by David Adams
Orgoth removed a gauntlet and cut his palm on the keen edge of his black sword. His blood, more black than red, dripped down as he passed from one circle to the next, thin wisps of smoke rising up from the ground wherever his blood fell inside the circles. When he was done, he replaced the gauntlet and raised his hands over his head. He called out loudly in a tongue rarely uttered in Corterra, a quick command only, and as he did so the chanting from the priests rose as well, the language changing from that common to Corterra to that of the abyss.
The circles exploded in fire and light, and then spewed forth horrible creatures of many shapes and sizes. Few had weapons, but most had claws, teeth, and horns or other bony growths meant for cruel work. There were beasts with leathery wings, creatures with shimmering golden eyes and flames visible inside their open maws, monsters with many eyes or arms or legs. They formed a line of battle and soon outnumbered the defenders of Pembroke, and still they kept coming. Eventually they stood three-deep, and formed an arc that covered nearly half the perimeter of the city wall.
The defenders watched this with sinking hearts, watched their doom unfold as rumors told them that it would, rumors they had hoped to be only tales told by those beaten in battle hoping to save face for abandoning a post, a city, or both. Only now, too late, did they understand the stories were true
Hell’s Horde had come to Pembroke, and the defenders knew they would not see the morning.
* * *
Xanar winced against the icy sting of the snow being driven into his face, closed his eyes against it. When the latest gust of wind mercifully died down, he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “The fun just never stops.”
Darius already knew that things were rough, but when the smile could be driven from his usually jovial friend’s face it seemed to make it official.
Glaze had saved them from certain death, and despite everything, they reminded themselves of that, kept acknowledging that any suffering was preferable to what the trolls had planned for them. But once they had departed the camp, they spent five days in the Endless Hills, getting little rest, watching for trolls and being graced with the sight of the hunting dragon flying overhead several times a day. While the dragon was no enemy, he really hadn’t been an ally either, and his fickle nature left them wondering each time he approached whether he might have changed his mind about letting them continue on their journey.
Once they escaped the Hills the weather returned in its unadulterated fury, and even with four days between them and the Hills—and their last sighting of the dragon—rest was hard to come by. The wind and the bitter cold saw to that. At times the wind was so strong and steady that they honestly couldn’t tell whether snow fell from the sky or was simply being whipped off the ground.
“We could pass within fifty yards of Belzlak’s tower and miss it,” Darius said, adding a new spin to their running commentary about the weather.
“Xanar and I have a good feel for its location,” Uesra said, taking Darius’ comment to be a more literal concern than he had intended.
Because she did so, he weighed his own words and recognized the truth in them. “Which won’t mean much if we can only see a dozen feet in any direction.”
“We only need a brief stretch of calm once we’re close,” Uesra replied. “Let’s not worry over possibilities.”
“I agree,” Barlow said. “The present brings worries enough of its own.”
“Surely you’re acclimated somewhat to the cold by now,” Xanar teased.
“I am,” Barlow replied. “Now that I’ve lost all feeling in my extremities, it hardly seems to matter how much colder it gets.”
“Well said!” Xanar exclaimed with a smile and a laugh.
Adrianna was glad to see the levity around the old paladin’s comment—Barlow himself managed to return Xanar’s smile—but his words had too much truth in them for comfort. The elven clothes were a wonder, and the flune did its magic, but even so the cold was relentless. Sometimes it seemed they’d never be warm again, and with the lack of rest the dangerous siren call of falling into the dubious shelter of the deepening snow and embracing what would be perpetual sleep had echoed a few times in the deeper recesses of her mind. As always when she found herself focused too much on the cold, she tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere. She leaned close to Silas and said, “You were right about Barlow. It’s good he’s been with us, and I even think Xanar’s starting to loosen him up a bit.”
“Xanar’s good cheer has been a positive for all of us, especially Darius.”
Adrianna nodded. “He hasn’t spoken of Luke for a while now, and I don’t see him staring off into space like he used to, lost in thought.”
“He’s remaining in the here and now. Glaze might have helped with that, too, oddly enough. Never thought I’d have to be so thankful for a dragon.”
“Agreed. But I still hope we don’t cross paths with him again.”
“Agreed,” Silas echoed with a grin. He grew more serious and added, “Thanks for what you said about Barlow. I still thought it was the right thing for all concerned to drag him along, but his doubts… Well, they made me doubt too from time to time. If he needed to prove himself, I think he has. He didn’t have to for me—”
“I never felt he had to prove anything to me,” Adrianna protested.
Silas smiled paternally. “I was going to say he needed to prove it to himself. I think he has, but his age still wears on him, makes him question himself, whether he might hold us back or be a burden at some point.”
“He may have saved us a couple of times already.”
“I know. Hopefully, he’ll admit as much to himself.”
The wind kicked up a wall of snow, forcing them to shield their faces. When it calmed, Silas went on. “By the way, he’s glad to have you along. I doubt he’ll admit as much, especially to you, but I can tell.”
“I did notice I don’t get any of those funny looks from Barlow anymore when I use magic.”
“Why should you? Your skills are a large part of the reason we’re still alive and having this conversation.”
