Maleela stalked up to him and slapped him hard across the right cheek. Her eyes fumed with anger. “You idiot! Do you have any idea what would have happened if they had caught you? Do you?”
Aurec rubbed some of the sting away. “Relax my love. You know I couldn’t risk leaving your safety to others. Not with so much at stake.”
“My father would have fed you to the wolves and turned his army loose on your kingdom.”
“I fear that is an inevitability, but your father is mad. His desires threaten to rip apart the northern kingdoms. I did what was necessary to save both our lands. War is coming and I’ll not sit by while your life hangs in the balance. I had to come and get you. I… I can’t imagine a world without you in my heart.”
The stiffness of her stance softened. Her deep blue eyes, the same as her father’s, glimmered with their own wetness. She rushed into his waiting arms and held on for dear life.
“Aurec, you shouldn’t risk yourself so foolishly,” she whispered through the tears. “Not even for me.”
He pulled her away just far enough to look down into her face, framed so beautifully by her wet hair. “You are my everything, Maleela. For you I would risk the gates of death itself.”
She hugged him like a woman who knew that she was about to lose everything. Their love remained hidden between their families. Initially endorsed by both fathers, it had become a cancer to both kingdoms. She’d long suspected Badron had used her to manipulate himself into a position to declare war. She’d even come to accept the fact that he never really loved her.
Aurec touched a fingertip softly to her lips and smiled. “Don’t worry about your father, not tonight. Tonight you are safe with us.”
“How did you know that is what I was thinking?”
“You think I don’t know you?” he teased. “The shelter will be finished soon. Try to get what sleep you can. We’ve a long way to go before we reach safety. I doubt even your father’s best trackers can find us in this weather.”
It stopped raining sometime during in the early hours just before dawn. The ground flooded easily during the storm, turning the surrounding countryside into a marsh. Aurec’s men slowly forced themselves up. Their bodies were sore from a combination of the forced ride and the weather. Their feet hurt. Wet boots and socks only made matters worse. The predawn chill dug down to the bone. Trying to start a fire was pointless. All the fuel was waterlogged. Aurec made the decision to strike camp.
Venten approached his prince wearing a haggard look. He laid out the small map and repressed a shiver. Gaunt and experienced, he rubbed his salt and pepper beard. “It is a two-day ride to the Murdes Mountains. If this weather holds Badron’s hunters will catch us.”
“Agreed,” Aurec nodded. “But this can be turned to an advantage. Once we cross these plains here the forests running the length of the foothills should give us enough cover. Badron won’t know which way we went. Most of the trails leading up into the mountains are hidden.”
“That’s assuming he doesn’t take the bait.”
“What bait?” Maleela asked with a yawn.
The murder of the house guards sat ill with her. Regardless of her situation, her loyalty still lay with her kingdom and her friends. Men she’d known for the better part of her nineteen years were dead because of her. Aurec tried to assure her that they’d only killed the men that gave them no choice. Regardless, she disapproved. She and Aurec were no co-conspirators in what could only lead to war.
Venten and Aurec exchanged a cautious glance. Secrets passed silently between them.
“We didn’t use any of our own weapons. Everything came from outside sources,” Venten answered carefully.
Her eyes narrowed sharply. “What sources?”
Venten deferred to his prince.
He exhaled sharply. “The Pell Darga, my love.”
Her heart twisted. “What! Do you have any idea they what will do to us all?”
Aurec held up his hands in mild defense. “Calm down, love. We had no choice. We couldn’t allow your father to make the connection with Rogscroft. Too much is at stake.”
“But the Pell Darga! They’re bloodthirsty savages. My father will waste no time in marshalling the Wolfsreik.”
Her face burned dark crimson. She felt betrayed. How could he lie to me like this? Doesn’t he understand what has been set in motion? Destructive visions filled her head as she closed her eyes tightly. Maleela struggled with conflicting feelings. She loved Aurec, but felt entirely helpless. He acted out of love’s best interests but sometimes that wasn’t right or enough. The Pell Darga and Wolfsreik would decimate one another in a senseless struggle. Her boundaries constricted even tighter.
“The Pell are not what you believe them to be,” Aurec whispered. “Our people have had dealings with them for generations. They are no more evil than you or I.”
“That won’t matter.”
Aurec gripped her by the shoulders. “Maleela you must understand that there are grave risks each of us must undertake if this is going to be successful. I’m sorry, but those men had to die and we had to make it look like the Pell Darga did it. Otherwise we never would have made it out of Chadra Keep. Badron will stop at nothing to take over the northern kingdoms. This was the only way. I can’t ask you to understand now, just that you will forgive me for what I had to do.”
Maleela relented, albeit reluctantly. She trusted Aurec enough to see them all to safety. Lingering doubts gnawed at the back of her thoughts as the band mounted up and prepared to ride. If her father was determined to attack what difference did it matter where the hammer fell? Every man, woman, and child in the north would soon be at risk but his biggest concern was how Maleela was going to react when she learned he had killed her brother.
