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Chronicles of Arborell, Copyright Wayne Densley 2005 All Rights Reserved
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 Mallen entered the trees at the run. The Hresh Warband had made no attempt at covering its tracks and this made it easy for him to pick up the trail. He could see that the Hordim had reformed at the edge of the forest, and then moved into the woods as one group. With the tracks fresh in the soft earth there was no need to take the time to study the ground. It was evident the creatures were heading due west, straight into the thickest parts of the forest that surrounded Callenfrey.
In the afternoon light the Kalborean followed the Hordim deep into the woodland. The trees were closely spaced, the forest a series of lightly rolling hills covered with Pine and Elm. There was not much in the way of undergrowth and the imprints of hundreds of heavy-shod boots made for easy tracking. Mallen ran hard, trying to make up as much distance as he could. He knew that he would have a hard time matching the speed with which the Hordim would travel. They were on the run, sure in the knowledge that their raid had made them the sole target of every Army unit in this part of Kalborea. He was not sure how they expected to escape, but whatever their plan, he would have to follow them until he could attempt a rescue of his brother.
Within the hour Mallen broke from the forest and found himself at the edge of the southern road that led to The Wash. In less dangerous times the road would have been busy with traffic, but word of the attack on Callenfrey had spread quickly. It was deserted, for good reason no-one would risk travel until the all clear had been given and the roads reopened. For a short time he waited in the safety of the forest's shadows and searched the opposite side of the road for any indication that the Hresh may have left a rearguard. It was the perfect place to ambush pursuers, and Mallen did not wish to be the unwitting victim of an anonymous but well-aimed arrow. The road itself was wide, an important thoroughfare that was broad enough for two wagons to pass without difficulty. Bordering the road was a further wide strip of cleared grass and Mallen could see that he would need to run across more than thirty metres of open ground before he would meet the trees on the road's western edge. He waited for a time, searching the shadows for signs of movement but could see no indication of trouble. When he had satisfied himself that all was well he placed his life in the hands of Providence and made a dash for the safety of the western forest. To his relief he made the other side without incident and quickly recovered the trail of the Hresh, their passage unmistakeable against the undisturbed ground of the woodland. As he ventured into the gloom of the forest once again, he realised that the scouts who had attacked him on the previous night had waylaid him only a short distance to the north. There was every chance that they had rejoined the Warband as it had moved westwards and Mallen found this reassuring in a way. It was a small piece of coincidence that strengthened his belief that he was following the main group of Hresh, and that Tomas would be with them.
Steadily he followed the tracks as they continued westwards. As the afternoon wore on the forest became thicker and a burgeoning undergrowth began to obscure the trail he was following. As the suns fell slowly to the horizon Mallen found he had to temper his need to move quickly, the broken light of the evening covering everything in shadow. For a time he kept on, using the last rays of sunlight to continue his journey but eventually the light disappeared. As dusk fell he decided he must rest.
Coming to a halt Mallen considered how far he had traveled. He was still deep in the forest but he knew it extended for almost forty kilometres to the west of Callenfrey. The Hordim were using it to remain out of sight but the trees only went so far. Beyond them lay the open plains and hills of the grasslands. It did not seem logical that they should go this way, but there was no doubt that the Warband was heading straight for the open plains beyond. Only time would tell what their real intentions might be.
Mallen found himself a comfortable position to rest in the lee of a large Elm and made ready to eat. The provisions Greel had found for him were not much but they were appreciated. As he ate some bread he looked about the forest and reassured himself that the Hresh were indeed long gone. The trees themselves had taken on a purple tinge, the undergrowth darkening as the shadows of sunset grew into an all encompassing gloom. He was not sure whether he could make much headway in the dark of night but he was not going to stop just yet.
