Cloudfyre Falling - a dark fairy tale Read Free Page B

the last vestiges of life fast drained from her. And that
were the last she spoke.
    Around Gargaron, watching,
cowering beneath thicket and shrub, the multi-limbed Hoardogs
snickered and seethed, eager to feast on the newly dead. Gargaron,
holding his daughter protectively, lunged at them in rage. Most
scurried off but some of the older ones, the braver ones, and those
more hungry, stayed put. These he pelted with stones. Great
peppering handfuls of stones. Smacking many and drawing blood; one
stone hit with such force it caved in skull and bone, brain
squishing out of the hound like a bloom of summer roses. Only now,
wailing, did its mates take off for the safety of denser
woodland.
    Gargaron crumpled to sandy ground,
crying. He dragged his wife close. Held both his beloved in his
arms. Their night faces watched him in their detached way; not
comprehending, not yet dead, only watching.
    He lay down his wife and daughter
both, side by side, and looked about. He had an enchanted medicine
back in village abode, Lyfen Essence, developed by Hovel’s druids,
a potion that drank away advancing death from a living body. It
were too late for that now.
    Yet there were but one more thing
he could try.
    He reached for a cut of needle
vines. He slashed several lengths to lie across their bodies. Then
away he dashed into the woodland.

    6
    He ran toward Jo’ckujark Blind, a
sheer rock wall that jutted straight up from forest floor. He
scrambled along its base, keeping his eyes wide and
open.
    Until… he saw one. A vannandal. A
mysterious shelled critter, old-beyond-time, an enigma that had
first come into existence as simple stone spat out by the lost
volcanic mountains of Vahross. Tales told of hundreds of such
rocks. Rocks that were collected by the ancient, decimated race of
Vannandal Knights who had sculpted each one into unique animal
forms before enchanting them with the gift of life.
    He rushed to
pluck the creature into his arms… but hesitated. Village rumour had
it that even the act of laying your finger upon a Vannandal could
pull you into Dreamsleep. This were a state that you would awaken
from only weeks later with your body partially rotted and your
brain drained of all conscious and civilised thought, forcing you to
walk the earyth for the remainder of your days a mindless
ghoul.
    If Thronir deems
it then a ghoul I will be! Gargaron
thought defiantly and he grabbed the critter from the
weeds.
    As if in
response, the vannandal’s small segmented body
glowed a soft white iridescence. And a not too unpleasant tingle
ran up Gargaron’s fingers. Were this the beginning of Dreamseleep ? How long did it take to settle in?
    He did not
hesitate to find out. May Thronir take
me! He clasped the vannandal against his
chest and dashed back to his wife and daughter.

    7
    The hoardogs had returned. Though
they had been unable to find a way around the needle vines.
Gargaron roared at them as he returned and again they turned and
scattered.
    He swiped the needle vines aside
then without waiting another moment placed the vannandal critter
across his daughter’s forehead. He crouched and leaned forward,
pressing his own forehead against the creature; it had a reek like
stony river water. Though Gargaron could not have cared if it
smelled like rot. He wasted no further time, shutting his aching
eyes.
    And concentrated his thoughts.
    Many times he had observed magers
do this. Yet, the gift of mind-touch were not an act exclusive to
those possessing magical competency. All Giants, to a lesser or
greater extent, had the ability. He himself had harpooned the minds
of many folk over the years, to learn secrets, to unearth
falsehoods, to clarify motives. He had “jumped” into the minds of
animals, to learn tricks to their hunting. But he had never used a
vannandal to bridge his soul with another’s and attempt the
transference of energies. For it were forbidden.
    There were naught but dark he saw
at first. Yet soon, as if a doorway had