XI
CHAOS, COINS, AND CULTS
“How goes the work?” said Tanch.
“Mr. Artol has broken three shovels so far, he has,” said Dolan. “Mr. Paldor has only broken one. Not that he isn't trying as hard; it's just that he's a lot smaller.”
“This bloody ground is like frozen dirt in the dead of winter,” said Paldor.
“More like the packed dirt of an old road . . . in the frozen dead of winter,” said Artol as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“Not easy work,” said Dolan.
“That much is clear,” said Tanch. “I do wish I could assist you in your labors, but with my delicate back, I'm afraid such work is quite beyond me. Perhaps after I've rested a bit under yonder tree, I will feel strong enough to heft a shovel for a time.” He turned and walked away mumbling to himself.
“All work is beyond him, I hear,” said Artol.
“Hold on, look at what we got here,” said Dolan as he lifted a shiny, metallic object from the soil. “A coin, it is.”
“Wait,” said Paldor. “Sir Gabriel said not to touch whatever we found.”
Dolan brushed the dirt off the coin and polished it with his fingers. “It’s just a coin,” he said. “What's the harm?”
“Best put it down,” said Artol as he made a sign of protection across his chest and waved Tanch over. “It might be cursed or something.” The wizard quickly realized what was happening and trotted back, out of breath from the effort.
“Found something, have we?” said Tanch.
“It’s gold,” said Dolan. “And it’s got strange markings on it that I can’t read.” Dolan passed the coin to Tanch. “There could be more,” he said before he returned to his digging.
Theta, Gabriel, Claradon, and many of the other knights gathered around while Tanch studied the coin, turning it over and around multiple times as he scrutinized its every feature.
“There is no doubt,” said Tanch, “some strange arcane signature emanates from this coin.” He offered it to Theta. “Would you care to examine it?”
Theta waved Tanch's hand away. He wouldn't touch the thing. Tanch rolled his eyes and shook his head, for the superstitious nature of knights always vexed him. He was confident that Claradon and Gabriel would be above such things and held the coin out toward them. “Master Claradon? Sir Gabriel?”
“The symbols are most interesting in that—” said Tanch.
Claradon reached for the coin.
“No,” shouted Gabriel as he swatted at Claradon's hand. The coin went flying.
“Ow!” cried Claradon, when his finger brushed the coin even as Gabriel knocked it away. His face contorted in pain and revulsion. He gripped his injured hand with his other and doubled over, wincing in pain.
“It doesn't seem to like you, Eotrus,” said Theta chuckling.
“How bad is it?” said Gabriel, trying to see.
“It burned me. How could it do that?”
Gabriel grasped Claradon's arm. “Show me.”
“I'm alright,” he said, his hand shaking. “It's not too bad, I think, just the tip of one finger is a bit singed.”
“A burn?” said Tanch. “That coin has been sitting in the cold ground—how could it burn you?”
“Was it covered in acid?” said Artol.
“It is dry,” said Dolan, leaning over the coin where it had fallen. “And it didn’t burn me or Mister Tanch.”
“Oh my, oh dear,” said Tanch as he hopped from one leg to the next. He wrung his hands and checked them several times for damage, his face contorted in panic. “I beg your pardon, Brother Claradon,” he said, his voice wavering. “How could I know it would harm you? It didn't feel hot to me; not hot at all. I never would've offered it to you if I ever dreamed it would harm you. Please accept my deepest apologies. I didn't know. Truly, I had no idea that—”
“It felt—evil,” said Claradon.
“It is not my fault,” said Tanch. “I will not be blamed this time.” Tanch's face drained of color, his forehead beaded with sweat. “Oh my, my head is spinning.” Tanch’s eyes fluttered, closed, and he toppled over in a faint.
“Someone douse the wizard with water,” said Gabriel, “and get him to his feet. We need his expertise. There will be no lying down on the job today. Cursed coins; I thought I had seen it all, but that is a new one. Paldor—break out some burn salve from the supplies and wrap up Claradon's hand.”
