A Daemon-Horn Blade

As they ran for awhile, Rowan wondered out loud, as much to himself as to Gwenda. "Do we need to leave a more obvious trail of our passage? I've heard that they are keen trackers, but I know nothing of them from any personal experience."

The girl laughed and replied, "Their tracking skills are more than adequate to follow us here in this soft river mud, nearly indefinitely, without any assistance from us! Their eyes are not quite as keen as ours, but they can follow our scent nearly as well as any hunting dog, especially with our open wounds. In fact, unless we find some harder ground soon or risk a turn to the south to get away from the river, I'd be more concerned about not being able to lose them at all, when we turn back again east, to find your friends."

Indeed, as they fled due west more or less following the river, the ground was muddy, swampy and heavily vegetated, and they continued to leave clear tracks behind them that even an untrained novice woodsman like Rowan could follow. The brush and thick vegetation was thick enough to also leave many other traces of their passage as well, not to mention the occasional drop or two of blood from their unbandaged wounds that continued to fall to the ground, or upon the bushes that they crashed through, making their scent trail nearly impossible to miss.

After they had run for about three hours and only stopping for short breathers, the young couple was near exhausted. Rowan had been awake for nearly two full days now and the exhaustion of his hard night of rowing and then the fight on the island had already sapped his strength. Gwenda had also been none too well treated in her captivity and now hunger was severely weakened her every step.

"It's too soon to rest or attempt to evade them here on this ground!" She muttered as she gasped for breath, her ribs feeling like they were on fire from both her minor wounds and her recent exertions. "We've gained a few minutes to rest but we cannot linger. They will be at most but a half-hour behind us and we can but only pray that they have not sent other canoes further downstream to cut off our escape route! This river marsh does us no favors as well... we must start looking for either a place to hide soon, or a deep enough stream or bayou that we can swim up into so that we can hide our scent long enough for us to bind our wounds and snatch a small rest!"

Rowan nodded, and with great reluctance convinced his feet to once again start running.

When their next hour of increasingly slower travel did not turn up any improvement in the terrain, they grudgingly agreed that they would have to start heading a bit more south. Taking a few minutes after their short rest that neither of them was certain that they could spare, they set about to make as much of a false trail straight west as they could briefly manage. But before turning back on the tracks again, Gwenda stopped to pick a few pieces of bark from a small tree and then she gathered a small handful of a silvery-yellow lichen that covered the rocks of a small freshwater stream. Pausing for a long drink there, put a bit of the tree bark into her mouth and began to chew, and bid Rowan to do the same.

"This is culkar tree bark, when chewed it will give you some energy to keep going, even when exhausted, and it will help ease the pangs of hunger as well. Chew on this piece... yes it will be very bitter, and keep this other bit of bark for later when you again tire. This should keep us on our feet until at least dark, but when the stimulant wears off we will be but dead on our feet, so pray that we find shelter before that happens. Also, rub this river lichen all over our wounds, hard. It won't help them to heal any faster, but it will close them and reduce the bleeding and risk of infection, and hopefully also reduce the scent."

Somewhat fortified by the tree bark, which did stimulate Rowan's feet to once again be able to run, they backtracked east for a few minutes so that they could follow a muddy shallow creek that flowed from the south. They took great care to stay in the middle of the creek and to not to touch anything near the shoreline, or even any of the fallen tree trunks that occasionally had fallen over the river. This was difficult to manage and it stole valuable time to carefully bypass these obstacles.

They stopped often to listen for sounds of pursuit, but as Rowan's ears were a bit dull from years of pounding metal he had to rely on Gwenda's hearing, which fortunately seemed to be much more acute than his ever was.

"I think I can hear them now, a ways away, following along our old trail west along the river. They might be tireless in the chase, but they show no stealth while hunting their game. We must press on, but let's look for a place where we might hide soon. Once they lose our main path they will undoubtedly spread out to seek out our new trail once again... and some will probably eventually find it, but at least we might face only a few rather than the entire large war-party at once!" Gwenda said unhappily, as she bit her lower lip in frustrated exhaustion.

