Child Of Storms (Volume 1) (56 page)

             
“We’ll have to find some way,” Jorn said.

             
“There!” said Ronias, pointing towards one corner of the platform. A narrow staircase, long since grown over with vegetation but still clearly visible, led up the side of the platform to the back to the temple.

             
“That’ll do,” said Jorn.

             
Up they went, weapons drawn. Jorn was first, Ronias in the rear. The going was slow, Ailric having to be extra careful not to slip and fall on the treacherous footing in his unwieldy armor. Jorn glanced back. He never understood why some warriors chose to fight in such bulky costumes. As far as he was concerned, what one gained in protection from heavy armor one lost in speed and agility.

             
Jorn reached the top of the platform and then darted back behind the rear wall again. The others soon followed, Ailric as quietly as he could manage. They were behind the temple at last, amidst the ruins but still out of view from the horde of swampbeasts. Jorn looked up and down the length of the wall. There was a wide crack to the left that went all the way down the entire height of the wall.

Approaching, he took a look through. The interior of the temple was a pile of all manner of rubble and debris, including several heaps of bones. A cavernous domed roof remained overhead, a long crack meandering across its entire length. Somehow the dome stayed up. The Guardians, no one disputed, were expert builders.

Jorn saw the debris as a stroke of luck. The rubble would provide some cover, at least, so they wouldn’t be seen until they rushed out to rescue Flatfoot. Jorn stepped through the crack and into the temple, his sword drawn. He eased his way carefully forward, crouching down behind a large chunk of marble. The others slowly made their way inside as Jorn took in his surroundings. On the rear wall behind him he could make out faded inscriptions. He knew the characters, the formal letters of classical Vandorian script. It was in the old Luthanian tongue, referring to someone named Felicius Fidelitus, High Priest of the Guardian Order. 

             
Jorn waited until the others were through the wall and then began inching forward further into the temple. It must have been magnificent once, carvings and inscriptions running the entire length of the walls. Above them, a few patches of faded bronze still clung to the ceiling. Once, the glistening metal would have covered the entire ceiling.

After another twenty feet, he could see through the rubble and clearly make out the open sky in front of the temple. Motioning for the others to stay back, he crept forward and caught a glimpse of the line of prisoners sitting atop the steps in front of the temple. There were five Saurians tied up along with
Flatfoot. Jorn breathed a sigh of relief that the gnome was still alive. All of the prisoners seemed dazed, sitting there silently.

On either side of the prisoners stood the guards. In front of them was the priest-chieftain. He was barking and growling wildly, the crowd of swampbeasts at the foot of the temple responding to him loudly with a cacophony of barks of their own. Jorn could see the priest-chieftain holding two things in his hands. The first was a long knife, covered in black blood, which he shook about in the air above him to the apparent pleasure of the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. The object in his other hand looked like a bloody, dripping piece of meat. It took Jorn a second to realize it was a heart. Lying at the shaman’s feet was a Saurian corpse, its chest ripped open.

The shaman kicked the corpse several times, rolling it towards the top of the stairs. Guards appeared from off to the side, lifting the corpse high and hurling it forward down the steps. A great roar of approval lifted up from the crowd.

             
The guards roused another Saurian, dragging it forward. The creature was then beaten badly by the guards until he was a bleeding mass of contusion, a confused and dazed look on its face the whole time. Jorn scrambled back to the others and told them in a hurried tone what he saw.

             
“So that’s three guards plus the priest doing the sacrifices,” Willock noted.

             
“Ironhelm and I’ll come around the left and take care of the guard there and the priest,” Jorn said. “Ailric and Hugh come around the other end and handle the others. Ronias, you need to be ready with your spell. Understand? Good. Ronias casts his spell and, as soon as it goes off, we strike. Once we’ve got Sal, we run like hell back into the swamp. Everyone got it? Now let’s go snatch us a gnome.”

