The Trees And The Night (Book 3) Read online

  “To higher ground,” growled Granu. “Force them to come at us in single file.”

  The Keltaran prince did not wait for his companion’s compliance. He charged up the path scouting a suitable spot to turn and face the Ulrog. The path steepened but contained few loose stone and the trio raced ahead. The clatter from below grew as the pack realized they were spotted. Hackles nearly toppled one another from the heap of stone as they fought to cross the bridge.

  Granu moved confidently up Hdjmir. He glanced backward to insure the position of Cefiz and Vieri. They lagged, but were clearly in no immediate danger. Granu’s first task was to choose a spot to make a stand. The higher they climbed, the more precarious the ledge became. Ahead, the path narrowed to allow only one to pass safely. To the left, the shear rock wall plunged thousands of feet into darkness and to the right the jagged surface climbed into the clouds surrounding the head of the mountain.

  Granu halted. Any farther and the trio would find no room to confront their attackers. All combatants would plunge to their deaths. Granu spun on his heels and called to the pair below him.

  “Get past me and take positions up the slope,” growled the giant. “I will hold them at bay. Dispose of any that advance beyond me.”

  Vieri charged forward. Cefiz stumbled. The rush up the slope left him breathless. The Guardsman hacked and coughed. A fresh trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Vieri whirled and wedged herself against the lieutenant’s side.

  “We must move,” she shouted angrily, but her eyes betrayed her concern.

  The pair slid past the giant on. Cefiz’s eyes widened as the Windrider dragged him within inches of the precipice. Rock spilled from its edge and tumbled thousands of feet into the brooding darkness surrounding the feet of Hdjmir.

  The Ulrog crossed the bridge of broken stone and now bolted up the ledge. Vieri set Cefiz against the rock wall that stretched toward the mountaintop. She wheeled, drew a pair of wicked, curved daggers and set her jaw. Granu turned and their eyes met. The giant gave her an assuring nod and spun back to face the Ulrog, his staff held high.

  Granu’s choice of weaponry emboldened the first of the stone men. The Hackle was a veteran of the struggles in the West and faced many armored giants in his day. Here stood a large Keltaran, but unarmored and with a staff as his only protection. The stone man roared and plunged forward slashing his cleaver down at Granu.

  The giant’s staff spun and met the cleaver with such force the blade was torn from the Ulrog’s stony hand. Its eyes widened as the opposite end of the staff followed through and caught him squarely on the side of the head. A loud “crack” echoed against the mountain and the Hackle crumpled to the ground.

  Others poured forward, their stony feet pounding on the body of their fallen comrade as it slid down the slope toward them. A pair moved on Granu with just enough room to effectively attack him in unison. Again the staff spun, blocking cleavers and damaging their holders. Within moments a Hackle’s leg was hooked and while he remained off balance the powerful shoulder of Granu hammered him from the ledge. The second Hackle separated from his comrade and pressed against the granite wall. A feint to his midsection caused the beast to lower his cleaver and Granu’s elbow slammed into the Hackle’s face. As the stunned beast tried to regain his composure, his own cleaver was turned on him and slammed into his chest. His body slid down the surface of the wall, black, oily blood gushing from the wound.

  The ledge rapidly crowded. Hackles pushed in against one another trying to advance toward the Keltaran prince. Granu spun and thrust, hammering at the melee in front of him. Another Hackle fell with a crushed skull and the giant methodically advanced down the ledge. In so doing, he allowed the Hackles more fighting room as the ledge widened near its base. Shortly, he faced three Hackles at one time, then four.

  Vieri stood stunned and helpless. The Keltaran managed those he fought, but the Windrider knew he could not handle all in the crowded pack below. She glanced at Cefiz who stood leaning against the wall, his saber tip laying on the rock before him. The exhausted Guardsman was useless to them. Should she move forward and engage the enemy or remain where the Keltaran told her? If she moved against the enemy, would she simply hamper Granu’s fighting style?

