The Lengthening Shadow
Chapter 16: The Search for Tarsch

Samuel and Co. had been traveling for four days. Aidan and Malcolm’s poison had been slowed by regular Vrandeyl appliances. However, they wouldn’t last long without Tarsch’s healing skill. Samuel scanned the rocky plains for any sign of him, with no results. However, on the fifth day, he spotted a river valley in the distance. In three hours, the valley looked no more than ten miles away. Suddenly, out sprang fifty Thazancian soldiers, with Ordinv at their head.

He sneered at them. “Hello, mouse. What is your business here? I am Captain Ordinv of the Thazancian Army. What is yours?” Samuel knew enough of Thazanc to know that Ordinv meant no good. “I am Samuel of Fernwood. Our business is our own. Now, order your troops to stand aside and let us pass!” Ordinv spat on the ground in front of Samuel. “I respond to nobeast’s orders. We Thazancians do what we wish. Now tell us your business, or we will kill you.”

Samuel drew his sword. “If you will not let us pass, I will cleave your useless head from your body. Step aside!” Ordinv drew his own blade and lunged at Samuel. True to his word, the mouse slashed once, and Ordinv’s head fell onto the ground. The Thazancians took out weapons: swords, spears, bows, and axes. A fox shouted “Form ranks! Spears in front, then axes, swordsbeasts on the flanks, archers in back. Hold positions. Archers, fire!” A volley of black arrows zipped down, slaying three sand lizards.

“Archers, reload! Spears and front swordsbeasts, charge on my command. Three...two...one...charge!” The ranks of armored Thazancians surged forward as the archers fired over their heads. Samuel’s lizards fired their muskets, taking out several spear-bearers. The muskets mowed down the enemies’ ranks, easily outclassing the whizzing arrows. In fifteen minutes of fierce battle, the Thazancians had been almost completely destroyed, except for a few who were at that very moment running for their lives. The company had lost precious time, however.

Malcolm and Aidan were in great pain; the poison was spreading, and Crackwillow estimated that they would die in about two hours. The company sped up, and rushed for the valley at full speed. Samuel uttered a silent prayer, pleading for the two to live, to live until they reached Tarsch. They ran and ran and ran until they were at the edge of the valley. Samuel groaned.

The valley was about a mile long, with several caves in its stony sides. Samuel organized a search party to explore the caves and look for the ferret’s cavern.

Tarsch could sense their coming. He knew what was in the caves, waiting for them. They should recognize his dwelling, or at least Crackwillow should. For in those caves was a...a...a something that had dwelt there for thousands of years. Down in the darkest pits of the caves, there was a demon that no one had ever seen and lived. Rumor said it sucked your soul out, leaving a broken, dead shell.

He knew what it was. It was one of them. One of the Seven, the Souleaters of Clarwell. If they found it, not one would survive. He had seen them before, long ago.

Tarsch drew his wand and followed Vi’lle up the cliffs along the stone path. At the top, they hurried down into a stony pit. There was a bridge to a circle in the middle, surrounded by fire in chasms of shadow. Standing in the center of the circle were seven black figures. Their armor slid smoothly under their cloaks of shadow; gleaming swords were in their hands.

They moved forward, their movements perfectly coordinated, as if they were one being. The Seven had revealed themselves. They were Ra’vok’s most feared servants, created long ago in Thrakö Dûrkatûl. They spread into a wedge shape, headed by their leader.

The leading one threw off its hood. It was the most dreaded creature in Certaria, save for Ra’vok only. It was named, in the Thazancian tongue: Naurgaz, Sucker of Souls. Vi’lle drew his own blade, and Tarsch followed. Then the battle came. Tarsch felt a horrible pain in his head, accompanied by a sucking sound. He yanked his head up and slashed blindly. There was a scream, and a pile of black robes and armor. He swung and parried another dark blade.

