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    Shard
    Shard
    Shard
    Ebook741 pages11 hours

    Shard

    By W.Wm. Mee

    ()

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    About this ebook

    In the style of Tolkien and Martin with a dash of King, W. Wm. Mee has crafted an epic quest around a cursed sword. Various races of the land known as Oma-Var become entangled in the many schemes and plots to find, capture and use Shard, the evil sword forged long ago by a malignant force that seeks to enslave all.
    'Shard' is the story of the magical sword that could not be broken; of a people that could not exist and of a deed that could not be done. Join the quest for Shard in this the first book of the trilogy: ‘The Task’ --- that is, if you dare!

    'Beneath the stars, beneath the moon,
    Beneath the heat of the sun.
    No rest, no peace, no hearth nor home,
    Till the Swordbearer's task be done.'

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherW.Wm. Mee
    Release dateJun 10, 2011
    ISBN9781458094599
    Shard
    Author

    W.Wm. Mee

    Wayne William Mee is a retired English teacher who enjoys hiking, sailing and walking his Beagle hound. He is also a 'living historian' or 'reenactor'. You can see Wayne's historical group on Facebook's 'McCaw's Privateers' 18th Century Naval Camp' page. Building & sailing wooden sailboats also takes up a chunk of Wayne's time, but along with his wife Maggie,son Jason and granddaughter Zoe, writing is his true love, the one he returns to let his imagination soar.Wayne would like you to 'look him up' on FACEBOOK and click the 'Friend' button or even zap him an e-mail.If you enjoyed any of his books, kindly leave a REVIEW here at Smashwords and/or say so on Facebook, Twitter, Tweeter or whatever other 'social network' you use.Thanks for stopping by ---and keep reading!!Drop him a line either there or at [email protected]'ll be glad to hear from you!'Rest ye gentle --- sleep ye sound'

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      Book preview

      Shard - W.Wm. Mee

      Chapter 1: 'THE GLITCH SLATH'

      A white, wet blanket of mist hung over the river. The current, sluggish in mid-stream, tugged against the dragon ship as it moved up the watery road. Through the swirling whiteness only the dim shapes of tall, ancient pines could be seen, and then only by squinting.

      But it was not the distant pines that drew the man's gaze. Looking out from the carved bow of the Glitch Slath, the trees and river banks interested him not; rather, it was what they might conceal that caused him to cast about with his fierce, dark eyes.

      Ragnol Halfhand was hunting 'Wee'ns'; 'Wee'ns and their 'black gold'!

      Ragnol stroked his beard with his left hand. The missing three fingers no longer seemed strange to him. Such was the price of staying alive in a cruel world. The crack of a whip cut through the fog. Groans from the straining slaves made him smile. Their sweat and back-breaking labor at the oars only brought him that much closer to his goal. Behind him, like a pack of hungry dogs, two score of Slathland's elite killers waited to do his bidding.

      He was close now. Something deep in his mercenary heart cried out that it was so. As 'leader of the forward thrust', Ragnol intended to be the first one to reach it!

      The faint glimmer in the east hinted that dawn was near. Overhead the pinpoints of cold, white light slowly gave way to the rising of the sun; just as those smaller, weaker realms to the east had given way before the dazzling brilliance that was Slathland. Like the burning orb itself, none could long withstand the power of All-Mighty Slath.

      And now he, Ragnol reg Das, wanderer, mercenary and hated foreigner, was leading a Glitch Slath of his own. Soon he would grasp the legendary 'Wee'ns black gold' with his own hands! The fact that the captain of the ship, a bloodthirsty bastard named Nex, hated him, bothered him not a bit. After all, the King of Slathland, the High Gnash Alexus V, had named him leader of the expedition. Ragnol didn't give a damn if Nex liked him or not --- as long as the fool followed orders.

      ***

      For the tall, lean man chained to the oar of the Glitch Slath, the coming of a new dawn meant only the beginning of yet another day of misery. Awakened by the sting of the whip, Erin ap Conn and the other slaves greedily broke their fast on moldy bread and rancid cheese, all of which was served up with generous helpings of kicks and curses. The anchors were soon hoisted and the long, sleek ship prepared to push even further up-river.

      For Erin, life had been reduced to an endless round of straining, sweating and pain --- only to be startled awake to start the straining and sweating all over again.

      But today would be different. Erin could sense it all about him; in the way the bastard foreigner with the crippled hand watched the river; how the Slathers jumped to obey the pox-ridden captain's barked commands. Even the other slaves could feel something was amiss --- and though Erin didn't know what it was, when it came he would be quiffing well ready!

      ***

      Around a bend, some distance up the river, a little boat floated on the still waters near the bank. It was occupied by three small creatures, about half the size of an average man. They were Kirkwean, or 'Wee'ns' in the Common Tongue. Two sat holding paddles, while the third stood in the prow, a fish spear poised in his tiny hand.

      Erg strike you, Timin!, the one in the front called. Hold the skiff still!

      Timin, kneeling in the stern of the little craft, fumbled the large wheel of cheese back into his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Grabbing his paddle, Timin thrust it into the swirling river, trying his best to hold the small boat steady.

      Sighing, Timin attempted to swallow the piece of cheese he had shoved into his mouth. He would do what his cousin Thorn had told him to --- he always had, ever since they were just tads. He would do it simply because Thorn was Thorn. No other reason was needed.

      The second paddler, Norgi, was another matter. Norgi resented Thorn's commanding ways. Oh, he seldom came right out and said it, but Timin could see it in his eyes. 'No-Smile Norgi' the rest of The Root called him, and as Timin watched the uncommonly thin Kirkwean in the middle of their little boat, he couldn't help but agree. Norgi could be a real sourpuss.

      Then Thorn hissed at him again and all thoughts of 'No- Smile Norgi' vanished as Timin bent to his work. It didn't pay to make his cousin angry, and Thorn had already missed a large river trout once this morning because they had not held the boat still. Timin was determined that it wouldn't happen again.

