by Amy E Hix
She opened her eyes and came back to herself, “There is your answer.”
“You idiot Hag!” Kraevit began to yell, “That’s not any help! Everyone knows Minzkala is where the Maralunians travel after death. We need to get in there.”
“That’s all I am able to see.” She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him, though his yelling had startled a couple of the other Warlords. Her minions had gathered around the hut and could be seen peering in all the windows. When Kraevit noticed them, he grew fearful and pulled back his rage.
“You can forget about your souls, then,” he cried.
“She smiled at him and calmly replied, “So quick to give up your own life? How very foolish.”
He thought about her words for a moment. He knew what the Hags were capable of, and he knew it was futile to try to back out of the agreement. Instead, he slammed the case of vials into another Warlord’s hands and stormed out angrily.
The other Warlords followed him, and they mounted the Drakes to return to the Temple. Kraevit didn’t say a word the whole way back.
Twenty
The Rebuilding of Aheb’an
In Aheb’an, the High Council members and their army of Warlords arrived shortly before dawn. The first thing they noticed was the thousands of Orcs still working to rebuild the ruined city. The Orcs had been there from late afternoon, when the Sun had fallen beneath the mountains in the west, and they would continue to work through the night.
The only building ready for battle was the huge tower standing in the middle of the back wall, Killian’s Tower. Malear, and Killian after him, had claimed the tower for their own and kept it running with the help of the Orcs. There were balconies stretching out from the upper areas and jagged battlements. Beneath the tower, there was a network of tunnels that led to the mountains in the distance for the Orcs to use in daylight hours. At the very top there was a landing platform and a large encased chamber where Killian performed his magic. The only entrance to the upper tier was a portal, accessed from the second floor of the tower. The chamber in the upper tier was the only suitable place for the council to meet with Killian and Chesed’reg to discuss Aheb’an’s progress.
“The Orcs should have your new meeting room ready before they return to the mountains this morning,” Killian proudly stated.
He was a Digvi’jan, but he, and Malear before him, had very little to do with the rest of the clan primarily because of the distance between them. They did, however, have a trading system in place with the Digvi’jan Warlords of Vaidha. Ships traveled back and forth between Vaidha and the northern shore of Sapir, where the Orcs had built their port.
Killian was taller and thinner than the other Digvi’ja. His emerald green robe was lined with embroidered gold designs. The neck was layered and drew up around the back of Killian’s head. Arm cuffs opened wide around his hands and revealed the golden sleeves of the silk shirt beneath his robe.
In his hand, he held a tall Ash staff, carved with Sorcerer’s symbols. The wood was knotted near the top of the staff and streaked with natural lines of blackened wood grain.
“I wasn’t sure what sort of progress to expect, but from what I see, I believe we will be ahead of schedule by a couple of weeks at least,” Chesed’reg looked reassured of their efforts, “What have you heard about the Grosteques from the south?”
“They are here,” Killian glanced out the window to a long narrow building next to the far wall and pointed. The Sun was emitting light from the eastern sky. “Sleeping now from their journey, but soon they will awaken to take over for the Orcs. And from my best estimation, I’m pleased to respectfully correct you; we should be finished within the week.”
“Good,” Chesed’reg felt contemptuous toward Killian. He grew frustrated when the peons of his race tried to pretend they were better than him. But he was too exhausted to do anything about it.
“Now if Kraevit can only prepare the entrance to Minzkala in that time,” Chesed’reg walked around the table to take a look at the ongoing work below them, “Have you taken care of the Luminomes?” That should put Killian in his place, he thought.
Killian’s eyes followed the horizon to the east and with less enthusiasm he said, “It’s been impossible thus far, but they are no threat. I haven’t seen one in years. They stay inside the caverns and never come this way. One of the Orc guards reminded me of their presence. When I made the order to place Orcs along the mountain range, he hesitated and then told me why. They have agreed to station themselves anyway, but they refuse to go back into the northeastern mines because of the light.
“We can take care of the Luminomes after we defeat the Ancients, if it pleases you. We could recover the mining supplies at least, perhaps gain a few more slave workers.”
“Yes, of course we can,” as much as any Digvi’jan could, Chesed’reg was smiling from whatever he was thinking, “One final thing…the Barbarians?”
“They said no.”
“I expected as much. Chances are they wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Show us to a place for rest. We are weary from our journey.”
Killian led them back to the top of the tower, and they prepared to mount the Drakes. The Digvi’ja would rest for only a little while, for there was much to be done. They looked out over the area once more.
Before the Sun had risen over Aheb’an, the Orcs had managed to refortify several houses and buildings. Grosteques were working with the Orcs as they moved to begin the work on the ledges around the walls.
They were building catapults on the towers and repairing the battlements in a few areas to support more of the Legion’s forces. Throughout the plains to the southwest, stations were strategically placed to serve as look-out areas. They would be useful in taking out some of the Ancient’s warriors as they entered the Highlands.
Before the Council could leave the platform, a Digvi’jan messenger flew into the landing. He was carrying a message from Kraevit, discussing the information from his journey to the Hag. He also carried the crate of vials. The note read:
Chesed’reg:
The seer must be some sort of scam artist. This information is totally useless. She said:
“If Minzkala is what you seek,
Look to the heart of the forest.