  Suddenly, a Hackle spun past the Keltaran and the attack from those below made it impossible for Granu to focus his attention on the beast. Vieri understood her roll. The Hackle gained higher ground on the prince. Granu’s back faced the beast but he must have sensed its presence. The Keltaran slid to his left, using the wall to partially protect himself. Still, he exposed himself to an attack from behind.

  “WINDRIDER!” bellowed the prince.

  Vieri reacted. She leapt forward and her hands moved in a flash. One of her daggers spun through the air and hammered into the back of the Ulrog as it edged down upon Granu. The stone man howled in pain. It wheeled and faced up the slope, glaring at its attacker. One hand held a massive cleaver and the other fumbled in the small of its back to remove the dagger.

  The remaining Ulrog sensed the change in the battle. Their pressure forced the Keltaran against the rock wall. They hemmed Granu in, pushing forward and surrounding him. The giant no longer took the offensive, but fought desperately to defend himself.

  Several more Hackles slid past the struggle with the giant and moved up to confront the Windrider. Vieri’s hands shot inside her cloak and she readied herself. The wounded Ulrog abandoned his attempts to remove the dagger from his back. He charged up the slope gripping his cleaver with both hands. A pair of Hackles followed closely behind.

  Cefiz fought the blackness that threatened to overtake him. The rapid elevation change combined with the strenuous ascent proved too much for the weakened Guardsman. His injured lungs screamed in agony. They fought to consume enough air to satisfy them. Darkness crept in from the sides of his vision as the lieutenant drowned in his own blood. He watched helplessly as a trio of Ulrog charged up the slope toward Vieri.

  The lead Ulrog was three yards from the girl, racing hard up the slope, when Vieri took a half step back then launched herself above the narrow trail. Instantly, the great, black wings snapped open and gathered in the thin mountain air. The jagged cleaver slashed down at the girl even as she rose up and out of its path. The Ulrog’s eyes widened with dismay. The girl hovered over him for a moment and he stumbled forward beneath her.

  Vieri’s body snapped in the air like a bullwhip. Her torso flexed and spun clockwise, carrying her extended left leg through the air with tremendous force. The girl ripped the gossamer wings inward to increase the speed of her rotation as she leveled her foot at the Ulrog’s head. She prayed the force would be enough to carry him over the cliff.

  Immediately Vieri sensed her error. The thin mountain air did not give her enough lift and she dropped more rapidly than she anticipated. In an instant she adjusted. The Windrider locked her knee and sent it crashing into the Ulrog’s head. Pain shot through her leg, but the sight of the Ulrog being launched toward the precipice rewarded her.

  Vieri followed through on her spin. Her hands dove inside her cape, locking on a second pair of daggers. The remaining Ulrog would be more difficult than the first, but Vieri mastered the Borz dagger long ago.

  Cefiz’s mind screamed in terror. The Windrider was unaware! She dropped to the trail, flicking a pair of menacing blades from beneath the folds of her cloak and facing the pair of rushing Ulrog. Her cape billowed behind her in the mountain breeze, one stony hand tangled within its folds, the other rocky claw clinging desperately to the ledge of the great mountain.

  Cefiz struggled to his feet, extended his saber and staggered down the slope.

  Granu roared in desperation. The giant was oblivious to the fate of his comrades. His only thought was keeping the Hackles at bay. The prince gave up all hope of defending the slope. There were too many for that. He backed against the wall, using his long staff to keep the Ulrog and their short cleavers from coming too close.

 
It was only a matter of time now. The Ulrog sensed victory, but none of the Hackles wanted to sacrifice themselves for the glory of the others. Granu narrowed his eyes and studied his opponents as he hammered and thrust, forcing them back. They would rush him shortly, but knowing when became key.

  Who would initiate the attack? All units, whether they be a Keltaran hammer or an Ulrog pack, develop an internal hierarchy regardless of actual rank. All men defer to the most feared fighter among them, whether he is a general or a private. The six Ulrog who stood about him were no different. They were all well aware of the strongest fighter amongst them. That fighter would be the Hackle to make the first attack. He would feel the pressure of his reputation as the seconds dragged by. The others would wait for his lead.

