Night dropped on the grieving city with merciful swiftness. Life slowly attempted to return to normalcy. Patrols continued to strengthen and the violence, which had never been particularly intense, gradually subsided. Curfew was enforced, more for the citizens’ protection, than the need to impose martial law. Handfuls of miscreants took to the shadows to continue their brand of mayhem but they were ineffectual.
Harrin Slinmyer drew his cloak tight around him and warmed his hands over the watch fire. It was particularly cold this night, much more so than any other this winter. He cursed the thankless job keeping him exposed to the elements so cruelly. The burdens of leadership. The good of the people depended on his ability to perform under duress. It was a position proudly served.
His men performed much the same. Stationary pickets kept watch for two-hour shifts. Roving guards marched segments of the perimeter as a secondary measure. Sergeants of the guard checked their men at intervals, each ensuring that all were alert. Harrin was convinced the enemy wasn’t gone and conveyed that to his chain of command. Complacency threatened the defenders of Galdea. Experience taught him that singular act was responsible for killing more soldiers than actual combat.
He left the fire when his nerves tingled. Harrin immediately glanced skyward, praying that none of those fearsome winged beasts were overhead. No wraith-like terrors loomed. No guards cried out in alarm. The outlying forests were quiet, seemingly asleep, though he remained positive those vile red eyes were watching him.
Harrin needed to speak with his men, hoping to calm his frayed nerves. He stopped randomly and made small talk, while trying to find the source of his suspicions. All was calm, quiet on the surface, yet the nagging feeling intensified. Clouds rolled in to occlude the pale moonlight. By the time Harrin returned to the main guard house, he was exhausted.
He slipped out of his cloak and collapsed in an empty chair. The warmth of the building crept into his frozen arms and legs. It was only after rubbing his eyes that he realized he was alone. No less than ten men should have occupied the room, a ready reserve, just in case. The bunks and small kitchen area were empty. Only the tender cackling of burning wood accompanied him.
Harrin rose and drew his sword. “Show yourself.”
An old, bent and broken woman stepped from behind the divider in the back of the room. Reluctantly, he lowered his sword and stepped forward. Her eyes held him in their power, locked onto his own, searching.
“You have no need for weapons against me, Captain,” she said, her voice plush with the song of a winter bird.
“Who are you? What have you done with my men?” he demanded.
She smiled, an awkward, childish giggle escaping her lips. “Your men are safe. They are merely hidden beneath a spell of my casting. It was necessary for me to do so. I must make sure you are the right one. I am the mage Anni Sickali, confidant to the crown princess and friend of this city. I may have a way of helping your situation and… your army.”
Harrin’s mouth dropped open as she explained.
FOUR
A Spy Thought Lost
Five hundred Wylin milled about the gates of the desert city of Jerincon, armed and ready for war. Defenders welcomed them with cheers and open arms. Camden Hern viewed them with suspicion, knowing too well how the first encounter with a Wylin ended. The amphibious creatures were generally regarded as non-violent and rarely strayed far from the rivers of the Wilderlands. Jerincon must be in grave peril, for them to risk so much.
He and Sylin Marth slipped through the throngs of onlookers come to see the latest addition to the city defense force and eventually found Drimmen Giles. The dwarf couldn’t have been happier, though their position was still desperate. A few thousand more and the goblins would be stopped in their tracks.
Sylin caught the familiar glitter of the pains of leadership in the dwarf’s eyes but said nothing. He’d seen enough during his tenure as a member of the Hierarchy’s High Council to know the worries never stopped. Besides which, it wasn’t his place to advise another leader, when his own situation was growing increasingly precarious. Garin Stonebreaker intercepted them before they managed to reach Dremmin.
“Dremmin Giles has a long night ahead of him,” the dwarf warrior explained. “Wylins are most secretive and must be dealt with carefully. If he says anything they don’t like or approve, they will turn and leave without so much as a word. We need every sword we can get.”
