CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Wolf sentries helped in two more muddy and dishevelled Sylve.
‘I named Dror,’ said the larger of the two men with a bloody slash disfiguring his chin. He held shaking hands across his chest and continued. ’We been hunting beyond the village and ran into wounded demon. We fought it hard before slaying it with spears.’ Dror stared straight ahead reliving the experience. ‘Then we so tired, rested, regained strength to return to home village. And we find destruction, then you.’
‘My name Aldred and I say these vile creatures are the spawn of evil Gods,’ said the other newcomer.
Malkrin noted the muscular build of hunters and realised the effort it must have taken to prevail over the quarter-man. But at least it proved two men could beat one demon. Tabra handed her tribesmen food and a hot beverage that smelt of herbs. Soon the Sylve men began to look around acknowledging BerantWolf’s band.
The conversation turned back to the quest.
'We must travel at night to get past the demons,' Malkrin argued. 'We are too few to hope to prevail over them in daylight.'
‘We will stay here and rest till dark,' BerantWolf decided.
‘The woman and child cannot go with us, it is too dangerous,' Malkrin’s Wolf warrior adversary added.
'Indeed they cannot TrathWolf,' BerantWolf acknowledged.
At last Malkrin learnt the man's name and also that he had shown more compassion.
'I stay here and look after Tabra and the boy,' Palreth stated, ‘it is still our village that we know and love.'
Malkrin turned to the new Sylve arrivals, 'will you join us friends?'
'I come along to avenge my people,' said Dror.
'I Aldred stay to bury my people then look after my few brethren.'
BerantWolf acknowledged the two Sylve hunters decisions. Then he shifted his planning to how to efficiently dispatch quarter-men. ‘We must make an accounting,’ he snarled in frustration.
Malkrin summed up the problem, ‘so far it had taken a disproportionate amount of warriors and effort to overcome a single demon. If necessary, accurate bow-shots would be the safest option – we cannot afford to duel hand to hand.’
'There is no honour in fighting at a distance,' BerantWolf snapped, spraying spittle.
TrathWolf added, ‘all must sell his life dearly, if we can each dispatch a dozen quarter-men before we are slain then it may discourage them . . .’
‘. . . From entering further into our lands? No, we have little hope of that,’ Malkrin saw only unreasoned warrior’s frustration.
Halle added despairingly, ’we need every man to return to Brightwater to fight later, at a place of our choosing.’
'Why are we talking of engagement,' Eighth responded sharply, 'our mission is to assess the demons, not attempt to destroy a small number of them.'
Malkrin added, 'if we attempt to deliberately engage them we will surely fail – we are only a handful. We need to keep to our original mission; evaluate them then return and prepare our peoples.’
‘Yes, we’re getting carried away on thoughts of vengeance, for which we’re ill equipped.’ Talgour agreed.
BerantWolf scowled in internal argument; his inbred doctrine fought the need to plan for future survival of all their tribes. Malkrin could see the almost tangible battle as BerantWolf fought tradition, his face tense and reddened. TrathWolf looked on, his fingers running lightly up and down a dagger blade as he prepared to back his master’s decision. At last BerantWolf sighed and his frown eased. ‘Very well, we put warrior’s virtue aside. I will go with the greater necessity of survival over honour.’
The whole room released a pent up breath.
'We have another matter to think over,' announced, Palreth of Sylva. ‘You are only a half days march from our sister people, The Cembrie. They live as we do in harmony with the forests and streams. We must warn them of the approaching demons.'
Malkrin hoped they were not too late to be warned.
'We will detour there,' BerantWolf announced instantly to re-impose his authority.
Palreth and the other Sylve nodded in hope.
Malkrin's thoughts turned to weapons. 'My Sylva friends would you let me use one of your fallen comrades bows and a quiver of arrows? I have seen they are of superb quality.'
'We would be honoured if you would avenge our people with our weapons,' Palreth offered. 'I give you Trisher's husband’s bow and quiver. He was master of our trees and joint Governor of Sylva with his Trisher wife.'
'I thank you.’
Palreth nodded then added, ‘also I will present you with a sacred dagger. It is of the sharpest metal, and has been preserved for only the direst of needs by generations of our people. Many suspect it once belonged to the ancients, even the warrior Goddess herself.'
