The cataclysm t2-2 Page 9

But the boy did not run into the trees to welcome a gang of murderers. He did not call a greeting to comrades. Instead, he let out a fearful yell and, stumbling over himself, began running down the hill. Marakion stared curiously into the trees to see what was following.

  A huge ogre burst from the foliage. Sallow and crustyskinned, the ogre charged forward with long, quick strides. Wet brambles and a few straggling pine needles showered off the creature as it ran, sending snow flying in a blinding flurry.

  Marakion cursed as he watched the ogre closing on the boy. The damned ogre was ruining everything! Scaring off Marakion's guide, the ogre might kill the boy before Marakion could question him!

  Gylar's heart beat against his rib cage like a woodpecker. The snow impeded every step of his short legs, while the ogre's strides cleared the terrain as though it were midsummer ground. It was just a matter of time. Gylar gulped for air as he struggled onward. His mind had gone numb, and all he could think of was escape. He'd heard stories about what ogres did to children…

  Just at the height of his despair, when the ogre loomed over him, casting a nightlike shadow that engulfed Gylar, the strap of his pack slipped off his shoulder.

  If Gylar had been thinking straight, he'd have abandoned his pack and kept going, but he reflexively hung onto it as it scraped the snow. Too late, he realized his error. The momentum of his flight sent him sprawling, then tumbling down the hill. He careened into a snowbank in a fluff of white.

  The massive arm of the ogre plunged into the snow, groped around, then plucked out a struggling Gylar. The ogre's craggy mouth split like a crack in a tree's bark, revealing a fairly complete row of sharp teeth as dingy yellow as the ogre's mottled skin.

  Twenty feet away, Marakion leaned against a tree, listening. A shimmer ran the length of Glint.

  The ogre chuckled at the boy as it began to walk home. "Glad came," the ogre said, with a thick, grating accent. "Hungry, me. We eat, I and you." The ogre chuckled again, sounded like someone scraping rough rocks together. "Take home you to me. Dinner, we have — "

  "Not today." Marakion said clearly in the frosty air as the two walked past the tree he stood behind. The ogre took one look at Marakion and dropped the boy into the snow with a snarl.

  But Marakion was on the ogre before it could even raise its arms in defense. Marakion kicked out, struck the ogre in the knee, swung the Hat end of Glint into the side of the ogre's head.

  The creature went down in a tumble of arms and snow. Marakion stood ready as the ogre surged onto its feet. It was calm, imposing.

  "Leave, friend. The boy is under my protection. If you have any wits at all, you'll seek food elsewhere. Surely catching a deer could not be as much trouble as this little one will cost you."

  The ogre growled, flexing its muscles under its rough yellow skin, but it did not take a step forward. It was accustomed to fearful enemies, not one facing it with confidence. The ogre showed its teeth viciously. "Hungry. Food mine. You leave."

  "Not on your life." Marakion smiled, his stance immobile. It felt good to fight, for whatever reason. The despair, the frustration, the hopelessness — all disappeared when Marakion went into combat. "You leave, or we fight. If you insist, I must say I'm really in the mood for the battle. Is it worth it?"

  The ogre stood swaying back and forth, wondering, perhaps, what it was that made this human brave enough to challenge it. It showed its teeth again. "Hungry!" it growled, clenching and unclenching its clawed fists anxiously.

  Marakion's eyes narrowed. "Times are hard for all of us, friend. Everyone's got — "

  Marakion didn't have time to finish his sentence. The ogre — a madness in its eyes, daws extended — charged the knight.

  Having thought he was actually having some effect with his words, Marakion was surprised by the sudden onslaught. Quick reflexes moved him to the side of the hulking swing that cracked a tree trunk behind him.

  Marakion slid under the ogre's arm and dodged behind the yellow giant. His sword flashed out, slashing once, twice on the ogre's back. Blood welled from cuts, a muted crack sounded. Broken bone, Marakion realized. The ogre roared in pain, struck out with its huge fist. Yellow-fleshed arm bone and steel whacked together harshly, and the ogre howled again.

