BlackThorn's Doom (19 page)

That afternoon two of the scouts returned, the darkness had continued to move throughout the night and although they had gained some ground it was yet a day ahead of them.

In the gloom of sunset the final tower appeared before them. Re’lith was a ruin as well. The walls fire blackened and collapsed. Beyond it they could see a faint darkening on the horizon that was the highest peaks of the Rahlcrag Mountains.

“Some thirty or less miles to the comb, where in lies Timosh.” Burcott told the two commanders as they stood about the crude map he had drawn in the deepening snow.

“By sunset tomorrow we will be able to see with our own eyes this army of Sur’kar’s. Once I have looked upon it then we can consider our options for attack.”

They were discussing strategies when two Taur Di rode into the camp. From the way their mounts held their heads Burcott could tell it had been a long hard ride.

“The Tree Killers have defiled this wood.” The scout said in his own language, pausing to allow Jehnom to translate. “A broad swath of trees have been felled, their lumber used to construct something. Whatever they had built left deep gouges in the earth. It followed a freshly cut path arrow straight to the mountains.

“Then let us change the tune.” The Nomad king suggested. “The drums of the Ahmed have been rarely heard beyond our lands. When the time comes the drums of war will sound and the very roots of the Mountains will quake and the Morne will learn the meaning of fear.”

The snow ceased to fall and the temperature continued to drop. Until the air burned their lungs with every breath they took.

From the north a stiff wind rose, blowing the snow into great drifts about the trees threatening to bury the entire campsite before sunrise.

That night fourteen men perished in the cold. Two Taur Di, and the rest were Nomads from the deep desert.

Burcott was upset, he wanted to get moving but he would not begrudge the men the right to honor their dead as their customs demanded. He only asked that such services be kept short.

Two hours past sunrise the somber army moved on leaving behind a large cairn of stone and two enshrouded forms lashed to branches above the roadway.

The day passed slowly, the men’s senses straining for any sign of the enemy. They had come far, drawing close enough now that encountering a wandering patrol was a very real possibility.

By nightfall they could make out the comb that sheltered the keep beneath, a yawning opening in the dark stone of the mountain.

They made their camp within the shelter of a deep ravine to the south, far enough away to avoid the pickets about Sur’kar’s forces.

Burcott stood within the deep shadows of a twisted oak looking out upon his foes. The fires of the enemy spread out over the hilltops. Tens of thousands in number they formed a vast crescent a mile wide at its thickest the glittering horns surrounding the comb.

Burcott leaned against the tree; he was at a loss for words. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined such a force of arms.

Jehnom stood at his side studying the vast encampment. “They are many.” He said, stating the obvious without emotion.

The young Sahri Kahlamm could only nod in agreement. All his youthful bravado had fled when he espied the sheer number of Morne. “How can we hope to prevail?” He muttered. “They number more than all of the people of my lands. We would be nothing more than a biting fly on a bulls backside should we attack.”

“We will find a way.” Burcott said with false confidence. “Maybe by daylight we will discover a weakness to turn to our advantage.”

From within the comb came the call of a mighty horn, the deep note reverberating from the nearby mountains like a thunderclap.

“The horn of the keep!” Burcott said his heart buoyed upward by the blast. “Gaelan defies them yet!”

As the note faded a brilliant flash of emerald light burst forth from comb. As bright as the rising sun it blinded the men, forcing them to turn their heads and cover their eyes.

A tremendous roar shattered the night air and the earth bucked violently throwing them to the ground. A blast of hot air rushed outward melting the snow and leaving the men gasping for breath.

“By the gods!” Burcott exclaimed rubbing his eyes.

The men in the camp lay flat against the ground their eyes wide with fear. Something dire had occurred and the sheer power it displayed crushed their discipline and any hopes they may have had of prevailing.

The deer and horses bucked violently pulling at their tethers, seeking to flee in their terror.

Burcott knew he had to act quickly to keep the men from bolting as the animals wished to do. “See to your mounts!” He shouted to the men. He stormed through the camp pulling any within reach to their feet.

The men rushed to do his bidding their training taking hold and suppressing their fear.

Looking back at the enemy camp Burcott could see that many of the fires were extinguished, the whole of the crescents center now lay in darkness.

“The power of the dark god.” Jehnom said softly. “Nothing could have withstood it.”

From the darkness sounded the horn once more, its call defiant and bold. The men about Burcott smiled knowing the keep yet stood.

Chapter Seventeen

Gaelan rushed out onto the battlements. It took only a brief moment for him to see what it was that had alarmed the sentries so.

Beyond the comb the sky was growing darker, a wall of midnight black was slowly encroaching from the west. Its edges were well defined and a fetid reek blew out from it.

It flowed smoothly over the enemy camp and came to a standstill just shy of the combs entrance. Power flowed from it and a chilling sense of doom settled over the keep. Even the warriors deep within the stone stopped what they were doing and shivered in fear.

“What could that be?” Jerudan asked.

Gaelan shook his head. “I am not sure, but I believe Sur’kar himself has arrived.”

The enemy beyond the walls retreated into the darkness and a deep silence settled over the land. Gaelan remained on the wall for several hours waiting for the hammer to fall.

Gaelan arched an eyebrow and exhaled loudly. “Your right, I set no easy task before him ere I left.” He rubbed his weary eyes. “If Sur’kar has come here then we must assume that Connell has failed and all is lost.”

Jerudan stood silent; Gaelan had voiced the very fear that he harbored in his heart.

“With that failure we cannot hope to win.” Gaelan spoke his voice bordering on despair. “We will not last another week as it is.”