'I am greatly in your debt Palreth. Can I ask your Goddess’s name?'
'She is Jadden the greatest of protectors. Until yesterday she had shielded us in her great hands.'
Malkrin had guessed who the Goddess would be, Jadde was so mighty a Goddess all knew and worshipped her.
The night was dark with the full moon hidden behind cloud when the band gathered to continue the reconnaissance. Dror would lead as a guide through his peoples’ lands. Then BerantWolf would follow with two Wolf warriors, followed by Halle and the two Brightwater men and the other Wolf men. Malkrin took station at the rear so he could use his highsense to detect any demons that may attack from behind.
In the dark shadows a stream tinkled as if alive. They followed the rippling water for an hour strung out in line one behind the other. Dror took a right angled path into thick scented pine woodland and travelled a distinct route between trees and boulder strewn banks. The pines finally thinned and the oppressive night diminished. The band ran in silence. Occasionally an owl hooted and periodic rustles in the surrounding ferns suggested natures continual hunt to survive.
BerantWolf signed a short rest. Malkrin did not relax but kept slightly apart from the group and faced backward to detect any developing demon assault.
He had just eased his panting breath when from behind a cold blade was applied lightly to his throat. He knew who his assailant was – but crucially his highsense had flickered again at a crucial moment, failing to warn him once again.
'Do you remember me Malkrin of Seconchane?' TrathWolf’s voice hissed in his ear.
Malkrin’s mind raced. He'd never met a Wolf warrior until they'd appeared at Brightwater.
His highsense flicked back on, filling his mind with information. It was as if it had lurked in the depths of his mind monitoring events all along.
He had a hand on the hilt of the sharp Sylve dagger. It would be so easy to shove back into TrathWolf and try an upward thrust into his chest.
'I saw you Seconchane, from a distance. My brother tried to draw your companions away by only wounding them. But you were possessed and you slaughtered him.'
A memory arose of the Cyprusnian hunting patrol past the frontier that day long ago.
'I remember now. Be assured I have always regretted the brave warrior’s death.'
The image of the Wolf bandit emerged crystal clear in Malkrin’s memory. The damp cave returned to envelope him and the memory of the smell of sweat and blood and damp mould returned. 'But it was the way of our leaders to never negotiate with bandits. It was ingrained in us to kill intruders. So I obeyed.'
‘Wolf warriors always show mercy, unlike your kind. I am of a thought to treat you as you treated my brother.'
Malkrin realised in that instant how empathy had been bred out of the Seconchane's dealings with the Wolf people. How a simple understanding would have allowed the Wolf tribe to continue their sacred journey through the lands of Cyprusnia. He deserved death and relaxed his grip on the dagger. Then a need to complete the journey and save his people invigorated him. He spoke quickly whilst steeling his legs to spring against the Wolf warrior.
'I k
now now why the Wolf people travelled to our lands. I now understand you were not wishing to raid us, merely pass through. I am truly sorry for my people’s attitude, and my slaying of your brother. But it cannot be undone. We must put to one side the past and hope to change my people. But we must also put aside personal differences to conquer the demon curse that is descending on us.'
He felt the pressure of the cold knife hesitate then the grip round his throat relaxed.
'You begin to learn Seconchane, just keep out of my way. We will deal with the demons then perhaps I’ll let you return alive to your intolerant people.' He released Malkrin and faded silently into the night.
Malkrin had never felt so ineffectual, and frustrated. More than ever he saw the wrong in killing the Wolf bandit. TrathWolf had just insured the memory of the slaughter of his brother would live with Malkrin forever. The Wolf warrior had good reason for his hatred. Malkrin resolved to somehow try to rectify the man's opinion of him and the ordinary Seconchane. He picked himself up and brushed leaf litter from his clothes. BerantWolf called for the band to continue. Soon the familiar panting and whispered curses of the men filled Malkrin’s returned highsense.
Later, through the trees flickering lights appeared, and Dror indicated they were approaching the village of the Cembrie.
A challenge rung from dense undergrowth and they stopped. Dror spoke with a hidden guard and a short debate ensued. Then Dror gestured them forward as a Celembrie guard ran to take the news of their arrival to their chieftain.
