The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (32 page)

‘I will be the hand of the One, dog,’ shouted Jakan, advancing again.

His attacks were now more measured. He delivered a series of fast and powerful swings, not extending his arm too far beyond his body, and sending a loud noise of metal on metal around the farmyard as Verellian deflected each blow with his shield. The former Red knight made no attempt to riposte and stayed crouched and braced behind his shield. Each of Jakan’s attacks drove Verellian back slightly, but they didn’t look like penetrating his defence.

Fallon began to breathe heavily as he watched, echoing the exhaustion he imagined Verellian was feeling. He couldn’t see a way for his former captain to win. Even if he could stay away from the cleric’s longsword, William would be hard pushed to deliver a telling blow with his small blade.

Jakan maintained his assault and realized that he was the fitter of the two men. With repeated blows, he began to weaken Verellian’s grip on his shield. The old knight tried to sidestep, rather than retreat, but he had little opening to mount an attack.

‘Hardly fair,’ muttered Theron. ‘The cleric has little honour.’

‘He’s got a good sword arm, though,’ was the dry response from Ohms.

Verellian looked frustrated more than anything else, evidently wishing he had a fully functioning sword hand with which to kill the Purple cleric outright. Instead, he was rapidly being worn down.

‘I can’t let him die,’ whispered Fallon to himself. ‘What would a man of honour do...?’ He was glad neither Ohms nor Theron had heard him.

Jakan began a complex and powerful series of overhead blows that made the old knight look clumsy. Verellian did his best to deflect them, but Jakan saw the opening when it came. William turned too far in parrying a thrust and left his right side open. The Purple cleric spun round and delivered a deep slash to William’s side. The blow was not fatal, but Verellian stumbled and lost his footing on the grass.

Jakan pounced, kicking the former knight in the head. The short sword flew away and William fell over his shield, landing in an undignified heap.

‘You are bested, knight,’ announced Jakan, kicking away William’s shield and leaving the old knight prone on the floor. ‘If you beg forgiveness of the One God for betrayal, I will finish you quickly.’

‘Just kill me, you Purple cunt,’ barked Verellian, holding his wounded side and trying to stop the blood. ‘The One has had more than enough of my blood. He doesn’t get an apology as well.’

Jakan raised his longsword. Time seemed to stand still as Fallon saw his only true friend prone on the grass. He thought of the battles they had seen and the enemies they had faced. The odds often stacked against them, Fallon and Verellian had bested everyone who had been foolish enough to fight them.

‘Stop!’ roared Fallon. Everyone looked at him and Jakan paused, his sword still held in the air.

He stood, breathing heavily and gritting his teeth.

‘Don’t,’ whispered Theron. ‘They’ll kill you.’

Fallon strode forward.

‘Captain Fallon, what is the meaning of this?’ shouted Jakan.

‘You’re not killing him today,’ said Fallon, holding his sword loosely in his fist. ‘Sergeant Ohms,’ he shouted behind him, ‘put William of Verellian on a horse.’

Ohms obeyed the order without question.

‘You two,’ the sergeant barked at some nearby knights, ‘help me get the man into a saddle. Move your arses.’

Fallon looked up, his eyes dark and aggressive.

‘You’ve approached the line a hundred times, Fallon,’ said Jakan, ‘but now you’ve crossed it.’

‘Ohms, move faster,’ said the knight captain.

‘Aye, sir.’ The sergeant slung Verellian’s arm over his shoulder and hefted the old knight into the saddle. Two other men helped until William was hunched over on the back of the horse.

Theron ordered the knights to arms and they stood protectively behind their captain. The yeomanry did the same behind Jakan, their crossbows held ready.

‘Ride south,’ he said to Verellian. ‘Canarn or Hunter’s Cross, I don’t care which. Just don’t come back to Ranen.’

The old knight was badly hurt, but smiled. ‘You are a better man than I, Fallon of Leith. Let me know if you manage to get out of this.’

‘I don’t think I’d make a good prisoner,’ Fallon said, placing a second short sword in Verellian’s hand. ‘Look after that, or learn to fight left-handed.’