Locate and enter as you please,
But only through one’s death.”
We already know this. I am sorry to have wasted our time.
High Warlord Kraevit
P.S. We need to have some of the Warlords open these vials during the battle with the Ancients. Once fifteen souls enter, plug the top with the cork and return them to me along with the remains of all the fallen humans from the battle.
Chesed’reg rolled his eyes after reading it and said, “That idiot!” He stared at the message again. “Send word for the rest of the Warlords to join us, including Kraevit.”
The messenger made his way back to the platform to return to the Temple in Byhalia. Chesed’reg handed the note to Hanbrig, who had been anxious to read it as well.
Hanbrig was still studying the note when Chesed’reg said, “See it? ‘Through one’s death.’ That imbecile thought she was speaking of the entrance the Maralunians make after death. But it’s saying we need to kill someone to break down the barrier. And I believe I know who.”
“The King?” Hanbrig questionably answered him.
“Yes, the King. And from the report we received from the Cerapithali, he should be with the warriors once they reach us.”
The rest of the daylight hours went by fast, or so it seemed. However, the progress wasn’t what Chesed’reg had hoped for. He had slept for a large portion of the day and felt that very little had been accomplished in his absence. The Grosteques and Warlords had completed most of the work on the inner buildings while the Orcs were in the caverns.
The Orcs had not slept; instead, they had made weapons and
gunpowder for the cannons, as well as bows and fire arrows for the Legionnaires who would be stationed along the battlements. All this work was done in the tunnels beneath Aheb’an.
They also gathered up more large stones to hurtle through the air from the catapults and put them in the bottom level of Killian’s Tower. As soon as the Sun dropped from the sky, they would carry the supplies out to the appropriate stations.
As evening set in, the remaining Digvi’jan Warlords arrived, Kraevit with them. Most of the Cerapithali from the Mourtaire Forest had arrived as well. One of them had news about the warriors.
“Master, four large ships leaving Keymira’s Wharf have been spotted. They are heading north.”
“Then they are ready for us, it would seem,” Chesed’reg dismissed the Cerapithalis and walked further out on the balcony.
Sharing his ideas with Hanbrig as they came to mind, he continued, “They will waste much time looking for us in Vahael. Then they will have to sail back to the bay to reach Aheb’an. Traveling the mountain pass into the southwestern corner of the Highlands will take them several days. We should have plenty of time to finish the reconstruction.”
“Any specific things you want to push forward in preparation?” Hanbrig asked him.
“Yes, send the Grosteques and the Warlords out to the stations in the valley. Tell them to load up any supplies that are ready and to get those stations operational at once.”
“What about the work on the battlements?”
“The Orcs can handle that. They work fast and they have three more nights, perhaps more, to complete the work.”
Hanbrig acknowledged his orders and with nothing further from Chesed’reg, he motioned for Lucache and sent him out with the orders.
“One more thing, Hanbrig,” Chesed’reg told him as the Sun was again going down, “Send a group of Warlords after Shift and bring her to me.”
For the two years she had been missing, Shift had been kept at Anamus Keep, deep inside one of the abandoned dungeons. She had been stripped of her Enchantress’ jewelry so that she couldn’t possibly escape the chains in which they placed her.
There was only one guard with her, a Cerapithalis who had acquired skills to survive without the comforts of civilization. He would disguise himself in various forms as he worked his garden and hunted in plain sight.
His favorite form was the old Hermit he had once bitten and transformed when the Cerapithali were on a massive campaign to increase numbers.
He wasn’t particularly nice to Shift, but he also wasn’t as mean as he could have been. He had strict instructions not to harm the Enchantress. It was one of the rare times the Cerapithali had not gotten to the intruder first and either tainted or killed him or her. Once transformed, Chesed’reg couldn’t use the her for anything other than a mere fighter.
After her capture, Chesed’reg knew the significance of the leverage he had acquired. However, before the plans to break down the walls of Minzkala were complete, he felt it would be a waste of resources to throw out his bargaining chip. Two years later, he now found her purpose.
“Hanbrig,” Chesed’reg continued, “Have the Orcs focus on the chamber below. We’ll be calling Malakael.”
Malakael was considered the most evil and vile creature in all the lands of Gael. He dwelt deep inside the magma pits beneath an underwater city called Thangheron in the middle of the Gaemic Ocean. He could travel to any land using the molten layer far beneath the surface of Gael, and often did so to find new souls to devour. For this reason, very few ventured deep into the earth.
Malakael was a Wyvern made of pure fire, a walking flame. He could cause an explosion resembling a min-nova that traveled up to a hundred yards away. In addition to his nova, he produced a torch from his nostrils that instantaneously disintegrated almost everything that lay in its path.
The Digvi’ja, or Caliginos as they were called then, tried to summon Malakael sixty-five years before the Caliginian War, but it ended in disaster. The dragon was set loose in Aheb’an and devoured every soul there. It took them almost twenty years before they could even think about attacking the people of Sapir.
