Leona’burda stood motionless as she faced the large Circle of Communication within the Circle of Power. Behind her she could hear the hurried voices of her mages as they worked to save the soldiers that groaned and cried in their pain; soldiers from her Branch, and the Branch of Grundagg.
She wasn’t pleased to have her mages working so hard for a Branch whose problems had suddenly become hers, and she was left alone to face them on her own.
Vaknorbond, she knew, was gone to carry Neth’tek to the Urden’Dagg; and what the Urden’Dagg exactly had in mind for her and her Branch was unknown to everyone except the Urden’Dagg itself. There was no way she could argue with Vaknorbond to leave things as they were. But Vaknorbond’s point was clear to her, and understandable to her, if not anyone else.
But even though she understood his point, she couldn’t help but disagree.
“Better to leave things as they are,” she told herself. “Perhaps it was a foolish idea to engage Zurdagg in the first place… But no, they had asked for what they received, bringing their own doom upon themselves. And though Vengeance is a cruel thing indeed, however necessary, it is necessary.”
She refused to believe the decisions of a fool were those they she had helped make herself, and always had thought that way. But now more than ever she refused to accept her defeat and failure to accomplish the things which she had at first set out to achieve.
The battle continues, she told herself silently.
And she was right in saying so. The battle did continue for her Branch, the Branch of Vulzdagg. But the war that they had started was nowhere close to ending. It was all a waste of time and good soldiers for the two Branch’s to go at each other in such a way as they were, and never getting any closer to fulfilling what they had at first set out for. And so, though she didn’t admit to believing it, Leona knew that what Vaknorbond was doing was for the better.
Stepping forward, Leona entered the small circle, connecting her to the communication stream that she summoned before her.
“Grundagg,” she said in a commanding voice, and the orb of blue appeared in swirling mist. She waited for the face of either the lord or the lady Grundagg to appear within.
Two faces appeared, and it was both the lord and the lady Grundagg who answered her call.
“Greetings, Grundagg!” she said in a merry tone, despite her feelings at the moment.
“What is going on?” Hundarr Grundagg demanded in rage. “I send my troops to search for the Horg’s, and they come back bleeding and injured from your lands! Tell me why that is?”
Leona scowled, not understanding what he was referring too.
“Whom do you speak of? I have no memory of any of your troops leaving with such injuries,” Leona answered.
“They never entered your walls! They ambushed your Horg’s as they were approaching your gate!” Hundarr growled.
“So it was your people who sent the mushrooms up in a cloud of flames?” Leona asked. “I thought it was only the recklessness of the beasts?”
“You thought wrong,” lady Grundagg said flatly.
“Did I?” Leona said wryly. “One would expect so. But it was your captain who guessed that the whole act in our grove was only a diversion, and that the real attack would come soon after from a different angle. Well, your captain was right! We’re fighting that battle as we speak! I should thank you for sending him.”
“My captain?” said Hundarr angrily. “We did not send any troops to aid you! They were meant only to invade the Horg’s in our passage!”
“Then they have fulfilled their duty,” Leona said with a smile.
“Send them back here, immediately!” lady Grundagg growled in a commanding voice, “You would not have sent such a force to aid us as ours for you!”
“We would have!” Leona said in a raised voice, but she doubted that any of her soldiers would have gone to aid Grundagg. “We never said no.”
“Neither did you say yes,” lady Grundagg said coldly. “We know well the mind of a liar when we see one.”
“Then you should know well mine,” Leona said, smiling jokingly.
The Grundagg’s did not take it as a joke, however. Their faces were unreadable in the blue orbs they were seen through.
“We are not in any mood for joking,” said Hundarr.
“You must remember that Swildagg also never gave an answer to your call for aid,” Leona put in for her defense. “Besides, you are no longer in need of aid. It is now me and my people.”
“You and your people,” lady Grundagg spat.
