The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2

by Christian Warren Freed

  Hand over foot, he shuffled as fast as the elements allowed. Ice coated the lower rope and he slipped too many times. Exhaustion pushed into his muscles but he kept moving. He was halfway across when the first darklings jumped after him.

  Andolus and Long Shadow watched, helpless in their horror, as the darklings continued to jump onto the already frayed ropes. Aron slipped and nearly fell in the river. The bridge buckled under the additional weight. The top rope snapped, sending Aron and the darklings into the water. They were swept away to the roar of the others still ashore. Raging, the river quickly washed them downstream and out of sight in the span of a few heartbeats. The darklings turned as one and went back to their camp.

  Andolus shrugged out of his cloak and stepped to the water’s edge. He would have plunged in if not for the bear-like strength of Perryman.

  “No! You cannot save him,” the Galdean said, his voice chilled with sadness. “He’s near a league down river by now and probably drowned. We need to get back and inform Dlorn. I’ll not have another senseless death on my conscience. Let him die a hero who saved thousands rather than a man taking his friends with him.”

  The elf sagged. He knew Perryman was right and resignedly agreed. Demoralized, the forty-three survivors and host of elven archers collected their meager possessions and set back to the security of their lines. The walk was much longer than it had been on the way out.

  Karin closed her tent flap and almost collapsed. Tears streamed down her face. She had felt that something wasn’t right, that something terrible was about to happen. She’d tried to keep him from going. To no avail. Now he was gone. Lost from her life forever. The pain of his parting threatened to tear her apart. So she sat and she cried; cried until the sun broke the frosted mountaintops far to the west.

  THIRTEEN

  The Hyber Pass

  An uncharacteristically cool wind dragged across the sharp peaks and rolling foothills of the Grimstone Mountains. The nine-man company of dwarves and men shivered against the chill, trying their best to ignore the howl of the wind, while concentrating on the slight heat of their cook fire.

  None spoke. Instead, each sulked in the memory of the life-threatening defeat suffered a day ago. The goblin attack had been as furious as it was unexpected. Friendly losses were unforgivable. Worse, Sylin became concerned that Oo Ynlon had seemingly disappeared. He knew Camden took that loss personally, knowing the journeyman could have killed the Wylin much sooner and been done with the entire ordeal.

  Conversation slowly began once the morning meal finished.

  “Today we must decide our course of action,” Garin announced. “Do we continue east and pass within the grasp of Eleran or do we tempt death with the Hyber Pass and the dragon Tragalon?”

  Marin Trailbreaker stroked his auburn beard. “I’ve had enough of these goblins and their trickery. They know better than to enter the pass. Fear of the dragon will keep them away.”

  “It has been generations since dwarves last attempted to slay a dragon,” Gul said.

  Sylin knew what the dwarf was thinking. “I’d just as soon forgo a crisp death. How much time will we save by using the pass?”

  Garin shrugged in thought. “Weeks, maybe none, if we’re confronted by the dragon.”

  “If he still lives,” Camden added. “No one has seen him for as long as I’ve lived.”

  “Only a fool thinks dragons die naturally,” Marin cautioned. “What is thirty years to a wyrm? They need only feed once a year. They are known for their cunning and ability to rationalize. Some say this one is the color of stone, thus blending perfectly with his surroundings. Will we be his meal for the year?”

  “You worry too much,” Talrn Stonebreaker looked up “There are ways around a dragon.”

  His brother, Garin, raised a thick eyebrow. “How exactly? We have no riches. They care little for the affairs of mortals, so there is no point in mentioning our quest. What then will you use to sway the great Tragalon?”

  “First, we must decide to enter the pass,” Sylin cautioned. The violent tempers of dwarves were well known and he didn’t want to see a fight break out.

  “Goblins own the plains from here to Eleran. Less than three leagues separate the jagged teeth of the mountains and the edge of the goblin wood. We would be passing too close to them, though if we choose the pass, they will not follow. Goblins hold to superstition. Hundreds have gone missing over the last few years. Dragon or else, something wicked guards the pass,” Garin concluded.