  Another huge yellow hand came down. Marakion didn't have enough leverage to sidestep. The jagged claws raked his left side. He grabbed hold of the forearm and slammed Glint's pommel into the ogre's left eye. A follow-up strike cracked into the side of the bark-skinned head. The ogre reeled backward, stunned. Marakion hit it again and again.

  Snow exploded outward as the huge body fell heavily to the ground. Jumping forward, Marakion hovered over the ogre like a dark angel, clenching Glint tightly in his fist. His breathing was hard and quick. He stared down at the ogre, waiting for it to rise again, waiting for it to attack.

  The ogre didn't rise, though the eyes fluttered open. Marakion raised his finely honed arm, preparing to end the creature's life, then he paused. The rough yellow hide was pulled tight over the protrusion of the creature's ribs; the bloody, bruised face was gaunt. The ogre's muscles were thin, hunger-wasted.

  Marakion lowered Glint. The ogre struggled sluggishly to get up, only to fail and plunge back into the snow. It raised its arms a bit in a feeble attempt to ward off another blow — one that never descended.

  This wasn't a monster, Marakion thought, just another creature devastated by the Cataclysm, whose life had been turned upside down, ruined, like his own. The ogre was just trying to survive. Marakion wondered what lengths he would go to if he were starving. Definitely he wouldn't be above eating ogre flesh.

  Marakion noticed the young boy watching his deliberation.

  "Go on," the man said harshly to the ogre. "I gave you one chance. This is your second. You won't get a third."

  The emaciated ogre finally made it to its feet. Its unswollen eye gave one final, hungry look at Gylar, then it turned and limped slowly into the woods from which it had come, blood drops dotting its tracks.

  Marakion's brow furrowed. Sheathing Glint, he turned to face the boy.

  "What's your name?" Marakion asked harshly.

  The boy looked dazed, still recovering from shock and fright. "Uh, Gylar, sir. I… Thanks," he tacked on lamely.

  "You shouldn't be out here alone. Ogres might not be the worst you'll find. I hear there's a dangerous band of brigands in these hills."

  Marakion watched for some reaction. Gylar's face gave no telltale signs of anything but relief.

  "I–I'm on a quest, and… Who are you?" Gylar couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "What are you doing up on the mountain here? My village is the only one for miles."

  Marakion noted the honest innocence in the boy's face, and he cursed again, silently.

  "I do a bit of traveling. Just passing through, really." He paused and looked at Gylar closely once more. He began to doubt again. The boy might be a cunning liar.

  "Tell you what, kid. Looks like we both need to rest a little." He touched his raked side gingerly. "What do you say to putting your quest on hold and setting up camp? I saw a cave, over there a ways… When we get a good fire going, you can tell me all about it."

  Gylar smiled and nodded.

  "I went with Lutha. I knew she wasn't supposed to go in there. Mom had told me about the evil in the new marsh, and Lutha's parents had told the same thing to her. But Lutha wasn't afraid. You see, there was something we'd put in an old tree before the marsh came, before the Cataclysm and Mount Phineous. A couple of necklaces we made out of leather and wooden disks." Gylar's mouth became a straight line, and his brow furrowed.

  The warm fire popped and crackled, illuminating Marakion's intent face and the makeshift bandages that he was wrapping slowly around his middle.

  Gylar sighed and continued, "She was always doing stuff like that. Anyway, the marsh wasn't really scary, just wet and mucky. The only thing that happened was that Lutha fell down in the water once.

  "But Mom was real mad
when I got back. She knew where we'd been. I guess the smell of the marsh and my wet boots gave us away. Anyway, I snuck out of the house later, when Mom was down at the stream washing and Dad was chopping wood. I went to see Lutha.

  "I didn't knock at the door, because her parents were probably just as mad at her as mine were at me. Instead, I went around back and looked in the bedroom window. Lutha was in there and she was shivering real bad. And her face was real red. That was the first time I saw the sickness on somebody. Lutha was the first…"

  Gylar tossed a twig into the fire. "I didn't see Lutha again." He wiped his nose. "The day after that, it was the talk of the village. Lutha had died of a strange sickness. Then her parents died. No one knew how to stop the sickness. Everybody went into their houses and didn't come out, but it didn't matter. I'm not sure who died after that, because Dad closed us up in our house, too. When Rahf died, my little brother, Mom said it didn't matter anymore that we stayed in the house."

