The mists of sorrow ms-7
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The mists of sorrow
( Morcyth saga - 7 )
Brian S. Pratt
Brian S. Pratt
The mists of sorrow
Prologue
The smell of corpses rotting in the summer heat reaches them long before they arrive. Over a dozen wagons trundle across the gray desert in search of treasure. Several days earlier a massive explosion had rocked their small village to the west, a tower of flame reached far into the heavens until finally returning back to earth.
Unsure what caused the explosion, they were curious but fearful. Then word came a day ago that what they witnessed had been part of a battle and the dead were lying all over the place. Knowing the worth of weapons and armor the dead may still possess, they immediately gathered their wagons and went toward where the tower of flame rose. Times are hard in the desert and the gold they can get from the sale of the items could well mean their continued survival.
A half day into the journey, they encounter the gray sand. Fear grows among the scavengers but the promise of wealth pushes them onward. The gray sand wasn’t so much sand as it was a powdery substance which worked into every crease of their bodies, making the trek miserable. But these people are no strangers to adversity, life in the desert being what it is and all. Pushing onward they continued forward.
Finally, the dead begin to appear ahead of them. Zyrn, the leader of the scavengers, licks his lips in anticipation when he sees the armored bodies lying before them. Scanning to the left and right, he searches for any others who may already be here to gather the booty. But as far his eyes can see, there’s nothing moving.
“What a haul!” exclaims Nyn, a goat herder by trade.
“Yes,” nods Zyrn in agreement.
Continuing to draw closer to the dead, Zyrn suddenly comes to a stop and an odd expression comes over him.
Stopping beside him, Nyn asks, “What’s wrong?”
Pointing to the area where the dead lie, he says, “The gray sands end where the bodies begin.”
Nyn looks ahead and sees the almost perfect circular area wherein the dead lay. “What could it mean?” he asks. Indeed, in some places where the dead must have fallen across where the gray sand begins, the parts that would have extended out onto the gray area are gone. Sections of bodies lie all the way around the perimeter, all of them show signs of scorching from great heat.
Shaking his head, Zyrn replies, “I don’t know.” What could have caused this? Scanning the area once more he glances back to Nyn. “Looks okay now,” he says with a touch of nervousness.
Others come abreast of Zyrn and Nyn as they too look upon the oddity. Mumbled fears pass between them until Zyrn raises his hand and the others fall silent. “Whatever happened here is past,” he tells them. “Let’s be about our work.”
Once again rolling forward, the wagons move to the dead where the men and women begin stripping them of their weapons, armor and other valuables. What gold and jewels they find go into a communal pot so to speak, which will be distributed evenly among them upon their return to their village. The armor, weapons and anything else of bulk goes into the wagons.
While stripping the dead, Zyrn finds not only dead northerners, which he assumes once belonged to what people are saying was a band led by none other than Black Hawk, but also soldiers of the Empire. When he comes across a slain Parvati lying in the sand, his hand hesitates a fraction of a second before removing the swords from its dead hands. He knows what a Parvati would do should he see a non Parvati in possession of such.
As they continue about their work, the mood of the scavengers lightens from that of fear. When nothing immediate happens, they press forward with more vigor and enthusiasm. Wagon after wagon begin to fill with the booty from the dead, not only weapons and armor, but clothing as well. Anything that may be of use or sold is taken.
They work throughout the afternoon until the sun begins to reach the horizon. “We’re not going to get it all before the sun goes down,” Nyn says as he comes to where Zyrn is taking a knife from the chest of an Empire soldier.
Standing up, Zyrn flips the knife into the nearby wagon and gazes around the battlefield. Still a hundred or more of the dead have yet to be stripped. The wagons are all but full and none wish to remain in this area once night has fallen. There’s just a bad feeling about the whole place.
Gazing to the sun to gauge the time, Zyrn turns to Nyn and says, “Another half hour and then we’ll leave.”
“That’s cutting it kind of close don’t you think?” he asks.
Greed and fear battle within him, but greed finally wins out. “By the time we return, someone else could have come and taken the rest,” he explains. “I’m sure we’ll be alright.”
Nyn gazes at him for a moment then nods his head. Leaving Zyrn’s side, he returns to where he had been working before coming to talk with Zyrn. He spreads the word that they will remain another half hour, most of the others are not entirely happy about it. Speeding up their efforts, they try to collect as much as they can before it’s time to go.
A half hour later, the sun has reached the horizon. Everyone is packing the last few items away as Zyrn mounts his horse and takes position at the head of the wagons. Once all is ready, he hollers for them to roll and they begin leaving the dead behind. Dozens of the dead soldiers have yet to be stripped of their armor, though the rest of their valuables have been taken. Some look back longingly to the items left behind but none wish to stay any longer in such an area. The prospect of being here when the sunlight fades makes them very nervous.
They are still in the gray area when the sun completely drops below the horizon and dark begins to envelope the world. Pushing onward through the growing dark, they roll for a couple more hours until they finally reach the edge of the gray area. At least they think they do as the only light with which to see is that of the stars.
