The slow, dark journey

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair...

Suddenly, we were alone. Broo-Fang Tane had melted into the shadows nearly as quickly as we had decided on our course of action. I could still see Seymuhr's squat, lumbering form as he crept down into the gloom. He had a mace in either hand, although they had been darkened with dirt to conceal them. I wondered, briefly, if that precaution was necessary: did the undead things lurking below us care about such things? Would they pounce on shiny objects like bored kittens? I doubted it. Soon, he was lost to view, as well.

Merrick tapped my shoulder and gave me a grim smile and a shrug. I bowed with a sweep of my hand in a universal "after you" gesture. We both clipped from our hiding place at the same time, however, me with a short knife clutched under a fold in my shirt and he with both hands on his staff. He held it at the ready, not like a walking stick. The sounds gurgling from ravaged throats surrounded us and my eyes stung with the stench of rotting bodies. I had thought my time with Seymuhr had killed any sense of smell, but apparently it had not. I lifted my shirt up over my nose, but that thin barrier didn't help.

We felt a sudden gust as a huge shape glided over our heads. We both looked up and I nearly shouted in surprise. A huge bird soared gracefully above us, circling the valley as if on the hunt. Baram, I suspected, under the grip of her woodland magic. We were fortunate to find such an ally.

We made our way through the shifting shadows, contorting our bodies to stay out of reach of the grasping dead and careful not to stumble into their path. Abilene had her grotesque sentries placed well. We had to take frequent stops and make an occasional backtrack as we made our way to the dark opening at the base of the valley. Sweat soaked through my shirt, my throat was dry and a maddening itch had started just above my left eye, but I was too scared to scratch it. I felt that every step would be our undoing, every extra movement would give us away. I felt the weight of my traveling stone resting between my breasts, a cool stone that offered escape should things go badly. We moved so slowly I feared the dawn would come and reveal us. My knees ached from the effort of our slow, careful journey.

Down near the base we heard a soft thump and a muffled curse, followed by the rattle of loose rock. Merrick and I froze. My breath caught in my throat. I could feel my heart jumping like an ensnared rabbit. Around us the dead things halted and stayed in place for a few long seconds, swaying like reeds. I looked wildly at Merrick, who grimaced at me in return. Where were Seymuhr and Tane? How close were they? We were achingly far from the bottom of the hill, surrounded by the decaying creatures that Abilene's vile magic and brought back to sad form of life. A desperate glance confirmed my fears: we where in the center of the bowl. We would have to fight our way out, whether we went forward, back, east or west.

A growl close to my ear made me yelp and ended our stealthy attack. As one, the shambling things lurched in our direction. I grabbed the knife in my left hand and pulled my sword.

"Bones of Barnok! We are discovered!" I shouted. Merrick cursed and, with a glance over his shoulder beckoned me to follow him. He held his staff horizontally in front of him as he charged, howling with fury and fear. I jumped into his wake. The sounds of battle filled the air: Seymuhr, laying waste with his heavy maces, Tane's bizarre, high-pitched staccato cries and, overhead, the sharp piercing scream of the nightbird.

I could find no voice. I lowered my head and ran in Merrick's shadow.

A plan of battle

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair...

Night fell, and I found the darkness even more terrifying. The sky was enshrouded by a thick blanket of clouds that made the valley below as black as a put. We could still hear the dead shuffling in their tireless pattern and hear the terrible, mournful sounds that gurgled forth from their ruined throats. I strained to see and thought my eyes would pop out of my skull.

"I still say we should leave, go to the nearest city and come back with an army," I hissed. "Our task seems no easier now--just the opposite."

We had stayed hidden throughout the day while Broo Fang Tane and Baram scouted for the best possible avenue of attack and that fact alone was enough to worry me. While we sought this place out, we were continually beset by the rotting dead. Now that we were so close, they ignored us? I suspected a trap, and gave voice to my fears, but my concerns were ignored by my companions.  

"She knows we're here," I reminded them.

"Think of her as an 'it,'" Merrick answered. "De-humanize the thing you fear."

"It knows we're here," I repeated. "And that did not help, at all."

