by Duncan Pile
His burgeoning understanding of Bloodstones sprang from the research he’d done into the Dark God, which had yielded surprising results. There were several atavistic practices recorded in history whose worship had to be considered dark. From the Coltecs of Asnia to the Samrothans of Central Beran, these indigenous groups were united by a single practice – human sacrifice. They called their gods by different names – Nestaaru, Ek-Tukin and the Un-named to list just a few – but their beliefs about those gods were unquestionably similar. Their deity was trapped in a lower realm – a kind of hell if you like – held captive there by a great and ancient enemy. The Dark God drew strength from human sacrifice and, when he was finally replete, he would break out of his prison and rule the human plane with an iron fist. Why anyone would want that to happen baffled Hephistole, but it was the single strand that united these ancient religions, all of which had now died out.
In all his studies, he had only come across one people group in the whole of Antropel that still followed such a practice, and that was the Skelkans. Could it be a coincidence that members of that race had tried to murder Gaspi at the Measure? He couldn’t make himself believe that; the dots aligned too closely and with too vivid a pattern for Hephistole not to join them. It made a kind of terrible sense when he thought about it; the Dark God of the Skelkans could be the Dark God of Gaspi’s dream. If that were true, the Skelkans and Sestin served the same master, both of whom had made an attempt on Gaspi’s life. The conclusion was as unavoidable as it was alarming; the Dark God was trying to eliminate the Nature Mage.
And the Bloodstones had to be connected to the human sacrifice. The one Gaspi had destroyed had been used in exactly that manner. According to Gaspi, the stone was immersed in the heart-blood of the hermit’s victims, soaking up the abundant death energies for a purpose which was only now becoming clear. It was a disconcerting picture, but there was a sliver of hope in it too. One of the Bloodstones had been destroyed – which left Hephistole wondering how badly the Dark God had been set back in his plans.
Hephistole permitted himself a tight smile. However precarious their situation, it was good to make progress, to understand the big picture. This wasn’t the only crucial piece of knowledge he’d managed to glean either, although thinking of his other success made the smile slip right off his face. One of the search parties he’d sent to look for Sestin’s hideaway had finally returned with some news. They’d come across a village in the North East of Antropel where the villagers had been murdered to the last man, woman and child, their bodies horribly mistreated. Alone, that would have just been sad and disturbing news, but a lone crofter had seen the whole thing from a hiding place, and he’d said the slaughter had been perpetrated by a single, young magician! It could only be Ferast! And where Ferast was, Sestin could also be found!
As soon as he’d heard the news, Hephistole had spent time researching the area around the village, and reconsidered a location he’d previously discounted as a likely lair for the renegade magician – the Ruined City of Elmera. In its favour, Elmera was rumoured to be the haunt of ghosts – a reputation that would appeal to Sestin, who would populate it with foul spirits even if none already dwelt there. However, the sheer volume of disappearances around some of the other locations he’d been investigating had caused him to prioritise them over the ruined city. Elmera’s remoteness made it less likely too, given that Sestin would want a ready crop of people to perform his experiments on, but now, with confirmation of Ferast’s presence in the area, there was no further reason to doubt. Unless he was badly mistaken, he’d finally found Shirukai Sestin!
He had to wait, however, to do anything about his discovery. Voltan and Gaspi would be crucial in any assault on the ruined city, and they were still in the North, seeking Pell. If they managed to return with fragments from the altar of El-Amyari, that too would make an important difference when they faced Sestin’s demonic forces. There was far too much at stake to risk it all on a half-baked attack. Sestin had Bale-beasts, Wargs, the Darkman, and God only knows what else at his command. No, when they finally faced the renegade, they would need to do so with every weapon at their disposal. It would be a no holds barred, all-out fight to the death. He could only hope that the Pell quest would be successful, and they would return to Helioport soon.
Thirty-two
“Ouch!” Gaspi said, as something sharp dug into his back.
“Hold on,” Emmy said. “Lean forwards, slowly.” Gaspi did as he was told, and then the pain was gone. Emmy pulled back the thorny branch and carefully wove it back into the bush.
