Darshun now understood his father better with this cruel story.
“With every passing moment his hate bitterly increased. Nevertheless, he ventured with Seth and I to Loreladia for he knew it would take every scrap of what could be given to defeat the coming darkness, and so we all united with the Loreladians. From then on, we fought a long hard war against the Barbarian invaders, winning over fifty great battles all led by my command and strategy. So much were we crushing them that the sorcerer, in desperate need hired a master Fire Wizard, Olchemy who proved to be a difficult adversary wise and powerful. Still, we stood victorious at the last battle upon Mt. Flame.”
Darshun knew a little about this part of the story from Seth.
Mirabel sighed. “During the final battle I got my vengeance against the men who killed my family, though the pain never left. When all was over we decided to live among the Loreladians and have done so for a hundred years, until we were attacked by the Northern Cullach and forced to come to the new land. But that is a story which you already know.”
“I don’t understand. Why did Magnus hate you so much? It was your family that died, not his.”
“Viliah was my wife, but also his sister.”
“Ahh…”
“Yes, she was Nasharin as well, the last female Nasharin with an extraordinary Earth Magic, having the ability to read minds and install feelings into another. Feelings of fear, sadness, joy or hate and she could manipulative yet wondrous power against an enemy or harmless play against a friend—or lover.”
Darshun stared at him.
Mirabel still gazed into the coals, never once raising his head. He could hear the pain of loss in his voice and desperately wished there was something he could do for his father, but he hadn’t the slightest idea. Other than to be there for him, like Mirabel always being there for him—perhaps it would be enough.
“Magnus raised her himself,” Mirabel continued, “And loved her dearly. From the day of her death, Magnus never forgave me.”
“What is there to forgive? Viliah’s death was not your fault,” Darshun spoke sternly. “Sad the tale is yes, but you loved your family and believed you were doing the right thing. Magnus had no right to blame you. Besides, Viliah was your wife. You loved her too. I cast no blame upon you my father. From everything I’ve learned in this life, I can truly say that your heart was in the right place.”
“You sound a lot like your uncle. His words have always been the same.”
“Then release your guilt. Think about it, the only two who blame you are Magnus and Nayland—two souls drenched in bitterness anyway.”
Mirabel finally raised his face and looked at him. Darshun seemed much different. Older, wiser and Mirabel felt proud of him. “Thank you, my son. Even if you are not of my blood, you are of my spirit.”
For the first time ever, Darshun could’ve sworn he saw Mirabel’s eyes filling with tears. But before any drop could fall, King Loreus came wandering over, carrying a pan stuffed full of scrambled eggs. Mirabel turned away for a brief moment and then back to Darshun, the teary eyes now gone.
Approaching, King Loreus meant to speak but his foot caught the root of a tree and down he went, the pan hurling into Mirabel's fire sending sparks everywhere. They backed away a tad, and Loreus' poor eggs began to blacken and burn, resting over the glowing coals.
Captain Alaric, standing near-by and noticing the spill rushed to help him.
“Leave me be!” Loreus snapped, clearly embarrassed of his accident, especially in front of the three finest warriors Loreladia ever knew of. His frustration probably derived from when people pointed out his clumsiness, because it seemed all too often. As if he’d realized the negative tone he used on Alaric who’d only been trying to help in pure sincerity, he changed his tone. “I am fine Alaric,” he said, brushing dirt off his chain-mail trousers. “Thank you.”
“Let me make you some more eggs, we still have time.”
“That sounds nice, I'd appreciate it.”
“No problem, my King.” Alaric glanced over to the young evolved Nasharin. “And welcome back Darshun.”
“Oh, could I go for one of your ales right now!”
Mirabel gave him a displeasing look. Darshun’s choice of words seemed a little cold. He hasn’t seen Alaric in seven years and the first thing he thinks about when laying eyes on him—the shiny bald headed, brown eyed, thick black mustache faced man—is his ale? Yet, in a way, he understood. One could not help but to think about ale when seeing Alaric. He was after all the ‘Brew Master’ and usually, carried the scent of barely and hops.
