Marakon nodded, feeling grim. ‘Damn dark dwarf runes… Take his sword and use it yourself. We’ll pray to Zanufey to carry his soul to the light.’
Shelley shook her head and swallowed. ‘His soul will have been taken by the black runes. It’s necromantic art the dark dwarves excel at.’
Marakon clenched his fist and sighed. ‘Then there’s nothing more that can be done. We should not linger here in case anything else decides to attack us.’
Eiretonne groaned. Marakon went to the dwarf who was propped against a wall.
The dwarf opened his eyes. ‘Curse it, I feel weak as a newborn. I had the strangest dreams…’ He blinked up at Marakon then took in the soldiers wiping their bloody wounds and cleaning their weapons.
‘The weapon of a wraith got you and then I stabbed you with my spear,’ Marakon said, keeping his face straight.
The dwarf stared daggers at him then broke into deep laughter. ‘Argh, my shoulder is on fire! Thank Woetala it’s my left.’ He rubbed it then tried to move it. Wincing, he gave up.
‘Here, have some food and water.’ Marakon passed him a pack and the dwarf eagerly took out the provisions. ‘So, this is a dark dwarven tunnel and they collided with a demon one. But how does that explain Karalanths?’
Eiretonne mumbled something over a mouthful of bread, shrugged and carried on eating, leaving Marakon to muddle it through.
‘The Karalanths used dwarven tunnels when they fled Venosia,’ said Shelley, settling down beside the wounded dwarf. ‘How else do you think they made it to Davono?’
Eiretonne paused his noisy chewing and nodded, as if remembering something. He swallowed loudly, belched, and spoke. ‘Aye, she’s right. I may be a Land Dwarf and never lived in King Ashfoot’s glorious New World within the Everridge Mountains, goddess bless him, but all dwarves, whether born above or below ground, know the stories of our exile and the wars against the deer-folk. When we tried to drive out the dark dwarves from their hell-holes, the Karalanths attacked us knowing we were weak. Our soldiers perished.’
Marakon frowned. ‘But Karalanths will die away from their forests and the light, and these tunnels are surely leagues away from Davono, or Karalanthia.’
Eiretonne shrugged. ‘All we have are rumours.’
Marakon rubbed his beard. ‘So they discovered these tunnels and told no one of the dark dwarves beavering away beneath Frayon’s cities?’
‘Karalanths have no love for humans. They care nothing for other races, only themselves.’ Eiretonne scowled.
‘Why would they, when so many persecuted them?’ Marakon sighed, feeling world weary. ‘Let’s get ready to move on.’
He picked up a torch and inspected the cavern. It narrowed at one end where the tunnel disappeared into pitch black.
‘There’s no point venturing further,’ said Bokaard. ‘We’ll find nothing holy in this place.’
‘I’d hoped for a quick way out, but it seems we must continue in the demon tunnels rather than the dark dwarven ones,’ said Marakon.
Stepping into the dim grey of the demon tunnel, Marakon extinguished his brazier. They gathered the skittish horses and advanced once more.
Marakon lost himself in his thoughts. If he were a Karalanth, persecuted on all sides, he would have done the same. Get one enemy to fight another, then hope, one day, that human and dark dwarves would fight each other.
Twice, the tunnel split in two before they rested again. Time had no meaning down here, and after a nervous two hours’ rest, expecting wraiths or demons to descend upon them, they continued.
Marakon came to a third split and sighed, bored. He scraped the spear’s tip around the circumference. The demon symbols glowed, and one of them captured his attention. He bent close and stared at the fading green lines. The curves and strikes, repulsive and evil to his mind, were familiar.
‘What is it?’ Justenin came to his side.
Marakon didn’t answer immediately as he scoured his mind for the memory. Suddenly it came to him. ‘This way leads out. I know it, I’m sure of it.’
‘But to where?’ asked Justenin.
Marakon looked at the soldier. ‘I don’t know, I don’t think I ever did. But the spear has led us this far…’
‘Then let’s not dally—out of this hell-hole,’ Justenin said. ‘Once we’re out we can set the souls of those slain free to the four winds.’