      ***

      The tall, dark haired slave know as Erin ap Conn glanced quickly around. Something was indeed wrong --- and this pleased him greatly. Checking to see that none of the Slathers were looking, Erin once again began to work on the iron ring that held his chain fastened to the keel of the ship. Three weeks of working on it had twisted the ring almost free --- yet 'almost' was not good enough. The muscles of Erin's thick arms and broad shoulders bunched as he strained with the ring. In his mind he spoke to the rusted metal, the rich burr of his Loamin accent rolling off his inner ear.

      'Be not timid, lass. Open yer tender arms for me now. Ah, there's my darlin' girl!'

      Nothing --- then, with a sudden 'snap', the ring came free. A smile, not unlike that of a cat lapping cream, spread over Erin's lean, chiseled features. Then it was gone, replaced by a look of grim determination. Today would be the day. He could smell it in the wind the way a hound could smell a hare!

      Then a Slather with a bushy beard and foul breath bellowed down to them to 'rash!' Though he knew little of their course tongue, 'rash' was a word Erin understood well. Quickly he pushed the pin of his chain back into the keel and grasped the long oar.

      'Aye!', Erin thought to himself; 'I'll 'rash' for ye, but not for long, you great gutted by-blow!'

      The long Glitch Slath began to move further up-river.

      ***

      Steady now. Steady --- Thorn, poised on the bow of the little Kirkwean boat, held his spear ready. His over-large blue eyes followed the river trout swimming lazily in the slack current. Just as he was about to cast his spear, Timin gave a startled yelp from the stern. Torn jerked around, causing the fish to dart away into the depths.

      Erg shatter you on His anvil, Timin!, Thorn cursed. What ails you now?!

      For an answer the wide-eyed little Kirkwean pointed a pudgy finger towards mid-stream. Thorn just had time to see Norgi's thin jaw go slack before he himself looked out over the river. What he saw caused him to nearly tumble backwards into the water --- for there, emerging from the river mist not two bowshots away, was a long, fog-shrouded dragon!

      The three Kirkwean looked on in stunned silence. The sight before them conjured up all sorts of tales and fireside stories, none of which had any place in the bright light of day.

      Yet there it was; a mythical beast out of the distant past. And it was coming their way!

      It was Thorn that broke the spell. A Glitch Slath!, he whispered; then, turning to the others, continued in a somewhat firmer tone. It's a Slather slave ship! One of their 'Great Worms or Dragon Boats' --- and they're on our river!

      This last was said with such anger that both Timin and Norgi dragged their gaze away from the misty apparition and looked at the slender young Kirkwean, seeing for the first time the true metal that lay beneath Thorn's flippant nature.

      Over the years Timin had often glimpsed in his cousin a wild, smoldering fierceness, but not until the terrible Glitch Slath came had Timin imagined its depth. But Timin had little time to ponder such things now, for the hated 'Dragon Ship' was moving ever closer, and Thorn was once again giving orders.

      Back into the shadows --- quickly! We'll watch to see this 'Great Worm' go by! Thorn's voice then took on a low, almost whimsical tone. Aye, and maybe we'll put a shaft or two into its flank to speed it on its way.

      Norgi's wide eyes opened even wider at this, but Timin was already backpaddling for the trailing branches of the willows that grew along the bank.

      'Ah, Thorn-lad', Timin mused inwardly as the deep, cool shadows covered them; 'You've found the 'biggest fish of all' this time --- I just pray to Erg that you don't get us all three killed in trying to land it!'

      ***

      A howl of pain from below deck made Ragnol Halfhand turn away from gazing at the mist shrouded bank. 'Quiff! What now?!', he thought to himself as he moved back towards the main mast. 'Another whining slave causing trouble again?'

      Ragnol's mind's eye suddenly brought him a mental picture of the tall, dark slave they had captured soon after starting up river. 'That bastard cut up two of my best men before we finally dragged him down!', Ragnol recalled. 'Just lucky for him that neither one of them had died --- or the dark haired bugger would have paid with his life! Slath's Law is very clear on that point: 'For every son of Slath that is slain, ten 'others' die.'

      Ragnol’s harsh features twisted into something akin to a smile as he thought upon the Slathland Motto: Show no mercy, give no quarter!' 'A good quiffing rule to live by', he mused; 'And die by!'

      Yet Ragnol reg Das, bastard son of a bastard son, had no intention of dying. He had come too bloody far to let it all slide through his hands now. Years of sweat, blood and living by his wits had brought him to where he was, in charge of the First Advance into this unknown land, chosen by the High Gnash Himself to seek out the legendary 'Wee'ns' and their much sought after 'black gold'!

      Not that Ragnol actually believed the stories about the Wee'ns --- tales of them being 'half a man's height' and capable of 'striking an enemy down by just pointing a finger', or any of the other bullshit about them being somehow 'magical', able to 'change shape' and 'vanish into the quiffing air'!

      But the 'black gold' he did believe in. With his own hand he had held a weapon made from it. A strange, eerie thing it was; oddly beautiful, yet at the same time repulsive. Ragnol had bought it from an old drunkard in the Slath Council of Reagents, the aged body of degenerate 'elders' that served to enforce Slath's Law in the distant realms of the empire. It had cost him much, but it was a price he had gladly paid, for in all his years as a wandering mercenary, no keener edge nor stronger blade had he ever seen! An iron blade could neither break nor dull it!

      Yet Ragnol had not keep it for himself. Instead, he had made the strange little weapon a present to his new master, Alexus V, the High Gnash of Slathland. Quick to see the military advantages such weapons, the High Gnash had commissioned Ragnol to lead an expedition in search of the legendary 'Land of the Wee'ns'. Ragnol's orders were to present, as soon as possible before the Royal Person, several suitable examples of these mythical creatures --- and, above all else, to bring back to Glorious Slathland large quantities of the strange black ore.

      Ragnol intended to do just that, to take back boatloads of the black gold, all to be lain at the royal (and hopefully generous) feet of the High Gnash Himself. Then let his quiffing enemies snicker at the 'foreigner with but half a hand'!

      But first there was this obstinate slave to be dealt with; the tall one with the defiant eyes. Ragnol's mouth attempted a smile, yet it only made him look the more cruel. Slowly he unfastened the heavy whip he carried at his side. 'If that goat-quiffing fool Nex can't control the slaves', Ragnol reasoned; 'then I will!'

