by M. D. Grimm
"Commander, why do you offer sanctuary to these invaders?" Grekel asked from below me. His front paws were on the tree trunk, his eyes blazing with anger.
"They are capable and strong Grekel. Our lord could use well-trained soldiers... as well as those with knowledge of the enemy." I glanced down at the wichtln. "And, should they accept, they shall owe me their lives. It is a debt not easily paid off."
Grekel considered my answer and seemed satisfied. He lowered to the ground silently, resuming his observation.
I swallowed hard. I obviously couldn't tell him the real reason I was helping these soldiers. I had sympathy for them. Their lives were lived under the threat of death, and their families were punished for their transgressions. I wanted to help them. But I would kill them should they refuse. It would actually be merciful if I did it instead of their king.
There seemed to be some sort of argument among the soldiers. Only ten soldiers were talking to the one I had conversed with. There were three who didn't seem to want to leave. But they were overpowered by the others. Anxiety had me constantly looking around. How long could the forest and its beasts keep the mage distracted? How powerful was he? How skilled in battle? He wore regal, purple robes which meant he wasn't, what Morgorth called, a lightweight. But I didn't know what level of power he had, and Morgorth had never been too specific in the qualifications mages had to have to be in the different levels.
Added to all that, the storm was getting closer. We had to move this along.
"What is your decision?" I asked.
The soldier I had conversed with slashed his hand through the air, cutting off a protest by one of the others. The arguer glowered at him, but the soldier simply turned his back on the rest and walked forward. He stood straight, his sword still in his hand, but the tip was close to the ground.
He cleared his throat. "We accept your offer."
I exhaled slowly, silently, as my stomach slightly unknotted.
The soldier knelt. So did the rest. The injured bowed their heads from where they sat on the ground. In unison they said, "We pledge our services and our lives to the Dark Mage Morgorth, in exchange for protection, and sanctuary for us and our families."
I took another deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I am pleased with your decision. Now, leave this place. Follow the gargoyles and they will lead you safely out of the forest. Go back to your homes secretly, gather your families. Journey back here. I will have an escort waiting for you. But remember," I hardened my voice, "you shall not cross into Lord Morgorth's territory should you mean any harm. And if you have deception in your hearts, you will pay for your treachery. Only you. Your families shall be spared, but do not think your death will be swift. By giving us your loyalty, you have received ours, and I wish you many years in peace and quiet, with war far from your minds. But should you betray us, know that no mercy will be shown to you. It is a two-edged blade."
I wanted them to know that the punishment would fall only on their heads, not on their families. I wanted to show them respect in hopes that they would return it. Besides, Morgorth wouldn't send these men on pointless wars, and with any luck we wouldn't need an army. The threat, though, was more for the ones who looked angry by the vow. There were murmurs of discontent and much gnashing of teeth.
"We shall remember," the soldier said. He stood, and so did the rest. There were many who looked disappointed and outright rebellious. I expected treachery from some, but the majority seemed to be relieved with the arrangements. The soldiers helped the injured stand, and I gestured at the gargoyles, who were awaiting my signal. Two flew on, and the soldiers followed. The rest rose into the air, ready to observe the next phase of battle.
I dropped to the ground silently.
"I desire blood, Commander." Grekel's tone was nearly a whine.
I pressed a hand to his back. "There will be blood, Grekel. There are still invaders in this forest. And there were some soldiers who pledged loyalty that I suspect will turn back when the others aren't looking. There are still battles to be fought."
Grekel licked his nose. "Good."
Chapter Fourteen
I went searching for the mage. He wasn't hard to find since he was currently setting fire to the trees. Red clouded my vision as I watched the flames eat at the branches naked of leaves. It melted the snow, and the trees were thrashing, cracking. The mage was still by the river, and the truls looked exhausted, more sluggish than usual. If it wasn't for their near magick-proof hides, they would have been blown apart by now. But their hides weren't fireproof.