Marakon glanced at the shrouded figures strapped to the horses. The commander had refused to leave them behind. Not even the dead deserved to be left here.
With the hope of an exit renewing their vigour, the soldiers hurried forwards and, as some ancient part of him knew it would, Marakon noticed the subtle change in the light from dim grey to dim orange. A memory of glowing amber rock came to him moments before the real thing appeared.
‘This is it,’ he said, running to the huge, ten-foot high amber boulder filling the tunnel. ‘This is the exit.’
The semi-opaque orange rock was polished smooth, and it glowed mysteriously. He held his hand close and felt the tingle of energy.
‘What’s on the other side?’ Shelley asked.
Marakon shrugged. ‘Let’s find out.’
He heard everyone brace and draw their weapons as he held up Velistor and tapped the spear’s tip firmly against the rock. It made an unimpressive, dull noise. There was a moment of still, and then the rock shimmered and dissolved to the sound of gasps and cheers.
Clouds formed beyond the disappearing amber rock and a strong wind blew in.
Marakon closed his eyes in relief and breathed deeply. ‘Ah, thank the goddess. This must be Davono where we can rest and drink wine and prepare for war.’
‘If that’s so, Sir, Davono might have fallen,’ said Justenin soberly. ‘The skies are red like the cursed sky above Maphrax.’
Marakon’s eye flew open and roiling red clouds assaulted his sight.
10
Hunting Ancients
Yisufalni watched the Karalanth’s and Jarlain fade into the fog, and an unsettling feeling stole over her.
‘Something’s not right,’ she said, focussing her attention on the energy flows. It was faint but growing as they moved deeper into the Sea of Opportunity.
‘I know,’ said Murlonius, his face grim. ‘Look, there, far away. A dark stain. There has never been anything here before.’
Yisufalni squinted into the whiteness. Barely detectable to her eyes was a smudge of dark. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s getting closer.’
Murlonius fell silent for a time as he rowed. He steered a course away from it but the dark patch still grew.
‘I don’t think it’s safe us remaining together,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to leave you but I shan’t risk your life either.’
‘I’m not leaving you,’ Yisufalni said firmly. ‘For eons we’ve been apart. I would rather die by your side than be alone again. Our time here is complete, isn’t it? Long have I wished to leave and join our Ancestors.’
Murlonius smiled at her. ‘There’s the sulky princess I remember.’
Thousands of years ago, Murlonius used to accuse her of being sulky. She smiled, now they were together again, their old personalities were beginning to show themselves.
‘I’ll take you to Issa or the seers. Alone I can hide,’ he said.
The dark patch grew larger, brown on the outsides and red towards the centre.
Yisufalni’s pulse quickened. ‘Baelthrom,’ she forced herself to say his name aloud.
‘That or any number of his minions,’ Murlonius agreed.
Yisufalni wrung her hands. ‘How can it be? Has he discovered us? He never killed us but cursed us from Maioria’s planes, though he never knew where.’ Yisufalni clutched the collar of her cloak and watched the approaching muddy cloud.
Murlonius stared at it. ‘Yes, he didn’t know where and gave up hunting us. He knew two of us could do little but perhaps he’s realised how much we’ve been helping the Maiorians. He only kep
t us alive because of the Orb of Life—the orb keyed to our people. If we are killed, what happens to the orb?’
‘Perhaps he no longer cares what happens to the orbs. Our death lies in that cloud,’ said Yisufalni, trying to control the rising panic. ‘We must hide, and quickly!’
Murlonius tore his gaze away and thrashed the oars into the sea. Yisufalni closed her eyes and whispered to the Flow. The boat streamed through the water. A glance behind told her their efforts were for nothing.
A strange wind blew, hot and heavy, and carrying the smell of sulphur and ash. She found it hard to breath. Something moved in the red cloud, four darker shapes she couldn’t quite identify. She closed her eyes and whispered to the Flow in the pure language of her people. Thick fog rolled towards them, blanketing and dampening everything.
‘It won’t hide us,’ said Murlonius, shaking his head. ‘They can feel and smell us better than they can see us. We are beacons in the Flow. If we separate, I can lead them away.’
