Wildling (13 page)

The effect was shocking, the weapon more devastating than he had imagined possible. The screaming grew worse and worse and the men started running blindly in all directions. They ran into each other and fell down. They ran into trees and didn't even seem to understand that they'd hit something. Some ran straight through the flames, the terror of whatever they were seeing far more frightening than the thought of burning. Some drew their swords and began fighting off the monsters in their minds. Often they injured their comrades in the battle. Others threw their weapons to the ground and fell down begging for mercy from their terrors. Even the priests were not immune, and he watched them run around screaming, just as helpless as the soldiers. Their faith was gone and he knew it wouldn't be coming back in a hurry.

Smoke was filling the courtyard to add to their confusion. Thick black smoke that was making the men cough and choke even as it robbed them of their sight. And he knew it was time to put the final part of his plan into effect.

Quietly, though there was no point in being quiet when the men below were screaming madly and wouldn't have heard anything, he made his way down through the fort to the very centre of the middle staircase. It was there that he knew his voice would be carried the furthest, and that it would echo the most, robbing those below of any sense of where the sound was coming from.

On the way down he breathed in a little of the smoke himself, and the dust affected him somewhat. Not as it did the soldiers – he was a shifter after all and very little could poison him – but it was still disturbing. To get rid of the effects he shifted forms a couple of times, and each time felt the clarity return to his thoughts. Unfortunately for the soldiers they couldn't do the same.

Then once he was in position he began roaring. At first it was just an angry growl here and there, a couple of snarls and some hissing as well. It was surprising just how many noises the throat of a big cat could make. But then when he thought he'd manage to attract the men's terrified attention he changed into panther form and let out a full throated growl. The sound that only a truly angry panther could make. And of course the sound was carried around the fort's hallways and chambers and echoed around through the rooms until it finally burst free from the windows of the rooms, making it sound as if there weren't one beast inside, but many.

He kept roaring, letting the sound be carried to the terrified soldiers.

Was it working? He didn't truly know. A man screaming in terror because he feared the monsters in his mind sounded much the same as a man screaming in terror because he heard an actual monster. But what he did know was that the horses outside the fort had heard the sound and panicked. He could hear their hooves beating the ground as they ran and knew that they'd stampeded in their panic. It was what horses did. And if they heard it and knew fear the gods alone knew what it must be for those in the courtyard with their minds already clouded by the white wrath.

In time he risked taking a look to see what effect his roar had had, and he padded quietly through the fort until he found a window to look out of. When he did he found himself more than pleased.

The men had run. A dozen or more were already through the gate and running for their lives in all directions, terror completely ruling them. The rest – including the priests – were up against the far wall desperately trying to find their way through the ruined gate. But in their terror they were making things harder for themselves, actually pushing the gate shut as they tried to open it and trapping themselves.

They were still blinded by the smoke and between that and the terrified panic of their waking nightmares, they were having difficulty thinking. The only thing they knew was that they wanted to get away from this place. They wanted it so badly that they would do anything they could to find their freedom. So they were fighting with one another to get through the gate. Some were trying to push it over. Others were climbing over the tops of their fallen companions. Some were even attacking the wall with their bare hands, trying to force their way through several feet of stone.

Many of them were wounded – burnt and bleeding – and a couple of them were on fire. Quite a few were naked for some reason. But they didn't seem to care about that. They didn't care about anything except getting away.

Even as he watched a couple more managed to make their way through the half open gate and then ran screaming into the forest. One of them was a priest, though he'd thrown his robes aside for some reason and all he was wearing was a cloth and a black leather breast plate. He was bleeding too, though why Dorn couldn't tell. It might not even have been his blood. Many of the soldiers were bleeding, and he guessed that most of them had been struck and stabbed by their comrades in arms.

None of them were dead. That surprised him a little. Given all the violence of their frightened stampede, and it was a stampede every bit as much as that which the horses had done, he would have expected some of them to be killed. Some bodies lying on the ground. But even so he knew as he watched a few more manage to escape through the gate as they eventually worked out how to pull it open, that many of them would still die. The powder was still in their minds, controlling their thoughts, and it would be for at least a day. A day of unrelenting fear. And while it was there they would run. Many of them straight into the mouths of predators.