“How do you expect us to go to your aid when you did not come to ours?” Hundarr said smartly. “As of what you said, it seems we already have sent our aid to you. Aren’t those soldiers enough?”
“Have it your way!” Leona hissed, the merry tone she had once spoken with was covered with one of wrath, “But don’t ever expect any aid from us when the time comes for you to fall on your knees and beg like the beasts you are!”
She stepped from the circle, disconnecting the communication stream, leaving those words for the Grundagg’s.
“There’s much more than just Horg’s here for us to deal with,” Leona growled to herself as she left the Circle of Power, and her mages healing the soldiers behind her. She went straightway to Dril’ead as he stood among the soldiers, waiting for the doors to give way under the pounding of the Earth Elementals stone fists; each strike shaking even the stones underfoot.
The Followers were all frightened, but held their ground firmly with confidence, knowing that Dril’ead was calmly standing behind them; watching over them.
Gregarr of Grundagg was standing beside Dril’ead. Both of them were in deep conversation, discussing that matter of battle, and Leona heard a fragment of their conversation as she came before them.
“He was here, I saw him standing upon the wall of your city just before the attack came,” Gregarr was saying.
“The monster couldn’t possibly have entered the city so easily,” Dril’ead said in disbelief.
“Mazoroth is a tricky one, and not to be taken lightly,” said Gregarr. “We’ve learned from past experiences that such Horg’s as the Mazar’s are more sensible than most. I believe that sense comes from Mazoroth – they’d be nothing without him.”
“So it is Mazoroth that we shall aim to put a dart into,” Dril’ead said with confidence, “Without their leader, those Horg’s will be nothing to us…”
“It is the present that we must focus on at this time,” Leona cut in.
Dril’ead turned to her in surprise, not realizing she had been standing beside him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Gregarr quickly bowed to Leona, also unaware that she had been standing close by.
“Am I not the matron of Vulzdagg?” Leona asked matter-of-factly.
“You were,” said Dril’ead in a low voice, “But now you are nothing but a keeper of secrets to me, and to this people.”
“Why is it that suddenly everyone believes me to be a liar?” Leona said with a sigh.
“You lied to me!” Dril growled intensely, the fire of the warrior growing hot in his eyes, “You kept secrets from me! If you had told me of father’s ploy with Neth’tek I might have put a stop to it, but now they are both gone!”
“You still can!” Leona said excitedly. “If you hurry, you can stop Vaknorbond before he escapes the citadel!”
Gregarr looked from one Vulzdagg noble to the other, confused but not wanting to understand. It was none of his business, though, and he dared not interrupt with the question of what they were talking about. He was not a member of Vulzdagg, and so their discussion was of no importance to him.
Gregarr stepped backwards cautiously, hoping to walk from them without their knowing. But the moment Leona mentioned the chance of Dril’ead catching Vaknorbond, Dril turned sharply to Gregarr and took him by the shoulder with a firm grip, an unseen fire burning in the fighter’s eyes.
“
Grundagg,” said Dril’ead with haste, “I leave you in command of the soldiers here. When those doors break down, and if Gefiny hasn’t already gathered the basilisks together, I want you to lead the soldiers against the Elemental with all the power available!”
“But the Elemental is too powerful for our weapons!” Gregarr told him, “I watched as our darts, and our swords broke on its body of pure stone.”
“Only you can defeat it!” a soldier nearby, who overheard, cried to Dril’ead; and every Follower in the room turned their attention from the citadel door to Dril’ead. “You are the demon slayer, so only you have the ability to destroy such a thing as this demon!”
“This is no demon!” Dril’ead shouted so everyone could hear, “This is a monster from the natural earth! It is pure witchcraft! And whatever witch is creating this thing can be destroyed! And if the witch can be destroyed, so can its creation!”
Several soldiers cheered where they stood in their ranks, shouting, “Destroy the creation! Destroy it!”
Dril’ead turned again to Gregarr, taking him by both shoulders now, and the fire that was burning in his eyes seemed to die away for that moment.