             
They took their positions, moving forward until everyone was in place. The second Saurian, now slain, was cast down the stairs to the eager crowd. The guards grabbed Flatfoot and dragged him forward. Ronias looked across the rubble at Jorn, waiting for a signal. Jorn nodded slowly, gripping his sword. Ronias returned the nod, turning and beginning his chant. It took a few moments for the magical energy to rise within him as he stepped forward into the sun. Before him was a crowd of hundreds of the swampbeasts, filling the square below. The guards and the priest faced the crowd and didn’t see him.

Ronias cast the spell, the fireball flying through the air and landing in the exact middle of the crowd of monsters.
Ronias withdrew behind a column, his knees almost giving out on him as he head grew light.

_____

             
Jorn watched the fireball going off, leaping forth from his hiding place. He buried his sword into the back of the nearest guard. Its great hairy bulk fell forward down the steps of the temple, Jorn pulling his sword out and whirling around to face the priest-chieftain. The priest-chieftain lay on the top step of the temple already, clutching his hip and bleeding all over the steps. Flatfoot stood nearby, his arms unbound and his eyes alert. In his hand was a long knife.

              Ironhelm had seen it all. Just as Ronias was casting his fireball spell, the shaman loomed over Flatfoot. The beast’s knife, still dripping with the blood of the Saurians, was raised above the doomed gnome. Flatfoot stood there, his arms tied behind him and his face blank with drugged confusion. Suddenly, his bound hands were free and a long knife in one of them. He lunged forward and stabbed the creature in the hip. The monster howled with agony, falling forward.

Flatfoot pulled out the knife and deftly stepped aside out of the way. He turned, ready to make a dash in the direction of the aqueduct but stopped in his tracks with a stunned look on his face. He saw Jorn emerging from the shadows, cutting down one of the guards. He also saw Ironhelm charging out alongside the Linlunder, waving that enormous battle axe of his towards where the priest-chieftain stood a moment before.

              “Ironhelm!” Flatfoot exclaimed. “Bloody good to see you, old fellow!”

             
Jorn brought his sword down upon the back of the shaman’s skull. Willock, meanwhile, buried a pair of arrows in the back of one of the other guards, which only seemed to enrage it. The monster roared, charging towards the woodsman. Ailric stepped forward from behind one of the columns, slashing at the swampbeast. It thrust its spear right at the knight, but Ailric sidestepped the blow and brought his sword down into the monster’s arm. It cut deeply, almost severing the limb as another arrow struck it in its great bulky chest. The beast roared again, now swinging the huge spear like a club. Ailric ducked the blow, stepping back. The third guard charged him, as well, but did not see Ironhelm and Jorn racing in from the side. Ironhelm buried his axe deep into its leg, sending it sprawling forward. Ailric, meanwhile, waited for the final guard to thrust his spear again. Dodging the blow one more time, he lunged forward with his sword and buried it deep in the hulking monster’s chest.

             
They stood atop the platform, the hairy beasts bleeding on the ground all around them. Many of the beasts below were now charging the stairs, but most of the others were still running all about in a confused state. Jorn estimated at least twenty of the monsters headed their way.

             
“Run! Run!” he shouted.

             
They dashed for the back of the temple, jumping over piles of rubble and making their way towards the back. Flatfoot started to protest, pointing back towards the aqueduct, but followed them.

Just as they neared the back of the temple, the great hairy head of one of the monsters poked its way through the crack. It roared, surging forward at the sight of them, but could not quite fit through the opening in the wall. Taking careful aim, Willock put an arrow through the beast’s eye. It fell forward dead, blocking the crack with its enormous girth.

“Ach!” Ironhelm said, hurrying forward to push the beast backwards. He could hear the grunting of more of the monsters on the other side of the crack.

“Stand back,” Ronias said calmly.

Ironhelm jumped back. The elf went through his magical incantations and hit the crack with a blast of glowing white lightning. It sent the dead beast and two more behind it flying backwards and off the platform into the swamp. Jorn and Ironhelm stepped through the crack and then stopped in their tracks. 