Vi’lle’s huge figure dominated the clearing. “Ex’plo’zoi!” A huge boom echoed across the pit. Small bits of a Souleater flew into the air. It was repeated, and now only four Souleaters were left. Swords clashed as Tarsch and his mentor sliced and blocked. In five minutes, there were only two left, one was Naurgaz. Tarsch took the smaller one, leaving Naurgaz to Vi’lle. The ferret clashed and stepped expertly out of the way, leaving the Souleater to trip with his own momentum and fall. Tarsch stabbed down through the creature, finishing it. However, around the clearing, Souleaters were reforming. Naurgaz screeched, and they flew off into the darkness. Vi’lle and Tarsch walked away, always watching the sky.

Now ancient, the ferret hermit was still scrying, but this time on the stony cave where the Souleater lurked. He saw no one walking through the tunnel into the cave. Suddenly, a noise behind him made him spin around. “Hello, Tarsch,” said Crackwillow.

Tarsch looked at the squirrel quizzically. “What is it you want of me?”

“I think you already know,” answered the squirrel. “Heal our friends, and I will help you in any way we can.” Tarsch walked outside and looked at Aidan and Malcolm. He took out something that looked like a Vrandeyl, except bigger and more decorative. “This is a Nanduvar. It will help more than a Vrandeyl will. Now, everyone stand back.” They formed a circle around Tarsch, Aidan, and Malcolm, everybeast looking on with bated breath.

“Hasr thrant vran. Thrana rentsa vran, alorna! Deya yonwë honlera vran unu!”

Once again, as with all healing talismans, the poison was sucked out. Maria cheered. “They’re healed! They’re healed!” Tarsch shook his head. “They aren’t fully healed, and they can’t be, not without the skill of Vi’lle himself. Crackwillow brightened suddenly. “Good idea! We have to replace Vi’lle!” Once again, Tarsch shook his furry head. “Vi’lle has been in hiding since the Battle of Mount Kozik. No one knows exactly where in Certaria he is. Some say that he went to the Catacombs of Arvand, others say the heights of the Acar Mort. It’ll be like looking for a grain of sand in a blizzard.” Samuel added his piece. “You can scry. You can look anywhere, right?”

“Right.”

“So you scry, and we go and replace him.”

Both Verdancers nodded. They could replace no flaw in the plan. Crackwillow unpacked his scrying tools and set up. Samuel’s company and the Fernwooders set up tents and went to sleep, the first peaceful sleep they had gotten in a long time.

The next morning, they were woken by a scream. They jumped out of their tents and saw a sand lizard being dragged away by something black and huge. It was a giant wolf. Samuel cried out an alarm. “The Wolfriders! We’re being attacked by Smake’s Wolfriders!” A Wyrm’s screech rang out and pierced the still morning. Lieutenant General Smake had come to personally finish them. The Wyrm was standing on the ground in front of a contingent of wolves and Thazancian soldiers.

“Prepare to die, mouse. I have heard of your, how shall I put it, exploits. You should feel honored that I have come to kill you myself.” He drew a long silver blade, laced with Thazancian Gold. “Say your last words, woodland scum!”He lunged forward at Samuel, sword flashing in the grey morning. The Wolfriders surged forward and were met with little resistance.

Smake pursued Samuel up a hidden path to the top of the valley. “Come out, little mouse, and I will make your passing swift!” Samuel hid behind a large boulder as Smake ran past. He jumped out behind him, drawing his own weapon. “I am here, ferret. Come and get me!” The ‘ferret without a conscience’ turned and rushed at Samuel. “I’ll get you if that’s the last thing I do!” Their swords clashed, and Samuel was knocked backwards into the wall of a ledge. Smake advanced, grinning broadly and showing iron-plated fangs.

“Gal’vaz!” Crackwillow downed another wolf with a blazing bolt of energy. He turned and ran a fox through with his sword. BANG! Grace shot, taking out a nasty-looking Wolfrider, stabbing the wolf through the head with her sword. BANG! BANG! BANG! Three bullets silenced a pair of Thazancians. Maria was dashing into the midst of the fight, slicing everywhere with her dagger. The Fernwooders had organized a defense for Aidan and Malcolm, still lying in their tent.

