Thorik led his party down the north face of the mountains, into the southern Kiri Desert, through a large soft-hilled valley. Dry grass terrain mixed with patches of small trees, shrubs and cactus. Herds of Horned Eestoos grazed on the foliage. Eventually, the Dovenar Wall bordering the flooded River’s Edge Province was finally in view.
At each campsite, Gluic had performed her healing rituals with her stones, making sure Thorik joined in and learned her techniques. Burn marks on Thorik and Grewen were still discolored, but they were less sensitive to the touch after each treatment.
As usual, Thorik logged the prior day’s events before leaving camp. New species of animals and plant had been recorded along with unique terrain. Thorik didn’t want to forget anything, for he had grand plans of telling his friends in Farbank about everything they had encountered. He tucked all of his notes in his scratched up wooden coffer before placing his supplies in his backpack. Or at least what was left of his backpack.
Thorik gave a slight chuckle when he gazed at the sad pieces of fabric holding his pack together, once so clean and sturdy. We’ve been through a lot, he mused.
Much of the vegetation attached to Gluic was wilting quickly as she spent time each day gardening and weeding her findings.
Pulling a handful of govi-weed out of the ground, Grewen tossed it into his large mouth as he squinted his eyes. “What’s that?”
Turning to the west, the Nums could see a cloud of dust rising from the desert floor.
“Could be another herd, or a Chuttlebeast,” Thorik said.
Grewen tried to determine what could be making the dust. “I’ve never seen Chuttles on the south side of River’s Edge.”
“Troop movement,” Santorray said. “We need to reach the Dovenar Wall before they block our path.”
Brimmelle sighed at the thought of another foot race. “Let’s wait here for them to pass us by and then we can go on our way afterward.
“If we’ve seen them, then odds are they’ve already seen us,” Santorray said.
“Faralopes can only run for a few hours, then they must rest for an equal period of time,” Grewen informed Brimmelle. “If what we see is Lucian’s army, then they are in a short race for something important. With Eastland still far to our east, my wager is on us.”
“Enough talk,” the Blothrud said, “Head out, now.”
With a slight slope to their advantage, the group moved quickly toward the distant Dovenar Wall surrounding River’s Edge. Each hill they crested provided a better view of what was heading their way. Santorray had been correct; it was the Southwind army, banners high and Lucian out in front.
Soft hills gave way to tan-colored sand dunes, slowing everyone’s movement except Grewen, who quietly enjoyed the hot sand between his toes.
It wasn’t long before Lucian and his thirty-four military escorts were nearly within firing range. Their steeds moved comfortably in the loose sand.
Reaching the twenty-foot tall Dovenar Wall, on the south side of the province, was both a bad and good thing for Thorik and his group. As it stood, it blocked their path until they could climb over it. But once they were on the far side, they had a better chance to escape. With Lucian and his men approaching quickly on their Faralopes, there wasn’t time to plan.
Santorray and Grewen began tossing the Nums up onto the top of the wall, one by one. In spite of Brimmelle’s objection, he also was tossed by Santorray.
Racing up the dune toward the Mognin and Blothrud, several Southwind servicemen removed their swords from their sheaths. Others loaded bows.
Brimmelle helped his mother down the steps on the far side of the wall as Avanda already stood at the bottom waiting for them. “Don’t give me that look, young lady. Get in that water and start making your way across,” Brimmelle ordered the youth.
Holding her elbows, Avanda shook her head. “I’m not getting in that water.” Her memory of the attack last time in River’s Edge added to prior fear of the water.
Bracing his right shoulder blade against the Dovenar Wall, Santorray squatted to extend his knee out to Grewen. “Climb up. Use me as your ladder.”
The Mognin recalled how long it took him to pull his body up to the top last time he had scaled the wall. “We don’t have enough time, I’ll help you over,” Grewen replied.
Looking at the quickly approaching attackers, he knew they didn’t have luxury of time to get Grewen up and over. “You sure?”
“Yes. All I ask is that you take care of those Nums.”
Santorray stepped into the Mognin’s cupped hands and was lifted up high enough to climb the wall. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thorik trusts you, Santorray. They are good people. Don’t let him down.” Grewen pushed up the Blothrud’s leg to help him with his ascent.
“We can’t leave without Grewen,” Thorik shouted from the top of the wall. “They’ll throw him into the mines.”