“Dolan,” said Gabriel. “You seem immune to the coin’s effects. Pick it up and place it on that boulder so that the rest of us can examine it without having to touch it.”
“Just the same, I think I’ll use the shovel,” said Dolan as he scooped up the coin.
Artol poured water onto Tanch's face. The wizard sat up and spewed what could only have been curses in some strange language the others didn't know.
“It has a bunch of strange markings on it, it does,” said Dolan as he set the coin down and then returned to his digging. The others gathered around the boulder.
Gabriel leaned in to get a good look at the markings. “Mystical glyphs and symbols,” he said. He used a small twig to flip the coin over to view its obverse side.
“Mortach,” said Theta.
“You’ve got the eyes of a hawk to name that symbol from where you stand,” said Tanch as he wiped dry his face with a handkerchief, though he still looked unsteady. “But you are correct. The symbol embossed on the surface is indeed the mark of Mortach. The glyphs on the other side are used by Mortach's priests and followers for their vile rituals.”
“Who is this Mortach fellow?” said Dolan. “One of your enemies? A rival lord, is he?”
“A Lord of Nifleheim,” said Claradon.
“And what is a Lord of Nifle—Nifle—whatever you said?” said Dolan.
“Nifleheim,” said Tanch. “The Lords of Nifleheim are vile, maleficent, completely inhuman, otherworldly creatures.”
Artol spat on the ground, a look of disgust on his face.
“Once they were men,” said Theta.
“No longer,” said Gabriel. “Now they are patrons of death, destruction, and all that is unholy and corrupt.”
“Sorry I asked,” said Dolan.
Gabriel looked around to make certain that he had the men's attention before he continued. “The Lords of Nifleheim are few in number, but said to have lived since the dawn of time. They possess superhuman powers and wield incredible magics beyond the ken of even the greatest mortal wizards. They reside in Nifleheim, the very hell of myth and legend. A place of fire, ice, madness, and chaos. There they command vast armies of lesser fiends, devils, demons, call them what you will.”
“Their followers call Nifleheim, heaven,” said Tanch, shaking his head. “A vast, timeless land of love and happiness where they bask in the glory of their one true god, Azathoth, curse his name. It is their paradise, where they hope to go when they pass from this life.”
“Legend has it,” said Tanch, “that the Nifleheim lords are the sworn enemies of our lord, Odin, and the rest of the beneficent gods of Asgard,” the Aesir. “The old stories tell that long ago they walked freely on Midgaard, but were driven off—back to their Halls of Chaos, by the great heroes of yore.”
“What man could stand against such things?” said Artol.
“A bit of luck can see a man through many things, if his courage holds,” said Theta.
“Oh, now I get it, I do,” said Dolan. “We call them fellows “Old Ones” back home. Lord Angle and I don't get on well with them, we don’t. Best we steer clear of them folks, no? You have a lot of them around here, do you?”
“No, of course not,” said Claradon. “If they were ever truly on Midgaard, and I’m not convinced that they were, they are long since gone.”
“But they are not forgotten,” said Gabriel. “Even now, they are worshipped as gods by practitioners of the black arts—those schooled in necromancy, demonology, chaos sorcery, and the like, and by other base individuals. These f
ollowers are a morbid collection of murderers, lunatics, and fanatics. They sacrifice innocents on unholy altars dedicated to their foul lords, in return for promised power, wealth, or more base desires. Their cults are scattered here and there throughout all the known lands.”
“There is even a secret temple in Lomion City dedicated to one of their number—Hecate, or so I've heard,” said Tanch.
“Here's another one,” said Dolan as he shoveled a second golden coin out of the dense soil a few feet from where he found the first. He passed it to Tanch who placed it on the stone beside the first. Soon Dolan and the others unearthed several more golden coins. They were spaced every six feet around the perimeter of the circle, buried some six inches down. Each bore the symbols of one Nifleheim lord or another—some Mortach, some Hecate, still others were of Bhaal.
