“Yes! If it’s war we’re to start, its war we’re to begin!” another cried.
“War indeed, but not so dreadful or wicked as in days past,” said another. “Today we fight for a better cause!”
“Juanna,” Dril’ead said to her, and Juanna looked up, surprised he knew her name. “Lead us forward, if you will.”
*****
So this is it, Lamina began quietly to herself. It is before the footsteps of my own citadel and empire that my fate be decided, in the very attempt to overthrow it and all its power here.
She walked calmly and slowly up the street, Grundagg warriors and servants busying themselves in the preparations of war, many of the citizens passed her by without so much as a glance. Lamina, of all The Followers of the Grundagg Branch, was little known or revered. She still had her daggers at her waist, ready to use the weapons at any necessary moment, and continued to stare at the broad doors of the citadel as she made her approach.
Vulzdagg was to be destroyed, if it wasn’t already. Word of Vulzdagg’s treachery against the Urden’Dagg, its overthrow of Zurdagg revealed by the Swildagg nobles, was spreading like a wild fire in a thicket of dry reeds. Who would have known Vulzdagg capable of such horrific actions? It seemed so impossible, and yet they all believed it. And yet, even with that belief, Lamina and those who Razbaar had persuaded in his house could not allow the combined power of Grundagg and Swildagg to destroy them. It just wasn’t right.
She stopped at the foremost steps up to the large doors into the citadel, and stared unblinking at the structure rising above and before her, imagining to herself the idea Razbaar had set forward to cast down the perverted aristocracy of Grundagg. What she was about to do, what all those who followed Razbaar were about to do, was treachery to the Branch of Grundagg. Such treachery, before the eyes of the all great and powerful Urden’Dagg, deserved the punishment of death. But the Urden’Dagg was no longer the deity of which they belonged. There was no longer a Tree of the Urden’Dagg, so there was no longer any Branches, no more nobles or aristocracy to obey or fear, so their was no one to stand against her. Razbaar’s logic made sense, and yet it confused her. But, the more and more she thought about it, the more and more she wanted to believe him.
Lamina could no longer stand with what Grundagg had become.
She went straightway up the steps, her strides strong and even, and stood up before the city of Grundagg outlaid before the citadel. Then reaching behind one shoulder Lamina took hold of the purple spider-silk cloak of the Urden’Dagg, inhaled once, and ripped it from off her back. All eyes suddenly turned to her from the street, horrified at what she had done, confused and afraid, looking from her to the torn fabric in her hand. In a loud, confident voice she address those stares, unafraid but full of might in that hour.
“Behold, ye citizens of Grundagg, what has become of us!” she cried, throwing the torn cloak into the muddied street and at the feet of those who stood near.
All eyes before her, all horrified expressions, were replaced with either confusion or understanding in that moment.
20
Threads of the Web
The mage returned to Tyla soon after he had scoped the borders of Vulzdagg, the grove of mushrooms ever quiet, and after Gorroth’s awful assault the city had fallen under a deathly silence. He bowed to his mistress, lowering himself before her to rest upon one knee, and pulled back the hood of his green and blue robes from over his head of stark white hair.
Tyla had descended from the mountainous terrain of Swildagg to stand before the front most ranks of the Swildagg force, an assembly of at least a thousand swords and crossbows, the Drakes awaiting the charge from the cliffs overhead. Nel’ead, she knew, was among those mounted warriors.
“My probes have returned from their search of the Vulzdagg area, my lady, as you have commanded me,” the mage said to her. “I cannot find any survivors.”
Tyla looked out and across the spectrum of heat before her, the dark chasm into the lower level a few yards before her placement of soldiers. “I do not believe all of the inhabitants of Vulzdagg perished in the demons wake,” she said. Then turning a sharp eye on the mage kneeling at her feet she ordered, “Go back, and search the complex until at least one survivor is found. I cannot order the charge until I know what we’re walking into, until I know the crafty traitors aren’t forming a trap.”
The mage stood and turned away, eagerly leaving to fulfill her command, and faded into the distance.