FIVE
Death mocked the still air. Sulfuric fumes choked the stale air of the small chamber. Windowless, a single bed was the only decoration. Cobwebs clung to the shadows like secret lovers. Dust layered the cold, granite floor. Once a holy shrine to ancient gods now decayed without notice. Millennia of history slowly crumbled away for none living could remember the usefulness of the temple.
Artiss Gran strode heavily down the empty hall in deep thought. A fell dream had awakened him after nearly three thousand years of sleep. His weathered face bore no emotion, indeed little semblance to a human at all. Memories played havoc with his mind. Artiss was the last of his kind. Sworn protectors of all life on Malweir, he and his kind had stood watch against the perversions of the dark gods since time began. But now it was all gone; the gods, light and dark, his kin and friends. Artiss Gran lived a lonely life and prayed for the time when his services would no longer be required so that he might join all those who went before.
Yet such simple delights were not to be. The dark forces were rising again. It had been so long since Artiss was forced to defend the world he didn’t know if he was up to it anymore. He was old. Everything about him screamed it. The darkness swirled around him, threatened to creep in and consume his soul. It called to him, beckoned him to action. Fighting the urge wasn’t an option. His sole purpose was to stop the dark gods from returning to claim this world as their own. Three thousand years he had laid dormant, awaiting and dreading the day when he would be needed again. And now it was time.
He felt older, much older than his ten thousand years implied. His skin was stretched tightly over his thin frame, discolored and leathery. The marrow of his bones had long since dried to dust. His body was a shallow haunting of its former self. The dark grey cloak concealed what had become the ruin of his flesh. The gods didn’t care. They demanded service and he had no choice but to accept. Artiss failed to find fairness in it. Even the gods of light had abandoned Malweir and left the races to their own devices. They left Artiss with just enough to accomplish his purpose
“All these long years and now there is no time,” Artiss muttered to himself.
Ancient torches sprang to life as he passed, as if a whisper could command such. H
e was a man who only thought of others. In fact, the entire scope of his existence was dedicated to the preservation of life. A normal life had been denied him ever since he accepted the task of becoming a priest. His own life came to mean little. The moment he’d been selected for ascension to priesthood had been his happiest, his most complete. He eased his way into the plain marble chamber at the heart of the temple.
No one had stood here in his lifetime. The chamber of conveyance had one task, to show the keeper of secrets what evil threatened the world. Artiss already knew the answer. His awakening was no accident. The visions of mass despair rippling through his nightmares confirmed his darkest fears. The enemies of life had somehow found a way, a breach, back into the world and were quietly planning a new campaign.
Artiss moved to the center of the chamber. A series of tightening concentric circles crafted from the precious star silver metal had been inlaid when the world was young. They guided him to his proper place. The circles flared to life at his touch. Soon the chamber glowed bright silver, bathing him in its warmth. Artiss felt the raw power surging over him. His body shuddered as it accepted the newfound strength.
All of this had happened before. Malweir had almost been torn apart during the last war. Pain and suffering were visited on untold tens of thousands for hundreds of years. That’s when he became the last. The dark gods moved quickly and relentlessly against his kind. All of his brothers were killed in the efforts to send them back to the great abyss. Artiss finally won, but at a cost. He alone must remain to keep the dark gods in check. The dark gods nearly succeeded in escaping three thousand years ago and would have had it not been for a handful of Gaimosian Knights.
Artiss folded his arms across his chest as the circles of light and power opened paths into the ether. He stayed upon the chosen path, for the unknown is a terrifying thing. One misstep and he was lost. Fleeting images of fell creatures lurked just beyond reach. An ethereal breeze carried his essence into regions of time and space unknown to mortals. He traveled on the breath of time itself, ever hungering for the answers. The powers propelling him jerked suddenly, forcing Artiss to his knees. A collection of violent colors coalesced before him. This was it!
He fell, hitting the ancient floor and quickly rolled up to his knees. It had begun. The enemy was moving at last. Artiss felt sheer terror course through him, battling with the healing properties of the star silver. He hobbled over to the far wall where a map of the world hung. His eyes thoroughly scanned the combination of ancient and modern images. He never learned how, for the old masters had been killed before telling him the secrets, but the map was able to change itself. As Malweir changed so too did the map. The images Artiss Gran now looked upon had not been there three thousand years ago.
His eyes flittered over the map, desperately seeking the source. Then he found it. A tiny flame flickering far to the north; well beyond the Jebel Desert. Delranan. The doom of Malweir had begun in Delranan. Artiss tried to remember anything about the small northern kingdom but was unsuccessful. Delranan hadn’t yet existed when last he awoke. Artiss hurried off to the temple library in hopes of finding the missing elements necessary to properly defend Malweir. The alarm must be raised. He only prayed the old lines were still available.
*****
The sky remained dark, overcast and brutal as King Badron waited. He welcomed the chilled darkness for it complimented his mood. Hatred and sorrow clashed within his heart. They consumed the goodness and left a rotting shell of man bent on vengeance. It was a difficult thing to outlive his children. Now Badron was forced to embrace the torments of that fact. He prided himself on being a hard man, a strong man. That pride was often enough his closest ally. He’d seen victory on numerous battlefields yet was now humbled by a single death.
