The carriage was black and very elegant. Lulita had promised to get her only the best transport. The driver jumped down, his boots covered in snow. He was a fat, fleshy man who wore a stylish hat that had collected a great deal of snow on its rim.
“Howdy, Miss Buvarzo of the Holy Comment Ranch. My name’s Gerardo Cofildo and I’ll be your driver to Háztatlon. Damn snow…” He took his hat off to shake it. “Any luggage?”
Luchy looked at him emptily. She did not feel like chatting. She allowed her silence to speak for her.
The driver’s eyes shifted uneasily. “A girl of few words. No luggage, huh? You’re sure to get all you need where you’re going. Well now, your granny gave me a few instructions and a lot of warnings. Until you reach the sovereign’s halls, you’ll need to be well looked after. I’m taking an escort your granny herself chose. Mojak!”
From the carriage there emerged a golden-skinned giant. He wore armor made of wyvern hide that protected his entire body. His head was shaven, which was unusual for a Wild Man. A noticeable feature was the size of his belly, which bulged out as a hard mass under whose folds of fat there was a mass of muscle. He was Balthazar’s opposite. This massive Wild Man had a tattoo on his left arm, beginning at his elbow and reaching to his fingers. It reminded her of the tattoo Balthazar wore on his chest and, in fact, it was very similar. She did not know whether it was a decorative design or if it had some function.
This Mojak was taller than Balthazar and twice as broad in the shoulders. His back was bent forward and his gaze slack, his eyelids half-closed. He bore several scars on his face. His fists were clenched, and those fists looked like melons. His legs were bent and slightly shorter than his arms so he looked like a great ape. His jaw, huge and square, stretched his lips into a thin straight line. It was impossible to imagine a smile on that face.
“He’s a mute,” the driver explained. “Mojak was a slave in Árath. It’s all I know about him. For sure, someone had to rescue him. I guess that’s how he’s here.” He did not appear either bothered or intrigued by this hulk.
He saw Luchy’s doubtful look. “Don’t you worry, miss. Mojak was chosen by a guy called Balthazar, another Wild Man with eyes like sapphires. Your grandmother, Doña Lulita, approved of him.”
Luchy allowed herself to take a close look at the giant, noticing that he carried a large mace hanging from his belt. The gaze from those black eyes seemed to hold no emotion. Apart from being mute, he looked dull as well. But if Lulita had chosen him, then she would accept his protection.
“Let’s go! Your grandmother said there was a need for haste.”
Mojak climbed up, and the carriage seemed to sink half a stride lower. Without thinking any further, Luchy climbed into the carriage from the other side. Two horses responded to a snap of the whip, and so it was that Luchy headed north.
***
They made their first stop at Vásufeld. The way to Háztatlon was long and dangerous, and they often had to load new supplies. When they reached the city, they handed their permits to the sentries and went straight to the castle.
Mojak remained outside, keeping an eye on the carriage. Luchy had noticed that he stayed sitting by the horses in complete silence. The driver, on the other hand, took no more than a couple of seconds to go to the city market to get food and drink.
Luchy was reluctant. She did not want to sit down with a bunch of two-faced noblemen. She did not wish, either, to speak or to have to answer a thousand questions they would surely ask her. But what she wanted was one thing and her duty to the nobility was another. Obliged by custom, the girl had no choice but to accept the duke’s invitation and attend the dinner.
She had never visited any of the big cities before except Háztatlon, which she had come to know because of the war. Afterward, she had been to the capital for Ajedrea’s wedding. But all the other cities were strange to her, and she was surprised by how different Vásufeld was from the imperial capital. The other cities were probably very different as well, each with its own personality.
Vásufeld was a large city located in a mountainous valley. Various houses lay on the hillsides and the mountains that surrounded the stone castle in the center. The great, heavily-protected castle was the dwelling of Tenos Domaryath, a man whose family had migrated from Moragald’Burg many centuries before. The fusion between cultures of iron and stone was obvious in the sober-looking castle. There was enough decoration, though most of it in the form of hunting trophies—the heads of wild beasts killed for sport.
