Sprig danced across the slippery rocks of the fjord. Tarader slowly turned toward the southern riverbank. The Ulrog priest swayed as it cocked its weapon back. The onyx blade swept forward as the Sprite came within two yards of the Ulrog.
Gnarok roared at the tiny Elf. The Seraph used children against the mighty Gnarok. Rage filled his conceited mind. The lead priest would cleave this Elf in two, then turn and finish the Seraph. Gnarok lunged forward sweeping the blade low across the churning Frizgard.
Sprig drew the rimshar to his lips and closed upon the Ulrog. The beast was heavily poisoned, but its movements were surprisingly quick. The blade hummed across the face of the river. Sprig leapt into the air, nearly slamming into the beast’s upper body.
Not a child, thought Gnarok. Not even an Elf, but something different, unknown to his masters. Gnarok was shocked to see the creature leap directly at his face. It raised a twig to its lips. The priest heard the odd popping noise once more.
Ader turned his stallion toward the southern bank. It was up to Sprig now. The Seraph was drained
Gnarok’s mind screamed in alarm. The priest’s vision left him and he was overcome with blindness. Searing, burning pain enveloped every fiber of Gnarok’s body. The poison coursed through his system. The Ulrog priest reeled and fell forward into the Frizgard. His last thought was the fascination he felt with his own death. He was brought into this world by the burning, pain filled claws of the Malveel, and his death felt shockingly similar.
Sprig landed a half stride from the rear of Tarader and with his next leap, he sat upon the giant stallion directly behind Ader. The massive horse immediately charged South into the few Ulrog barring its exit from the riverbed. The Hackle’s confusion over the Sprite’s appearance and the death of their leader made them react slowly. Before the Hackles were able to raise their weapons, Tarader bowled through their weak line and charged from the crossing.
Hnarg watched in horror as his prize burst past the Hackles on the southern bank. He looked about. Gnarok lay motionless in the shallow rapids, a second, brightly colored dart jutting from the High Priest’s right eye. Hnarg was certain of his commander’s death. The packs aligned along this stretch of the Scythtar were now Hnarg’s to command.
However, the priest was all too familiar with Malveel logic. If the Seraph were to escape, someone would be blamed. The logical choice was Gnarok, but with the ranking priest’s death also came his absolution in the eyes of the Malveel. The snarling beast’s of Amird only chose the living as targets of blame because the living could be punished. How could you motivate the Hackles if they could not hear the screams of those blamed for failure?
The Seraph must be captured. Hnarg would abandon his position along the Scythtar. His Malveel lords would certainly tear him limb from limb for such disobedience. However, if he presented them the head of the Seraph first....
“Follow the Seraph!” snarled the priest to his Hackles. “Kill him for the glory of Amird!”
The remaining Ulrog roared in acknowledgment of their orders, lumbered across the Frizgard and crashed into the woods.
CHAPTER 23: TRACKERS
Kael’s mare flickered and stomped on the grassy plain. She was restless, and so was her rider. The plan called for the pair to halt one hundred yards from the nearest tree line. Now Eidyn and Kael sat staring through the darkness toward a stand of swaying river birch. The white trunks appeared illuminated from within as the moonlight caught their papery bark.
Kael heard the faint snapping of branches. He tensed. The moonlight fell on the form of Tarader as the huge gray stallion, glowing like the river birch, burst from the tree line. Kael sighed in relief. Ader was alive. The Seraph sat upon the stallion, laying forward, limp from exhaustion.
Horse and rider trotted through the knee high grass. The head of Sprig popped over the shoulder of the Seraph. Alarm crisscrossed the Sprite’s face. Kael called out, but was cut off by a crash from the stand of birch.
Several large Ulrog staggered forward. Branches snapped and the sharp noise mixed with the loud growls of the pack. The Ulrog took a moment to register their whereabouts, then immediately tromped forward in pursuit of the white stallion.
“We must ride.” came the weak voice of Ader. “We enjoy an advantage in speed, but even Tarader must eventually rest. These Ulrog can run for days and will be able to track us on any terrain.”
“Will they follow us that long?!” asked Eidyn incredulously.
“Their leader is motivated.” said Ader grimly. “Having followed us this far seals his fate with his masters. He has no alternative.”