Camden wondered if it had occurred to anyone that if they disarmed the city’s population and sent the soldiers off to join the main army, the goblins might pass Jerincon entirely. Rather than making anyone look the fool, he held his tongue and instead suggested a bite to eat. All three were starving, so there was no discussion. Between bites, Garin explained more on the fractured history of dwarf and goblin. The two had warred for as long as history remembered. Rumors said they were once the same race until a great conflict arose, producing a major schism. One faction went north to the mountains, while the other left for the hard forests to the east.
Of course, such things were largely absurd. Though, as with all rumors, there were certain elements of truth that remained debated to this day. Ask any dwarf, Garin argued, and they would fiercely deny it. Not even the Drehenzia, in all their diabolical ways, could be so cruel as to do the twisted things of nature suggested.
The meal ended, Garin decided to return to Dremmin Giles and hash out the remaining details. Wylins were inside the walls of Jerincon, in force, for the first time anyone could recall, moving through the different parts of the city to their temporary barracks. Sylin and Camden made an effort to look each in the face in passing, hoping not to find the familiar, traitorous face of Oo Ynlon.
The dwarf war leader greeted them with stern nod, the façade of elation already passed. He was back to being his natural untrusting, taciturn self. The addition of the Wylin battalion was a great help, but nowhere near enough to what he was going to need to properly defend Jerincon and the surrounding lands.
“I have studied your requests quite in depth, Councilman Marth. It’s no secret that every sword and axe I can get a hold of is needed, direly. Your request, however, I deem slightly more important than the continued security of my city.”
Garin rocked back, shock etched upon his weathered face.
“We are all lost if this wizard seizes the token of power. Either way, it appears I am destined to lose. I am granting you ten men, all volunteers. Garin and his brother Talrn shall lead them. We can provide you with a map and two weeks’ worth of provisions. When you leave is entirely up to you. I imagine you will wait until your shoulder is properly healed and strength returned in full?”
Even as he said it, Dremmin knew it was the opposite.
“There are small towns farther east, but I wouldn’t trust a soul in them. No decent, law abiding man would live so deep in their lands without good reason. I wish you all success and that there was more I could do to aid you, but my present dilemma is equally perilous. As I said earlier, the goblin offensive in the north is stalling. Casualties are high on both sides, but those foul bastards have suffered considerably more. There is growing fear, despite our victories, that the enemy is massing to strike south. We will be naught but a roadblock should that happen.”
This also surprised Garin Stonebreaker. Only days before, he had spoken as if the walls of Jerincon would hold forever. The younger dwarf wondered what had happened to make that untrue. Being a mere scout, Garin wasn’t afforded the opportunity to voice his concerns. Dremmin dismissed them and went back to planning the defense.
The three left in a chatter, each offering their views on how events should unfold. All agreed that Garin was best to round up those ten volunteers. Gul Killingstone had already offered his axe and according to Garin, was a most welcome addition. In fact, the dwarf explained as they broke free of the crowds and out into the city proper, Gul was already preparing for the coming journey, as well as any dangers they might meet.
Gul, it tu
rned out, was highly proficient. By the time Sylin and the others reached the small barracks on the opposite side of Jerincon they saw a rugged company ready to ride. Sylin found it hard not to be impressed and was suspicious at the same time. Things were getting well beyond the point of control, as the situation within the walls continued to devolve rapidly. He wanted to know how the dwarf hunter knew what to do without being told, unless of course, Dremmin Giles had already issued orders before seeing Sylin and Camden. The dwarf leader was highly intelligent and more cunning than most back in Meisthelm, leaving the option entirely possible.
Gul Killingstone went about his self-appointed tasks without looking up. Horses needed to be readied. Provisions packed. Extra water bags were filled and assembled. Weapons sharpened that final time. Sylin found it interesting how none of them bothered speaking. There was none of the typical pre-deployment banter soldiers often shared to calm their nerves. Each and every one of those assembled was stone faced, resigned almost.