Santorray finished his climb and stood up. Grabbing Thorik by the arm, he spun the Num around. “He’s made his choice, the right choice. Hopefully it will delay them long enough to get us out of arrow range before they scale the wall.” Avoiding oncoming arrows, the Blothrud scooped up Thorik and jumped off the wall into the flooded province.
The river valley was covered with water from wall to wall and small islands were sporadically exposed. Shallow near the wall, Santorray’s feet drove deep into the mud beneath the water. Dropping Thorik, the beast leaned back into the water to free his legs.
Lucian’s men raced to the wall and surrounded Grewen. There was nowhere to hide. It was a long walk for the Mognin in either direction, and their swords would take him down long before then. There was no stepping into the Mythical Forest for protection.
“No escape this time, Ov,” Lucian said. “Tie him up. The rest of you, get up on that wall and capture his friends.”
On the far side of the wall, Avanda hesitated for a moment before stepping off the final staircase riser into the water. Their last encounter with River’s Edge was terrifying when undead skeletons attacked them. It had taken place far to the west in deeper waters, but the memory still struck her with fear.
Gluic jumped in, followed by Brimmelle. The muddy water was only up to their ankles, but the soft mud made them sink deeper whenever they stood still.
After pulling his legs out of the thick mud, Santorray ran north, toward the far wall, only to turn around and see the fear in the Avanda’s eyes. “Hurry up, it won’t be safe here for long.” As the words left his mouth, he noticed one of the first soldiers work his way up onto the wall. Pointing at the man, the Blothrud shouted, “Get out of there, now!”
Avanda saw the man gather his bearings and begin to load his first arrow. She didn’t have to be told again. Launching from the bottom step and racing across the mud, she quickly passed Brimmelle.
The first arrow whistled by Brimmelle’s head as he struggled to keep up with the rest. He soon caught back up to Avanda, who had stopped to dig in her purse of magic. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pushed the girl to keep her running.
Perching on Avanda’s shoulder, Ralph hissed at the Southwind soldiers and pumped his body up and down, attempting to scare them off.
Thorik held onto Gluic’s hand and was nearly dragging her across the thick muck.
Another arrow landed near them, and then another. Several men had scaled the wall and were adding to the firepower. Others, including Lucian, had made it over the wall and were now in a foot race with the Nums. Neither seemed to have the advantage as they sloshed their way across the sunken field.
Nearing the center of the mile-wide province, Thorik knew the deepest point of the original river would be just ahead and they would have to swim across. But that wouldn’t be an issue if they didn’t even make it that far.
Brimmelle and Gluic couldn’t keep up the pace and the Southwind troops quickly closed the gap.
Brimmelle stopped to catch his breath, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. His feet continued to s
ink in the thick mud as he stood still.
“No, don’t stop.” Thorik raced back to help him continue their escape. But by the time he got the Fir moving again, it was too late.
Over a dozen troops had arrived and began creating a circle around the Nums.
Santorray stopped his run and looked back to ponder his options. He could still across the river to freedom and potential to reach Ericc or he could return to fight the Southwind guards with a chance of losing everything. “I’d rather fight than run, any day.” Pulling out his sabers, he cut his shoulder to draw his blood before charging at the group with the roar of a battle cry.
Additional troops arrived and created a firing line for the oncoming beast.
Lucian was not going to allow Santorray a chance to get too close. “Fire!”
Arrows flew at the beast, on target and ready to pierce the Blothrud’s chest and face. Santorray fell and crashed deep into the mud just before the arrows hit. However, it was not by design, something had grabbed his legs and tripped him.
Reloading their bows, the troops watched the Blothrud violently swing his sabers at the mud. Rolling to the side he stood up, only to trip again and fall. It was as though he was fighting the mud itself.
Cautiously moving forward the archers prepared to fire if this were some type of a trick. Unfortunately they learned too late that it wasn’t.
Skeletal hands reached out of the mud and grabbed the feet of the approaching archers. Surprised, they released their arrows, firing them in every direction as the men tumbled into the mud.
The group surrounding the Nums also began to feel the mud move beneath them. The Nums did as well. Fingers could be felt raking the sides of their boots. Half-fleshy faces appeared out of the mud before sinking under again.
One by one, the troops were pulled into the mud. Some fell forward, some back, and others straight down into the murky water.