  “How far behind are the Goblins?” Camden asked.

  “Hard to tell. We chipped a nice piece out of them but they’ll be back. Another reason to attempt the pass.”

  Sylin sat in quiet thought. He wasn’t overly afraid of the dragon, though the prospect of being charred or eaten left his stomach in knots, thanks in part to the magic he possessed. Magic he had yet to come to understand or control. Nine lives rested in his hands. He needed to find Elxander and get him back to Meisthelm before the Black spread his plague across the Free Lands. The impossibilities of that task robbed his strength.

  “How far away is the Tower of Souls?” he asked.

  “Two days ride. The tower stands atop a small island in the center of Xulan Lake. Many have said that it is where the first wizard was born. Sent down by the old gods during the wars of light and darkness. Real or not, we should make it there in under a week.”

  Camden already knew what the decision to this pointless debate was going to be and went to ready his horse. Sylin caught him from the corner of his eye and nodded. “We try the pass.”

  The dwarves immediately broke camp and readied to move. Plans already made and waiting execution fell in place. Last night, while the two men slept, they’d stayed awake and developed potential courses of action. All that was left was to move. They were mounted and heading into the mountains within the hour.

  Nightfall was upon them when the now familiar eerie feeling crept into the backs of their minds. Goblins, or worse. Camden and Gul rode forward to investigate. Dwarves were keen with axe and stone, but the mountains of the Grimstone were largely unexplored. Few of their people ventured this far south without good reason.

  Shadows played games with their vision, taunting them to believe things that weren’t real. Camden considered himself one of the best trackers in this part of the world but there was magic alive in these forbidding mountains he found unsettling. Ghouls and wraiths were rumored to stalk the heights, tempting travelers to their demise. The Hyber Pass was yet two days ride, leaving Camden to wonder if they were going to make it.

  A stream of pebbles trickled down from a small outcropping above. Man and dwarf looked up to see a wispy figure dart across the bald mountain face. Hissing laughter followed as it disappeared from sight.

  Gul Killingstone shivered. “There are ill creatures at work here. I would have preferred the open plains.”

  “What would we get accomplished sitting in a dungeon in Eleran? Camden asked. “Either way, it is too late to back out now. The goblins are close behind and we’ve a dragon before us. What better sense of adventure can one have?”

  “Adventure!” the dwarf sputtered. “Death is not an adventure.”

  Laughter mocked them. Wicked creatures watched from lofty perches secreted out of plain sight.

  “I’d have thought darklings and goblins were the worst of my worries,” Camden whispered in response.

  “There are dark beings older than dragons at play in the hidden places of the world.”

  Mist formed around their ankles, growing thicker the further they rode. The clatter of hooves echoed as thunder, announcing their passage boldly. Horses strained under the steady uphill climb. Finding a natural alcove, they held up and waited for the arrival of the others.

  “We could still leave these mountains,” Gul said, allowing only the slightest hint of apprehension into his voice.

  “How’s that?” Camden asked.

  The alcove turned out to be a small cave, with a
mple room for the horses. Camden took the mounts to the back and tethered them to a rock as the dwarf lit a fire and guarded the front entrance.

  Gul said, “There are secret ways through the mountains. Old when the world was young.”

  The front of a large storm rolled in. A monstrosity unlike any they had ever witnessed. Camden instantly understood the source of goblin superstitions, as well as the dwarves. Winds whipped rain and sleet into the rock face. Their horses snickered in fright. Camden admitted he would have done the same, if he didn’t have a burly dwarf watching him.

  Gul stood firm at the storm’s edge, trying to see into the darkness. “I don’t like this. The others could get lost too easily. I’m going back for them.”

  “What if you get lost? Or fall from the trail?”

