by Jake Yaniak
He followed this road for many leagues until he came at last to the city of Olgalver. The gates of the city were shut fast and the watchmen were awake. Duri did not hesitate for an instant; he scaled the gate like a gust of wind and ran along the main road straight to the other side of the city. He leaped over the western wall and disappeared into the woodlands beyond. Altogether he had run more than one hundred and fifty leagues since midnight, yet his immortal feet were not tired.
There are none among the Nanthor, the Harz or even the Merkata who know the paths whereon that spirit tread that night. He fled from the light of the moon into the Forest of Olger where no moon shines.
He came to a village of outcasts, descendants of the Ohhari, who ruled over nearly all of Vestron in ancient times. He came to a long house of log and mud and entered through an open window. Before him there was an old man, sleeping in a chair with his head slumped over his chest. Standing beside him was a pale spirit, old looking himself, but full of immortal light.
The older spirit addressed Duri with a slight grin.
'Master Duri,' he said, 'long has it been since you have passed under the leaves of this forest. Indeed, long has it been since you have asked me for any help.'
'There may come a day, Old Man,' Duri answered with a laugh, 'when you will need the help of others. But until that day you ought to thank the starry gods that you have always been the one with power to save in his open palm, and never the beggar with clenched pleading fists.'
'Just words,' the Old Man of the Woods sighed. 'What do you want of me?'
'Nothing great,' Duri said, 'I need safe passage for two men, outcasts from the Merkata.'
'That I cannot do,' The Old Man said resolutely. 'We do not deal with those impostors.'
'They are not Merkata themselves,' Duri said with a laugh. 'Do you think I am so foolish as to ask you for safe passage for the only sort of creature the Ohhari hate more than the Harz?'
'You are wrong there, Duri. For we abhor the Vestri, those blood-rebels and cowards, far more than either the Nanthor invaders or the desert wandering Merkata.'
'Have it as you will,' Duri laughed, 'But you must let these two men pass. They have fought long and hard against the Harz, and they have made more progress against your ancient foe than the pitiful Ohhari could ever dream of making. By this very hour three days hence the Merkata will be fighting in the streets of Thasbond itself.'
The Old Man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stared at Duri in disbelief. Duri grinned and then burst into laughter.
'Does that anger you, Boscus?' he said in a haughty tone. 'Your rag-clad huntsman have only managed to hide in the deep places of the Olger Forest. But the Merkata have managed to set fire to Hersa and to level Legelz, and strike fear into the hearts of Polin and all the cities of Hele.'
Boscus remained silent. Duri again taunted him, 'What say your star-signs now? Is it almost the hour of the Ohhari's revenge?'
'What is written in the stars cannot be altered by the deeds of mankind. Laugh as much as you desire, little sprite - the Ohhari will come to the Mountain of Fire again. Though a thousand more years must pass, nay though a thousand thousands of years pass, the Ohhari people will once more come to their own kingdom. It is written in the stars, beyond the grasp of the Merkata and their witch.'
'I hope for your sake that you are right,' Duri said. 'It would be dreadfully disappointing if you spent all these ages of the world with these beggars for naught.'
'Do not fear for me, little Duri. The stars do not lie.'
'Ah, they do not,' Duri laughed. 'But even us spirits can misunderstand.'
'Fair enough,' Boscus nodded. 'But tell me, Duri, why should we let these Merkata hirelings pass through our lands? Moreover, why should such valiant men as you have described have need of the Ohhari's help?'
'I am asking because these two will soon be leaving the Merkata. You and I know well enough that the power that rules the Merkata will suffer no master. If they do not die in the fray, they will be driven from the Merkata by force.'
'Are the Merkata so petty as to persecute their own heroes?'
Duri shook his head, 'You know the Lady as well as I.'
'You are wrong there,' Boscus said with a sadness in his voice, 'I know her better, though you have known her more.'
'Then tell me about her,' Duri pleaded.
'I am sorry, young one, I swore long ago that I would never recount such a sorrowful tale until the world is ended and everything is put to order.'