Eidyn maneuvered his stallion between the Ulrog and Ader. The Elf unslung his bow and turned to Kael.
“Go with Lord Ader.” demanded Eidyn. “ I will make them think twice about approaching an Elf on the run.”
“Do not tarry too long.” returned Ader.
The gray stallion reared then sped off across the plain. Kael’s mare immediately followed. After twenty long strides the boy looked back. Eidyn sat on the back of his mount, longbow in his hands. The Elf prince methodically drew an arrow back and released it into the midst of the shuffling Ulrog. The creatures stopped and hurled spear and rock at the rider. Eidyn released another arrow into the Ulrog ranks. A Hackle clutched its middle where a long, thin arrow shaft stuck from the beast.
Kael spun the mare East and headed after the fading image of Tarader.
Granu sat, eyes closed, patiently listening to the sound of the rushing Frizgard river. The crash of tree branches and the howls of the Hackles faded long ago. The packs must be a league away by now. Granu, however, had battled the creatures for years. They were completely unpredictable. One moment they pursued attackers at a relentless pace, the other found their superior force turning on its heels and fleeing back into the mountains. The giant took a depth breath then his eyes sprang open.
“We move!” barked the Keltaran.
He rose in a rapid, fluid motion and stepped from his hiding place along the southern bank of the Frizgard.
“Straight across the fjord, then onto the Eastern slope of the gorge that runs North.” stated the giant looking back to Cefiz and Vieri. “Stop for nothing. Climb directly up the slope into the stunted growth along its rim. The Ulrog are notoriously lazy. They stick to their well established paths in the mountains. There will be no Ulrog atop that strenuous climb.”
With that, the Keltaran began a purposeful, confident stride into the middle of the Frizgard’s crossing. The moon spilled light across the glistening face of the churning mountain river. Cefiz drew in a deep breath and obediently followed. Vieri bit her lip and quickly looked about the fjord. Dead Ulrog lay everywhere. The Windrider splashed into the river behind the men. The giant moved quickly, ignoring the remains of the battle and charging toward the northern bank.
Vieri wished a cloud or two would pass across the face of the gleaming moon to cover the trio’s movements. If she were in charge, she would wait for such an instance. However, she was not, and she made a vow to accompany in the rescue of the girl.
Vieri felt doubt. Should she have made such a promise? Her duty lie with her people. Rada needed to be warned about the Counselor’s deception. But as she looked forward and spied Cefiz struggling across the slippery rocks of the shallow Frizgard, Vieri’s momentary uncertainty melted. She sprang forward and ran to the aid of the wounded Zodrian.
“The trees will hide us.” hissed Granu over his shoulder. “Quickly.”
Gray skin and flowing black hair. The Seraph must have Elven archers with him. The cursed Elves had come to the aid of the North before. Always when the times were most desperate for the Zodrians did the Elves creep from their sacred wood in the South. Hnarg jumped behind the trunk of the white tree as a black fletched arrow slammed into the wood with a loud thunk.
Hnarg was no fool. He didn’t see the enemy as Gnarok had. Gnarok believed his power need be displayed at all times. Overpower Ulrog and enemy alike. Stand front and center
and whip the Hackles into a frenzy. Hnarg laughed to himself. Standing front and center only made you a better target for the stray crossbow bolt. Hnarg learned one important lesson from his Malveel masters that Gnarok did not. Force the Hackles into action and save yourself for the important tasks.
The priest of Amird scanned the tree line. Many of his Hackles hesitated within the wood, shielding themselves from the Elven archer. Hnarg’s lips curled into a wicked snarl. Red flame sprang about his fingertips. He turned to the nearest Hackle and unleashed a torrent of flame onto its exposed back. The Hackle howled in agony and all eyes turned in the direction of the cry. Hnarg raised his flaming hands and glared at his servants.
“Vin trok Almu!” bellowed the priest. “VIN TROK Seraph!”
Hnarg’s victim fell to the ground squirming in pain as the flames engulfed its body. The remaining Hackles turned and charged onto the grassy plain to obey their superior’s orders. Kill the Elves. Kill the Seraph.