      ***

      Nex, captain of the Slath ship, cursed as he pushed Erin from behind. A burly crewmember clung to each of the slave’s arms, while a third held Erin by his chain --- the same Slath-cursed chain that the slave had somehow pulled out of the keel! It was only luck that it had been discovered before the bastard made good his escape! The fact that a fourth Slath guard had just had his nose broken by this black haired sonovabitch was further testament as to just how dangerous a bloody quiffer he was!

      Nex, always prudent, drew his sword and slammed the flat of his blade across the slave's shoulders. Expecting to see the tall man go down, Nex was disappointed. The slave staggered, turned and swung his shackled wrists into the mouth of one of his captors. The man fell to the deck, his hand going to his ruined mouth.

      Then came the crack of a whip. A scarlet line opened up on the slave's left cheek. White bone showed briefly Ragnol reg Das, Commander of the Advance Thrust, had just made his presence known.

      For several heartbeats the two men glared at each other; the slave with fierce hatred in his wolf-grey eyes, the dark foreigner with mocking cruelty. Then Ragnol spoke. I am accustomed to having slaves kneel before me. Do so, filth. Ragnol used the Common Tongue, his voice as sRooth as ice.

      For an answer the Erin spit at Ragnol's feet. Rough hands made to force him to the deck, but a barked order caused them to cease. Erin felt the thick handle of the whip pressed against his windpipe. Ragnol's face was less than a handspan away.

      You will do as you are bid, filth, or I'll strip the skin off your back!

      Brave words --- with a score o'nbum-boys at your back n' me in quiffin' chains! Erin's lilting accent added extra sting to the insult. He followed it up with yet another. Or have you the balls to be facin' me man to man?!

      Like one great beast, the crew sucked in their breath. Even those who didn't understand the Common Tongue, knew that Ragnol had just been insulted. No one spoke to the foreigner 'Halfhand' like that --- not and lived to tell about it. Even Nex, a veteran of many a bloody campaign, had often had to swallow his words. And yet this tall slave with the odd speech had dared to both spit at and challenge Halfhand all in the same breath!

      The fool must be fey!, a crewmember muttered.

      Either that, growled another, or the pox has rotted his quiffing brain!

      One Slather offered a silver armring against a copper one that Ragnol would kill the slave outright. No-one took the bet. All eyes now turned towards the hated foreigner.

      Ragnol's face had flushed red. His cold eyes blazed. A vein in his forehead began to throb. Then his features changed and a strange sort of calm settled over him.

      Glark na, he said in Slath, the harsh words rolling off his tongue like honey.

      When Nex and the two crewmen were slow to move, he repeated the order, adding to it this time both in length and volume. Glark na arn stuten! Free him you idiots! And then stand clear! I'll flay alive any disease ridden son of a whore that interferes!

      The shackles were quickly struck from Erin's legs. He stood there all but naked, his feet freed but his hands still bound by a long length of heavy chain. Facing him was a powerful man in mail; a long whip in his hand and blood lust in his eye.

      Nex spoke to Ragnol. Erin could not make out what was said, for they spoke in Slath, but it was clear that the second-in-command was arguing the prudence of leaving the slave's hands bound.

      'Ah, Nex me lad', Erin said to himself; 't'is a wondrous cautious man you be --- but if the Fates be kind, I'll be takin' a wee piece of you down with me as well!'

      Ragnol at last saw the wisdom of Nex's words, for Erin's hands were left as they were. The crew moved to give them space, for none wanted to be over close to the long leather snake that Ragnol held ready in his good hand.

      ***

      Timin! Norgi! Look there! Do you see?! Thorn's voice had risen to a whispered shout. The three Kirkwean were still in their little skiff, deep in the shadows of the overhanging willows. Thorn stood in the bow while the other two sat huddled on the floor.

      Aye, Timin replied, feeling his stomach rumble, though for once in his life not for want of food. I see it. Looks like one of their own getting a lesson in manners!

      Norgi, his pale face now even paler, tugged at Thorn's woolen sleeve. We've got to warn The Root! Slathers on the river! The Warders must be told!

      Thorn looked down at the thin Kirkwean kneeling in the skiff. Norgi had never really been a 'close' friend, not like good old Timin; but Thorn had come to like him none the less. Most of the young Kirkwean made sport of him, calling him No-Laugh Norgi and playing pranks on him. Most of it Norgi brought on himself, for he was the sourest creature under Erg's blue sky that Thorn had ever met! And Kirkwean loved nothing better than a good laugh --- except perhaps a good story! But sitting there with his frightened, dog-like expression on his pale, narrow face, Thorn felt a pity stab at his heart.

      In a moment or two, Norgi. We'll warn The Root and alert the Warders, but first we watch. Then we'll have something to tell other than we ran home with our tails between our legs!

      Norgi seemed about to say something, then just sighed and slumped back down in the skiff. He knew from experience that once Thorn had made up his mind about something, nothing would change it. Norgi sighed again, resigning himself to waiting for 'the end', which he firmly believed would come any moment.

      Across the clear, blue water there came the stinging 'crack' of a whip.

      ***

      Chapter 2: THE BID FOR FREEDOM

      The pain knifed through Erin like a red-hot poker. His chest and shoulders awash with blood, he'd lost count of the times Ragnol's whip had found him. Six, maybe seven. It felt more like two dozen!

      The crew had gathered to see the 'smart-ass' slave get his stones cut off --- and it looked as though they would see just that, for the poor bugger was taking it right, left and center.

      The long, leather tail of pain flicked out yet again, wrapping itself in a crimson line around the slave's left forearm. Then something odd happened. The crowd gasped as the blood covered bastard grabbed hold of the whip’s end --- and pulled!

      Ragnol, caught off guard, was dragged forward. At the same time Erin advanced. A fist wrapped in chain slammed into Ragnol's face. Blood spurted, bone shattered and Ragnol howled in rage. Both hands flew to his destroyed nose, his whip now forgotten.

      Turning swiftly, Erin began to twirl a 'tail of pain' of his own. Faster and faster the heavy chain whirled, causing the clean, crisp air to hum with its passing. Startled crewmembers tripped over each other in their haste to escape the deadly chain. One unlucky fellow moved a bit too slow and had his ear removed as a reward. Another received a broken wrist as he instinctively tried to protect his face.