Zynn pauses and then dismounts. Picking up a handful of dirt, he confirms the fact that they are indeed past the gray area. The sand here once again feels like it’s supposed to. “Make camp,” he says. As the wagons gather together and the horses are taken from their traces, he gazes back to where the dead lie. In a way saddened by the loss of life, yet at the same time thankful for the opportunity his village will have to survive another year or two. Sighing, he turns back to the others and helps with setting up the camp.
The night continues to deepen as the hours fall away. When the world has slipped into the deepest part of the night, a figure moves among the dead. His passing brings cold, cold to the world and cold to the soul. Behind this figure move two others, both wearing dark armor with another four in robes following them.
Winding their way around the bodies of the dead soldiers, the one who leads searches for the place he desires. All his carefully laid plans are coming to fruition. When his dark lord set him upon this task so very long ago he knew it would take centuries until he arrived at this critical moment.
First he destroyed the priests of Morcyth. His lord told him how they would send for another, one not of this world. He would know of this one’s coming when the Fire and Star walked together under the sky. Then, all that followed would culminate into what happened here.
When he sent Abula-Mazki to bring this mage to him, he wasn’t sure if this was indeed the one told of in the prophecy. But when his warrior priest was defeated and said the Fire walked with the Star, he knew. For Ozgirath, High Priest of Dmon-Li, the waiting has come to an end.
His yellow eyes pierce the dark as if it was day, but it is not with his eyes is he searching. Magic of the darkest sort flows through him as he hunts for the exact spot he requires. He hardly gives the dead, both stripped and otherwise, any consideration as he walks among them.
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br /> Then, his senses come across a slight vibration. Pausing for a moment, he searches for its source. Once the location is found, he moves again and walks to where the vibration resonates the strongest. This is the place, he tells the others mentally.
They come to a halt and wait. One comes whom he requires for what is to happen next. He sensed her approaching since he first came here. That which is driving her leads her directly to him and it isn’t long before she appears out of the dark and comes to stand before him.
A bedraggled woman with madness in her eyes, she doesn’t know why she’s here, simply that she must be. Haunted and driven by needs and desires since that fateful time in Willimet, Serenna gazes into the yellow eyes and trembles.
With a thought, Ozgirath has the two warrior priests take hold of the woman. A scream is ripped from her throat as her arms are taken. Despite her struggles, the grip of the two warrior priests is like iron. Incoherent gibberish issues forth from her as fear takes what little mind she has left.
The four priests of Dmon-Li move into a diamond formation around the source of the vibration. Once they are in position and have begun casting the required spells, Ozgirath removes a dagger from within his robe. The two warrior priests bring Serenna to the spot where the vibration is the strongest and hold her there.
Magic continues to build as the priests ready the area where James’ explosion ripped the fabric of this plane. Not a hole mind you, rather a weakening in the boundary between this plane and the rest. Such a weakening can be manipulated to create a temporary gateway between this plane and another. For a permanent one, it requires something a bit more.
He holds the dagger in his hand for a full minute before sensing that the critical point in the creation of the spells has been reached. Then with a deft move, he plunges the dagger within Serenna’s heart.
A soul wrenching cry and then she sags into lifelessness in the hands of the warrior priests. They lay her down on the ground, her blood aiding to weaken the barrier still further. But that alone was not why she was here. If that was all that was needed, he would have used those scavengers that were here earlier.
With her death, a dark spirit forms above her lifeless body. It has been waiting within her since that time in Willimet when she had used the globe to control her followers. When the globe was smashed, the spirit contained within took up residence inside of her. Yet again another part of his plan the mage unwittingly helped along.
It’s a spirit from the plane upon which Dmon-Li resides. Centuries past it was brought to this world and put within the globe like a genie in a bottle to await the time when it will be needed.
Floating upon an unfelt breeze, it hovers above her body at the center of the vibration. The resonance of the vibration begins to change as it works to warp the resonance to match that of the plane the spirit originated from. Once the two resonances synchronize, the four priests unleash a wave of power that intersects the spirit.
With the waves of power pouring into it, the spirit begins sinking into the ground. As it comes into contact with the ground, the ground itself begins to glow a deep dark purple. The purplish glow expands until the spirit is completely within the ground. Now twenty feet across, the glowing area comes to within inches of each of the four priests.
Ozgirath sends forth his senses yet again and finds that the barrier between this plane and Dmon-Li’s has been reduced to almost nothing. Satisfied, he then sends his senses up to the sky. It takes but a moment to find that which is required to punch through from this world to the other.
In seconds, it makes its appearance as it hits the atmosphere. A greenish ball of fire arcs through the sky on a trajectory to the purplish glowing area. It leaves a brilliant trail of bright green light across the sky as it hurtles toward the ground. In the blink of an eye, it strikes dead center to the glowing area.
The energy from the force of the impact is absorbed by the magic of the four priests. Taking the energy from his priests, Ozgirath opens the way.
