“Harder than it seems,” Poros said. “A lot of good men and women are being ground down by this Hume Feralin. We haven’t gotten close enough for a clear shot either.”
“It is too early to go back. They’ll be expecting another move. Too dangerous,” Dom seconded.
Poros finished his meal and wiped his mouth. “I want to know where that goblin went.”
All conversation stopped as they looked curiously at him.
Good. I’ve finally gotten your attention. “He didn’t head off to the garrison and he didn’t head for Grun. What else is there?”
Matis offered, “There is nothing else between Morthus and Grun. It could be he’s trying to circle around and draw us off his trail.”
“Perhaps, but I think he’s got something more going on,” Poros said. “I’ll take five volunteers with me. We finalize our plans upon my return.”
The debate finished, Poros rose and went in search of finding a handful of brave men, or abject fools.
Valk used as much of the terrain as possible to camouflage his escape from the slaughtered column. Enemy eyes were upon him. Common sense suggested the rebels wouldn’t let him go. He was a threat to their safety. Valk also knew that the grohls would not let him live after reporting his complete failure. Goblins were fond of violence and wanton carnage, but Valk was wise enough to value his neck above all else.
Which is why he struck out across sun baked plains. He was certain they would help him, for their love of carnage was unmatched in this part of the world. They were his secret, a force unknown by all, yet capable of storming kingdoms through their strength. His only problem lay in trying to figure out how to sway them to his side.
Blazing heat and a lack of water combined to take their toll on him. The goblin moved slower, more lethargically. His canteen had been empty for some time, though he’d made it last as long as possible. Dehydration was second place compared to the promise of a quick demise should the rebels catch him. Valk had been in the service of the goblin king for three decades. Soldiering was all he knew. He’d seen his share of comrades and brood mates slaughtered over the course of numerous campaigns, but never before was he as scared for his life as now.
Valk took shelter from the blistering heat for an hour beneath a large outcropping of boulders before setting back out at sundown. His destination still lay some distance ahead. While he wasn’t certain how close they were, Valk knew their camp lay close to the one place in the world holding more power than the mythical spires of Meisthelm far to the north. His people’s sorcerers and shamans refused to step within the unmarked boundary.
Lost in the dark corners of his memory was the human tale of Ils Kincannon and his army making their final stand on what was once grass covered plains surrounding Morthus. By all accounts, it was a harsh and bitter war, beginning a thousand years ago and continuing to this day. Kincannon died for the sins of using the Staff of Life, tool of the wizard’s meddling in mortal affairs. For creatures like Valk, the effects of that bitter war were always with him.
His mind wandered over these thoughts as the next five days went by. His trek had taken him halfway across Sadith Oom. Valk had grown wise and started using the cover of darkness to move through. Leagues trekked underfoot. Days blended until he at last looked upon gruesome spears of rock and stone piercing the sky. Abandoned when the world was young, this was the root of all evil. Perhaps it had been intended for good, but no more.
Sheer exhaustion forced him to his knees, even as the entirety of the nightmare before him became visible. It was a terrible sight to behold. Fear pulsated off the structure in rippling waves. Mordrun Hath. The Forge of Wizards. He’d arrived at last. Now all he needed was to find them.
TWENTY-FIVE
After the Pain
Karin sat before the small fire with her head buried in her hands. The winter storms raging outside were momentarily forgotten, for the pain in her heart was grievous. A week had passed since she lost the love of her life on a suicide mission into the middle of the darkling army. A week of agony unprecedented and one she never thought to experience. Her tears were nearly dried, used up over the course of the last few days. Her body ached from constant sobbing, eyes burned red with rawness. It was a small price considering what Aron Kryte had given to the Galdeans.
No doubt the Galdean army had done its part and was on the move east and south, making all of them fugitives from the Black Imelin. Exiled with a handful of friends and a company of Golden Warriors, Karin had never felt less safe. Chances of success were slim but enough to keep them in hope. The Staff of Life was a heavy burden they never should have been asked to carry, much less abscond with halfway across the face of the world in efforts to save the Free Lands. Meisthelm was so far away and there was no safe place to hide out the winter.
