“Dark times,” Garin added.
“Indeed.”
Sylin immediately tried taking advantage of the revelation. “Will you let us pass? We must reach the white wizard as soon as possible. Each days draws us closer to the end.”
“Long have I been friends with Elxander. He will not help you,” Tragalon said.
Sylin reeled. “But why? Even he cannot ignore the needs of millions.”
“Hmmph. Your kind have ruined any chance you might have had. He was exiled by your Hierarchy. Your arrogance may have damned us all, Sylin Marth.”
The dragon leapt into the sky, his wings beating a terrible tattoo against the rock and knocking them all to the ground. “Go, if you must. Though I doubt he is the salvation you seek.”
Relief washed over them as they picked themselves up. Sylin was grateful for the dragon’s indifference and equally troubled by word of Elxander. Was the wizard truly that far gone? If so, who would save the world?
“Bring up the horses,” he said to the dwarves.
Camden clapped him on the shoulder. “Never had to talk down a dragon before, eh?”
“I can think of easier ways to spend my nights. We’ll camp when we clear the mountains. I can’t wait to see green again.”
“What do we do with this one?” Talrn asked.
Isic sat on the ground under armed guard. He’d been caught rifling through their gear while the others had gone out to confront the dragon.
“Kill him and get it over with. Let him rot with the rest of his friends,” Maric growled.
“Thief or no, we don’t have the right to kill another so,” Sylin defended. He hoped the dragon was well out of earshot.
“We are not where you come from, Sylin. Survival in this kingdom is based on strength and cunning. Strike first and hope to hit the target. If you miss, your enemy will not. What you people are going through, ours have already lived.” Garin spoke softly, while glaring at the gnome.
Sylin shook his head. “No. We just won a minor battle against a creature who sees only in right or wrong. I don’t want to jeopardize the small gain this soon.”
“What then, do you suggest? He’s too dangerous to keep,” Maric said. “It would remove the chance for trouble if we got rid of him now.”
“I won’t let you kill him, nor is it wise to let him go. We still don’t know what he was doing here. As you say, these are dark times. We cannot afford to turn our backs on anyone needing assistance. If he is a pawn of the dark, he will give himself away,” Sylin said.
Garin snatched Isic by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “The gnome comes with us. Tie him up and put him on a pony. We leave now.”
The dwarves set about their tasks in silence.
Waiting until they were busy, Garin stepped to Sylin. “I hope he shows his true colors before he murders one of us in our sleep.”
“He didn’t kill you.”
Garin scowled, but said nothing.
It took three more hours to exit the Hyber Pass and then work on down to the low, flatlands. Exhaustion, now a common factor, set in among both horse and rider. Most of the journey was done in silence. The dwarves resumed their naturally taciturn natures, all while remaining on guard for another hazard. Sylin got the impression they wanted an opportunity to bare their steel.
They made camp and ate a quick meal before sundown. Guards were set up for the entirety of the night, though whether it was for the gnome or his possible nearby friends, Sylin wasn’t sure. They were deep in goblin territory now and the dwarves were certain their mortal enemies were now the gravest threat.
The night passed uneventfully.
“I don’t think I’ve slept so good since leaving Meisthelm,” Sylin yawned and stretched. “Any issues last night?”
Garin said, “Nothing of notice. A few coyotes sniffing for scraps. They went away hungry.”
The sun was rising higher, showing them a broad expanse of grasslands stretching all the way from the base of the Grimstone Mountains to Xulan Lake far to the south.
“What do you know about this land?” Sylin turned to Camden and asked.
“There’s not much here. It’s all grassland and swamps from here to the lake. Goblins don’t usually come over this way. I don’t know why. There used to be a lot of towns and villages on this road but now most are ruins. Rumor says people have been disappearing.”
Garin added, “Doesn’t speak well for your wizard, if he’s letting his people disappear beneath his nose.”
The statement shook Sylin’s resolve for reasons he wasn’t sure.
“Or he’s turned against the people,” Camden added. “Good men do go bad. All I need to know is if he has turned, how are we going to stop him?”
Sylin decided to ignore the issue until they reached the Tower of Souls.
“Is there any place along the way we can stop to resupply between here and the lake?” he asked.
Both dwarf and journeyman quietly conferred.
“Two, I think. To the west is the town of Drun. Goblins use it as a supply depot, kind of halfway between here and Sadith Oom. Three days directly south lies Fallon Run. Mostly outlaws and people hiding from bounty hunters reside there. We should fit in nicely,” Garin said.
“I don’t think we need any more run ins with goblins. The mention of the dark land opens many questions,” Sylin said. “Tragalon eluded to many ill goings on happening there.”
Talrn growled disappointment from behind them. “It was quiet until a few years ago. Now, on a good night, you can see the reflection of fires over the mountaintops. Evil is at work again. Some say it is Ils Kincannon returned from the grave. Mothers tell their children how his ghostly armies ride the night.”
“Is that what you believe?”
The dwarf laughed. “Fairy tales and horror stories. The fires. Those are real, for I’ve seen them myself.”