  The trick for Granu was to assess which of these Hackles held that reputation. This would afford him the best reaction to their attack. The largest Hackle stood to Granu’s left and appeared to be the logical choice, but this Ulrog’s eyes nervously darted to a smaller comrade with black claws beside him. Granu focused his attention there and waited for their rush.

  Vieri’s mind raced. Which of the Ulrog should she encounter first? She shifted her weight to the right. If she could force one of the two over the ledge, she might have a chance.

  A roar of desperation erupted behind her. Her head pivoted to see a rock encrusted claw slowly slipping from the edge of the precipice. The other clung desperately to the fringe of her cape. The girl’s eyes widened with terror.

  In an instant the claws disappeared, the cape went taut and ripped Vieri from her feet, launching her over the ledge into the chasm below.

  “NOOOOOOO!” screamed Cefiz in his head.

  The Guardsman staggered forward toward the ledge. Spasms of pain ripped through his chest but he fought them off. The charging Ulrog halted for a moment in confusion, unaware of how their enemy was defeated. They moved upward and glanced over the ledge to the shadows below.

  Sorrow swept over Cefiz. Then anger. He released a cry of hatred then stumbled toward the Ulrog, raising his saber. The pair turned and snarled, exposing their broken, stony teeth. Their smiles were full of satisfaction.

  They faltered. Their hesitation confused Cefiz. The Ulrog’s expressions turned from one of satisfaction to a contortion of abject fear. They stepped back and their eyes widened as a huge gray figure knocked Cefiz aside and descended upon them. The weak Guardsman tumbled to the ground. The gray robes of the Delvin order flowed past.

  Black Claws shifted his cleaver to his right hand.

  “So he will attack my left,” thought Granu. “He fears the chasm and wishes to force me against the wall to protect his own hide.”

  Granu readied himself. If he could block Black Claw’s cleaver, he could quickly turn on the two Ulrog standing closest to the slope. With enough force, they would be the first to fall.

  A weaponless Ulrog crashed down the slope into the circle of Hackles surrounding Granu. The creature lay immobile. His head twisted at a sickening angle from his shoulders. A guttural roar echoed from the slope above and the huge form of Nostr moved down toward the group. The largest Ulrog stepped backward and again glanced to Black Claws for direction. Black Claws snarled and spat. He turned and loped down the slope away from the advancing scribe. Immediately, the entire circle ran after their leader. Granu remained rigid and braced against the wall, his staff extended.

  Nostr strode past the giant without glancing at him. The Delvin priest shouted and howled in the tongue of the Ulrog. The Hackles fled before him. Granu looked to the heights and saw the heaving form of Cefiz crawling toward the rim of the ledge. Vieri was nowhere to be seen. His mind raced. Three of the pack had made it past his position. One lay at his feet and two vanished. Immediately he knew. The Windrider was gone. The giant ran toward Cefiz.

  Cefiz clawed his way toward the spot from which Vieri disappeared. He fought delirium. Black blood from Nostr’s first victim spattered the stones in front of him. She could not be gone. He peered over the edge to the swirling, icy mists draping the mountain below. Granu dropped beside him. Together they searched.

  “Carry him,” barked a voice behind the giant.

  Granu spun to see the rigid form of the stone prophet standing behind him. The giant peered down the slope past the scribe to see the Ulrog massing at the junction of the spine three hundred paces below. From the fissure of Mount Grabor crawled a huge black figure. Granu’s eyes widened and he searched Nostr’s face.

  “A Malveel,” stated Nostr without turning to inspect the boulder causeway. “I hold sway over my brethren. They fear me. However, the great worms of Amird are another story. They must be convinced.“

  Cefiz broke eye contact with the prelate and peered over the ledge again.

  “She is gone,” stated Nostr flatly. “You must flee. Your quest to save the Elven girl is at an end. It is not your task. That lies elsewhere. “

  “We have made a pledge....” began Granu.