Ten strange warriors appeared from behind nearby trees as if woodland spirits had previously rendered them invisible. They were dressed in hooded garments and breaches in a similar patchwork of green and brown. Weaponry adorned them as numerous as a Brenna woman’s jewels. Swords, spears and daggers were slung around their backs and in scabbards hanging from multiple belts. Malkrin realised the clothing was a superb way of choosing colour to blend with their surroundings similar to the effect the Skatheln had utilised. He made a mental note to recommend the alliance take on this idea.
BerantWolf’s band walked with the ten Celembrie through the wood and toward flaming torchlight. Soon the dense trees thinned at the woodland edge to reveal low mounds. Each had a bright coloured token pinned to the head, following the same burial tradition as the Seconchane and Brightwater peoples. Malkrin counted twenty nine of them.
The procession strode warily into a large woodland clearing where bonfires and torches fended off the night. Immediately Malkrin noticed a sharp smell, he now recognised the stink of demons. The quarter-men had paid these people a visit.
They entered the clearing and squinted in the mellow flickering light. The flaring torches lit the Celembrie homes which Malkrin noticed were entirely constructed of split pine logs with roofs of turf. Most had been slashed and shredded and people were repairing them under the torch-glow. Malkrin estimated the community was of at least two hundred residences all sturdily constructed. It was a much larger tribe than that of the Sylve.
An imposing figure left a particularly ornate central dwelling and strode purposely to meet them.
'Greetings friends. I am Thicheal leader of the Celembrie, and you are welcome.’ He paused, his face set into genuine grief. ‘I am deeply saddened by the destruction of our Sylve cousins. We will pray every sunset to Jadden and ask her to look after their spirits.’
BerantWolf, Malkrin and the others nodded with downcast eyes.
‘You have also chosen a sad time to visit us here. We could have used your weapon arms this morning.'
'The black demons?' Talgour questioned unnecessarily.
The man nodded, 'I would normally offer you refreshment but I am informed you are on an urgent quest to observe the host of the fiends.'
'We are,’ confirmed BerantWolf.
‘Then I will send with you two of my best warriors to bring me information. Then when you return we must all exchange plans on how to crush these hell creatures.'
'We welcome your help.’ BerantWolf spoke with gratitude. ‘We had detoured to warn you of the approaching horde, but unfortunately no warning is necessary. We must leave now, but will talk on our return.’
Well spoken, Malkrin thought, and ten minutes later his companions moved out with Dror and the two chosen Celembrie now leading.
In a deeply shadowed gulley a tangled heap of black corpses lay; their carapace armour still black in death and blade fingers still razor sharp. Soon they had left the beleaguered Celembrie village behind and the pace quickened along a clear flat track. Malkrin had time to think about what he had just seen and realised no one had asked how the Celembrie had slain so many demons. He turned to Halle who was panting in a steady rhythm at his side and mentioned the omission. 'I don’t know how they did it, but they made a good accounting. How many demons did they kill?’’
‘By the size of the pile I’d say at least twenty, Sire. The Celembrie are efficient fighters; we must learn their techniques when we return.'
They lapsed into silence for most of the night, running through dark woodland glades then narrow vales between wooded hills.
Dror put his hand up indicating an alert.
Malkrin and BerantWolf ran to him. The two Celembrie pointed uphill to an encampment of seething black shapes amongst spruce trees at the top of the next slope. They had lit a large central fire and demons with long shadows scuttled around it. Other huddled shapes lay squatting and dormant further from the flames. Four more were slowly circling the mass of creatures, presumably lookouts.
Dror whispered, 'If we keep to the lowest point in the valley, there is a deep stream lined with oaks, we can walk the bed for cover. The oak trees will mask us in the darkness.'
Malkrin glanced up; the moon was still cloaked in cloud. They stood a good chance of passing unobserved.
'Let's go, and may the Gods be with us,' said BerantWolf. They followed in Dror's footsteps, taking care not to disturb loose rocks in the root filled banks. The water was freezing but the stream bed was of firm rock and the grass and fern banks high. They made good progress. Very soon they were level with the distant quarter-men and Malkrin heard a distant buzz more like a swarm of wasps than a collection of demons. The sound was eerie and disconcerting and brought cold beads of sweat to his forehead. He gritted his teeth and carried on wading.