Some would run deeper into the forests and get lost. They might well freeze to death overnight or even run off cliffs. Some would run into the wolves that called the forest home or some of the other more dangerous creatures, and they would be unable to defend themselves. A few might die of their burns and other injuries when they couldn't get them tended to. And of those that did eventually make their way back to the town, there would be tales told. They would tell them.

Even the two soldiers who had been left outside the fort to tend to the horses looked terrified and they had not been trapped by the fire or exposed to the powder. All they knew was that there had been a fire inside the walls of the courtyard, a beast roaring and that their comrades were screaming. And as several more men ran past them screaming in terror he could see the fear in the two soldiers’ eyes. They would not be able to stop the others in their blind rush. They might even run themselves.

The one thing he was sure of though, was that they would not enter the fort themselves. No one would. Not for a long time to come. And it wasn't just because of the flames that were still burning inside the high stone walls. It was because they too were frightened.

Once more it would be claimed that the terrible monsters of the ancient fort had struck and killed. The locals would accept that. It would just be another story to add to the endless legends about the fort. Another reason for people to stay away. And they would tell tales of the priests who had completely failed to protect them. The Dicans who had come to destroy an ancient shrine and then been sent running in terror just like the rest of them. That would harm the foul church perhaps even more than the dozen or so priests who had already been returned to them with dusky elf arrows in them.

This he decided as he watched a few more of them slip away, had been a good day. A day good enough that even having large sections of his courtyard set on fire, the offering table burnt and the shrine itself blackened was not enough to take away from his satisfaction.

Happy, Dorn roared his pleasure for all to hear. But of course the frightened soldiers below had no understanding that it was anything other than a monster baying for their blood. They couldn't tell the difference between one roar and another.

But Dorn didn't care. It was enough that they were frightened. That hopefully they would flee this land in terror. And that others of his people hiding out in these lands would be safe from them.

He roared some more. Let them know fear. Let them know the same terror they had inflicted upon others all these years.

Let them suffer.

Chapter Eighteen.

Most of the soldiers left Little Rock four days after the attack on his home, something for which Dorn – and he suspected the rest of the town – was very grateful.

But he couldn't let them just abandon Little Rock to return to their better held positions in the rest of the wastes. There they would simply carry on inflicting pain and suffering on others. Other wildlings like him. And eventually they would come back. He could not let them come back. He would not let them come back.

Something within him had changed after the battle for his home. Maybe it was that he'd learned a lesson of courage. Maybe it was just that he'd let loose a lifetime of anger. Maybe it was just that he knew he could fight and win. All he knew was that he had to fight. He had to make them suffer in turn for the suffering they had caused him and his family. To so many others. And in the white wrath he knew he had found a weapon that he could use. A weapon like no other. So he'd harvested more of the mushrooms and then when they'd set off, he'd followed them. At a safe distance of course and in his panther form.

He'd decided that the time had come to use stealth. So he'd given up walking as a man for the journey, left behind his clothes and simply tied his bow, quiver and a bag of white wrath to his back. It was the easiest way, and because he'd used a stretchy woven linen the straps adjusted with him as he shifted, saving him the trouble of having to keep donning and doffing his longbow. It was quicker. Then, as the soldiers rode down the trail south he followed them through the forest, always a couple of hundred yards back from them and well hidden. Though the horses and dogs sometimes caught his scent and snorted and barked nervously, none of the soldiers ever spotted him.

Dorn tailed the fifty men for a good two days as they travelled south east, and listened to their conversations as they sat round their fires at night. Conversations that inevitably came back to the dusky elves that seemed to be hunting them down as well as whatever had happened at the ruined fort. These men were nervous and their fear was almost the only thing on their minds.

They still didn't know what had happened at his fort. That was what made it truly frightening for them. All they did know was that only a dozen men had returned, all of them wounded, and they had all spoken about monsters and ancient gods tearing into them. And, what pleased him more, they spoke about the priests running in terror just like everyone else.

The soldiers normally had little respect for the priests. They obeyed their instructions because disobedience could get them killed and because it was expected of them. Their lord demanded it of them, probably because he in turn was frightened of the church, and the Dicans controlled a lot of the realm one way or another. To disobey the church was one way for a lord to end up either destitute or dead. The soldiers owed their allegiance to their lord so they did as they were told. But since the attack on the fort that lack of respect had changed to active hatred. The soldiers expected little of the priests. Little except that they protected them from the unknown dangers of the spirit world. They'd failed in that duty, and that failure would not be quickly forgotten.

