The Beasts of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 2)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  “We're seeing that level of power here,” the sorceress asserted. “I also believe this effect has a limited range. This is the very edge of the badlands. The enemy was right on the border! Why? Our enemies waited for us here; in this valley. Why? It took us an hour to march to this position while they didn't take a single step toward our forces. Why? This is where they intended to face us. That's why! This is as far as the trap can reach. That is to say, if I happen to be correct.”

  Another murmur rose from the commanders that filled the clearing.

  “I admit there is a certain logic to that argument,” Malkan replied as his brows knitted in thought.

  “Thank you,” the sorceress smiled.

  “However,” he continued “what should we do about it? If you're correct, we certainly can't afford to press our attack into the depths of the badlands. As skilled as our warriors are, they can't face trolls and giants in melee combat. We don't have the forces required to patrol the entire border. All we can do is wait, see what the enemy does, and try to respond. That's not the position we want to be in.”

  “Sir,” General Kastlin said, once again rising from his seat.

  “Yes, General.” the elvish lord replied.

  “For the moment, Commander, we have to fall back,” the general insisted. “We have no choice.”

  “How far, General?” Malkan asked rhetorically. “At the moment, we're only assuming this darkness is limited by range. We can't be sure. Just how far back do we fall?”

  “As far as the fog pushes us, sir,” Kastlin answered. “Or until we realize that its range is unlimited. The easiest way to test the theory is to wait and see what happens. If the mist reaches us here, then we'll fall back. Whatever the case, we can't defeat an army of trolls in hand to hand combat.”

  “I agree,” Tealor interjected. “Strategic retreat seems to be the only reasonable course we can take.”

  “I also think you should seek additional help,” the sorceress added. “This magic is beyond me, but I feel certain it's not beyond every wizard in Innalas.”

  “You're right,” one of the elvish spell-casters agreed. “This needs to be brought to the attention of Finnrael. The council may be able to do something to help us.”

  “That seems a wise course of action,” Malkan admitted after a moment's consideration. “Very well, we'll take up a position nearby for the time being and try to determine whether or not we're beyond the reach of that foul spell. We'll simply have to stay alert and react to any changes as we encounter them. I'll see that the Council of Magic is notified immediately. However, I fear this mystery will take time to unravel, even for them. I wish we had some idea who was responsible for all this. It might give the council some clue to work with.”

  “Well,” Ian began, “for the moment, it seems we don't have any idea. The only magic-users I can think of, at least in these regions, with that much power are the members of the council and perhaps Galrin. And I think you'll agree that both those contingencies are unlikely.”

  “I agree,” the commander replied. “The members of the council are above reproach and I feel certain Galrin wouldn't be foolish enough to risk war with Innalas for no reason.”

  “I wouldn't dismiss Galrin,” Tealor replied, his arms crossed. “He has the power to do what's been done here and I believe he also has the motivation for it.”

  “What would that motivation be?”

  “He and his master may be trying to lure Andor into Innalas.”

  “With what purpose?” the commander asked. “Whoever is behind this has spent years planning it. I feel it’s unlikely that all this has been done merely to capture or kill a single Telian; no matter how powerful.”

  “No, sir, I agree,” the warrior nodded. “However, Galrin and Valrak attempted to kidnap one of our companions just weeks ago. I believe this could all be nothing more than a distraction to conceal his true purpose.”

  “For my part,” Sarena added, “I wouldn't be overly surprised if Galrin had spent years planning an assault on Innalas. He and his master may simply have felt that this was an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.”

  “I don't think so,” Ian replied, shaking his head. “Galrin has been a political force in the region for more than seventy years. In all that time, he's never been foolish enough to directly attack a kingdom that wasn't already involved in some war against his allies.”

  “There's a first time for everything,” Tealor pointed out.

  “Assuming that it's not Galrin,” the commander said, “and knowing that it's not a member of the council, where does that leave us?”

  “In the unknown,” the bard replied. “Which I admit is rather surprising. It's hard to imagine so powerful a spell-caster not making a name for themselves; whether or not they intended to. But, in my opinion, that seems to be the only logical answer. Or at least, a very logical assumption. For the moment, I think we need to accept that there may be a very skilled and completely anonymous magic-user attacking Innalas for some unknown purpose.”

  “That's not a great deal to work with,” Malkan said, shaking his head.

  “No, it isn't,” the bard agreed. “Which is why it's imperative that my companions and myself set out on our quest as soon as possible.”

  “Yes,” the knight interjected. “King Illfas sent us to find the source of these problems. This spell-caster, whoever he or she may be, is at the center of all this. If we can find them, we may be able to discover who they are – or even put a stop to them ourselves.”

  “I doubt that, noble Telian,” the commander replied. “You and your allies are extremely skilled, but this is an enemy who may well outmatch you.”