At last the quarter-men hillock was behind them and another large knoll blocked them from discovery. Dror led them out of the streambed and they paused, wrung their clothing and furs out then carried on. Malkrin estimated it was two hours until dawn. Soon they would have to find shelter in woodland to escape discovery.
They traversed a series of small rises and then a larger one. It was impossible to follow the valleys where the hillocks met because of impenetrable scrub. BerantWolf ordered them along the shadow sides of the hills lest the moon emerge and silhouette them. Then on the top of the next rise a stand of stunted hawthorn trees gave them cover.
They camped there as the sun rose. Malkrin completed his watch and slept deeply with exhaustion. In this way the trek pressed forward for two more nights circumventing impassable scrub and following small trails to keep from being surprised by bands of demon predators. Then at the end of the third night they climbed another steep brush laden hill. Beyond the crest loomed the great plain and in the far distance the tip of the melted mountain of Thorian brooded, filling the gathering sunrise.
Malkrin’s highsense tingled. As they walked through a long valley between rises his head began to fill with a chorus of snarls and screams – the buzz of a million demons emanating a communal malevolence.
He hissed a warning.
Cautiously they climbed the nearest hill to the south in the direction of Mount Thorian. A grassy plain loomed below them like a vast tiled floor laced with jagged crevasses. Toward distant Thorian, glass smooth ground denuded of vegetation reflected the image of roiling clouds passing over an orange sun. A breeze blew from the plain and brought with it
a stench of decay and alien defecation. Along the plain a dark shadow had spread as if someone had spilt a massive jug of wood-tar. Amongst the stain, specks of yellow light flicked and danced as the demon-stain progressed lit by a throng of fire-torches. With the breeze came a constant droning buzz as if a million tormented souls were being trampled into the soil of the plain. How, Malkrin wondered, could they ever convey this endless progression of horror to their peoples? An artist could never draw the scene successfully. A scribe would have to study the host and write some precise words. Even then the writer could not adequately impart the panoramic nightmare to a person who had not witnessed the scene.
As if to highlight their despair, the sun broke free of the clouds and illuminated the whole restless horde. The vista created in Malkrin a sense of futility at resisting the irresistible.
'We have seen enough,’ BerantWolf finally announced in dismay. 'The main host is a lot nearer than when I last viewed them, and definitely heading this way. At their rate of advance they will reach the Cembrie in five days.’
Even as they watched, two small bands of black broke away and flowed in two opposite directions. Another three bands rejoined the mass.
'Marauding bands could overrun the Celembrie and the remaining Sylve before then.' Malkrin said.
Dror pointed in alarm. ‘Look, nearer than the horde, there lays the remains of Maygreen Grove.'
Malkrin stared hard, a collection of tall stumps stood nearer than the sunrise shadowed plain.
'Their destruction is complete,' said a Celembrie voice behind him.
BerantWolf broke their horrified gaze. 'We must return with haste, there must be a demon horde much nearer, obscured by trees.'
Malkrin turned and with apprehensive backward glances the others followed.
In two nights of superhuman running they retraced the contours of numerous hillocks and streams. BerantWolf’s stamina became godlike. Everyone trailed behind him determined to keep up with the older chief. He constantly cajoled and beckoned them on. The next night they reached the oak tree lined stream where they had crept passed the camped demons. The bedraggled group were as one, cold and soaked from wading, then drying, then fording more streams, drying again but always wet with sweat. At last BerantWolf signalled his exhaustion. They had paused under a canopy of spruce. Every warrior crumpled, panting and coughing.
Feeling returned to Malkrin’s legs and his lungs stopped labouring. He was the first to recover so watched while the others slept. Surrounded by huddled bodies which twitched and shivered with nightmares, he wished he was back in his simple life with Cabryce in his arms. Dror took the next watch as the sun began to dry them. Malkrin glanced suspiciously to the sleeping figure of TrathWolf before lying down and instantly falling into an exhausted sleep.