      Nex, seeing that Ragnol was out of the fight, swiftly took command. You three!, he bellowed. Rush the quiffer from behind!

      The three burly Slathlanders glanced quickly at each other, rolled their eyes and prepared to obey --- to refuse never entered their heads, for Slath's Law was absolutely clear on this --- not to obey an officer meant instant death. Yet they were still far from over-eager. Slowly they worked their way closer to the tall slave, waiting for the right moment.

      It never came. Instead, Nex grabbed a long spear and thrust it up to tangle the whirling chain. The heavy iron links, seen only as a blur in the morning sun, struck the shaft and snapped it off half a vel from the iron head. The broken part flew through the air, striking one of the three who had been closing in from behind.

      Hitting him square in the chest, the point passed through the man's hardened leather jerkin like a hot knife through cheese. The force of the blow punched him backwards against the mast. And there he hung, impaled by the broken spear, the shaft sprouting from his chest like an accusing finger. As though giving some grotesque benediction, the dying man's arm slowly raised and fell. His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out, save for a trickle of blood.

      Men gasped; several called Slath's name; one even fell to his knees. All eyes were riveted on the dead man. It was then that Erin saw his chance. It wasn't much of a chance; if the bloody chain didn't pull him down, they'd probably just fill him full of arrows! But it was the only one he had. Erin ap Conn made ready to jump.

      Except that Nex stood in his way.

      There was no time to use the chain. No time for tricks. All Erin could do was charge the grinning mountain and hope to knock him down. In their own fickle way, the Fates had been both cruel and kind, for though Nex blocked his path, he had only the broken spear shaft in his hand.

      Erin's wild, head-down charge took the big man in the stomach. The hardwood shaft stung as it struck the torn flesh on Erin's back, but the all-out momentum of the charge was enough to take them both over the side.

      The shock of the cold water struck Erin like a blow. He was beyond pain now --- all that remained was to get free of the bloody 'demon ship'.

      But Nex was not yet through with him. Somehow the Slather had gotten hold of the chain and was hauling Erin back to the ship. 'So be it, Nex-lad,' Erin reasoned coldly; 'But at least I'll be takin' you down with me!'

      The entire crew watched spellbound as the two men struggled in the water. Even Ragnol, one hand covering the bloody pulp that had been his nose, cheered Nex on.

      So intent were they on the struggle that none saw the little skiff push its way out of the shadows and swiftly make its way towards the drifting Glitch Slath.

      ***

      Are you daft, Thorn?! What can we do against a boat full of Slathers?! Timin, his usual meekness set aside, glared at his cousin and life-long friend.

      Thorn merely winked at the pudgy little Kirkwean and fit a sRooth round stone into his sling.

      Norgi however, was beside himself with fear. But they're so BIG!!, he mumbled. Erg save us! We'll be butchered and the pieces tossed to the fishes!

      Thorn's hand gripped the overly thin Kirkwean's shoulder. The bones reminded him of a bird he had once held in the palm of his hand. Norgi, listen to me! One man is fighting the whole stinking lot of them. I don't know why and I don't care, but we are going to help him. Now, grab your paddle and get me within range. My sling will hold them off while you and Timin pull him in the skiff!

      For the length of several heartbeats Norgi just stared up at Thorn, then a strange thing happened. The years of self-doubt seemed to fall away. All the snide remarks and snickering laughter; all the cutting asides and cruel jests, just melted like so much river mist. Rushing in to fill the oh-so-large void was a kind of inner peace. A sense of worth flooded through him like sunshine that had been overlong behind a dark cloud.

      The little Kirkwean nodded to Thorn and picked up his paddle. The look on his thin face would have gladdened his mother's heart --- for 'No-Smile' Norgi was grinning from ear to ear!

      ***

      Nex was having trouble. The weight of his ring-mail and his heavy sword acted much the same as Erin's length of chain. Neither man could both fight and swim at the same time; also added to this was the fact that Nex wore tall boots and a long sleeveless coat of bears fur. He was soon forced to let the kicking slave go and save his own life.

      By the time Nex was pulled cursing from the river, Erin had managed to swim half way to the shore. Ragnol, his shattered nose still streaming blood, bellowed for archers. Several of the Slathlanders scurried for bows. One, quicker than the rest, climbed into the rigging for a clearer shot.

      Bows in general were not a favorite weapon of these fierce, northern invaders. A 'true son of Slath' looked down on the weapon as a cowardly quiffing thing that only those lacking both sufficient strength of arm and true character used. The 'shim' or broadsword and the heavy Slathaxe were the mark of a 'real warrior'! Yet Ragnol had traveled both far and wide, and knew the deadly force that a well trained group of archers could achieve, and so he had included a dozen or so of the best bowmen he could find to his crew.

      Feather that bastard for me!, he growled, his strong accent even harder to follow due to his broken nose. A silver crown for the man that hits him first!

      The bowman in the rigging, one of the two slant-eyed, bronze skinned archers from the distant land of Chin, grinned and set an arrow to his string. The Slath silver was as good as in his pouch, for the fool of a slave was floundering about in the water like a half dead fish. Soon he would be all the way dead!

      With an ease that belied his slight stature, the bronze skinned archer drew his long bamboo bow and sighted down the shaft. The thrashing target was momentarily eclipsed by the arrow's barbed head. The Chin bowman raised it just a fraction to allow for the proper arc, grinned --- and was hit square in the forehead by a sRooth, round stone. The archer stiffened, then went limp. As he and his bow tumbled towards the deck, one bare foot caught in the rigging. The lifeless body of the Chin hung like a limp flag.

      ***

      You got him, Thorn!, Timin beamed, as he paddled towards the tall 'manling' now clearly drowning not a dozen vels away. Norgi, still grinning from ear to ear, dug in with all his might and the little skiff fairly skimmed over the water.

