Deadhouse Landing

He edged forward a half-pace, shifting his feet into the sands for better footing. The creature on the hilltop seemed to settle down on to its haunches, perhaps to watch the show.

Bastard.

A dark brown hound appeared on another hilltop. Scars matted its short-haired hide and its eyes blazed a glacier blue. Spotting them, it let go another of the howls that so shook and froze its quarry. Then it came charging down the slope in a flurry of kicked-up sands.

Dancer knew there was no way he could counter such a charge, except for dodging. And that would leave Kellanved undefended.

There was nothing for it. He knelt even lower, leaning forward, blades held straight out before him.

Light burst over his shoulder and a sudden thrust of power pushed him a good two paces forward. The beast veered off, slamming to a halt, warily eyeing not Dancer, but something behind him. Dancer straightened, backing up. A deep thrumming of power now vibrated the sands beneath his feet and he called over it, ‘Open?’

‘Ah … nearly,’ came the hesitant answer.

Oh, for the love of Oponn!

The beast had recovered from its surprise and was now edging forward, though still wary. Clearly it did not want to go bursting through a gate.

Dancer wove his blades, slashing at it, trying to force it back. Its haunches, he noted, came up almost to his own shoulders. It snapped at his blades as he slashed, but only half-heartedly; its attention, he noted, was fixed past his shoulder, on the gate beyond.

It was almost as if the creature was … fearful? No, not of the gate itself – of what might come through it.

Without taking his gaze from the massive beast, he called over his shoulder, ‘Kellanved! Perhaps this thing was sealed for a reason … Maybe we shouldn’t—’

‘Ha! Got it!’

A blossoming of power pushed Dancer from behind like a giant’s hand. The gigantic beast also flinched, snarling, down upon its forepaws. Dancer found himself eye to eye with the titanic thing. Its gaze was hot and lusting, but held more than just blind animal instinct; he thought he saw intelligence within the eyes. A kind of reasoning and cunning. Just what were these things?

A hand took hold of his collar, drew him backwards. He retreated, on guard, but the hound did not press its advantage; it appeared content to allow them to go – so long as they were leaving.

Plain guardians then? Set upon the borders? Or just fiercely territorial? Would he ever understand this mystery?

‘This way,’ Kellanved shouted. His words were almost drowned out by the steady deep waterfall thrumming. Dancer dared one quick glimpse over his shoulder and saw that the gate was indeed active now: its centre was cloudy, opaque. He could no longer see through it.

‘What now?’ he shouted back.

‘We, ah, jump through, I suppose.’

‘You don’t know?’ he yelled. ‘You’re supposed to be the expert!’

‘Well, I’ve never done anything like this before, have I!’

Dancer noted the hound’s sky-blue eyes narrowing, its haunches lowering and tightening. It seemed that with no monster worthy of its respect emerging from the gate it was running out of patience.

‘You go now,’ he called. ‘I’ll cover.’

‘Oh fine! Send me through first!’

Irritated beyond belief, Dancer almost turned his back on the crouched beast. ‘Would you just go through now!’

‘Well, if you’re going to be like that about it,’ Kellanved sniffed.

The beast’s rear claws now clenched at the sands for purchase. Dancer spun, saw Kellanved standing with hand on chin still studying the arch, and summarily planted a boot to his rear and pushed him through.

The mage’s yelp of surprise and protest was cut off as he disappeared within the clouded milky opaqueness.

Dancer leapt after him even as he heard the jarring clash of teeth closing upon the air just behind.

*   *   *

The beast remained crouched before the gate for a time, jaws upon its forepaws, patient and waiting. Eventually, however, with nothing forthcoming, it lost interest – or another summoning beckoned – and it loped off across the hills, howling.

Watching from its hilltop, the night-dark creature threw open its broad wings and took flight. It wafted over the sullen featureless skies of Shadow, scudding low across the landscape, until it found what it sought: a lone figure marking a solitary path through the barrens.

It landed before the scarecrow-thin walker, who came to a halt. To all appearances it resembled an ambulatory corpse. Mummified leather-like skin clung to wind- and sun-greyed bone peeping out behind rusted and tattered ancient armour. A single weapon hung at its waist, rusted and blunted.

The desiccated corpse tilted its eyeless face to regard the flying creature. After a time it asked in a breathless whisper, ‘Yes?’

‘Those poachers have returned,’ the bat-like thing hissed, somehow conveying disapproval and impatience. ‘They escaped the hounds.’

‘So?’

It hopped on its tiny clawed feet, clearly agitated. ‘They are meddling! They have opened a gate into the Scarred Lands.’