  “I wouldn't concern myself with that,” Sarena said with a light, merry laugh. “This wizard obviously commands a great deal of magical power but, should he face the blades of my beloved and that bold knight, he will not survive the encounter. Not to mention my own humble talents and those of our companions. It's one thing to control a sky full of black clouds from the heart of your own citadel. It's quite another to face a group of battle hardened warriors in direct combat. If we find this spell-caster, we will defeat them. Or, if that seems impossible, we'll simply return with information. I have complete confidence in our band. Have no fear, we have no desire to throw our lives away.”

  “I'm not sure,” the commander sighed. “This fog has changed things. You can't fight it any more than we can.”

  “I humbly disagree,” Tealor replied. “First, we'll all be mounted, so we should be able to easily escape it. Second, we are very skilled in melee combat. And third, we should easily be able to avoid the enemy army. They can't stay together as a united force and spread out in search of us. Even assuming our enemy realizes that we've entered the badlands, that is.”

  “I'm still not...” Malkan began.

  “Commander,” Darian interrupted. “With all due respect, you have no authority over me or my party. I intend to do exactly what the king asked me to. I don't think anything has fundamentally changed with regard to our quest. King Illfas wanted me to find out who was responsible for the troll attacks. I'm sure that whoever is responsible for that is also the one creating this mist. It's my duty to find them and I'm going to see it through.”

  “You're right, of course,” the commander ceded. “However, I strongly advise caution. I feel that, up to this point, we've underestimated our enemy. We need to know what we're dealing with. You won't be able to bring back information if you're dead.”

  “Don't worry, commander,” Tealor replied. “We won't take any unnecessary risks. If we can stop this magic-user, we will. If not, we'll return as soon as we know something.”

  “Very well,” Malkan replied. “May the Eilian watch over you.”

  With their plans made, it was only a matter of working out how to implement them. The elvish forces would pull back to a defensible position a few miles from the badlands and wait there until they received advice from the Council of Magic. As for the
party, they would spend the night in camp to recover from their exploits of the day and head into the badlands the following morning.

  Chapter 8: In Search of the Foe

  He had to be told. Immediately. His orders had been quite explicit. There was absolutely no room for interpretation. Any change was to be reported – and this was unquestionably a change. However, he might not consider this good news. Although it certainly was. At least, it could be seen from that point of view. Galrin would simply have to make certain that it was the view he took.

  The ancient wizard's foster son, Valrak, could be a man of quick temper and occasional impatience. Patience was a critical quality in a game with such high stakes. One false step and the prize he had spent a lifetime reaching for could be lost. He would have to impress this fact on the mercenary warlord. The time to act would come. For now, they would have to watch, wait, and prepare.

  The venerable wizard stood for a moment, collecting his thoughts just outside the entrance of his son's private chambers. He took a deep breath before knocking loudly on the massive door.

  “Enter,” barked the deep and powerful voice of Lord Valrak.

  As Galrin entered, his eyes fell on the massive warlord who was presently seated behind a large wooden desk and carefully studying a map spread out before him. He was attired, as he usually was, in solid black armor that bore his own emblem depicting the rising sun in red. His piercing blue eyes poured over every detail of the document that lay before him. The wizard couldn't help but smile. There was no doubt this man would one day rule all of Areon.

  “There has been a development, my lord,” the old man said excitedly, striding quickly across the room.

  “A development, father?” the warlord asked, motioning Galrin to take a seat.

  “Indeed, my son,” the wizard replied, sitting down and moving his chair closer to the desk. “Her power continues to increase – at a rate that surprises even me.”

  “Indeed?” the mercenary replied, lifting an eyebrow as he spoke. “I've never found surprising you an easy task. What has she done?”

  “Several things, my lord,” Galrin replied, “Several things. For one, she and that witch she travels with managed to kill a hill giant. Alone.”

  “That is impressive,” the mercenary admitted. “Had it been wounded or...”

  “No,” the wizard interrupted. “Not at all. And yet, the girl and that sorceress managed to burn it to death. I could have done the same quite easily, of course, but that they could do the same is most impressive.”

  “It is,” the warlord agreed. “Just how were they able to accomplish such a feat?”

  “They combined their power,” Galrin replied, gazing directly into the eyes of his son.

  “I believe I've seen it done before,” Valrak mused.

  “Perhaps, my son. Perhaps,” the old man replied. “But, it's not so common as to be worth ignoring.”

  “No,” the mercenary agreed, “I can see that. It certainly does qualify as a development. Her progress has been rather astounding.”

  “It has,” the wizard nodded. “And, there's more.”

  “Indeed?” the warlord asked. “What would that be?”

  “She healed a wounded comrade,” Galrin answered.

  “She what?” Valrak asked, sitting bolt upright as he did so.

  “She saved the life of a dying soldier,” the wizard replied. “I watched her as she did it. I must admit that I found it most impressive.”

  “Did you, father?!” the warlord said between his teeth before rising from his chair. “Did you, indeed?”

  “Indeed, I did, my son,” the old man replied, also rising himself.

  “Well, no doubt!” Valrak nodded as he began pacing the floor. “No doubt you did! After all, it is most impressive. I very much doubt that it failed to leave a very real impression! Exactly what kind of impression did it leave, dear father?”

