Demon of the Black Gate

Sinjin left the cave, stepping out onto the small bench that lay at the entrance. A path went south, a rocky, twisting trail fit for goats. To the left, the way was a narrow stone lip, where the rock had slid back on itself. The empty space beyond took his breath away. The granite face fell away without relief to a carpet of trees over two thousand feet below. The air in front of him was empty and pulled at him. The goat path looked safer, but continued upward for the piece that he could see. No horse tracks. In the other direction, no tracks would be left on the slice of rock that constituted a trail. It had a slight downward pitch as it curved around out of sight.

He edged himself down the outcropping. He would have felt uncomfortable having to pass someone else. He saw the end of the rock face, where the lip gave way to a wider shelf and some clinging trees. There was a small break in the outcropping. He made his way across the short span, clinging to the rock face before scrambling up a loose face of rock. He sat back on the edge, breathing heavily. He liked his nature walks closer to earth he decided. He looked at the small gap, and saw the hoof marks where an animal had scrambled. A horse. He saw no other marks. Had she ridden her horse across that narrow shelf? He shook his head. No one he knew would dare ride such a path, few would even venture to lead a horse or mule. This woman continued to baffle him, and he was more convinced she must be a sorceress. He spotted the small hummock where the grasses had been pressed down and where it had been pinched and torn. She had spent the night here. By the marks on the trail, the woman was not quite a day ahead of him.

He looked out over the vast expanse afforded by the view. Below, the vast forest spread East and North, and South he could see where it gave away to the grass plains of Alatian. This close to the mountains, the plains melded in to a narrow strip of the Assai Desert before reaching the Emerald River, or further South, the Sultan Sea.

The sky was darkening. The narrow ridge leading from the cliff was a knifes edge and would be treacherous in bad light. Although he wanted to continue on, he thought better of it, and like Cerra had before, settled down in the burrow. He was near asleep when he heard the howl of a wolf far below. It did not concern him. He had other matters on his mind as he drifted to sleep.

The first light grazed the high peaks early. Sinjin broke camp and started down the narrow winding beaten track that balanced its way along the sharp ridge. He would eat rations from his pack as he walked.

The trail eased off the ridge before plastering itself against precipitous walls as it worked its way down the bold face of the Granite Mountains. No foothills eased the transition here. The great range had thrust up from the forest in monumental walls and cliffs, a collision of worlds.

Though the trail had ceased being used by man to access the mine, animals still traversed it regularly, the only path available. As sighted from the forest the way would be so obscured as suggest no passage existed at all.

Sinjin kept up his pace. He reached a spot in the great cliffs, where aeons ago the walls of the mountain had collapsed between two brutish shoulders of rock, slumping in a great heap to the vale below. The trail twisted and turned back on itself using the remnants of the ancient slide as its steep narrow grade. He could see the trail nearly to the bottom. A brief observation revealed no one below.

He kept to the trail, and the childish inclination hit him to cut every corner. Though this was not the cliff he had just traversed, a reckless step could still be deadly. There was no one to carry him out should he sprain an ankle or break a bone.

He was nearing the last of the switchbacks, longer and shallower than the scores of turns that preceded it, when he heard brush moving beyond him. He was close to a major creek. The movement was brief, but he heard another. He froze. The spacing and action was that of wolves, and though he hadn’t seen them yet, he knew they were there. He looked for an advantageous spot and saw one where the trail turned at the base of a large cedar. They couldn’t surround him there. The tree and the embankment would give him some buffer on two sides. He drew one of his many knives from under his cloak, and unsheathed his sword. He checked about him as he started edging to the spot, but it was then that one of the beasts emerged from the brush and stood in the trail looking at him, growling.

Sinjin didn’t stop, but kept his wary pace, approaching the wolf. He could hear the others, though he wasn’t sure of the number. He didn’t dare stop. The wolf on the trail started to move to one side as if to let him pass, snarling low. Sinjin flicked his knife, which buried to the hilt in the side of the wolf, behind the left foreleg. The wolf fell with a howl. Sinjin darted forward as the bush erupted around him. He whipped a cut at the one that charged him, snapping at his ankles and another snarled at his leg, grabbing hold.

The first wolf was slashed down with a terrifying yelp, while the other nearly pulled Sinjin from his feet with a rending tear of its jaws before he was able to grapple it and slice its neck. He dashed to the tree and turned to face more attackers. Beyond the turn was one large grey wolf that sat staring at him. Behind were three more, blocking the trail. He knew there were more, and he was guessing they were ahead of him, near the one that blocked the trail. None of the wolves approached him. Sinjin rested for a moment. Leaving the tree at the moment could be fatal. The muscle of his leg where the wolf had bitten was beginning to throb. He looked down to see ragged patches of blood, skin, and trouser.Some of the muscle felt torn. He pulled at his shirt and ripped off a strip. He bound his leg over the blooded pants.

He wanted to know how many there were, and where. If they kept attacking him in two’s or three’s he would be ok. It was the one he wouldn’t see. If he lost his footing, he’d have little chance with these large beasts.

They had ventured no closer. The big one that now guarded the trail sat waiting. Sinjin slid against the tree. The three behind were still there, recumbant with patient stares. Sinjin could not afford to let this waiting game go on. He would be more vulnerable at night. He got to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his leg. He wished for a bow, but that thought was dismissed immediately. He eased to the fallen wolf that still had one of his knives protruding from its side. He drew it from the wolf, and started down the path. The wolf that had been waiting there had risen when Sinjin made his move to retrieve his knife. He now let out two quick barks and left the trail. The three behind him started closing and that moment Sinjin turned and threw two knives in quick succession at the trailing wolves, both striking their marks. They fell howling while the third escaped to the brush.

