clavicle with a crunch, and shower of blood. Styx drew out a short knife, and rammed it into the albino’s belly, just under the edge of his black breast-plate. He pushed again, harder, and the albino slumped forward onto him. Myriam broke from the group, whirling and dancing, dazzlingly fast as she took up a second sword from a fallen soldier and leapt amongst the men, blades clashing and whirring, then in quick succession killing three albino soldiers who hit the ground in a burst. Saark killed two, and Kell waded into the remaining group with a roar that shook the forest, Ilanna slamming left, then right, a glittering figure of eight which impacted with jarring force leaving body-parts littering the clearing. Kell ducked a sword-strike, front kicked the soldier who stumbled, falling back onto his rump. Kell’s axe glittered high, and came down as if chopping a log to cut the albino soldier straight through, from the crown of his head down to his arsehole. His body split in two, peeling away like parted sides of pork revealing brain and skull and fat and meat, and a slither of departing internal organs and bowel. A stench filled the clearing, and Kell turned, face a bloody mask, chest heaving, rage rampant in his eyes and frame. He realised the soldiers were all dead, and he lifted his axe, staring hard at Myriam. Styx sat on the floor, nursing his injured shoulder as Jex tried to stem the flow of blood. Nienna ran out from the barracks, crying, and fell into Kell despite his coating of gore.
“Styx killed Katrina!” she wailed, then looked up into her grandfather’s eyes. “Kill him, please, for me,” she turned and pointed at Styx and wailed, “Kill him! Kill him now!”
Kell nodded, pushed Nienna aside, and started forward hefting his axe. Myriam leapt between them, head high, eyes bright, and she lifted a hand. “Wait. To kill him, you must go through me. And if you do that, you’ll never find the antidote.”
“A chance I’m willing to take,” growled Kell. “Move, or I’ll cut you in half.”
“Nienna has also been poisoned.”
Kell stopped, then, and his head lowered. When he lifted his face, his eyes were dark pools of evil in a face so contorted with rage it was inhuman; a writhing demon. Myriam took a step back.
Kell turned to Nienna. “Did he stick a needle in you?”
Nienna nodded, pointing at Jex. “That’s why I was able to hit him. With my sword. He was too busy playing with his little brass dagger…his needle? What have they done to me?”
“They’ve poisoned us,” snarled Kell.
“But there’s an antidote?” said Saark.
“Yes. To the north. If I take this whore to the Black Pike Mountains. She wishes,” he gave a nasty grin, “to explore the vachine technology. She wishes to live.”
Saark stood alongside Kell, and Nienna. “We should kill them now. We will find this antidote.”
“You do not have time,” said Myriam, voice soft. “It takes between two and three weeks for the poison to kill. It would be more than that to sail across the Great Salarl.” She transferred her gaze to Nienna, and gave a narrow, cruel smile. Without looking at Kell, she said, “I understand your willingness to condemn yourself, old man. But what of this sweet child? So young, pretty, and with so much to look forward to. So much to live for.”
“We need to warn Leanoric,” said Saark, hand on Kell’s arm.
Kell felt himself fold, internally; but outside he kept his iron glare, and turned to Nienna. “Do you understand what is happening?”
Nienna nodded, and wiped away her tears. “I understand there are many evil people in the world,” she said, voice little more than a whisper. “But we must warn King Leanoric that the enemy approach. Or thousands more will die!”
Kell nodded, glancing at Myriam. “You hear that, bitch? I will take you to the mountains. But first, we ride south.”
“You would gamble with your life? And that of the girl?” Myriam looked aghast, and she shook her head, staring down at Styx and Jex. Styx had his shoulder bound tight, and stood, flexing the limb.
Kell scowled at him. “Know this, Blacklipper. When we are done, I will come looking for you.”
“I will be waiting,” said Styx.
Ilanna beat a tattoo of warning in Kell’s mind, and he gazed off between the trees. “I think there are more,” he said, voice low. “We need to get the horses. We need to ride south now.”
Saark and Jex went for the mounts, as snow tumbled from bleak dark skies above the edges of Vorgeth Forest. Within a few minutes they had mounted, Nienna behind Saark, and as the forest whispered with ancient leaves and branches and needles, so more platoons of albino soldiers, drawn by distant sounds of battle, emerged warily from the foliage. There were two platoons-forty soldiers, and their cautious advance turned swiftly into a run with weapons drawn as they spotted fallen comrades…
“Ride!” shouted Saark, and his horse reared. Myriam led the way, thundering out of the clearing down a narrow dark path, her sword in her fist, head lowered over her mount. The rest of the group followed, with Jex bringing up the rear firing bolts from his Widowmaker with metallic winding thumps, and smashing several soldiers from their feet.
Then they were gone, lost to the sinister forest.
King Leanoric calmed his horse, a magnificent eighteen-hand stallion, and peered off through the gloom. A curious mist had risen, giving the moorland plateau a curious, cut-off feeling, a sidestep from reality, a different level of existence.
He had left his personal guard behind, a mile hence, aware that the Graverobber would never agree to meet him with soldiers present. The Graverobber was a fickle creature at the best of times, but add in a heady mix of weapons, armour and soldierly sarcasm…well, claws were ejected and the Graverobber would begin to kill without question.
Leanoric walked over springy heather, and stopped by the towering circle of stones. Le’annath Moorkelth, they were called in the Old Tongue. Or simply the Passing Place in every contemporary Falanor lexicon. Whatever the origins of the stones, it was said they were over ten thousand years old, and evidence of an earlier race wiped from existence by an angry god. Leanoric peered into the space between the stones, where the Graverobber dwelled, and again felt that curious sensation of light-headedness, as if colours were twisting into something…else. Leanoric rubbed his beard, then stepped into the circle and heard a hiss, a growl, and the patter of fast footfalls on heather…