“Galahel!” she said, calling out the name of her second commander, and the female fighter stepped up to her side almost immediately. “Send word to my brother, Nel’ead, and tell him I am awaiting the final command to charge. My troupes are ready, the land has been examined and named empty of survivors, but I am ever wary.”
“It will be done, my lady,” Galahel said, bowing before turning away to send the message.
Tyla stared into the forest of stalagmites before her for a long moment, though her thoughts were far from an examination of the area. What is Nel’ead planning to do? She asked herself. He fears the increasing power of our sister, that I know for certain, but why does he go forward with this act when it clearly upholds her demands? I fear that Alastra’s powers are far outreaching of our own, and that no matter how strongly we stand against her, our own strength will not be enough. I fear it is already too late.
“My lady,” Galahel said as she returned to Tyla’s side. “Your brother, Lord Nel’ead, is not in the citadel or among the Drake Riders.”
Tyla’s brow furrowed in confusion, but it was short lived as a source of heat descended from the stalactites above, a winged Drake coming into the spectrum before them. It landed and was immediately recognized as Nel’ead’s own mount, and the Rider himself was, indeed, Lord Nel’ead Swildagg.
“Cancel the charge,” Nel’ead said to Tyla, dismounting and walking toward her. “There will be no invasion upon the Branch of Vulzdagg; for, as our scouts have reported, there is no one there to invade. It seems your demon has done the work for us.”
“But Gorroth was defeated,” Tyla retorted, pointedly reminding her brother of their conversation earlier. “I lost connection with the demon soon after he entered the Vulzdagg citadel. I didn’t even receive a confirmation that the nobles were all destroyed. There has to be someone left, if not a few hundred swords waiting to oppose us, the scout I have just sent back will reveal them as I expect.”
“Well call your scout back; I have secured the area myself,” said Nel’ead, and he scowled.
Tyla sensed something in her brother, some hidden secret that he kept from her view and the view of all those in their ranks behind her. Galahel didn’t know, and she knew that Nel’ead hoped she wouldn’t find out. She and Tyla couldn’t know for some odd, unknown reason, and her own eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Cancel the charge,” Nel’ead said again, more urgently. “You must trust me on this.”
How could she know she could trust him? Day by day, ever since seeing him sitting in the throne of their father, Nel’ead had been acting increasingly uncertain and desperate. Knew realizations, knew ideals and notions, it seemed, were constantly changing his perspective. So how could she know she could trust him? How could she know this perspective was correct?
She couldn’t, she realized. That was why, and the reason, she needed to trust him.
“All right,” Tyla said at last, the silence between them becoming tense, and a look of relief passed over Nel’ead’s expression. “I will trust you on this, Nel’ead.”
“Thank you,” Nel’ead replied, bowing to her.
“Now what do you expecting me to do?” Tyla asked, though her tone made it more of a demand.
“Lead the force back to the citadel,” Nel’ead instructed her, ignoring the tone of her voice, and turned to walk back to his Drake. “We’ll stand ready in our own stronghold. There is nothing to attack, but perhaps there is something to defend.”
Tyla crossed her arms. “
Fine,” she said, “But I’m wondering how Alastra will react to this sudden change.”
“I’ll worry about Alastra,” Nel’ead replied, “You get the troops back and into a readied formation. We may need them yet.”
Tyla shook her head, disbelieving what she had just agreed to, and watched as Nel’ead took off on his Drake and flew back toward their home.
“Does he expect Vulzdagg to attack us,” Galahel asked curiously, confused.
“He expects something to happen in our own borders,” Tyla answered evenly, and then turning to her commanders and chief commander she ordered them to move the troops back up the mountainside and to their defensive positions there. If Nel’ead expected there to be a fight, and she agreed to trust him, than Tyla would see that the troops were ready for anything.
The Drake landed, and Nel’ead leaped from its saddle even before it touched the ground. He sped to the doors of the citadel, anxious, and the guard opened it wide for him to pass. But, even in the main hall of the citadel, the twin thrones of the Lord and the Lady of the Branch of Swildagg sitting motionless and empty upon a dais before him, he did not slow his determined stride.
