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  "Since you have given your word, your 'manling friend' need not be tied --- but he will have to give up his weapons. That way I can be sure he'll cause no harm ." Thorn shook his head and grinned. "Baily, you're an ass."

  ***

  Erin's first glimpse of The Root was not what he had expected. They had just topped the rise of yet another wooded hill and stood gazing down into a lush, green valley. A patchwork-quilt of fields lay before them, crisscrossed by meandering stone fences. Here and there cattle and sheep grazed, while a lazy stream wound its way through the length and breadth of the picturesque vale. Groves of enormously tall trees seem scattered about, with the largest being beside a small lake off to the right. It was to these trees that Erin's gaze was drawn.

  Never in all his wanderings had he seen such giants. Even from where he stood they seemed to soar up and up, piercing the very clouds themselves. So thick and broad were their branches that it seemed a man might walk along them as though they were a vast system of connecting roads. Then, upon closer inspection, he was amazed to see that was exactly what was taking place! Tiny figures moved along the great limbs. They emerged from what appeared to be 'houses' built high in the towering trees, connected by ladders, arched wooden bridges and swaying rope walkways.

  Erin was having his first look at The Root, the 'Tree Village' of the Kirkwean. "Well, 'friend', what do you think?"

  The only response the tall mercenary could give was to stare slack-jawed. Thorn seemed to take this as a compliment. "If you're through gaping, then we might yet be in time for supper. Granther Higgs makes a passable rabbit stew, and later we can wash it down with a pint of ale at The Owl's Roost!"

  ***

  Just about the time that Erin was seeing The Root for the first time, the Chin archer Kel groaned and opened his eyes. His head pounded and his throat felt like it was on fire --- yet he was alive, and that was more than he had expected. He had been 'defeated in battle' and therefore he 'should' be dead. The fact that he wasn't gave him little reason to rejoice, for now he was bound by the warrior code of the Chin: He had to either kill Erin or become his servant. Though Kel had no desire to be a 'slave to a slave', he felt that killing Erin might prove more difficult than first expected.

  He retrieved both his bow and one of the pair of the long-bladed knives he used instead of a sword, then picked his way back down the cliff. He found Nex's body near-naked but still breathing. A slight hint of a smile flitted across his stony features to see the pompous 'Slather' in such a humiliating condition. Kel himself would have taken his own life rather than let himself be shamed so --- but then these northern barbarians had no true sense of honor!

  Kel shook Nex roughly and helped him to his unsteady feet. The big Slather ranted and raved at him for 'letting the wolf's head escape', but Kel just shrugged and started off towards the river, leaving a red-faced and bare assed Nex to hobble along behind as best he could.

  ***

  "What do you mean we've not time for a mug of ale?! I've been fighting Erg-cursed 'Slathers' all day, Baily, and I'm bone dry!"

  They were high up in the tree village, near the inn called the Owl's Rest. High Warder Baily Broadbeam grinned back at Thorn. Four of his guards stood just behind him. Curious Kirkweans on the many arched wooden bridges that linked the great trees stared at the notorious upstart Bramblethorn Higgs and the strange giant 'manling'. Most had never seen one of 'the tall folk' before, and now, with the High Warder and his troop blocking the way, a fair size crowd had begun to gather. Talk of 'Slathers' had made them all very nervous.

  It was Granther Higgs who solved the problem. Stepping forward, the thin but still wiry old Kirkwean pointed a knobby finger at Broadbeam. "Baily, I've known you all your life and even when you were a little shaver you were always a pompous ass. Now that I've retired and you've taken my place as High Warder, you're even more of an ass!"

  There was a great deal of chatter at this, and a great deal of chuckling as well. Broadbeam's round face reddened and his bushy brows knitted into one fury line. Trying to speak, his lips moved like a fish out of water.

  "Now see here, Higgs, you've no call to speak to me like that! It's the Erg-Leath Herself who sent me to fetch the 'outlander' and your wayward offspring, and I'll thank you to show more respect for the office you yourself once held!"

  "The Lady is here?", Granther demanded. "Why didn't you say so?!"

  Broadbeam drew himself up, thrusting out both his chest and his considerable belly. "You're not the High Warder anymore, 'old timer', and the Erg-Leath's affairs are no longer any concern of yours."