  Gylar sighed again. "It was awful. Hardly anyone was alive in the village when we came out. We went from door to door, looking for people. Everyone was in their beds, shaking with the fever or already dead. I wanted to leave. Since we hadn't caught it yet, I told Mom we should run away from it. She shook her head and didn't answer me. We helped those who had it. We took care of them, but it didn't matter, just like staying in the house didn't matter anymore. They were going to die, but Mom said we could help them. I know now she didn't mean help them live, but help them to die better. I guess…

  "Then Dad died." Gylar's voice was subdued. He shook his head; his cheeks were wet. "He went just like everyone else, shivering but so hot. I didn't want…"

  His eyes focused again on Marakion. "He was one of the last ones to go, then it was my mother. When she died, I felt so alone, so alone and numb. I could touch something, like the blanket, or — or her hand, and I wouldn't really feel it. I had to go. I had to get out."

  Gylar looked intently at Marakion. "Why did the gods do it, sir? I just don't understand. Why did they have to kill so many people? It doesn't make sense. We didn't do anything! We just lived. We worshiped Paladine. But Krynn was still cracked, and then the new marsh rose and Lutha caught the sickness and now everyone… everyone I ever knew is dead." He bowed his head.

  Then his mouth set defiantly and his brows came together in anger. "And so I'm going to ask them. I want them to answer just one question. Why? Why did they do it to everyone? What did we do wrong?"

  Marakion smiled. "Supposing the gods even respond, they might drop another mountain on you."

  "I don't care," Gylar said petulantly, gathering his blanket around him and resting his head on his pack. "I don't care if they do. If they do, they don't care about us and it won't matter. But… but I will ask." He yawned. "I will ask HIM… Paladine."

  Gylar fell asleep. Marakion gazed at the young face. The flame's light played off the round, boyish features that would not fade for several years yet. Marakion sighed aloud this time. Watching the boy tell his story, the knight had realized Gylar was indeed no marauder's lackey. He actually was what he claimed: a simple country boy in search of divine answers.

  Gylar's story made Marakion think of all the things he'd lost because of the Cataclysm. If the gods had not dropped the fiery mountain, his home would not have been attacked.

  "You're right, Gylar," he said to the sleeping boy. "Paladine should be confronted, asked…" Marakion's iron doors creaked open. "So much like Tagor," he said to himself. "A victim, like Tagor. I wonder what will happen to you?"

  Flames and smoke danced in the fire inside his head. Very much like Tagor. What will happen to you?

  Screams. Clanging Steel. the sounds of battle.

  The cry of his younger brother.

  "I'm coming, Tagor!" Marakion shouted from Marissa's destroyed bedroom.

  The yell had sounded from down the hall.

  Marakion propelled himself toward it. the library!

  Tagor was trapped in the library.

  Marakion slammed through the door with the force of a battering ram. he knocked one of the

  Invaders to the floor. his sword took out another.

  Five more waited. Tagor stood on top of a table

  In the comer, fighting off the men who were harassing him. The teasing grins they wore turned to scowls when Marakion entered.

  "The knight! Keep him there!" A thick-bearded man yelled. "I'll finish this young one off."

  Marakion shoved his fallen foe away and slammed into the next, trying desperately to come to the aid of his younger brother, but his new opponent was a skilled swordsman, not a brawler.

  Marakion slashed insanely at the man's guard,trying at the same time to see Tagor.

  Perched on the studying table, wielding their father's sword, Tagor delivered a wicked slash to the bearded man, opening up his forehead. He was holding his own momentarily, but that wouldn't last long. Although Tagor was a fine swordsman for fifteen, he was no match for the brigands'

  Strength, or their numbers.

  Marakion let out a roar. "Bastards! Leave him alone! fight me!"

  Tagor twisted sideways, screamed. A sword slashed through his leg. He stumbled to the edge of the table and lost his footing, crashed to the floor below.

  Marakion bashed through the swordsman's guard, sent the man's hand spinning from his wrist in a trail of blood.

  Marakion ran forward. There were three left.