About him he could hear small animals moving about in the brush, night birds beginning to stir as evening set in. These sounds were very familiar to him but it had been some time since he had experienced the deep forest at night. It was both comforting and relaxing, an affirmation that some things remained the same no matter how much the world may have changed. In this quiet place the sounds of approaching night affected him more than he realised. He had stopped to eat but Mallen had misjudged the length of time he had already been awake. Two days had passed since he had last slept, and even as he considered how long he should rest the fatigue and stress of the day took a strong hold upon him. In the increasing dark of evening he fell into sleep.
It was not usual for Mallen to dream. His life had been one of work and long hours, and he found that sleep came quickly to him and passed just as swiftly. As he lay against the exposed roots of the Elm the world about him darkened, and in that world of shadows vague images grew and manifested themselves. Perhaps it was the forest. It had been a long time since he had found need to sleep rough, and the sounds of the wild could conjure fears in the night that could not be found in a soft bed. His dreams this night grew quietly into nightmares.
Out of the deep recesses of his mind images began to flow, happy scenes of his brother and himself when they were younger. They had spent their lives on the road and it had been hard, but there had also been many moments of joy and comfort. These images flooded out, a patchwork of visions and feelings, until they were a rapid succession of sights and sounds flicking through his thoughts. Then they changed.
Abruptly the familiar vanished. In its place he found darkness and the smell of ash. From within the dark he began to see movement, vague shapes shifting within the void. Fire sprung from nowhere and then he could see buildings aflame, people running, death and destruction visited upon them all. As he dreamt one shape came into view, focusing clearly into a huge Hresh Warrior, dressed in black armour and wielding a long curving scimitar. Before Mallen it stood, surveying a scene of devastation and then it turned towards him. With malice in its eyes the Hresh advanced and at the last moment he could see it clearly, screaming in triumph over Mallen's torn body. Then all was quiet.
In a sweat Mallen awoke to find the dark of night his only companion, his hand firmly grasping the hilt of his sword. For a moment he stared into the canopy of the trees above him, and fought to bring back to his memory where he was and what he was doing. His first cogent thought was that he was grateful it was only a dream.
Rising to a sitting position Mallen stretched his arms and tried to determine what the time might be. It felt late, probably sometime after midnight and he searched what he could see of the stars for a clue. Through the branches of the Elm he spied Shabel, the first moon of evening, risen almost directly above him. This told him it was indeed near midnight and even though he was disappointed that he had fallen asleep, it did not surprise him. The sleep had done a great deal of good and now it was time to move on. Collecting his few borrowed possessions he organised himself for the journey ahead and repacked his food and equipment. The light of Shabel would give him the illumination he would need to continue on and Mallen had a need to get moving.
As he shook the last remains of sleep from his eyes he shouldered his pack and returned to the trail. Even in the frugal light of the first moon Mallen was able to see the tracks left by the Hresh and set about following them. At a half-run he set on their trail as a hound might on a scent. He felt much better for the sleep but hoped that this had not placed the Warband now farther ahead than it might have been before. Surely even the Hordim needed to rest? It was his hope that they did.
For a while the tracks led westwards, the terrain flattening out as the trees began to thin. The going became easier, the sparser tree cover allowing more moonlight to fall on the floor of the woodland. A doubt was nagging at him though. Beyond these trees he knew the ground became open and any pursuit could run down the Hresh without difficulty. Without horses and encumbered by prisoners the Hordim were at a considerable disadvantage. Mallen could not see how they might hope to escape, but he had no doubt that they knew exactly what they were doing.
The Horde had planned their assault upon Callenfrey carefully, escaping all detection as they moved from the Rift Mountains in the far north to the coastal ports of Kalborea. Mallen could not see such planning ending at the attack. They must have a plan to get back to their own homes safely. It was a mystery to him though. In the end he decided he would leave such matters to Providence and the vagaries of Fate. Time would show what the Hordim would do soon enough.
Mallen did not attempt to hide the sounds of his passage as he ran through the thinning trees. The tracks were clear and it was more than probable that the Warband was now at least a good day's travel ahead of him. His only concern was to make up as much ground as he could and hopefully overtake the Hordim before they were cornered by the Kalborean Army.
