Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary (19 page)

     In a deeply shadowed gulley a tangled
heap of black corpses lay; their carapace armour still black in death and blade
fingers still razor sharp. Soon they had left the beleaguered Celembrie village
behind and the pace quickened along a clear flat track. Malkrin had time to
think about what he had just seen and realised no one had asked how the
Celembrie had slain so many demons. He turned to Halle who was panting in a
steady rhythm at his side and mentioned the omission. 'I don’t know how they
did it, but they made a good accounting. How many demons did they kill?’’

     ‘By the size of the pile I’d say at
least twenty, Sire. The Celembrie are efficient fighters; we must learn their
techniques when we return.'

     They lapsed into silence for most of
the night, running through dark woodland glades then narrow vales between
wooded hills.

Dror put his hand up indicating an alert.

     Malkrin and BerantWolf ran to him. The
two Celembrie pointed uphill to an encampment of seething black shapes amongst
spruce trees at the top of the next slope. They had lit a large central fire
and demons with long shadows scuttled around it. Other huddled shapes lay
squatting and dormant further from the flames. Four more were slowly circling
the mass of creatures, presumably lookouts.

     Dror whispered, 'If we keep to the
lowest point in the valley, there is a deep stream lined with oaks, we can walk
the bed for cover. The oak trees will mask us in the darkness.'

Malkrin glanced up; the moon was still
cloaked in cloud. They stood a good chance of passing unobserved.

     'Let's go, and may the Gods be with us,'
said BerantWolf. They followed in Dror's footsteps, taking care not to disturb
loose rocks in the root filled banks. The water was freezing but the stream bed
was of firm rock and the grass and fern banks high. They made good progress. Very
soon they were level with the distant quarter-men and Malkrin heard a distant
buzz more like a swarm of wasps than a collection of demons. The sound was eerie
and disconcerting and brought cold beads of sweat to his forehead. He gritted
his teeth and carried on wading.

     At last the quarter-men hillock was
behind them and another large knoll blocked them from discovery. Dror led them
out of the streambed and they paused, wrung their clothing and furs out then
carried on. Malkrin estimated it was two hours until dawn. Soon they would have
to find shelter in woodland to escape discovery.

     They traversed a series of small rises
and then a larger one. It was impossible to follow the valleys where the
hillocks met because of impenetrable scrub. BerantWolf ordered them along the
shadow sides of the hills lest the moon emerge and silhouette them. Then on the
top of the next rise a stand of stunted hawthorn trees gave them cover.

     They camped there as the sun rose.
Malkrin completed his watch and slept deeply with exhaustion. In this way the
trek pressed forward for two more nights circumventing impassable scrub and
following small trails to keep from being surprised by bands of demon
predators. Then at the end of the third night they climbed another steep brush
laden hill. Beyond the crest loomed the great plain and in the far distance the
tip of the melted mountain of Thorian brooded, filling the gathering sunrise.

     Malkrin’s highsense tingled. As they
walked through a long valley between rises his head began to fill with a chorus
of snarls and screams – the buzz of a million demons emanating a communal malevolence.

He hissed a warning.

     Cautiously they climbed the nearest
hill to the south in the direction of Mount Thorian. A grassy plain loomed below
them like a vast tiled floor laced with jagged crevasses. Toward distant Thorian,
glass smooth ground denuded of vegetation reflected the image of roiling clouds
passing over an orange sun. A breeze blew from the plain and brought with it a
stench of decay and alien defecation.  Along the plain a dark shadow had spread
as if someone had spilt a massive jug of wood-tar. Amongst the stain, specks of
yellow light flicked and danced as the demon-stain progressed lit by a throng
of fire-torches. With the breeze came a constant droning buzz as if a million tormented
souls were being trampled into the soil of the plain. How, Malkrin wondered,
could they ever convey this endless progression of horror to their peoples?  An
artist could never draw the scene successfully. A scribe would have to study
the host and write some precise words. Even then the writer could not
adequately impart the panoramic nightmare to a person who had not witnessed the
scene.