      Thorn, his sky-blue eyes never leaving the Glitch Slath, deftly placed another sRooth stone in his sling. Like most Kirkwean, Thorn was very good with any weapon that could be thrown. It just seemed to come naturally to them, though legend told that Erg, The Creator of All, had given this special ability to the Kirkwean to compensate for their lack of size and stature. Be that as it may, most Kirkwean were unbelievably good with bow, spear, knife or the odd little throwing weapon they called a Kirkaxe.

      Thorn, though better than most with all of these, was a 'past master' of the sling. In his tiny, deft hands the simple child's toy became an instrument of destruction. He could hurl a sRooth river stone further and faster than most could cast an arrow. He seldom missed; and when he did it was not by much.

      Thorn's first stone had struck the Chin bowman square on his temple, shattering the bone and sending a shock-wave of instant death into the brain. The Chin had passed over to the land of his ancestors even before his foot became caught in the rigging.

      Thorn's second and third stones also struck true, taking one archer in the eye and breaking the wrist of another. After that there were very few targets left above deck.

      "It's the Wee'ns!", a Slather muttered, making the ancient sign to ward off evil. Nex heard and rounded on the crew.

      "Slath curse you motherless by-blows! It's only three children in a skiff! Rouse yourself Slathlanders! They but toss pebbles at us!"

      Shame flooded through the seasoned fighters. 'Shims' leapt from scabbards and heavy Slathaxes and spears were raised --- though after two more of their number were brought down by these 'children's pebbles', it was shields that were raised instead.

      And all the time that one little word raced like fire around the ship. 'Wee'ns'. The name for the legendary race of beings that were rumored to inhabit this part of Oma-Var. A name said in jest or as a snide remark about ones size, (or lack of it!); a name used by grandparents when telling tall tales to the young Slathlings.

      Suddenly it had become a name of fear.

      Look there, you maggot-ridden offal!, Ragnol fumed, striking several of the crew with the flat of his 'shim'. "Wee'ns or no, there's only three of the little bastards --- and only half the size of the most craven of you! See how they pull the slave into their little shell! Mark how it all but sinks under his weight!"

      Cautious eyes peered over the rail. Several of the braver ones stood up and shouted curses. Ragnol turned on them like an angry dog. Lower the longboat, fools! After them! Nex, get the rest of the archers forward and set the bastards to shooting!

      But Nex was already heading for the longboat. The slave had made a fool out of him in front of his own men --- and for that he would die. Leader or not, Ragnol Halfhand was still only a oily tongued foreigner. Nex would not be denied his 'right to revenge'.

      Seeing that Nex was intent on going, Ragnol turned to the remaining bowmen and lashed them with both tongue and whip if he even thought they might be slow to obey.

      ***

      Careful!, Timin yelled. Don't swamp us!

      It took all of Timin and Norgi's combined strength to haul the half-drowned slave into their skiff. As it was the bottom was awash when Erin finally lay gasping for air in the narrow boat.

      He's so BIG!, Norgi muttered, for he had never actually seen a 'manling' before, though he had heard of them all his life.

      Aye, grunted Timin. And Erg-cursed heavy! Give me a hand with his leg, will you? I've no room to paddle!

      Erin, only vaguely aware of what was happening, lay doubled-up in the tiny skiff, puking out river water and trying to breathe at the same time. His shoulders and back felt on fire and his head pounded like a hammer in a forge.

      Make for the shore!, Thorn shouted, then whirled his sling several times and let fly. Timin caught a glimpse of yet another Slather toppling into the water. Paddle, Norgi you old fart! For Erg's sake paddle!

      Upon hearing his name, Norgi roused himself from the trance he had been in ever since they had hauled Erin aboard. Then, with that strange new expression still on his face, he began using his paddle for all he was worth.

      Then the arrows began to fall. The river seemed to 'sizzle' as the shafts landed all around them --- yet not all missed. Ragnol had chosen his archers well, for though one of the two bronze-skinned Chins were dead and several other Slathlanders were either the same or wounded, there was still enough bowmen left to do the job.

      One bolt thudded into the stern of the skiff just behind Timin. Another grazed Thorn's shoulder. Yet another slammed into Norgi's paddle blade, causing his new-found grin to vanish.

      Thorn's sling whirled but the arrows kept raining down. One struck Timin squarely in the back. The hefty little Kirkwean groaned, then slumped forward. Thorn cried out his cousin's name. Norgi's eyes pleaded silently. Desperate now, Thorn pocketed his sling and grabbed a paddle.

      'It's all gone wrong!', Thorn's inner voice screamed. 'It wasn't supposed to be like this!' Bramblethorn Higgs was having his first clear insight into what 'war' really meant. Battles, big or small, are never one-sided. It was a bitter truth that the quick-tempered little Kirkwean would remember all his days.

      In the stern, Erin, his hands still chained, rose to his knees. Seeing Timin's slumped body, he took the paddle and began using it as best he could.

      Suddenly Norgi cried out and clutched his leg. Thorn glanced back. What he saw made him want to wretch, for both his friends now had arrows sprouting from their small bodies. With a sinking heart he realized that the Slathers we swiftly gaining on them. And it was all his fault!

      ***

      Chapter 3:WOLF'S HEAD

      Rash, stuten! - 'Row, fools!' , Nex bellowed. Put your backs into it! I want that stinking wolf's head on a quiffing pike!"

      The four Slathlanders bent to their work and the longboat began to gain on the little skiff. Up front two archers turned their bows on the distant figures. When one seemed to strike the 'Wee'n' in the stern, they sent up a boisterous cheer.

      Get the others! Nex roared from his place in the stern; But mind you save that bastard slave for me!

      The two bowmen glanced at each other. One of them, Kel, the last remaining Chin, raised his left eyebrow, shrugged, then lifted his long, bamboo bow. The Slath archer, not wanting to anger the surly captain any more than he already was, quickly followed suit.

      ***

      Erin, his head still pounding, glanced about him as he paddled. Two of the strange little folk were hit. The one behind had passed out. The thin one in front was moaning over the shaft in his leg. That left the taller of the three. He seemed unhurt, yet now sat slumped in the bow, seemingly unsure of what to do.

      'Battle shock', Erin said to himself. The mercenary had seen it many times before. Looking back, he saw that the Slath longboat was gaining. Arrows still rained down, and the shore seemed to grow no closer as he paddled. Desperate, he tried to rouse the small figure in the bow.