Someone shook him from dreams filled with crawling beetles. He swatted his arm thinking it covered by biting insects. Then an instant later he feared it was TrathWolf about to throttle him.
'Wake Sire Malkrin, we must go urgently.'
It was Halle, who was on watch. The sun was sinking toward the western woodland.
Malkrin was instantly awake and forced his aching legs to stand.
Halle held him steady as the cloying cobwebs of sleep left him.
‘Demon bands have merged with a larger group of their brethren on the far hill since we sneaked past.'
Malkrin stared into a misty distance between groves of pine and saw one topple, then another. He formed the highsense boost sign and snarls and demon curses returned to fill his mind. Halle was correct and a sinking feeling gripped his stomach. His inner ear felt as if it was being nibbled away by the hideous whisper. It was what the dream had tried telling him. This time, exhaustion had allowed his gift to fail him. He pounded his fists together with frustration.
Halle alerted BerantWolf and the camp dissolved in a scene of frantic activity. Malkrin’s companions gathered belongings and filled backpacks with the speed of men that needed more rest. Within minutes they were stumbling on their way with BerantWolf leading. A Cembrie warrior scouted ahead, the other advised BerantWolf on the best route. Malkrin had to pace himself, and let energy filter into his legs and lungs with economy.
The hideous hum and the sound of crashing trees behind them seemed to be getting ever closer. Fear drove them all on at a faster rate than was sensible. They leapt boulders and crashed through ferns and tall grass. Then the Celembrie led them splashing through boggy mud. The discomforting shortcut evened out the twisting path through the dense trees. Gradually the gnashing buzz of demons was left behind, and the normal sounds of birdsong and wind in trees returned.
There was no warning.
A black shape whirled out of the trees and used its bone fingers to slash and stab the Cembrie who was scouting in front of BerantWolf.
'Back. Form a circle. Defend your companions,' shouted BerantWolf as he retreated.
The demon’s attack had given them a few seconds warning. Enough time to draw weapons, collect their wits and steel their collective resolve. The creature circled the group slavering and gnashing its teeth, then darted forward flicking its knife-fingers. Warriors countered with spears and daggers. Other quarter-men emerged from the gloomy forest and ran toward the group.
With the main host behind them, there was no escape.
Malkrin and Halle drew their bows. Firm yet subtle, the bowstrings were trustingly taut in their experienced hands. Two arrows flew true and two demons were hit. One dropped with a bolt through its left eye. The other arrow entered a demons mouth and exited its neck. The demon continued, spitting blood, its pace undiminished. Another was slain by Wolf warrior arrows as the rest hacked into the men. The two Brightwater men fended off a quarter-man with spear thrusts and daggers. Wounded, it kept attacking in rabid slashes of razor sharp bone-fingers and bites from its hideous fangs. Other demons had large curved blades strapped to knees or ankles. In a strange dance they jumped forwards and backwards thrusting legs and feet toward the men and darting bone-fingers in lightning fast stabs. It was a new way of fighting they were all unprepared for.
Eighth-of-Senate went down hamstrung. Talgour fought to keep the assailant from finishing his comrade. He sliced the air before the creature’s face to keep it at bay. Halle drew his bow to maximum reach and loosed an arrow into the creatures face. As he did so, Malkrin protected him from another quarter-man. He heard the creatures skull split as the arrow penetrated, it stopped in mid kick and toppled backward. Another arrow failed to down a rushing demon as it leapt at four men who had become separated from the other warriors.
A quarter-man leapt from the side. Malkrin swerved, fell and slithered down an incline to avoid the slashing blows. He had become separated from the protective circle of his companions.
He used Palerin to exchange blows with the rushing creature. His trusty sword fended off the demon’s bone finger-knives and the flash of its leg blades. Malkrin concentrated on finding an opening in the creature’s assault before he tired. Cold sweat poured down his neck and forehead. He blinked it away as it soaked his neck cloth.
Something drastic had to be done before the creature slew him.