‘Captain,’ shrieked Jakan, stamping his feet in rage, ‘you will be executed for this.’

Fallon slapped the rump of Verellian’s horse, sending the man south at speed. Jakan, too enraged to speak, stared at him.

‘Subdue the knight captain,’ ordered the cleric, almost exploding as the words left his mouth. ‘Kill any that stand before him.’

Mumbled complaints from Lord Corkoson did nothing to stop a hundred of the yeomanry from advancing.

‘Protect the captain,’ shouted Theron. ‘We are of the Red and we will stand.’ In unison, all of the knights drew their swords.

‘Enough,’ boomed Fallon, addressing his own men. ‘I knew what I was doing.’

‘Captain, we can win,’ said Theron in a snarl.

‘Let them come,’ agreed Ohms, banging his sword on his red shield. ‘After we kill the first hundred, the rest will shit and run away.’

The knights laughed boisterously in agreement and the yeomanry looked at each other in fear and confusion. They were common folk, simply following the orders of their commander. It wasn’t their fault their commander was an idiot.

‘No more fighting today,’ he said to Jakan. ‘I willingly surrender to the justice of the One.’

‘Captain,’ said Theron, ‘we are true to you.’

The knight turned to his adjutant and held out his longsword, hilt first. ‘Look after that, Theron,’ he said. ‘You are a better man than I thought.’

Theron, Ohms and the rest of the unit were angry at having to allow their captain to surrender. Each man glared at Jakan as if he was swearing vengeance.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, cleric,’ he said to Jakan. ‘I still plan to kill you, but honour dictates that I surrender.’

As he was shackled by quivering yeomanry and led away from his men, Knight Captain Fallon of Leith smiled. He had done something that might ultimately bring about his death, but he was happy with what he had done for the first time in months.

The winds that blew across the barren plains of Tor Funweir proved a nightmare for a hawk. It was easy to catch the lighter gusts and continue southwards, but Nanon had never been very good at flying. The constant need to make corrections, the strange, chaotic patterns that the wind took you in – he could never feel fully in control of his direction or speed. Real birds must have a high tolerance for frustration.

As the mountains of the Claws appeared on the horizon, he began to descend, gliding towards a small but dense forest nestled in the foothills. He swore loudly, the sound coming out as a shrill caw, as it started to rain. Wet feathers were a burden, especially when about to land. He plunged sluggishly downwards on to a high branch, mostly out of the weather. With an uncomfortable flap, he shook off the worst of the water and looked down to the ground. He was a few miles north of where he needed to be. Maybe four paws would be easier than two wings.

Making sure to stay out of the rain, Nanon hopped off the branch and let out another caw, plummeting to the leaf litter at ground level. Wet, cold and miserable. Stupid birds. With a small surge of energy he took the shape of a brown bear and quickly loped away into the small forest. Bears were easier. They had a sense of solidity and weight that was comforting. The only downside was the smell.

Few men had travelled this path. The Claws were notoriously difficult to traverse. The men of Ro preferred the flatlands and largely left the forests and mountains alone. In the forests, Nanon’s people and the Gorlan could live largely undisturbed, and in the mountains, other things lurked.

He ran upwards until the plains were a distant sight below and the higher mountains blocked out the horizon. As a bear, he was safe from most of the local predators. Only the largest Gorlan would dare to attack him, and they were rare at high altitude. He was going to the dark side of the highest mountain to visit an old acquaintance – a very old acquaintance.

After hours of running, a cave appeared through the trees. Taking his bearings from the sky and the mountains, Nanon ran to the cave and stopped. He was beyond the reach of the hardiest explorers and the most adventurous birds. No animals approached the highest peaks. His hackles rose. He felt like prey.

From the open cave echoed a low murmur. It was a repeating throaty gurgle, not the sound of an intelligent creature. The noise had been passed down through generations of Dokkalfar and he recognized it straightaway.

‘A long time, knife-ears,’ said a resonant voice.

Nanon turned back to his natural form.

‘Keep your pet back,’ he said.