  “I'm happy to say, a very temporary one,” the wizard smiled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean; they made very little of it. The girl's a sorceress. She wanted to learn to heal. In truth, it's been a fascination with her for some reason. So, she made the attempt and she succeeded in healing a fallen comrade. To them, nothing could seem simpler.”

  “Father,” the son said, staring down at the face of the old man, “if you're lying to me...”

  “Have I ever?”

  For a moment, the mercenary towered above his foster father; arms crossed and fury in his eyes. Suddenly, he laughed.

  “I have no idea,” the warlord admitted. “Either you've always been truthful or you've been wise enough to make sure I never caught you in a lie.”

  “Does it matter which is true?” the wizard asked with a smile.

  “No,” Lord Valrak answered, shaking his head slowly. “I suppose it doesn't. Things have almost always gone just as you planned them. Whether you use lies as a tool or not doesn't concern me. All that matters is that you succeed.”

  “And, I will do so again,” the old man replied. “However, in truth, they made almost nothing of it at all.”

  “Well,” the warlord began thoughtfully, “I suppose that could actually work to our advantage.”

  “I agree,” the wizard replied. “Now the die has been cast. They have seen, but they do not see.”

  “How long can that last?”

  “Not indefinitely, my lord.”

  “What should we do? It's only a matter of time before Andor manages to put the pieces together – or until those fools accidentally get the girl killed. Either of those eventualities would be disastrous for us.”

  “And, well I know it.”

  “Then, what do we do, father?”

  “For now, we wait. I have to consider the situation and come up with a solution.”

  “Time could be running out,” the son asserted.

  “It might be,” the father agreed, “but we won't fix that by blundering in.”

  “Very well,” the mercenary sighed, “but we must do something soon.”

  “Don't worry, my son. We will.”

  For nearly three hours, the party had been slowly making their way into the badlands. Tealor had led them south for just over an hour before heading west. It was important not only to avoid the main force of their enemies, but also to avoid any wandering scouts. So far, they had managed to do both.

  The warrior rode at the head of the column with the bard and the knight riding side-by-side just behind him. Tealor was completely focused on finding a path that would lead them quickly and safely further west. Ian's attention, however, was totally captivated by the Telian. For the last hour, Darian had sat, sullen and silent, staring blindly ahead with his brows knitted. At last, the bard decided to speak.

  “Something's got you thinking, lad,” Ian observed, taking the pipe from his mouth as he spoke. “What is it?”

  “The battle,” Darian answered, still staring straight ahead.

  “You didn't say much about it yesterday,” the bard replied.

  “No, I didn't,” the knight agreed. “I guess I hadn't really had time to think about it. There was so much that had to be done. But when it was all over I had plenty... Those soldiers were murdered, Ian.”

  “Well, I'm not sure the word murder applies,” Ian said thoughtfully. “It was a battle, after all.”

  “No, it wasn't,” Darian disagreed. “It was a trap. This enemy of Innalas – whoever they may be – lured our army to the badlands. In order to do that, they murdered the people of Dalfaen. Then, they engaged us, not using their own forces or their own people, but using animals and beasts compelled by magic to serve them. These creatures were nothing more than mindless tools of destruction. This enemy killed hundreds without any personal risk.”

  “Hmmm,” the bard replied, scratching his chin, “I must admit, I see your point.”

  “That's not all, though,” the knight continued. “This attack was also unprovoked. The people of Innalas have wronged no
one. Whoever did this attacked without reason and killed without risk. That, Ian, is murder.”

  “Even if I cede the point,” the dwarf began, “and I'm not completely certain that I do, what difference does it make now? As much as I may feel for the fallen, whether they were murdered or simply slain can't make much difference to them now.”

  “Not to them, no,” the young man agreed. “However, it may make a great deal of difference to me.”

  “How so, lad?” Ian asked.

  “I am a Telian,” Darian replied. “I can act as judge, jury, and executioner. Our enemy will pay for this, Ian. They've committed mass-murder and it won't be forgotten.”

  For a minute or more the pair rode along in silence.

  “I can't say you're wrong,” the bard said, turning to face his friend. “As a Telian, you're well within your rights to fulfill all three of those duties. However, Darian, it's my hope that you would merely act as the agent of the Eilian rather than trying to avenge yourself or the fallen.”

  “Of course,” the knight replied, “that's my duty.”

  “I'm glad to hear you say that, lad,” Ian smiled. “Because it almost seems like you've already made your judgment.”

  “You may be right,” Darian admitted with a sigh. “It's just so senseless. I can't imagine any justification for this.”

  “Nor can I,” the bard agreed. “But trust the Eilian and trust yourself. No good will come from brooding over it now. What's done is done. When the time comes, you'll know what's right. And I'm certain that, whatever it is, you'll do it.”

  “Thank you, Ian,” the knight replied with half a smile. “You're right. For some reason, just talking about it makes me feel a little better.”

  “I'm glad, lad,” the dwarf grinned, “and I'm always here when you need me.”