Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) by Christopher Jackson-Ash (ebook reader wifi TXT) 📕

The three drew lots and Kris drew the first watch. Aglaral and Gamying lay down beside Manfred and tried to get some rest. Both of them slept fitfully, with hands on the hilts of their swords. Kris tended the fire and examined the sword he had been given before they left Elannort. He was a writer not a fighter and had never used a sword in anger before. He wondered whether he would have the skill or courage to use it when the time came. It would make a wonderful story, if he slew a warg. The howls grew louder and more frequent. Each time he jumped and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He wondered why he had volunteered for such an adventure. Then he remembered why. He figured it would matter little to the wargs as they tore out his throat. He almost jumped out of his skin when all of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Take some rest.” Aglaral said. “I’ll take over now. They won’t attack until just before dawn, when it’s at its darkest. Until then they will torment us with their howls and hope that fear will win their battle for them. They are cowards at heart. Our fire and steel will be a match for them. Fear not, we’ll be in Devil’s Mouth before this day ends.”

Kris simply nodded and shuffled off to take his turn for whatever rest he could find. Aglaral’s words did little to improve his mood. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard a voice in his head. Soon. Very soon.

Aglaral was restless. Despite Manfred’s assurances, he was concerned about his family. Would Velacourt keep his word? He was also worried about the symbols on the walls of the hut. He had seen them before, burned into the tortured flesh of escaped slaves amongst the refugees he had processed. Their stories were too gruesome to recall. They found the refugee internment camp like a luxurious inn, compared with what they had gone through in the hands of their masters. Better to die than be captured by the forces of evil.

The howls of the wargs came ever closer and more frequent. He had never seen a warg, let alone fought a pack of them. However, he had spent his free time in Elannort wisely and had studied much in the library. He knew that they feared fire, more than anything else and that they disliked being about in daylight. If they could keep the fire alive until dawn, they would have a chance against them – so long as their lycanthrope, their werewolf leader, wasn’t with them.

Gamying soon stirred and came to sit by the fire. “Get some more rest, Aglaral; I’ll wake you when the action starts.”

Aglaral declined, instead making more tea to warm them. They sat in silence for a while, disturbed only by the regular howls.

Gamying eventually spoke. “When they attack, we will take our places either side of the door, you and I. I don’t want to depend on Kris; I can’t see him as a great warrior somehow. Let’s hope that Manfred is recovered soon. We should be able to hold them off until dawn, even without him.”

“Can I ask you something?” Aglaral ventured. “Do you believe in all of this Hero and Sword stuff? Can that weakling boy really help us?”

“I know it seems hard to believe. Manfred has been a friend to Tamarlan for as long as my family have been regents, and before then for all I know. We trust him with our lives. If Manfred says Simon is the one, then I believe him. As for the Sword, well you must have heard the stories. If it could be found, it would be the most powerful talisman at our command. Manfred has great power; you saw it today. But even he would be as nothing compared to the Sword. With the Hero and the Sword, we would have a chance. Let us hope that things are going better for the others.”

Their conversation was interrupted by more, loud howling, now close by. The wargs had arrived.

Quickly the two warriors took up their positions. Kris too was on his feet. Manfred snored on.

“Quickly, Kris, build up the fire. Use all the wood,” Gamying ordered. Kris gathered up their remaining timber and placed it on the fire. The flames burned brighter, casting shadows of two men with swords drawn out into the night. A noisome smell assailed their nostrils, worse even than the smell of the hut. It was an ugly smell; wet dog mixed with evil. There was a group of wargs out there now, not far from the door. How many there were, Gamying could not tell. He could count at least twelve burning red eyes, reflecting the faint firelight, but that was probably just the first rank of the pack. One warg pushed forward. In the flickering firelight, it was an awesome sight. It was about half as big again as a wolf with a long shaggy coat, large ears, and a gaping maw filled with razor sharp teeth. Its eyes were blood red and burned with an evil intelligence. It surprised the men by speaking in a low, guttural voice.

“Give us Red Boy. Rest leave, safe. Pack not hungry. Eat today. Lucky you is. Else all die.”

Before Gamying could frame a reply, Kris shouted. “The Red Boy is not with us. He seeks the Sword.”

“Who speaks?”

“It is Kris. Kris, Bard of Karo.”

“No value. No Red Boy, all die.”

Gamying was outraged. “Speak again Bard and I shall personally sever your head and feed your guts to the wargs. Not only do you endanger us, but also you put Simon’s mission in jeopardy. If we survive this day, you will have some explaining to do before the Traitors’ Court in Tamarlan.” He turned his anger outwards.

“Know this. I am Gamying, Heir-Regent of Tamarlan. I know your kind, cowards who sneak around in the dark taking defenceless babies from cribs and frightening old women. Leave now or taste cold steel. There will be much blood spilt today and most of it will be yours. We are not all snivelling cowards like wargs and bards. Today is a good day to die.”

