BlackThorn's Doom (16 page)

Mighty powers warred within his mind tearing at his very soul for dominance. Casius clung tightly to the sword, his only anchor to the world. He screamed as his body impacted scalding water. Far beneath its surface he plunged, sinking lower into blackness.

It would be so easy to relax and sink into the abyss he thought, a simple thing to be free of the pain. “Fight it!” a familiar voice in his mind cried. “Swim!” It commanded him.

Casius could not disobey his father. He kicked his feet and broke the surface. Gasping for air he slid the sword into its sheath. Coughing up gouts of foul tasting water he swam in the darkness until his feet touched the slimy bottom.

He was blind, he could only move towards what sounded like water lapping upon a shore. Staggering free of the hot liquid he fell face down upon the rounded stones of the bank. His body aching, both burning hot and freezing cold at the same time.

He shivered violently and retched until his stomach was empty. In the darkness he cried, for Marcos and Suni. He wept for all those that he had lost. He was defeated; and could see no future for him now. Their quest had failed and now Sur’kar’s victory was all but assured.

Long he lay in the darkness listening to the gentle lapping of the water. Colors danced before his eyes in the inky black and he began to lose consciousness.

Hours later he staggers to his feet, no longer thinking. His mind a roiling mixture of emotion, the water had poisoned him and was slowly eroding what remained of his mind. Somewhere deep down, a small fragment of him yet remained but it was locked in lamentation and unaware.

The walls of the cavern slowly came into focus, illuminated by the heat they gave off. Shuffling along he enters a tunnel through which the water slowly flowed. Knee deep in the black liquid he sloshed for hours, lost and bewildered. His thoughts filled with burning hatred and rage.

The pain of his burns forgotten, the pulsing light of Marcos’s ring upon his hand a mere distraction in his madness. Across Slime covered boulders he crawled growing weaker by the hour as hot poison raced through his veins.

Casius no longer knew who or what he was but in his delirium he became aware of a power growing within him. His burns no longer pained him and his vision improved in the total darkness. Now he could even see the pale blue glow of living creatures within the tunnels. Spiders, crickets, and even strange eel like fish that survived in the scalding waters through which he floundered.

For three days he wandered the labyrinth, through pits dark and dire, past boiling pools of mud and seeping flows of cooling lava. He had become a creature of the dark driven by some unknown purpose.

The darkness ahead brightened and suddenly he was free of the stone prison. He stumbled out onto a low plateau in the Vurgwall. A roaring waterfall tumbled over the cliff at his side. Squinting against the suns glare he wandered the cliffs edge until he found a suitable way down.

He came down from the heights and looked out upon the fog-shrouded waters of a great marsh. The sight of so many living things filled him with hatred and rage. Power coursed through his veins and the ground buckled and steamed beneath his feet.

His eyes burned with fire and he screamed at the sky. A primal roar that silenced the bird calls from the swamp. His cry of anger turned to anguish as the ring upon his hand flared to life once more. Casius stumbled and collapsed upon the ground the possessing spirit broken, his own mind becoming aware of his surroundings.

He wearily sat up and looked at the swamp, a pang of despair filled him and fresh tears streaked his face. He knew where he was and the thought of traversing the dark mire alone frightened him.

Laying his hand on his hip he was surprised to find Aethir safe within its stained sheath. The blade was quiescent but he could feel a strange sense of power coursing through him. He looked to his hand and could see Marcos’s ring upon his finger. Once the band had merely appeared to be gold but now he could see faint tendrils of fire reaching out from it, swirling in the air as they passed through him and faded as if they were nothing more than smoke.

He was hungry and thirsty, but he knew to drink the water was dangerous. He had been given a reprieve from the madness and did not desire to tempt that fate once again.

Coming to his feet he walked out into the mire heading along what solid ground he could find, journeying slowly northeastward.

Near nightfall he walked onto a dry patch of earth and came across a giant flightless bird. The creature bolted and disappeared into the fog, leaving behind a nest with four eggs the size of his fist.

Casius did not hesitate he ate his fill and settled into the nest for the night. It was cramped but dry and though the air was bitterly cold he felt it not.

Casius awakened with a start during the night as something massive stalked past his resting spot. Even with his newly acquired sight he could only see a short way and the thing that shook the earth with its passage was beyond his perception. Trees cracked and fell to earth as the leviathan lumbered past.

Casius remained awake long after the sounds of its passage had faded into the distance. Only when the buzzing of insects and chirping of frogs had resumed did he once more fall asleep.

While he slumbered the waters of the mire glowed a brilliant emerald green color. The figure of a young woman watched him from afar, the spirit could sense the power lying within him and she had no desire to test it. As the sun rose she slowly faded, returning to her watery grave in the mire.

Casius awakened as the suns colors touched the dark sky. He rolled out of the nest and stretched his legs. Shaking the cobwebs from his head he began to wade northeastward once more.

For seven days he forced his way through the heart of the swamp, the normally bellicose creatures of the marsh fleeing before him in terror. It was nearing nightfall when he shambled out of the water; dirty and wet his tattered clothing caked with a thick layer of mud. He walked a few hundred feet from the waters edge and sat with his back against a small boulder, in a few moments he was asleep. Dreaming of fire and destruction.

He was bone weary and had finally freed himself of the Ravenslaugh, a trek of forty-seven miles.

Chapter Fifteen

“Ugh!” Connell said in disgust after swallowing a leathery lump of jerky. “And we wonder why the Morne have such foul dispositions.” He grimaced, eyeing the remaining strip of dried meat in his hand. “If we get them some decent food perhaps they would become more amicable.”

