Forger of the Runeblade Page 7

  Five manlike figures stood before them, bloated and blue-black, swollen figures that stank of putrefying flesh and marsh water. Each clutched a club of bone.

  ‘Drows!’ Tanngrisnir said, gripping Helbrand. Gangrel levelled his spear.

  ‘What are they?’ gulped Eric, not liking the look of them one bit.

  ‘The restless dead,’ Tanngrisnir said, as the drows faced them in silence. ‘They haunt burial mounds and wreak mindless vengeance on their descendants. It seems someone has brought them here to guard the ship.’

  ‘We’ll fight them!’ Hal said, indicating himself and Eric. He drew his sword.

  ‘What if you two draw them off,’ Eric said quickly, ‘while Hal and I run in and secure the ship?’

  Gangrel nodded, not taking his eyes off the undead. ‘A good idea,’ the old man said. ‘Come, Tanngrisnir,’ he added. The dwarf followed him towards the drows.

  ‘What do you wait for?’ Gangrel roared suddenly, taunting them. ‘Are all drows as cowardly as you?’

  Roaring mindlessly, the drows stumbled towards them.

  ‘Quick!’ Eric hissed, as Gangrel and Tanngrisnir rushed forward to do battle with the drows. ‘This way!’

  He led Hal to one side of the advancing undead, narrowly avoiding a blow from one. Then Tanngrisnir rushed forward and attacked it. It swung round and swiped at him with its club. Seizing their chance, Hal and Eric rushed through the gap and entered the boatshed.

  The building enclosed a wide inlet, where the shingle sloped down to a pool in which a number of boats and ships were moored. Amidst them was one that Hal knew instinctively to be their goal.

  Fifty feet long and twenty across, it was a mighty longship, its side ranked with oars, a mast with a shrouded sail towering above it. What drew Hal’s breath away was the material from which it was constructed. Pale and chitinous, the ship gave off an unhealthy phosphorescence. This must be Naglfar, the Ship of the Dead; the ship of dead men’s nails.

  ‘Quickly,’ Eric said. They raced down the shingle towards the longship.

  Splashing across the murky waters, they reached the side, and pulled themselves up, grimacing at the unpleasant texture of the sides. Reaching the deck, they drew themselves up, and looked back the way they had come.

  From outside drifted shouts and the sounds of struggle. ‘That’s Gangrel and Tanngrisnir,’ Hal said unnecessarily. ‘We’d better get this ship ready.’

  They gasped in unison, as a scaly shape slithered across the deck towards them. Hal drew his sword. The serpent spat stinking venom on the blade, and it melted, leaving only the hilt. Scowling, Hal threw the remnant to one side.

  ‘Stop that thing, Hal!’ Eric shouted.

  Hal glared at him, and spread his hands. ‘How?’ he cried incredulously. ‘Wrestle it into submission?’ The serpent reared up, and spat venom. Hal and Eric ran to either side. The serpent swung its head back and forth, and then sprang towards Hal.

  Eric saw a pile of longbows piled on the deck beside him, arrows heaped nearby. He grabbed a bow, but it was unstrung, and he had no time to string it. Then he saw a coiled rope. An idea came to him. He grabbed the rope and began knotting it into a lasso.

  Hal ducked and weaved as the serpent sprayed venom towards him. The flaming droplets spattered down upon the deck, and the foul stench of burning fingernail rose to meet him. He looked over at Eric. What was he doing?

  ‘Help me!’ he demanded, dodging another attack.

  ‘That’s right, Hal!’ Eric shouted. ‘Keep it occupied.’

  ‘Keep it occupied?’ Hal yelled. ‘It’s keeping me pretty well occupied, thank you!’

  Then Eric turned, and flung the lasso at the rearing serpent. The rope swooped down around its neck, and Eric pulled.

  The lasso tightened, pulling back the serpent’s head and forcing a fountain of venom from its throat. The droplets showered down, spattering the deck and hissing down the creature’s scales. It writhed and threshed under the impact of its own venom, then twitched to a sudden halt. The lifeless body thumped down across the deck.

  Then Gangrel and Tanngrisnir were swarming aboard. In the near distance, roars and shouts of anger rang across the boatyard.

  ‘All aboard the good ship Naglfar!’ Eric shouted.

  ‘Get us moving!’ Hal demanded.

  Gangrel sprang to the steering-oar. He turned it, and with a thunderous creaking and clattering, the banks of oars came into life. Without any visible rowers to move them, the great ship of the dead set out across the pool and towards the sea.