“It seems likely that these coins were enchanted by the followers of the Lords of Nifleheim and placed here by them for some as yet undetermined purpose,” said Claradon as they stood about the boulder and studied the coins. Some few of the knights crowded in, eager to get a look at the coins and interested in hearing all that was discussed. Most of the knights, however, paid little or no attention to the whole business. Men of action cared naught for such discussions. Instead, they checked their gear and stood the watch.
“I cannot explain it otherwise,” said Gabriel. “We will be going up against the followers of Nifleheim, or some fell sorcery or fiends or beasts that they have conjured up.” He paused for a few moments and then turned to the rest of the group. “I will tell you that although it's not widely known, the Nifleites have caused much suffering throughout Lomion over the years. The Crown and the Churches don't want such news causing panic so they've suppressed it. Few even know of the existence of these heathen cults. But various covert military groups in Lomion, like the Rangers Guild and some of the Church Knights, have battled the cults a number of times. Ob, Artol, and I have even had our troubles with them over the years. They're not to be trifled with. I’m sorry to say that unless they have taken our men prisoner in hopes of extorting a ransom, their involvement does not bode well for Lord Eotrus's safe return.”
“Oh my, oh dear,” said Par Tanch. “We of the Order of the Arcane know of these fearsome cults as well. Going up against the followers of Bhaal or Mortach or Hecate is a serious thing. Facing all three cults is tantamount to suicide. Their assassins have slaughtered many in their beds; still others have gone missing, never to be seen or heard from again. Perhaps we should reconsider this venture and return to the Dor to get more men, or better yet, send for help from Lomion City. This is clearly a job for the Lomerian army or the rangers of Doriath Hall—much too perilous for our small band. My delicate back just can't take the stress and exertion and—”
A wave of Gabriel's hand cut Tanch off. “Have you forgotten the nature of this mission, wizard? We are here to aid Lord Eotrus if we can, or to avenge his death if he has fallen. There is no reconsidering; we will do this thing.”
Tanch's face reddened. “Of course, of course, we must press on for Lord Eotrus,” he said.
“Yes, we must,” said Claradon, glaring at the wizard. “And two squadrons of Eotrus knights are no small band. Woe to any cultists that linger here—for we will ride them down and make them pay.”
“Please forgive my insensitivity, Brother Claradon. I just meant to say that if there is fighting to be done, I might not be able to help due to my injured back. A man of lesser constitution than I wouldn’t even be able to walk suffering the pain that I wrestle with daily.” He put his arm behind his back and winced in pain to demonstrate his plight. “Walk all day for you I will, but fighting is another story. I just don't have it in me, not with my back the way it is. I did mention that I may have been more useful if left at the Dor with Sir Ector. But we must press on. Indeed, we must, we must.”
XII
WORDS OF POWER
“I found tracks of Aradon’s patrol,” said Ob, pointing to the ground before him. Ob and Indigo were crouched at a spot along the eastern edge of the circle's rim, and had just waved over their companions. Claradon, Gabriel, and Theta all crouched down beside Ob to get a close look at the tracks.
“Their number and age matches Aradon's patrol,” said Ob, “but here is the clincher: these shoe prints are from Aradon's horse. It's a distinctive shoe; no other horse from the Dor wears it.”
“How do you know that?” said Tanch.
“Because I’m the stinking castellan, Wizard Boy. It’s my job to know everything what goes on. Besides, I was master scout for years–I know horse tracks as good as anybody.”
Claradon bent low to study the print. “I’m no expert with tracks, but I recognize that shoe too—it is from father's horse, for certain. He and his whole patrol were here; now there’s no doubt.”
“They came in from the east,” said Ob, from the direction of the Dor, “but the tracks get cut off right at the rim. There’s no evidence that the patrol stopped at this spot or turned around and headed back east. So for certain they entered the circle right here, but there’s no tracks within the circle showing their passage.”
“Then someone blotted out the tracks for some reason,” said Gabriel.
“Aye,” said Ob. “That is what it looks like.”
“The other patrols reported that the circle grew in size each night,” said Gabriel. “That means that when Aradon’s patrol was here, the circle was smaller. Since then, it must’ve gotten larger and blotted out the tracks.”