“True,” Adrianna said. “But we’re talking about Barlow.”
“Who is as stubborn as they come,” Silas admitted. “But he is no fool. He’s seen now for what purpose you use your magic. He knows it isn’t through some agent of evil that you have such abilities.”
“I guess I hoped to hear him say that himself,” Adrianna said with a sigh. “Funny that it would matter to me.”
“Only means you’re human,” Silas said. “As far as Barlow, one step at a time. Like you said, you don’t get the looks anymore.”
“And Xanar makes him smile. Things are looking up!” Adrianna said with feigned enthusiasm.
As if annoyed at such high-spirited words, the wind kicked another healthy dose of snow into their faces.
* * *
As darkness descended that evening, the last few fleeting clouds were whisked from the sky by the bitter wind. The stars made an appearance, shimmering like frozen jewels, as did a waning crescent moon. The temperature was already plummeting, and the night promised to be the coldest yet.
Uesra conversed quietly with Xanar for a few minutes, then called the group to a halt. “We think we should create what shelter we can and risk a fire. We need to get some rest.”
Barlow, knee-deep in the snow and shivering, spoke for the others when he raised his hands in a gesture questioning how that might come to pass, considering the snow-covered but otherwise barren tundra across which they traveled.
“Xanar and I have small shovels in our packs. The snow is deep enough that we can dig an area out and use the snow to build a wall to shield us from the worst of the wind.”
“And the fire?” Adrianna asked.
“Easier to show you once things are ready,” Xanar answered.
They took turns using the two collapsible shovels the elves had, those not working partaking of a small meal. The snow, for once, proved useful, as it packed easil
y. It didn’t take long for them to have a small area mostly cleared and a wall in place that sheltered them somewhat when they sat down.
The group watched with more than passing interest as Xanar opened his pack again and removed eight thin slats of what appeared to be wood. He placed these on the ground in a rough octagonal shape, outlining an area perhaps three feet in diameter. This done, he stepped back, looked at Adrianna, and gestured at his handiwork. “I can light it by hand, but it’ll take some time. If you don’t mind…”
Everyone backed off a few steps as Adrianna worked her spell. She sent a small fireball toward one of the sticks, which lit immediately. The fireball vanished on contact, but the flames raced from one stick to the next, easily leaping the gaps Xanar had left between them. When it completed the circuit the fire rushed inward, and despite the fact that there was nothing combustible between the slats of wood Xanar had laid out, a roaring fire within the octagon was soon blazing. The fire cast off enough heat that after everyone had warmed themselves they drew back to find a spot where they could remain comfortable.
Like the others, Silas sat silently for a time, happy for a reprieve from the incessant cold. After a while he started to study Xanar’s sticks. “They don’t appear to be being consumed.”
“They’re not,” Uesra said.
“Do you have more?” Adrianna asked.
Xanar shook his head. “But if we’re careful, we won’t need any more. These can be reused many times.”
“More elven magic,” Darius stated more than asked.
“We have dealt with the northern winter for some time,” Uesra said. “Our people have been motivated to come up with ways to cope with it.”
“We can all be grateful for that,” Barlow said.
Thanks to the snow wall, the magical fire, and the waterproof nature of the elven clothes they wore, they were able to get some truly restful sleep that night for the first time in weeks.
* * *
The dark priest knelt before Kaelesh, perfectly still, perfectly obedient. Kaelesh could feel the man’s heart racing, the fear and excitement from being so close to such power not completely masked. But the man’s outer composure, at least, had impressed Kaelesh, and an edge of fear was a good thing. As with everything of late, this pleased Kaelesh.
“Rise up,” he said. “Tell the council my wishes are that the food rations be halved again.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man answered in a calm tone as he stood up. Wisely he still kept his eyes deferentially lowered. “And what of the rumored uprising in Dunham?”
“Send Harst, Belest, and a garrison of troops. Kill the leaders, and five others at random as an example. If there is any sign of a church, burn it and kill five others.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You are dismissed.”
After the man had left, Kaelesh couldn’t suppress his smile. The dark priests and priestesses were proving more valuable than he had dared hope, their hunger for power making them ideal servants. Only two had fallen so far, one picking a fight with a talented swordsman, another destroying himself while trying to channel too much energy through his own body while casting a spell. But the rest continued to grow in talent and strength, while bringing order to Longvale, just as Harst and Belest would grow personally while putting down the minor revolt in the city of Dunham.
Kaelesh had stepped aside quickly after Landri’s death, declaring his desire was only to advise, never to rule. As such, the citizens had no idea he remained, as he had been with Landri, the true power behind the throne, although the throne had been replaced by a council. This council, most believed, was derived from the wishes of the people. In actuality, it was composed of Kaelesh’s newest servants.
Similar plans were in the works for Westphalia, which had seen a great number of assassinations since Praad had escorted King Gregor’s ambassador back to his home country. The king and all in his line had been killed, each by the hand of a loyal Westphalian. Now the capital city was in an uproar, and a leadership void had been created. Luckily, Praad was there to see to it that the right sort of people were put in charge.