  Gul strapped his axe to his back and paused. Camden was right. Leaving now wouldn’t solve anything. That wicked laugh began again. Somehow louder than the storm. Electricity danced across his flesh. Camden was about to warn Gul, but the dwarf already had weapons barred. Side by side, they warded the cave entrance.

  We have watched.

  Yes. We have watched. The world. The world was promised us before the war. The darkness war.

  “Who are you?” Camden demanded. “Show yourselves!”

  Multiple voices mocked laughter. Foolish fleshling. Yes, foolish. You ask to look upon us and know despair. Greed. Your greed keeps us here. Locked forever in this stone prison.

  “Who are you?”

  A snarl trembled the ground.

  We are eternal. Servants of the dark. Promised to us. Yes, promised by the gods defeated. Bane is ours to stay in these mountains men now know. We are Eldrath.

  Camden shifted his stance. He’d never heard of such creatures. “What do you want with us?”

  He could feel them around. The Eldrath. Hundreds of shapeless figures locked in eternal torment.

  Flesh. Yes, the flesh of humans. Your flesh makes us real. You and your friends. Come. Make us real again.

  Lightning struck, illuminating the canyon long enough for them to get a glimpse of their confronters. Thin, wraith-like shadows adorned the walls. Camden smelled their hunger. Felt their overpowering desire to be real again. It was like a drug coursing through his veins. Hypnotizing. Alluring. The Eldrath moved forward.

  Yes. Give us flesh. We, the rightful masters of the world.

  Sword and axe dropped to the ground. Both men swayed in a haze, willing to accept their new masters. The Eldrath had won.

  “Heyaa!”

  The cry broke the veil of silence, startling the wraiths and scattering them back to forgotten recesses deep in the Grimstone Mountains. Seven men and dwarves broke into the area and discovered their companions unconscious. Marin and Talrn dismounted and rushed to their aid. Garin rode ahead to sweep the pass, returning once he was satisfied it was clear. He slid from his pony and watched as the unconscious men were moved to the back of the cave.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Sylin shook his head in bewilderment. “Hard to say. There are no external injuries. No signs of battle. I… don’t know.”

  “Their weapons were drawn. I don’t like this place. Long have my people avoided the Hyber Pass and now I see why. It makes the hairs on my back stand on end. We must maintain a tight watch tonight. There is evil at play.”

  Reluctant to do so, Sylin announced. “I may have a solution.”

  “That being?” the dwarf grunted. He was more concerned with safety than security.

  “Move everyone to the back of the cave and do not interfere until I say. This is extremely delicate and I require total concentration,” Sylin said.

  “I don’t make it a point to pry into a friend’s business, but this affects me as well,” Garin reasoned. “What exactly do you intend to do?”

  Sylin had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Especially after the storm aboard the Gallant. Resignedly, he tried to explain. “I was born with a gift. A gift I shunned until leaving Meisthelm. Few people have it, at least now. The magic has been inert for most of my life. Somehow, something in this war triggered it.”

  “You think this wizard can help you with it?” Garin asked.

  “Not only that, but the world as well.”

  The dwarf rubbed his beard. “I know little about magic, nor do I care to. It’s been well over a thousand years since a dwarf was born with that curse. If you can save our lives, do not hesitate. Enough have already died.”

  Garin herded dwarf and beasts to the back of the cave. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sylin, but it was the inexperienced unfamiliarity that left him feeling ill. There was no accounting for a sharp blade and the will to fight. Magic was best left unused.

  Sylin sat down and tried to find a place of sanity untainted by the madness of the day. Images of a world he’d all but given up on floated back to him. At once returning him to the innocence of his youth. Happiness flowed through him and the magic began working.

  Threads of power wove together, filling him with their warmth. Their strength, coupled with his own desires worked into patterns of pale light. That light danced like water nymphs, taunting and teasing until they formed a solid web. He cast the web against the cave mouth. Tendrils snaked out, grabbing ahold of the edges and firmly securing to the rock.

