by Bill Mays
“We should get the old woman to a priest,” Ado whispered to the big man. “I was only being nice for the girl’s sake. Herrin looks like she’s a goner if we don’t hurry.”
The gladiator pulled out the detailed map of Villinsk that Thunaren supplied them with. “It doesn’t mention any temples on this thing besides Vool Hearth -- that figures,” he grumbled.
“Look for a sizable town. There are always temples in big human settlements,” the gremlin chided. “And I don’t mean Talwen either! Use your brain for once you big ox!”
Tark felt his face flush with annoyance, but he bit his lip in frustration. Now was not the time to argue. Herrin needed help, and soon. He searched the chart for a city but only tiny marks indicating small towns and villages were nearby. According to Thunaren, the smaller settlements were already evacuated. He spotted one larger symbol along the coast that was not too far away.
“According to the map, there is a good-sized, port town to the north of us. Maybe they’ll have a priest or two,” he sighed.
“Let’s hope so. I don’t think she’ll last much longer in this state. You humans are frail that way,” Ado squeaked. “What is this port town called anyway?”
“It’s labeled, Seaside.”
“Of course it is. What a creative name for a town located near the sea, just leave it to humans,” the gremlin giggled. “Hopefully, those fanatics haven’t destroyed that town, too. I’d hate to travel all that way for nothing. This cross-country hiking is not for tremlins. We like civilization and comfort, not wilderness.”
It never failed to amaze Tark how Ado always managed to think about himself, no matter the situation. “We can discuss the shortcomings of gremlins later. There’s no time to waste. Herrin isn’t getting any better sitting around here.” The gladiator scooped the old woman up in his big arms and started walking before Ado could protest his statement. He had a long and tiring trek ahead of him.
* * * * * * * * * *
Malark, the Order of Four fanatical mage-priest, answered a call to appear before his superiors. There were four high priests to their gods, the reivers; four priests to represent the four demon gods. These high priests were known among the sect as the extensions of true divinity. Like most of the believers, Malark had never laid eyes on these high priests in his entire life. The positions of these extensions shifted mostly among magic-wielding family members raised under the faith, and mostly between various noble houses in Villinsk. One had to die for a replacement to be chosen. Their order was a secretive one, always waiting for the time to rise and take their rightful place on Pangias. That time had finally come with the release of their gods back into the world. The leaders of the strange religion, like all of the order’s priests, were actually mages and were in a meeting to discuss their pressing strategies. Their meeting was being held in the council hall that had once been used by Talwen’s most prominent members. The council hall was one of the few structures the order left standing in the fallen magic city. The four leaders wore their ceremonial white robes emblazoned with the four-fingered symbol. They all kept their hoods pulled and their faces hidden from onlookers. Their day began with a huge sacrificial offering. Several captured mages, and a group of other prisoners collected from the surrounding settlements, were given to the reivers. There was even a young satyr and a water fairy presented as the main prize. The sacrifice was well received. All four of their otherworldly gods appeared to partake in the feeding. The reivers granted power to their faithful in the form of increased arcane potential. The boost in power that the demon gods gave them would be plentiful. Now they were debating how to best venture out from the conquered magic city to the rest of Villinsk.
“That false king will have received word of our victory by now no doubt, as will the Dark Lord of Drackmoore,” one of the ruling members, the slimmest man of the Order of Four leaders, announced.
“What news do we have of the false king’s forces? Have they begun their march against us yet?” Another of the leaders, a much older and heavier man, asked. His tone suggested unease. He was the eldest and held the most prominent position in the sect.
“So far the false king’s men are more than occupied by the orc armies. The Dark Lord has kept up his promise of support. It is a marvel that he can control those savages,” yet a third high priest offered with a devious, tight-lipped smile. From beneath the shadows of their drawn hoods, only their mouths and chins remained visible.
