The Adventures of Cimmerian : Tale Five
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EXCERPT TWO


Chapter Three -

Dawn burst over the towering mountains to the east like hammered gold, bathing the granite cliffs in a mind-stunning palette of rose and crimson hue. And in the vivid splendour of the dense forest, the thrumming pulse of nighttime gave way, at last, to the raucous cacophony of day. Rousing from his slumber, the barbarian coldly eyed his surroundings from the thick, moss-covered branch that had been his bed.
The night gone, the big youth had never fully appreciated the true worth of forest vines until his death-defying fall from the mountain summit had been halted a few body lengths from certain doom. He had swiftly freed himself of the verdant tangle and glided upward toward the top of the lofty oak in hopes of obtaining a cleared view of his surroundings. But the sky was then nearly ink black, and the dense forest canopy thwarted even his raptor-keen eyes. There had been little to do, then, but stake out a place as congenial as possible abd sleep.

And now, the past nights weariness had been supplanted with a gnawing hunger, and by a desire to find his way out of the thickly wooded morass. Sliding down the very vines that had saved his life not so long ago, the big youth waded his way through the dense underbrush to the foothills to climb back over the mountainside and head back for the town. As he reached the foot of the mountain, voices from above brought him to a halt.

“That’s it, steady now,” Randsome was shouting, “hold you footing, dogs, one step at a time.”

With a muttered curse at the guardsmen gingerly making their way down the mountain, Cimmerian whirled around and loped away with leonine grace into the verdant fastness. For more than a turn of the glass he raced onward, never pausing to rest, never slackening his pace, with scant regard for the eyes of the startled forest creature and a few others that remained well hidden. And then the shrill shriek of a dying man echoed behind him, making him glance back over his shoulder, but not miss a step.

Several league behind Cimmerian, in the ever-enveloping verdant forest, six men stood around their comrade, a long wooden stake driven through his throat.

“Merciful Mystra!” Elanteri wailed, “lead us away from here, Captain. Please!”

“The forest dwellers have begun to lay traps to slay us,” cried another of Randsome’s tired men.

“Craven fools!” The hard faced captain spat. “Can you not even tell a simple animal snare when you see one?” Now close ranks and move out.”

In terrified silence, the remaining five fell in step behind him as he yelled, “I intend to bring back that thieving barbarian whether he’s dead or alive.”

“You heard the captain,” Radatuc said. “Close ranks! Daen, you bring up the rear.”

“Aye!” the man named answered, but before he could say any further, a moss covered noose descended silently from the canopy above to swiftly yank him up, tightening around his throat, preventing him from making any sound.

“Aye!” And keep your eyes peeled for that barbarian,” Radatuc called back to his hapless companion, “He’s probably the craftiest devil we’ve ever had to fight.”

But Daen would not answer him, ever, and only the rustling of leaves followed the swiftly moving men.


Several league far ahead, through a dense shroud of jungle plants, Cimmerian silently watched a pair of peccaries quench their thirst on a nearby rain puddle. Then suddenly, with a savage roar akin to the wild pigs natural predators, Cimmerian burst out at them, sword poised to strike and kill.

“By the evil eye of Elkirk, I am famished,” the barbarian snarled. His long, leaping stride gaining on the scurrying animals, with a desperate dive, Cimmerian’s big hand closed in on one of the animals. It’s hind leg crushed in Cimmerian’s steely grip, the peccary squealed in pain and panic and then, as the barbarian plunged his blade him, squealed no more.
“Now my aching belly’s as good as full, Cimmerian grunted. And soon he had the animal skinned and its succulent meat turning on a makeshift spit. He sat under the shade of a thick cosped, vine covered three watching the meat slowly turn edible unaware of the pair of eyes that watched him from high above in the ever shaded canopy.

While at that selfsame moment, several leagues behind… “Put some spring in your step, blast you!” Randsome growled, “we’ll catch up with that wild-maned berserker soon enough.”

“Aye, Captain,” Elanteri mumbled, dejectedly.

Then suddenly, the man before the complaining guardsman screamed as the ground beneath his feet gave way.

“Those dead leaves,” Elanteri gasped in horror, “it’s a pitfall.”

“Aye!” Radatuc cried, staring down at his twitching comrade, impaled at a dozen places. “And lines with needle sharp stakes, smeared with dung. I’d like to see the captain call that an animal trap.”

“And look to the rear of the column,” Elanteri screamed, “Daen, he was bringing up the rear.”

“He’s gone! Vanished!” wailed another guardsman.

“We’re being culled out and slaughtered one by one.” Radatuc said shakily.

“Bah! And so what if there are a few hostile natives hereabouts.” Randsome spat, “What would you have me do about it? Abandon our mission?”

The others blinked in silence. “A fine idea!” Randsome continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Then his majesty would have us all impaled on stakes as a lesson to other guardsmen of the folly of displaying cowardice in the field.” His voice hardened. “I want that barbarian and I mean to have him in chains, do you hear me? Now form a column and move out.”
Heads down, his men meekly fell into formation and followed him, all unaware of the eyes that followed their movements from the shrouded darkness of the treetops.

Cimmerian gnawed the last shreds of sweet, roasted flesh of the large pork thighbone held in his massive fist, when a voice, high pitched and guttural rang out, “ hah! Behold the outlander! He is wild-maned and tawny like the lion.”

Mouth full of meat, Cimmerian looked about him in sudden surprise. Alighting in front of him from the tree before him were two diminutive forms. Short, stunted, yet well muscled men wielding stone tipped spears.

“Yes!” cried one of them, “And his appetite is one with the lion’s also.”

“Give us your sword, outlander,” the one with the high pitched voice spoke, “And we will spare your miserable life.”

“What manner of beings are you?” Cimmerian replied calmly, still gnawing on the bone, “No taller than a child, yet full grown?”

“This forest is out home, lion man,” high pitch replied, “We are of the Tiboh race and have lived here for millennia.”

“But enough of such prattle,” the second midget squawked, “Good steel is scarce here. Give us your sword.”

“You have a fine sense of humour, half-ling.” Cimmerian growled, “I admire that in a man, half sized or no.”

“Impertinent, bronze fleshed, outland jackal,” high-pitch screamed and sprang forward, spear point held low. “I’ll run you thr..uugghh!”

His charge cut short by a mighty swipe of the bone Cimmerian held, splitting his skull in a shower of red, high pitch fell dead. Then suddenly from every side of him, erupting from the verdant shadows came scores of short, stocky men, bearing stone tipped spears and hatchets, howling.

Crom’s Devils!” Cimmerian roared, :I didn’t realize you stunted folk wanted my sword that badly. Come on then, you pack of howling hyenas, and I’ll give you every inch of it, all the way to the hilt.”