He knew where he would find Alastra.
Passing into a corridor to the side of the throne room, Nel’ead threw open the doors of the Circle of Power.
Alastra stood in a circle, her back to him, and was looking up into the orbs revealing the faces of their mother and brother. Nel’ead, still unrelenting in his determination, did not stop as he came and stood beside Alastra, outside of either circle.
Eldrean was speaking, and Nel’ead hardly heard her over his own thoughts, but he did catch on to what was being discussed.
“Once these forces are moved out, the attack on Vulzdagg should commence, if it hasn’t already,” she was saying.
“It has not,” Nel’ead put in, cutting off anything Alastra would have said. “The Vulzdagg’s are gone.”
There was a demeaning moment of hesitation, but Nel’ead did not move his gaze from Alastra’s furious glare.
“Tell them,” he said to her. “Tell our mother, and our brother, that the Vulzdagg Branch is empty of survivors.”
Not hearing or even seeing Nel’ead in the room, Eldrean shifted uncomfortably. “Is it a sound situation, Alastra?” she asked.
Alastra turned back to the orb. “Yes,” she replied, “it is.”
“There are none to destroy in the city!” Nel’ead growled fiercely.
Turning, Alastra grabbed him by the front of his cloak and pulled him aside, stepping out of the circle and the sight of their mother and brother. “Do not attempt to thwart this plan, Nel’ead!” she hissed in his face, “There will be a battle, and not even your uncertainties will stop it, and the battle will take place in the heart of Vulzdagg even as its citadel burns to the ground! Keep silent, and know your place!”
“My place is as lord of this city!” Nel’ead retorted, pushing her from off him. “You cannot deny me my rightful power!”
Alastra stepped back, smirking at his pathetic statement. “There is no need for power anymore, Nel’ead,” she said coolly. The glint in her eye more than disturbed him. “I have no power, and neither do I need it. All that I need, all that I already have, is your fear of me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I am not afraid of you.”
“But you are,” she insisted.
“You’re wrong.”
Suddenly she burst with laughter, mocking him, ridiculing his statements, throwing all his claims back in his face, and he felt himself grow hot with anger. But he did not act. He could not. There was something about Alastra that stole his strength, his determination, and his certainties. Something happened between then and when he had spoken to them in the throne of the Lord of Swildagg that destroyed his willpower.
He swallowed, managing to capture enough breath to speak, and said in a cold tone, “Enough!”
Alastra stopped her laughter and fixed her fierce eyes on him. It was than that Nel’ead noticed the slender sword strapped to her waist, and instinctively his own hands touched the hilts of his own blade.
“Alastra, is this meeting adjourned?” Eldrean asked from the orb.
“Where have you gone, sister?” Elemni said.
Nel’ead back up several steps, and gestured to the Circle of Power. “Finish what you have begun,” he said.
“Tell me where the nobles are,” Alastra commanded him, and the firmness of her tone shocked him.
“The demon destroyed them, along with the entire Branch,” Nel’ead replied, but his tone betrayed him, sounding more uncertain than he wished.
Alastra’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you betray your own people with such lies, Nel’ead?” she asked.
“No more than you,” he answered. This time, though, his tone was firm.
She smiled and walked back to the circle she had previously stood in, but called to him on final time over her shoulder before stepping in. “The bonds are tightening, dear brother! The noose about your neck is readily set.”
And it was then that Nel’ead knew what had to be done.
“Forgive me, my mother and brother, but urgent business has often distracted me,” Alastra said to the faces in the orbs. “Tell the people of Grundagg, the second Thread of the Web, that the Shadow Queen demands retribution. All traitors, all those who oppose her will, are to be exterminated. Starting with Vulzdagg, we shall cleanse this world of the filth of such liars and deceivers, stretching the strands of her magnificent web to the very corners of the earth, constructing a community more powerful and strong than the Urden’Dagg could have ever done with us. We, all of us, are to be apart of the making of the Web!”