Suddenly, from the purplish area a hand emerges. A mammoth hand which is followed by the rest of the creature and soon one of the monstrosities from the plane of Dmon-Li stands upon the sand next to Ozgirath.
As the next monstrosity makes its way to this world, several shadows pass through as well. Again and again more monstrosities pass through until six stand upon the sand, over a dozen shadows move about the area. With the number he requires, Ozgirath begins closing the way. Several more shadows slip through before he reaches the point where the void will close on its own.
At that point the magic from the priests stills, and the High Priest of Dmon-Li walks from the battlefield. Behind him come the two warrior priests, the four priests and the monstrosities summoned. Most of the shadows come with him but a few wander away into the desert.
Filled with a sense of triumph he returns to the portal which will take him and the others back to Ith-Zirul. When again the Shroud of Killian blinds the giant’s eye, his lord will come.
Far away in the desert, Zyrn stands in fear. The greenish star hurtling through the sky sent a premonition of impending doom through him. Others gather near him as they ponder the ramifications of such an omen. It doesn’t take them long to decide not to wait for the coming of dawn. As quickly as they can, they hitch up the horses to the wagons and hurry back to their village. All thoughts of returning to the battlefield for the rest of the booty are gone.
Chapter One
James stands on the battlements of Al-Ziron. Once the northern fortress of the Empire it now protects the southern border of Madoc. Stripped of all but a handful of men, it fell quickly when the forces of the Alliance led by Lord Pytherian arrived.
Illan’s Black Hawk banner whips in the wind atop the highest spire of the fort signifying that Black Hawk has taken up residence here in Al-Ziron at the request of Lord Pytherian. He now bears the title ‘Keeper of the Southern Reaches’, which effectively makes him a nobleman. Aside from the new title and the nobility it confers, he has been given large tracts of land in the surrounding countryside for his own. Most of the land he plans to divide among those Raiders who have been with him since the War of Barrowman’s Field.
Illan and the others arrived here shortly after the fort fell two days ago. Shortly after their arrival Lord Pytherian had asked Illan and his men to take over the southern defense. Madoc is woefully short of men and Black Hawk has the only sizeable force which could be spared for the duty.
James glances out over the battlements as he gazes at the long shadows stretching across the countryside with the approach of dusk. He’s still not feeling his normal self. The backlashes of power he experienced during the final moments of the battle with the mages have left him weak and achy. About the only magical thing he can do now is his orb. Also with the insistence of Jiron, he uses his mirror to hunt for Tinok but that has yielded nothing. Every time he’s tried, the mirror has remained blank.
After relating what transpired in his vision, Jiron has been most anxious to find his friend. Unfortunately all James has managed to determine is that Tinok lies somewhere to the south. How far or where exactly he couldn’t pin down due to the fact the only magical location spell that works is the cloth to point his whereabouts.
Within the walls of Al-Ziron the wounded have been brought, both those of Madoc as well as the Empire. Miko, along with Brother Willim and the two remaining members of the Hand, have been among the wounded and ministering what aid they can since they entered the gate of Al-Ziron. Other healers work with them, but they use practical methods rather than magic.
As far as the Empire soldiery still out in the field, here around Al-Ziron there are no forces of any size. To the east, with help from the Kirkens, the Empire has been thrown back to the previous border. To the west the battle still rages but it’s only a matter of time before the Empire is forced completely out of Madoc.
“You okay?” a woman’s voice asks.
Turning around, he finds Tersa walking toward him.
Shrugging, she gazes over the battlements to the west. With the last rays of the setting sun shining upon her face she says, “I just want to go home.”
He understands how she feels. However, the area between here and Kern is not safe. There are still roving bands of Empire forces on the move, not to mention one or two bands of mercenaries out looking for mischief. The southern route to Cardri is not safe at the moment.
The Merchant’s Pass, according to all reports, has yet to reopen and probably won’t until the hostilities further subside. So that leaves the northern route through Dragon’s Pass. The area due north of Al-Ziron is firmly in the hands of Madoc and once at the Sea they could turn west and make it to the Pass with relative safety.
“Has Jiron talked with you yet?” he asks.
She shakes her head in reply.
“He wants to go in search of Tinok badly,” he explains. “But his need for keeping you safe is more important to him.” He pauses as she turns to look at him. “So in the morning we’re going to ride north and escort you, Delia and anyone else who wishes to return home to Dragon’s Pass.”
“What about Tinok?” she asks. “This could take days or even weeks.” In her eyes is the fear that because of her, Tinok might die.
“Illan’s going to loan us spare horses,” he explains. “If we ride hard, we should make it there and back in just over a week.”
She looks at him skeptically. “That isn’t going to leave you much time,” she states.
“What good will Jiron be if we leave you here with Illan?” he asks. “His state of mind will be shot. Besides it’s not just you but Delia too. She’s a trader at heart, not a warrior. From what I understand she’s managed to get Devin and the others to be guards for her caravan when she returns.”