  Exhausted beyond measure, Sylin slumped down and sighed. There had to be an easier way to get through life.

  The Eldrath came after them twice during the night. Both times they were repulsed by the magic web. Camden and Gul tossed and turned throughout the night, afflicted by some unknown illness. Their fevers ran high and despite the dwarves doing what they could, their condition remained foul.

  When at last they awoke, neither recalled anything. Both were starving and racked with the debilitating effects of their illness. The dwarves were glad both were seemingly recovering and went jubilantly about preparing a meal, while discussing things to come. Camden and Gul were curiously silent.

  Garin offered both plates of steaming hot food and went to sit beside the fledgling wizard.

  “What were those things?” he asked. Both stared into the dismal grey morning.

  “I don’t know. We have so many records at Meisthelm, its next to impossible to read them all in a lifetime. Many creatures have kept themselves hidden since the wars of light and darkness. Only now are we beginning to uncover them.”

  The dwarf shivered. “I’d just as soon let them remain undiscovered. Gul and Camden appeared to have recovered. We should be moving soon.” He rose and was walking off when he noticed Sylin hadn’t moved. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know. The magic affects me each time I use it. It feels… strange.”

  “Well, come on now. We’ve a dragon to conquer and a wizard to find. What better way to start a new day than with a grand adventure?”

  Garin’s mood brightened the morning. Only, Sylin wasn’t so sure.

  FOURTEEN

  Confrontation

  Sadness spread throughout the Galdean army. Despair threatened to settle in. Most had never seen Aron Kryte other than in random passing but that didn’t steal their emotional letdown of learning he was gone. How could they defeat the darklings with their greatest champion lost? The Golden Warriors retired to their quarters, adding further confusion to the ranks.

  Karin secluded herself away. She’d known Aron for only three months. Three short months that resulted in blossoming love. Now he was gone. Stolen from her when she needed him the most. Vengeance and blind rage surged through her lithe form, threatening to overcome all the pain and sorrow consuming her. Karin resisted, knowing that to give in to animalistic urges now would only make her a monster like the Black. He may have succeeded in stealing everything else from her, but he wasn’t going to take her soul.

  She balled her fists so tight they cramped. Karin screamed her pain away. Amean and Andolus waited just outside, warding the tent while giving her privacy. If was close to midday before her grief overwhe
lmed her and she drifted off to sleep.

  Field Marshal Dlorn was tired. Understanding the risks everyone was required to take, he didn’t have the time to mourn Aron’s death. Though a brilliant strategist and an invaluable asset, Kryte died on a mission of his own choosing. Not his or even Dlorn’s own life was worth as much as the twenty-five thousand men depending on him. Each and every one looked to him and his decreased band of generals to keep them alive. To propel the Galdean army to victory. At times, the responsibility was too much to bear.

  He leaned back in his aged wooden chair and puffed leisurely on the first pipe of tobacco he’d allowed himself in over a month. The luxuries of peace had no place in a combat zone. The aromatic aroma filled the tent, much to the liking of the battle leaders and commanders who began to file in.

  When all were assembled, it fell on Daril Perryman to give the back brief of the prior night’s operation. He filled the tent with his tale, making a few minor matters appear important and others not at all. They cringed at the telling of Kryte’s demise, though one or two still held onto hope. He finished with the offered repatriation of Gulnick Baach. Debate immediately erupted.

  “We are to trust this traitor?” Lestrin asked. “He has already betrayed everyone in the Hierarchy and Free Lands once. What’s to stop him from doing so again?”

  Calri leaned forward, adding, “He’s trying to buy his life back. Baach knew he was going to die and did what he could to avoid it.”

  “What then shall we do with the villain?” Dlorn asked. “If he is as dangerous as we all believe, a trap is most assuredly awaiting us. However, Aron Kryte saw in him something no other did. He would not have placed his trust so easily in the hands of a man capable of killing his friends.”