Sword out, Sinjin quickened his pace. Four wolves had been dispatched, and he guessed there were still four left. He heard their movements scattered and brief, but he kept moving, watching every side. They didn’t seem to be following him at the moment. He thought they might be attending to their own wounded. He didn’t know the ways of wolves, but as long as there was a reprieve he’d keep moving.

There were a few more turns of the trail, the last of the switchbacks, before it headed south unbroken for a long stretch. The path leveled out just before it crossed a rock-strewn creek embraced with large sandy patches.

He saw the firepit, the hoofmarks and the footprints of the woman. There were also wolf prints. Many. He could tell that they had been made at the same time. There was no sign of struggle, and checking he could see that she had left the area after the wolves had. There was no blood, no sign of struggle. The woman was obviously a powerful witch, and had called upon the wolves to protect her. The wolves were still close, of that he had no doubt. He checked the firepit, fully expecting to find another beryl, but to his disappointment, there was none. He felt the three he had in his purse.

Sinjin heard the crack of brush and snapped his head up. The wolves were near, but not showing themselves. The sounds of their movement went back and forth, but the noise of the cascade and the mottled grey of their fur made them impossible to spot in the thick foliage beyond the creek. As far as he could tell, all of the remaining wolves were gathered there. He looked nervously about, and then back at the creek. He saw one, then another as they crossed sparser ground closer to the water, but the sightings were quick and gone, before another noise to his left drew his attention.And then it was quiet.

He could feel his heartbeat. Humans. He knew how to deal with humans. They were predictable, and the confrontations expected. These beasts though. Animals, and who knows what they think. He stared at the far side of the creek, trying to pick up the sound of movement over the meaningless babble of the water. He could see no wolves.

It was the sense of movement that brought him around, swinging his arm up in reflex and slashing his knife with the other, barely a motion ahead of the wolf that had launched itself at his head. The great snarling weight crashed down on him, jaws snapping at his forearms even as he blocked and cut. The wolf screamed in mortal pain, thrashing on top of him, while another beast came in underneath. He had only seconds to regain his feet. He pulled his knife from the spasming body and slashed at the face of the other with his sword, heaving himself from under the gasping beast. The second wolf scattered back, its sensitive nose sliced and bleeding. He threw the knife, striking the beast in the neck. It staggered with a mournful yelp pulled and lurched itself away, half its body was already dead. Sinjin was standing and crouched, aware of every direction. Everything.

Six wolves dispatched. The two wolves at the other side of the creek had halted. The big one with the white blaze, the one that had blocked the trail, along with a smokier dark grey were vibrating with menacing growls, but made no sign to attack.

He slipped his hand into a small pouch and drew out a dart. He didn’t want to use these, for there were just five, each one precious, for the poison was deadly and very difficult to find. The bamboo tube in two parts slipped from his belt. He quickly fashioned them together and slipped the dart into the tube, careful that he avoided any contact with the tip. He laid out a second dart, ready. He had seen someone handle these carelessly, and a nervous hand does not produce an experienced user. He would be dead before he could pucker his lips and blow. The darker of the two made a growling sound, moving to turn away. He puffed. The missile struck the beast, who yelped and snatched at the dart like snapping at a bee. That was all it could do before a spasm shook it to stillness, felling the wolf. He carefully slipped the second dart into the tube, but the blazoned wolf was not to be seen. Or heard.

He sat on one of the rocks by the creek, and waited, alert for the slightest sound. The only sound was the creek. He didn’t even hear a bird or insect. He unwrapped the gash on his leg, and bathed it in water. He didn’t want to risk any chance of infection. It throbbed from the partial tears the wolves’ teeth had made. He rebound the wound tightly, the gashes would need to be closed to knit well.

The witch was ahead of him, and mounted. He would do well to keep up, and his leg would hinder him some now. He filled his water flask from the creek and looked about. Nothing.

Sinjin followed the worn trail from the creek. It wove unevenly through the dense forest, sometimes straight and well planned, and at others crooked and varying. There were numerous minor offshoots, and he had to stop many times to make sure the trail he was on was the right one. He noticed no backtracking from the woman. By the evidence of her tracks, she neither walked beside nor galloped the horse where there would have been opportunity to do so. She seemed to be heading mostly south. He also felt that the tracks were getting less fresh. He was losing ground, and his leg was beginning to feel sore.

It was at a large meadow where the evidence of man came evident. Remains of stone walls and posts girded the meadow. The trappings of commerce were unmistakeable. The south end of the meadow was clearly the main gate where remains of the enclosure still arched over stone pavers. Another, smaller gate lay broken to the eastern edge of the grounds.

The womans track meandered to the east rather than the expected south gate. He did not know the forest. Much of it was unknown lands, where woodcutters worked the fringes and left the rest much to the wild things that lived there. But if she was indeed headed south, she would meet the plains and from there, only the seaport of Oskara could be considered a destination. He could not hope to overtake her as it was. He was taking a big chance if her destination lay in the woods itself, but his intuition said no. Besides, feeling his leg, he would do well himself to get to Oskara quickly. He set out to the right, stepping up his pace in spite of the burn from the gash. He would change the dressing at the next rushing water creek. Much of the water in this thick woods was pooled and stagnant. Once he was at the great steppes, he’d have a good chance of getting a horse, for the Cherros circulated over the vast fields.

He would pick up the trail of this woman, this resourceful witch, of that he had no doubt.