Both Eldrean and Elemni bowed their heads in acceptance of the task. “It shall be done as the queen demands,” they said, and then together they ended the contact.
“There will be those who stand against you,” Nel’ead said.
He waited as Alastra turned round to face him, and continued without hesitation. “I have realized the decision I must make, the action I must undertake, and hereby forfeit my place as Lord of this Branch, the Branch of Swildagg.”
“It is no longer a branch of any tree, dear Nel’ead,” Alastra replied. “It is rather a Thread to the Web of the Shadow Queen.”
“Whatever it is called, I do not care,” Nel’ead said sternly, “But I am no more responsible for the actions you are undertaking!”
“The choice isn’t ours to make, Nel’ead!” she cried, stepping toward him. “The Shadow Queen makes those decisions for us. We, the representatives of this Thread, are her mouth and ears. What we speak she commands, and what we hear she hears also. Be careful what you say, dear brother.”
“I have had enough of this,” Nel’ead admitted, grabbing the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. “I have had enough!”
Alastra smiled at his outbursts. “Tell me where the Vulzdagg nobles are, and I shall spare you this work.”
Nel’ead would not relent to her. He never would. “They are gone,” he said in a low, growling voice. “They have left this world.”
“They have also slain our brother,” Alastra said, and her smile widened as she saw the shock revealed in his eyes and expression. “Yes, Nel’ead, Dril’ead Vulzdagg murdered Jastrum in the tunnels of Grundagg. Our brother is dead because of them, like unto our father.”
“How do you know this?” Nel’ead demanded, and he stepped closer to her, his hand still gripping his sword.
“It has been revealed to me through the power of the Shadow Queen in me!” she answered in a voice all too proud of her newfound deity, and the power that her subjection to it gave her.
Alastra spread out her arms and threw back her head, her palms flat and facing the ceiling above, and began to cry out a prayer to the goddess. The chant was strange, unlike anything Nel’ead had ever heard before, and he listened with increasing horror as he realized the favor the evil diety held her in. It was great indeed, for a power unseen but
strongly felt flowed throughout the chamber, radiating from Alastra’s now seeming glowing form as she prayed.
As her prayer came to a conclusion, the glow about her body was red and ever increasing, though not hurting either of their sensitive eyes, and the gleam in her eyes and smile on her face were more unnerving than Nel’ead could ever recall.
“Yes!” she cried, shutting her eyes and smiling widely and evilly. “Yes, the blood on the knife belongs to our family. The father to the father, and the son to the son! How ironic it is that such things come to pass in such ways, though it is the will of the Shadow Queen that the lives of these lost warriors are wasted. Indeed, they may seem great, but in the long run they are but few to the corpses that shall scatter the world in the time of cleansing! The time is near at hand.”
“You are possessed by some spirit of darkness, Alastra,” Nel’ead said in grim observance. He backed up a few steps, nearing the door out of the chamber, his hand still grasping the hilt of his sword.
“Wait!” Alastra cried, her eyes still shut, seeing the things that her goddess revealed to her. “I see death and life, her pain for his price, and he moves against us in this very hour, even as attempts to overthrow the authority of the Shadow Queen are wasted away. Neither shall succeed!”
Throwing both arms up and over her head, reaching for the ceiling of the chamber, Nel’ead felt a wave of energy pass through him. With it came a vision of a troupe of Followers passing quickly and silently through tunnels he knew, going on their way toward Grundagg, and felt the desire of their destruction force its way into his mind. He fought against it, trying to put it aside as he realized who these people were, but the will of the Shadow Queen would not relent. She wanted Dril’ead dead. She wanted his blood. And she wanted Nel’ead to share in it.
At last he stumbled back, forcing his mind from the vision and the emotions in it, and came down on one knee. He found that he had drawn his sword, and now held it tightly in his sweating hand. Looking up he saw that Alastra stood with her arms upraised still. The desire of the Shadow Queen was no doubt passing to the minds of every individual in the Threads of the Web of the Shadow Queen.
Passage to Glory: Part Two of the Redemption Cycle Page 19
