Child Of Storms (Volume 1) (25 page)

             
“Perhaps we eluded them,” Morag said.

             
“I don’t think so, lass,” Ironhelm said.

              Not five minutes later they heard a wolf’s howl behind them.

             
“That’s close,” Jorn said.

             
“Hurry along,” Rhydderch shouted.

             
They reached a broad, flat area next to a frozen stream on the right and a gentle rise on the left.

             
Nearly a dozen gigantic wolves emerged atop the rise. Some were white, others gray, others a mix of both. One hulking wolf stood out from the others with his jet-black fur broken only by a small patch of white on one leg. He had eyes brighter and redder than the others and was the largest of the entire group.

“This is it,” Ironhelm said. “Stand fast, laddies!”

The great black wolf growled at the approaching column, its lips curled back to reveal rows of long yellow teeth. It let out a terrible snarl and charged forward, the other wolves surging forward alongside their leader.

A dozen more wolves appeared on the far side of the stream only moments later, growling and barking as they ran across the ice and straight at the column.

              “Stay close together,” Rhydderch yelled. “Form a circle! A circle!”

             
The elf-warriors did their best to follow their lord’s advice, but the wolves were too quick to enter formations. Elf arrows cut down several, but many others were soon leaping up and biting at the horses. The horses reared and bucked, throwing more than one elf out of the saddle and onto the snow. If the elf was lucky, he leapt to his feet and drew his sword before any of the wolves were upon him. If not, the powerful jaws of the
uthin-nor
sought out the elf’s throat and clamped down.

             
Jorn drew his sword and slashed down at the wolf nearest him. His sword cut the creature’s snout deeply, and sent it cowering away. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, and he doubled forward in agony and almost fell off. Falanos reached out and steadied him with his hands, an elf-warrior moving in front of Jorn to shield him from further attack. Jorn cursed in pain and frustration.

             
“No, Jorn!” the elf healer told him firmly. “You may re-open the wound.”

Ironhelm, meanwhile, was bringing his axe down upon the wolves’ skulls with a dogged efficiency. He felled three wolves in rapid succession, turning and bringing his axe down onto a fourth wolf’s head. Ironhelm’s weapon brought forty pounds of dwarven steel down with a tremendous force upon the creature’s head, smashing through its skull with brutal ease.

              Morag surveyed the battle, taking hold of the wand Braemorgan had given her. She pointed it at the hulking black wolf with the glowing red eyes. With the utterance of a single magical word, a great jet of fire issued forth from the tip of the wand and struck the black wolf. The beast was suddenly consumed in flame. Not merely burned, the magical fire swallowed-up the wolf whole. She held it on him for several seconds, and then turned it towards two other wolves charging towards her. The charred remains of three wolves soon lay smoking in the snow, the smell of burnt fur and flesh filling the winter air.

             
Morag pointed the wand at another pair of wolves, the rest retreating in panicked fear of this woman with hair the color of fire who turned their leaders into smoking heaps of charred bones.

             
Elf-arrows cut down several more. The few surviving beasts retreated into the trees, scattering in all directions. Over a dozen other wolves lay dead in the red-stained snow along with several of the elves.

             
Jorn straightened up in his saddle, the waves of pain pulsing through his shoulder gradually subsiding.

             
“I’ll be fine,” he said, sheathing his sword with some effort. “Grang’s balls! That hurt like hell.”

             
“You must take more care,” Falanos said. “You’re lucky you didn’t tear your wound right open. Then what would we have done?”

             
“You’re just not ready to fight, laddie,” Ironhelm said. “You’d do well to heed my words.”

              Jorn nodded, looking around. He counted fourteen
uthin-nor
dead in all, to six of the elves and two more wounded. They’d won, but only at a terrible cost. The dead elves were wrapped in their cloaks and slung over the backs of their horses.  The surviving elves bowed their heads, uttering a solemn prayer for the fallen.

             
“That may not be the last of it,” Jorn said. “There could be more packs out there. It’s a good thing for that little stick of yours, Morag.”

             
“It is not all-powerful,” she said. “It cannot be used forever before its magic is gone. I wish I hadn’t had to use it so many times already.”

             
They rode off quickly, finding themselves out of the hills not ten minutes later. Everything seemed silent and peaceful as they crested the top of the last hill and looked out over the mercifully flat scene before them. Hardly more than ten miles south was the River Brugerwyn. Beyond was safety.

             
“I would have rather camped here until nightfall and crossed that land under cover of darkness, if given the choice” Rhydderch said. He turned back to the hills and sighed. “But if those
uthin-nor
come back at us in greater numbers, even Morag’s wand will not save us. We must ride on.”

             
They descended the hillside, crossing a small stream and finding a wider track before them. More signs of civilization began to appear, a few remote cottages and hardscrabble farms along the edge of the hills. It was a relief to see, but they were not in Llywarch yet.

_____

              The countryside south of the hills was dotted with tiny farms and pastures. Sheep, goats, and a few cows watched the column passing by, smoke wafting up from tiny stone farmhouses in the background. They saw few people, and then only at some distance from the road.

             
“These are wary folk who dwell in these parts,” Morag said to Jorn.

             
They soon passed through a stretch of dense woods and began to hear the distinctive sounds of marching men and shouts up ahead.

“It might be a raiding party,” one of the elves said.

“Get off the road. Quickly,” Rhydderch said.