             
The entire swamp below the platform was filled with movement. Hundreds of blue-skinned figures were charging towards the ruins, spears and swords in hand. From out in the marshes came the sound of bellowing horns as the Saurians surged around the base of the temple, most of them running around the platform but a long stream of them climbing the stairs.

             
The horns rang out again, followed now by more bellows to the left and to the right.

An entire army of Saurians was attacking the ruins from every side.

Twenty-Four

            
 
Jorn stepped back from the opening in the wall, dumbfounded.

             
“Grang’s teeth!” he said. “We’re doomed!”

             
“Can we hide?”  Willock wondered. “Let them butcher each other and then we crawl away after the battle is over.”

             
“I have an invisibility spell,” Ronias offered.

             
“No need,” Flatfoot said, slipping through the crack. “Follow me.”

             
“Have you gone daft?” Ironhelm growled. “Where are you going, laddie?”

             
Flatfoot stopped and looked back, his face stern.

“Don’t just stand there shitting your britches!” he barked. “Follow me!”

              They followed the gnome along the back of the platform in the opposite direction of the stairs. Ronias, still exhausted from his spell, leaned heavily on the knight. Flatfoot took them around the far side of the temple, next to the aqueduct.

Roaring swampbeasts, meanwhile, reached the back of the temple and were about to charge out through the crack in the wall. They were hampered as the line of Saurians ascending the stairs also reached the crack. The first of the swampbeasts stuck his head through the gap, only to have a Saurian spear buried in its neck.

The bulk of the Saurian army, however, ran along either side of the temple platform and stormed towards the square. Amid the turmoil and confusion of the attack, Flatfoot and the others made their way around towards the aqueduct out of the path of violence. Saurians streamed below them towards the square, oblivious to their presence.

The sight of the Saurian attack was enough to take one’s breath away. Jorn watched, amazed. Saurians were streaming in from both sides of the ruins, thousands of them. The swampbeasts were concentrated near the center of the square, additio0nal pockets of them fighting all along the perimeter of the ruins. Several hundred stood tall at the near end, right at the bottom of the temple steps. They formed-up ranks close together, swinging their huge clubs and swatting aside Saurians. It looked to Jorn like they were more than holding their own against the attackers.

Jorn could barely make out the Saurian attack on the far side of the ruins. The Saurians there leapt over a section of marble wall and waded right into a flooded channel. They seemed to be almost unopposed in their advance when, suddenly, they were cut off by a hundred swampbeasts rushing forward swinging their clubs and howling wildly. They plunged into the Saurian lines and proceeded to slaughter their enemies. Slowed by the marble wall and the flooded channel, the Saurian charge had stalled. The swampbeasts were winning there.

Closer to Jorn’s vantage point, however, the Saurian attack continued unabated. The swampbeasts in the square were meeting the charge well, though. It was there, Jorn knew at once, that the battle would be decided. The Saurian attack on the far side of the ruins was already doomed, but on the near side the lizards still had a chance if they could press their advantage of superior numbers.

Jorn remained transfixed, enjoying the bird’s eye view of a great and bizarre battle. He hardly heard Flatfoot shouting at him.

             
“The aqueduct,” Flatfoot was yelling. “That’s the way out.”

             
Jorn looked over at it. Where the aqueduct entered the ruins was hardly ten feet from them across an open gap of air. Saurians streamed by underneath.

             
“What? How do you know?” Jorn said.

             
“Look at the bloody thing!” Flatfoot said, pointing to the steady stream of water which still flowed out from the front. “That’s fresh water! It still works! It must run into the hills!”

             
Jorn watched the clear water pouring over the end into the square. The stream was steady and even.

             
“Grang’s teeth!” he exclaimed. “You’re right.”

Jorn judged the distance from the platform to the aqueduct. He could make the jump, but he doubted any of the others could except maybe Willock or Ailric without his armor.

“It’s too far to jump,” Flatfoot said, seeming to read Jorn’s mind.