He parried the demons swipes and thought frantically. There was a way. It needed good timing and acrobatic accuracy. He dived and rolled sideways into the demons lower legs above the foot blades, knocking it of balance. As it fell, he twisted to avoid its leg-blades, and thrust Palerin at a joint in the demons carapace. In slow motion Palerin lanced the air and entered a dark seam. The demon staggered and dark blood poured down its armour. Palerin was wedged in the creature and was ripped from his hands as the demon rose to its knees. Malkrin rammed the Sylve dagger to its hilt in the demons neck. He extracted it and dived backward out of reach of flailing bone knife-fingers. The beast fell on its face gurgling away its life.
Malkrin looked around in the gloomy forest. Out of it came the sound of clashing swords, spears, finger-knives, human
shouts and inhuman hissing. Then two twirling leaping shadows emerged from the gloom. A Wolf warrior frantically fought a demon with a single spear. As Malkrin watched, the demon slashed down with its bone-fingers shattering the spear. It was TrathWolf.
Time to prove myself, Malkrin thought fiercely. He freed Palerin from the corpse and dashed to the struggle with all the remaining energy his legs could muster.
The quarter-man grinned hideously. Saliva dripped and drooled from its mouth, it thought victory over its opponent a certainly. As it lashed bone-fingers a hairs width from TrathWolf, Malkrin’s sword flashed down and one of its arms flew into the trees. It turned to face Malkrin and he swept Palerin again. He had to finish the demon quickly before his shaking limbs and tortured lungs gave out. It dodged, and Malkrin side-stepped, slashing Palerin in an arc. The blade connected with the demons neck and its head followed its arm into the woodland. The body crumpled – and so did Malkrin. He was incapable of further action. He panted fit to burst, his heart pounding like a dozen drums but managed to whisper his thanks to Palerin between gasps.
He was aware of TrathWolf standing over him dagger in hand. Malkrin recovered enough to assess his situation. A voice muttered, 'thanks,' and the Wolf warrior disappeared into the gloom.
He was a distance from the main fight. The demon had been between them and their comrades. Another quarter-man rushed from the moss laden trees. Malkrin stood unsteadily, gathered his returning strength and swept Palerin. He forced the creature back in the direction of the battle noise and his comrades. Malkrin kept his temper under firm control lashing Palerin before him in a calculated fashion. First he severed a bone finger, then the opposite hand. The creature danced and the point of one ankle-blade ripped into Malkrin’s thigh. But he could still stand. In a flash he saw an opening, thrust Palerin up into the demons throat, through its mouth and into its brain. It collapsed in a gush of dark blood and lay on the ground quivering.
Malkrin extracted Palerin with a whisper of thanks to Jadde. Then he crouched defensively, looking around and waited for a rush of demons. Men shouted a rallying call and he staggered toward the voices, counting the bodies of eleven quarter-men laying in various postures of death as he did so.
The fight was over. He wiped sweat from his forehead aware for the first time of his blood splattered clothing and throbbing leg. Figures merged in the night in response to the rally-cry. He added his own voice to the others. Warriors ran back to form a unified circle holding weapons outward expecting another onslaught. Soon the last living man joined them. It was a Wolf warrior staggering, carrying the heavy burden of a fallen comrade in his arms. The body’s limbs hung free. Jadde had claimed the warrior for herself.
The lifeless warrior was BerantWolf.
The man gently laid his chief to the ground. A vicious slash had opened BerantWolf along his chest from neck to stomach.
Malkrin counted the terrible cost of the clash. Two other Wolf warriors had died and one of the Cembrie. Eighth and one other Wolf warrior were wounded. The warrior had received a stab deep into the shoulder. Halle was already strapping his arm in a woven ivy sling. Talgour tended Eighth who was in a worse condition with a severed calf muscle and in great pain. Malkrin bound his own wound.
No more demons attacked. The warriors had somehow managed to wipe out the band of demons and survived. Malkrin drew encouragement from the result although they had paid a heavy price. TrathWolf and the remaining Wolf warriors scouted around to check for more quarter-men. They soon returned with an all clear. The main host had slowed to a crawl for some unknown reason and it gave the men a breathing space. Malkrin and Talgour sewed Eighth's wound together. The wound was deep and blood flowed freely, but finally Malkrin closed the wound using more cat gut. Frantically Talgour tore strips off a jerkin from his backpack and they sealed the makeshift surgery with the jerkin bandage. On Malkrin's instruction a Sylve and the surviving Celembrie warrior wove masses of thick ivy around two stout willow saplings to carry Eighth on. Malkrin lay with leg outstretched and mouth set in a rictus of pain as Halle repeated the rough stitching on his leg.