“And what of the warrior who reportedly brought down the dome of protection? Have we received any new information on him or does he still manage to elude our trackers?” The only female present, asked in a cold, smooth tone. “The Dark Lord of Drackmoore is interested in that one, I think.”
“We can concern ourselves with Drackmoore later,” the oldest and ruling high priest snapped at the young priestess. She had recently gained her position among them and constantly pushed her influence. “Our own concerns take precedence.” The priestess wrinkled her brow beneath her hood at the man’s response.
She did not like being dismissed so easily. She was one of the ruling four and deserved more respect. True, her father had only recently passed, but she was now the fourth high priest and no longer simply his daughter. Already the young priestess craved the head seat among the four. The new power of her position proved intoxicating.
As Malark was led to the meeting hall, all of their talks came to a halt. Malark could hardly believe that he was finally getting to meet the leaders of the faith. It was clear from the look on the longhaired man’s face that he was honored to be among them no matter how briefly. One of the leaders, the slim man, rose to greet him. His face remained hidden beneath his low-hanging hood.
“What is it that brings you to us at such an important time, my brother,” the high priest asked patiently. His slim lips stretched into a tight smile.
“I have news of the warrior, the one our trackers seek,” Malark smiled back reverently.
The high priestess stood to face the ruling high priest. “It would appear these matters you would like to dismiss so quickly are of importance after all,” she smirked. “Why else would our gods bring us this information now?”
The ruling priest kept his temper in check. She was young and ambitious. The woman had a flare for showmanship; she was quite the actress. He was certain she was looking to claim his spot at the head of the order. She was testing him in front of the others. “Very well,” the heavyset man sighed, “You have been chosen as our Drackmoorian contact. You will deal with this matter.”
The priestess nodded her acceptance of the task. “Come with me, my brother. We will discuss what you know in private. I will excuse myself now. Please continue the preparations for advancement in my absence.” She waved a dismissive hand at the older priest. An annoyed frown twisted his wrinkled lips.
She motioned for Malark to follow her as she left the meeting hall. The longhaired mage-priest was more than happy to oblige. He was excited about being helpful to his leaders in any way possible. The man was a true fanatic. She led Malark to one of the former magic schools of Talwen. It was an oddly designed building with many levels. It was also one of the few structures left standing in the decimated city. The intention was to rebuild Talwen in dedication to the reivers once the war was won. Unfortunately, not much was left to reconstruct. They carried their conversation to one of the institution’s private chambers. The chamber once belonged to an esteemed instructor of the school. The priestess claimed it as her own for the time being.
After the high priestess exhausted every avenue of questioning, she excused Malark from her sight. He had definitely encountered the very man she sought. Even if his knowledge of the subject were limited, the lesser priest would be useful. He was a true believer and ready to follow her every instruction without question. That is the way she liked it. Actually, that was not entirely true. He was a little too fanatical even for her tastes. The order was her calling, but faith did need to be tempered by good judgment or
it was nothing more than blind obedience. She was nobody’s dog. Watching Malark fawn over her attention was slightly repulsive. She appreciated the information nonetheless. There was something important about this warrior who traveled with fairies and gremlins, something she could not quite pinpoint. The man possessed great powers, of that she could be sure. Perhaps, her gods hungered for their lost sacrifice. She prayed to them on the topic and received a vision. It was a glimpse of a sun fairy. The fey creatures were the favored meals of her gods. Their innate mystical nature made them a treat for the energy eating beings known as the reivers; whatever his importance, he and his companions were meant to be offerings. She would make sure that came to pass. Malark would not receive the blessings for that offering, she would. The matter would require further investigation, but she was certain the warrior and fairy’s destination choices would be limited. She smiled deviously at the departing longhaired priest. Malark could yet be useful to her in locating, identifying, and retrieving this mysterious man. It was a sign from her gods, in her favor, a sign that boded well for her ambitions.