“You know Ynlon could be among those wylins?” Sylin ventured.
Camden grunted as he swallowed a chunk of desert pheasant. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He could have drowned for all we know. If he is here, he won’t be much of a hassle.”
“Unless he brought his horde with him to start the invasion,” Sylin countered.
The dwarves dropped what they were doing and glared at him. The conversation being spoken had already run through their minds and none were in the mood to be reminded of that foul possibility. For an outsider to utter such suspicions made the hair, rather thick and gnarly, stand on the back of their necks. Preparations were further interrupted by a handful of the amphibian warriors lurching their way. Gul and Garin snuck passive glances to Sylin, hands slowly dropping to their axes. They relaxed only after he failed to recognize any of the wylins.
The dwarves relaxed, if just, and the wylins set about making a small place to enjoy their meal, while ignoring the dwarves. None noticed the shifting reptilian eyes of the reddish-purple Wylin concealed a short distance away as he watched both groups with equal interest. His scaled muscles rippled beneath his loose-fitting tunic. His gills flared angrily. Oo Ynlon focused his gaze on the men from Meisthelm and watched.
“How is your shoulder?” Garin asked, seeking to ease some of the tension filling the formerly unoccupied square.
Sylin rotated it gently. Still stiff and sore. “It will be all right by the time we get to our destination.”
“We leave early?” Gul Killingstone growled.
The former councilman nodded. “Tonight, just before dawn. I want to be away from here with the least amount of attention.”
“Shouldn’t appear more than another patrol heading out,” the dwarf agreed. “Good thinking. Can’t trust too many these days. You might work out.”
Sylin didn’t know why, but the dwarf’s words of encouragement held meaning. In a time where hope dwindled, each shining voice inspired him to continue.
Sunrise was still well off, giving the small band time to slip through the walls without too many eyes upon them. They wove their way through the sleeping city, making as little noise as possible. Sylin was impressed with the natural stealth the dwarves demonstrated. Dremmin Giles had already coordinated an unexplained disappearance of guards, thus allowing Garin to lead the group out into the uninviting desert. Sylin took one last look at the front-line defense of Jerincon and shook his head. The gates, strong as they were, would hold for only a few hours should the goblin army attack in force, or get close enough to use battering rams or catapults.
The dwarves closed the gates behind them and scurried off into the dwindling darkness. It was bound to be a very long road in the hunt for the missing wizard Elxander. They’d been on the road for six hours by the time Garin called a halt for the morning meal. Surprisingly, not a word was spoken for the entire time. Sylin drank in the silence, knowing it wouldn’t last. Peace seldom did.
He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had been given the time to reflect and sort through his thoughts, to reorganize his agenda. Those thoughts took him back to Meisthelm, to the day when Shali Kolm was killed and the treachery of the Black was revealed. Those pompous idiots on the High Council thought him a fool, especially Zye Terrio. Sylin left them to their crumbling world and went in search of the one man capable of restoring order, and stopping the Black. Elxander was a forgotten salvation, but one Sylin couldn’t ignore.
His musings were interrupted when they pulled into a small oasis and took their break. The dwarves were as efficient as they were silent. A small fire was burning within moments. The delicious smell of roasting meat filled the air. Sylin found himself salivating, as Gul relished the idea of being a quality chef.
Garin produced the map while the food cooked. Other dwarves went out to form a perimeter and stood watch, while the leaders debated on which route best served their intent. Camden offered little, for the Goblin Lands were fairly new territory for him. He’d been as far as the western edge of the Grimstone Mountains but no farther.
“There is a place,” Garin ventured, after washing down the last bite of biscuit with a swig of fresh coffee. “One of unimaginable power, rumored of course, lying southeast of the mountains. Men in these parts call it the Tower of Souls. Few have ever seen it, fewer still have ever returned. I think it is a good place to begin the hunt for your lost wizard.”