  On the shore, angry figures stood and bellowed.

  7 VENOM DALE

  ‘My love…’ Prince Helgrim whispered, gazing deep into Gwen’s frightened eyes. ‘Your life with me will be one of greatness, of majesty! You will sit at my side as queen of a vast dominion. All the worlds of order will fall to my armies; all the races of light will be my slaves… and yours! Simply return my love…’

  To her horror, he leaned forward to kiss her.

  There was a commotion from the passage outside, and someone began beating on the door. Prince Helgrim flung Gwen to one side, strode to the door, and threw it open.

  A swart-elf warrior stood in the doorway. ‘My lord,’ he began. ‘The dwarves are invading! They ride across the plain towards us! I….’ He broke off suddenly, as Prince Helgrim struck him across the face with his gauntlets.

  ‘My lord…’ the swart-elf protested, as blood trickled from his mouth.

  ‘Dolt!’ Prince Helgrim hissed. ‘Never interrupt me again, by Sinmara!’

  ‘My lord prince,’ the swart-elf said. ‘My words are true. Look!’

  He pointed towards the window. Ignoring Gwen, still sprawled across the bed, the Prince strode to the window and gazed out. Distant battle cries were borne up on the wind.

  Prince Helgrim turned on his heel. ‘To arms, warriors!’ he cried. ‘Send for the slave, and lock her in with my wife-to-be. Then we go to war!’

  He leered at Gwen. ‘Soon…’ he promised, and then strode out.

  * * * * *

  ‘Escaped!’ Hal said. ‘Now where, Gangrel?’

  The old man looked at him sombrely. As he steered them under the arch of the boatshed and they rowed out into the ocean waters, he indicated the ship as a whole.

  ‘If this vessel holds together,’ he replied, ‘we shall sail to Svartaborg, in the world of the swart-elves.’

  ‘What do you mean, “if”?’ Eric asked uneasily.

  ‘This ship was unfinished, remember?’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘Look!’ The dwarf prodded the chitinous material of the hull, and it splintered where he touched it. ’Dead men’s nails, you see,’ Tanngrisnir said. He shook his head like a professional builder inspecting the work of cowboys. ‘And this ship was made for one voyage only … Look out!’

  Sweeping across the dark waters towards them came four smaller vessels, rowing out from behind a headland. The decks bristled with the undead.

  ‘Are they going to attack us?’ Hal cried, seeing skeletal warriors operating mangonels on the decks of the ships.

  ‘What do you think?’ Eric demanded.

  ‘This is their flagship!’ Hal said. Then the first shot was flying, and three more followed in quick succession. The missiles splashed into the water nearby, each one closer and closer, until the last sent up a bow-wave of spray that swamped the deck.

  ‘Poor shots,’ Eric said critically.

  ‘Why’re they stopping?’ Hal asked.

  ‘They’re weighing anchor,’ Tanngrisnir said, scanning the four ships as they halted in the water three hundred yards away. ‘So they can get a better aim, I imagine.’

  Eric turned to Gangrel, still manning the sweep. ‘Can’t you ram them?’ he asked.

  The old man nodded grimly. ‘Such is my intention,’ he replied.

  The longship bore down upon the attackers. Another volley of shot whistled through the air, splashing down on either side of the deck. The last one struck the side a glancing blow and everyone except Gangrel went sprawling across the deck.

  Just as Hal was scrambling to his feet, he heard a tearing, splintering sound, and the deck shook again. Keeping his balance by grabbing a trailing rawhide rope, Hal turned to see they were smashing straight through the line of enemy ships, staving in the side of one and sending the rest spinning in confusion. The sails had unfurled themselves and they were booming above in a gale that had leapt up from nowhere. Leaving their enemies far behind them, Naglfar surged on across the bay.

  ‘What do you suppose the Straw-Dead will do now we’ve stolen their ship?’ Tanngrisnir asked Gangrel, as the enemy vessels disappeared into the murk.

  ‘They need this ship,’ Gangrel replied. ‘Even if they are prepared to sink it to get it back, they will try. Otherwise they will have to begin building another.’

  ‘What if we sank this one?’ Hal asked. ‘Just destroyed it? That would stop them!’

  ‘It would stop us, too,’ Eric pointed out, ‘unless you want to walk to this Svartaborg place.’

  ‘Oh,’ Hal said, frowning. He scratched his head, feeling foolish. ‘Good point.’

  ‘For the moment,’ Tanngrisnir said, ‘pursuit has died down. But we need to shake it off completely. How do we do that?’