I saw black singes on their skin and hair, and some of their clothes looked burnt.
"Grekel, move them back!"
Grekel howled. The truls retreated instantly. The mage was gasping for breath, and, amazingly, the soldiers who had survived the chase after me through the forest were still standing. One had lost his sword and had been using a spear to defend himself. The other still had his sword but also had a dagger in his other hand; and the third, having just a sword, was hacking at the branches of the trees when they swatted at his head.
I shot an arrow at the soldier who was maiming the trees -- he was one of the ones who wanted to be here. He wanted the glory of conquering my home. I caught him in the leg, right above the knee. He screamed and crumpled.
The one with the sword and dagger charged me. I dropped my bow and pulled out my sword. Steel clashed, and my arm vibrated against the power of the soldier's stroke. I widened my stance and pulled out my other sword. We pushed away from each other before coming back. He was swift and angry, and worst of all, ambitious.
We circled as we fought, and I always kept an eye on the mage. He was watching silently, his fingers opening and closing into fists. The uninjured soldier watched as well, but a quick glance showed me he was helping the solider I'd shot. His movements were quick and sure, and I suspected he was trained as a seela healer. The injured soldier scowled, crying out a few times as he was patched up. The mage never even looked their way.
The soldier was well trained, but so was I. My swordmaster's voice droned in my head, his low tone soothing me. I kept my strikes quick and short, avoiding opening myself up too much. I couldn't risk giving him even the slightest opening. Judging his strikes was fairly easy -- I saw them in his eyes. He had a rhythm and that was fatal to a fighter, since it made it easy for the opponent to expect their moves. I always changed my rhythm, keeping the soldier guessing. I had been trained with many fighting techniques, and I used them all with no discernible pattern.
I knew Grekel was somewhere close but unseen. He had disappeared as soon as the soldier had charged me. I wanted to take this soldier down myself as my blood burned and my limbs itched for a fight. Being sneaky and using ambushes was smart and efficient, but it didn't have the profound satisfaction of winning a one-on-one battle.
The sweat, the blood, the risk. I itched for all that. I wanted to feel the burn and stretch of my muscles as I hefted the substantial weight of my swords, and I wanted to feel the tension in my leg muscles as I crouched into my stance and stayed just a breath away from death.
It had been too long since I'd been in real combat like this. To long I'd been surrounded by magick and concepts too vast for my understanding. Too long I'd been made to feel weak and helpless, unable to defend myself or those I loved. But right here, right now, I could match this soldier skill for skill. Neither of us had magick, and we had to rely on our iron-forged weapons, our battle tactics for survival.
Oh yes, by the Hunter's bow, I needed this.
The soldier offered an opening. I took it. I slashed the sword across his wrist, not trying to cut through thick armor, but trying to use my strength to cause him pain. Reflex had him opening his hand, and I slashed again with my other sword, making him loose his grip on his sword. It fell, and I charged. Slamming into him, we both fell to the ground, and I wrenched off his helmet, tossing it away. There was fear but also defiance in his eyes.
"Thou art a villain!"
the soldier spat. "And thou will perish with thy beastly lover."
I smiled, but even I could feel the frost infused within it. "And as a villain I say to thou, thou art the villain. And thou shall die."
His eyes widened, as I used his own language against him. But the light of life died in his eyes when I shoved my sword through his neck.
I stood quickly after the deed and crouched, my swords still in my hands. The mage, who had been defending himself against fiery trees and nimble wichtln, turned to me in shock. Fury lit his face, his eyes bursting with dark light, looking nearly as ferocious as the revenai Morgorth and I fought not too long ago.
Not even Morgorth had ever formed a look that bespoke the unquenchable desire to destroy.
"Grekel, run!"
The wichtln alpha howled shrilly, the rest of his pack scattering instantly, out of danger just as the mage snarled to life a strange blue ball that seemed to pulse as if alive. It shot toward me, and I dove away. But even as I rose to a crouch, the blue ball expanded, growing rapidly, and sharp blades of rigid ice appeared inside it. I gaped as the blades began to slice through trees as the ball came closer. It was too tall for me to leap over, too wide for me to run around, and it skimmed the ground so I couldn't duck.