The gurgle died down and the sound retreated further into the dark cave, hidden behind old magic.

‘It hasn’t consumed flesh for decades.’ The voice was beautiful and would cause pain to lesser beings. Each word had a sharp edge, cutting through the air to reach Nanon’s ears. It carried with it a wave of dark magic, flooding out of the innocuous-looking cave.

‘It’s wet out here. Can I come in?’ asked Nanon once he was happy that the pet had disappeared.

‘You may.’

He hesitated, composing himself. To cross the illusory barrier of the dark cave entrance would feel like crossing out of reality. It would hurt.

He stepped forward, breaching the barrier that masked the Jekkan ruin from the lands of men. His eyes stung and his head felt heavy. He was powerful enough to withstand the madness that Jekkan magic brought on, but their otherworldly illusions were chaotic and unpredictable.

He stood on black stone, amid massive pillars. The floor gave off a dull glow, illuminating the being standing in front of him. It was tall and slender, its face sharply angled, and its features overly sensual. The eyes were cat-like, wide and hypnotic. It approached him and revealed sharp claws and silken robes.

Nanon’s hand shook. He was afraid.

‘You look well, knife-ears,’ said the Jekkan, its body swaying with each word. ‘You would be consumed with honour.’

Nanon tilted his head. ‘I told you before that I wouldn’t taste good. Stick to eating humans.’

‘It is not a punishment. It is the highest compliment I can pay you.’ The Jekkan drummed its clawed fingers together in front of its face. ‘Why are you here, Nanon of the forest-dwellers? It has been at least two centuries.’

‘Closer to three. And I’m here because I need advice,’ he replied.

The repeating murmur of the Jekkan’s servitor returned. It was slumped in shadow beyond the last visible pillar, its surface a ripple of black bubbles. It covered a large section of floor, flowing like congealed blood. To look too long at a Jekkan servitor was to invite madness.

‘Keep your pet away from me,’ snapped Nanon. ‘We both know I’m afraid, but I’m not weak. Show me the respect I show you.’

The Jekkan preened its luxuriant eyelashes. ‘Apologies. I rarely communicate with lesser flesh. Your concept of respect is... strange.’

Nanon kept his legs poised. He knew that his sword would be of no use, but running was always an option.

‘What advice do you need?’ asked the Jekkan. ‘If it is in my power to give, I will give. If my forever can caress your now...’

‘Shub-Nillurath. He has become powerful. How do I stop it?’

The Jekkan became agitated and the servitor moved closer, undulating across the floor and forming grasping tentacles from its rippling mass. Nanon could not take his eyes from the creature or shut out its mocking cry.

‘You said you’d help me,’ he cried, preparing to run. ‘I’m a soldier of the Long War.’

The Jekkan raised its head and the servitor stopped moving. ‘You are correct, knife-ears, I did. And you are.’

‘The Dead God is a threat to this world.’ Nanon was still poised to flee. ‘Your ruins will not stay safe for long when the Dark Young spread across this land.’

‘We do not fear the Young,’ said the Jekkan, waving its clawed fingers in the air. ‘They have lived and lost. They will lose again.’

‘So, help me,’ snapped Nanon, tearing his eyes from the servitor. ‘You are of the great race of Jekka. You have seen the world as it is and as it will be. You know what I need to do.’

The black iridescent mass retreated into shadow and the Jekkan’s face contorted into a fanged smile. His magic was subtle and Nanon had to concentrate to retain his free will. If he relaxed for one moment, his mind would be lost and he’d be a slave to the Jekkan, twisted and tortured into a fleshy toy.

‘The forest halls beyond the world are rebuilt, the maleficent witches bring new worship each day. Soon the Giant’s followers will be willing and enchantment will no longer be needed.’

‘Jaa made a mistake,’ said Nanon. ‘He left the thing alive. Now it’s strong.’

The Jekkan salivated, licking its lips. ‘Forest-dwellers are weak. You never deserved your long lives.’

‘Because we didn’t follow you?’ barked Nanon. ‘We had a Giant we loved. We didn’t need your god.’