“We ride for Fallon Run.”
The next few days felt much longer, despite the pleasant weather and scenery. Temperatures remained optimal, especially considering the part of the world they were in. It was all too peaceful. Almost enough for them to forget the troubles behind them. They crested a small rise at midday of their third day’s ride and looked down upon Fallon Run. It was a one road town with perhaps a half a dozen houses. The town was too small for the goblins to bother with. It was also the sort of place one might easily attract unwanted attention.
“Nice place,” Isic sniffed, still offended at being tied up.
Garin resisted the urge to slap him in the back of the head. “Good enough for us. There’s no sense in waiting here. Let’s see if we can find a hot meal and cold ale. I’m tired of being in the saddle.”
The tiny company trudged on to Fallon Run.
TWENTY-FOUR
The Free Rebellion
The desert was especially chill, worse than any he could remember in recent months. He and his band of rebels slowly edged their way across the empty wastes and back to the sanctity of their camp. Poros Pendyier and his band were cold, tired, and hungry. They’d proven their worth against a formidable enemy twice since leaving camp. It was past time for respite.
Leaders of the Free Rebellion argued at great length over the sense in letting the man responsible for a rebellion go out on whim to risk life and limb as no more than a common foot soldier. He, of course, won the debate. Cowards had no place in this world, he argued and continued to lead his rebels into battle. Not only did it inspire, it filled them with confidence.
Poros was sure the main body of his rebels had already incorporated the surviving liberated slaves from the supply train and were deep in celebration. He longed to be with them, drinking his way to the bottom of a bottle, but there were urgent matters needing attention. The lone surviving goblin intrigued him nearly as much as it bothered him. There must be a way to satisfy curiosity, without getting killed.
“What troubles you so?” asked Matis, the defected goblin guard.
Poros initially i
gnored him, so deep in thought was he. Moments later he answered, “I want to know where that goblin is going. We shouldn’t have let him escape like that.”
“You made the decision,” grumbled a one-eyed dwarf, Dom Scimitar. “Should have killed him right there.”
“Don’t you tire of killing?” Poros asked.
Dom grimaced. “As long as you’ve known me, and as many times as you’ve asked that same stupid question, have I ever changed my mind? No.”
“I’ll stop killing when the war is over,” they said in unison.
Both laughed and took heart when two men slipped from the shadows to halt them. Poros finally relaxed. It was good to be home. The sentries let them pass with mixed smiles. The air in camp was growing brighter with the victory. Yet another mission was being planned. Only three men had been lost but Poros secured enough supplies to feed the camp for a week. Not to mention increasing their strength by one hundred. The dead would be sorely missed, but the war raged on.
Poros led them in single file down a narrow defile of pale red canyon walls. There was but one way into the camp, though several escape routes had been established. Special tunnels had been bored out to prevent a death trap should the enemy discover them. The route led down to the river and on into the open plains of Guerselleorn to the northwest.
More guards were perched in concealed positions along the trail and yet more in a pair of watch towers at the canyon mouth. The structures were built with aged lumber and creaked in the wind. Guards watched with relief as Poros led the group into the camp at last. The mission was finished.
A bald man in a deerskin vest and pants saw them approach and made his way over. His arms were raised in praise. “Ah! The great and dastardly Poros Pendyier returns at last from his quest to liberate the world!”
“Chonol,” Poros nodded. “As always, your tongue bleeds lies.”
Chonol Distan was as much of a mystery to him as the lone goblin now heading off into the middle of the wastes. None knew where he originated and Chonol wasn’t inclined to indulge them. He was a strong man, very well built and in remarkable shape for a middle-aged man. Most guessed he was once a soldier. Others thought him a killer in hiding. Regardless, none accepted his tale of being a simple villager.
His dark eyes widened as Matis rode into view. “A prisoner. Good. Are we going to execute him in front of all?”
Matis snarled, fighting the impulse to draw his weapon. Such action would result in instant death and paint a negative image on his new-found friends. Matis remained still.
“You should watch how you speak to people,” Poros scolded. “It may get you killed one day. This is Matis. He is not a prisoner but a defector from that wretched army. His insight should prove most valuable in forthcoming operations.”
Chonol snorted but said no more.
Poros turned to Matis and said, “Go with Chonol. He will find you billeting and food. We will speak again later.”
Matis nodded. “Thank you, Poros Pendyier. I am indebted to you.”
Grinning, Poros continued deeper into the camp. There was a man who desperately needed to speak with him. Not that I need reminding. The old man always wants to talk. He dismounted near the back of the bowl-shaped camp, eager to stretch his legs after a long day’s ride. Hundreds of men and women stared at him with nods or smiles. Against all odds, he managed to carve out a tiny spot of solitude and more importantly, hope.
Poros found the old man exactly where he figured, resting comfortably on a mound of near rotted cushions. The old man made no move to rise. Age was not kind at the end of his life.
“Success again, Hesit,” Poros announced.
Hesit Carnan coughed a laugh. “Measure it against the greater view. We are still locked in a battle with no hope of ending soon. I only regret that I will not be here on that final day.”