The Mountain of Fire
Janik was sent back to Oblindin that very morning 'to keep the Queen safe'. Naran spent the whole day ordering the destruction of the defenses of Legelz. He absolutely obliterated the front and rear gates, tore down the wall in several places, and confiscated every last weapon he could gather.
The captives of Legelz were sent east with Janik, toward Oblindin. They, at least, would not trouble the Merkata again. Whatever remained of Legelz after their departure was doused with oil and set on fire.
Pelon was sent to help his brother Oanor hunt down messengers and scouts, as well as to keep the army informed of their enemy's movements. Thus it came to pass that when the armies of the Merkata had been gone from Legelz for one day, the armies of Harz darted southwest along the Poison river toward Lake Hele. There they found only the burnt husk of Legelz and the terrified and battered men of Polin locked behind their iron gates.
The Merkata were nowhere to be found.
'Likely they fled back to their dunes to hide,' was the fateful conclusion of Lord Ghelhurn. He ordered his men to lodge at Polin and to send scouts south to learn where the Merkata had gone. It would never have entered into their minds that at that very hour their enemy was closer to their own houses than they were.
The Merkata marched due north through the night and then turned abruptly to the southeast. Even Skatlor had a hard time keeping up with Natham. But whenever the army would start to fall behind, he would remind them of how their brother Janik would become the master of the army of the Merkata should they fail to take Thasbond ere its army returned. The thought of the weak-hearted Janik becoming the lord of the hosts of the Merkata seemed to inspire fresh determination to their weary feet. They learned from Oanor that the army had set up in Polin and was searching for them in the south and in the east.
Natham led them into the mountains from the northwest. It seemed to Agnoril as though he made every decision on a whim and that he had no real fixed idea of his destination. This, of course, was very nearly true. He did not have the faintest notion of where the caverns could be found. At every step he was following Duri, though no other living man could see him.
The terrain changed abruptly as they approached the foothills of Fhuhar. Life itself seemed to end. First the animals fled away, then the trees, and finally the grass came to an end. All that survived in this barren waste were thorns and weeds, and as they approached the mountain these grew thinner and thinner as well until there was nothing but hot dead earth and smoking rocks.
'Are you so certain you want this land back?' Natham asked as they trudged along the pathless wastes.
'Just keep your eyes on our road,' Skatlor grumbled, 'and let us worry about our ancient home. It is not for its beauty that we desire the mountain. The Mountain of Fire gives life to Vestron itself; he who controls the Mountain controls Vestron.'
'For some reason,' Natham responded, 'I do not believe that anybody controls Fhuhar.'
In silence the army continued until the first hints of morning began to lighten the sky. But before the sun appeared they found themselves being led down a path into a deep crevice in the side of the mountain. The heat was almost unbearable at first, but once they had walked a few hours in the crack they found that they had grown accustomed to it. 'We had better get used to the heat,' Agnoril said as he followed Natham. 'This is more than we have had to endure in the deserts, but even this will feel cool compared to the heat of Thasbond.'
&nbs
p; The crevice descended lower and lower into the mountain until the light of the sun vanished away. The whole army, some four thousand men altogether, now passed into absolute darkness. Though it seemed like they were in this state for league upon league, it was only about one fifth of a league that they had to travel without sight. The slow pace, the heat and the blindness made it seem that much further. Finally, a light appeared ahead. But it was not a way out of the crevice, but rather the fiery caves with which the crevice is connected. From sunlight to darkness to the light of molten lava and flame they passed in the space of three hours. The air was hot and thick with fumes, but as Duri promised, it was breathable.
The caves wound through the mountain's heart like a maze. In some places the path, if it is proper to call it a path, was so thin that no more than three men could fit abreast. Some places were so treacherous that Natham almost suspected Duri of leading them to their dooms. There were a few places where even Duri was confounded as to where to go (as some of the pathways had been blocked since he last walked the path). But in the end, Duri led them aright, and the army followed Natham through the paths toward the city of Thasbond. After some time they found that the path was widening and growing more level. They made much better progress here and even took a rest. Further ahead, great pillars of carved stone could dimly be seen in the firelight. 'This must be the Temple of Fire,' Skatlor remarked. Those pillars are no work of the Harz.'