As the surname testified, the duke’s family was Domaryath. In their times as immigrants, they had tamed many wyverns and sold their luxurious hides to maintain an income. The trophies, animal heads, and pelts were not limited to wyverns, however. From three kinds of deer to three giant iguanas, there were all kinds of spoils of the chase. Horned and hornless, the animals were of many kinds.
“Luciella Buvarzo, of the Holy Comment Ranch,” the duke said. “Granddaughter of the great Eromes the Perpetuator, niece of my good friend Leor Buvarzo, the Duke of Bónufor. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He was dressed in purple robes and wore a stylish hat. This man was blond and tall, like many men of Moragald’Burg.
“But what a lovely young lady,” the duchess said as she entered, followed by her retinue and one of her many daughters. She had chestnut-brown hair that she wore in a sculpture of spirals and her face was made-up using different powders. The daughter wore a turquoise dress and her blond hair fell freely around her shoulders. The retinue was made up of an army of young women in coffee-colored attire, all of them privately attending to the duchess’s various needs. The duchess’s needs were many so the ladies-in-waiting were always busy.
“What clothes are you wearing!? Oh no, my dear. We’re not going to allow you to go on with your journey to the North and the halls of Mérdmerén, Lion’s Fist, in rags like those.” The lady eyed her with a look of reproof very like the one the couple’s daughter was giving Luchy.
Luchy rolled her eyes and sighed. She hated to be the target of the nobles’ scrutiny when wealthy people did not understand the complexities of life, especially when they seemed to forget the reality of the dangers that were threatening them. They seemed disconnected from the world.
She stamped her foot on the stone floor and clenched her fists. Her lips became a straight line and her eyes a pair of lanterns. She said, “I haven’t come here to be criticized, but to enjoy the duke’s kindness. Don Dargos himself recommended me to stop here. I’ve had a very long and stormy journey. Either we sit down to eat as friends and I accept your hospitality, or I’m leaving right now so that I avoid this lack of respect. You decide.” She folded her arms.
The duchess’s eyes opened wide. She did not look at her again, even when she left the following morning.
The duchess’s daughter seemed rather pleased at Luchy’s rudeness to her parents, while Tenos began to talk non-stop about the fact that Luchy was a woman with plenty of character. He spent much time explaining how much he liked strong women, to which the duchess took offense.
***
Luchy left the castle as the shadow of the tree was spreading at dawn. The sun came out over the mountains and embraced her face. She smiled to herself, then found that Mojak was covered in snow and still sitting on the ground beside the horses, imperturbably.
The girl gazed at the great Wild Man’s face without giving him too much thought. She was still too immersed in her own emotions to be able to dissociate herself from them and look objectively.
“He gets along better with beasts than with humans,” Gerardo said. “Sometimes humans are more beastly than animals. I think I can understand the Wild Man, at least that far.” The driver cleared his throat, put on his hat, and climbed on to the carriage. “Be grateful that we came with Don Dargos’ blessings, otherwise we’d have been locked up in the dungeon.” He gave Luchy such a look that the reason was obvious.
While they were leaving Vásufeld in the early hours of t
he morning, the girl looked out to study the landscape.
The great Southern city showed a level of cleanliness and order that were coveted even by Háztatlon. She felt the urge to investigate, to run along its cobbled streets and get to know the different quarters, the vegetable-sellers, the florists, the farmers both large and small. But, in the absence of her best friend, she had no desire for adventure.
The snow seemed to be falling heavier the further north they went. Their journey took them near the sides of Marsemayo Volcano, where they noticed that the heat that radiated from the eternal forge did not allow too much snow to settle on the ground.
The lava giant seemed covered by a white blanket, its vent spewing eternal pulses of gas. Twice, Mojak climbed down from the carriage to clear a route through the snow with a shovel. Gerardo kept in the carriage and both times, Mojak did the job efficiently.
They stopped at a small town where they stayed the night in a well-reputed tavern. Several curious eyes took a good look at the strange trio, but nobody paid too much attention to them.