     As if to highlight their despair, the sun
broke free of the clouds and illuminated the whole restless horde. The vista created
in Malkrin a sense of futility at resisting the irresistible.

     'We have seen enough,’ BerantWolf finally
announced in dismay. 'The main host is a lot nearer than when I last viewed
them, and definitely heading this way. At their rate of advance they will reach
the Cembrie in five days.’

     Even as they watched, two small bands
of black broke away and flowed in two opposite directions. Another three bands
rejoined the mass.

     'Marauding bands could overrun the
Celembrie and the remaining Sylve before then.' Malkrin said.

     Dror pointed in alarm. ‘Look, nearer
than the horde, there lays the remains of Maygreen Grove.'

     Malkrin stared hard, a collection of tall
stumps stood nearer than the sunrise shadowed plain.

     'Their destruction is complete,' said
a Celembrie voice behind him.

     BerantWolf broke their horrified gaze.
'We must return with haste, there must be a demon horde much nearer, obscured
by trees.'

     Malkrin turned and with apprehensive
backward glances the others followed.

In two nights of superhuman running they
retraced the contours of numerous hillocks and streams. BerantWolf’s stamina became
godlike. Everyone trailed behind him determined to keep up with the older chief.
He constantly cajoled and beckoned them on. The next night they reached the oak
tree lined stream where they had crept passed the camped demons. The bedraggled
group were as one, cold and soaked from wading, then drying, then fording more
streams, drying again but always wet with sweat. At last BerantWolf signalled his
exhaustion. They had paused under a canopy of spruce. Every warrior crumpled,
panting and coughing.

Feeling returned to Malkrin’s legs and his
lungs stopped labouring. He was the first to recover so watched while the
others slept. Surrounded by huddled bodies which twitched and shivered with
nightmares, he wished he was back in his simple life with Cabryce in his arms.
Dror took the next watch as the sun began to dry them. Malkrin glanced suspiciously
to the sleeping figure of TrathWolf before lying down and instantly falling
into an exhausted sleep.

     Someone shook him from dreams filled
with crawling beetles. He swatted his arm thinking it covered by biting insects.
Then an instant later he feared it was TrathWolf about to throttle him.

     'Wake Sire Malkrin, we must go
urgently.'

     It was Halle, who was on watch. The sun
was sinking toward the western woodland.

     Malkrin was instantly awake and forced
his aching legs to stand.

     Halle held him steady as the cloying
cobwebs of sleep left him.

     ‘Demon bands have merged with a larger
group of their brethren on the far hill since we sneaked past.'

     Malkrin stared into a misty distance
between groves of pine and saw one topple, then another. He formed the
highsense boost sign and snarls and demon curses returned to fill his mind. Halle
was correct and a sinking feeling gripped his stomach. His inner ear felt as if
it was being nibbled away by the hideous whisper. It was what the dream had
tried telling him. This time, exhaustion had allowed his gift to fail him. He
pounded his fists together with frustration.

     Halle alerted BerantWolf and the camp dissolved
in a scene of frantic activity. Malkrin’s companions gathered belongings and
filled backpacks with the speed of men that needed more rest. Within minutes
they were stumbling on their way with BerantWolf leading. A Cembrie warrior
scouted ahead, the other advised BerantWolf on the best route. Malkrin had to
pace himself, and let energy filter into his legs and lungs with economy.

     The hideous hum and the sound of
crashing trees behind them seemed to be getting ever closer. Fear drove them
all on at a faster rate than was sensible. They leapt boulders and crashed
through ferns and tall grass. Then the Celembrie led them splashing through
boggy mud. The discomforting shortcut evened out the twisting path through the dense
trees. Gradually the gnashing buzz of demons was left behind, and the normal
sounds of birdsong and wind in trees returned.

     There was no warning.

     A black shape whirled out of the trees
and used its bone fingers to slash and stab the Cembrie who was scouting in
front of BerantWolf.

     'Back. Form a circle. Defend your
companions,' shouted BerantWolf as he retreated.