  ‘Like this,’ Gangrel said simply. He turned the steering oar, and the ship began heading towards the coast. Before them was a wide estuary.

  ‘Here is the River Slid,’ he told them, ‘that flows down Venom Dale from the Dark Moon Fells. Too far east to get us directly to Svartaborg; but further upstream it is joined by the waters of the Gioll, the river that marks the boundary of the world of the dead. If we sail up there, it will take us eventually to foot of Giallarfoss, the falls near Svartaborg.’

  ‘And then we can rescue Gwen?’ Hal asked eagerly.

  ‘If we can secure entrance to the Tower,’ Gangrel replied.

  The ship sailed on towards the river mouth.

  * * * * *

  ‘I have to get away,’ Gwen moaned.

  ‘Maybe the dwarves will defeat the swart-elves,’ Ilmadis said tentatively.

  The swart-elves had departed, thrusting Ilmadis back inside and locking the door. Gwen’s spirits were low. ‘Dwarves?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Aye, ma’am,’ Ilmadis replied. ‘Have you not heard? The dwarves of Aurvangar are attacking. Listen!’

  Gwen listened. A distant roar of combat came from the plain below. ‘Dwarves?’ she asked. ‘Is Tanngrisnir with them?’

  ‘I do not know who ma’am speaks of,’ Ilmadis replied in confusion. ‘The guards say that it is Lofar’s kindred.’

  Gwen rose quickly, and went to the window. Ilmadis joined her, and they looked down upon the dark plain below.

  Tiny figures battled among the rocks and ridges; whole battalions of them, swart-elves and dwarves, though they were too far away for Gwen to recognise them. Was Tanngrisnir down there? But Tanngrisnir was dead. All her friends were dead. She had felt a glimmer of hope on hearing that the dwarves were attacking; hope that her friends were down there, that they had somehow survived the maelstrom.

  The air boomed, and Gwen craned her neck in amazed horror as a vast reptilian form flapped out from an archway in the wall of the tower. Another followed, and another; scaly, winged creatures that bore swart-elf warriors upon their backs.

  ‘Dragons,’ Ilmadis murmured. She pointed towards the valiantly struggling dwarves, the foot soldiers, and the cavalry, mounted on ponies. Now, the swart-elf forces, which consisted of warriors on foot and others mounted on what looked like giant lizards, matched them equally. But the dwarves had no aerial squadrons.

  ‘They will be crushed,’ Ilmadis said quietly. ‘This is not the first time the dwarves have attacked in recent weeks. But each time the swart-elves beat them off with the aid of their new dragon-riders.’

  Gwen watched in despair as the squadron of dragons swooped down on the battlefield, spitting venom that burst into flame on impact. Soon the tide of battle was turning, as dwarf after dwarf fell under the assault, to line the plain like flotsam and jetsam.

  Gwen saw an exultant mounted figure riding out at the head of the swart-elf forces. Though too distant for her to be truly certain, Gwen knew that it was Prince Helgrim.

  She closed her eyes, sickened by the slaughter. ‘I’ve got to get away!’ she said fiercely. Her friends were long gone. Now this new hope had been crushed. There was no escape. Prince Helgrim had her in his power. But she had to find some way to get free.

  At her side, Ilmadis looked at her pityingly, and shook her head. ‘There is no escape,’ she replied.

  * * * * *

  The waters of the River Slid foamed and bubbled, and it seemed to Hal’s bewildered eyes that spears and swords swirled in its current as Naglfar sailed upstream. On either bank, grit and shale sloped away towards the plains across which the travellers had marched hours before.

  ‘We’re going back on ourselves,’ Hal said, leaning against the rail and gazing out across the gloomy landscape.

  ‘But much quicker, this time,’ Eric said. ‘This beats tramping across all those rocks.’ He had taken off his shoes and socks and was tending to a few blisters.

  ‘Aye,’ Tanngrisnir agreed. ‘This will hasten our journey. And yet our going will not be easy.’

  ‘It never is,’ Eric said gloomily.

  ‘What perils await us, then?’ Hal asked with an ironic laugh. ‘We’ve done okay so far, Tanngrisnir. Isn’t that right, Gangrel?’

  The old man looked down from the stern. ‘So far,’ he agreed. ‘But worse dangers are to come.’

  ‘Great,’ Eric muttered, bursting the last of his blisters. ‘What next?’