"Stay close to me," Seymurh said. His voice always sounded like he spoke through an extended belch and his whisper was like the slight scrape of stick on stone. "I will keep you safe."

"I suspect I will only slow you down." At least, that's what I hoped. Our only hope at fighting our way through a battalion of biting, grasping dead things was Seymuhr. If he went down, we would be quickly overrun and torn apart. I fingered the Traveling Stone through my shirt. It was a small smooth stone the shape of an oyster that had been worn through decades, if not centuries, of use. The potent charm imbued in it would conjure a being that would transport you anywhere in Korrin, when you rubbed the stone and spoke the word. It had been given to me several years ago by a priest in exchange for a good deed. He had warned me that all magic has its limits, all tricks had their ends and advised me to use it sparingly, lest it not be functional when I truly needed it. My companions did not know I possessed it. We had been through many struggles during our short time together, but I was not ye ready to share all my secrets.

"We will go together, and watch out for each other," Merrick said, a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I nodded.

We had decided on a three-pronged attack. Tane would slink down near the side of the mountain to the west, where he said he had discovered a very narrow and tricky crevice--perhaps the remnants of an ancient creek that had long gone dry. Seymuhr would go down the eastern slope as quietly as his short, bulky body would allow. Merrick and I would pick our way down the center of the valley, using whatever cover we could to avoid detection and destruction. Baram had simply said she would meet us near the opening and left it at that. If any of us was discovered or attacked on the way to the cave, Seymuhr would unleash his maces on the unliving enemy.

It was as good a plan as we could devise. Still my heart rattled and my chest felt tight. I gripped my knife and looked at each of my companions in turn.

"This evil has stained the land too long," Merrick reminded us. "Let us put an end to it."

The nature of peril

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now near her lair...

I stared, willing the sight below us to change. It did not. Thousands of the creatures shuffled in bizarre, erratic pattern, like drunken guards on an unsteady bridge. The opening in the mountain looked woefully far away.

"It's an army," I breathed. Merrick grunted.

"I feel a song coming on," Seymuhr said. His raspy voice held the hint of a smile.

My jaw dropped as I looked up to him. "A song!?"

He shrugged. "It's not a very happy song." He twirled one of his maces. "I'll go first."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Merrick hissed. He grabbed at Seymuhr's leg to stop the fool from charging headlong into the vast army of the dead. "Even you cannot possibly fight your way that far, through so many foes. I don't care how slow they may be. We must wait."

"I do not think they...will...pause to...relieve...themselves if tha...t...is what you..............hope," Tane said.

"It is not," Merrick said. "We must use stealth. If we cannot fight our way to our destination, we must use the terrain to conceal ourselves. And the darkness."

"What dark...n..."

"The darkness that comes after the sun sets," Merrick snapped, impatiently. "We wait for nightfall. Perhaps these creatures will move slower, or be less aware of their surroundings should the mad witch be resting."

Baram nodded. "There is some wisdom there. Perhaps the night will make our task easier."

"We don't know if this witch even rests," I put in. "She's stayed alive--we can assume--for a thousand years. She is clearly beyond the needs of mere mortals. Perhaps she is continually energized by the black magic that she devoted her life to."

Merrick nodded. "Obviously she knows we are coming. How else could we explain the attacks in the forest? Still, I believe our best path to victory begins in the dead of night."

That was a poor choice of words, I didn't say. We crawled back from the lip of the valley and discussed our plan. Something was gnawing at me, some vague unsettled feeling, but I could not articulate it. I didn't know if it originated in the nature of our peril, how hopeless our task appeared to be, or something more serious. I neglected to give voice to my uncertain fear because I didn't want to earn the scorn or derision of Seymuhr. Instead, I tried to absorb some of his confidence.

We decided to seek a better route into the cave and dispatched Broo Fang Tane and Baram to find one. They could move more quickly and quietly than any of us, and we no doubt be even more effective when not encumbered by the rest of our group. Tane slipped off to the east while Baram went west--one moment she was there, giving me a nod of reassurance, and the next she was gone, swallowed by the forest she called home. I searched the trees for a glimpse of her, but could find none.