All I could do was run. And that's what I did.
I shoved my swords into their sheaths and slipped the bow diagonally across my body before sprinting away from the ball of death. This had to end now. My heart ached as the ball sliced through the trees I ducked and swerved around. But there was no place I could run without damaging the trees. Most tried to lean away from the ball, but it was growing to an obscene size. How much magick was the mage putting into this spell to keep it working? How long could he keep it going? Morgorth told me mages had limits on their magick: what spells they could do, how much magick could be put into a certain spell. The best way to defeat a mage was to wear him or her down. To force them to use more and more magick, to exhaust their concentration so they started to make mistakes. A tired mage doing magick was more harm to himself than to others.
The only problem was, I'd seen Morgorth with my own eyes draw magick from the elements around him. That was one way for a mage to keep from running out of magick. But a mage had to have a certain calm state of mind to do that without harming themselves. I didn't think the mage I was fighting was in that needed calm state of mind.
But I couldn't assume anything at this point.
I dared a glance behind me, and my heart nearly flew out of my throat. The blue ball was right on my heels, gaining size, gaining speed. I turned back and swerved, heading for the mountain upon which Geheimnis sat. It didn't matter how big and sharp that ball of blades was -- it couldn't defeat a mountain that had been in this world for eons.
My lungs burned with fire, my leg muscles tensed, and spasms kept weakening my stride. I continued to run, as it would be my death if I stopped. The itch to fight was still there; it hadn't been completely sated with the death of the soldier. But I knew now just as I knew before: I was no match for a mage. Not one-on-one. There was grim satisfaction in knowing, however, what ruin and devastation Morgorth would wreak upon this world should I die. His mercy would be nonexistent when he got his hands on this mage.
The mountain came into view, and I headed for one of the caverns. Not the one that held my secret entryway, but the one I knew was closest to the boygles' living quarters. I put on a last burst of speed and dove into the opening. The blue ball slammed into the mountain, and bits of the rocky walls and ceiling fell on me as I rolled safely away from the opening. I gasped for air, never getting enough, burning agony pulsing in my lungs, in my legs.
The mountain had stumped the ball. It continued to batter against the rock wall, but the mountain stood strong; the way the ball was formed, it couldn't shrink again and continue its assault. I expected the mage soon. He couldn't keep the spell going if he was too far away from it.
I lay on my back, staring at the ball, trying to collect my breath and my thoughts. The sound of small, scuffling feet met my ears. I could barely hear it over the grinding, howling sounds of the ball churning against the mountain. I moved my eyes, struggling to lift my head.
Grendela's bulbous eyes stared unblinkingly at me in the dark. I twitched with instinctual fear.
"He comes," she whispered, her voice harsh.
"Yes. He's a mage."
Her eyes narrowed. She bared her pointed teeth in a snarl. The rest of the boygles followed suit, their sharp nails elongating to thick claws, their ears lengthening to points. Their faces contorted, their jaw and cheekbones becoming sharper, and their arms and legs seemed to lengthen as well, becoming more leanly muscled.
I watched this transformation with fear and fascination. I'd never seen boygles do this before -- this was the boygles' death look. This was how they looked when they hunted prey.
I rolled to my feet, realigning my thoughts. I forced myself to breathe through my nose and out my mouth. My racing heart began to slow, but my legs still ached and continued to shake slightly. I rose to my knees just as the ball of blades disappeared. Silence fell, except for the harsh breathing of the boygles and myself.
Then footsteps could be heard. The boygles began to walk past me and hide in the darkness the cavern offered. I managed to stand. I made sure my hair was still covered and protected. Several strands had escaped my encasement, and I hastily tucked them back under the length of cloth. I stood completely still as the mage approached the entryway. The enchanted tunic Morgorth had given me along with my dark paint would make me nearly invisible in the dark. So I waited, wondering if the mage would be so bold as to enter, not knowing what was in here.