Such was his concentration to his task that he did not notice the figure crouching in the bushes ahead of him to his left. He had his eyes firmly set upon the trail and the bandit caught him completely by surprise. Jumping from the shadows of the undergrowth the man hit Mallen squarely in the side with the full weight of his charge and sent the Kalborean spinning off into the scrub. Mallen had little time to react but he did his best. Quickly he rolled back to his feet just as the bandit came barreling after him, dagger in hand. In the moment he had left before his attacker was upon him, he unsheathed his sword and stood fast, polished metal glimmering in the moonlight.
For his part the bandit came to a grinding halt. He had not seen the sword his victim had been carrying and that changed the nature of his assault immediately. Instead he flicked the long-bladed dagger from side to side, testing the reflexes of his quarry and circling Mallen to put him off balance on the uneven terrain. Mallen was having none of it. Carefully he retreated into a small clearing within the trees and stood his ground. He had more important business than this, and it angered him that he should be delayed by such unwelcome attention. He decided however, that a cool head survives such encounters, reason would be the better option. As they circled each other Mallen began to talk.
"Well here we are. Going round and round in the dark like goldfish in a pond. Do you not think my friend, that there are better things we might be doing than this?"
The bandit remained silent. Mallen could see however, that he was making no move to attack. The dagger was no match for Mallen's sword and the bandit knew it. Mallen tried logic one more time.
"Come now friend, we cannot remain like this all night. Let us put away our weapons and go our separate ways."
The bandit smiled, "Why should I do such a thing? What might be in it for me?"
It was Mallen’s turn to smile, this man’s unwanted assault had vexed him at first, but as they faced each other he had gotten a better look at his opponent. The man appeared to be only a little older than himself, dark haired and of medium build and he was in a bad way. He must have been living rough for some time within the forest, living off the land and taking what he could from unwary travelers along the road to the north. He did not seem to have done very well at all, and it showed in his ragged clothes and unkempt appearance. He realised quickly however, that this rogue had something he needed.
"If we do not come to blows then I will forget we have met and go on my way. That should be enough for you."
It wasn't. Even as Mallen's words faded into the surrounding trees the bandit attacked, striking out with his dagger in an attempt to open up Mallen's defenses. Mallen pulled back and then struck out himself, hitting the end of the dagger blade and sending the man's arm swinging off to the right. It was all the opening Mallen needed. In one quick movement he thrust the sword forward, driving it close to the bandit's exposed chest. In his haste to get out of the way of the blade the man overbalanced and fell back against a large Pine. In an instant Mallen was on him, sword tip poised just a finger's width from his assailant's throat.
"It would appear," Mallen hissed into the bandit's ear, "that you are about to have a very bad day indeed."
With his free arm the Kalborean pushed the bandit to the ground and placed his foot squarely on the man's back. Then, taking his rope, he tied the bandit's arms and legs and pushed him upright against the tree. It occurred to Mallen as he did so that the smell of pine in the clearing was especially strong. He had heard somewhere that the survivors of lethal combat often said they noticed a particular smell or sound most keenly after the fight. It was a curious thought, what people remember from such circumstances, but in this case he was not in a good enough mood to appreciate it.
"All right my friend, you have something I want and whether you live or die will depend on whether I get it."
The bandit looked more than dubious. "I have nothing of value that you can take, nothing to offer for my life."
Mallen grabbed the man by the shirt and pulled him further upright.
"I know your kind my friend. You keep to your own small piece of territory and only return to the towns infrequently. It's my guess you've been out here for at least the last week. Is that right?"
The bandit nodded. "Four days and its been lean pickin's at best."
Mallen did not doubt it. This bandit had chosen a less than well traveled territory as his thieving ground and prospective targets would have been very rare indeed. It explained why this rogue had accosted him without identifying more closely the weapon he carried. In a way Mallen could identify with that level of desperation, the Gods knew he had been in such a place himself on more than one occasion.
"Listen carefully, I am going to ask you a couple of simple questions. If you answer me truthfully I will let you go unharmed. If you speak falsely I will slit your throat as you sit here. Do you understand me?"