These were strange times in the Mandrake Empire. Malice seemed to have been dispersed and the malefactors had fled south. Deserters seemed to have redeemed themselves and no attacks had been reported. They took their leave of the little town the following morning and continued their journey north, interrupted only by the steady falling of the snow.
On this occasion, the little group was not in a hurry, nor was it pursued by strangers. Hence, they decided to go around the Irontangle Mountains and continue through the lower hills of the land that would soon reveal the Path of the Fallen. This bordered the Fields of Flora.
After the death of Duke Thoragón Roam and the city’s defeat, nobody was keeping watch on the Path of the Fallen any longer. They paid no tribute and the sentry posts were open or otherwise destroyed. Several peasants were working on the road, as well as other citizens rebuilding what had once been, but nobody gave them more than a glance of mere curiosity. Luchy could see that a large platform was being erected on the wide flat fields. On top of it was a strange arch within which a vortex spun. Several guards were keeping a watch on this artifact. She had no idea what it was and for the moment, she paid it no more attention.
Passing Kathanas, they stopped at a hotel where the present sovereign had first met the assassins of the Brotherhood of the Crows. The place had changed hands after the death of the previous tenants and the atmosphere there was now fairly relaxed.
The following day they continued their journey. Some peasants would comment on the Wild Man’s size, but all of them seemed to revere these men after the legends that had emerged about the Wild Men who had defeated the dethis during the Battle of Háztatlon.
Gerardo rubbed his arms. “The cold’s getting worse the nearer the North we get.” He took the bowlful of hot broth enthusiastically and drank from it until his hunger was satisfied. Until then, he had not managed to get much out of Luchy, still less from the mute Mojak. In any case, Mojak slept outside. Somehow, the giant managed to avoid freezing to death.
“It’s so cold,” the girl said. She was studying the jewel of her engagement ring listlessly; the shimmering of the stone was as steady as the sunrise.
Gerardo had noticed that the girl spent long periods studying the precious stone as if it had great depth or some cryptic meaning. Twice he had watched her throw the ring away, once in the water of a shallow river and then again in the snow. Both times, he had watched her almost freeze to death as she searched for the ring with irrational despair.
She seemed crazy. More than that, she seemed to be in a state of inner conflict. Did she want the ring or not? The driver was sure that the ring would fetch several crowns if he were to sell it. But he knew that the girl valued it more than any amount of money. Twice he asked where it had come from. The first time he thought the girl had not heard him; the second time he understood that she was ignoring him. He did not ask again. The little lady seemed inconsolable.
Many people had noticed the girl’s beauty. At the same time, the young woman gave off an energy that seemed to scare away rather than attract. Because of this, nobody dared approach her. She looked ill, pale, sad, inconsolable… Depressed?
The following day they set off again on their journey to Háztatlon.
Chapter V — The Fall of Árath
More than half the army of the unified nations had passed Aegrimonia and already set foot on the arid land of Némaldon, only a few leagues away from the accursed gates of the underground castle.
More than fifty souls had been lost because of the malign spells cast by the wraiths. Balthazar had managed to save a couple.
Death at the hand of a wraith was horrendous because of the sound it provoked in its victims. Hearing it caused pain in one’s very bones and terrible nightmares. The sight of those losses was not horrifying because the wraiths—which, to the naked eye, were tall shadows shaped like men—enfolded their victims in a spiral of shadows.
At Leandro’s order, the army stopped. They had to wait until the elite soldiers took care of the sentinels guarding Árath so that the attack could become essentially a surprise one.
“Elite! Carry on!” Deathslayer called from the head of the advance. At once, the soldiers that specialized in moving stealthily and cutting their victims’ throats without a sound spread out. They wore soft armor of black tanned leather. A knife was their only weapon. Their heads were covered by leather helmets which hid most of their faces with holes for their eyes and nose.
The job was accomplished quickly. The orcs in their guard posts were eliminated mercilessly. The elite soldiers went on, making sure that no watchman was left alive. After two hours, the soldiers went back to their line.