Rowan agreed. "With them so close and near our trail, it is too early yet to head east, so if a westward fork of this stream presents itself then we should take it. They will be more likely to follow us in that direction, but perhaps either a suitable hiding place can be found, or else we can trim down their numbers by arranging a quick ambush or two. They must divide their forces significantly and we might be able to seize an advantage."

How they managed to at least keep to a trot for the next several hours amazed them. While the tree bark drug surged in their veins the seemed tireless, but now as the affect started to wear off, they soon became too exhausted to even speak when they finally stopped to take another rest. They had found another more westward stream and had taken that course for several miles, but they had not lost at least some of their pursuers. Now that Gwenda could stop to listen hard, she thought that if anything the group of Boar-Men following them were even a bit closer than before.

She looked at Rowan and shrugged. "If we leave the creek they'll find the spot and if anything gain ground on us even faster. They will still be fresh, running with eagerness to corner us. As I see no more favorable land still yet before us, I would suggest that we find a suitable place to stage an ambush. If we can kill this small group that dogs our footsteps, we can buy time to rest and more carefully disguise our passage back to the east. Let's fight, now while we have the strength! Chew your last piece of bark, for we will need its strength even to lift our weapons, let alone run for our lives again, should we need to!"

Rowan most heartily concurred. They now had enough of a rest to run for a few more exhausted minutes, and soon they thought they had come upon a fairly suitable place from which to attack their pursuers from. The stream had deepened a bit here and made a rather sharp bend around a rocky hill. The base of the hill, where it met the waterline, was quite weathered and there was a slight overhang right where the rock met the water. It was also deep enough there so that they could submerge hidden underwater and breathe from reeds. What also make this creek bend useful was that on the opposite side of the river bend from the hill, a great amount of river debris had washed up against the bank. All of this brush and small fallen trees had formed a fairly thick clump of decaying vegetation, very suitable and very obvious as a hiding place.

With a nod and a pair of wane smiles, they splashed over to the large debris heap and rubbed their scent and added few scabbed over fresh blood traces over the pile of sticks, trees and brush, and then they returned to hide underneath the rock overhang underwater. They had each grabbed a handful of the lighter thicker debris to float under the overhang above them to disguise their breathing reeds and help obstruct the view of them crouched hidden underwater.

Now, their preparations done, they waited and tried to rest and relax a little, to gain strength for a battle that they hoped that they wouldn't have to fight. With luck, their pursuers would find their scent and just continue further upstream. Otherwise, if the Boar-Men stopped at this creek bend and made a careful search for them in the nearby debris pile, then the couple would have to fight -- to strike first and hopefully seize the advantage while their foe was distracted. Bows would have been nice to have for this ambush, but they didn't have any. Rowan's sword and Gwenda's short stabbing dagger would have to do.

The chewed bark was again giving him strength, but nothing like the mad surge of energy that he had felt before. At least now he had the strength to fight, he thought, but he feared that a few more hours from now he wouldn't even have the strength to crawl, let along run. Once these pursuers were evaded or slain, they would have to find a secure resting place!

************

They didn't have to wait too long. About fifteen minutes later they heard the Boar-Men approach just downstream from them and they hid themselves below the water in stillness to wait to see what would happen.

Nearly from the start, the scent trail from the riverbank debris pile instantly caught the attention of the Boar-men, and looking at nothing else they all charged towards it, expecting to find their prey hiding inside under the cover of the rotting vegetation. When this proved not to be so, they were quite confused and they milled about for several minutes arguing amongst themselves about what to do. They were a fairly small band, a group of five, undoubtedly broken off from a larger search party that had split apart further downstream, nearer the river. The leadership of this group was uncertain, and each of the creatures seemed have different ideas about what should be done next. Neither Rowan or Gwenda understood their guttural language, but their gestures fairly plainly described their thoughts.

