HIS BLACK TONGUE : A Medieval Horror by Mitchell Luthi

Author:Mitchell Luthi [Luthi, Mitchell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sentinel Creatives
Published: 2021-10-29T05:00:00+00:00

Night had long since fallen when the first of Bjarki’s scouts returned. Tired eyed and weary limbed, they slowly streamed in. They spoke of a great ravine, guarded by the walls of ancient pillars. Of figures cut from stone and strange sounds in the trees. They spoke of an uneasiness that settled upon them, and a feeling of being watched, of being stalked, hunted. But of Fritjof and Ulfgar, there was no sign.

“We wait on Bjarki,” Halvor told the company. “When he returns, we will make for the coast, for our ships.”

They waited until the night grew cold, when even fire barely kept the chill from their bones. The camp sat in a state of frozen anticipation, with each warrior ready to move at a moment’s notice. But that notice never came. Halvor grew restless and took to pacing around the perimeter, harassing his sentries and forcing them to take deeper forays into the night, to search for the pathfinder. It wasn’t long before Thoril and Inge were sent out with a party, into the black of night with only their torches to guide them.

“We will find nothing like this,” said Inge. “Stomping around in the night like fools, hoping to fall upon Bjarki by luck.”

Thoril lifted the torch above her head and watched the flickering shadows around them. They had been walking for hours now, with still no sign of the pathfinder. What hope she’d had of finding him had diminished, and she just wanted to return to the camp and to the warmth of the fires. She sighed as she stared up at the hills that loomed above them. The peaks were hidden by the night, and what little light the moon shone down on them failed to illuminate the darkest corners of the valley.

“What else would you have us do?” Thoril lowered her torch. “You heard Halvor, we must look to ourselves now. If we don’t find Bjarki, we have to leave without him.”

Inge shook her head. “Halvor will not leave his precious pathfinder behind.”

“Then we must do as he says, and search every crevice of this valley before dawn.”

The other shield-maiden rubbed a hand over her scalp. She had not shaved it in weeks, and stubble now covered the tattoos that spiralled across her head.

“Ove has taken it well,” she said. “Ulfgar is like a son to him.”

Thoril took a swig from her flask and wiped her mouth. “He said he knew what was coming. Him and Ulfgar both.”

“How could they know?”

“You know what they are like.” Thoril turned to her friend and waved at the sky. “The gods tell them stories, or plant ideas in their heads… At least, that is what Ove wants us to think. It is either true, or he is mad. Sometimes I think it is both.”

They walked in silence for a moment, keeping within hailing distance of the rest of the party. Arvid and Dagfinn were barely a dozen yards from them, while Uskar and Tommen ranged ahead, their torches appearing like mini stars in the distance.

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