  “Your pledge must be broken. Others will look to fulfill it,” said Nostr turning to the crossroads below. “The Malveel will assess the situation and drive his Hackles forward. You have but one choice. Follow this ledge to the heights. After a time the Hackles and even Woil the Lamentation will refuse to follow.”

  “Why?” demanded Granu, suspiciously eyeing the scribe.

  Nostr ignored the question.

  “The Malveel will post his Hackles below at the junction, blocking your exit from the slopes of Tar Hdjmir. He will be satisfied with letting you starve to death on the barren rock above.”

  Granu scowled at the scribe as he lifted Cefiz to his feet.

  “I prefer to die in battle than freeze to death above,” growled Granu as he edged down the slope.

  The Ulrog scribe stepped into his path and stared hard eyed at the giant.

  “Trust Keltaran,” snarled Nostr. “It is time for you to trust. Time for you to understand that I see what others do not.”

  Granu was taken aback by the fire within the scribe’s eyes.

  “Move to the heights,” snapped Nostr spinning toward the junction and pointing to the roaring Malveel below, “or you drag your comrade to a certain and needless death.”

  Granu hesitated, looked to the slope as it wound into the icy mists of Tar Hdjmir above, then turned and dragged a weary Cefiz upward. Nostr watched the pair depart. Turning, he eyed the group at the junction. The Ulrog scribe sighed, then confidently charged down the stone pathway.

  Cefiz coughed and hacked as Granu supported him in their journey upward. The Guardsman again colored a pale gray and Granu worried for his friend. Soon the stone causeway and the Ulrog were out of sight.

  “I fear this action is folly, my friend,” whispered Cefiz weakly.

  “We have adequate provisions to last several days if we can find a recess to shelter from the wind and ice,” huffed Granu then smiled. “Have faith Zodrian. Avra provides for his children.”

  “If the scribe is mistaken and the Hackles follow, he has wasted our energy and put any escape to the Frizgard out of reach,” wheezed Cefiz.

  A roar echoed up the massive cliff wall from the mists below. The pair halted and stared at one another.

  “Then let us pray he is correct,” returned Granu.

  CHAPTER 3: A FIRE STRUCK

  They traveled nearly two days on the road from the great city. At first the riding was easy. The roads arrayed about the capital like spokes on a wheel. Their surfaces were strong and reinforced by the king’s laborers over centuries. Cavalry, archers and infantry made good time as they marched over these roads. Supply wagons pulled by ox and draft horse followed closely behind. They too made excellent time and the newly formed army held tight as it crawled west.

  However, over time and distance the roads crumbled and the formation spread. Horsemen found it difficult to pace their mounts and infantry grew weary from the sun. The wagons found difficulty as well. Ruts and sinkholes marred the road and the going became more difficu
lt.

  Disabled carts were dragged to the roadside and their contents transferred to other wagons as repairs were initiated. Men equipped with thin boots or ragged leather shoes limped forward and were removed from the line. They were ordered to catch the main group as best they could. After a time, a muddle of soldiers, archers and cart men trailed the main army hobbling toward the Dunmor.

  Occasionally, the army passed through a town or village. At first these towns were of respectable size. Their proximity to the capital afforded them both commerce with the great city and the protection offered by her army. However, as the distance from her walls grew, the villages shrunk and their buildings became simpler.

  The townspeople stepped from their homes and cheered their soldiers, but the shouts were tempered with a sense of gloom.

  Near dawn of the second day of marching, the army encountered refugees. These folk were from the border and most distant villages. They fled from the Keltaran. Word spread throughout the western portion of the realm and homesteaders and fur trappers rushed toward the protection of the walls of Zodra.

  Often whole families in tiny mule drawn carts stepped from the road and stared in wonder and dread as the entire army slowly wound past them. Prayers were muttered and tears shed by all. More than once a father or son hugged his family and fell in line within the ranks of Manfir’s force. Brelg or another of the sergeants saw to it that the man was properly outfitted with sword or pike.

  Soon Flair began to call to the villagers as the force passed through the towns furthest from the capital.