'Indeed,' Agnoril affirmed. 'This is Merkata territory. I would guess we have passed under the city and are now on the northeastern side of the Upperlands.'
'Yet,' Skatlor said with a puzzled look on his face, 'these characters are such as I have never seen in the writings of the Merkata.'
'Time changes all things,' Agnoril said, hiding his own bewilderment, 'even letters I suppose.'
The men were silent for several minutes, as they continued along the path. Skatlor broke the silence and asked, 'What is your plan, Monster?'
'This path goes to the old burial places of the Merkata,' Natham replied, 'though now it is the haunt of beggars and peasants. We will wait for midnight here. Then a few of you will enter the city and see what can be done.'
When the appointed time arrived, Skatlor and Agnoril disguised themselves in peasant's rags and headed up the path toward the city. The path became very narrow and ended in a large stone archway under which no more than four men could walk abreast. 'We must be swift,' Skatlor said. 'It would not take much for this doorway to be blocked, and our entire army entombed.'
They hurried southward along an ancient road. They followed the road until they came across a small peasant village. 'It is true then,' Skatlor said, 'This area is not well attended by the Nobles.'
'Indeed, perhaps they fear the Fire Temple,' Agnoril suggested.
'No matter,' Skatlor shook his head, 'We must tend to our business. The armies of Thasbond are gone, but they are certain to have retained the Noble Guardians, those dread servants of the lords of Harz. Vullcarin will be there, and his devil brothers Rikin and Samor.'
'The three of them alone will put our warriors to the test,' Agnoril said quietly, 'We must make sure that they are dealt with swiftly.'
'Leave it to me and the Monster,' Skatlor said almost with glee.
'You would very much like that wouldn't you?'
'As would you, I imagine. Unless the old tactician has taught you more than strategy.'
'I can't imagine what you mean by that,' Agnoril said irritably.
'I think you do,' Skatlor grinned. 'These two, the master and the Monster, they are not very much like the Merkata. And you were – we all were – more like the Merkata before they came to rule over us.'
'Rule over us?'
'You doubt my estimate?' Skatlor looked his comrade in the eyes. 'For the sake of power my mother has traded power. She gave up control of the Merkata for the sake of power, but a power that the Merkata cannot control. Is it not the word of Whately, and lately the words of a brute that rule over the entire Clan?'
Agnoril nodded, 'But what is to be done?'
'I don't know,' Skatlor sighed. 'That is the problem. As it stands, we are without power. But I just want to remind you of who you are: You are Agnoril, Kinsman of Malia, Sword of the Merkata. Don't become the slave of an outsider and his beast of burden.'
'What do you wish to do, here on the edge of battle?'
'I wish to do nothing right now. I just want you to remember who we are, and who must rule the Merkata. For my part, I will never forget my own strength and purpose.'
'Nor will you forget your humiliation no doubt, Skatlor the Mighty, Spear of the Merkata,' Agnoril said with a voice of disdain.
'What will you have of me, Agnoril,' Skatlor protested, 'Should the Merkata throw off the fetters of the Harz Nobles to set the irons of Natham upon our necks?'
'You are too fearful, my friend, and jealous too,' Agnoril shook his head. 'But nonetheless I see only too clearly what you are saying. Whatever happens, the rule of the Merkata must never be taken from Our Lady.'
'I know I can trust you in this matter,' Skatlor concluded.
Agnoril nodded silently.
The Fall of Thasbond
The sky was still fully dark when the two lords of the Merkata returned to the Temple of Fire. They were full of passion and confidence. 'We have seen the city,' Agnoril said with a gleam of zeal in his eyes, 'and it is ripe for the picking. But we must move quickly. The army of Thasbond went down to Lake Hele to annihilate the Merkata, but no Merkata were to be found there. We must strike off their head this very night, while their neck is yet outstretched.'