The bandit nodded again, sweat beginning to pour down his face. Mallen had his attention and he phrased his questions carefully.
"First off, I want to know your name."
The bandit squirmed but gave it up. "Huwel Mac. Third son of Ubarius Mac of Longreach."
Mallen smiled at this, there was a ring of truth to his response. The rogue was obviously convinced enough of his motivation that he had given up the one thing a thief holds close, his identity. He had no doubt the remainder of his questions would be answered truthfully as well.
"In the last two days a large group of Hordim came this way. Is that right?"
Huwel Mac nodded. "Yes, it has been at least a day since."
"How many where there?"
"Probably two hundred, maybe more."
"Did they have prisoners? Speak truthfully now..." Mallen raised his sword and ran its edge along Huwel Mac’s throat.
"Yes. but I only saw maybe three, a man and two women."
Mallen stood away from the bandit and resheathed his sword. As he did so Huwel Mac visibly relaxed. It looked like he was about to be sick though.
"You're lucky Master Huwel, I have no intention of doing you harm. Just a word of advice though . If you're going to make a living from thievery make sure you know who you are mugging and how they are armed. Another man, one not wishing pleasant conversation, would have killed you on the spot."
With that he untied the rogue and pushed him to the edge of the clearing.
"Go now and don't turn back. I swear if I see you even glance back in this direction I will chase you down. Understand?"
Huwel Mac, son of Ubarius, nodded and disappeared into the trees never to be seen by Mallen Cael again.
For a moment the young Kalborean stood in the clearing and considered how lucky he was. He should have seen the attack coming, his focus on the trail had made him an easy target, even for the incompetent. But he had found out much from the rogue. The Warband was very large and that would mean it was not going to be moving quickly. The Hresh still had prisoners and that would slow them down even further. All things considered Mallen realised that he was in with a chance.
Looking around the clearing Mallen found his own equipment scattered through the undergrowth. Huwel Mac’s initial charge had hit him hard, the contents of his pack spilling into the brush as he fell. Quickly he collected it together and got himself ready for the return to his journey. It was only as he was shouldering his pack that he realised he still had Huwel Mac's dagger. It was a fine weapon, nicely engraved and razor-sharp. He had a smaller dagger of his own but decided this one was too good to throw away. Instead he wrapped it in a cloth and placed it in his pack. For the moment it would be just so much dead weight, but on a long journey it might prove useful.
Shabel had passed westwards to the horizon as Mallen regained the trail of footprints and began his hunt once again. It was now the late hours of the pre-dawn and Mallen ran in the cool air following the heavy impressions of the Hresh. Ahead the forest had thinned to a sparse woodland, a scattering of trees carpeted in a thick layer of leaf litter and pine needles. The trail of the Hordim remained plain even to an untrained eye. They had so far made no attempt to mask their passage and in the pre-dawn hours Mallen had no difficulty keeping their trail in sight. Then he hit a series of stone hills and his luck changed.
His passage through the forest since being waylaid by Huwel Mac had been straightforward. Now the trail began to thin. The ground underfoot becoming harder and more stony. The Hresh had changed direction also. Now they were moving slightly north of west and in doing so, began to rise into a series of bare hills that rose above the surrounding forest like the balding heads of old monks. Here he was forced to exercise skills that he had not needed for years. The footprints fell away upon harder ground and he had to look to other sign to ensure that he was still following the main body of Hordim. Broken tussocks of wire-thin grass, disturbed ground cover and upturned stones now became his guides, and it slowed him down considerably as he was forced to take greater care.
When the glow of dawn finally began to brighten in the east Mallen found himself descending again into the forest, heading north-west into an area of thick woods and heavily overgrown gullies. The Hresh had veered further north and in doing so had moved into some of the densest bush that could be found in this part of Kalborea. It was terrain unknown to him, a piece of the old forest that once covered most of Arborell, but which had gradually been disappearing in these northern climes. The trees were of a type he did not know and the wildlife within called out to the dawn as if lamenting something lost. He decided he would feel better when he was once again out in the open.