‘No,’ said Yisufalni. I cannot let him go alone!
‘If we separate, there’s a chance. If we stay together, there is none!’ Murlonius Raised his voice.
The sea turned choppy and dark as they entered Maioria’s material planes, the boat responding to the boatman’s wishes. Yisufalni gritted her teeth. She couldn’t fight him and the will of the boat.
The cloud closed on them. She could see them clearly now, four horse-like monsters with spines for manes. Their riders were insubstantial black smoke, sometimes seeming solid, other times like shadows. The heavy feel of death exuded from them.
‘Where will you go?’ Yisufalni clasped his arm.
He gripped her hand, his eyes full of longing. ‘Alone I can hide. In the beginning, I hid from Baelthrom and his Life Seekers in many ways, often by melding myself with the energies of the Sea of Opportunity. It took a long time to regather myself, and I cannot protect you that way.’
The boat ground onto sand making her jump. Yisufalni did not even want to look at where she was. She cupped Murlonius’ smooth chin, her pain reflected in his eyes.
He kissed her palm then pushed it away. ‘Go. Hide. I will find you. I will.’
Unseen hands lifted her from the boat and set her on the ground, her eyes never leaving his. Behind him the four horsemen galloped out of bulging black and red clouds.
The boat shifted off the sand and the mist clustered thickly. Then he was gone, along with the four horsemen. Yisufalni blinked back tears, worry and loneliness suddenly crushing.
Time to hide, his voice echoed in her head, spurring her into action. Baelthrom could still find her here.
‘Goddess protect you, my love,’ Yisufalni prayed.
The mist dissipated to reveal the clear surface of a lake, mirroring perfectly the blue skies and white clouds above. The trees and forests surrounding it had turned amber with the onset of Autumn. They stretched into the distance, blanketing hills and valleys until they reached the rich blue sea far beyond. A gentle, cold wind blew, rippling the surface of the lake.
She breathed in the clean air and let the beauty of the place sink in. ‘My, it really hasn’t aged in millennia.’
She turned from the lake. Behind her soared the great tower of the Wizard’s Circle. The last time she had been here was fairly recent, however, when she’d saved Freydel from the Ethereal Planes and had been Arla. It was unaged because of the magical shield she had helped create millennia ago.
The shield would protect her from the four horsemen, and she’d know if Baelthrom arrived, yet still she couldn’t seem to relax. The narrow, exposed staircase circled the outside wall all the way to the top where the twelve stone seats would be. There was power here, power she could use to reach others, maybe even Murlonius. She hurried towards the tower.
Murlonius watched Yisufalni and the wizards’ tower fade away, sick with worry. She would be safer there than anywhere. The protective magic on this place would conceal her from anything, even Baelthrom, he prayed.
As the red light surrounded him, he turned his attention upon his own survival. Momentarily disappearing from the realm between planes, the horsemen were there when he returned. They turned towards him, unsheathing their great swords, their black eyes sucking in the light.
Their beasts’ hooves galloped above the water’s surface. One raised its scaly head and screamed a sound he had never heard a horse make before. It sent his heart pounding. Soot billowed from flared nostrils and the eyes of the horse-beasts and their riders glowed a deeper black, draining his life-force.
Do not look into the eyes of the Knights of Maphrax! His soul screamed. He tore his gaze away and called the Flow. A horseman whispered, the air shivered, and the Under Flow surrounded him.
‘Kill the Ancient One,’ the horsemen spoke in rasping voices.
Murlonius fought the constricting chains of the Under Flow. They were close now, he could see every glistening scale, every snort of smoke, and the craggy peaks of the Mountains of Maphrax on their black tabards.
He could not fight them, and he could not run from them. To escape he would have to cast himself away. Closing his eyes, he sung in the Ancient’s pure tongue of magic. All of his people had once known the spell, few dared used it.
‘Efen esah yileth-ahreal!’
The Flow filled him. His physical body began to lighten and expand, turning more into spirit than matter. With a command, he dissolved his physical matter entirely, becoming pure energy and lifting from the realm completely. Murlonius vanished.
