Child Of Storms (Volume 1) (51 page)

             
Reaching the road, he stepped out onto the cracked and rutted concrete. Looking in both directions, he saw nothing but moonlit darkness. The road looked clear for the time being, at least. Looking back over his shoulder toward the woods, he signaled to the others with a simple bird call. A few moments later they emerged from the woods and crossed the road hurriedly, slipping across and back down the steep slope, the only sound the slow clip-clop of their horses.

In the darkness it was difficult to find a path towards the valley floor, but they managed to work their way through the trees some distance down from the road. Progress was slow, but after an hour they paused for a rest in a small clearing. They ate a quiet meal of salt pork, stale bread, and a few gulps of ale. Gazing back up the dark slope, there was no way to judge how far below the road they were. Willock guessed it was nearly a half mile.

              “Ach,” Ironhelm grumbled. “We’re still too close to the road. An army’s sure to have advance scouts at least that far on out on its flanks.”

             
“We’ve still a ways to travel tonight,” Willock said.

             
On they went, winding their way down the slope. More than once, the ground dipped sharply down and was too steep for the horses to traverse safely. Ithlon rose higher in the night sky as the hours passed, reaching its zenith directly overhead and bathing everything in a silvery light that helped them find their way along the dark path.

_____

             
Ironhelm muttered to himself under his breath. He was working his way through rough terrain in darkness, enemies everywhere around him. How many times during the course of his life had he found himself in this exact same situation, he wondered. He’d decided he was far too old for this sort of thing, then heard the faint barking of a dog from somewhere in the darkness in front of them.

             
“Oh, my! Was that a wolf?” Flatfoot whispered.

             
“Stay alert,” Jorn said, drawing his sword.

             
They kept moving forward, the ground finally sloping down now at a gentler angle as they neared the bottom of the valley. On these milder slopes they were at last able to move nearly straight down, riding at a swifter pace than before.

             
“We must be near the marshes,” Willock said.

             
Again there was a faint sound of barking, this time from what sounded like multiple animals from somewhere to their left.

             
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ailric said.

             
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Jorn said, watching the darkness where the barks were coming from.

They continued down the mountainside. Ironhelm paused, axe in hand. He gazed back up the slope behind them.

              “What do you see?” Jorn asked.

             
Ironhelm frowned.

“Just trees, laddie,” he said, squinting at the darkness. “Wait! Aye, something’s out there.”

              All along the mountainside behind them, the distant light of torches began to appear. At first, there were only a few but in mere moments dozens more appeared until the whole mountainside behind them was one long line of torchlight.

             
“Ach! They’re upon us, laddies!” Ironhelm gasped. “Ride, straight down to the marshes!”

             
“Wait!” Jorn said. “What’s that noise?”

             
Ironhelm noticed the sound a moment later. Something was moving towards them very quickly, a rapid rustling sound through the brush. Jorn caught sight of something with four-legs and a pair of glowing orange eyes emerging from the trees thirty feet above him.

             
“There!” Jorn shouted.

             
Willock fired an arrow into the furry mass, but it hardy seemed to slow it down at all. It charged at Jorn, leaping up at his horse. Jorn brought his sword down upon the skull of the
uthin-nor
and the creature fell to the ground with hardly a yelp. Even as Jorn slew the beast, more
uthin-nor
emerged from the trees. They charged, their glowing orange eyes shining in the darkness. Jorn heard Ronias behind him begin casting one of his spells.

             
The night was suddenly lit up by five bright streams of purple-colored sparks shooting forth from Ronias’ fingertips as the spell burst forth. The streams leapt up into the air all the way to the tops of the trees, bathing the forest in a strange purple light before curling back downwards. Each of the streams struck a charging wolf right in the snout. The spell stopped them all in their tracks, the animals writhing on the ground in confused torment.

             
“That will hold them for now!” Ronias shouted. “Make haste!”

They turned and charged down the slope, doing their best in the darkness. Behind them, the line of torches grew closer and they could hear the guttural shouts of their pursuers. A battle-cry, shrill and savage, rang out. It was answered by what sounded like a hundred more such howls, filling the woods with primeval bloodscreams. 

              “They’re gaining on us,” Willock shouted. “Ronias, light the way ahead!”

             
Ronias muttered something, holding a small wand aloft. It burst suddenly into a brilliant white light, brighter than anything any of them had ever seen, which seemed to hover above them as they rode along. The woods were suddenly more fully lit than on even the brightest of days. Charging down the slope at a full gallop, they descended the mountainside as rapidly as would have been possible even during broad daylight.

Jorn glanced back. The line of torches had inched closer, despite their best efforts. He kicked his horse even harder, spurring it on down the slope as fast as it could manage. The trees flashed by on both sides as he desperately maneuvered through them. Again and again, he ducked branches and dodged tree trunks as the horse galloped at full speed down the mountainside with reckless panic. Glancing back when he had the chance again, Jorn saw the line of torches slowly receding. Whatever they were – gruks, berserkers, something worse – they couldn’t keep up anymore. All that remained was a solitary figure on horseback riding not thirty feet behind them. Clad in flowing robes, the horseman rode with confident smoothness, ducking branches and guiding his horse around the trees with an easy grace. Jorn turned back to the trees in front of him. The horses were all running hard, trees and branches passing by in a blur. Sneaking another quick look behind him as they neared a broad field, Jorn saw pursuer raise one of his arms above him. Jorn heard chanting behind him, very strange words he didn’t recognize.