“How many days ride?” Camden asked. He still harbored doubts about trying to find a man who didn’t want to be found.
The dwarf studied the map. “Hard to tell. Could take up to a month. We’ll have to pass through the heart of the goblins to get there. Less than a league separates the mountains from the forests. It’s too perilous. We may run right into their army.”
“We could always go around the mountains,” Sylin ventured.
“No,” Garin said. “That would take too long. Besides, there are strange happenings going on that far south. Folk have been disappearing without reason. Damnedest thing I’ve heard in a long time. We must go around the Grimstones to the north. It’s the only way.”
An obscure noise in the distant palm trees drew Sylin’s attention. He searched, not fully trusting the dwarves on guard, but failed to spy anything out of the ordinary. “Isn’t there a pass through the mountains we can use? Some way to avoid both perils?”
Garin chuckled softly. “Nay, Councilman. There are no easy ways through this cruel land. The Hyber Pass does run through the Grimstones. Unfortunately, it’s guarded quite closely by a rogue dragon; the Red Tragalon. We’ve sent two raids out to displace him over the past fifty years. None returned.”
“Reds are the worst,” Gul grumbled in affirmation.
Garin took it as a sign to continue. “No one knows why the dragon left the Mountains of the Fang. Some believe the roost became too crowded, but we of the east know little of the west. Elves guard her borders, the chosen of the gods themselves.”
Garin fell silent as he felt the stares of all eyes upon him. None of his peers had known him to be a deep thinker, much less to waste time in pointless speculation. He was a superb tracker and survivalist. Indeed, none better dwelled within the borders of Jerincon. His sudden revelations were a most pleasant change.
“Have you seen elves?” he asked Sylin.
Sylin shook his head. “I’ve been from one part of the Free Lands to the next but have never laid eyes on one of the fair folk. They keep to their woodland fortresses and have little to do with the world of men. Perhaps we should all take heed of their examples. The world might become a better place.”
“This world is what we have made of it. Our fathers’ fathers and the ones before. The next few years will decide the end of a story they set in motion. We pray it to be a good enough end to tell our children with pride. Garin fell silent and signaled for them to begin packing up. They’d wasted enough time.
No one heard the soft clicking noise coming from the bushes. They also failed to spy the naturally camouflaged s
kin of Oo Ynlon lurking just out of sight. Nor did they see the wicked, spiked-tooth grin spread across his face as they rode away. He laughed in victory.
***
Word of the approaching riders reached the main camp just before noon. The outer picket lines let them pass, as both mission and identity were confirmed. The riders pushed their horses hard, driving on to reach the end goal. Weeks on the road in constant fear, spurred them. When at last they ventured into the main camp, they found men waiting.
Soldiers throughout the camp hardly spared them a second thought as they busied with daily routines. Horses were wiped down and fed, as were two of the three riders. The third was escorted to the center of the nearly league long army camp under the watchful glares of two untrusting guards. To his credit, the rider ignored the mock custody. His mission was paramount over mortal pride.
A dozen tents, each massive in stature, comprised the army’s operations center. Haggard faced officers and senior enlisted shuffled from tent to tent. Whispers of something big about to happen circulated. A pair of gnome trackers walked by, both speaking their native tongue. The rider hadn’t seen a gnome in years. People across the Free Lands revered them as the best trackers in the business, though most saw them as little better than pickpockets and thieves.
The rider was stopped at the middle tent. He watched as his escort departed, only to be replaced by another set posted beside the tent flap. They uncrossed their pikes long enough to let a dour faced lieutenant appear. He immediately extended a hand in introduction.
“I’m Zin Doluth, adjutant to General Conn,” he said.
“Rhea Ailwin, commander of messengers of Meisthelm,” said the other. “I have urgent business with the general.”
Zin smiled, breaking the harsh lines on his worn face. “We’ve been expecting you. Follow me, please.”
The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2 Page 4