As he continued his tracking he could see the ground rising ahead. There was not much in the way of hills here but he could sense the way the terrain was ascending in a series of shallow inclines. As dawn broke and the first sun of morning rose above the horizon Mallen could see where the trail was leading. Through the trees and their thick canopy he could see a wall of stone rising up before him. The Hresh were making straight for a cliff-face and it extended for some distance to the right and left of his position. If the trail did not veer off in either direction before he reached the stony barrier then Mallen wondered if he might be in for some climbing. It was an idea he did not relish. He had a deep aversion to high places.
Mallen met the base of the cliffs an hour after dawn. In the full light of morning the wall of rock was an imposing barrier. It was not high, probably no more than twenty metres above where he stood, but it was a cragged affair, an outcrop of ancient stone full of fissures and areas of unstable scree. As he looked at the cliffs he wondered how hundreds of Hresh might have overcome them, and began a determined search to find the answer.
The Hresh had congregated at the base of the cliffs, all the signs showed that many creatures had pressed in where the trail met the solid rock, but Mallen also found tracks along the ground that bordered the cliff. Like himself the Hresh were looking for something, and Mallen found it deep within one of the many large fissures that split the rock face along its length. It was an ancient set of stairs, carved into the stone and cunningly arrayed as a safe ascent to the lip of the cliff above. The amount of stirred earth at the base of the stairs left Mallen in no doubt that this was how the Hresh had got over the rock wall. Looking up he could see they reached right to the top in a series of short climbs and landings. The steps were narrow though. It would have taken the Hresh at least an hour for all to make it to the top single file. For Mallen it would not take that long.
Given time he would liked to have explored these stairs more fully. At each of the landings he found small passages that ran off into the stone of the cliffs. There were secrets here that called to Mallen to uncover but he kept instead to his task. None of the passages showed any sign of use, all the Hordim had made directly for the top of the cliff face and that would be his path as well. He resolved instead to return to this place at another time. Perhaps he could satisfy his curiosity then.
When Mallen reached the top of the steps he found himself only a short distance from the edge of the cliffs. From their vantage he had a wide survey of the countryside about him. To the east he could see where he had come from, the thick woodlands he had traveled and the plume of Callenfrey still billowing as a haze into the clear blue above. To the west he found yet more forest, and a sloping terrain that ran down to a wide grassland beyond. He could see no sign of the Hordim. From where he stood to the far horizon there was nothing. They had somehow disappeared into the ground itself but he was not about to give up.
Quickly Mallen picked up the trail again. The Hresh still made no attempt at concealment and he followed their trodden path as it wound deep into the forest ahead of him. It was here that the Hordim changed the manner in which they traveled. The Warband had spread out since leaving the top of the cliffs. On the sloping ground it was easier to travel as a more dispersed group, and Mallen began to find the number of tracks growing fewer. Nevertheless he was able to keep to their trail and followed it as the creatures made their way westwards.
Within the first hour of morning he came upon a small creek that ran briskly from the north and disappeared just as noisily into the south-east. He forded it easily, it was only ankle deep and soon found tracks leading off again to the west. For a short while Mallen rested at the creek's edge. Here was fresh water and a pleasant aspect, and he took the time to take water and eat a small amount of his food.
As he watched the creek quietly purl its way southwards he tried to construct some type of plan for retrieving his brother once he had the Hordim in sight. Mallen readily came to the conclusion that he had no realistic way in which to get him back. He smiled to himself when he realised that he didn't even know how he was going to feed himself after his small food bag gave up the last of its contents. One thing he was sure of though. He was not going to stop until he was either dead or in possession of Tomas. Everything else would have to take care of itself.
