Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

7

He had only a month's worth of memories, nearly all of them hellish. Thirty-some days of captivity, torment and servitude. Pretty thin stuff on which to dream, so he kept jolting awake; not very rested, at all.

The briar thicket and tiny spring that they'd found were shelter of sorts, but he was restless. Felt that he had to keep moving west. The masked animal had made a nest for itself in a tangle of branches and quivering leaves, overhead. It preferred to rest during the daytime, so at first, he did, too.

No reason not to. He could see as well in the dark as in dayshine. Just, without color and some loss of depth. His senses of hearing and smell were nearly as good as the marten's, though. That helped.

Three days they stayed in that thicket of briar and scrub oak. Gaining strength, foraging and (him) filling bottles and flasks up with spring water. Nameless went hunting each night, along with crunching up insects and apple cores.

The spring bubbled out of a broken grey stone, providing a cup or two of clear, icy water each day. It took a while to fill up his assorted containers and put them away in those magical pockets, so he did some scouting, between times.

Found that he climbed well, not bending those brittle, meshed branches very much. Likely because he could alter his weight, even floating a bit, when he wanted to. Anyhow, he got high enough to look out, hood pulled low to hide the gold flash of his hair and pale skin. Nameless looked, too; forepaws dug into the cloth of his cloak, red eyes glowing.

It was late afternoon, and what they saw wasn't good. There were patches of wood here and there, but most of that rolling landscape consisted of rocky scrub. There were great piles of rusted armor, as well, though what monstrous warrior might have discarded such gear, he couldn't imagine.

Shook his head, saying,

"There should be forest here. All the way to the mountains, like an ocean of green."

Nameless chattered a response, then shifted to using him as a platform for catching beetles and stingers. He didn't mind, until a falcon took notice and swooped through the air to investigate. Then, he pushed the lithe marten to safety inside. Ducked lower, himself, leaving the frustrated raptor screaming and circling high overhead.

"There is a city, or should be," he whispered to Nameless, there in the gold-spangled shade. "It is built of mighty trees that people have hollowed to live in… and a big crater with caves in its walls." Wasn't there?

He shook his head again, not sure of anything. Just that he had to keep going, and that this half-dreamt city was as good a target as any. Nameless cared not at all; content to stay or move on, so long as the hunting and foraging were good. Clever creature, it brought him dead voles and lizards to store up as well, having worked out that he could cache food.

They left the next night after sundown, once the last bottle was filled, and he'd stripped all the bushes of bay-nuts and berries. Packed everything up and set off, with a swollen moon lighting their way. There were hints of a road… scattered cobbles, a few badly worn milestones… but no indication that anyone had come this way for a very long time.

It was rough, broken country; trouble for anyone forced to just walk. Ravines, rocky outcrops and patches of reeking hot mud checkered the landscape. Some of these he avoided by going around. (Nice thing about not having any particular place to go? Didn't matter how you got there. Pick a direction.)

That which he couldn't edge past… like a long gap filled with brushwood and thorns… he lifted clean over, pulling himself hand over hand along the swaying top branches. There were coverless open patches, too. These he got through by seeing himself on the other side, then willing movement. Forgot to bring Nameless, the first time and had to go back. There were too many owls and other, deadlier creatures patrolling that velvet-dark sky. Attempting to scurry across on its own, Nameless would have been killed.

He wanted to investigate one of those rusted-out armor piles, waiting until they came to one that was sprawled out alongside their path. It proved even larger up close than he'd thought. The giant was mostly buried, leaving just a battered head, part of one shoulder and a massive, three-fingered hand on the surface. One of its filmy glass eyes held an old bird's nest, while the rest of its body was pocked by corrosion and riddled with vines. Looked more like a huge broken statue than armor, from this vantage… but there was still power there.

Ancient. Cold. Not at all natural, he thought. Something that didn't belong. He would have gone closer, thinking to peer inside, but then Nameless screeched its clattering bark. Leaping and snapping, the marten drove him away from that rusted colossus, into safe cover.