Eidyn began to run out of arrows. The Ulrog that burst onto the plain hesitated in confusion. Many dropped into the grasses. Their brethren hung within the tree line, unwilling to face the Elven prince’s deadly assault. Eidyn’s plan worked. If the Ulrog chose to follow Ader, Eidyn bought the Seraph valuable time in the race ahead. If the Ulrog chose to break off their pursuit and return to their post, the Elf kept them engaged long enough to allow Granu, Cefiz and the Windrider time to cross the Frizgard.
Flame erupted within the stand of river birch. Shouts arose from the Ulrog. Immediately, several dozen Hackles crashed through the trees and shambled toward Eidyn and his stallion. The Elven prince drew the last arrow back and confidently focused on the lead runner. Always remove the most motivated enemy, thought Eidyn, for he unwittingly drives the passions of his brethren. The arrow snapped forward puncturing the night air. The lead runner caught the powerful force of the speeding arrow in mid stride. The Ulrog was thrown to the ground and let out a roar of pain. Eidyn nodded in self approval as he slung the longbow across his back and turned his mount in the direction Ader fled. A hate filled cry caused the Elf to spin back to the tree line. The lead Ulrog runner appeared from beneath the grasses. Eidyn spied the arrow shaft protruding from a rock encrusted spot on the beast’s chest. The Ulrog bellowed the name of Amird and tore the arrow from its body. The Hackles close by growled their approval and the pack sprinted forward. Eidyn clenched his teeth and lay his heels into the flanks of his stallion.
Hnarg stood in the grove of trees and smiled. Now his Hackles were properly motivated. The priest of Amird strode past the heaving form of the servant he burned and walked into the high grasses of the Zodrian plain. His underlings would not catch the Seraph this evening, but the old man was wasted. Horse and rider must rest. Hnarg would see to it that his Hackles did not. Eventually they would run down the old one, and Hnarg would rise in the ranks of the Ulrog priests. Hnarg broke into a run in the direction the Elf had fled.
Vieri danced across the slick, rounded boulders of the Frizgard. She caught Cefiz under the arm just as the Zodrian stumbled on a particularly difficult patch in the crossing. The Zodrian smiled and looked into Vieri’s eyes. The pair paused mid river.
“Thank you.” murmured Cefiz.
Vieri smiled back and nodded.
“We must make haste.” she whispered.
Cefiz set his jaw and returned the nod. The pair picked their way from boulder to boulder over the rushing water. Granu trudged ahead, never turning. The Keltaran had a task and he was determined.
Granu stepped onto the northern bank and forged into the pines ahead. The woods filled a deep narrow gorge cut into the side of the mountain range by a series of small falls cascading from the heights above and feeding the Frizgard. Granu followed the falls until he traveled well within the tree line, then abruptly turned to the Eastern slope and charged straight up. Vieri and Cefiz followed as best they could. The Keltaran was familiar with such hikes, expertly choosing secure footing and sturdy branches to aid him in his climb. Vieri noted the giant’s pathway and tried to match it. At times Granu’s massive stride made it difficult to mimic his path, but the Windrider and her charge managed not to lose too much ground.
Vieri looked to Cefiz as he struggled over a vertical outcropping of granite. The Guardsman sweated profusely. His face purpled on the areas battered by the Frizgard’s rapids. This climb came too soon. Vieri feared the damage combined with the stress would be too much for the Zodrian. Cefiz lurched forward, gagging. His body racked with a spasm of coughing. When the Zodrian caught his breath, he looked to Vieri. Blood surrounded his mouth and covered the sleeve of his tunic.
“Rest a moment.” said Vieri softly, moving in to help support his weight.
“No rest.” growled Granu from above. “Rest means discovery, and discovery means death.”
The giant spun back toward the steep slope and moved ahead. Cefiz smiled at Vieri and shrugged his shoulders. The Windrider scowled and moved up the slope. She pressed hard to keep up with the Keltaran. Her eyes stayed low concentrating on her footing. Suddenly, she saw an outstretched hand. Vieri looked up to see the Keltaran standing upon a ridge line that extended north toward the summits of the mountain range. She grabbed the giant’s hand and he pulled her to the top. Vieri turned and held her hand out to Cefiz. The Zodrian appeared pale and his chest heaved from the exertion of the climb, but he smiled at the Windrider and took her hand.