Jerudan’s face reddened in anger. “Then do we just slit our own throats or throw open the gates?” He asked fairly shouting the words. “The men of Ril’Gambor will not just lie down and die. If Sur’kar desires our defeat, then let him come and pay the price.”

Jerudan’s outburst strengthened Gaelan’s resolve. He gripped the warrior’s shoulder.

“Then we will stand?” Jerudan asked.

“Aye,” Gaelan answered. “If not here, then we will go elsewhere. Unto the very ends of the earth, as long as one of us remains his victory will never be secure.”

Gaelan looked out along the walls. “If only we had more men.” He said.

“Behind these walls one man is worth twenty.” Jerudan replied.

“Against these numbers they need to be worth two hundred. Everyday that passes saps at our strength, all the while the Morne grow stronger.” Gaelan corrected. “Of all our warriors there is scarcely a single one who does not bear some sort of wound.”

They stood upon the ramparts throughout the day and as the sun set the darkness beyond the comb faded and the fires of the enemy came slowly into view.

The camp was vacant, the Morne stood in orderly ranks behind a force of several hundred Ice Trolls, their feral eyes glittering brightly in the gloom.

The black armored warrior stood before the body of King Wolhan. In his hands a massive sword reflected the firelight.

The call to arms went out and within minutes the entire keep manned the walls their eyes showing a grim resolve as they awaited to see what this night would bring.

The enemy ranks parted and a dark shadow slipped through the opening. Behind it came a creature that stole the breath from the defenders. A flaming demon of legend strode forward the fires along its back flaring as it roared in challenge. The Ma’ul sent waves of fear into the hearts of the men seeking to drive them off the wall.

“Men of the east!” Gaelan shouted, even though his own heart threatened to betray him. “Stand firm, for your country and those whom you love. If we falter they are doomed!”

The Ma’ul roared once more and terror tore at their hearts. Men dropped their weapons and a handful cast themselves from the wall to their death on the ground below.

Then from within the tower the great horn sounded. Its deep call shattering the Ma’ul’s power and filling the men with renewed hope and courage. Long did the call echo within the comb, heartening the men and casting doubt into the Morne.

The Figure before the Ma’ul strode forth, he was tall and thin dressed in armor of crimson and black. He walked with authority his back straight and his head held high.

The Morne at his side looked away from his cruel eyes. Their God had come and woe to any who opposed his will.

His jade like eyes burned with malice and power. They swept the battlements with disdain and pure hatred. His hair was snow white and kept from his eyes by a circlet of gold encrusted with rubies of deepest red. Pure hatred radiated from him, cold and calculating. His capacity for evil was staggering to behold.

He stopped a few feet from his army well within bowshot from the keep, as if daring any man to be foolish enough to try and shoot him. Although more than a few arrows were knocked none were released. He smiled cruelly and rested his hand upon the hilt of a silver and bronze sword that he wore.

On his right hand a dark ring pulsed with power, writhing and twisting about his finger as if it were alive. It was unsettling and Gaelan found it difficult to look upon for very long.

Gaelan met his gaze and his heart nearly froze in his chest. He knew that below him stood the immortal evil that had nearly destroyed the world so long ago. The doom of man had come, with the forces of hell at his back.

Behind him the Ma’ul roared in challenge, causing the men upon the battlements to cry out in fear. Sur’kar smiled and motioned for the beast to be silent.

Chapter Eighteen

Casius awakened after several hours and brushed off a layer of newly fallen snow. He stretched his sore limbs and surveyed his surroundings. He stood on the boundary of a snow covered plain and the low rocky hills that led north easterly to his goal, the fabled keep of Timosh.

He exhaled loudly and watched as the thin vapors of his breath coiled about in the freezing air. He was cold, but not uncomfortably so. Stomping the worst of the dried mud from his feet he began the long trek northward into the sparse woodland of twisted trees.

He walked for hours and as the sun began to set he took shelter beneath the boughs of a squat fir tree. He slept in short naps, awakened by horrific visions and the growing pangs of hunger.

He finally gave up on sleep shortly before dawn. His stomach rumbled loudly and his throat felt as if it was on fire. He began his trek in the darkness before dawn.

Up the gentle slope of the land he wandered. The landscape about him deathly still, only the sound of the sighing wind accompanied him on his journey.

Hours passed slowly and the day wore on. Shortly after midday he could not go another step. He lay down in a low depression on a windswept hillside and fell fast asleep.

A deep gnawing pain tore at his stomach and he awoke with a start. The sun had set and the sky above was a deep indigo ablaze with a million stars.

He slaked his thirst with a handful of snow, He knew it was freezing but he felt only the slightest of chills. He was lightheaded and knew that if he did not find sustenance soon he would die.

He walked throughout the night; lost in his thoughts of food he nearly missed the faint glow of a fire reflecting from a nearby hillside.

Heavy clouds had moved in from the west casting the land about him in almost total darkness. His eyes failed him and the strange ability he had had in the marsh abandoned him.

Moving with caution he drew towards the fire where faint voices began to reach his ears, inhuman voices that chilled his blood.

Hunger drove him forward and he crept closer until he sat huddled in the deepest shadows beneath a weathered old tree.

A large wagon sat upon a freshly cut trail. One of its wheels lay upon the ground broken, several of the crude spokes shattered. Tied nearby stood two large horses each as black as midnight, one of the mounts tossed its head and snorted loudly as it caught his scent.

Sitting near a small sputtering fire sat two Morne. They were wrapped in their cloaks sipping from bowls of steaming stew. With the horses snort both of them looked up and scanned the trees about them.