Merrick made no note of her abrupt departure. Seymuhr napped noisily nearby. I settled in to wait until darkfall.

Valley of Undeath

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now near her lair...

We moved quickly, then, with Broo Fang Tane leading the way. Quiet as a wraith and nimble as a hare, he seemingly danced through the forest as if knew every hidden root, tangled thicket or jutting branch. Baram kept pace easily, while Merrick and I labored. My face was awash with sweat, the wind chill on my clammy skin as I helped the larger man along. His breath came in ragged gasps and his face was alarmingly red. Behind us, Seymurh moved casually, swinging his maces to dispatch the random undead thing that lurched out at us.

The land tilted up and I saw a break in the trees ahead. The mountain loomed, its face as gray as the sky. Clouds shrouded its peak, as was usually the case, but these were dark, darker than nearly any cloud I had seen before and they appeared to be creeping down the slope. Whether it was a trick of the light or because I could not keep my gaze on it long enough to gauge for certain--or risk losing my balance in the tangled undergrowth--I do not know. I could not pause long enough to get a good look and I feared that if I fell to the ground, I would fall asleep within moments. I was exhausted.

"Mira," Merrick gasped. "Go ahead without me. I'll catch up. They'll need your eyes--and your mind--soon enough. You may save them from charging forward into a grisly fate."

"Your mind is more keen than mine," I replied. "You have the knowledge needed to end this evil. Don't you?"

"I admit, I haven't thought it out. Usually, we just go places and Seymuhr hits them until they stop."

"Oh." I looked over my shoulder and Seymuhr grinned at me, holding up a mace that was foul with shattered bone and scraps of mottled skin. "Well, perhaps that will be enough this time, too." I glanced again at the impenetrable dark cloud and had my doubts.

Ahead, Tane had reached the crest of the hill. He dropped to the forest floor, where a line of shrubs hid him from view. He motioned for the rest of us to follow suit. Baram sidled up next to him and leaned against a tree and, after a moment, became very difficult to see. I scrubbed my eyes and looked in her direction once more. If I hadn't watched her stand against the trunk, I would not have know she was there. Some type of sorcery? Merrick and I crawled up to the edge and looked down as Seymuhr did the same.

"Bones of Barnok," I breathed.

For the valley below was filled with shambling, uneven mounds. Things that had once been living creatures now stumbling erratically to and fro. At first I thought it was a random sequence but I soon saw it wasn't so. They were following--or trying to follow--some sort of pattern, shuffling to the east then making a halting turn and shuffling back to their starting point, more or less. Other limped down from a dark hole near the base of the peak, carrying rocks that they dropped without paying any attention to where they landed. The creatures were patrolling, working.

"Hits them until they stop, eh?" I whispered.

"Indeed." Merrick had regained his breath and his color returned to normal. "I don't think that's going to work this time."

The swarming dead

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, when the forest erupts with shambling, undead things...

They were numerous, but clumsy and slow. I quickly lost site of my companions, but heard their grunts as they fought. Broo Fang Tane's high-pitched war yowls spoke to the ferocity of his efforts.

Still, they came. Shambling and rotting, smelling of earth and blood and decay. My sword was free and flying, but lopping hunks of the putrid flesh didn't slow them down. I backpedaled with two of the things groping toward me, discolored nails seeking to tear my flesh. I remembered Tane's successful attach and aimed for a mottled head, instead. My blade bit deep and the thing dropped like a stack of sticks. I pried my blade free and slammed it down in the center of the second thing's forehead, splitting its skull. It toppled.

"Aim for the heads!" I shouted.

Seymuhr had already figured that out. He had a mace in each hand and fought without apparent skill, but terrible effectiveness. He flung four of the shambling unliving monstrosities aside with a sweep of his right arm and then hacked down with his left on another, a child whose ruined head already showed the imprint of a horse hoof—most likely the blow that had killed the poor thing—that had been clawing at his belt. He hit it hard enough to split it in half and put a dimple on the soft earth. He flashed me a grin, then swung again, battering more of the groping undead into piles of stinking shards of bone and rotted meat.