      Faith, lad! T'is no time to be a dreamin', or it's dead or worse we'll all soon be!

      The little creature paid him no heed. Then a moan came from the stern, and Timin pushed himself upright.

      When Thorn saw that his life-long friend still lived, the wave of depression and self-doubt fell from him like a shroud. The sparkling fire that so often danced in his overlarge blue eyes returned. Calling out Timin's name, he once again took up his sling.

      Timin, awakened by the pain that had first caused him to swoon, pulled off his pack-sack and grunted a bitter laugh. Right smack through my wheel of cheese!

      You're not hit bad then?!, Thorn beamed as the small sling whirled round his head.

      Timin's round face continued to grin. It hurts something fierce, but I'll live --- at least for a while!

      Thorn flashed a grin of his own and let fly. The stone took the Slath archer square in the forehead. The remaining slant-eyed Chin prudently ducked out of sight. As both Timin and Erin continued to paddle for the shore, Thorn spoke to the tall manling.

      Your use of the Trade Tongue is strange to me, tall one. Have you a name? The hint of mockery was back in his voice.

      Erin's dazzling smile rivaled the sunlight. Aye, that I do, 'Sling-Wielder'! And a tale to tell along with it, but for now it's stout trees I'm needin' betwixt myself and yonder whore-droppings!

      Thorn fitted another stone to his sling and flashed the tall 'manling with the song-like voice' a quick smile. Then you'd best lean into that paddle, friend, or you'll not live to tell it!

      ***

      Thorn was first out when their skiff finally touched the bank. The river, the Nal Verg-Loth, curled back around a small wooded point of land. The longboat was momentarily cut off from view, but still coming fast. Harsh Slath voices could be heard, with Nex's the loudest of them all.

      Erin dropped his paddle and jumped over the side, the cold water almost to his waist. The long, heavy chain trailed behind. As he was about to head for the shelter of the thick forest, Thorn leveled a three-pronged fish spear at the Erin's bare chest.

      "Two of my friends are sore hurt, and I'll not leave them behind for the Slathers --- and neither will you!

      The prongs of the spear never wavered, and neither did the Kirkwean's stare. Erin shrugged, then turned back to the skiff and scooped Norgi up like a bundle of rags. Thorn waited till they had passed before going back to help Timin.

      Right through the cheese!, Timin said. Though his grin was from ear to ear, Thorn could tell his cousin was in pain. Together they made the bank and hobbled after the tall 'manling' and his small bundle.

      ***

      Nex swore and struck the side of the longboat with his 'shim'. After them! Find me their quiffing trail or don't come back!

      The four remaining crewmembers scrambled to the grassy bank. Two others lay in the longboat; one was dead and the other had a shattered kneecap. Nex pointed his long 'shim' at the last one and told him to guard the boat, then all five waded into the thick forest.

      The morning sun did little to dispel the gloom under the tall pines and overhanging oaks and maples. Bush and bracken barred their way as the Slathlanders, more accustomed to the rolling plains or the open sea, trudged their way through the dense undergrowth.

      Nex motioned for the four to form two groups; Helmar and Garn to his left and Dashburn and Kel, the last remaining Chin archer, to his right. Watching his men move through the thick, green forest, the Captain of the Glitch Slath murmured to himself: You're mine now, you motherless dog-offal! Soon I'll haul your ass back to the ship and then we shall see just how brave you are!

      ***

      Watch your step, manling, for you're about to put your big foot into a ware-trap.

      Erin, still carrying the half-conscious Norgi, froze where he stood. Looking down at the leaf-strewn ground, at first he saw nothing. Then, not a handspan from where he stood, he spotted a half-covered vine. Off to one side of the narrow trail he spied a tall, thin pine bent almost in half.

      Thorn, still supporting Timin, came up behind him. Trip that line, 'friend', and you could end up with a broken leg. It might be best if I took the lead from here.

      Erin smiled down at the little creature with the overlarge blue eyes. Your folk have a strange way o' greetin' fellow travelers. Be there others the like o' that in these woods?

      For an answer Thorn merely snorted out a chuckle and continued up the trail. His mocking voice drifted back. Enough to at least slow your friends down a bit! Both he and Timin seemed to find this last remark greatly amusing. Erin wished he could be as sure!

      ***

      Nex was having trouble again. He had lost sight of Helmar and Garn, and the ones on his right were far too bloody apart for his liking. Kel, the slant-eyed Chin bastard, was flitting through the shadows like a wraith, his long bamboo bow nocked and ready. The big idiot Dashburn, however, was flailing away at the undergrowth, cursing both in Slath and the Trade Tongue.

      Arn gersa stuten!, Nex hissed at the burly Slathlander. You bloody fool! You're making more noise than a drunken whore giving birth!

      Dashburn lowered both his 'shim' and his voice, yet continued to trample root, bush and brier, clearly giving away his position to anyone within several bowshots.

      Nex was shaking his head and silently wondering why Great Slath had burdened him with such idiots when he heard the scream. It came from the left and a bit ahead. Shield raised to guard against both thrown weapon and forest brier, he rushed toward the high pitched wail.

      Breathing heavily despite the coolness of the shadows, Nex all but stumbled into Garn. The Slathlander was on his knees looking down into a circular pit several vels deep. Helmar lay at the bottom, a number of bloodstained wooden stakes protruding through his chest and stomach.

      Garn's bulging eyes locked on Nex for several heartbeats. Words failed both of them. Garn dropped his gaze and got to his feet, his heavy Slathaxe and shield held before him like a talisman against evil.

      A sudden noise to the right made them both turn, 'shim' and Slathaxe raised to strike. Dashburn stumbled through the bracken. The Slathlander's eyes, wide and wild, went even wider when he saw the 'occupant' of the pit. His jaw dropped, and then snapped shut as Nex stepped towards him.

      Where's the Chin?!

      Dashburn nodded back the way he had come. "The bloody slant-eye is flitting from shadow to shadow like a feka! Gives me the shivers he does, him and that Slath-cursed bow of his!"

      Nex pushed up close to the big Slathlander. That 'slant-eye' and his bow might just be the only hope you have of leaving this forest alive. Now, haul you ass around and take me to where you saw him last!