At least one boarman wanted to return and report to their War-Chief, but another was equally determined that their foes were hidden around here somewhere nearby. Most of the rest apparently wanted to hastily continue the search further upstream, assuming that the humans had just rested here but had continued their flight. The argument was short and heated but in the end, four of the Boar-men continued upstream while one boarman, the one who had counseled to report back to their leaders, was turning around alone, to do just that.

The last thing that the fleeing couple needed was any more war-parties of Boars-men, hot on their trail! The moment that Rowan thought that the other four searchers might out of sight, and perhaps hopefully out of hearing, he launched himself out of his hiding place and lumbered after the returning boarman as fast as he was able, and with Gwenda right behind him. The tree bark and the relatively longer rest had slightly restored them, and soon they could see the creature's back, just ahead of them. It was then that their ambush plan went all wrong.

Later, they realized that with the wind more or less coming from the west, the boarman had caught their scent nearly from the moment that they had emerged from the water. Instead of Rowan giving the warrior a surprise with his sword, he himself was surprised to see the boarman suddenly spin around and hurl a short spear or javelin at them. Rowan easily dodged it, but it in fact had not been actually been aimed at him. Gwenda, too surprised to have much of chance to evade it, was struck by it soundly, and with a loud cry she fell backwards into the stream.

Rowan heard her cry out but he couldn't risk taking even a moment to turn around to check on her, already the boarman, with a long belt knife in hand, was hurling himself at the lad. The fight was short and savage, and not altogether satisfactory for either of them. In three brief but savage seconds, Rowan had cut his foe into two with his irresistible sword, while with its last strength as it fell, the boarman had imbedded his dagger deep into Rowan's right upper thigh.

Certain that his foe was now dead, Rowan slowly and sadly turned, expected to now see the lifeless skewered form of Gwenda, but instead he found that she lived. The javelin had entered into her high upon her upper left chest, near her shoulder. Her heart and lungs were safe, unpunctured. Still the wound was extremely deep and painful and there was a good bit of bright red blood flow as he removed the javelin from her flesh. Rowan's own wound, although deep, wasn't bleeding much and Gwenda stopped him from pulling the blade out.

"Don't do that yet or you'll bleed like a stuck pig. I've got nothing to stitch the wound closed with and with every step you'll take you'll just bleed more. We're plenty fucked now! Even the stupidest boarman is going to have little trouble following our blood trail now! There's also enough blood in the river now to probably warn everyone downstream. We will need to take some serious risks if we are going to escape from this mess! Let's go back to the brush heap on the riverbank where we've already left some blood scent and let's try to bandage up these wounds the best we can!"

Rowan's shirt that Gwenda had been wearing was now sacrificed to cut into bandaging strips as they carefully used the last of the lichen to treat and then tie up tight every wound and scratch that they both had. The long knife stayed imbedded into Rowan's leg but in the debris heap they found a stout branch that worked well as a crutch. Next Rowan's leather vest was sacrificed to make a pair of crude leather coverings for their feet, to slightly better disguise their tracks over land, and hopefully reduce a bit of their scent. This all took much longer than they considered safe to wait, until at last they decided that they must get going.

Even with the crutch and Gwenda helping to support his weight, the short trip downstream to find a place where they could climb up onto the rocky hill was both slow and painful, but at least they were now on the shore where the ground was reasonably hard and they didn't appear to leave any tracks other than wet drippings on the stone, as they crossed around the side of the hill and finally out of sight from the stream.

The ground here was harder and grassy and there was plenty of tree cover so that they could slowly move and carefully pick out their path. For now, they were safe, but they knew it wouldn't last and that they would need to put as many miles between themselves and the stream as they could, until exhaustion overtook them.