The smell was horrendous, even for one who had been traveling so long with Seymuhr--a man who challenged the limits of my nose even on the best of days. I kept my mouth open, but even so tears leaked down my cheeks and my stomach roiled at the cloying stench of the dead. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and looked for another monstrosity to strike down. Baram was fending three of them off, back pedaling as they closed in to make her staff ineffective. She had already dropped her bow.

I stepped up behind one of them and buried my blade in its skull, tearing it free as it dropped soundlessly to the forest floor. Another turned at me, vacant eyes covered in a green film, and I twisted my sword into its face, just above its nose. Baram ended the other with the end of her staff, then spat on it in disgust. She nodded to me and we returned to the fight.

Seymuhr was covered in the swarming dead. A creature gray skin and ropey brown hair in a filthy white dress clung to his left shoulder, its teeth trying to penetrate the thick fabric near his neck. Another form clung to his back, and its shredded fingers tore ineffectively at his forehead. Two more held his legs and attempted to pull his calves into their snapping jaws.

"Do these things make me look fat?" He snickered, shrugged them off, then buried a mace in each of their skulls.

"This is no time for humor, if that is indeed what you attempted," I snapped, then added, grudgingly. "Although I do appreciate the effort."

Merrick and Tane walked up. Merrick's breath came in heavy gasps and he wiped his dirty sword on a nearby patch of grass. Tane's smile, if it had ever left him, had returned. Both had torn clothing, but appeared otherwise uninjured. The forest had gone silent again.

"Is anyone hurt?" Merrick wheezed.
 
"I should be asking you," I said, for he appeared the most worse for wear. His hair hung in damp tangles and his face was red and gleamed with sweat. I looked him over, but saw no blood. "Do you need to rest?"

He shook his head but didn't answer right away. After a moment he stood straight, took another deep breath and planted his staff on the ground. "No. We shouldn't dally any longer than necessary. I don't think this was a random group of...of...those things. They were sent, like the others. The mountain witch knows we are coming for her."

Tane nodded. He wiped the rotting grime from his sandals with a slight grimace. "Perhaps these...attacks...are an indi...indic....in...sign that she...fears our ap...roach."

"I doubt it," Merrick said, his face set in a grim expression. "Most likely, she sends her pawns so she won't be bothered. I think she's up to some evil that surpasses her earlier crimes against humanity and nature. We must make haste; I feel more than our lives are in the balance."

He set out, huffing, but determined. One by one, we followed him. The mountain's shadow lay just ahead.

 

Footsteps of the unliving

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all...


Seymuhr lead the way in a slight crouch, a mace in each hand. Then went Baram, her short, thing sword was still in its sheath, but like Merrick she leaned on a thick staff that was just as much a weapon as it was a walking stick. Her brown hair was pulled back over her ears and tied with a thin strip of leather. Her ears twitched like a hound's at every sound. Merrick and I followed, while Tane brought up the rear, moving quickly and silently as he scanned the forest on either side and behind us.

The village quickly disappeared from view and the trees closed in. We walked in a bizarre, bright twilight--all gloom about our legs and shoulders, yet bright above the canopy of twisted trees.

"For a Trail of the...Dead, it's actually...quite....pleasant," Tane said. I glanced back, surprised to see him beaming. "We had a name....for this...at...the...Temple of the Sun," he went on.

"Foolhardy?"

Tane gave me a bland, humorless look. "No. A walk through...na...ture. It is a blessing of the soul, a way to...return to pu...ri...ty."

"Ah. I see. And if at the end of that casual stroll, you and four companions fight a horde of walking corpses and a witch who has somehow avoided death for a thousand years? Do they have a name for that?"

"In...deed they do. Foolhardy."

"I thought as much. The universal language."

Ahead, Baram hissed in warning. She had stopped, her left hand held up, and pointed ahead. Down the thin trail, two shambling forms moved. Vaguely man-like, but shrunken and stooped, they shuffled toward us. Seymuhr strolled forward. He twirled each mace before lifting them to an attack position.