Lucian made a dash back for the south wall they had climbed over. Muddy hands swiping at his feet struck several times, but never hit hard enough to trip him. He could see the water churn behind him as what looked to be several of these unseen creatures speeding after him.
Looking forward toward the wall, he could see a dozen more blocking his path. There was no way to escape, so he changed his direction in an effort to reach one of the lone islands.
The water churned on both sides of Lucian as he raced for a pocket of dry land. A grabbing of his boot caused him to fall forward into the mud, just shy of the island. A second bony hand reached out and grabbed his shirt. Rolling out of his garment, he crawled up onto the dry hard dirt and collapsed.
The Nums had their own problems. They were also being attacked and would have to save themselves, seeing that Santorray was struggling with a dozen of his own mud covered skeletons.
A semi-fleshy hand and arm reached up and grabbed Avanda’s leg. She screamed and attempted to pull away.
Ralph leapt off her shoulder and onto the attacking arms. Spitting on its wrist, the arm broke away as the acid from the saliva did its work.
Avanda called out a spell from her book as she pinched a powder from her purse. In spite of her inability to focus while under siege, the spell activated and dried up the water in the area she stood. Mud, which covered the skulls and bony arms, became instantly dry, causing them to retreat for the moment.
Unfortunately the moment wasn’t long, for the dry area quickly filled back in with water, rejuvenating the watery attackers with more force than before. Reaching up, several grabbed her hard, pulling her entire body under water, along with Ralph.
The Nums and the soldiers screamed as they all were being pulled into watery graves.
Santorray’s sabers broke bones but the thick mud slowed his swing and minimized the damage he was able to inflict.
Grabbing his spear, Thorik thrust the weapon straight down, stabbing one of the skeletal arms holding Avanda under water. Shaking from the strike, the skeleton’s arm instantly turned to ashes. A deep rumble followed the attack, and a shock wave of sound and water spread out from the spear, knocking over anyone who had been able to still stand. Thorik was the only one able to remain on his legs, supporting his balance by holding onto the spear itself.
Vibrations resonated from the weapon and through Thorik’s body. A deep undertone of a heartbeat pounded against the Num’s chest. Each pulsation worked deeper into his body, toward his heart until they both hit the same rhythm.
Heavy strokes of his heart flushed his skin with heated blood, causing the water around his feet to stir and boil. The dead-risen people of River’s Edge sunk away from him.
The event was localized, as the rest of his group continued to struggle.
Pulling the spear from the mud and water, the dead proceeded to move in again.
“Back!” Thorik stuck the first few inches of his weapon into the water.
The enemy retreated, this time farther away.
Keeping the tip of the spear in the water, Thorik helped Avanda from the muck and up onto her feet. She was covered with mud and scratches, but her concern was with finding Ralph.
Claws tight into her leather boot, Ralph hissed at the fleeing undead, protecting his friend.
Thorik didn’t understand why the skeletons were afraid of the Spear of Rummon, although at this point he didn’t care as long as it continued.
Holding Avanda tight, Thorik worked his way to Brimmelle. The Fir had been on his hands and knees, trying to prevent his face from being pummeled. Miraculously, his attackers retreated the moment his Sec arrived.
Fir Brimmelle grabbed onto Thorik’s arm, using it to lift himself to his feet. “What took you so long? I was nearly killed. Where’s mother?”
Screams from the Southwind army continued as the Nums searched for her, but she was nowhere in sight.
Cupping his hands, Brimmelle screamed for her.
No response.
“Come on.” Thorik turned and began running to save Santorray, keeping the spear’s point in the water.
Brimmelle stood his ground. Searching for his mother was his top priority. However, the water near him began to churn and proceed directly toward him. Backpedaling at first, he turned to keep up with Thorik and Avanda and the safety of the spear.
The Blothrud had over a dozen of the half-flesh covered undead attacking him. Some had pulled him into the mud up to his hips; others had clung onto him as he thrashed about.
Two partial skeletons flew past Thorik, nearly hitting the Fir. Santorray was peeling them off and tossing them as fast as they advanced.
Nearing the Blothrud, Thorik drove the spear into the water. “Be Gone!”
A wave of force rammed his enemy, blowing them off Santorray and causing the attackers from under the water to disappear.
Santorray looked around in disbelief, realizing Gluic was not with them. “Only one casualty. It could have been worse. Move out.”