The tender rapping on her door jerked her from the grips of self-torment. She wiped her hands over her trousers and answered the door. “I had hoped to be alone tonight.”
Amean Repage attempted a smile but it felt awkward from the start. “I don’t think you should be.”
His age weighed heavily on him. A lifetime spent in service to the greater good, thoughts of spending time with his grandchildren, and the loss of a man he’d treated as a son, conspired to take him to his knees.
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.
“Keeping all that pain bottled inside won’t do you any good. You need to be around your friends. Believe it or not, it helps,” he said.
Karin almost smiled. “Perhaps. I may have gone about this all wrong, but it hurts. How can you stand being a soldier?”
“You get used to it. There will always be an empty seat at the table or a missing face in the ranks. That’s part of the great game. Men are born to give battle, Karin. A sad state, but one we have always excelled at.”
She doubted she would ever get used to watching men die. Yet there were elements of truth lacing his words. Being alone was the worst thing for her. She needed the camaraderie the others offered to ease the pain. Extending her arm to Amean, she invited him to take her down to the common room and the warmth of food and friends.
The sleepy town of Drim lay locked in the throes of the first winter storm. Snows had been falling since early autumn and hadn’t stopped. Whispers of the dark wizard conjuring this nightmare forth ran rampant among the villagers. The war had yet to extend this far north but it was only a matter of time. The majority of the Galdean army was on the move in southern Almarin, putting the capital of Kitenurem at risk. No one in Drim was concerned with that. All that mattered was getting through the most severe winter in memory.
Snow drifts braced the aged wooden buildings, the bland white brightened by the dark pink of the setting sun. Watchers moved about Drim, setting the oil lamps on each street corner. Ten darklings went unseen in the shadows as the watchers slid past. Their haunting red eyes glared brightly in the semi-darkness. Each bore a curved dagger. They’d been sent on the trail of the Staff by the Black Imelin but were given implicit instructions not to engage their enemy.
While the two armies played a cat and mouse game in the southern part of the kingdom, the Black focused on retrieving the Staff. He trusted his commanders to carry out his war plan. The Rovers were closing in on the Unchar Pass and the Hierarchy garrison stationed on the southern side of the Lilsen Mountains. Darklings harried Field Marshal Dlorn’s army as it retreated. His only unanticipated difficulty came from the reemergence of the priests of the Red Brotherhood. Their meddling had led Aron Kryte to the Staff and escape beyond.
The Black fumed, but his efforts led the darklings to Drim. A pair of Golden Warriors marched by the darklings. The lead darkling instinctively crouched into an attack position. He was snatched roughly around the throat before he could jump. The Golden Warriors continued on, oblivious to the scuffle in the shadows. The darklings, brooding at inactivity, watched and waited.
The common room was normally packed with warm fires, decent food, and a pleasant atmosph
ere. Tonight, it was empty except for the gruff veterans of the Golden Warrior company occupying Drim. Andolus and Long Shadow sat closest to the fire. One watched the door, while the other stared at the bottom of his mug. Across from them sat the rogue princess of Galdea, Elsyn. Since allowing the others to get used to her presence, she’d done her best to integrate. Fitting in with seasoned warriors was no easy task, especially considering her father was the late king of Galdea.
A bowl of hot soup steamed in front of her. She’d lost as much as Karin, at least in her opinion, for her love for Aron was no less great. She listened to the off color banter of some of the other soldiers at different tables and while blushing at prime moments, she successfully managed to keep a grin concealed.
“Are you all right, Princess?” Andolus asked.
She nearly choked on a partially chewed piece of… beef? “Yes, why would you ask that?”
Long Shadow snorted his amusement.
“Only because your face has taken on a different color,” the elf prince smiled.