“When this battle is over,” Alaric responded, “We will drink the batch I have fermenting in Zithel, a four grain pale ale with a tad of Zithel’s finest molasses. The monks even lent a hand.”
Darshun’s mouth began to water. “Looking forward to that.”
Alaric smiled and then ventured off to prepare his King’s eggs.
Loreus, still blushing a tad from his accident turned to Darshun seeming to notice his appearance for the first time without distractions. “Are you really Darshun?”
The young Nasharin laughed. “But of course King Loreus.”
Loreus stepped closer, his amber eyes glistening in the morning sun. “Your uncle was right. You have been through changes indeed. That island really must be something else. Excellent. We will need all the help we can get, they outnumber us by far, and we must shortly prepare for battle. Speaking of which, this shall be my first.” He laughed, almost like a little boy. “If I survive, I shall finally be able to share battle stories around fires late in the night like my forefathers and all of you. Though only if I manage to stay alive and not impale myself with my own sword.”
Mirabel chuckled. “You may be a little unstable on your feet, but when it comes to handling a sword all that changes. After all, I taught you.”
“Ha! Such words are music to my ears. You don't know how often I feel disrespected by my people. I must prove myself worthy, or die trying.”
“Worry not about that young King, the time will come to prove your greatness. It may not be today, it may not be the battle after, but trust me when I say this…it will come.”
“Well then, may the great Gods of Loreladia be with us.”
“And may Abidan be with us also.”
“Ouch!” Darshun yelled, distracting them all. He’d been munching on something black and yellow stuck on a stick, the bottom layer smoldering.
“For goodness sake Darshun!” Seth scolded, realizing the substance.
Darshun had gathered up a large chunk of the scrambled eggs from the coals.
Everyone gave him a funny look.
“What? So, it’s a little well-done; still edible. At least this one side.”
Loreus broke out in laughter. “Changed body, but same old Darshun!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Under Siege
They ventured out to the grasslands. Soldiers and warriors formed a great wall of infantry while the archers hid among the tall grass of the meadows and mid to lower sections of the mountain. While the Barbarian war drums drew closer, anticipation brewed in the hearts of the men, standing ready, eager to fight. What a glorious day to do battle too. The sun shining, a warm breeze against their faces; it would be a day to remember indeed.
Strangely, after waiting for over an hour the Barbarians didn’t show.
“Something is wrong,” King Loreus noted. “Should not the heathens been here by now?”
“Yes,” Mirabel agreed. “Their drums stopped a while back and they have yet to show themselves. It would be wise to send out scouts. As of now, anything could happen.”
The King chose his best and off they went to discover the enemy’s location. No sooner than thirty minutes did they return—and in fear. “My King, my King!” a scout shouted. “The enemy is nowhere to be found! We looked high and low and it is as if the Barbarians vanished into thin air. Doesn’t make sense!”
“Are you absolutely positive?�
�� Loreus asked, disbelief in his voice.
“Like I said, my King, we searched high and low and not a single solitary trace. We even ventured to where they were last seen, before taking our spots onto the battlefield and our tracking skills could not pick up a trace on any square inch of land either. It was like the Barbarians were never there.”
“I don’t like this Mirabel,” King Loreus observed. “What do you think?”
“They could not have climbed the mountain without the archers spotting them. And if they turned back…The scouts would have taken notice even now, let alone pick up their trace. For only an hour has passed and the weather is fair.”
“What were they then, ghosts?” Captain Alaric asked.
“Mirabel,” Seth ventured, “There are two explanations that fit well. Alaric got the first one, the second is illusions.”
An expression of panic ran across Mirabel’s face.
“Ghosts or Illusions?” King Loreus seemed puzzled. “Wh—why?”
“To lead us away from something,” Mirabel seemed to ponder.
“Do you mean to tell me that every single war drum repetitively beating all morning long were either the product of dead barbarian warriors or mere enchantments? How is such a thing even remotely possible?”