Another thought came to the high priestess. Arrivand had been quite interested in the trident-wielding warrior. That meant Meiron would be interested, too. These facts only made the man sound like an even better offering. She might even rise to the ultimate position in her order for this task. The current ruling high priest was not deserving of his position, but she was. She could use this warrior as a bartering tool with the Dark Lord as well. Drackmoore was growing in power. It would make an excellent ally for the rebirth of the faith. All of the possibilities swirled through the woman’s mind as she studied and prayed over the maps of the area.
* * * * * * * * * *
The coast to the Sorohl Sea was a fair distance from where Talwen once stood, but even so, Seaside was the closest settlement of any size, besides the capital city, Labellis. Tark decided that since Thunaren had sent them to the capital, it was best they avoided the city unless they wanted to face off against the reivers again. One look at Herrin was proof that they should avoid that avenue if at all possible. Unfortunately, they would have to cross a portion of the Sea Span Mountains known as the Solemn Peaks. The range separated a small peninsula of northern Villinsk from the rest of the land. Among other things, this peninsula contained the port town of Seaside. Ado noticed the map by chance as Tark plotted their course. It was quite a fluke since the lazy gremlin rarely paid attention to such things. His eyes were sharp, though, for he spotted the location of Seaside and the Solemn Peaks.
“Wait a moment,” he squeaked over Tark’s shoulder at one of their few breaks. “You never said we were crossing that mountain range.”
“There are many routes marked that go through the peaks, including this large one. It should not be a difficult passage,” Tark stated confidently. “So, stop your whining! You hardly walk or fly on your own anyway!”
“You big dolt!” Ado shot back. “I’m not worried about the mountains themselves, but what lives in them! Didn’t that crazed priest back at the library say that the orcs of the Solemn Peaks were moving against them in conjunction with the fanatics?”
“He said an army of orcs had come down from the mountains,” Nivit offered helpfully, with a smile.
Tark nearly wadded the map up in frustration. “What other choice do we have?” He all but shouted. In truth, he had forgotten about mention of the orcs. He was feeling trapped. They had nowhere to go and no time to waste. Orcs, being piggish green-skinned savages, were not known for their friendliness towards other races. In fact, the brutal humanoids were often at war with their surrounding neighbors.
“Well, we can’t go traipsing through an orcish army, now can we? Unless you really think you can kill them all by yourself?” Ado squeaked back as he flew out of the gladiator’s immediate reach. Tark stood to go after him, but Nivit flew between them.
“Wait, please,” the tiny girl pleaded. “We don’t have time to fight now. Herrin needs our help!” Tark turned away with a grunt. She darted to Ado. “Mr. Ado, we have no other options. We have at least to try to reach the port town. Between your magic and Mr. Tark’s fighting skills, I’m sure we can come up with something. Please, we can’t just let her die. She has saved my life more than once and I’m begging you to help me save hers,” the little fairy’s bottom lip trembled and tears poured from her big pleading eyes.
Ado crossed his little arms across his chest and sighed angrily. He hated her overly dramatic ways. “I suppose she was just trying to save us when that creature got a hold on her, and we do need her to finish deciphering all those old writings….”
Nivit dove in and wrapped her arms around Ado’s neck in a tight hug. “Thank you, Mr. Ado! Thank you!”
The gremlin quickly pried her off and pulled away. “If you do that again, the deal’s off! I don’t care if I have to wander the countryside for another three months with this big ogre searching for another sage!”
Tark held back a chuckle as Nivit returned to watch over Herrin. “Good job,” the gladiator grinned. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Whatever!” Ado grumbled. “Let’s get moving before I change my mind.”