On the third evening as they made camp Dorn knew that it was finally time to act. It was time for two reasons. The first was simply that the men from Little Rock had met up with another hundred or so soldiers from the rest of the province and now a camp of a hundred and fifty was being set up for the night. It was a perfect target for the white wrath, and he knew he might not get another.

The second reason though he hadn't expected. Not even as he set up his little bags of white wrath mushrooms ready to be lit upwind of the camp site. But as night had fallen two more patrols of soldiers had joined the camp and many of his questions were suddenly answered. The new patrols  were dusky elves.

Dorn was shocked when he saw the fifty or so elves simply ride into the camp and then make themselves at home around the fires. It seemed wrong. Especially when the elves managed to overcome the soldiers’ suspicions so easily. They should be killing one another. But instead they were friendly – even relaxed. The elves of course claimed that it was obviously another clan that had attacked their men. A rival clan. And their excuse was quickly accepted.

Dorn couldn’t understand why they would accept the excuse until he realised that the soldiers from Lampton Heights and the elves had formed an alliance – or rather, they had formed an alliance with at least one of the dusky elves’ clans. The one whose riders were sharing their camp.

And it would not easily set aside.  Even a few deaths would not break the alliance. Not when they had obviously agreed to carve up the southern wastes between them. Given such a prize a few deaths would be quickly forgotten. There was too much to gain to risk losing it fighting among themselves.

This was an invasion.

They were taking the wastes town by town without anyone being the wiser. And they were making fools of the people of the wastes in the process.

The people of Little Rock had thought that the soldiers had come to protect them from the elves, and at first they'd welcomed them. After what they'd been through it was only natural. But the soldiers had had no need to protect them. The elves would have left by themselves in time as they took over the next set of towns and villages. They'd likely only wanted the town as a base as they pressed on north. Only the fact that the elves were divided into warring tribes had complicated things. Rodan had come from out of nowhere to strike the other elves down because they weren't of his clan.

If the invasion succeeded Dorn knew, life for his people would become impossible. Wildlings would either be enslaved or killed. The elves would take them or the Dicans would burn them. And the survivors would have to flee further north. Much further north.

That could not happen!

Seeing them camped out together as though it were normal, Dorn grew angry. He felt a terrible need to kill them all. To simply run through their midst and start slashing out their throats. But he also knew that if he struck at them as he truly wanted to, he'd be killed. He had to stick to his plan.

There was another problem too. He saw it as he watched the dusky elves hammer some iron pegs into the bark of a tree and then chain their captives to them. They had three wildlings with them. There was no way that he could unleash his white wrath powder without them also being affected. But at the same time he knew that if he didn't stop these people tonight, those three wildlings would be taken somewhere else and would then spend the rest of their lives as slaves. Unless they handed them over to the Dicans who were staring at them intently, all the while muttering incantations. If that happened the three of them would be staked out over a fire shortly and be burned alive.

Their only hope he decided, was for him to carry out the plan as he'd intended, drive the soldiers into a terrified frenzy and hope that no one harmed the wildlings in the confusion. Once they'd fled he would rescue them and keep them safe until the effects of the white wrath wore off. It was a cruel thing to do to them, but it was the only way, and they would – if everything worked out as he hoped – be free. At least he knew they wouldn't be running off since they were chained to a tree. So with that in mind he continued setting his bags of the mushrooms out and said a few short prayers to Eldas The Fortunate for luck.

A couple of hours later things were going well enough that he thought it was time. The soldiers - dusky elves and humans both – were settling in for the night. The dinner had been eaten and a lot of ale had been drunk. Some were still up, chatting with the others, a few were singing quietly, songs of battle and victory, and the guards they'd posted were looking less alert than they should have been. They wouldn't notice a dark shape moving silently about in the distant darkness of the forest. And they wouldn't see any smoke.

So he lit the first fire. Of course the fire was behind a tree so that its flames couldn't be seen and the pods of white wrath were on a flat stone beside it, gently heating up. They would puff away in time and send the powder down to the camp and no one would be the wiser. After that he went to the next trap and the one after that. He'd set up half a dozen of them as he'd waited for the camp to settle, not knowing how many he'd need. The wind had to carry the powder seventy yards or so to the camp and he had no idea as to how concentrated it would be when it arrived.