“The tree,” Ironhelm said, pointing towards a large tree growing from out of the marble at the edge of the platform and leaning heavily towards the aqueduct.

              Jorn turned to Ronias.

“Can you do it?”

              “I may have just enough strength left,” the elf said. He stepped forward, studying the tree. “Yes, I think I can. Step back.”

             
The elf closed his eyes and tried to focus. He did not have much strength left and it took a long time before the magical energy started to rise in him. He finally felt it, but then it stopped rising. He clenched his hands, repeating the incantation. Somehow, he regained hold of the power inside him, bent it to his will, and felt it rising deep within him yet again. He focused his concentration on it, refusing to give up.

As the elf struggled to summon up the power for the lightning spell, Saurians came charging around the corner. Willock fell one with an arrow, Ailric stepping forward to cut down the other. Two more came, the knight meeting their charge. Jorn rushed to Ailric’s side, even as more came around the corner towards them.  Only two Saurians could attack at once because of the narrowness of the ledge. Jorn and Ailric had no trouble holding them back.

Finally, Ronias opened his eyes and fired a burst of glowing white lightning at the tree. It struck the trunk, splintering the wood and tearing it apart. Slowly the tree began to tilt and then fell forward into the aqueduct as Ronias fell unconscious. The tree came to rest on the edge of the aqueduct, an instant bridge across the span. Flatfoot leapt forward and scampered across the tree with casual ease, hopping off the edge and onto the top of the aqueduct. Jorn cut down the last of the Saurian attackers and hurried back towards the tree. He leaned over, lifting the unconscious elf and slinging him over his shoulder. He stepped towards makeshift bridge.

             
“Watch your balance, laddie,” Ironhelm warned.

Jorn stepped onto the log. It was thick, and stable, but difficult to balance upon with an elf on one’s back. Stepping forward, he found himself twenty feet above the swamp, Saurian attackers running underneath towards the battle. Closing his eyes, he recalled mornings spent sparring atop the log in faraway Glaenavon. He took a deep breath, and stepped forward. He placed his feet carefully as he advanced. Reaching the end safely, he stepped onto the aqueduct and breathed a sigh of relief. The top of the aqueduct was a flat channel of concrete, water flowing along at about height. The sides of the aqueduct were four feet high on either side, forming an elevated walkway stretching out over the swamps as far as the eye could see.

The knight was next, moving carefully over the tree. As Ailric was about to step onto the aqueduct, he lost his footing and began to fall backwards. Jorn reached out and clasped the Knight’s wrist, pulling him forward onto the aqueduct.

             
“That damned tin suit is going to be the death of you,” Jorn muttered.

             
Ironhelm and Willock came up and over the tree last, just as another pair of Saurians emerged around the corner. Willock paused mid-tree, standing and taking aim. He hit one of the Saurians square in the chest with an arrow. The remaining Saurian wisely backed off and Willock ran up the rest of the tree and onto the aqueduct. 

             
“Let’s be off,” Flatfoot said.

             
“No!” Ironhelm said. “The tree! Ach! They’ll follow us across.”

             
Jorn nodded, gently putting the elf down. He leaned Ronias against the wall of the aqueduct and turned back to the tree. It rested against the aqueduct, huge branches sticking out in every direction. Ailric ducked underneath one of the branches and stood on the opposite side from Jorn. Jorn grabbed a pair of branches and leaned under them, Ailric grasping the other side. Jorn pushed up on the branches with all his might as Ailric did the same, the heavy trunk lifting slowly off the aqueduct. They lifted it higher, finally extending their arms all the way above their heads.

             
“To the left,” Jorn said. “On my count. One…two…three!”

With a grunt they heaved the tree aside. It crashed down into the swamps below with a terrific thud, narrowly missing several Saurians.