Kaelesh turned his thoughts to Dalusia, and from his latest conversation with his brother considered it little more than a killing ground. All three brothers were different, and Orgoth was only able to play the game the way Kaelesh and Praad preferred for so long. In this case, Kaelesh was happy to let him run free in Dalusia, although he wasn’t sure what he’d do once Orgoth ran out of cities to conquer. His thirst for blood was never slaked, and Kaelesh had no intention of letting the slaughter spread into Longvale or Westphalia. Maybe he could send him north, give Orgoth the opportunity that he had claimed he wanted earlier to test himself versus the elves and their magic. That might do quite well.
A knock at the door drew him away from his thoughts. At his word the door opened, and a dark priestess who was as cold and cruel as she was beautiful stepped into the room. She came forward, unable to hide her eager smile.
More good news, Kaelesh thought. Corterra was falling into utter ruin, and the harvest of souls would be bountiful.
Chapter 7: Belzlak’s Tower
They had left the Endless Hills far behind them, and now it was only barren tundra that filled their world. As little life as they had encountered on this trip, the far eastern region of the north seemed even more desolate and empty, a forgotten place at the end of the known world. The companions remained wary—they had been surprised too many times on this journey not to—but it felt as if they now battled only time and the weather in their quest to reach Belzlak’s tower.
One morning as the sun crested the horizon it glinted off an object some miles ahead, and they knew they had arrived. As they marched in contemplative silence, the tower appeared to grow before them. It was only fifty feet tall, but it may as well have been a mile here on the flat plain. Darius remembered his fear that they might miss it, and it seemed a silly concern now, but that had been when the snow fell heavy and thick. On a clear day, the tower was hard to miss.
Some internal force slowed them as they neared, and they stopped as one a hundred yards away from their goal. The tower was made of polished black stone, and if time or the elements had damaged it, it was not obvious. At the upper part of the tower was its only window, far out of reach. They spotted what they hoped was a door, although they couldn’t be sure, as the drifting snow covered the base of the tower to a considerable height.
“Your people built that?” Darius asked Xanar, not taking his eyes off the tower.
“Yes. This is the first time I’ve seen it, though.”
“Doesn’t look like the things in your city. It seems sinister somehow.”
“It was made for a dire purpose,” Uesra said, not disagreeing with Darius’ assessment.
He nodded and went on. “We’ve come too far for it to be abandoned, or for this Belzlak to be dead, but still… There’s a part of me that hopes that’s the case.”
“I feel it, too,” Silas said. “But either way, I don’t think he’ll be calling out a greeting. We need to get inside.”
Although they would have preferred to approach as peacefully as possible, they drew their weapons, unwilling to move close to the foreboding structure with their collective guard down. The window was their focus as they neared, but no movement was seen up above. As they closed on the tower’s base the structure loomed above them, and as they craned their necks to peer up at it, it seemed as if it would topple down upon them at any moment.
There was indeed a door at the tower’s base, and they had to use Xanar and Uesra’s shovels to dig it out. By the time they had finished their trepidation had been somewhat reduced—Belzlak or anything else alive inside surely knew they were there, and had done nothing to slow or stop them. By the same token, they had been forced to announce their arrival when they would have preferred stealth. Given the current circumstance, Silas decided to knock on the door, explaining, “It is his home, and we aren’t thieves.”
&nb
sp; “Worth a try,” Barlow said with a shrug. “But I doubt it’ll draw a response.”
It didn’t, and after a short wait they tried the door. It was unlocked and swung open easily.
The odor that struck them was more visceral than a slap in the face, a stench of filth and decay. It forced them all back, the icy air they had suffered now refreshingly crisp and clear. Finally they steeled themselves and started in. “Leave the door open,” Adrianna suggested.
The lowest floor of the tower was empty save for an old wooden table and a pair of chairs that hadn’t been used for quite some time. The walls and floor were of the same polished stone as the outside of the tower, although here a layer of dust covered everything. Along the far wall a narrow stair wound its way to the second floor. The room was bitterly cold, sheltered from the wind at least, but unheated and for the most part not insulated.
The second floor was much like the first, and soon they found this to be the case on the third and fourth floors as well. The broken-down furnishings were different on each level, indicating they had passed through what once amounted to a kitchen, then a den or work room, and now a bedroom, all in advanced states of disuse. The only other change was the smell, which had been somewhat alleviated by the in-rush of fresh air on the lower floors. The higher they went the staler and fouler the air became. No one said what they all thought, that Belzlak’s decaying corpse would be the key feature of the top floor.
Despite what their senses and instincts told them, they were wary and holding their weapons firmly as they ascended the final stair. The reek in the room was so thick they could almost see it, like a green haze hanging heavy in the air. The room was lined with shelves holding books and assorted parchments, and jars of all sizes with unknown substances inside. A small table held only a pair of knives, each stained brown with what could have been dried blood. Across the room a chair was positioned by the window, in which a creature resembling a man rested, his head turned as if gazing outside. But the man had no eyes with which to see, and what was left of his body was scarred and withered beyond anything they had ever seen before. Like everything else in the place, the dust had settled upon this form, undistrubed for many years.