********

Despite the pain of their wounds, they kept to their feet all afternoon long. They never dared to stop even when both of them became dizzy from their extortions and the increasing throbbing of their injuries. Even when the final energy from the chewed tree bark was gone, they somehow stayed to their feet. Sometimes in the distance they heard

Eorfleode

hunting horns sounding from nearly every direction it seemed, except for the south, so that was the way that they headed. They feared that they were now being herded deliberately into a trap, but speed in their flight was no longer an option for them. Instead, as the early autumn evening drew closer, the thought of finding an acceptable hiding spot for the night grew paramount in their minds.

Here, where they were now, there was no more rocky ground to help hide their tracks or their scent, instead they were back into a swampy area full of great mossy trees, with fetid green water always at least up to their knees and often their waists. As dusk grew, the sounds of hunting horns seemed to grow nearer and now could be heard from every direction around them. Gwenda, in a near delirium of exhaustion and pain, was certain that she could hear splashing in the swamp not even a hundred yards away from them. Rowan, equally weak and exhausted didn't argue, and they soon were forced to freeze in silence crouched behind the watery roots a very large swamp tree as they saw a single lone boarman splash his way off to their right, oblivious to them. The wind, which might have betrayed their scent, was now mercifully still and motionless.

It was Gwenda, crouching down low with the enormous root branches of the great swamp tree, that noticed their best and possible only opportunity for a hiding place.

"Rowan, look!" She whispered. "The tree is hollow here down on this side, below and just above the water where the root branches splay out widely. I think I can crawl inside!" Indeed she could. Rowan's bigger shoulders, not to mention the dagger still imbedded in his thigh, were a different matter, and even with Gwenda helping to pull him inside, it was a very tight and painful squeeze. As the water line was no more than a few inches below the cavity, this let very little of their breath or scent out of the tree, which had enough mold smell to also well cover their scent, especially when they rubbed some tree moss all over their exposed faces. In fact, they barely had space enough inside to keep their faces out of the water at all.

Tightly packed together inside of the tree hollow and not at all even remotely comfortable, they nevertheless dozed from sheer exhaustion, and rested all of that long and perilous night and also much of the next day, until they could no longer hear the sounds of hunting horns. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of Boar-Men had tramped through this part of the swamp searching for them, but they had remained quite undetected. The hunting horns, when they occasionally still heard them, all now sounded from a distance to the west.

"They have lost our trace here," she whispered, "and they will be searching for us to the west. I think we can now safely return east now, and perhaps we can risk removing that blade from your thigh and binding that wound! The time it has spent submerged in this sickly green swampy water will certainly do the wound no good! We are going to need to flee quickly to find your friends, before our wounds sicken and take fever!"

Pulling that dagger from his thigh hurt nearly as much as when the boarman had thrust it in its very hilt. True to Gwenda's prediction, the large deep wound looked already off-color and sickly, and it was nearly impossible to close. The very last scraps of Rowan's shirt that she had been wearing was now used to rebandage all of their wounds, and now at last it was time to sacrifice Rowan's pants as well, to cut into strips to make new tight and relatively clean compresses for each of their still bleeding major wounds, and make another slightly sturdier pair of leather coverings for their bare feet.

Once again, Gwenda was entire naked, but she didn't seem to notice this fact, or even much care when Rowan laughingly commented that he was enjoying the view once more. Rowan now himself was left to just a bare loincloth, and he offered to join Gwenda naked, if it would make her any more content. She just laughed.

"No, you had better keep it on, what little there is of that cloth... it's not quite up to the task as it is of hiding the rather hefty things that are flapping around underneath it! Unfortunately, this is neither a good time nor place for a pleasant dalliance!"

With his leg heavily bandaged and the dagger now removed, Rowan found that he was able to make slightly better speed through the swamp. Running was quite out of the question, so they just turned their heads away growing afternoon darkness and walked onwards to the east, resting only little when they absolutely had to. Each rest stop they made tended to make their wounds only stiffer and more painful to the touch, so that they hurt even more when they started up again. Eventually, they just rested by very slowly walking, even when they heartily desired to seat or even just throw themselves onto the ground in exhaustion.