“Excellent work,” the general congratulated them. “Elite soldiers, back into your full armor—fast. We’ll move on as soon as possible.”
The march of the legion of thousands turned into a gentle trot as soon as Leandro gave the order. Hours before dawn, the army arrived at the predetermined location.
Némaldon was a wide plain of volcanic rock. It was obvious that thousands of years of volcanic activity had created a covering layer of dry, dangerous stone. In front of them, on the other hand, was a cliff that fell away in dramatic angles. The cliff became a clearing of flat ground that pointed like a ramp at the other wall of the cliff. On the opposite, vertical wall, two gates the width of five trees and the height of three protected the entrance to the underground castle.
“Árath,” said Deathslayer.
A cold front enveloped the army. Teeth chattered and it was not clear whether it was the result of the fear they felt when confronted by a structure like that or the cold. But there was no time to be lost. The watchmen might have died, but Árath had more than eyes to detect lurking danger. By now, the sáffurtans would certainly be alert to the presence of so much activity outside the gates.
Chirllrp needed no more than a simple sign. Leandro gave the order to begin the work of destruction. Ten thousand insects prepared themselves, obedient as puppets. The mages made their preparations.
Elgahar had acquired the title of Üdessa after his return by sea. With the support of his comrades, including that of the sovereign, the Council of Mages had allowed the young man to explain himself. Elgahar needed little to prove his prowess, manipulating the elements humbly. He had put his hands together and then placed them on the ground, and from that spot, a stone sword had emerged as if from nothing.
At first, whether due to jealousy or fear, the elders, including Ulfbar, had not wanted to accept anyone who could command that kind of power. They called him heretic and ingrate, but after some weeks and one demonstration after another, Elgahar was named a phenomenon in the field of Conjuring Arts and was presented with not only the blue toga and pointed hat but also a staff. He refused this, saying that he needed no more than his hands to let him cast spells. Thus, he earned the title of Üdessa. The scribes, under Mérdmerén’s command, would write a detailed account of
what would eventually be his story. Elgahar would become the youngest Üdessa in history.
Elgahar had also learned another trick from Ulfbar himself, which was how to make his own potions. He had created a great number for himself and his pupils, mostly bright blue healing ones and mana-regenerating ones to restore his life force. He had been surprised to find that the making of potions was far easier than he had imagined. What it required was to know exactly when and how much of each ingredient to add to the cauldron to create specific potions. He did what his former master and Ulfbar had recommended, which was not to trust anybody else’s potions but his own. He also followed the advice to not rely solely on potions for the casting of spells. They were there simply to restore health or mana quickly. Thus, he kept five blue health-restoring potions in a satchel hidden under his toga and two purple ones for restoring mana. He did not need them yet but knew that soon, he would be taking sips out of the purple one.
Leandro glanced at his comrade. The mage met his gaze and the general nodded, giving the go-ahead for the first attack.
Elgahar savored the salt in the atmosphere. It was not the sea, but the sweat of thousands upon thousands standing behind him. The tension grew. The three mages appeared quietly with Elgahar at the center. He turned to look at his pupils, Ítalshin and Uroquiel. They wore grey togas, a sign that they were mages of the rank of Ödessa.
The young Üdessa stretched out his arms toward the gates of Árath. The assistant mages each placed a hand on his shoulder while with the other, they pointed in the same direction.
The three closed their eyes. Elgahar withdrew from reality and found his mind’s eye. His inner eye opened its senses and his soul perceived his surroundings.
He felt the interior of the underground castle. The forces of the Black Arts were gathering, generating a spell that would attempt to quench the energy Elgahar was about to launch at the gates. He studied the evil spell, unraveling it in his mind as if he were untying a knot. He understood its essence, modifying his spell as a result to avoid his attack being canceled with a counterspell. Battles that involved the casting of spells were like chess. You could cast any spell you wanted but to be especially lethal, you had to predict what the enemy was casting to prevent any reduction of power in your own spell and prevent a counterattack. He was very well prepared.
Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale) Page 3