Considering the state of fury he was in, I expected it.
Sure enough, he barely hesitated before walking inside. I doubted he'd been in many battles because the first thing he did in a darkened cave was to create a small ball of light in his palm. I say that because you never want to make yourself such an irresistible target when you don't know where the enemy is. Granted, the light does have the effect of blinding your enemies whose eyes have become accustomed to the dark. I never looked directly at the light, but below it, at his feet.
He swept the light around, his chest was heaving from his resent exertions. He was tiring. The soldier with the spear stood just outside the cave, looking hesitant to go in. I could not see the injured soldier. I wasn't surprised. They would have left him for dead.
"Come out coward! Thou art prolonging thy death!"
"It is not my death that is being prolonged."
The mage whipped his light toward my voice. I didn't bother to project it. After I spoke, I knew he would see me. The light brightened his eyes further, making him look deranged.
"So, thou pickest this cave to be thy tomb?"
"I picked it be a tomb. Just not mine."
Without a signal from me, the boygles surged forward, from under, above, and from the sides. I moved out of the line of sight as the mage began to throw magick around in a panic. He'd allowed his rage to diminish his other senses. He should have felt the many creatures eyeing him, lusting after his blood.
It was horrifying to watch, though strangely beautiful. The boygles attacked in a swarm, latching on with claws and teeth. They covered his head, his shoulders, weighed down his arms, so he couldn't do much magick. Others wrapped around his legs, tripping him. He shouted and screamed, and so did they. They screeched in sheer joy and perverse pleasure.
Feeling slightly sick, I managed to slip out of the entrance, shoving the soldier out of the way. He looked to be just as fascinated and horrified as me. I dragged him away from the carnage, and he didn't resist.
Just as I opened my mouth to speak, a dagger grazed my leg. I gasped and spun around, my hand on the hilt of one of my swords. The injured soldier had managed to keep up. He was leaning against the wall, and I realized the other soldier must have dragged him along. Loyalty. Despite everything, it was something to admire.
; I scowled at him as he tried to pull out his own sword. His hand shook violently, and he looked a little gray.
"Maxim, stop!" the other soldier said. He moved past me and stood in front of the other soldier, his sword out.
"Get out of the way, Clyus--"
"Not on your life! You're no match for him. You can barely stand."
The injured soldier bared his teeth behind the other soldier's back but didn't argue.
"You need to go." I pointed him toward a trail; one I knew would lead him to safety.
"But--" Green began to shade his complexion, as well as his confusion. The sound of battle echoed out of the cavern along with the screeches of ecstasy and the roars of fury.
"If you value your life, go," I said through gritted teeth. "Your fellow soldiers have. I will offer you the same deal I offered them. The one they accepted."
I laid out the terms to him just as I had done for the other soldiers. Lights began to illuminate the cave as the mage sent spells at the boygles. It seemed to only excite the boygles, if their howls were any indication. I had to get these soldiers out, now!
Rumbling broke the sky, and a spark of lightning shimmered in the corner of my eye. Dammit, the storm was here. The wind picked up and caused my coat, which was stained with blood, to flutter around my legs.
"We shall never pledge loyalty to you!" the injured soldier sneered. "I'd rather die than be disgraced."
"I can arrange that." I kept my voice as cold as the winter around us.
"Wait," the other soldier lowered his sword. He turned to the injured one. "Don't be stupid, Maxim. We both have families."
The injured soldier became angrier. His face reddened, but it still had a grayish tint to it. My arrow had damaged his leg badly, probably cracked a bone, and certainly punctured a large hole on either side of his leg. He had lost too much blood, and the pain must have been obscene.
"You are a coward." His voice was low, disgusted. "Nothing but a coward."
The other soldier shuddered once and closed his eyes tightly.