“It is possible,” Dril’ead said so only Gregarr could hear, and for a moment Gregarr thought Dril’ead had changed his mind about leaving to wherever he was going.
But the fire returned, and Dril’ead turned away with a flip of his purple cloak, and ran across the room toward the anteroom door where his chamber and the chambers of his family lay.
Dril’ead sped through the door without looking back. Gregarr knew because he watched him, and so did Leona; but she, unlike Gregarr, had a smile upon her lips.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Flight from Home
There was no more stairs to climb, and Neth’tek was relieved to discover so. His breaths came in gasps now, and Vaknorbond spared him no time to rest, but led the way into the chamber where Group Training had been held. The racks of weapons still lined the walls, and to one of these Vak went swiftly and took from it a pair of duel blades and sheaths attached to a belt.
“What are those for?” Neth’tek asked breathlessly.
“They are for you,” Vak said, handing the weapons to his son. “You will need them.”
“What for?” asked a curious Neth’tek.
“Just take them!” Vak was much more urgent than he had ever been before, so Neth’tek took them from him.
Neth’tek carefully buckled the belt to his hips, and could feel the weight of the weapons dragging him down, making the notion of running even more impossible. But he would have to get used to it, he knew.
“And here,” Vak said reaching under his cloak, “I have for you this.” He handed Neth’tek a bundle of purple silk.
At the smooth feel of the cloth, Neth’tek knew what it was. He finally had his own cloak, the cloak that he always had admired about the warriors. It was the same cloak that Neth’tek had always dreamed of receiving. Unfolding it, Neth’tek examined its length.
“Quickly, put it on!” Vak urged him, taking the cloak from his grasp and flipping it behind him.
Vak buckled the cloak together over Neth’tek’s chest, and adjusted it over his shoulders. Examining it from behind one could see that the cape drooped low, and would drag on the ground when Neth’tek walked, as was the style of such cloaks among those people.
“You must take great care over this gift I give you,” Vak told him, “It is the symbol of the people of the great and powerful Urden’Dagg. It is special, and all warriors have proudly worn such cloths into battle.”
“Shall I do the same,” Neth’tek said, not fearing the thought of battle now that he wore the name of his title across his back and a pair of duel blades at his hips. And, for some unknown reason, the cloak seemed to take the weight from his blades and make him feel light.
“We’ll see,” Vak said in deep thought. “Now come! We have no time left!”
Neth’tek took in the room with a glance, then left. The room, unlike the times he had seen it before, was empty of all the students that would have been battling one another with their substitute blades and spears at this hour of the day. But it was empty, and seemed so much bigger than it used to; and already Neth’tek could feel that sensation of emptiness in his stomach. If he could, or if he wanted, Neth’tek would have stayed. But he could not at the moment settle his thoughts on such a thing as that.
He was leaving, and he doubted he would ever come back.
The floor underfoot trembled as Neth’tek turned once again to follow Vaknorbond on his run through the passages of the citadel. Neth’tek halted when he felt the vibration, and drew one of his scimitars from its sheath, feeling protected by it from whatever caused the rumble.
“They are breeching the citadel!” Vak explained to him, “Now come before they catch us!”
“Who are they?”
“Enemies,” was all Vak told him. He sped down a passageway that opened to their left as they exited the Group Training quarters.
The passage was narrow, storage rooms opened on their left and right, filled with weapons and armor for battle. Neth’tek sheathed his sword as he realized he had never been down this passage before, but could easily note how most of these rooms had been emptied.
Ahead of them the passage ended at a spiral staircase that wound upwards into the ceiling. Vak took these stairs and ran up them, skipping a step with each rushing stride. Neth’tek followed behind, slower than the elder fighter, but equally balanced on these steps.
The stairs led to a shut door in the ceiling. Vak reached up and through back the latch from this door, and proceeded to throw it open. Immediately following the doors opening a stream of light poured in upon them, blinding Neth’tek to the point that he stumbled and nearly rolled back down the stairs.