The horses screamed and reared. The Knights of Maphrax howled. They turned their prancing mounts, hunting for him.
Disembodied, Murlonius watched. In this state beyond matter he felt no fear, his emotions had detached themselves. Safe, conscious, but unable to effect or be effected by the world of matter. Yet it would cost him his vitality and his power. Magic would be gone from him indefinitely, and on his return he would be utterly vulnerable.
It had been necessary, he thought, watching the raging horsemen, his mind detached and lucid.
The knights turned their mounts and galloped away into their red cloud. The Sea of Opportunity became uninterrupted sparkling light where the sky was indistinguishable from the sea below, and Murlonius drifted.
Yisufalni inhaled sharply as Murlonius vanished. She stared harder into the tiny pool of Sacred Water she had poured from her vial into the centre of the wizards’ circle of stone chairs where an orb would have sat. She blinked away the tears. He got away, I should be joyous!
‘Well-played, my love. Now come back for me, come back now,’ she whispered. It would take a long time, but he was safe for now.
She lay down on the hard ground beside the pool and stayed there until the sun had set and the stars twinkled above. Slowly, she sat up and crossed her legs, smoothing the creases of her cloak over her thighs.
Now I return to what I spent millennia doing; watching the world of Maioria and her people from afar. She peered into the pool and whispered, ‘Raven Queen.’
The pool rippled and clouded. When it stilled, an image formed. Issa’s pale face framed in long, shining black hair. Her eyes were closed. She looked like a sleeping goddess. A sleeping Zanufey. Thank the light she is safe.
Issa opened her eyes and looked straight at Yisufalni, making her start.
‘Yisufalni?’ she said sleepily, her eyes subtly luminous from the Flow.
She can see me? The young woman could feel her presence even when asleep!
‘Yes.’ Yisufalni smiled. ‘There’s been trouble but now everything is all right. I was worried. I see Asaph beside you, safe and well, and that is good.’
Issa frowned. ‘You came to me like this before. I remember your light, in the storehouses of Little Kammy. It was you wasn’t it?’
‘It was.’
‘Thank you,’ whispered Issa. She sat up and lifted two orbs, one golden and emerald, and the other indigo and turquoise. ‘I need your help. You must know what has happened for me to
now be the Keeper of two orbs. No one else will agree, but I need your help to combine them. If it can be done, it must be done now. Combined, these orbs will be stronger, Maioria will be stronger.’
Yisufalni looked at the beautiful orbs, amazed that Issa held two in her palms. What the Raven Queen asked felt right in every way. After a long moment, Yisufalni nodded her head. ‘The time has finally come to make whole that which was broken.’
Magic exploded off the black walls in an awesome shower of sparks. The pressure expanded, then dropped, then burst outwards in a blinding flash of light, hurling Kilkarn from the iron ring’s chamber and smashing him senseless against the thick outer door. Dazed, he lay there on the cold stone floor and stared mesmerised as his One True God raged. Venosia had been invaded successfully by the Feylint Halanoi, and his Lord was venting his displeasure.
The iron ring blazed white and red, its power crescendoing in response to Baelthrom’s. His Lord’s solid form became ethereal and expanded to fill the chamber. He truly was becoming the god Kilkarn worshipped with each day that passed.
Baelthrom’s eyes blazed, not red but dark, furious blue. They changed colour to the darkest smouldering orange and then back to blue as his unfettered power rampaged. His form condensed again, demon wings stretched wide and snapped back, muscular Saurian legs bulged and claws raked the ground. His tail struck the walls, its barbs sending sparks into the darkness. His massive human torso dripped with sweat.
But it was the incredible force of the Under Flow at Baelthrom’s command that had Kilkarn so enraptured. His Lord was the first to command the dark flows to such levels. Soon the world would be there to do with as they pleased and no other magic a match for theirs, as their prophecies had foretold.
A long time passed as the magic stormed around the prone dark dwarf. He wondered if he’d passed out for, of a sudden, the chamber calmed, the light no longer flashed, and the pressure released. His body trembled all over as he pushed himself back onto stubby legs.
War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6 Page 11