“But we still don’t know how and why it’s expanding,” said Claradon.
“There’s no shovel marks, I can tell you that,” said Ob. “I don’t know how they made it, and I’m not sure that I care so long as we find our people. I found tracks from each of the other patrols too. They all end at the edge of the circle, same as these, but I found tracks from them others leading away from the area, returning back toward the Dor, which makes sense, since the other patrols made it home. I’ve found no evidence of Aradon's patrol ever leaving this place. It's as if this stinking circle swallowed them up.”
“Oh dear gods,” said Tanch.
“Have you checked along the entire perimeter?” said Gabriel. “Could you have missed anything?”
“I scoured the whole rim except for this area and a short stretch on the south side before Indigo called me over to look at these tracks. I left Glimador to finish up on the south end, but I doubt he’ll find anything worth finding.”
“If they didn't walk out, then they’re still here,” said Gabriel.
“Where?” said Ob. “It's wide open, do you see them?”
“Down,” said Gabriel. “Have you checked?”
“Buried?” said Tanch.
Gabriel shook his head. “Maybe there is a tunnel.”
“It’s the only explanation other than magic,” said Claradon.
“That was my first thought,” said Ob, “but there’s no tunnel. I checked thorough for that. The ground is solid and almost as hard as stone.”
“I hate to say it,” said Tanch, “but it is a good deal easier to dig a hole and put folks in it, even in dirt as hard as this, than to make them disappear using magic.”
“Then they’re buried,” said Claradon. “Dead and buried. All of them. Dead gods, I can't believe this. We’ve got to find them. We need to start digging.”
“There would be evidence of such a hole,” said Ob. “But there's not. It would have to be huge to bury all those men and horses.”
“I heard there’s flying horses, with wings and such, out this way,” said Dolan. “Maybe they flew out of here.”
“Nope, that is wrong,” said Ob.
“Why?” said Claradon.
“Why?” said Dolan.
“Besides there not being any evidence of a hole, somebody would have had to bury them—and there’s no tracks of anybody leaving the circle except our earlier patrols. The enemies didn’t bury themselves, and neither did our men.”
“So we
’re back to a tunnel?” said Claradon.
“Like I said, there is none, I’m sure of it,” said Ob.
“Then could we be misreading the tracks?” said Claradon. “What if they stepped in the tracks of the earlier patrols, to disguise their passage out and away?”
“That's an old lugron trick,” said Ob. “I checked for that too. The tracks leaving the circle are clean.”
“Spic-and-span,” said Dolan.
“So it’s magic,” said Claradon. “There's just no other explanation.”
Ob spat at the ground. “I always hated sorcery,” he said, glaring at Tanch. “But if there’s no other answer, maybe that’s what it is.”
“Must be,” said Dolan, “or else flying horses.”
“What do we do?” said Claradon.
“I don't rightly know, boy,” said Ob. “I ain't ever seen the like of this. There is more to tell, though.”
“We found us a couple of black pillars a ways out over that way,” pointing off to the west. “They're part of them ruins you talked of earlier, Gabe.”
“I knew we had to be close to that fell place,” said Gabriel.
“I remember two pillars being about a quarter mile west from the old temple,” said Ob. “Them pillars we found are the same two. I'm certain of it.”
“But that would put the main ruins—” said Claradon.
“Right smack in the middle of this darned circle of nothing,” said Ob.
“What?” said Gabriel, a shocked look on his face.
They all turned and looked toward the circle’s center, which remained as flat and featureless as the rest of that barren place. Gabriel quickly walked out to the center of the circle, the others following. He paced back and forth mumbling to himself and looking about at the surrounding landscape, as if trying to confirm their location. He was more agitated than Claradon had ever seen him. Worse than that, he seemed worried, or perhaps, even afraid. And Sir Gabriel feared nothing.
Harbinger of Doom (An Epic Fantasy Novel) (Harbinger of Doom Volumes 1 and 2) Page 11