Brimmelle was furious at the notion. “Casualty? We’re not going anywhere without my mother.”
“There’s no way she could have survived. Skilled soldiers can’t survive these things. Your decrepit old Num didn’t have a chance.”
“She’s very resourceful,” Thorik said. “Besides, we’ve already lost Grewen, I’m not letting go of Gluic as well.”
Santorray pointed to the muddy battlefield. “There are only a few people visible above the surface, and even those are so covered with the walking dead that it’s impossible to tell which one is her.”
Thorik pushed through the mud back toward where the initial attack occurred, still angry about leaving members of his party behind. The rest of his group had no choice but to follow him if they wished to stay within the spear’s circle of safety.
Racing to the first pile of undead, the spear did its job by making the unwanted crowd scatter into the mud. What remained was the ripped open back of a Southwind soldier. His ribs broken and his internal organs exposed.
Santorray used the gruesome sight to mak
e his point. “Finding Gluic may not be a wise idea. You don’t want your last memory of her to be something like this. We’ve lost one, we could have lost more.”
Thorik ignored him and moved on to the next, only to find this one without a head or arms.
One group of fleshy skeletons still stood above the surface. This last one, however, stood silently in a circle.
Running to meet them head on, they turned to block and defend what stood behind them. Thorik charged forward, placing the spear in both hands ready to strike. His friends raced behind him.
As he reached his attackers, Gluic stepped out from between them.
Thorik pulled the spear quickly to the left and up in the air to avoid stabbing her in the stomach. The move cost him his balance and he tumbled into the water, splashing with the full force of his body.
The undead scattered from the near proximity of the Spear.
Tears covered Gluic’s face. “So sad, their story.”
Avanda jumped forward and hugged her.
Brimmelle was less than impressed. “Mother, do you realized what you put us through?
Gluic ignored him as she addressed Avanda. “So many in endless suffering. They just want to be released.”
Pulling himself back to his feet, Thorik was somehow not overly surprised that she would have a group discussion with the dead. “Unfortunate as it is, we can’t help them.”
“I know, I told them we couldn’t help them today, but that you would be back.”
“I will?”
“You’re not going to let them continue to suffer are you? How can you live with that?”
“I don’t have the power to unravel ancient Alchemist magic.”
“I know, dear. That’s why I told them it wouldn’t be today.”
As usual, Santorray was tired of Gluic’s conversation. “We must travel north with haste,” he said in an attempt to get everyone moving.
Thorik turned back to the south wall, and then glanced down at his spear. “Maybe we can still save Grewen.”
Archers stood on the wall waiting for the opportunity to get the Nums back in range. The chances of running through the thick mud and reaching the wall before being killed were slim to none.
Santorray scoffed at the foolish notion. “Not even a dozen Blothruds would hold up against them. They have the advantage. The high ground, arrows, and plenty of time. We have no shelter from their attacks, nor speed in our advancement.”
Thorik held his weapon firm. “I don’t care. I have the Spear of Rummon. It has to count for something.”
“Excellent plan. Leave your family here to be killed by the skeletons while you attack,” the Blothrud said sarcastically.
“I’ll take them with me.”
“Your weapon may scare away the undead but how will it protect them from arrows.”
Thorik was becoming frustrated as he heard the logical argument. “I don’t know.”
“No one wants to leave one of their men in battle, but no good will come from your plan.”
“I can’t just allow him to be captured and tortured because of things I’ve done.”
“He made a choice. Accept it.”
“So did I with Ambrosius, and I still regret it.”
Spitting in his palm, Santorray held it out to Thorik. “I’ll make a pact with you, Sec. I will help you save Grewen after we find Ericc, as long as you give up on trying to save him right now and accept that he made this choice for all of us to succeed.”
Thorik spit in his own palm, trying to conform to the Blothrud’s ritual, and shook his large hand. “Agreed. I trust you, Santorray.”
Turning, the entire party headed north across the river. Everyone clung onto Santorray as he treaded the deepest sections and Thorik kept his spear poised for any potential attacks.
Fortunately, none occurred.
Chapter 26
O’Sid Fields
Thorik’s Log: June 1st of the 650th year.
We’ve made it past River’s Edge and the dunes of the Kiri Desert, but we have lost Grewen in doing so. My heart and prayers hope that he stays alive until I can return to rescue him.