      What about Helmar?, Garn asked, his voice nearly breaking.

      Nex didn't bother to reply.

      ***

      Blood oozed from the many cuts and slashes Ragnol's whip had made on his back and shoulders. The chain's heavy links added to the pain as they rubbed his torn skin.

      Norgi, who in the beginning had felt no heavier than a bundle of straw, now felt like a sac of sand. Erin ap Conn was nearing the end of his considerable strength.

      Thorn, seeing the way the tall 'manling' staggered along, helped Timin to sit and turned to face the large stranger. They had come to the top of a rocky hill, crowned by tall pines. One tree had fallen and it's decaying trunk created a natural wind-break. Rest here. Timin's wound is not serious but Norgi's needs attention. Bind his leg as best you can while I go to see if your 'friends' still follow.

      Erin, carefully depositing his unconscious bundle on the ground, was about to reply to Thorn's dig about his 'friends' when he looked up and saw that the odd little creature had vanished!

      Where did he --- ?

      'Go'?, Timin said, finishing Erin's sentence. "Oh, don't worry about Thorn. He's like that. A bit, er, 'off-show' I think you call it. The plump, little Kirkwean grimaced in pain as he moved towards his thin friend. Erin saw that the fish-spear now rested beside the fallen log. This legs need help. He's spilling much too bloods!"

      Despite Timin's less than perfect command of the Trade Tongue, Erin grasped his meaning full well. Unless the bleeding was stopped, Norgi would die. He quickly pulled off the unconscious Wee'n's belt and made a tourniquet.

      What will he do?, Erin asked as he bound Norgi's leg.

      Timin answered without a moments hesitation. What must do Thorn will do.

      ***

      From his perch high in a tree, Thorn saw the Chin archer moving through the shadows. 'He does it better than the others', he thought to himself. 'Much less noise,

      but his smell gives him away.'

      The wiry little Kirkwean glanced off to the right where the scream had come from. The 'warder-pit' had shaved down the odds a bit, but there were still three of the Slathers down there, and the silent archer was just off to the left and getting closer. Timin and Norgi were behind him with the big manling on the crest of the hill --- and The Root was still some distance away. Thorn knew that there could be a Warder patrol along at any moment; but then again, maybe there wouldn't.

      He decided not to wait.

      Slipping down the tree, he melted into the shadows and drew his Kirkaxe. It was a small weapon; short of haft and fitted with a light, curved blade made from the mysterious metal called Twain or Black Gold. In the forest's dim light only the Kirkwean's overlarge blue eyes could be seen. He crouched down beside the trail.

      ***

      The quiffin' slant-eye was over this way!, a deep voice growled, though Thorn only heard the guttural sounds, since the hated Slath Tongue was beyond his knowing.

      Moments later three large 'manlings' lumbered down the path. The one in the front was cursing as he came, beating the saplings with his long sword. The stink of him almost made Thorn gag. The second wore high, brown boots and a long sleeveless coat of black bearskin, both which sloshed water about as he moved. This was the one that the slave had knocked into the river. He looked mean and urged the first one on with the flat of his wicked sword. The third was thinner than the others, with eyes that flitted from side to side like a trapped bird. Thorn smiled to himself and tightened his grip on his small axe.

      As the third Slather moved by his hiding place, Thorn sprang out behind him and swung his weapon. The 'clang' caused by the flat of the axehead slamming into the side of Garn’s iron helm caused the two in front to whirl around --- though all they saw was Garn’s unconscious body crumpling to the ground.

      Nex crouched, buckler and 'shim' raised. Beside him Dashburn half groaned, half growled, fear and anger fighting for supremacy on his course features. Nex swore and rushed towards his fallen crewmember. A quick check showed that Garn wasn't dead, but he might as well have been, for he would be no further help this day! The side of his helm was dented and blood trickled from his nose.

      No quiffing sling-stone did this!, Nex hissed. The bastards must be close --- find them!

      ***

      Erin could stand the waiting no longer. The strange little creature had been gone too long. When the high pitched scream came, Erin bounded to his feet, the length of heavy chain clenched tightly in his two hands.

      Norgi groaned, still deep in sleep. Timin's large eyes flitted from his thin friend to the tall manling. All the confidence and easy laughter had fled from his round face.

      Be watchin' over your friend, Timin-lad, Erin said. I'll be seein' to the health o' the 'sling-wielder' myself!

      Timin, his back still on fire from his own wound, nodded and reached for the fish-spear. If the hated Slathers found him, then they'd not take poor Norgi or himself without a fight! When he looked up, the tall manling was already moving back down the trail.

      ***

      From his vantage point in the tree Thorn could see both of them, though there was no sign of the silent archer. The leader in the black bear cloak was off to the left, while the noisy one was lumbering along towards the very tree he was in. Thinking to dent that fool's helm as well, Thorn worked his way along a lower branch that grew over the narrow trail.

      Dashburn continued to thrash his way up the winding path. Sweating heavily from the climb, he paused just beneath the towering oak. Thorn was about to drop on the unsuspecting Slather when an arrow thudded into the branch not a handspan from his head!

      Dashburn, hearing the noise, looked up, at the same time thrusting with his 'shim'. The long blade passed by Thorn, tearing a hole in his shirt. It was then that the little Kirkwean threw his axe. Dashburn staggered back, then toppled to the ground. The black 'Twain' blade had sheared through the iron helm and was now deeply embedded in the Slathlander's brain.

      Thorn had little time to admire his throw, for another arrow whizzed by him. Off to the left Nex was cursing and coming on the run. With a speed that few would believe possible, the little Kirkwean scrambled further up the tree and out on a long limb.

      The tree grew close to a large outcropping of rock and Thorn made ready to jump. As he sprang, yet another arrow flashed by, this time nicking him in the arm. He landed a bit short of his chosen spot and had to scramble quickly to keep from falling. As he hauled himself up the weather-worn rock the hard-pressed Kirkwean caught a glimpse of the bowman. It was the Chin he had seen earlier.

