The shadows were lengthening down the face of the mountain above when Callan called a halt. They had yet to even come into sight of the pass Jeck had spied from above. The others gathered around.
‘Do we camp or do we conitinue on?’
‘It’s your call, Callan,’ Delbridge said.
‘And I’m asking your opinions.’ Cal looked at Jeck. ‘How far from this pass do you think we are?’
Jeck peered into the falling gloom ahead of them. ‘Not far, I reckon.’
‘Will we make it by dark?’
Jeck shrugged. ‘It didn’t look like too hard going.’
‘What would you do?’
‘I’d carry on.’
Callan nodded. ‘Then we carry on.’ He gestured for Jeck to lead the way.
Delbridge followed him, with Kenned behind and Callan last of all. The sun had all but disappeared behind the highest peaks when they came to the defile. Jeck turned back and shot Callan a grin. ‘Easy going! We’ll be past and asleep before ye know it!’
Callan was about to call back to Jeck to keep moving when a shadow dropped from the rocks above and into their midst. Kenned yelled, half in shock, half in terror, as the thing swiped at him. The young ranger stumbled backward into Callan, and both fell hard onto the rocks.
The shadow turned to face Delbridge and Jeck. Del managed to get a hand to the hilt of the sword at his hip, but he got no further than that. The creature’s dark claws glistened in the fading light as it leapt and tore at Del’s throat. The cold iron scent of the wind was suddenly full of the coppery tang of blood, of death. Del sank bonelessly to the ground, gurgling his last breath. The shadow threw aside his body and strode toward where Jeck stood planted, spear levelled at the thing’s heart. ‘Try me, shadowspawn!’
The shadow screamed as it attacked, a sound that chilled Callan to the bone even more than the biting wind. It sounded like nothing so much as metal scraping metal, though Callan thought there was something in it that spoke of a mother grieving for a lost child. It darted to the right, but Jeck’s spear was as quick, jabbing out to catch the thing on its indistinct thigh. Dark blood welled, but the shadow took no notice; it spun inside Jeck’s spear and slapped at the old man’s chest. Jeck went down with a cry.
Callan had managed to untangle himself from beneath Kenned. The young man was alive and unmarked, but frozen with fear. Callan had no time for him. Sword in hand, he rushed at the thing that had killed his men. A wordless cry filled his throat. The shadow turned to confront him, and met his first sword-stroke with its iron-hard claws. Callan swung again and again, throwing all his rage into each blow, but the thing met every stroke, driving the ranger back. Callan gave ground, and suddenly the creature was on the offensive, lashing out with both hands. Callan was barely able to catch the blows on his blade, or duck out of the way. The shadow slashed again, and Cal was too slow; a pain like fire sliced down his forearm, and he fell to the ground. The sword clattered from his grasp. The shadow stood over him, screaming in triumph. Callan waited for the final blow, waited for the release of death.
It didn’t come. The shadow’s triumphant scream died in its throat, silenced by a clothyard shaft tipped in iron and fletched with goosefeathers. Callan looked over his shoulder to see Kenned standing astride the path, face drained of colour, longbow quivering in hand. ‘Gods…’ he said in a small voice.
The shadow-creature crumpled to the rocks at Callan’s feet. The ranger scampered back, his eyes never leaving the dying thing. It seemed to become more solid as it passed, more tangible. Rippling blue-black fur covered its body. Its face was squat, brow heavy, its nose a slit and its mouth a nightmare of teeth. The eyes fixed Cal in their glare, and he shuddered with the malevolence he saw there. He jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up into Kenned’s grey eyes. ‘Jeck.’
Callan looked past the creature, and saw what Ken meant; Jeck was lying on the trail, his chest still rising fitfully. Kenned helped Callan get to his feet. The ranger took up his sword from where it lay on the stones, and walked toward the thing. It was dead, or so close it didn’t matter. Still, Callan raised the sword and brought it down hard on the thing’s neck. Then he cast the sword aside and went to Jeck’s side.
There was a growing patch of darkness on the old man’s tunic, where the wraith’s claws had torn his flesh. Jeck half-coughed, half-sobbed. Crimson blood and frothy spit flecked his grey beard. Callan knelt beside him. He was vaguely aware of Kenned standing over him.
‘The thing?’ Jeck whispered.
‘Dead. Ken killed it.’
‘Good.’ Jeck looked at the boy. ‘You’ll do, lad. You’ll do.’ He coughed. ‘You’ve got to get to, to the gate… tell them….’
‘We will,’ Callan said. ‘We’ll patch you up, and we’ll go at first light.’
‘Fool.’ Jeck coughed again. ‘You know what it was, lad?’
Callan nodded.
‘Tell them. Warn them.’ Summoning all the strength he had left, Jeck grasped Callan’s hand. ‘He’s coming, and we’re all that stands before him. Tell them.’
‘I’ll tell them.’ Tears crept down Callan’s face.
‘Good lad,’ said Jeck. After that, he didn’t speak. When he’d gone, Callan stood.
‘Get your pack,’ he said to Kenned. ‘We leave now.’
Kenned hesitated. ‘Jeck and Del…’
‘They’d understand.’
Kenned nodded, and went to fetch his pack. Callan went and picked up his sword. He hacked two fingers off the thing’s right hand, and wrapped them in a scrap of Del’s cloak. When that was done he went through first Del’s and then Jeck’s gear, salvaging food, water, anything that would be of use. He took the bone-handled dagger from Del’s boot and slid it through his belt. Stooping to pick up Jeck’s spear, he called out to Kenned. ‘Ready?’
Kenned loped up. ‘Ready.’ He had a look of determination in his eye. ‘You said you knew what that thing was?’
Callan nodded grimly. ‘It was a wraith. A servant of the Demon Lord.’
‘Then the Wall?’
‘There’s a breach.’ Callan shouldered his pack. ‘Come on. We’ve a long way to go.’ Without a look back, they set off into the dark night.