“We will use the ridge line to climb toward the spine of this range.” stated Granu. “The daughter of Sprite was dragged up to this ridge by a pack of Ulrog. The signs are everywhere. This pack and their leader are concerned about speed, otherwise they might have taken an easier, slower route.”
Vieri had been mindful of the signs in the path and agreed. The outline of heavy Ulrog tracks were stamped into the rocky soil of the slope. The tracks were recent and Vieri suspected Granu saw more in the tracks than she.
“Once the Hackles reach solid footing how do you intend to track them, Keltaran?” questioned Vieri.
“As a babe my mother cradled me in harder stone than this.” smiled Granu. “All footsteps leave their mark, even on solid granite. I will see the Ulrog’s path.”
“But what if the pack moves down the Northern face into the Scythtar wastes?” began Cefiz. “How can we possibly follow if they move into throngs of Ulrog?”
“They will not.” replied Granu. “This pack has its orders. They will attempt to carry them out as quickly as possible. Ulrog are not bright, but that is to Izgra’s advantage. It makes the beasts single-minded in purpose. They do not wish to be distracted or hampered by their brethren below, so they will stay on the heights. Here they can travel swiftly and directly to Kel Izgra. This will work to our advantage. We will use the spine to travel undetected through the Ulrog’s land. The Ulrog are lazy and seldom use the heights when traveling their own territory. The air is thin and the travel difficult, but we will endure if our path avoids confrontation.”
“What of passes and breaks in the range?” coughed Cefiz. “How will we navigate such terrain?”
“On occasion we will be forced to descend from the mountaintops.” stated Granu. “Hopefully we pass undetected.”
Vieri looked to the towering granite faces of the Scythtar. Once again she questioned her sanity. Why was she here? The Elven girl was immaterial to the struggle of her people. True, it was Vieri’s manipulation that resulted in the Elf girl’s capture, but that was easily explained as a casualty of circumstances. Cefiz burst into a fit of coughing. Granu’s brow furrowed.
“Strain against those outbursts, Zodrian.” stated Granu. “Sound bounces through these canyons for leagues. We must put distance between ourselves and the crossing. The packs pursuing Ader may soon tire of their chase.”
Granu turned and moved up the ridge toward the mountain’s summit. Cefiz wiped fresh blood from his lips and trudged behind. Vieri looked through the screen of pine trees to the twinkling surface of the Frizgard sliding over th
e crossing far below. It was difficult from this height to assess which gray lumps dotting the shiny surface were boulders and which were the bodies of Ulrog Hackles.
Vieri turned to face the ridge line and once more felt stunned that she surrendered her will to this Keltaran and his mad quest through the Scythtar. She struggled up the slope drawn forward by her own quest. She would not return to her people until she earned redemption in Cefiz’s eyes by righting the wrongs she committed. Vieri sighed and obediently followed the giant toward the heights.
Two hours passed from Vieri’s last look upon the Frizgard to the time when Woil the Lamentation crept into the chilly waters at the crossing. The Malveel studied the scene before him. Hackles lay motionless throughout the riverbed. At least a dozen were burnt or shot by arrow. None remained alive to give the Malveel lord the information he so desperately desired. Useless scum, thought Woil.
The Malveel barked an order. Several of his Hackles loped into the rapids and searched the bodies. Within moments, one of his Hackles called out and rolled over a large Ulrog near mid river. Immediately Woil noted the robes of a priest of Amird. The priest was quite large, thought Woil. It must be Gnarok. The ranking priest had been left in charge of this group of packs.
Woil slowly crept toward the figure lying mid river. The Hackle who discovered the body lowered its head and quickly backed a few feet away. Woil’s leathery wings shifted across his scaly body as he studied the dead priest.
“Gnarok.” hissed Woil, his eyes narrowing. “What did you get yourself into? The burns of Seraph fire .....and something has.... poisoned you. You did find a little trouble along the Frizgard did you not, priest?”
Two of the Malveel lord’s razor tipped claws stretched out and with surprising delicacy, plucked Sprig’s dart from the eye of the dead priest. The Malveel inspected the dart carefully.
The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2) Page 31