“For the common sorcerer, perhaps the expertise's also it is impossible. But for a master, it most certainly is possible and has been done before.”
“What kind of being has such power, such energy?” Loreus questioned.
“An army of the dead summoned to walk a thousand mile landscape or an illusion that monstrous, that realistic—lasting for hours can be conjured by only a few: the High Wizard Levieth or the Dark King and Queen of—” Thinking of Asgoth a sudden fear filled Mirabel’s heart.
“Mirabel, what is it?” Loreus asked, sensing his disturbance.
Even Darshun faced him with stern eyes, eagerly wondering what he might be thinking. For Mirabel was never easily frightened.
“We must return to Zithel immediately!” Mirabel commanded.
After an overly rushed journey they arrived at the mountain the next day, passing through the old Wind Wizard tunnels of Azarius to save time. During travel something happened to Darshun, something in mind and concentration. He grew angry, frustrated and irritated. Then he became poor for conversation and barely slept. No doubt, he thought of the lady Aurora. In fact, he could not get her out of his head. He thought it strange because he’d nearly forgotten all about her while at Shajin Island. His mind completely focused on training, evolving into a new creature of power.
Ever since his return, the same past feelings prior the training came back. Sensations flowing, he longed for her touch, her taste, the feelings she gave him. He most definitely could not fathom the fact of anything happening to her. And strangely, the closer they came to Zithel, the more intense these feelings became, especially thinking she might be in danger. Until he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Aurora, his future bride and ever most love remained safe, everyone became an enemy, everyone had a part in this folly. He remembered the words of Mirabel long ago, warning of the lady. “Be careful not to get too close to her. The Dark appears in many forms.”
The memory poured through his mind as if spoken yesterday and he stood convinced his father would forbid their love, just as the High Wizards forbade Milandrith and Auristela so many years ago. He would not have it, not this time—no matter what!
Finally, they were within sight of the city, the gray stonewalls matching the gloomy mid-morning sky. Drawing closer they saw the front gate stood open but Zithelian warriors were nowhere to be seen.
“Something is not right,” Mirabel observed. “That gate is supposed to be closed—”
“Listen!” Seth whispered, placing a hand up, motioning everyone to stop.
Focusing his ears, Mirabel tried to sense what Seth might be talking about. Not a sound existed, not a creature stirred—and that was when he realized Seth’s meaning. He looked to him with widened eyes.
“Not even the birds make a peep,” Seth whispered. “Unorthodox for this time of the day.”
Seth was right, for who knew the woodlands better than he? “Stay alert,” Mirabel instructed. But his real thoughts were bent on discovering a catastrophe.
Cautiously, they entered and—a sword pierced each of their hearts. From the inner city walls, the housetops and trees hung dead Zithelians: men, women and children. The horror seemed almost too much to bear, especially for Mirabel and Seth, who’d encountered such tragedies before. Then from outside, came a familiar noise they’d grown tired of listening to a few days back until it suddenly vanished. Only this time it was real and not an illusion or a horde of summoned ghosts—the hard pounding war drums of the Barbarians. The adversaries did finally, come out of hiding.
Then, to make matters worse, Asgothian Cullach! Previously camouflaged by thick brush and leaves, suddenly leapt down from the trees, stormed out of Zithelian houses or popped up from holes in the ground, dug recently. There were hundreds, grinning and hissing. All clustered together while standing before Mirabel and the others.
“These are the murderers!” King Loreus accused. “Now we are flanked. We must defend ourselves from in and out of the city.”
“No,” Mirabel advised, “Focus on defeating the Cullach. I will hold off the Barbarians as long as I can.”
“But you will need help.”
“These walls are all the help I need. The stones have large traces of Milandrith Metal within them. It is what drew me to this mountain originally. Now go. We haven’t much time.”
“I don’t know what you are going to do Mirabel, but I trust you.” Facing the men and raising his sword into the air he shouted: “Let us reclaim the city for Zithel. Charge!” The battle began with a great clashing of Men against Cullach.