              Beyond the end of the aqueduct, the battle still raged. On the far side of the ruins, Jorn saw the Saurian attack being beaten back in spite of its ferocity. On the near side, streams of Saurians still poured into the square and did battle with the mass of roaring swampbeasts. Saurian shamans had arrived now, as well. They cast spells into the lines of swampbeasts, but their mediocre magic looked to be having little effect on the hulking monsters. If the Saurians prevailed, as Jorn guessed they would, it would only be at a high cost.

Turning from the scene of battle, Jorn bent down and slung Ronias back over his shoulder. The elf mumbled something, but did not wake up. Jorn began to trot along the top of the aqueduct along with the others, leaving the battle below behind them.

_____

              Jorn lay in the grass under the shade of a small oak, his eyes closed. The aroma of roasted meat reached his nostrils and a smile crossed his lips. He opened his eyes, happy it wasn’t just a dream. 

He lay on the hillside at the edge of White Moors, the Nor Marshes already miles away. It had been a long day without rest, starting the night before some hours after midnight when those monsters first took Flatfoot. Then there was the frenzied pursuit and the desperate rescue of the gnome, and finally the long walk atop the aqueduct. At least the aqueduct made for easy traveling as it skimmed the tree tops for miles all the way to the White Moors. They could barely conceal their joy when the swamps were finally behind them. Even Ronias grinned, glancing back at the dark expanse. Several plumes of black smoke still rose from the scene of the battle. 

              They kept walking along the aqueduct as it continued into the moors. By late afternoon, they reached the clear lake from which the aqueduct drew its steady stream of water. On the near end of the lake was a submerged wall of concrete just a few inches below the surface of the water. Clear, cool water flowed over the concrete wall and into the aqueduct.

The moors were a joy, especially after the misery of the marshes. It was one grassy hill after another for mile upon mile, broken up only by the occasional patch of heather.

Small, reddish deer darted about the rolling hills. Entire herds of the creatures fed quietly on the grass and took little notice of the travelers. Willock felled one with a well-placed arrow and quickly had the animal skinned, gutted, and ready for roasting. By then it was almost evening and they decided to halt for the day by a gurgling brook. It was not long before they had a small fire going, the deer slowly roasting over it and waking Jorn from his slumber. He walked over to the fire and sat down. Even in the early evening, patches of fog were already forming.

“The White Moors,” he observed.

Willock said, “In the morning we won’t be able to see fifty feet in front of us.”

“You know something of these hills, laddie,” Ironhelm said.

“Not nearly so much as I’d now prefer,” the woodsman said. “Glammonfore Keep is but two day’s ride east of here, yet these moors remain unexplored. The king’s scouts have only probed its edges. It is said to be a place of evil wizards further in, though no gruks or any such evil creatures have ever been encountered here.”

             
“I wonder why,” Jorn said.

             
“They believe the moors are haunted by the spirits of their dead,” Willock said. “They will not venture upon them.”

             
“Two day’s ride to Glammonfore Keep,” Ailric observed, looking east towards the distant pass. When they settled in by the brook, he removed every piece of his armor, washing it all before donning the suit once again.

“All these days in the wilderness and still so close to civilization,” he went on. “I say we make for the keep.”

              “What?” Jorn said, smirking and shaking his head. “We head west, not east.”

             
“Consider it,” the knight continued. “We’ve lost our horses, we’ve lost almost all our provisions. We can restock our supplies at the keep and then head right for the Teeth again. We’ve little choice.”

             
“And we’d lose six days in the process just getting back to this very same spot. If we’re lucky,” Willock said.

             
“You’re forgetting one other thing,” Jorn added. “That high road is crowded with trolls and gruks. It may be only two days to Glammonfore, but it’s a dangerous two days. Right now, we are behind that army and the path to the Teeth is clear. We are too close now to turn back, not now. You can see the Teeth of Kaas. Look at them!
That
is only two day’s march. We cross that pass and the blood quartz vessel is there for the taking. And the earlier we grab it, the better. I want to snatch it and be back in Glammonfore Keep with Braemorgan before it’s even noticed missing.”