      Thorn's large blue eyes opened even wider! The bronze-skinned archer was still much too far away to be a threat --- but already two of his arrows had barely missed him and one had all but found it's mark! Thorn's heart began to pound all the faster as he saw Kel moving in rapidly for the kill!

      Below him Thorn could hear Nex laboring up the rocky slope. Off to the right Kel raced over the boulders and up the steep hillside. Thorn had to reach the crest and before the archer did, or he’d be caught in the open between the Chin's arrows and Bear Skin's sword.

      Up he went, his tiny hands and feet digging into the rocky soil. Bits and pieces fell back, showering Nex and adding to his rage. Yet for all Thorn's haste, the archer reached the top first. Clinging to a spur of rock, unable to use his sling, his precious Kirkaxe buried deep in Dashburn's skull far below, Thorn drew his last remaining weapon; a razor sharp but pathetically small skinning knife.

      'Erg shatter me if it wasn't a good try!', he said inwardly, his blue eyes afire.

      On the rim of the steep hill, Kel allowed a mirthless smile to spread over his granite-like features. As he raised his great bamboo bow, he snorted in contempt. 'And to think', he reasoned; 'the 'great Slathlanders' fear these tiny creatures!'

      Yet deep down in a seldom used part of his cold heart, Kel felt a strange sadness for the tiny creature. After all, using only childish weapons and his wits, the little fellow had bravely defeated a good number of these big-mouth Slathers. Thorn's quick, silent movements reminded Kel of his own Ja~Din training. It was almost a pity that it had to end this way. ‘Fate’, sighed the bronze-skinned warrior, as he slowly drew his bow.

      As he was about to loose his shaft, there came a loud bellow from behind him. Inwardly cursing himself for being overconfident, Kel crouched and turned in one fluid movement. Years of training came instantly into play. His longbow dropped from his hands, replaced by two 'a-sa'; long, thin knives with elaborately curved guards that could catch and snap an enemy's blade.

      Yet the 'enemy' he now faced had no blade; instead he stood whirling a heavy length of chain. The noise of the iron links hissed like a snake. Even as Kel leapt, he knew it was too late. As the heavy iron chain slammed into him, winding around his neck, his last thoughts were of just how ironic it was that the tiny 'Wee'n' would now probably live --- while he most certainly was about to die. Life indeed was 'the Great Paradox'!

      ***

      Erin's smile became the grin of a wolf. The slender Chin was fast, and his leap had almost saved him --- yet 'almost' for a weaponsman still brings defeat. Erin yanked the chain. The slight body came like a puppet tangled in its strings. A swift kick in the groin, followed by a heavy forearm on the back, sent Kel to the ground. Erin quickly unwrapped the chain and picked up one of the strange daggers.

      'Not much o' a blade', Erin thought; 'but it'll do the job.' Kneeling, he was about to cut the archer's throat when a small head appeared over the cliff's edge. Sky-blue eyes looked into slate grey ones.

      Well, are you just going to sit there like some great oaf, or are you going to help me up?!

      Erin's stern face creased into a weathered smile as he reached out to take the little Kirkwean's hand.

      Thorn glanced at the unmoving body of the Chin archer, then back at the tall manling. It seems that I owe you my life, 'friend'.

      Erin's smile broadened. I'm thinkin' it's even we be, small one, though I still have need o' your help.

      Just then there came a loud bellow from further down the cliff, followed closely by the sound of falling rocks. Both Erin and Thorn rushed to the edge in time to see Nex tumbling backwards with what seemed half the hillside following him. When the dust settled, Nex's unconscious body could be dimly seen, half buried by the slide.

      Erin turned to his new-found friend. You go back 'n tend to the others. I'll check on him.

      Why?, Thorn demanded. If he's not dead now he soon will be.

      It's weapons 'n armour I be needin', laddie. Erin raised his still shackled wrists. Besides, that bloody bastard has the key!

      Thorn shrugged and turned away as Erin began to slowly descend the cliff. Kel's unconscious body lay forgotten on the ground.

      ***

      Chapter 4: THE ROOT

      As the tall, helmeted form, dressed in scale-mail, sword and shield, stepped out of the shadows, plump little Timin gave a startled squeak. Instantly Thorn whirled around, his fish-spear ready. Sky-blue eyes locked onto slate grey ones. Slowly the spear lowered.

      You took your time, 'friend'. We were about to leave without you.

      Erin removed his 'borrowed' helm and shook out his long raven locks. The quiffer took a wee bit longer to dig out than I thought. Ol' Nex-lad wasn't too helpful.

      He's dead?, Timin asked.

      Erin's grin reminded the little Kirkwean of a hungry wolf. Nay, just naked as the day he was born. Pulling the strange little Kirkaxe from his belt, he offered it to Thorn haft first. Thought you might be wantin' this back.

      Thorn took it lovingly. Aye, that I do. Granther Higgs would skin me alive if I came back to The Root without it!

      Erin slowly drew his new sword and examined the edge. It and the mail shirt had been Nex's, along with the high boots and everything else he now wore.

      In his seven long years as a mercenary he had been forced to take men's lives many times, but never when there was no real need. When Erin had left him, Nex was still breathing, though barely. The rest was up to 'fate'.

      Erin rammed the sword back into its scabbard. N' just where be this 'Root' of yours, whatever 'that' may be?

      Thorn looked up at the tall manling. Dressed as he was in rippling scale and armed with a wicked 'shim', Thorn thought for a fleeting moment that he may have been wrong to save this tall 'outsider'. Now there was little he could do but take him to their village, for word of the dreaded Glitch Slath on their river must be spread. Yet something in Erin's face told him that, though this manling could be both fierce and savage when need be, he could also be trusted. Thorn decided to do so.

      'The Root' is our home. It lies in a sheltered valley some ways from here; and if we're ever to get there then we should be going. Norgi's leg still needs tending. Moments later they were wending their way up the forest path, the tall stranger carrying the semiconscious Norgi.

      ***

      Thorn cocked his head and listened, but no reply came to his call.

      What now?, Erin asked. This little fellow be gettin' none the lighter. Thorn held up his hand. Up ahead is a 'ward-post'. They should have answered.

      Tis a bird I'm after thinking they took you for. Call out proper like. There was more than a hint of irritation in the tall man's voice as

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