Slipping off into the dense trees, they paused and waited. They could hear the noises of men marching and wagons rolling along a bumpy road. A few of the elves dismounted, creeping forward and listening carefully, but the sounds grew neither louder nor softer. Rather, the troops seemed to be moving left to right somewhere in front of them. 

              “There must be another road ahead,” Rhydderch said. “The road we have been following must intersect with it.”

             
“Let’s take a closer look,” Jorn said, starting to get off his horse.

             
“Young Thane Ravenbane, please,” Rhydderch said. “You are not yet recovered.”

             
“Grang’s feet! I’m as good a scout as any elf in your service,” Jorn said, grimacing in pain and pausing. “Falanos, help me off this horse.”

             
The healer glanced at Rhydderch, not certain of what to do. Rhydderch nodded, and Falanos helped Jorn to the ground.

             
“There’s nothing at all wrong with my legs,” he said, walking forward toward the noise.

             
“Ach! Laddie, you’re a damned fool,” Ironhelm exclaimed, leaping from his pony and hurrying after him. “I’ll be damned if I’ll have to explain to Braemorgan why I let you wander off and get yourself killed. Aye, tis true.”

             
Rhydderch looked annoyed.

“Go with them, both of you,” he said to Falanos and another elf. They dismounted, rushing to catch up to Jorn and Ironhelm.

              The little scouting party made its way through the trees for a hundred yards before finally spying the main road up ahead. It ran at almost a right angle to the road they had been traveling on, just as expected.

             
“They’re moving towards the coast,” Jorn whispered, crouching down. “Out of The Westmark.”

             
“Are they Einar’s men?” Ironhelm said.

             
“I can’t tell,” Jorn said, creeping forward past several more trees. He crouched down low, peering carefully at the road. “Grang’s teeth! Those are Ardabur’s men!”

             
“Ach! It can’t be, laddie.”

             
“Look at their shields, the yellow-and-black.”

             
Ironhelm peered carefully through the trees. He frowned, standing up and taking a few strides forward.

             
“Those are Ardabur’s fighters. Aye, tis true,” he said. He turned back to the elves. “Let Lord Rhydderch know.”

             
As one of the elves hurried off as told, Ironhelm and Jorn moved even closer to the road. Men and horses kept marching by in a seemingly unending stream and took no notice of them.

             
“He’s retreating,” Jorn said.

Jorn strode forward, Ironhelm behind him, stepping out of the trees onto the side of the road. A long line of horsemen and infantry were plodding along. They looked exhausted and half-frozen, their shoulders stooped and their faces blank and worn. A look of defeat weighed heavily on them and they took little notice of Jorn and Ironhelm. They merely staggered by, beaten men longing only for home.  

              Several mounted warriors came into view along the road riding amidst the retreating column. Jorn recognized the burly man with the black beard and the perpetual scowl on his face who rode at the center of them, a rider by his side bearing the familiar black-and-yellow banner fluttering in the winter breeze.

             
“Thane Ardabur!” Jorn shouted. “What news?”

             
Ardabur looked over, a sudden shocked look upon his face. He looked tired, and filthy. His armor was covered in mud and his tunic was stained with blood.

             
“Thane Ravenbane,” Ardabur said, bringing his horse to a halt. “What manner of wizardry brings you here?”

             
“We have traveled south through the hills,” Jorn said. “We are bound for Llywarch. Where I can recover from my wounds.”

             
“From what I’ve heard, you were near death not more than a week ago,” Ardabur said.

             
“Too near,” Jorn said. He gestured towards the lines of troops. “What is all this? From what
I
heard, you were holding the line north of here.”

             
“We cannot hold our position any longer,” Ardabur said matter-of-factly. “Einar simply has too many troops. He’s attacked us day and night, wave after wave of gruks and berserkers endlessly coming at us. He’s sent wizards and those damned giants against us. Then there are those demon birds! I ordered a pull-out back to my own lands. Perhaps Einar will leave us be there, for a time.”

             
“Aye,” Ironhelm said slowly. “You’d no choice, laddie.”

             
Ardabur scowled, glancing at the dwarf and started to say something.

             
“Braemorgan is leading an attack on Einar to the north to take the pressure off your lines,” Jorn said before Ardabur could speak. “It was set for this morning.”

             
“He’s too late,” Ardabur said.

             
“Then Braemorgan’s attack was all in vain, however he fared,” Jorn said. He felt sick to his stomach.

             
“
Everything
was in vain,” Ardabur said, shaking his head. “Farewell. The road to Llywarch is still safe, but that will not be the case in an hour.”

             
Ardabur kicked his spurs into the sides of his massive black horse and rode off.

______

             
It was nearing dusk when they reached the shores of the Brugerwyn. A hundred miles closer to the sea than at Loc Goren, the river was much wider here and was not icebound. Dozens of elf archers in white cloaks emerged from the reeds growing along the riverbank, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. Rhydderch saluted them, dismounting. One of the elves shot a single flaming arrow high into the darkening sky.

Not five minutes later, a long, thin ship with twenty elf oarsmen on either side of a narrow open deck approached from across the waters.  Both the bow and the stern of the boat were turned upwards in graceful curves and there was a small enclosed area at the stern. A strikingly beautiful woman, the first elf woman Jorn had ever seen, stood in the center of the boat, flanked by two elves in gleaming silver armor bearing long spears. She wore a long cloak of the purest and brightest white fur imaginable. Underneath were gleaming robes of silvery-white.