I heard a rasp and a snarl beside me and jumped away from it. A shambling, rotting thing had somehow appeared nearby and I narrowly avoided its gnarled grasp. It had been a man once. Its head lilted on a broken neck and its long hair hung in thick, dirt-caked ropes. A bone jutted from its shoulder, yellowed with age and chipped. It tottered toward me and I fumbled for my blade. I felt so slow, like my fingers belonged to someone else. It was close. Rot filled my nostrils, earthy and sweet. Its jaws opened, sending a long, fat insect scurrying toward the darkness near the back of its throat.

With a throaty, high-pitched shout, Tane was in the air. His sandaled foot crashed into the soft skull of the creature, breaking it free. It toppled as my blade came loose. Tane had already recovered. His fists raised, he crouched beside me as the forest came alive with more shuffling, rotting shapes. I heard Baram grunt as she fought off the unliving adversaries that reached for her. Merrick's sword landed in the skull of another. Beyond the trees, more shapes moved, lurching toward us on unsteady, broken limbs. The soft rasp that emanated from ruined throats grew to a crescendo as the rotting things moved inexorably closer.

My heart raced. I could see no escape.

We were surrounded.

Trail of the dead

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. After a brief, violent encounter, they set out again

"Trail of the dead," I repeated.

The villager nodded and pointed toward the looming mountain range. "It's hard to miss."

"I imagine it would be," I muttered. I looked at my companions. They were all grim-faced, ready to take up--and perhaps complete--our quest.

"It is probably not as bad as it sounds," Seymuhr might had comforted me if his voice was not so raspy.

"Oh, you have experience with them?"

"Aye," he said and broke into a chuckle, "although not in following them. I usually leave trails of dead behind me, I do."

Of course. I shook my head. I had probably walked into that one.

"Well, let's be off, then," Merrick said. "We still have plenty of light left in this day, and this trail should be easy enough to follow."

I nodded. I would have liked to stay the night in the small village, to feel the comfort of walls and the heat of a fire for a night, at least, but Broo Fang Tane's recent actions would have made such a request awkward, if not outright offensive. I looked for the little monk and saw him helping Lobern out of the tavern. the wounded villager was unsteady on his feet, and Tane had him under one arm. A plump woman supported his other side. She wore a forced smile, but tears glistened on her cheeks.

"Do you think it will heal?" Lobern poked gently at the skin under his now-empty eye socket.

"Probab...ly....not," Tane said in his usual lilting way. "I aaaaa.......am sorry."

"His eyes were what drew me to him," the plump woman confided to me. "They were so dark, like a cave, yet filled with kindness. I still have one to gaze into, do I not?" Tears leaked anew.

"You do indeed," I answered with what I hoped was a sympathetic expression. I tried to come up with some additional words of comfort, but failed. "And it's a nice one, indeed." I turned away, coloring at my clumsy effort to soothe the woman. 

Preparations were swift. Before another hour had passed, we were well stocked with provisions: skins filled with water and wine, sturdy packs filled with smoked spider meat--given despite my objections.

"I noticed some cattle nearby," I asked. "Might you have any smoked beef, instead?"

"Whatever for?" The tavernkeeper answered. 

"I've just grown a bit weary of spider meat, is all. Surely, you could spare some of your bovine bounty?"

"What?"

"Your cows. Salted beef or smoked beef? We are, after all, putting our lives in danger to save your village..."

The tavern keeper grunted and nodded to Lobern, half-blind and still unsteady on his feet. Tane's other attacker still lay inside, barely breathing. "We've paid that toll already, methinks."

I started to point out that his companions had started that bizarre fight, but thought better of it. I was probably only wasting time. Seymuhr hiked the limb-filled pack further up on his back--he was already gnawing on a crispy, hairy leg--and said very well in a small voice.

The innkeeper clapped his hands. "Excellent. Spider is better for you, anyway. Very rich. It'll put meat on your bones no matter what--not that you need any help in that area, mi'lady."

"Of course." I pressed my lips together and ignored Seymuhr's chuckle.

Merrick clapped me on the back and headed off into the woods where we would find the trail of death, follow it to the mountain and meet the ageless witch Abilene at long last.