After the fires were lit he waited nervously, watching the white mushrooms slowly warming and swelling.

It probably only took five minutes or so until the first one popped, but as Dorn waited, his stomach churning with worry, those minutes felt like hours.

When the first of the mushroom pods popped though he had a new worry. How would the powder work? Would it be as fast and overwhelming as the effects had been in the courtyard? Or would it be weaker and take time? Or would it not work at all?

The last thought was the real worry. If it didn't work he had only one option left, and that was to creep up and drop the little bags on the ground beside the camp fires. He didn't want to do that, not least because he would be seen and he'd have to be in his human shape. Naked, in human form and with hundreds of armed men surrounding him, that was not something he liked the thought of. He did not ever want to be that vulnerable. But what else could he do?

The white wrath wasn't fast. He waited nervously – wanting to pace the ground but knowing that he shouldn't – to see some sign of the powder working. But there was none. Nothing at all. The men slept and chatted and sang and nothing changed. And for the longest while he thought he'd failed. Then a man cried out in his sleep and he knew a brief surge of hope.

Unfortunately the man quietened down quickly and with that the rush of hope faded in Dorn's heart. It was beginning to look as though he'd failed.

Then another man cried out in his sleep a few seconds later and Dorn's pulse raced again. And this time the man didn't stop crying out. Then one by one others started joining him and Dorn knew that the powder was finally working. It was a good feeling.

Little by little he heard the camp waking up again, as many of the soldiers started having nightmares and others hurried to see what was wrong. Best of all it wasn't just the soldiers from Lampton Heights that were affected. He watched the dusky elves having their own problems and knew some relief at that. He'd worried that they might either be more resistant to the powder or recognise its signs and be able to deal with it. But they didn't have any defence.

Soon more men were running around, worried and calling out and he recognised the signs of imminent panic about to set in. Some were shouting and pointing at the forest, seeing demons in the trees. They had enough wit left to them to call out a warning, but not so much to realise that it was just the normal movement of the trees as the wind gently wove through them.

Then someone screamed in uncontrolled terror and everything went to the underworld. Once the panic started it spread like fire. Weapons were drawn, people started shouting crazy things at one another and battle ensued. Not an organised battle but a random brawl as people started fighting invisible enemies while others fought back. It was a gigantic alehouse riot with even less reasoning behind it. Some men ran into the forest, chased by their nightmares. Others started chasing them, thinking perhaps to kill the things that scared them.

A trio of men came running his way, not because they saw him but simply because they were terrified of whatever they thought lay behind them. But still Dorn knew that they were armed and could be dangerous even as they were. He put an arrow in each of their thighs as they ran and they fell down. They wouldn't be walking for a long time he figured. Better yet he realised, they would blame the elves. After all, his arrows were fletched as theirs were. If they survived they would report that the elves had attacked them, and with luck their alliance would be at least strained.

That suddenly struck him as a good thing. So he started putting a few more arrows into the hides of those soldiers still standing, and quickly had them screaming and running.

A few minutes later three quarters of the camp was deserted and the men had run off into the night. Those that remained were only there because they were either too injured to run or else simply didn't know which way to go. He decided to help those who didn't know where their enemy came from by roaring, a good solid sound that they heard even through their terror. Two score more soldiers ran like frightened rabbits a heartbeat later.

That left only a dozen or so lying on the ground, some of them moving, some not, and he knew that none of them would pose him any danger. And of course the three wildlings remained chained to the tree. It was time to free them.

Cautiously he walked into the camp, uncommonly aware that he was naked, and headed for them. The men on the ground paid him no notice. They were terrified of the monsters hunting them in their thoughts and a naked man was nothing to them. He doubted any of them even noticed him.

Soon Dorn was at the tree, and he knew that the three prisoners were just as shaken by the powder as everyone else. They were screaming and yelling as loudly as anyone else and desperately straining against their collars. So much so that he could see blood around all their necks.

He hit them. Good solid punches to their jaws that knocked them out cleanly. It was probably some sort of crime, especially as far as the glowing people would be concerned, but it was the only way he was going to be able to handle them. Then one by one he freed them from their collars, threw them over the sides of the nearest horses, and tied them in place. There was no way they were going to be able to ride in their condition, and if they woke up they would run too. He also gagged them, knowing that their screams if they awoke would likely call attention to them and frighten the horses.