  The elder Kirkwean tugged at his wispy beard. Baily Broadbeam might have jumped off the high bridge and vanished for all the attention the ex-High Warder paid him. Granther turned to his nephew. "Thorn, The Lady will want to know about the Slathers. Tell her all and hold nothing back. Take your big friend along with you. She'll be at The Forge. I'll be along directly. Now go, for it doesn't pay to keep the Erg-Leath waiting!"

  As Erin followed after Thorn, he tried to find out more about this mysterious 'Lady'.

  "It's THE Lady to you, 'friend'!”, Thorn snapped. “And mind you keep a civil tongue in that head of yours when you speak to her, which you WON'T do unless you are spoken to!"

  When pressed further, all Thorn would say was that 'The Lady' was a term of both respect and endearment for the Erg-Leath. "We Kirkweans", he said as they wound their way groundward; "believe in ERG, the Father of the Gods. It was Erg Himself, according to ancient legend, that hammered out all of Creation in his celestial forge. The Earth itself is seen as 'His Bride or Wife', symbolized in human form by The Erg-Leath, a female Kirkwean chosen by the 'retired Erg-Leath' and passed on down the line."

  Erin grinned. "Then it's to a priestess you be takin' me?"

  They were at the base of the great trees now and Thorn stopped short and fixed the tall 'manling' with his sky-blue eyes. "A 'priestess' you say? Aye, The Lady is that right enough, but you'll find no 'temples' or 'pagan sacrifices' here. But she is more than that as well. We of The Wold see her as a kind of 'protector', though not of the body so much as the spirit."

  Erin looked down on the little creature and smiled. All his wild life he had seen many 'bodies' that need protecting, but never once a 'spirit'.

  Thorn caught his look and snapped. "And don't be thinking that The Lady can't see through your 'outsider ways'! She can look into a person's heart as well as the future --- and remember, mind your tongue!"

  The Forge was the only large stone building in the Root. Nestled on a finger of land jutting into the smaller of two lakes, it seemed a part of the rocks and trees. A gurgling stream from the bigger lake wound its way down a waterfall, over a revolving wheel, under an arched stone bridge and finally into a small pond behind the building. Two stories high, the top part served as the village mill, while the bottom section was a blacksmith's shop. The waterwheel powered both the grindstone and the bellows.

  When they reached the large double doors they were greeted by a burly looking Kirkwean with a balding head and overlarge, soot blackened hands. "There you are Thorn," he said, taking a quick glance at Erin and then turning his attention back to Thorn. "I was going to send my son after you, but then that fool Baily turned up, and well, you know Baily."

  Erin caught a glimpse of a small, tousle-headed young Kirkwean peeping out from around the corner of the building. While Thorn and the blacksmith continued to talk in their native tongue, Erin winked at the small child. The overlarge eyes blinked, paused, then attempted to wink back. Erin tilted back his head and laughed and the two stopped talking and stared at him with puzzled expressions.

  "It's the wee barren!", the tall mercenary laughed. "Such a look he gave me; an' me after thinkin' that you, friend Thorn, were the funniest sight I've ever laid eyes on!"

  Corg the blacksmith shook his head and called out something in Kirkwean, then turned and continued in heavily accented Trade Tongue. "You'll have to excuse young Brin, stranger. Th
e lad's never seen an 'outs...', a 'man' before."

  Erin continued to grin. "It's understandin' I be, for till today I'd never seen the likes o' you either."

  "Where's The Lady?", Thorn cut in. "Old Broadass Baily said she was here."A soft, musical voice spoke from the shadows of the Forge. "And so I am, Thorn. 'Old Broadass' was correct."

  The wiry little Kirkwean went as red as the setting sun, whose golden rays now fell directly on the small figure standing in the doorway. To Erin she seemed like something out of a dream; a long forgotten dream of childhood that had somehow come to life. Little more than a vel in height, she hardly came up to Erin's chest; though in all else she was the most beautiful 'woman' he had ever seen. Her thick, long hair covered her like a shimmering golden shawl, held by a circlet of silver round her forehead. She wore a gown of forest green, belted with a silver clasp round a waist that Erin could have easily spanned with his two hands. High cheekbones and a small but full mouth gave her a look of nobility, yet like all the Kirkweans he had met, it was her eyes that drew him. Deep pools of shifting green, larger than human ones and slightly turned up at the corners --- they seemed to look into his very soul, touching corners of his mind that he hadn't thought existed. Corg's voice drifted through to him as though from far away. "... and this, Narya, is the 'manling' that Thorn pulled from the river. He had just escaped from a Glitch Slath."