The army arranged itself into three groups; two smaller bands of five hundred a piece and one large company consisting of the remaining three thousand warriors. Naran was given command over one of the smaller companies. Ason, a lord of the Merkata, was given rule over the other. The main force would be led by Agnoril and Skatlor.
Thasbond was built, supposedly, upon the ruins of the ancient Merkata city Haraz-Fhuhar, from which the mountain and its current inhabitants draw their names. Whether by chance or by some miracle, the Mountain of Fire had never yet sent a river of lava down to the place where this ancient city was built. The Merkata were confident that it was because the god of the mountain loved the Merkata, and the Harz Nobles were confident that the Mountain loved the city of Thasbond. But whatever the reason, the people of the city generally felt secure despite the constant rumbles and thunderings of the mountain. The north side of the city was not fortified, as the razor sharp rocks and rivers of molten rock would allow no one, whether friend or foe approach the citadel from that direction. Their main defenses had always been in the southern portion of the city. The western portion of the city was also heavily guarded, though the ascent to that section was far too difficult a climb for any army to attempt. This area was almost empty, save for the peasants and outlaws who could not make a living in the citadel itself. There were small villages and towns scattered about, full of suffering and impoverished souls. From these men the Merkata had little to fear.
The smaller forces of Naran and Ason would be sent to face the remaining warriors in the south and western parts of the city respectively. But the main force would strike at the citadel itself, which lay at the very northernmost edge of Thasbond. This was the home and fortress of the Harz Nobles themselves, the land of the descendents of the Nanthor invaders who first conquered the Merkata and the Ohhari so many ages ago.
The clanging of sword against sword, the shattering of spears and shields and the piercing shriek of arrows in flight filled the dark streets of Thasbond with so much chaos that it would be impossible to report all that occurred in that night.
Lord Ason and his men found themselves facing a much larger force than they had anticipated. There were almost two-thousand warriors in the western part of the city who came out to answer their challenge. But in the end, at the expense of nearly half their number, Lord Ason's army took control of the western city.
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br /> Naran had it little easier in the southern section. At first his force was repelled by the lines of Harz Knights that were stationed near the southern walls of the city. They struck out against the Merkata so hard and fast that they almost broke through their lines to charge the flank of the forces of Agnoril.
But Naran, by luck or by skill, or by fate alone, shot an arrow through the back of Lord Fhulan's helmet, dropping him to the dust and sending his knights into a blind rage. Tempting fate again he felled Lord Garish, with a well-aimed arrow through his right eye. Leaderless and enraged, the Harz Knights turned from the north and charged like wild men toward the shooter. They very nearly reached him too. But the Merkata closed in around them and made an end of their wrath. But not before a bold young Harz knight threw a spear through Naran's leg. He was carried off the field and the leadership passed to Lord Raso, a relative of Ason.
The chief part of the Merkata went north, to the Iron Palace of Thasbond, where the Lords of the Harz Nobles lived and ruled. But the Merkata were not prepared for what came out to face them. The Harz Nobles were for the most part, pure Nanthor. They towered over the rest of the Harz and the Vestri. To the Merkata they seemed like giants. The Lord of the Harz, Vullcarin was mounted on a horse that seemed larger than any the Merkata had ever seen before. Some later accounts say that the entire host of the Harz Nobles was mounted on dragons or elephants or some other such fierce and enormous beast. But all the early tales say 'large horse' or 'mighty steed' or some such variation.
But when the fighting began, he may as well have been riding the fiery sun itself. He smote the Merkata like a bull whips the buzzing flies with his tail. To the left and right of him they fell, and in front of him they fled away.
Were it not for the skill of Agnoril, the strength of Natham and the sheer bravado of Skatlor, the field would certainly have been lost and the Merkata would have been driven back into the Rugna desert to sulk and nurse their wounds. But their proximity to their goal would not allow them to give in to terror. Skatlor slew Lord Jeyin and Lord Haraba, and innumerable others of equal strength and skill. At long last, when he began to grow weary, he summoned all his strength and cast his spear through the neck of Lord Vullcarin's mighty horse. The horse shrieked and fell to the ground, bringing his rider to the dust with him.