“How much longer do we have to wait here?” she asked, deciding it prudent to change the subject as quickly as possible. Growing up around soldiers didn’t mean she was accustomed to their mannerisms while on campaign. Back home, they were trained to show respect and etiquette. War was another animal.
The door opened and closed. Andolus was the first to react as Amean and Karin at last arrived. “Ah, fair Karin Ilth, we were beginning to wonder!”
She offered a false smile, the best she could manage. “I can’t hide forever. What’s for supper?”
“Warm potato soup with a mystery meat and fresh baked bread,” Elsyn supplied. “All in all, it’s not too bad.”
“I’d love some,” Karin said and sat down opposite of Elsyn.
Amean accepted a mug of hot coffee and sat on a rickety chair by the fire. As much as it pleased him to see Karin out of her shell, it was time to plan their next move. They’d been in Drim for two days. Much longer and they invited danger.
“We should leave soon,” he began, grimacing at the bitter taste of the coffee.
Long Shadow nodded his agreement.
Andolus set his cup of ale down and wiped the corners of his mouth. “The Black is still lacking our precise location to give him the advantage he needs. He’s not sure who has the Staff either. Right now, his forces must be spread out across half of Almarin. Each group of Dlorn’s soldiers has the possibility of holding the Staff.”
“Making all the more reason for us to be away, sooner rather than later,” Amean added.
“Getting back on the road will draw attention. When the Black does find out we have it, there will be no safe place to hide.”
Silence settled over the group.
“Rest assured my friends, there is much wisdom in leaving, but which direction? Meisthelm is our ultimate destination but there is no way we can head there directly,” Andolus quickly added.
“Kitenurem is a nice city,” Elsyn chimed in. Her youthful innocence was pure sham. She’d spent years learning from Dlorn and men like Jent Tariens without her father’s knowledge. Still, she was young and had just enough knowledge to get her into trouble.
Amean shook his head. “Absolutely not. They’ll have all the major cities marked with spies and darklings. We need to keep going east.”
“To where?” Karin asked.
The old veteran sat back and thought. His chair creaked, threatening to break under the strain. “Hyrast. There is no way our foe could have gotten there ahead of us. From there we can regroup, resupply and strike south at speed.”
Andolus agreed. “Hyrast is a mountain fortress virtually impervious to assault. The Black will need much to break through their walls.”
Strong winds blasted the side of the inn. Shutters slammed against the wood, creating an eerie song that sent chills down their spines. It was the first time since arriving in Drim that they felt uncomfortable.
“I saw something!” the innkeeper shouted suddenly and pointed toward the nearest window.
Golden Warriors lurched to their feet, hands reaching for weapons. Andolus was the first to the window. His keen vision pierced the gloom of night but failed to notice anything out of the ordinary. Whatever the innkeeper had seen was gone.
“Anything?” Amean asked.
The elf could only shake his head.
Amean went to the innkeeper. “What did you see?”
Shock twisted his face. “I don’t know. It was small and dark. Some kind of animal, I think. Only the eyes. By the gods! I’ve never seen anything like them. They were glowing red.”
“Damnation!” Karin cursed. She drew her sword.
“What was it?” the innkeeper asked.
Andolus’ expression was grave. “A very, very bad dream, my friend. Pray you never see another.”
“We must kill it before more come. It will report back to the Black,” Karin immediately said. The stupor of her loss shed from her shoulders as the promise of battle emerged. She deplored violence but was wise enough to know how harsh the world was.
“There is always more than one,” Elsyn said.
“She’s right.”
Long Shadow drew both of his broadswords and kicked the front door open. His actions left the others with no choice. They followed him outside. Howling winds slashed into them, a violent change from the serenity of their warm fire. Ice crystals formed on their exposed flesh as snowflakes drifted lazily down. Temperatures dropped considerably with the setting sun. Breath came out in thick plumes.
Long Shadow stalked across the street. His every movement precise, deliberate. His eyes never stopped moving. He was lost in the hunt and was rewarded almost immediately. The darkling never saw him until it was too late. Long Shadow struck with both blades, covering the distance between them in a span of heartbeats. The severed head fell with a mushy thump. Long Shadow crouched as the body fell. Blood showered down like droplets of rain. He knew there was more darklings close. He felt them.