  Erin felt her gaze wash over him again, those eyes drawing him inward; probing, seeking out answers to her unvoiced questions. Despite her beauty, the tall mercenary felt more than his manhood stirred, for it was obvious to even such a practical weaponsman like himself that 'The Lady' had great power; power that could only be called 'magic'! He tried to hold her intense gaze, but soon found his knees weakening as well as his will. To cover up, he bowed low. "Erin ap Conn I be, m'lady. From the far distant Isles o' Loamin."

  She smiled and tilted her head. A cascade of honey colored hair tumbled over her left shoulder. When she spoke her voice was surprisingly deep for one so small. "This 'Loamin', is it perchance part of the Land of the Slaths?"

  Erin shook his head. "No, m'lady. The Slathers dwell far to the north n' west o' Loamin, beyond the Twin Isles."

  "Then how came you to be their slave?"

  Erin tried out his best smile. "Ah, that's too long a tale for now, darlin' girl, what with a boatload o' black-hearted Slathers on their wicked way here."

  Narya's own smile matched his for slyness. "And just why, 'darlin' man', should these 'black-hearted Slathers' bother with us?"

  Erin stood tall and thumped his mail-clad chest. "Why, t'is simple, lass --- because I'm here."

  Behind him Corg sucked in air like the great bellows he worked, while Thorn moaned loudly at the manling's flippant manner. Never before had anyone dared to speak so to the Erg-Leath!

  The Lady, however, merely raised one golden eyebrow and motioned them all inside. As Erin bowed, he caught another glimpse of Brin, the blacksmith's tousle-haired son peeking round the corner. He gave the lad another mischievous wink, and was rewarded this time by a fine, wide grin.

  ***

  Chapter 5: THE ATTACK

  In the early morning light, the river mist swirled about like ghostly fingers, leaving clinging droplets of moisture on the waiting Kirkwean. All about them the dark forest slowly began to stir itself; the creatures of the night silently giving way to the creatures of the day.

  And still they waited; waited for the first sight or sound of that would harold the coming of the terrible Glitch Slath.

  "I hope this works!", Timin whispered from his hiding place in the shadows. "I can't hardly see past my nose!" Despite his sore back, the pudgy little Kirkwean had insisted on coming. Thorn winked at his life-long companion.

  "It will, as long as that fool Broadass does his part."

  Erin, unable to follow their strange tongue, eased the strap on his shield and peered into the cottony-whiteness. Though he couldn't see half way to mid-stream, his sensitive ears caught an all too familiar sound --- oars slowly moving in rhythm. The Slathlander's 'Dragon Ship' was coming!

  Just then a bird call floated down on the pre-dawn wind. All about him small figures began to edge closer to the shore. The Glitch Slath had been sighted and the Kirkwean were preparing to do battle.

  Thorn clutched the tall manling's mail-clad arm. "Remember what we planned, 'friend'. Stay in the shadows and use the bow I gave you. We want to keep the 'Slathers' on the river where we can catch them in our crossfire. If they do try to land, we fall back into the woods and strike again later. None of your 'outlander heroics' this day!"

  Erin grinned back at the blue-eyed little creature. "The long bow was never my weapon, 'friend', n' this wee 'toy' here even less so; but I'll do as you say--- for now."

  Thorn gave him a burning look and took up his own bow. All about them other Kirkwean did the same. Across the river an equal number of the small folk, led by High Warder Broadbeam, would also be making ready. The trap was set, and waited only for 'the dragon' to spring it.

  Suddenly the mist parted close to the shore and the hideous life-like head of a 'great worm' rose up before them. Thorn, momentarily taken back by the nearness of it, rose up and shouted, at the same time drawing his bow and seeking a target.

  A horn sounded and over two score of small arrows took flight. The grotesque figurehead sprouted shafts, while many a scream split the air --- yet still the prow of the Glitch Slath continued to move towards the shore.

  "They're trying to land!", Timin yelled.

  "Keep shooting!", Thorn hissed. "Drive them back!"

  The midsection of the ship could now clearly be seen. Large forms scrambled about, shields held high and arms brandishing either long, wicked 'shims' or great, heavy Slathaxes. The screams of pain filled the air as the Kirkweans kept up their fire, yet fierce war cries also rumbled through the swirling fog as the 'dragon ship' continued to come closer and closer.