He loved his son more than any member of his family. The boy showed much potential and was being groomed for a leadership position in the Wolfsreik. The kingdom’s army was a fine place to hone the skills of command. None of it mattered now. His son’s broken body lay lifeless on a cold stone slab. Badron stifled back the tears even as his mind wandered back to the various conspiracy theories already suggested. He knew he shouldn’t. This was a day for mourning, not plotting.
Daggers stabbed at him when he closed his eyes. Visions of torment mocked him. His son riddled with so many spears. The look of abject terror on his face. He reopened his eyes and stared down upon Delranan. Chadra Keep sprawled beneath. The old king’s shoulders slumped. Once he had enjoyed this view, now it suggested the decay of his rule. Color was gone, replaced by shades of winter grey. The world had grown cruel on him. A bell tolled deep from somewhere in the city below. He sighed and turned.
Harnin One Eye patiently awaited him.
“Well?” Badron asked.
“We’ve had trackers scour every avenue of approach to the Keep. They determined the enemy was able to move through the eastern forest. There were a large number of tracks just outside the walls.”
Badron nodded thoughtfully. That part made sense. The forest was the most vulnerable side of the Keep. He silently cursed himself for not cutting it down years ago. “So they used the cover of darkness to get close. How did they get inside though? There are no entrances on that part of the Keep.”
“We are still trying to figure that out, sire. More importantly, I have come to believe that the attackers were not Pell Darga.”
Badron’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
Harnin cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the hatred in his king’s eyes. “The Pell are a mountain folk. As such, they have need of a sure-footed pony, not horses bred for the open steppe. No one has seen one in a lifetime, making most doubt their existence. Not even our patrols have come across any signs in the last few years. What then would be their reasoning for driving down from their distant mountain kingdom to kidnap your daughter? It doesn’t make sense.”
The senior captain and advisor chose his words carefully, partly because he wasn’t sure how Badron would react and partly because he recognized the frailty of this time. All of Delranan held its breath. War was nearing, but against whom? Harnin hid his smile as Badron asked just that.
“Who then has a vested interest in seeing my house in ruins?”
“My lord, Malweir is an ever-dangerous world. I’ve heard rumors of a civil war between the Dwarf clans to the east. Strange companies of Elves and Goblins have been seen wandering through the land. Some even whisper of the return of the fabled Gaimosian Knights.”
Badron shook his head. He’d heard the fairy tales as well and refused to mire his thoughts in such. “For all that you name I can find no true enemy.”
“That leaves Rogscroft.”
The word stung, hanging in the air like a miasma of doom.
Badron sneered. “They couldn’t possibly know what our plans are.”
Harnin shrugged. “Perhaps not, but Prince Aurec is your daughter’s lover whether you choose to accept it or not. There is a chance he might have succumbed to an act of grave stupidity.”
“Or at the insistence of his father,” the king finished. He smashed a fist into his palm. He regretted not invading his hated foe those many years ago. “Aurec is no fool, neither is his father. They are brash but not foolish enough to risk reprisal.”
“Rogscroft will deny everything, naturally. Not that it matters much, all tracks lead back to the east. This is our chance to finally blame them. It also gives us the perfect opportunity to go to war.”
The prospect of no more subversion enticed Badron. “The Wolfsreik is already marshalling, but it will take time, as you pointed out, for them to actually muster the strength to march. I do not want to tip our hand to our enemies. Continue to use the Pell as an excuse. Keep our people and his spies in the dark for as long as we can and the advantage is ours. Let us catch them unaware.”
The bell tolled again, deep and ominous.
“It is time, sire,” Harnin grimly announced.
“Then come, let us bury my son.
”
Somber crowds lined the main avenue from the Keep down to the shore. Most of Delranan showed to pay their respects to their prince. Mothers wept openly, for him and for all of the sons who lost their lives that fell night. Fur-cloaked soldiers lined the way at specific intervals. They served as much for crowd control as for respect. Their steel helmets gleamed in the sporadic light. Spear and sword did the same. Each bore the same dour expression, as if a piece of them had been torn away. Brothers had been murdered. The guards remained perfectly still, only moving their eyes to follow the procession as it inched out from the massive gates of Chadra Keep.
King Badron led them. His robes were stately. The wolf skin cloak clasped about his shoulders shimmered in shades of black and grey. The kingdom’s crown, which he seldom found cause to wear, was bejeweled and heavy upon his head. A ruby the size of baby’s fist sat in the center. The king of Delranan presented the image of a hard man. His eyes, posture, the measure of his gait were all determined. Such was he always seen by his subjects for to do otherwise would invite insurrection. His face was a mask that concealed more emotion than any could have guessed. Anguish clashed with dispassion and the building thirst for revenge.
His captains and battle lords marched in step behind him. They had become the life’s blood of Delranan now that his only male heir was slain. Harnin One Eye led them. Sorrow was evident on his visage, but there was more. Those who dared to look too close could see lust for power beneath all of the scars. Whether that lust was focused on the throne or something much greater remained hidden.
Hammers in the Wind Page 4