Once he had finished he carefully covered any sign of his rest and began again to follow the trail of heavy bootprints. Near the creek the ground was soft and the prints were clear. As he followed them further into what had become a thinning woodland a disquiet was growing within him. Something was wrong. The tracks had become far more dispersed, the number of bootprints thinning rapidly as he got closer to the grasslands. By the time he reached the edge of the forest and gazed out on a sea of rolling hills and browning grasses he knew he had been duped. The footprints, and any sign of the Hordim had vanished. The trail had gone completely cold.
Cursing at himself he looked out at the grasslands and wondered at the ingenuity of the Hresh. For all intents and purposes a couple of hundred Hordim had just disappeared into thin air. But he knew this was not so. The Hresh had simply worked one of the oldest tricks in the book and Mallen had fallen for it. In his haste he had not noticed the change in the nature of the trail until it was too late. The Hordim had diverted somewhere back along the trail, but had sent some of their number crashing off in this direction so as to draw pursuit away from their real position. It was a neat trick, the only problem for Mallen was now to find the point at which the larger group had split. He would have to backtrack and pick up the trail again.
For a short time he rested in the shadows of the trees and surveyed the plains that spread out from the edge of the forest to the far horizon. In cooler months the plains would have been a sea of green. In the wane of summer they had begun to dry out and the deep green had been replaced by the tinge of brown and yellow. As he rested Mallen noticed also the first signs of weather to the north. The day had grown fine and clear but a thin line of grey upon the far mountains told him that it would not remain so. By evening it would be raining.
With no choices left open to him, he began the laborious task of backtracking the trail and searching for any sign of the Hordim. Back through the forest Mallen went, scouring the surrounding bush but by the time he reached the creek he had found nothing. Frustrated, he sat down at the edge of the running waters and considered what he should do next. In his mind was a nagging doubt that the main group of Hordim may have broken away at any point along the trail, and he had not been skilled enough to pick it up. It that was the case then his quest to rescue his brother had been doomed almost from the start.
As his eyes wandered over the quiet scene of babbling waters he considered his shortcomings and resolved himself to be more appreciative of the capabilities of the Horde. He would not underestimate them again. Standing, Mallen began a careful search of the banks of the creek. Apart from his own bootprints he found little but then, just as he was beginning to despair, he discovered a sign that made his heart pound loud in his chest. He had overlooked it before but now it shouted at him to take notice. In the soft earth, right at the water's edge, there was a scrape mark. Innocuous in its way, it was the definite imprint of a small boot being dragged by the heel for no more than a finger's length. A careful examination of the mark showed it small enough to be made by a women's shoe, and the direction of the mark pointed north, along the course of the creekbed.
Quickly Mallen grabbed his pack and began an earnest search of the soft earth on either side of the creek. Some forty metres further up he found another sign, and then a third upon a series of stones in the rivulet’s centre. With hope rekindled he began to run. He kept to the west bank and watched closely for any indication that the Hordim may have left the watercourse. The Hresh had used the creek as their dispersal point and had then followed its winding path northwards. As long as they kept within the bounds of its shallow flow they would pass without notice or sign. There was no doubt in Mallen's mind that these Hordim knew exactly what they were doing, but he would not allow them to elude him.
For the remainder of the afternoon Mallen followed the watercourse northwards, searching its banks for sign and climbing with the creek higher into a series of shallow hills. As expected the cloud bank he had seen earlier had grown and was spreading southwards. It did not have the ominous look of a storm, but there was rain in the clouds and he took the time to put on his travel cloak before continuing the chase.
As the creek wound its way higher into the hills Mallen began to see more sign of the size of the Horde Warband. In parts the creek narrowed and the heavy footprints of the Hresh became clear once more. In the damp earth they appeared very recent indeed and Mallen drew his sword as a precaution against any possible surprise attack. As he followed the rushing waters the forest grew ever closer about the creek. Trees and brush crowded the narrow banks and Mallen was quickly enclosed within a solid barrier of green on both sides. In this world of gurgling waters and greenery he pressed on.
As evening settled quietly upon the world the expected rain began to fall and in the ensuing gloom Mallen made slower progress along the creek bank. It was a bleak dusk, filled with depthless shadows and the soft patter of rain as it fell in waves upon the surrounding forest. Caught within the walls of green he could not find any worthwhile cover so he pressed on, moving ever higher into the hills.