Tarsch was taking care of his position with ease. Flying high above the heads of the Thazancians, he was shooting blasts of fire and lightning at them, killing two or three with every attack. Shadowscreech was pinned down by Tarsch, while the Fernwooders and sand lizards handled the Wolfriders. Smake and Samuel were engaged in a duel-like sort of fight on the ledge, with Samuel gaining the upper hand. He leaped and slashed. There was a ting! noise, and the sword leaped out of the ferret’s hand and fell off the ledge into the battle below.

Smake jumped off the cliff, to Samuel’s shock. A second later, he soared up on Shadowscreech’s back, flying off into the north. The rest of the Wolfriders surrendered, and were tied up and left in the Souleater’s cave. The company moved on, not knowing exactly where they were going. All that they knew was that they had to replace Vi’lle, or watch Aidan and Malcolm slowly die. That was the one thing that they could not allow to happen. For Tarsch predicted that the two would have to do something before the end. What it was, even the wisest of them could not tell. Samuel knew not what it was either, but he had made an oath to defend Aidan, and he would keep it, no matter what.

Crowblood’s gang had been on the trail of the pirates for a day and a half. They had picked up so many new recruits that the pack had swelled to fifty-four members. The pirates were not so fortunate. Ten had died from sickness and starvation, including Lagurna. Venge was one of the only ones who was not sick. Alrack and Uldrich were the others. Both groups needed more beasts. They didn’t have the slightest idea how they were going to get them.

Venge walked across the camp to Uldrich, shoving his way through the tangle of tents and pirates sitting around begging for food. “Captain, we need food. The crews are starving. Look around! They deserve food as much as we do.” Alrack glared at him. “When did yer get so soft. ‘They need food! We can’t let them starve!’ Why are yer so concerned about them. It’s ourselves that we need ta worry about. Now shut up!” Venge backed away, knowing the extent to which the black weasel’s anger could go to.

Smake and the remnant of his attack force finally crawled through the gates of Thazanc. The plan was that he strike there, and decimate Greenbloom from the inside. What was he going to tell Ra’vok? He had left with two hundred Wolfriders and about three hundred Thazancian regulars. He braced himself and walked inside the Temple of the Pit. He made his way through the winding corridors to the large inner chamber.

It was shaped like a dome, with a huge black pit in the center. He slunk up, head low, and spoke to the pit. “I am sorry. I have failed.”

Where are the five hundred who were with you? I only see twenty-four. You have done worse than I expected.

“We were slaughtered. They had Tarsch on their side. There was this mouse, and he...he…”

I know. I saw. He defeated you single-handedly. I expect more of you as my General. If you honestly were defeated by a single mouse, I ought to kill you here and now. You know I can.

“I am truly repentant. I will do better next time, honestly! I will…”

Shut up, you sniveling piece of sod. If you fail me again, I will personally see to it that there won’t be a next time.

“I will not fail you again, Master.”

I hope not. Until we meet again, Smake. I expect a better result the next time I trust you with proper Thazancian soldiers.

Smake bowed to the pit and walked out of the room, running once the domed chamber was out of sight.

Marigold had been called to the front once again. Thazancians had traveled by sea and were hacking their way towards the city of Melgo. The Fernwooders marched off, east this time, to the sea. They arrived four days later, when it was reported that the Thazancian troops were no more than five miles away, in the treacherous terrain of the Tandor Forest. A garrison of Fernwooders led by Sergeant Janser Hardthorn, a close friend of Tomhas’s, and Marigold.

That night, the troops slunk through the mirk and shadow of Tandor until they reached a small fortified ridge. They peered out and saw the torches of the Thazancians closing in. Janser and some others hauled the small cannons into place and waited. About an hour later, a shot came whistling out of the darkness. Marigold picked it up. “Thazancian,” she whispered to Janser. He nodded and gave a ‘thumbs up’ sign to the cannoneers.