“Damn thorns,” Baard said, shuffling forwards so he wasn’t in danger of getting punctured too. After finally catching sight of the Temple of El-Amyari, and seeing the thousands of encamped ogres that blocked their path, they’d hunkered down in a patch of highland scrub to discuss the way forward. Unfortunately, the plants were dense, inhospitable tangles with long, whitish-grey thorns. Gaspi wasn’t the first to get himself stuck on them, and he wouldn’t be the last.
Voltan crouched in their midst, frowning in thought. “I think we’re going to have to send the air spirit ahead with the amulet. Anyone see another option?”
“Will the shamans sense it when we transport?” Sabu asked.
“That’s very unlikely,” Voltan said. “It’s much harder to detect the use of magic through enchanted objects, and Hephistole knows how to reduce that arcane signature to a whisper.”
“Well then, that’s got to be the way to go,” Sabu said. “We can’t fight our way through, and there’s no way of passing through the valleys unnoticed.”
“We could stick to the heights,” Lydia suggested. “Find our way across the peaks.”
“We’d stand out like a bear on snow,” Talmo said with a firm shake of his head.
“Besides, we need to stay ahead of the Darkman,” Gaspi said. “We don’t know how long it will take to recover and get back on the trail. Letting the air spirit carry the amulet is the best way to cover ground quickly.”
“Then it’s decided,” Voltan said. He withdrew the lodestone part of the amulet from within his clothing, lifted it over his head and held it out to the air spirit. “Find us somewhere safe, somewhere we can transport to without being seen. Keep it short – half an hour at most!” The air spirit regarded him with a beady, storm-grey eye, but did nothing to take the amulet.
Voltan shook the chain, as if to attract its attention. “Why won’t you take it?” he asked.
“They are not yours to command,” Heath said. The air spirit opened its beak and gave a cry of acknowledgement.
“Go ahead,” Gaspi said, and the air spirit snapped its beak around the chain, right below Voltan’s fingers. Voltan quickly withdrew his hand and the spirit launched itself into the air with noisy flaps of its tapered wings.
“Let us know what’s going on, Rimulth, unless you only answer to Gaspi too,” Voltan said irritably. The fire spirit hissed at him, and even Loreill and Lilly turned their eyes on him, watching him with inscrutable expressions.
“Voltan,” Heath started.
“Just leave it!” Voltan said, exasperated.
“They are elementals,” Heath continued. “Their reasons are not ours to question.”
“I said leave it!” Voltan barked. The fire spirit rose to its hind feet and flapped its wings emphatically, smoke snorting from its nostrils.
“Stop that!” Lydia snapped at the dragon, which immediately dropped to the ground and regarded her with its coal bright eyes. Her eyes widened in surprise and she quickly looked away.
“Why are we fighting among ourselves?” Emmy asked.
Voltan sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m just…frustrated.”
There was a long pause. Voltan almost never apologised, and hearing it was strangely embarrassing, like they’d caught him in his underclothes.
“Let’s just leave it there then,” Heath said, but he continued to scrutinise the warrior mage.
Gaspi was also watching
Voltan closely. The warrior mage wasn’t usually petulant, and Gaspi was pretty sure he understood the special relationship he and the other bond-mates had with the spirits. Of all of them, Gaspi was the only one who issued them direct commands. The spirits worked in tandem with their bond mates of course, but he was the only one who could enforce his will. Even if they had been bonded at the time, Lydia could not have kept the fire spirit out of the battle with the Darkman, for example. The elementals believed that he was destined to save the world from a great and deadly destruction, and had sworn themselves to his service – a unique circumstance in the whole of history. Voltan may not understand the depths of all of that but he knew the basics, and shouldn’t be surprised that the air spirit didn’t obey his command. No, Gaspi was pretty sure Voltan was just expressing some of the pain he felt at the death of the twins. Although Heath’s ceremony had allowed them to begin the grieving process, there was no substitute for the passage of time.