In time the rain passed over and the sky cleared just enough for Mallen to pick up his pace. Shabel and her sister-moon Elana had risen with the dusk and in the light of both moons the forest was awash with a silvery glow that turned the trees grey-white in colour. It was under this ghostly illumination that Mallen Cael stumbled upon something quite unexpected.
Without warning the creek opened up at the height of a small rise, and as Mallen crested the lip of the hill he found a great ruin before him. At his front a wide pool sat languid in moonlight. At its far end a set of three waterfalls spilled from a plateau above and cascaded down a series of rock-strewn levels before falling into the black waters below. Thick scrub bordered the waters on all sides except for a small break to the right. Within this cleared area rested a temple, a ruin of broken stone and fallen pillars, strangled by vine and a spiny grass that grew from every break and fracture of its structure. In the pale moonlight it was a beautiful vision, an ancient garden that rose in stepped levels to a height of four storeys before him.
Mallen stood for a moment and considered what he had found then returned to the task of finding the trail of the Hordim. This again proved to be easy. The Warband had emerged at the head of the creek, upon a dam of stones that held the waters of the pool at bay. At the right of the dam lay a grassy verge that showed all the signs of many feet having trampled its blades underfoot. The trail led directly towards the temple.
Mallen held his sword at the ready and moved carefully towards the ruin, unsure as to whether the Hordim may have left any rearguard in this place. Very quickly he found his fears to be correct. Upon the second level of the temple sat two hunched shapes. Quiet in the night they sat as shadows framed vaguely by moonlight. There was no doubt in his mind that they were Hresh.
As quietly as he could he retreated to the nearby undergrowth and crouched within its shadows, watching as the Hordim stood sentinel over the pool. He could not understand why they had not raised the alarm, he had been clearly visible as he had crested the hill and had made no effort at concealment until he had seen the sentries. As he watched he noticed something else. They were not moving, they were absolutely still.
"By the Gods Mallen," he murmured to himself. He had made a mistake, one that had delayed him unnecessarily. Standing, he picked a small stone from the ground and threw it at the silent shapes. The rock glanced loudly off the side of the nearest form and bounced down into the bush at the temple's base. He shook his head and wondered at his lack of insight. They were not Hresh, just statues.
Assured that no threat remained he moved quickly over to the temple and had a closer look. Yes, the statues were Hresh, but made of stone nonetheless. As he looked at the worn statuary he could see the power of the Hordim depicted. Oversized and with ornately worked armour they were a depiction of everything that Men feared. His own recent encounter was a testament to the fear such creatures could invoke. Mindless violence tempered by cunning and cruelty, that was their essence and he was on their trail, his task to somehow outwit them and retrieve his brother. It was a daunting prospect.
As he carefully studied the statues he was struck by an uncomfortable feeling of being a stranger in someone else’s land. The temple was ancient, older than any remnant of Man's history. The Hordim had been in Arborell long before Men, yet had been exiled to the northern wastes after centuries of bitter conflict. There was little wonder that they were mortal enemies; the Hordim had lost something precious, and the Realms of Men were unlikely to give it back.
A quick survey of the temple showed up a number of tracks and other sign. The Hordim had lingered here for a short time, food scraps and other rubbish littered the upper levels of the temple and a series of tracks led off in the direction of the nearby falls. Intrigued by this, Mallen followed and soon found himself on a well-trodden track that cut through the brush at the base of the lowest step of the waterfall. Close as he now was, the falls rumbled loudly, a fine spray of water obscuring everything as it crashed into the pool to his left. Holding his sword all the firmer, Mallen crept down the path and to his surprise found the trail disappearing behind the curtain of water. For Mallen it was a curiosity that begged both exploration and caution.
The damp earth on the path was churned up, a large number of Hresh had used it and they had been running. Dirt and stones had been sprayed into the brush at the path's edges, kicked up by hundreds of boots as they ground into the loose soil. It seemed that something had put the Hordim on the run. Mallen wondered as to what that might have been. He decided that he would not wait around to find out.