BANG! BOOM! POW! Shots exploded in the mist. Both sides were firing in earnest. From the look of it, the Thazancians had brought cannons all the way from Glimroft. Marigold took a spyglass and scouted out the enemy. They were hidden in small trenches all along a small outcrop. She mustered fifty soldiers and sneaked out of the forts on the ridge and down along the land between the positions. Silently, her force flanked the Thazancians. She gave the order to charge. They burst out of the night, yelling and firing at will. The enemy, surprised by this sudden attack, turned to face them. It was a deadly mistake. Janser charged down into the back of the Thazancians, pinning them between the Fernwooders and their own defenses. Seventy were killed when they finally surrendered. However, news came from the front that the attack at Tandor Forest was only a feint for their true intention. They were pressing south into central Greenbloom, with a thousand soldiers. Two days later, after many skirmishes and battles, the Thazancians had dwindled down to three hundred. Their supply lines to Glimroft were growing thin, and their retreat route had been scouted and was being watched by Fernwooders. They retreated back to the sea, and were shipped back to Thazanc.

Marigold was cheering for the victory, while Ra’vok was not. He had lost one and a half thousand soldiers trying to take northern cities, and they had lost both times. He decided to pull his troops out of Greenbloom. After all, Nortpoint was going to be easier to attack, and their army was weaker. Thazanc had been defeated, at least for now. In three weeks, the whole Thazancian invasion force was out of the forest region. Smake was relieved. Now there would be no more chances for him to fail attacking Greenbloom.

Ra’vok knew that Nortpoint would fall. They were the smallest, and had the weakest army. The only real threat was Arvand and its navy, the best in Certaria. He knew that Arvand was going to fall, but from within. He was going to use Naurgaz.

Samuel felt the thirteen diamarnd, the official currency of Certaria, in his pocket. They were going to be passing through the town of King’s Hill, and they needed supplies. He walked through the market to the food stall at the corner of Nordic Street.

“Hello. May I buy some traveling supplies and food?” The old badger rummaged through the baskets and pulled out a few packs of rations. “This should keep you fed for a couple weeks. That’ll be ten diamarnd, please.” Samuel handed him the bronze coins and took the packs. He walked back to the group, and they started striding towards the north gate. Samuel noticed a few shady creatures following them. He tapped Crackwillow on the shoulder.

“I think those guys are following us.”

Crackwillow nodded. “I know. I’ve seen them tracking us for a few days. There’s something odd about them. They don’t seem like any ordinary vermin. Tarsch fell back and whispered “I think I’ve seen them before.” Crackwillow caught a glimpse of their eyes: black, with an strange pale glow. He gasped. “Samuel! They’re Souleaters!” Samuel, Crackwillow, and Tarsch drew swords. The three figures threw off their hoods, revealing the armor and cloaks of Souleaters. They yanked out dark blades and ran forwards.

The three heroes rushed into a building, up the stairs, and onto the roof. They ran across the roof, and leaped onto the building next to it, followed by the Souleaters. For the next five minutes, the roof-hopped all the way up King’s Hill to the Town Hall. On the flat roof, they turned and faced their opponents. Tarsch mouthed to Samuel and Crackwillow one for each of us. They each took a Souleater, and the battle began.

Samuel hacked and blocked, pushing the Souleater to the edge of the roof. The sliced and jabbed, until Samuel shoved the Souleater off the roof. It landed and was impaled on some wrought-iron fencing. A shadow flew out of the body, leaving crumpled armor and black silk robes. Crackwillow and Tarsch dispatched their enemies, and strode over to Samuel.

“This worries me, because I’ve never known the Souleaters to be this far south. And also, where are the other four?” inquired Crackwillow. “How did they get down all the way to King’s Hill? I have personally checked all the routes to Greenbloom from the other regions, except...Arvand! I’ll travel north to the city immediately. I need a horse and rations.”

A few days later, Crackwillow galloped through the gates of Arvand. He rode up the narrow streets, through the Archdeacon’s Square and into the courtyard of the Archdeacon’s Palace. He strode to the gates and spoke the password.