Their trek proved to be a long and trying one. Herrin did not awaken, but stayed in her feverish state. Though Tark did not need sleep anymore, the big man did need rest at fairly regular intervals. Carrying the limp sage every step of the way was no simple task. His biggest fear was of an ambush. For all he knew, the fanatics were still searching for him. With the woman in his arms, his reaction time would be delayed. Any small hesitation could cost them both their lives. Though Ado loathed doing so, he turned the three of them invisible. Nivit was left to fend for herself. The fairy was careful to keep her bluebird guise in place when possible. After several days of hiking, they had definitely entered orc territory. The foothills signified the coming of the mountains, but the frequent sightings of the brutish humanoids was the deciding factor. The concealed group passed many parties of the tusked orcs, ranging in size from a handful to as many as fifty members. Occasionally, they would spot a shaman, or even an ogre among these parties, but mostly they were comprised of wild orcish soldiers. The fact that many carried extra supplies was a sign that they had engaged the King of Villinsk’s forces somewhere in the distant regions of the kingdom, probably Labellis.
“If they’re that focused on the capital, then maybe the coastal regions are still safe,” Tark whispered hopefully.
“That or they wiped out the ports first,” Ado squeaked back.
The bluebird flapped nearby tweeting up a storm. The bird shifted into a fairy. “You need to be thinking positively!” Nivit snapped. “Herrin may still be able to hear you, you know?”
The girl quickly shifted back into bird form as another group of orcs using large white wolves to pull supply wagons came into view. The wolves were particularly frightening since they would be able to smell the invisible companions if they came too close. Even in their concealed state, their guard would have to remain up and invisibility only lasted a limited time.
“The mountains grow near,” Tark whispered for all to hear. “We stay close together and remain quiet, until we reach a safe campsite. Is that understood?” He could see the bird nodding, and he could only imagine the gremlin’s response.
It took the big man some time to find a safe place to rest each night. Though Nivit and even Ado spotted several suitable campsites, Tark was unable to reach them with Herrin in tow. Climbing was to be avoided. He did his best not to jostle her too badly. Eventually, he would find a decent spot. On this particular night, they came upon a small cavern. It took a little clearing effort. Tark rested Herrin nearby and dropped in to surprise the two orcs who shared the alcove. In a matter of seconds, the scuffle was over. The unprepared humanoid warriors were no match for the gladiator. He was careful to dispose of the bodies. It would not do for the dead orcs to be discovered. The last thing they needed was a hunting party searching for them. The cavern was perfect.
It was large enough for the big man to stand upright and about ten feet deep. They would be able to light a fire this night and warm their bones a little. The gremlin mage created an illusion of a rockslide to cover the entrance while he slept. Ado needed his rest to replenish his repertoire of spells each day. The invisibility was essential for their survival. It was the only way to insure they could pass through the orc-infested area undetected. The air remained tense through the nights and everyone had to remain quiet for fear of attracting attention. The silence nearly killed poor little Nivit, but she managed. Tark was surprised at how smoothly this was actually going. The big man was impressed with the little folks’ efforts to work together. He realized that without them, he would never be able to cross through these mountains. Herrin would be proud of them, he thought with a sad grin.
As he lay back to get some rest, he was plagued by random and fleeting images. He saw his friends. He saw other faces, too. He only recognized one of the many others that flashed by. It was the mage-priest, the fanatic known as Malark. Tark found it a little odd that the man’s visage would find a hold in his mind. Another prominent image appeared in his head. This time it was a ship setting out to sea. Something about that particular image calmed him. One hand found its way instinctively to the gem hidden beneath his jerkin. His other hand released his long ebony hair from its bindings to let it fall about his shoulders. Tark felt his muscles relaxing. He managed to take control of his dream-like state and guided his thoughts to his sanctuary. He was back at the crystal-clear pool in the mountains that he would go to as a boy to escape the world. He lay back enjoying the mountain air. For a brief moment, the Lady Dalia was there with him. She tried to speak, but only faded away. It was good to see her, if only as a fleeting image. He could almost smell her pleasant scent. Tark was at ease here, basking in the sun near the stream-fed pool. The gentle pulsing of the artifact was like a soft breeze blowing across his bare skin.