The others hurried over to him, barely taking time to notice the body at his feet. Once, what felt like so long ago, they’d been afraid of the squat monsters, but those times quickly fled as the war progressed. Darklings were mortal. They died as easy as a man. Contempt replaced fear. Amean and the others searched the night for more targets. Together, they’d been efficient during the battle of the Crimson Fields. The Golden Warriors were responsible for more than their share of darkling corpses on those frozen fields. But for each one killed, a hundred more streamed out of Suroc Tol. Amean prayed this night wouldn’t be a repeat.
“What now?” he whispered.
Two opposing forces stalked each other. One seeking only information, the other attempting to prevent the gathering of such. It was a matter of time before one made the first mistake. Long Shadow pointed down the winding street. None doubted his instinct. The twelve of them fanned out in a tight wedge formation and advanced. Karin and Elsyn, much to their protests, were secured in the center of the wedge. Two soldiers were sent back to the inn in the event the darklings attempted to enter.
They’d barely crossed the street when a muffled cry drew their attention. Amean hoped it hadn’t come from the inn. Good people didn’t deserve the fate awaiting them. Andolus slipped ahead of the rest and rounded the corner of the nearest building. There he found the body of a dying city watcher. Another was backed against the far wall, fighting for his life.
The elf prince looked at how much blood the man on the ground had lost and knew it was already too late. Sword brandished, he turned his attention to the survivor. Seven darklings had him cornered. An eighth lay dead in the fresh snow. Andolus dropped to one knee, using their distraction to set down his sword and draw an arrow. He fired. A darkling arched up in pain as the arrow pierced his throat. Another fell.
Karin reloaded her crossbow, even as the Golden Warriors rushed past her to make quick work of the remaining darklings. The battle was fierce and swift. In the end, all the enemy lay de
ad. The wounded guard they had cornered slumped to the ground and shuddered. Andolus reached out to close his already cooling eyes.
“Secure the perimeter,” Amean barked, decades of service flowing through him on instinct. “There may be more.”
“The guard is dead,” Andolus announced with sorrow.
Too many innocent lives had already been lost in this war, with the promise of many more yet to come.
“What now?” Elsyn asked, oddly curious about the body. She’d become no stranger to death, but found queer fascination in it.
“We leave tonight. Drim is no longer safe,” Karin uttered.
Elsyn was shocked. “In the middle of the night? We’ll freeze! And it will be easier for them to find us. They can see in the night, we can’t.”
“Yes, tonight,” the elf replied. “We cannot put these people at risk out of selfish reasons. There are enough deaths on our hands already. I do not want more.”
Amean turned to the Golden Warriors. “Go and rouse the others. We leave in an hour.”
The lone surviving darkling skulked through the night. The others were slaughtered because they refused to cull their natural bloodlust. Their actions not only saw them murdered but condemned him as well. He had no other choice but to report to the dark wizard. The Black accepted no failure from subordinates and punished them with torture or worse. The darkling considered returning to Suroc Tol and going into hiding but Duoth N’nclogbar had sold out their race by pledging allegiance to the Black.
Eventually, there was nothing left to do but return to the wizard with news of the raid and the location of the Staff of Life.
TWENTY-SIX
Hyrast
The Black Imelin, last of the order of Black wizards, slept a familiar troubled sleep. The old dreams had returned to haunt him. Failure in Galdea hammered his conscience. An ancient world reawakened through his subconscious. Images of things he had done returned to him. The promise of solitude smashed into a thousand fragments with each setback. It was that future threat which shook him to the core. He saw his castle, the fortress-keep from which he intended on ruling the world in Sadith Oom, crumble to the ground. Watched his armies get crushed on the plains of Darkpool. It was the idea that Mordrun Hath had returned to the light which disturbed him most.
The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2 Page 23