“Kalako Gavada!”

The grey-suited guards opened the iron-bound doors and let the squirrel through. He walked up the hall to the chambers of the Archdeacon.

“Archdeacon Laburnum, your honor. I come to inquire upon the safety of the roads to Greenbloom.” Archdeacon Laburnum got up from her seat. She was an elegant ferret, dressed in grey robes woven with symbols. She took off her top hat, adjusted her monocle, and got up from her seat.

“I greet you, Crackwillow. What is it you wish to ask of me? I have answers to all of your questions.”

He bowed and sat at a seat on one of the sides of the hall. “My company were accosted by three Souleaters at King’s Hill. We have proof that the Souleaters have not come from the gates of Thazanc in a thousand years. How then, did they come straight from Glimroft to Greenbloom? I know that all the roads are watched, as soon as three days ago, except Arvand.”

“And you are sure,” said Laburnum in a smooth, cool voice, “That these were Souleaters?”

“Yes. The way that they were defeated matched the Souleater way of leaving their clothes and armor behind, their shadows rushing north. I would swear on my honor as a Verdancer that these were three Souleaters.” explained the squirrel. The Archdeacon stood up and paced around the hall. “If these were Souleaters, did you see their Captain? Have the other four shown themselves in Greenbloom? They have not been in Nortpoint, and we cannot ask to Norsän-Ran. The forces of Thazanc have taken Bregellach, and conquered the region.”

“Do you watch the Gap of Flandir? Have the Souleaters come through the Acar Mort into the northwest of Greenbloom?” asked Crackwillow.

Laburnum was still skeptical of the squirrel’s report. “I have watched the gap and the mountains, with no sign of them. The only explanation is that they were normal vermin sent by Ra’vok, using Hallucinor Powder. That’s what made you think that they had the qualities of Souleaters. I’m sorry, but they weren’t Souleaters. That is all I have to say. You are dismissed.”

Crackwillow was going to protest, but he stopped himself. He stormed out and slammed the door behind him. He knew that they were Souleaters, whatever Laburnum might say, but he had no idea how the were in Greenbloom. He jumped on his horse and rode out of Arvand.

Samuel and the company had been waiting for news of Crackwillow for four days. On the fifth day, the squirrel came riding back into camp. Samuel greeted him warmly and handed him ten diamarnd for his troubles.

“Thanks, Sam. It was nothing.”

Samuel was still curious. “What did you replace out?”

Crackwillow told him about his counsel with Laburnum. “She denied that they were Souleaters, and said that they were vermin using Hallucinor Powder. I don’t believe her, but she holds her ground well. I gathered all the info I could until she dismissed me. I’m beginning to doubt the loyalty of Arvand.”

The Souleaters that were killed at King’s Hill had re-formed. They rode back to Glimroft with haste. At the hollow mountain that contained the city of Aerbane, they stopped. They landed their Wyrms and strode into the chamber of Souleaters. Where is our master? asked one. The other three looked at the returned. Our Captain is away on business of the Black One. You know what that business is, responded another. The Souleaters held a brief conference.

The Black One has retreated and pulled his troops out of Greenbloom. We need to get more soldiers and attack.

I thought our order was to kill that company that has been annoying the Black One.

It was, but our priority has changed now.

None should dare to gainsay the orders of the Black One. That killing task came directly from the Pit.

Another order was to do what was the top importance to the success of the Black One. I think that this would qualify.

Shut up! The Black One has sent new orders. Three of us must attack Greenbloom, the other three should kill that company.

That sounds fair.

We are agreed, then. This council is convened.

They got up and flew out of Aerbane, following the orders of the Black One.

The thought in all of their minds was to complete their tasks, and to do them well, at whatever cost of other lives. For they were Souleaters, and other lives mattered nothing to them. The Wyrms shrieked and flew faster, speeding towards their destinations, each in opposite directions, Thazanc and Greenbloom.