Chesed’reg planned to use Shift to lure the Minzkalans into the lair with Malakael. Both the lair and Shift’s cell had to be made of a special metal containing tungsten to protect Shift and to prevent Malakael from escaping. Chesed’reg also had Killian place a transfer shield around the walls to prevent the Ancients from entering the cell using Enchanters’ magic.
Chesed’reg had planned on killing the King all along, but the news from the Hag made it imperative that he carry out his personal mission. The plan was complicated and risky, but it carried a high chance of success, if the King was as vulnerable as they suspected.
Hanbrig was pleased to hear Chesed’reg call for Malakael. In doing so, he knew he meant business. With the giant Wyvern, an escape by the king or any other warriors would be nearly impossible. It would bring finality to their quest to take down the Ancients once and for all.
In order to get Malakael to the Highlands, the Orcs would use the fiery pits deep below their dwellings. Because they had no souls, Malakael would continue to leave the Orcs undisturbed, as long as they stayed out of his way. The Digvi’ja would need to sacrifice a soul or two to draw the beast’s attention.
Chesed’reg decided they would chain one chosen sacrifice near the lava pits to lure Malakael through the tunnels to find his prey. A second soul would need to be chained in the lair itself. Once the beast was inside, they would trap Malakael into service for them.
He also decided that the foolish High Warlord, Kraevit, would be one of the two to pay the price. It was, after all, Kraevit’s assignment to open the walls of Minzkala.
After Shift was expedited to Killian’s tower, she was brought before Chesed’reg. She looked tattered, yet still fair.
Her resolve to be uncooperative had persevered through the years. The young human girl still had a determined look of defiance on her face. Her wrists were bound, and her robe was in rags. Her blonde hair was coarsely kempt. Her soft blue eyes stared at the ground.
Chesed’reg had her brought to him for two reasons. One was to torture her with the news of the upcoming battle, and her contribution. From his account, the Digvi’ja outnumbered the Maralunians by two-hundred thousand or more. Her eyes grew lost as she listened to the trap that would be set for King Naethan.
Chesed’reg’s second reason for seeing Shift was to lay eyes upon his prize once more. For two years, she had become a trophy of war, his secret treasure.
He gave orders for her to be cleaned up and a new robe was brought out. He told her that once the battle was over, perhaps her life would be spared, and she would live in his new lands.
Then Shift was taken to a chamber within the tower. She would remain there until her cell inside the lair was complete.
As she looked out upon Aheb’an through a barred window, she felt that everything Chesed’reg had said was true. The Ancients would be outnumbered. They would perhaps all die in the battle.
But she couldn’t give up. It was beyond her to do so. Her life with the Ancients had given her an enduring amount of hope that would not dissolve with any hardship, including death.
Twenty-One
Rhalas sets Sail
Turk
We arrived in Keymira’s Wharf with no delays and had enough time to eat dinner there before we boarded the warships, brought up from the Port of Nebal and the Agalago Harbor.
Keymira’s Wharf had been a temporary docking post when the Agalago Harbor was under the control of a group of Mountain Trolls from Saola. It was rustic, at best. A few huts lined the inside walls of the fort, with one stone building, a military barracks, in the middle. The dirt paths were primitive, and the creaking docks were poorly thrown together.
After the Battle of Zemylar, a few rugged men settled into the Wharf. They made t
heir living from trading black market goods with people such as the Barbarians. To even think about the fact that they could have dealings with a group of people who once killed their kind really bothered me.
We got a few stares when we arrived. Wary glances and the occasional merchant rushing into his hut to hide his contraband. We cycled through the tavern and had our fill of food and drink. As we finished, we began preparing the ships. We would sleep on the way. Shortly after dark, about thirty-thousand of us began our journey across the Northern Gaemic Ocean.
Behind us, I could see the lights of Keymira’s Wharf dimming. The sky was a little cloudy, the air crisp and cool. I smelled the salty sea, and it reminded me of home.
My team parked itself at a table near the starboard side, hoping to look into the lands of Sapir once we made it that far. The ships were headed toward the Northern portion of the Gaemic Ocean, following the eastern coastlines of Maralune.
Our fears of being spotted were realized just as we passed the last stretch of coastline. The ship furthest to the left alerted us of a flock of Cerapithali. I grabbed a pair of field glasses to inspect them.
The Cerapithali were flying high and either didn’t see us or were intentionally averting us. There were close to a hundred of them, all flying in formation. They seemed to be coming from the Mourtaire Forest, headed in the direction of the Sapiran Highlands.
After a few moments, they swung in low, but made no movement toward the ships. Some of them were looking our way. The teams prepared themselves to face them in battle if needed. Solecreation ordered us to the front of the ship with the Captain.
“Hold your attack,” the Captain ordered us.
We climbed the platform to where he was standing. Pinky and Kelara were off to the side having their own discussion near the deck railings.
“Should I have us turn around?” the Captain asked Pinky.
“No,” he replied, “We’re still close enough to Maralune. They’ll report that we were heading north, and for all they know, that could mean we’re heading to Vahael. Would have been better if they hadn’t seen us at all, but we’re in no danger. We’ll have to be more careful once we hit Sapir, though.”