     The demon’s attack had given them a
few seconds warning. Enough time to draw weapons, collect their wits and steel
their collective resolve. The creature circled the group slavering and gnashing
its teeth, then darted forward flicking its knife-fingers. Warriors countered
with spears and daggers. Other quarter-men emerged from the gloomy forest and
ran toward the group.

With the main host behind them, there was no
escape.

Malkrin and Halle drew their bows. Firm yet
subtle, the bowstrings were trustingly taut in their experienced hands. Two
arrows flew true and two demons were hit. One dropped with a bolt through its
left eye. The other arrow entered a demons mouth and exited its neck. The demon
continued, spitting blood, its pace undiminished. Another was slain by Wolf warrior
arrows as the rest hacked into the men. The two Brightwater men fended off a quarter-man
with spear thrusts and daggers. Wounded, it kept attacking in rabid slashes of
razor sharp bone-fingers and bites from its hideous fangs. Other demons had
large curved blades strapped to knees or ankles. In a strange dance they jumped
forwards and backwards thrusting legs and feet toward the men and darting bone-fingers
in lightning fast stabs. It was a new way of fighting they were all unprepared
for.

Eighth-of-Senate went down hamstrung. Talgour
fought to keep the assailant from finishing his comrade. He sliced the air
before the creature’s face to keep it at bay. Halle drew his bow to maximum
reach and loosed an arrow into the creatures face. As he did so, Malkrin
protected him from another quarter-man. He heard the creatures skull split as
the arrow penetrated, it stopped in mid kick and toppled backward. Another
arrow failed to down a rushing demon as it leapt at four men who had become separated
from the other warriors.

A quarter-man leapt from the side. Malkrin
swerved, fell and slithered down an incline to avoid the slashing blows. He had
become separated from the protective circle of his companions.

He used Palerin to exchange blows with the
rushing creature. His trusty sword fended off the demon’s bone finger-knives
and the flash of its leg blades. Malkrin concentrated on finding an opening in
the creature’s assault before he tired. Cold sweat poured down his neck and
forehead. He blinked it away as it soaked his neck cloth.

Something drastic had to be done before the
creature slew him.

He parried the demons swipes and thought
frantically. There was a way. It needed good timing and acrobatic accuracy. He
dived and rolled sideways into the demons lower legs above the foot blades,
knocking it of balance. As it fell, he twisted to avoid its leg-blades, and thrust
Palerin at a joint in the demons carapace. In slow motion Palerin lanced the
air and entered a dark seam. The demon staggered and dark blood poured down its
armour. Palerin was wedged in the creature and was ripped from his hands as the
demon rose to its knees. Malkrin rammed the Sylve dagger to its hilt in the demons
neck. He extracted it and dived backward out of reach of flailing bone
knife-fingers. The beast fell on its face gurgling away its life.

     Malkrin looked around in the gloomy
forest. Out of it came the sound of clashing swords, spears, finger-knives, human
shouts and inhuman hissing. Then two twirling leaping shadows emerged from the
gloom. A Wolf warrior frantically fought a demon with a single spear. As
Malkrin watched, the demon slashed down with its bone-fingers shattering the spear.
It was TrathWolf.

     Time to prove myself, Malkrin thought
fiercely. He freed Palerin from the corpse and dashed to the struggle with all
the remaining energy his legs could muster.

     The quarter-man grinned hideously. Saliva
dripped and drooled from its mouth, it thought victory over its opponent a
certainly. As it lashed bone-fingers a hairs width from TrathWolf, Malkrin’s
sword flashed down and one of its arms flew into the trees. It turned to face
Malkrin and he swept Palerin again. He had to finish the demon quickly before
his shaking limbs and tortured lungs gave out. It dodged, and Malkrin side-stepped,
slashing Palerin in an arc. The blade connected with the demons neck and its
head followed its arm into the woodland. The body crumpled – and so did
Malkrin. He was incapable of further action. He panted fit to burst, his heart
pounding like a dozen drums but managed to whisper his thanks to Palerin
between gasps.