Listen Full Story:
Read Full Story:
In the deep wilderness beyond the Black River, a young man named Balthus walked through the thick forest, carrying his bow and hatchet. He was a hunter from the frontier, where settlers lived in wooden cabins beside the river, surrounded by untamed land full of danger. One day, while tracking game, he saw a man running wildly through the trees, chased by Picts — the wild tribes who lived beyond the river. Before he could think, Balthus loosed an arrow to help, and together they fought off the attackers. The man he saved was Conan, a strong Cimmerian warrior known across the borderlands for his courage and skill with weapons.
After the fight, Conan told Balthus that the Picts were preparing for war. Their shaman, Zogar Sag, had united the tribes under his dark magic. Settlements along the frontier were in great danger. Conan was scouting for Fort Tuscelan, a frontier post that guarded the border. He asked Balthus to come with him. The two crossed the forest and reached the fort, where soldiers and settlers gathered nervously. The air was tense, and the soldiers spoke of strange signs in the woods—beasts behaving oddly, drums echoing at night, and eerie lights on the hills. Conan warned them that these were signs of the Picts’ magic.
Inside the fort, the commander listened grimly as Conan explained that Zogar Sag had gathered hundreds of warriors. The only hope was to send a warning to the nearby settlements before they were wiped out. Conan volunteered to go into the forest again, with Balthus as his companion. The young man agreed, though he felt fear in his heart. That night, they crossed the Black River in a small boat, moving quietly through the mist. The forest beyond was dark and silent, except for the sound of unseen animals. Conan moved like a shadow, and Balthus followed closely, feeling the weight of danger all around them.
As they traveled deeper, they found burned cabins and slain settlers. The signs of war were everywhere. Conan explained that the Picts were not only fierce but clever; they knew every path and tree. Their leader, Zogar Sag, was said to command animals and demons through his sorcery. They moved cautiously until they came upon a small clearing where Picts had camped recently. Conan examined the tracks and said they were close to Zogar Sag’s village. He decided to scout it before attacking. They crept closer, seeing the flicker of fires and hearing drums thundering in the distance.
Suddenly, from the darkness, arrows hissed. The Picts had seen them. Conan leapt to fight, his sword flashing in the firelight. Balthus fired arrows beside him, striking two enemies before a spear grazed his arm. They fought fiercely and escaped into the woods, but the Picts followed. Conan led Balthus to a narrow stream where they hid under fallen branches. The Picts passed by, searching and shouting. When the sounds faded, Conan whispered that they must find a faster way back to warn the fort. They moved all night, guided by the dim stars through the forest’s endless maze.
By dawn, they reached the old hunter’s cabin of a man named Slasher. But the place was abandoned, and the ground was stained with blood. Inside, they found signs of struggle and claw marks on the door. Conan guessed that Zogar Sag had sent his beasts to kill anyone who might warn the settlers. They rested briefly, then continued through the dense woods. Soon they heard the howls of wolves behind them—unnatural, wild cries that made Balthus shiver. Conan turned, his face calm but grim, and said the beasts were under the shaman’s spell. They climbed into the trees as the wolves rushed in, snarling below.
From above, Conan threw his spear and killed one wolf instantly. The others scattered for a moment, then attacked again. Balthus shot arrows as fast as he could. One wolf leaped high and nearly reached him, but Conan’s knife struck its throat. When the pack finally fled, the forest grew quiet again. Conan said they must not rest. They hurried onward until they came upon an old trail leading to the river. Just as they neared the water, a monstrous creature burst from the reeds — a half-animal, half-demon thing with glowing eyes. Balthus froze, but Conan rushed forward, swinging his sword.
The creature fought savagely, clawing and snapping, its hide thick as leather. Conan slashed again and again until the blade found its heart. The monster fell with a terrible scream that echoed through the forest. Balthus trembled at the sight, realizing that Zogar Sag’s magic could summon such horrors. Conan explained that the creature was one of the shaman’s familiars, sent to stop them. They pushed the corpse into the river and continued, moving quickly before more enemies came. By nightfall, they reached the ruins of an ancient stone circle, overgrown with vines. Conan said they could camp there for a short while.
As they rested, Balthus asked Conan if he ever feared the forest. The warrior smiled faintly and said fear was useless when death was near. He told the young man that life beyond the river was always a battle — men, beasts, and spirits all fighting for survival. Soon, they heard chanting in the distance. Zogar Sag’s voice rose above the drums, calling on his dark gods. Conan stood, eyes sharp. He said they must end the shaman’s spell or all would perish. They followed the sound through the trees until they saw a great fire in the clearing and Pictish warriors dancing around it.
At the center stood Zogar Sag, painted in blood, holding a staff carved with serpent shapes. Around him lay strange idols and skulls. Conan motioned for silence, then crept closer. Balthus held his bow ready, heart pounding. When the shaman raised his staff toward the sky, Conan hurled his knife. It struck the staff and broke it in two. The Picts screamed in rage. Conan charged into the camp like a storm, cutting down warriors with powerful blows. Balthus shot arrow after arrow, hitting any who came near. The fire flared brighter as the battle raged. Zogar Sag fled into the trees, shrieking curses.
Conan followed him, and Balthus ran close behind. They chased the shaman to a dark swamp, where strange fog curled above the water. Zogar Sag turned and called upon his god, and the swamp began to stir. From the depths rose a giant serpent, its scales shining in the moonlight. Balthus gasped, but Conan showed no fear. As the serpent lunged, Conan dodged and swung his sword, striking its neck. The creature hissed and wrapped around him, crushing his ribs. Balthus ran forward and fired an arrow into the serpent’s eye. It roared, loosening its grip, and Conan struck again, severing its head.
Zogar Sag screamed and tried to escape, but Conan caught him. The shaman spat curses, saying his spirit would live beyond death. Conan’s sword flashed, and Zogar Sag fell silent forever. The forest went still, and the drums stopped. Conan told Balthus that the spell was broken, but the tribes would still attack at dawn. They had to warn the fort before the warriors crossed the river. Exhausted but determined, they turned back toward the Black River. All night they ran, hearing distant cries as the Picts gathered for war. When they reached the riverbank, the fort’s watchfires were burning faintly across the water.
As they prepared to cross, arrows whistled from the darkness. A band of Picts had been waiting. Conan and Balthus dived behind logs for cover. They fought fiercely, but the enemies were too many. Conan told Balthus to swim across and warn the fort while he held them off. Balthus refused, but Conan ordered him to go. Reluctantly, the young man slipped into the river and began swimming. Behind him, he heard the clash of steel and Conan’s battle cry. When Balthus reached the other side, soldiers were already forming lines at the fort, and the sound of war drums filled the air.
Balthus shouted the warning just as the Picts attacked. Flaming arrows rained over the walls, and the defenders fought back bravely. The battle lasted until sunrise, the forest echoing with screams and gunfire. Though many fell, the fort held strong. By morning, the surviving Picts fled back into the woods. But Balthus was nowhere to be found. Later, soldiers found his body on the riverbank, slain while defending a wounded comrade. Conan, bloodied and weary, stood over him silently. He said the young man had died a warrior’s death, fighting for the frontier. The soldiers buried him near the river, under a simple stone.
As the sun rose over the Black River, Conan looked across the misty water toward the wilderness beyond. The forest was quiet again, but he knew peace would never last. Beyond the river lay a land of dark secrets and endless danger, where men’s courage was always tested. He turned away, knowing he would cross that river again someday, drawn by the wild call of the frontier and the endless fight between civilization and the unknown.