Following the path he quickly left the gloom of evening and entered a world of almost complete darkness. As Mallen kept to the narrow trail it cut in behind the falls and then veered into a passage that ran straight into the solid rock of the plateau. He had no torches, nor any other source of light, and came to an abrupt halt as he thought on what he should do. Waiting in the darkness his eyes became more accustomed to the gloom and it was then that he began to make out discernible shapes about him.
To the left of the passage he found a small barrel, resting in it a collection of old torches and oil lamps. The torches were ancient, the wood crumbling in his hands as he lifted one out to examine. The oil lamps were however, a different proposition altogether. Made of metal, some exhibited small whicks and they were still serviceable; all he needed was some oil. Slightly further within the passage was a collection of old bottles and other containers, a rubbish dump of great age. Perhaps he thought, something useful could be found here. Mallen searched the contents of the dump but could not find oil in any of the containers. He did find however, a small amount of alcohol, the leftovers of some very foul smelling bottles. A careful test proved that the liquid did indeed burn and he filled one of the lamps with the odorous concoction. It was with a small level of satisfaction that he found a weak flame come to life and saw the darkness of the passage before him retreat back a short way. It was not much but it would have to do.
Raising the lamp above his head Mallen found the passage reaching back some distance into the stone. It was really nothing but a crudely engineered tunnel, rough cut about its walls and filled with debris and sections of fallen stone. The floor was a morass of dirt and broken rock however the trail of the Hresh was clearly visible. The Hordim were still running, their gait showing no sign of slowing. As he looked into the shadows ahead he could not say what was before him. If he was to keep up with the creatures he would need to get moving himself.
With the feeble light of his lamp illuminating only a small way ahead, Mallen threw what caution he had left to the wind and barreled after the Hordim. The passage quickly veered towards the west and began to slope downwards, searching deeper into the rock as it went. For an hour the young Kalborean chased after the Hordim, following the passage as it descended ever deeper into the bedrock of the world. He hoped fervently that the passage would soon begin to rise again. What he found was quite the opposite.
Almost before he could stop, Mallen ran out of the tunnel and into a huge cavern, that spread out before him as a dark open space that the light of his lantern could not uncover. Coming to a halt he instinctively drew his sword and waited for an attack. He did not know why but he could feel danger here. As he stood silently in the gloom the liquid in his lamp gave out, and with a strangled hissing sound the flame died. With no further use for it, Mallen dropped it at his feet and held his sword more firmly in both his hands.
"Great," Mallen muttered to himself, "that's all I needed." With one foot he kicked the now useless piece of equipment to the side and heard it clatter a short distance to the right before falling off into a deep unseen space. In the dark he winced as the lantern bounced from rock ledge to rock ledge as it delved the depths of the chasm into which it had fallen. When it finally came to rest it did so in a flurry of dislodged rock and a resounding cascade of crumbling earth. With no way of knowing where he might now safely step he carefully checked his footing. There was a steep drop very close, and the fact that he could not see it only made his sense of foreboding stronger.
The feeling of danger grew with each breath he took, and he could feel the sweat beginning to bead on the back of his hands. Then he heard it. Somewhere ahead, maybe a hundred metres distant, there came the sound of something moving in the dark. Then from a greater distance came the hollow sound of voices calling from a passage beyond the cavern. Mallen's blood ran cold as he realised they were not human voices, nor were they speaking any language of Men.
Suddenly Mallen felt another presence in the darkness at his side. Before he could react a huge arm closed itself about his neck, and an equally powerful hand clamped itself upon his mouth. Mallen could feel himself being dragged backwards into an alcove of some sort and he fought with all his strength to break free. Then the presence spoke and Mallen froze. It was a human voice.
"Be still you fool. Make one more sound and we're both dead!"
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Chronicles of Arborell, Copyright Wayne Densley 2005 All Rights Reserved
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