  Two charged him and kept him from his brother.

  The third… the third was clubbing… clubbing a body on the floor.

  "Tagor!"

  Marakion started, beat the vision down into the recesses of his memory. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes. Think of now, only of now. Forget Tagor. Forget all of it.

  He sat still for long moments, trying to forget, holding his breath with gritted teeth, but the pent up air hissed out slowly in a shudder. Marakion crumpled and sobbed. "Tagor…"

  Marakion beat his way through those three

  Marauders, killed them all. He knelt at Tagor's side.

  "They came… from the north… they took Marissa. they called themselves the knightsbane, Marakion… the knights — knightsbane. why, Marakion?…why?"

  It was his last word, then he died.

  Marakion's cheeks were wet with tears. He turned and gazed down at another brave youth.

  Yes, why?

  "I hope you get your answer, kid. I really do. There's quite a few questions I'd like to ask Paladine myself." Marakion turned his face heavenward and focused on the constellation of the platinum dragon, high above. "At least a few."

  Marakion came out of a reverie that had slipped into a doze. The fire was dwindling. Blinking his eyes, he picked up a couple of sticks and tossed them on, poking at the embers to stir the flames up again. After he'd tended the fire and stoked it for the night, he turned to adjust his bedding for sleep when he heard Gylar give a low moan. Marakion hurried to the young boy's side.

  Gylar shuddered a little, his eyes moving under shut lids, as he huddled deeper into his blanket. He shivered again, turned over, pulled the covers closer about him. Marakion pulled his cloak off and draped it over the boy.

  Beneath the double cover, Gylar still quaked. Marakion moved his hand to the boy's forehead.

  It was as hot as fire to the touch.

  Marakion closed his eyes. "What will happen to you?" He repeated his thought of earlier in the evening. "Yeah, that's what, same as everyone else. It doesn't matter what you've already suffered. It's not enough yet, is it? It's never enough."

  Marakion lay awake, staring silently at the cave's ceiling, for a long, long time. He could not sleep with the anger that burned through him as hotly as the fever now burned through Gylar's body. The brutal injustice galled him.

  "I'm going to take you to the top, kid. It's not going to end like this, not without a fight. No, not without an answer. By my dead brother, I swear you'll get to ask your question."

  He turned over and tr
ied to go to sleep, but it wasn't until morning that exhaustion closed those eyes that were very tired of looking at the world.

  The morning broke, warm and sunny. A few clouds drifted through the sky, but gave no threat of any type of storm. Snow gathered on tree limbs, slipped heavily from leaves, as the warmth of the day melted it. Pine needles shrugged off sheets of snow and rustled as they adjusted to their newfound freedom from winter's blanket.

  Marakion stood at the cave's entrance. Nature was adapting to the freak warmth of the winter's day. The snow on the ground was glazed with a sheen of wet sparkles. Everything was adapting — everything except Gylar.

  The sickness moved fast once the fever started. Gylar had slept late into the morning without knowing it, and Marakion had not come to a decision about waking him yet. As he stood there, though, he could hear the boy coming to.

  He scuffed a groove into the wet snow. Casting a scathing glance heavenward, he turned and made his way back into the small cave.

  Marakion stopped a half-dozen paces from the boy. Gylar knew what was happening to him. Maybe he'd realized it in the middle of the night — the fear was on his face — but the fear was held at bay by determination.

  Gylar looked up. The boy tried to manage a smile, but failed. Tears stood in his eyes. Marakion wanted to say something, some word of comfort, but he knew if he tried to talk, it would come out choked.

  "I have it, Marakion."

  I know, Marakion spoke in a voice with no sound. Clearing his throat, he said again, "I know."

  "I'm going to die." The boy's eyes were wide. They blinked once, twice.

  Marakion nodded and lowered his gaze, his boots again scuffing a trench in the dirt floor. "Yeah," he said.

  A different kind of fear entered Gylar's voice. "Marakion, you have to leave me, now. You have to go." His teeth chattered. Closing his mouth, he tried again. "You might have it already, but… but maybe not. You have to go."

  Marakion knelt beside Gylar. The man smiled. "You want to try to make me, kid?"