“It is the light of Demon Fire!” Vak shouted over the roar of chaotic battle taking place somewhere outside. “Fear it not, for it is only a light which summons the demons from the Lesser Realms and into ours!”
“What is to not fear about it?” Neth’tek asked wryly, shielding his eyes with an upraised arm, and thinking to again draw his scimitar.
Vak fixed a cautious eye on Neth’tek. “My only instruction is to not fear it.”
Vaknorbond leapt from the stairs and disappeared through the door above them. Neth’tek breathed out a sigh of distress, and struggled to maintain his breathing over the anticipation of the moment. He crawled upwards toward the door, and that light which burned his eyes.
A single tear escaped the lid of his eye and slid down his cheek, but Neth’tek wiped it away. The roars outside, of monsters he could not name, echoed and reechoed throughout the air, making it all the more difficult for Neth’tek to gain the courage to pull himself from the safety of the citadel – the place he had called home his whole life.
Looking down the spiraling stairs over his shoulder, Neth’tek said his goodbyes with that quick glance. He would miss it, and he knew that the feeling of losing such a place as a home would not be easily accepted.
Turning back to the door, Neth’tek reached upwards with both hands and seized the opposite edges of the frame of the door. As he did so, and was just beginning to pull himself out of the stairway and onto the crown of the citadel, their came a clash of steel on steel from outside. Terror took hold of him then, and he nearly dropped back into the stairway if it had not been for Vaknorbond’s hold on him, and he was pulled upwards by the cowl of his cloak.
“Our enemies are upon us,” Vak told him. “You must now mind your surroundings!”
Upon the high ground of the citadel lay a monster of incredible size. He saw it as he came out of the doorway, and knew it as one of the kinds of creatures that were used as slaves among his people.
“Horg,” he breathed with dread, “a slave Horg.”
“It is dead,” Vak told him, “But no, not a slave of ours. Perhaps it is the slave of some other creature.”
The light surrounding the wa
ll the citadel was set against glowed continually, and Neth’tek could barely keep his eyes open from its glare. But Vak led him by the arm, resisting the pain of such a light as it.
They stopped at what seemed the center of the crown of the citadel, and Vak put two fingers to his mouth and blew a high whistle into the thick air, full of the clash of battle below them.
The whistle was answered by the winged lizard that Vak used many times in the past for transportation. This winged animal appeared out of air from far off somewhere Neth’tek could not see or tell, and it dropped from the darkness above to come swooping downwards where they stood on the citadel.
Neth’tek was suddenly seized upon by a strong hand, and thrown aside by great strength. A hammer was lifted and swung down upon Vak, but the agile fighter jumped aside, unsheathing his scimitars in the same movement. Vak fell upon the Horg with quick swings and jabs, stabbing the thing nearly ten times before it finally fell down, over the side of the citadel and down into the chaos below with a cry.
Neth’tek struggled to his knees, but was grabbed by yet another hand and dragged backwards away from Vak.
“Neth’tek,” Vak called out, leaping foreword to stop the new Horg attempting Neth’tek’s capture.
But Vak was blocked by the huge body of another Horg that leapt between him and his son. Another Horg came in from behind, surrounding Vak from front and back. The Horg’s laughed deeply, mocking the fighter where he stood.
Vaknorbond lowered himself to the ground, as if preparing for a jump into the air, and held his position. He looked to Neth’tek who as he fought the strength of the Horg trying to drag him away. And then without warning, Vak jumped sideways, right off the side of the citadel. The Horg’s swung down with axes and hammers just as he was gone.
Neth’tek wanted to scream in confused rage at Vaknorbond’s cowardliness and suicidal leap. But such thoughts were false; for not a second after Vak leaped to his death did he reappear upon the back of his drake.
Swooping upwards, the drake slashed the throats of the two Horg’s with its razor sharp talons.
Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle Page 21