‘You were lucky Sire, the wound is not deep. The stitching will enable you to run without the wound reopening.’
After a short debate it was decided they couldn't carry the bodies of their fallen comrades. To observe the Wolf Clans burial tradition they quickly excavated a crude grave with sharpened saplings. They placed the bodies respectfully side by side. Then as they filled the burial the distant crash of vegetation and hum of a multitude of demons resumed once again.
Quickly the survivors took up the return journey, laden with sorrow. Malkrin allowed himself to feel some satisfaction for hard won lessons learnt from their combat and reconnaissance.
He took up the rear once more, keeping his highsense fully alert for demons. Two Wolf warriors carried Eighth in the improvised hammock. His leg was stiff but he found if he kept it from bending fully he could keep up with his companions. In front of him TrathWolf paused and then ran alongside Malkrin.
'Before we go far, we must resolve an urgent matter,' TrathWolf announced.
Malkrin prepared for the worst, was TrathWolf about to challenge him over the death of his brother?
This was not the time. He flexed his muscles and prepared for combat. But he would not make the first move, they needed to stay unified.
'We must decide who shall lead our band now my great chief has gone to Jadde-Wolf.'
Malkrin relaxed, a confrontation could be easily avoided. 'I believe that you TrathWolf should lead us back to Brightwater. When we are there the elders of each tribe can debate and announce a unified council to meet the demon threat.'
Halle looked surprised but added his backing. The Wolf warriors had already acknowledged TrathWolf after the demise of their Chief. Eighth was too seriously wounded to offer his opinion. Talgour looked from Malkrin to TrathWolf and then back to Malkrin with increased respect. He realised Malkrin had backed down for the sake of unity. Dror and the surviving Cembrie warrior called Mondroth agreed with the decision, too overwhelmed by the battle to think of assuming responsibility.
'The correct decision,' TrathWolf acknowledged; his face a stony mask. Malkrin also hid his relief but wondered how TrathWolf would handle leadership in the next few days.
'We must return via the Celembrie to warn of our experience, and then make haste to Brightwater,’ was TrathWolf’s first decision, and Malkrin silently agreed.
With TrathWolf and Mondroth leading they set a steady pace. The sound of destruction behind them quickly faded, giving a semblance of normality to the surrounding hills and valleys. They all took turns carrying the heavy hammock and the wounded Wolf warrior was supported when necessary.
The return journey seemed to stretch into an eternity of exhaustion. Malkrin noticed all the warriors peering out from tired eyes expecting a snarling demon to launch out of the undergrowth at any moment. Their sweat streaked faces; staring eyes and spittle lined mouths reminded Malkrin of cornered prey after a long chase.
He supported Talgour who was again stumbling with exhaustion by the time a group of Celembrie warriors met them. They took Eighth in his hammock and led the band toward their village. The sun had long set when they slowed amongst the first torch lit buildings.
Chief Thicheal emerged from the door of his residence and greeted the returning warriors solemnly. Malkrin stayed with his companions as TrathWolf conversed with the Celembrie chief. He highsensed TrathWolf running through an account of the reconnaissance. Malkrin was the only one to hear the chief’s whispered reply.
'I believe we have a further tragedy to recount. It relates to the corpse of an unknown stranger that we recovered earlier. It lay on the water-carriers path leading to the Pillen river.'
He led TrathWolf away and five minutes later they returned and indicated Malkrin should follow.
The three entered a hut with an open porch and no door. Inside wooden racks were built along th
e walls and a strangely clad effigy had been carved and set into a dais in the centre of the hut. Malkrin spotted a body on one of the racks and realised this was a mortuary hut.
TrathWolf gestured him over curtly, and pointed.
On the rack lay the body of a man in rich yet strange clothing. His face wore a transparent mask with metal protrusions round his mouth. But his throat was disfigured with a killing gash. On the corpses blood soaked chest were pinned three gold highsense suns.