“I wonder what kind of meat this is?” Yoladt mused digging through the sack of supplies they had stolen from the Morne garrison.

Connell was about to take another bite but decided against it after hearing the Mahjie’s question. “Maybe it would be better if we don’t find out.” Tossing the meat aside he bit into a hard biscuit and spat out the sour dough as a wave of fiery spices assaulted his tongue. He grabbed the water skin and attempted to flush the heat from his mouth.

Yoladt laughed, for he had had the same experience a few moments earlier.

“What is this made from?” Connell asked sniffing the bread. “Fire thorn root?”

“I believe it is seasoned with Caer peppers.” Yoladt answered. “It grows well in arid lands. My people use it in our cooking as well.” Yoladt smiled biting into a biscuit.

Connell set the bag aside. “Leathery meat and flaming bread, I’ll do without for now.”

“It will improve as your hunger grows.” Yoladt said finishing his biscuit. He looked through the trees to the trail beyond.

Connell stood brushing off his cloak. “The horses have rested long enough.” He commented lashing the supply sack behind his saddle.

Yoladt nodded. “Aye it would be better to keep moving than to get caught sitting still by any who may be following our track.”

They took to the trail once more, setting a quick but easy pace that would save the horses strength. After five long hours they came to a crossroads. One track headed south, while another less frequented ventured through the sickly forest bearing northward.

Connell reined his horse to a stop and patted the stallion’s neck to calm him. “That way lays the black keep of Vi’Eruk.” He said pointing south. “To go that route all but guarantees our death.” Turning his horse to the north he sets his mount off at a walk. “This trail should take us to the Un’eldur pass. A way less traveled and more suited to our needs.”

“Should lead?” Yoladt asked. “And if not?”

Connell shrugged. “Then we search it out. The pass is warded, but it is so narrow and treacherous no army can make use of it.” Connell lifted the hem of his soiled Morne cloak. “It is used by messengers and scouts, if fortune smiles upon us our ruse may see us safely through.”

“Fortune seldom smiles our way Connell.”

Connell nods his eyes full of grief. “Then perhaps we are overdue.” With a grunt he spurs his horse forward the packhorse trailing after.

Yoladt looked to the sky. “I hope your listening.” He said to the gloom above.

They rode for two hours before switching to their remounts. After several more hours Connell left the trail and led the way back into the shelter of the trees. They made camp that night beside a fast flowing stream that tumbled noisily over large moss laden stones.

Brushing the horses down with handfuls of dried grass they listened to the eerie cries of the forest denizens beginning to stir.

“I do not relish the thought of camping in this wood.” Yoladt whispered as a pack of howling primates passed through the trees overhead.

Connell watched the raucous monkeys move off. Their bark like calls echoing in the wood. “Neither do I,” He said. “The horses are tired, we have gone far since the felling of the tower.”

“Connell, I am a man of the mountains. Give me barren rock and deep chasms.”

“All will be well friend.” Connell said using his saddle blanket as a bedroll. “If we’re lucky we will survive the night.”

“Trusting to luck again?” Yoladt said making himself sitting against the bole of tree. “I’ll take the first watch, after a few hours I may be able to get some sleep.”

Connell looked at the bag holding their pilfered supplies. Hunger gnawed at him but he decided he was not yet hungry enough for the Morne fare. “Wake me in four hours.” He said laying back and closing his eyes.

Connell shook his head wondering where the Mahjie found the nerve to sleep after hearing a sound such as that. He stood his turn at watch, his ears straining for any sounds that would herald approaching danger. In the gloom his naked sword glinted dully.

When the darkness overhead brightened slightly they broke camp, each man wishing to be free of these cursed lands. The trail turned eastward towards the broken peaks of the Vurgwall.

As they began to ride up into the foothills the trees thinned. They rested late in the afternoon wishing to attempt their crossing after nightfall when the darkness would hamper the vision of the Morne lookouts.

As they neared the path into the mountains Connell pulled his hood up over his head, motioning for Yoladt to do likewise. “Keep looking down.” He warned. “If we are to pass we cannot allow the Morne sentries above to see our faces.”

Connell waited until Yoladt was ready before he spurred his horse forward. Up the narrow track the horse raced, rocks kicked up by its hooves rolling down the steep hillsides.

Upward they rode following the twisting track until they entered a deep cleft between two peaks. The ground grew less treacherous and Connell increased the pace. They rounded a tight bend and ran through the middle of a Morne encampment.

The sentries dove clear of the charging horses and hissed angry retorts at the riders’ backs.

Connell breathed a sigh of relief as the way ahead sloped downward. We just may make it yet, he thought although he waited for the impact of a black-shafted arrow into his back.

It was well past midnight before Connell relaxed. He knew they were beyond Sur’kar’s gloom and through breaks in the overcast sky a few stars could be seen. Low on the horizon he could see the bright glow of the moon shining through.

Exhausted by the long ride they left the foothills and entered the land of Moinar-Thur. In the feeble moonlight they could see but a short distance into a rugged land covered with a thin veil of snow.

“It will be good to gaze upon it once more.” Yoladt said. “Even within the mountain home of my people the sun shines through the great rent for many hours.”

Connell’s hand flew to his sword as he heard the muted snap of a twig from a nearby stand of stunted trees.

“Leave your weapons sheathed.” A voice commanded from the darkness. “There are arrows aimed at your hearts, any wrong move and we will drop you where you stand.”

“We are not Morne.” Connell called out.

“You would be dead now had you been.” The voice answered. “Yet you have come from Tarok-nor. The question is are you spies for Sur’kar’s scum?”

“We most certainly are not!” Yoladt snapped his honor offended.