  Erin, after trying several times to use the small bow, threw it down in disgust and drew his long sword. Hefting his round buckler, he prepared to advance.

  Almost at the shore now, enraged 'Slathers' began to boil over the side of their craft. Their harsh cries and clashing weapons struck fear into the small forest folk. Several of the invaders splashed ashore and fell upon a startled group of Wee'ns. Long 'shim' and heavy Slathaxe crashed down. Moments later the lifeless bodies of the little people were carelessly tossed aside.

  Thorn turned to scream for the horn to sound retreat when he saw a tall figure rush forward and engage two of the 'Slathers'. The sound of iron striking leather, flesh and bone rent the air. Both Slathers were down, yet three more took their place .

  "It's the 'outlander'!", Timin yelled. "He's taking on the whole Erg-cursed lot of them!"

  "Not alone!", Thorn growled. Drawing his small Kirkaxe, Thorn charged out of trees, screaming the ancient battle cry of his race. " For Erg and The Wold!"

  Timin, hardly able to believe his eyes, stood in shock as he watched his best friend run towards death. It had all gone suddenly wrong! The plan had been to catch them in mid-stream! Fill them full of arrows and then fade away. This was madness! Then, his heart pounding, Timin drew his belt knife, turned and shouted. "Durst! Sound the bloody charge!!"

  As the horn bleated out its seldom used call, Timin rushed forward, wildly calling his cousin's name. The other Kirkwean blinked in disbelief, shrugged, then followed.

  The 'Battle of Nal Verg-Loth' had begun.

  ***

  After the third Slather went down 'the Yiffrin' or 'Battle Rage' took Erin. Twice before the mercenary had been caught in its cold, hard grip. The first time he was but a stippling of seventeen winters. There had been a 'duel of honor' back in his homeland of Loamin. The 'rage' had washed over him like a red wave and when it had passed another youth, a lord's son, lay dead. He had been branded outlaw and banished, never to return on pain of death. The second time the Yiffrin had taken him was during a sea battle several years
ago. He had awoken to find a great slaughter all around him, while even his own shipmates had drawn back from his wild-eyed gaze. Then and there he had vowed to never fall under its cruel grip again.

  And now the Yiffrin had taken him yet another time. While in it’s powerful grip, he moved as though in a dream. The numbers before him meant nothing. Pain registered not at all. The ache of his swordarm was like a lover’s caress. In the swirling cauldron of his brain, his eyes saw only a red slaughter --- and all that mattered was the killing.

  ***

  Ragnol stood on the raised stern, his hungry eyes peering through the swirling fog. On the main deck, Nex was bellowing orders. Both saw the tall 'killing machine' making its crimson way towards them.

  "Nex! It's that bloody slave!" Due to his broken nose, Ragnol's voice had a distinctively nasal quality to it.

  "Aye!", Nex growled. "And the bastard is wearing my armor!" He started forward, but Ragnol called him back.

  "The Yiffrin has him! I've seen it before, and you'll not stop him alone. Take some men with you. I'll get archers!"

  Nex sneered back at his commander. "You do that 'captain', but I'll finish this 'foreigner' myself!" There was no mistaking the hatred in Nex's cold eyes, yet just who he hated the most was hard to tell. Ragnol watched the fool go, then turned and called to a passing warrior.

  "Selkin! Find the archer Kel and send him to me!"

  "The Slant-Eye?", Selkin asked.

  Ragnol nodded, his three-fingered hand going unconsciously to his broken nose. "Yes, fool! Get me the bloody Chin!"

  ***

  Thorn found the 'battle' like nothing he had ever experienced before. Kirkweans, though tough and hardy, were not warriors. In their distant past, 'hit and run' tactics had been the mark of the Kirkwean; striking swiftly and silently with their deadly shafts and then fading away like wraiths back into the forest. Over the centuries such a ploy had helped to build up the mystique that the legendary 'Wee'ns' were in fact something 'beyond human'. Yet it had been several generations since they had been called on to repel an invader. What little contact they had with the outside world came from either wandering tinkers and traders or from the Kirks. Kirks were their distant cousins in the south and east. Long ago they had wandered out of the Wold and settled among the 'tall folk'. Most Kirkweans, even the Kirks, were hunters and farmers, not fighters.