The warg did not respond immediately. It seemed to be contemplating Gamying’s words or perhaps it was communicating the information to its lycanthrope. Then it howled at the top of its voice. It was a long, piercing howl that sent shivers of fear through the three men. Seconds later, responses began to echo from afar. Gamying and Aglaral readied themselves for battle. There seemed little hope of victory, but if they could hold the doorway until dawn, perhaps the wargs would fall back and give them chance to rest. Manfred snored on, oblivious to the unfolding drama. Kris was now so white that he could have been mistaken for an albino. He quivered in terror, but drew his sword. He looked from Gamying to the wargs and wondered which he feared the most.

The next few seconds or minutes seemed like hours. The wargs watched and waited for the signal from their leader. When it came, it was in a blurred flurry of fur and fangs. Snarls and howls filled the air. Gamying and Aglaral stood their ground, blades working methodically to keep the wargs at bay. When they fell back, three wargs lay dead at the doorway. Several others retreated to lick their wounds. Gamying and Aglaral collapsed to the floor to recover their breath. The fire was almost burned out. Manfred slept on. Kris was cowering in a foetal position at the back of the hut. “Are you hurt?” Gamying asked Aglaral.”

“Only a few scratches,” replied Aglaral.

“We will need to get them treated. Warg scratches are notorious for becoming infected. It’s still a while before dawn. They will attack again soon. Perhaps the dead will form a barrier to protect us.”

“What about him?” Aglaral gestured towards the cowering Kris.

“I’m afraid there is no treatment for cowardice.” Gamying spat in Kris’s direction. “That infection has taken too great a hold. It will make a good story, one day though. Let’s try to wake Manfred. We need his fireworks.” Gamying cast another disdainful look towards Kris and dragged himself to his feet. He moved to the wizard and began to shake him gently. “Manfred, wake up old man, we need your help.”

Slowly, Manfred stirred. “What is it? Where am I? What’s happening?” He sat up gingerly and took in the scene. “Ah, the hut. I remember now. Is it nearly dawn? What’s happened to the fire? I see you have had company. What’s happened to Kris?”

Gamying quickly brought Manfred up to speed with the events of the night. Manfred reached deep into the pockets of his cloak and withdrew a small metal box. “This is a special salve, made by the elves. It will counter the effects of minor evil wounds. Use it very sparingly. Apply it to all of your wounds. Warg claws carry much disease, but their fangs are far worse. It’s good that neither of you were bitten. I am sufficiently rested to give them a roasting they’ll not soon forget. It’s a pity that their flesh is too rancid to eat; we could feast on roast warg for breakfast.” Manfred laughed and the mood in the hut changed from one of despair to one of hope.

Gamying and Aglaral tended their wounds. Kris uncurled himself and stood up. He looked sheepishly towards Manfred. “Forgive me great Sage, I...”

Manfred cut him short. “Not now. We shall talk at length when we get below the mountain at Devil’s Mouth. Your actions tonight may have cost us dearly.” Kris returned to his foetal position and rocked backwards and forwards. He seemed to be in despair. There is more going on there than I have the time to fathom at the moment. I’ll deal with him later. Let him stew in his own juices. Bring on the dogs.

Manfred didn’t have to wait too long. The first rays of dawn were visible on the horizon. In the gloom, the pack assembled again, restless, nervous, and eager to finish the job. The leader again moved forward. “Why fight? All die soon. Make easy for you. Better tear throat. Slow death not funny. What say you?”

Manfred stood up and slowly drew himself to his full height, his aged back creaking and complaining. The wizened old man withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and held it before him. The staff began to glow with blue light and Manfred seemed to grow to twice his height. His voice now was loud and powerful. “Be gone, wargs! Lest I turn you all into rat fodder. Know you not with whom you are dealing? I am Manfred the Magician, leader of the Council of the Wise, maintainer of the Balance. You will let me and my companions pass to Devil’s Mouth and on to Tamarlan without further hindrance. Cross me, and you shall pay with your lives. Take this message to Weylyn your leader. Tell him that Manfred is coming for him and he brings the Everlasting Hero to cleanse FirstWorld of him and all of his scum.”

The leader snarled with fury and jumped forward to attack Manfred’s throat. Gamying and Aglaral were too slow to react and the warg crossed the threshold. Manfred muttered a few words and a bright flash jumped from his staff to the warg. The warg’s anger quickly changed to surprise, then pain and fear. Its shaggy coat erupted into flames. It was flung backwards, out of the hut and into the midst of the pack. It screamed its last howl. The flames quickly spread to others. The air was filled with acrid smoke, the smell of burning flesh and the howls of agony. By the time the sun had risen, the wargs