The Barbarians, each individual, male and female standing six feet tall were garmented in bone armor, the remnants of people or animals they last slaughtered. Of course, they needed to sometimes altar the bones to match their massive size. All in all, whenever they charged toward the city in attempts to sack it quickly, they looked like a horde of undead called up by a sorcerer. With ribcages covering their chests, dire bear or wolf skulls fitting their heads and other strange bone-like material protecting the rest of their members, they howled like beasts, holding their colossal swords and axes high, their eyes blood shot.
Stunned, they stopped, slowed their pace or toppled over blinded from a piercing white light.
Mirabel ascended and stood before the front gate. He stretched out his arms and currents of white lightning sought out Milandrith Metal within the rocks, flowing around the outer walls of the city while forming a great square of lightning.
~~***~~
The power seemed astounding, casting fear into the enemy…though it did not stop them. A horde of Barbarians approached with sword in hand attempting to stab, decapitate and dismember him. Such fools they were, for when they came within ten feet of the walls they were struck down, disintegrated by lightning spawning out of Mirabel’s eyes. Next, they tried throwing daggers and axes. Then flung javelins or shot arrows but the lightning acted as a shield around his body and shattered the weapons to pieces.
“Lord Sephyra,” a Barbarian spoke to the commander, a grizzly looking female with enough hideous scars across her face she barely passed for Human. “Our soldiers cannot enter the city. The Wizard’s lightning is too strong.”
“That is no Wizard but Nasharin,” Lord Sephyra spoke with a hiss. “King Tanarokai mentioned this battle may be difficult, seems he is proven right. Uncover the catapults. Strike Zithel from above.”
“Will we not kill the Cullach?”
“So? Killing the men is what we have been paid for. Cullach are no concern of ours. Now do as I command!”
Hidden under thick brush, the Barbarians uncovered two enormously large catapults, how they were able to get them up the mountain would probably always remain a mystery. Either
they’d been secretly at this for weeks, or had recently built them there. They loaded the catapults with spheres of metal filled with synthetic powders set to explode on impact, and then cast them over the city like shooting stars of death. Whatever type of chemical mixture put in caused great, horrific explosions none had ever seen before, at least not caused by ‘natural’ weapons. The casualties’ men and Cullach were high in number, bodies burnt or blown to pieces, buildings collapsing—the destruction catastrophic. Corpses piled like falling snow.
“It won’t be long now,” Lord Sephyra said with a pleased grin.
Mirabel wanted to do something but felt helpless. If he stopped his wall of lightning and attacked head on, the enemy would surely charge and try to pass through the gate. If they succeeded what chance would the men on the inside have? If he tried shooting down the flying spheres of metal it would take much concentration and force, draining his energy all the more quickly until he couldn’t defend himself at all. But he must do something. Being how massive the explosions were if a dozen more struck, there might be no city left to defend.
Just then, in the sky came one of the great eagles having beautiful colorations of brown and white, mighty in size with a wingspan of ten feet. On his back sat an individual glowing green. Mirabel knew who it was immediately—Seth! He must have somehow called to the bird for help, perhaps through Asiel.
Soaring fast, the eagle swooped down at those attempting to reload a catapult, pierced their shoulders with his talons and picked both of them up. The eagle carried them high into the sky, then dropped the screaming Barbarians at about a thousand feet. They crashed onto the other two trying to reload the second catapult causing a bloody splattering mess.
Of course more Barbarian soldiers ran to the catapults, this time having archers protect them, standing ready with bow in hand. But the eagle’s first strike intended to simply give Seth the time he needed for what he was attempting. Finally, he gathered the energy required. They flew high enough so no arrows could interrupt the process and hovered over the army. Then Seth, shining like a green star, rose up his hands his eyes flashing and caused two earthquakes down below, directly under each catapult. As the ground opened the catapults fell into the earth with over a hundred Barbarians. The metal spheres also fell in bumping and colliding against one another until they exploded causing a great thundering roar. Casualties mounted high.
Crossing Forbidden Lines (Guardian Series Book 2) Page 5