  ‘As I said earlier, we come soon to the confluence of the Slid and the Gioll,’ Gangrel told them. ‘There, oath-breakers, adulterers, and murderers wade waist-deep through icy waters; there the Nidhogg, king of the serpents, gnaws on corpses.’

  Eric and Hal were silent. Eric frowned. ‘And is this the only route we can take?’ he asked.

  Gangrel gazed out over the surrounding landscape. ‘The rivers of Helheim are by far the fastest route,’ he said, ‘but fraught with danger. This way we can come to Svartaborg by the fastest and simplest route; and then continue to Aurvangar, where the Runeblade shall be forged. But it will not be easy going.’ He said no more, but returned his attention to steering the ship up the river.

  They passed through a ravine. Cliffs towered on either side, and at one point Hal saw the head of a serpent raised above the escarpment, watching their progress in silence.

  ‘So how do we get past the Nidhogg’s territory?’ he asked.

  ‘Who is the Nidhogg, anyway?’ Eric asked.

  ‘As Grimnir said, he is the king of the serpents,’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘He is one of Lady Hel’s pets, who terrorises and torments the evil dead. He makes little distinction between his prisoners and others abroad in his lands. It will be a difficult journey. But as Grimnir said, we have no real choice. Escaping from Helheim is hardly child’s play.’

  Eric sighed. ‘Well, I suppose not,’ he said. ‘But shouldn’t we have some plan? Gangrel? Don’t we have a plan worked out?’

  Gangrel said nothing for a while, concentrating on guiding the ship through the ravine. Then he turned to his companions.

  ‘I have been considering the matter as we have journeyed,’ he said. ‘Certainly I have a plan. Never do I leave anything to chance.’

  ‘How about sharing it with us, then?’ Hal suggested.

  Gangrel came and sat with them. ‘My plan depends on the simple fact that the Nidhogg will recognise the ship as Naglfar, the Ship of the Dead,’ he said. ‘He knows that one day will come the day of doom, and the world will be renewed. In that hopefully distant time, he will survive to bring evil into the next world. The passing of Naglfar is somewhat he will greet with joy, since it means his time is nigh.’

  ‘Can you be certain?’ Eric asked worriedly. ‘What are the chances of him just attacking us? It doesn’t seem like much of a plan to me…’

  Gangrel brooded. ‘The Nidhogg is no more than a beast, with a beast’s volatility. Sometimes the wisest cannot second-guess the unwise. But I believe this will be so.’

  ‘I hope you’re right!’ Tanngrisnir shouted suddenly. ‘We’re here already!’

  Gangrel turned with a curse. The dwarf was right.

  Unattended, the ship had sailed swiftly upstream. Beyond the cliffs, the land opened out once more. In the far distance, a range of impossibly high mountains marched across the skyline. But what caught Hal’s attention was the scene before them.

  Ahead the River Slid rushed down from the mountains. To the left another river joined it; presumably the Gioll. It seemed to scream like a wounded beast as it rushed across the plains of Helheim. In the swift waters at the meeting of the two rivers, Hal could see doleful figures wading among crusts of ice. On the bank above them, serpents writhed, their blunt heads whipping down to strike anyone who angered them. Amidst them was another reptilian figure, larger than the rest, and winged; more like a dragon than a serpent. It lay upon a bed of rotting corpses, and viewed the torment with cruel eyes.

  It caught sight of Naglfar as the ship hove into view. With the jerkiness of a lizard, the dragon drew itself up, spreading its wings, sending human bones and flesh flying as it glared balefully down at the intruder.

  ‘The Nidhogg!’ cried Tanngrisnir. ‘He’s seen us! You were wrong, Grimnir! He will not let us pass.’

  Roaring, the Nidhogg beat his wings, took off, and soared down towards them. Hal’s heart sank as the wings of the dragon boomed above their heads, the wind of their passing shivering the sails. The Nidhogg swept over them, and then turned gracefully in the air to hover behind the ship, beating his wings. The sails billowed fatly, and the dragon opened his mouth to roar a song of triumph.

  The travellers crouched on the deck below, staring up in fear and wonder, except Gangrel, who stood at the helm, smiling enigmatically.

  ‘You were right!’ cried Tanngrisnir, rising to his feet. ‘The Nidhogg helps us on our way!’

  The sails swelled, the dragon beat its wings, and swiftly the ship entered the River Gioll. Once they were under way, the Nidhogg left them, and flew back towards his lair.

  Eric looked at Gangrel. ‘That was a bit of a gamble, don’t you think?’ he asked. ‘Even for you!’