Gaspi wished there was something he could do to help Voltan, but grief ran to its own schedule, and besides, he had his own difficult emotions to deal with. For now, it looked like they’d avoided serious conflict, partly because Voltan had backed down and partly because of what had happened between Lydia and the fire spirit. Now that was interesting! The elemental crouched near her feet, watching her intently as always, and the gypsy girl was ignoring it, as was her habit, but something important had just happened. First of all she’d spoken directly to the fire spirit, acknowledging its presence for the first time Gaspi could remember. More significantly, it had listened to her. She may not be ready to embrace the intimacy of the bond yet, but it was a start. Gaspi smiled to himself. It was a good sign, and assuaged some of his worry about Lydia’s continual refusal to bond with the spirit. Perhaps it would happen all on its own after all.
…
They spent a tiresome half-hour crouched among the thorn bushes. Periodically, one of them would reposition themselves to relieve their aching knees, but in doing so would stab themselves on a dozen waiting thorns. In the end, they gave up trying to get comfortable and just put up with their discomfort until the air spirit found a suitable place to transport to. Time passed slowly, and when Rimulth finally let them know it had landed, they were highly relieved.
“It’s ready,” the tribesman said. Everyone linked up without needing to be told.
Voltan handed the amulet to Gaspi. “If the spirit won’t take orders from me, it makes more sense for you to take charge.”
There was still some bad feeling in the warrior mage’s manner, but Gaspi didn’t have time to worry about that. If he was taking charge, he’d do it properly. He nodded and took the amulet, did a last check to make sure everyone was touching, and gave the command:
“Convoke!”
…
They appeared under an overhanging shelf of rock, partway up the side of the valley. A wall of dense scrub kept them from being exposed to the eyes of the ogre encampment below. The ogres were close, but unless they showed themselves they shouldn’t be in danger.
“Good choice,” Gaspi whispered to the air spirit, which gave the faintest cry in response. “Off you go,” he said, and it took off, looking for the next safe place to transport to.
“They’re massive aren’t they?” Baard said in hushed tones, peering through a gap in the scrub.
Gaspi shuffled over to take a look at what Baard was talking about. The ogre encampment lay below them, hundreds of crude stone constructions dotted about the floodplain, but it was the inhabitants of those buildings that had caught Baard’s attention. The ogres were enormous, taller and more heavily muscled than any man. Although humanoid in shape, their impossibly broad shoulders and oversized heads gave them a brutish appearance. They wore ragged leathers and carried clubs the size of tree trunks, spiked with jagged stone. Gaspi suddenly felt uneasy about how close they were to the encampment. Yes, they were concealed, but ogres were wandering about just fifty yards away. If the brutes realised they were there, they’d be in deep trouble!
“Sheesh,” Taurnil said, standing next to them. Everyone had gathered behind the obscuring wall of scrub to take a look at the ogres. Although a fearsome foe, the Ogre Nation had always kept itself to itself, consumed with tribal feuds and pasture rights in the far North. None of them had seen an ogre before, and every one of them was astonished.
Loud grunts and shouts erupted from the nearest group of ogres. “They’re fighting!” Sabu whispered.
Two of them had found a cause for dispute, and were brawling only fifty yards from their hiding place. They clashed, snarling viciously and trying to cast each other to the ground. One was taller than the other, but the second was more heavily muscled, and soon had his opponent in a headlock. The taller ogre growled and snarled, beating his fists against the chest and arms of his opponent, but the smaller one just kept on twisting until it seemed the first ogre’s neck was going to snap. Perhaps it would have done, but the ogre’s murderous efforts were thwarted by a boot, smashing into its face and sending it reeling. The boot belonged to an ever taller brute, a giant among giants. In appearance, it was exactly like the others, except for a ridge that protruded from its brow. It wasn’t exactly a horn, but more like a shelf of bone, extending from one side of its massive skull to the other. The skins it wore across its chest were painted with a bloody smear.
The pair of fighting ogres scrambled to their feet. They started gesturing at each other and talking rapidly, their harsh language sounding like a string of grunts and barks.