“Don’t speak of such. Inviting death is a fool’s choice,” Poros admonished. Hesit was right, however, he didn’t have much time and there was no way a war could be fought and won in a short time period.
“I’d be surprised if I live past the next moon,” Hesit barked a laugh. “This world is done with me, lad. I’ve outlived my usefulness. You are the future. A son of a simple farmer. You and your get. Do me proud, my son.”
The words hit hard, especially since Poros only vaguely remembered his real father. Hesit stepped in and inspired Poros to do good. To be greater than himself. In truth, he didn’t expect to outlive the war either.
“You need wine.”
“No,” Hesit replied. “I gave that up long ago. Water works for me.”
He rummaged through a ragged clump of personal belongings and produced a dark brown bottle. “Elvenberry wine. I picked it up in Guerselleorn long ago. Very nice people, the elves. I should like to see one again before I die.”
They stayed like that for a long while, neither knowing how to console the other. Finally, Hesit cleared the tears from his eyes and said, “You should go. I’m sure the ones you brought home will want to thank you properly. Go. I just wanted to rest my eyes on you again.”
“But I…”
“Go. You are only young once. Enjoy it while you can,” Hesit urged.
By the time he returned to the main camp, the celebration was in full swing. A few of the freed slaves recognized him and offered their undying thanks. He smiled and shook their hands without stopping. The more interaction he had, the more he wanted to be alone and reflect upon what the old man had told him. No matter how great the victory, he didn’t know if it would be enough to replace the loss of a mentor, friend, and… father.
“Excuse me, sir,” asked a female voice.
He stopped and turned to face her. She was young, not much older than her early twenties and he assumed, one of the freed slaves. What drew his attention was how in shape she was, almost too good for a former slave.
“Yes?” he answered.
She gave him that look of being slightly embarrassed. “I was just wanting to thank you for saving us. None of us had any hope until your men came along. Thank you so much.”
“I was only doing my job,” he said, with all modesty. “Where are you from? Who are you?”
“A small town in Guerselleorn called Nonicks.” Sadness filled her beautiful eyes. “I haven’t been home in almost a year.”
Poros frowned. “I know how you feel.”
“You do?”
“Yes. My family was killed by goblins when they raided my town. That was a long time ago.” He didn’t know why he felt compelled to tell his story to a complete stranger. “I am Poros Pendyier.”
She smiled again. “I am Sharna Del.”
He liked that. The defensive walls surrounding him slowly lowered, so strong was his initial confidence in this woman. Quietly his mind rebelled, but he could see nothing outward to spark alarm.
“I am not sure how to ask,” Sharna said, “But I would be interested in joining your band and getting revenge.”
Caution begged him to listen, but he ignored it. Poros couldn’t look away from her deep eyes. “We do not fight for revenge, Sharna. All the men and women here fight for the continuation of our way of life. No man has the right to tell another what to do, especially one of the dark ways. We fight for our survival.”
Her disappointment remained concealed. “That’s what I meant. I’m willing to do anything, so long as I can help.”
“Why do you feel so strongly about this?” He was confused. None of the others they’d rescued was so intent.
“If I can keep another innocent girl from being abducted and sold into slavery, I might be able to save a piece of me,” she replied softly.
Sharna fell quiet, dropping her gaze to the ground.
He grabbed her hand. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If more people were as strong as you the world might not be in such a bad way.”
His words inspired another smile.
“Go and get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day and we have much work yet to do.”
>
Sharna Dal went to sleep happy for the first time in a year.
Discussion began over a hearty breakfast. There was a vast array of concerns Poros and his fellow rebels needed to pour over, greatest of which being what would happen when the goblins finally discovered their camp. Poros did his best to calm the others but they weren’t as accepting of his almost laidback choices.
“We are getting away from the importance of the matter,” Dom Scimitar explained. Bits of partially chewed food spewed from his mouth. “We have defenses in place in the event of an assault. It is time to look forward to another offensive strike, rather than sit back on defense.”
“He’s right,” Libek Tug, a bright-eyed gnome with a receding hairline and good nature seconded.
Chonol Distan spat out his food. “Absurd. Every little thing we do is going to draw that much more attention. Then what? I’ll not end up in a goblin slave camp.”
“I bet you wouldn’t,” Poros said, sarcastically. “Have you ever once found something worth fighting for to the end?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
Disappointed, Poros turned his attention back to the others. “The castle at Morthus is nearly complete. It won’t be long before goblins garrison it. With whom, is my question.”
“My people are spread thin as it is,” Matis said. “Most of our resources are going to the war with the dwarves. The grohls don’t have the numbers needed to wage war, but they are in charge. No one is sure who controls them, however. Nor do we know who is in charge of Sadith Oom. There is much fear among my people.
“Some nights we see large creatures fly overhead. They come at random and always at night. There is a great evil keeping all in check. Much greater than anything the world has ever seen, yet it remains hidden.”
Hesit Carnan coughed. “I think our mission needs to be to find out who this source of all fears is. It might be one we cannot face.”
The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2 Page 22