              “Wizard!” Jorn shouted. “Behind us!”

             
Ronias heard Jorn’s cry and looked behind just in time to see the fireball emerging from the unknown wizard’s hand. It flew forward just under the tree tops, arching through the air towards Jorn. At the last moment, a boulder appeared in Jorn’s path and he guided his horse just to the left of it. The fireball struck the boulder, lighting up the night with orange flame. They kept on, mostly unscathed except for a corner of Flatfoot’s cloak which had caught fire. Yelling, Flatfoot frantically worked at unhooking it. Finally releasing the clasp, he rid himself of the burning burden and it fell harmlessly to the ground behind him.

             
Ronias risked another glance backwards. Whoever this wizard was, he was no novice. He would still be a bit out of breath from the fireball spell, but possibly only for a very short time. A sly smile crossed the elf’s face as he thought of the perfect spell to use. Feeling the magical energy rise to its peak as he chanted the spell, Ronias turned and quickly cast it at the pursuing wizard.

A burst of green light flashed in front of Ronias’s hand, a moment later repeating itself in front of the wizard’s face. Screaming, the wizard found himself suddenly completely blind as he was charging atop a raging horse through thick trees. Frantically, he pulled up on his horse’s reigns with all his strength. The horse was going too fast, however, and the slope too steep. The blind wizard did not see the overhanging branch which struck him hard in the forehead. He was unconscious before he hit the ground, perhaps even dead.

The horses emerged onto a fairly well-defined game trail, speeding down it as swiftly as the horses could manage. The ground had become fairly level, as well, and was not nearly so rocky anymore. Spurring his horse on, Ronias’ animal ran as fast as it could. Even so, the elf could hear once again the barking of
uthin-nor
behind him. The barks grew louder as the evil creatures drew closer. Recovered from their magical befuddlement, they were back on their tracks more bloodthirsty than before. 

             
Emerging into a meadow, Willock took a quick look behind. A pair of wolves pursued them, the line of torches long gone. Veering off to the side, he slowed up just enough to draw the
uthin-nor
closer. Notching an arrow, he slew the first with a well-placed shot piercing right through its neck. Ronias, meanwhile, fired one of his balls of white-light into the other wolf. It struck the wolf in the head, slaying it.

             
“Get rid of tha’ damned light!” Ironhelm shouted, pulling up on his pony’s reigns. “Now, laddie!”

             
Ronias smacked his hands together once and the light disappeared. Suddenly, they were in the dim moonlight again. Behind them, the woods were silent.  They slowed their horses to a brisk trot.

             
“I think we’ve outrun them,” Jorn said.

             
From somewhere in the dark woods behind them another distant cry went up and shattered the quiet. It was not the same bloodscream as before, but nearly as terrifying in its own right.

             
Their pursuers were cheering.

It was almost like a great battle lord or king had suddenly arrived in their midst. Jorn looked back at the dark trees. By the sound of it, the enemy was still closer than he had thought.

              “What are they celebrating?” he said, suddenly realizing the answer to his own question. A dark shape passed in front of Ithlon and blocked much of the tiny moon’s light, flying through the sky swiftly and silently in their direction.

             
“Grang’s teeth!” Jorn bellowed. “The dragon!”

Jorn turned his horse, spurring it recklessly down the trail He imagined the dragon’s neck stretching out ahead of its body as it flew through the air, its massive jaws opening as the terrible creature inhaled deeply before breathing forth a mighty stream of dragonflame towards its tiny prey. Jorn pictured the column of fire coming right at him. Kicking his horse again, he was determined to extract whatever remaining speed was left in the poor animal. He rode on, charging through the trees much faster than was safe, his companions alongside him.

              The dragon breathed, a stream of glowing orange flame issuing forth from above the trees. The pillar of fire hit the ground behind Jorn, lighting up the dark forest just in time for Jorn to duck underneath a thick branch. Jorn could feel the intense blast of heat on his back, one of the packhorses swallowed up whole by the fire.

The dragon rose back up into the night sky, turning to the left in a wide arc as it made ready for another strike at them. It was well that the massive creature could not pause and hover in mid-air over its prey, Jorn understood, or he and his companions would be dead already.

_____

              Ailric took the lead. Plunging into the thick trees, he guided them first left and then sharply right again before plowing straight ahead. He hoped the irregular path would shake the dragon from their trail, the thickening tree-tops concealing them from view. Behind them, burning trees at the edge of the meadow provided just enough light to find their way through.

The terrain had changed. The ground flattened-out and was soft and spongy, great pools of water and tiny streamlets all around them. The trees were ancient, thick and gnarled and covered with tangles of thick vines. Above them, the foliage was so thick none of the moonlight even made it down to the ground. Plunging further into the dense wilderness, the water grew steadily deeper until their horses were sloshing around in it up to the top of their legs.

              Above the trees the dragon was still swooping, circling, and screeching. Once it passed right overhead, unable to see through the thick cover of trees.

Screaming and sputtering with rage, its strikes became random in a desperate attempt to relocate its prey. Hundreds of yards from the party, trees in the distance would suddenly explode in blasts of dragonflame. The fetid stink of the marshes hid their scent, all the dragon’s hunting skills rendered impotent.

As the minutes passed, the blasts of dragonfire grew farther away until they stopped altogether. As the fires disappeared, an absolute blackness as deep and dark as any moonless night at midnight enveloped them.

             
“Grang’s Teeth! I can’t see a damned thing!” Jorn said.