“SHUT UP!” the ogre with the ridge of bone shouted. “You know the rules. Speak common. I can’t understand your filthy dialect.”
“He ate my sheep!” the shorter, more muscular ogre said angrily. “You take my sheep, I snap your neck!”
“Not any more,” the ogre in charge said. “Things have changed around here.”
“No-one tells Ragnar what to do!” the smaller ogre snarled. “Not even a Kaas!”
The large ogre with the ridged forehead dropped his club and took two swift strides forward. He grabbed Ragnar by his leathers and lifted him into the air. Ragnar yelled furiously, grabbing his assailant’s wrists and hauling on them with all his strength, but to no avail. He was hoisted up until his face was inches from the larger ogre’s.
“You’re an Urzaak, I’m a Kaas. You will do what I tell you,” the large ogre said through gritted teeth. The smaller ogre said an obscene word and spat in the Kaas’ face. “Time to die,” the Kaas said, drawing his head back slowly and deliberately. Ragnar’s eyes widened and he let out a bellow, an animal sound of anger and distress, but nothing could stop what was coming. The Kaas snapped his head forward, the muscles on his neck standing out in thick, ropey strands, and Ragnar’s skull exploded as if it were a rotten vegetable. His thickly muscled body went limp and the Kaas dropped him to the ground. He wiped his hands on his skins and looked at the ogre Ragnar had been fighting.
“Don’t steal any more sheep, or you’ll be next,” he said. The ogre mumbled some kind of agreement, picking nervously at his skins. The Kaas picked up his club. “Build a cairn for Ragnar,” he said, and walked off without waiting for a response. The Urzaak started dragging Ragnar’s body away from any of the crude houses nearby, and began the arduous task of piling stones on top of it.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” Heath said quietly. They all drew back from the curtain of scrub. “We’re too close for comfort here.”
“Yer tellin’ me!” Baard said.
“How’s the air spirit doing?” Gaspi whispered.
Rimulth closed his eyes. “Still looking.”
“Let’s keep well back,” Gaspi said, and hunkered down on the ground at the back of the depression. “Talmo, can you keep watch?” The tribesman nodded and took up a defensive position where he could see out past the obscuring foliage.
They waited in silence while the air spirit explored. It was more comfortable than their last waiting place, but the proximity of the ogr
es made them nervous. If they were spotted before the air spirit could find a suitable place to transport to, they’d have to fight, and there were far too many ogres nearby for them to handle. If forced to transport prematurely, they might end up jumping from the frying pan into the fire!
“It’s time,” Rimulth said at last, breaking the tension. The group gathered round and linked up.
Gaspi lifted the amulet and channelled power into it. “Convoke!”
…
They appeared in a dried up gully, steep-sided and dark with only the narrowest opening above them. “This’ll work,” Gaspi said, and the air spirit took off again, winging its way northward. This time there wasn’t any danger – they were extremely well hidden in the gully – and the boredom of waiting started to set in. The time passed slowly, an uncomfortable marriage of dullness and tension, but eventually Rimulth let them know it was over, and they transported to the next hiding place.
…
They transported several more times over the course of the morning, hiding in dips and gullies, in the midst of dense bushes and once, half-way up the mountainside. Where it was safe to talk, they passed the time discussing what they’d learned about the ogres. The smaller ones were called Urzaaks, and the larger ones with the ridge of bone, Kaas. The Kaas were clearly in charge, and it seemed like some of the Urzaaks weren’t too happy about that. In fact, it seemed like this gathering was relatively recent, and the various groups of ogres were not even used to speaking the same language as each other. Gaspi couldn’t help wondering what had forced these warring factions to join forces, and what held them together when the Urzaaks at least preferred to stay in their tribal families. One thing they all agreed on was that there was more at play than they understood. They speculated about the class of ogre they had all heard about but were yet to see – the shamans. Perhaps when they came across the fabled spell-casters, they’d understand more about what was going on, and why the Ogre Nation was gathering, as if for war.
