into the faded
realms beyond where the living could tread. He pulled a map from
his bag. And studied it a while.
As he guessed, being here, he were
not far from Baal. Baal, Giant, crab farmer and horse wrangler. A
little way north were all. Noo Ka and her sister moon of Syssa had
barely begun to rise, and they would be high above his head by the
time he were anywhere near Baal’s farm. But he would relish their
luminous company as he trekked through field and plain on a small
detour that may or may not yield a steed to help speed up his
journey.
Anyway, what pressing matters do I
need attend? Why, none. I have nowhere to be in haste. All previous
appointments have been cancelled. For all intents and purposes,
time has stopped. So, why not, a detour?
As Gargaron set off, he reached
out and ran his fingertips along one of Dreamfyre’s metallic ribs.
It were like touching perma-ice; the sheer cold more akin to a
sensation of burning. He cast an eye across his fingers. And ran
his thumbs across them. The iciness had transferred instantly from
Dreamfyre’s freezing metal. His fingers icy cold to the touch and
his skin frosted over.
He had heard this
rumour. That Dreamfyre harboured the bitter frost-cold of the Great
Nothing, that it had brought with it the Yternal Chill that would
ultimately consume all matter in the universe, and that its pilots
had meant to start with Cloudfyre. But
what of the curse? he wondered. To touch
the ancient vessel, according to beliefs of peoples all across the
continent of Godrik’s Vale, were to bring one ill
luck.
Gargaron
scoffed. What now is ill luck? he thought defiantly, in
a world that has gone to the Hoardogs, what is meant by ‘ill luck’,
I ask? Death? To die? Why, death would be a release from all
this!
He spat into the grass and folded his map
away.
7
The moons lit his way as the suns
took their fires home for night. His moon shadow cast three ways
about him, as Noo Ka and Syssa rose from beyond horizon, and behind
him came Vasher. Vasher with its own moon, a mere spot in the sky
folks called Rattik. Vasher and Rattik, master and servant. The
master a pale cold blue, the servant a tiny jewel of red. Later,
beyond the Witching hour, Gargaron’s shadow would be briefly four
as Gorvhald spun giddily up from western horizon. As it were, the
land around him remained pleasantly well lit. He could see for mile
upon mile, Chandry’s Steppe seemed merely gripped in early
twilight. He felt the urge to stop and build a fire, to lie down
and warm himself, to stare up into star and moon and imagine he
were a boy again, to pretend he were safe and protected at his
father’s side, that nothing were wrong in the world, that all would
be well as long as his father smiled and promised him
so.
Thinking of his father brought his
mind back to Drenvel’s Bane. How his father would love to have seen
it, he thought. As Gargaron marched on he drew the famed hilt from
his sack. It were not too difficult to study the thing beneath the
moonlight. And indeed the moonlight seemed to bring out features he
had not spotted earlier. Though it were banded tightly in leather
there seemed to be an inner radiance about it. A certain glow that
seemed to cast itself through the strands of hide. But if he picked
at the leather and scraped it aside with his nail the glow would
fade to reveal naught but cold metal beneath.
He held it aloft, as though he
were Hor the Cutter. It were said those who knew the weapon’s
secrets could illicit the hammer into being. And these were
secretes he knew not. So for now, he slashed it through the night
air, back and forth, a boy again, imagining he were the mighty Hor
come to save the world.
8
It were beyond the Witching hour
when Gargaron found Baal the Giant seated in a chair in his
cottage. Sadly, Baal had run out of things to say. His jaw had been
torn away. Someone had taken it and stabbed him in the chest with
it. Baal did nothing but gaze quietly at the ceiling