He raised both hands, palm outward, backing into a tangle of pine and low scrub.

"Peace," he whispered. "I am not such a fool as all that. If you feel there is danger, I'll keep a safe distance."

What happened next was more felt than heard. Something terribly old and corrupt, incredibly powerful… called; producing a low vibration that summoned things for hundreds of miles all around. Not him in particular. Anything at all that was vile and confused, luring them north.

Against his will, he found himself starting to walk, but once more Nameless was there; screeching and biting in sudden, absolute frenzy. There was trouble, then, because the pull of that summons was horribly strong, causing the spiraling mark on his chest to swirl and pulse with his own racing heartbeat, prodding him northward.

Other creatures were already moving, crossing the land in rustling tides, or blocking the stars overhead. Nameless bit down on his hand and hung on, clearing the fog from his head. Then that giant armor revived; first sparking and creaking, then starting to speak.

Not any words that he recognized; weird squeals and beeps with a few tinny phrases mixed in. The same sounds over and over. There were glowing symbols, as well. Not green, like the witch's sigils. Red, composed of cascading circles and dashes that drifted in broken sheets over landscape, creatures and plants.

Backing further into the thicket, he pulled Nameless in under his cloak. Watched as the rusted giant repeatedly surged and sparked. It was trying to rise, causing a minor landslide of rocks and dirt.

'There is nothing here,' he thought urgently. 'Nothing to see but branches. Nothing to hear but the wind. No scent but boiling mud.'

The spiraling mark crept like a serpent under his skin, burning with sudden cold. Bad enough, but then something burst in on them, crashing down through the branches to land with a thump at his back. He pivoted, sword in hand, meaning to strike before the creature could move or betray his presence.

Saw a squat, ugly goblinoid with bat-like ribbed ears and mismatched teeth. Lunging, he drove his blade home with all the power he had, slicing through leathery armor and flesh, snapping its spine. Blood spattered. The creature hissed once in shock or in pain, doubling over his blade. Then the sword's frost magic struck, sending spears of ice through the monster's body, freezing it solid before he'd yanked out the weapon.

Next came two more; one a tall, hunched-over lizard thing wearing little more than a brace of long knives. He fought the darklings with fire, lightning and steel; aiming for short, silent scuffles and giving no quarter. Fortunately, nothing was hunting him. Just stumbled in accidentally. Didn't make the fights any easier, though.

He got a deep, poisoned gash on his spell hand, and a ringing blow to the head before that summoning call ebbed, and the creatures stopped coming. Maybe ten yards away, that giant armor gave one final clattering lurch. Then it grew still. Its glowing symbols faded at last, leaving their memory burned on his mind.

There were no further attacks. He stood waiting a while to be sure; one hand at his sword hilt, the other one outlined in crackling flame. Only later, after sunrise, did he relax his guard. Poured water onto his face and dabbed at his wounds, but the poisoned gash wouldn't heal. He was going to need help, very soon.

Utterly numb, he dropped to the leaf-littered ground beside Nameless, who was joyfully crunching a rat. The monsters he'd slain lay stacked up nearby, frozen and gaping in death. At least Nameless was happy.

"We'd better go on," he said to the marten. "And from now on, we travel by day."

The real problem… that the call he'd felt was meant to raise up the servants of darkness… and that it had drawn him, as well… he had no immediate answer for.

The spiral mark had stopped moving, at least; seeming to fade behind that carved flame. Surely… fire wouldn't come at his call, earth would not answer, if he were evil. Would it?

He just didn't know, and had no one to ask, unless…

"Westward, there is a city of people who live in the woods. We will find answers and healing there," he said firmly, more to convince himself than because he believed it. "All we have to do is keep walking. We'll make it. I promise."

He set off shortly afterward with Nameless riding his shoulder; searching for something he very much hoped would be there.