Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron)

by Woods, Timothy

  Hearing Branik roar reminded Reek that his brother was still in danger. Both he and Michael turned just as Branik landed a vicious, spinning, backhanded slice to the other Garolith’s torso.

  The beast screamed in pain as its body was completely severed just below its robe.

  As it toppled over, Branik leaped over its thrashing tail and decapitated it. Reek could see the glowing red eyes dim as the skull came to rest a dozen feet away. As he looked once again to Branik, he saw him standing over the headless body regarding the swords in his hands.

  Both blades cast a faint red glow that pulsed a few times then started to gleam a brilliant white. When the light touched the corpse of the Garolith, the body began to disintegrate. When there was nothing left, the swords returned to their bone white color.

  The Oakkrin were correct. The swords they had given to Branik proved to be highly effective against the Garolith. In less than the span of a single heartbeat, Branik had felled the hulking beast with two lightning strikes.

  Michael found himself marveling at the technique Branik displayed in those two swings. Having been learning from the Avari, he could now truly appreciate what it was he was seeing.

  Branik slid his foot through the grass where the Garolith had been, but there was no trace left. He looked for the other Garolith only to see it laying on its belly in front of Michael. He walked over and gave Michael a questioning look.

  “It is under my command now,” Michael explained as he cast a quick glance to make sure the Garolith was still where he had told it to stay.

  Branik walked over to the prostrate creature and stared down at it. Michael saw him cock his head as if listening to something; and then faster than he could react, Branik drew his sword and severed the Garolith’s head.

  “Branik!” Michael yelled.

  As Branik turned to face him and Reek, they saw the swords pulse red then turn a brilliant white once again; but what made them both catch their breath was that Branik’s eyes where shining white like the blade. As the blade’s light faded, so, too, did the light coming from Branik’s eyes. He sheathed his sword and faced Michael and Reek.

  “These two caused the death of three Avari and one of the students. They are not to be trifled with nor are they to be shown mercy,” Branik stated.

  “But it was under my control. It was no longer a threat.”

  “And what would happen if you lost control or were killed? It would then be a danger again to everyone around it. This was the only sensible course of action.”

  Knowing he had no argument against that statement, Michael cleared his throat. “We should check on the others and get back to The Slot.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Mortow couldn’t help but feel a little excited. All he had worked for over the past ten years was about to be realized. In a few short hours, the conflict would be over and he could concentrate on the truly important matter of enforcing peace, a real peace this time. No more standing by and litigating matters that had no significance. No more watching as the world’s races warred without resolution. He had come to the realization, long ago, that peace could only be achieved by force. Wars never ended in peace. They only sated hostility for a time while anger and resentment continued to build and grow.

  It was ironic that he had started a war when that was what he was trying to abolish; but sometimes your enemy’s enemy was your greatest ally. Instead of isolated skirmishes, he had provoked a battle on a global scale involving all the races. It would reduce populations, making them easier to police. It would destroy towns and villages forcing those affected to focus their efforts on rebuilding instead of fighting. Most importantly of all, it would show the races that they needed one another. That aspect was already working. At his destination, the humans, dwarves, elves and even ogres had banded together. Only in times of great crisis are differences put aside in common interest.

  All it needed now was direction and the firm hand of one with enough power to keep things in line. This generation and the next would hate him. They would curse him for a killer and a tyrant. That did not matter. All that mattered was that those who came after had a better place to be born into and grow up in; a place where peace was the rule and war an aberration. Mortow could live with being hated. He held no illusions that he would ever be thanked for what he was doing. Too many had died by his command and many more would follow suit before it was over. Let history be his judge in the years to come.

  Mortow was brought out of his contemplation by the sound of someone calling his name. He looked to his right and saw Megan looking at him questioningly.

  Seeing Mortow focus on her, Megan was unsure if he was angry with her for interrupting his thoughts. “Hagan tried to tell you that we are nearing The Slot, but he was reluctant to intrude upon your concentration,” Megan informed him, casting her eyes down.

  “I was merely reviewing my plan,” Mortow said, then looked to the left to see Hagan walking beside him. Mortow shifted in his saddle and nodded to the troll.

  “Magika, the scouts report we are drawing near the outer perimeter of the enemy's scouts,” Hagan reported.

  “Very well. Has Maklin returned yet?”

  “No Magika.”

  Mortow nodded dismissing Hagan and turned to Megan.

  “I have not seen him either, Master.”

  “He should have returned by now,” Mortow rumbled with a displeased frown.

  “Perhaps he was not equal to the task you set him,” Megan replied with a slight smile and a shrug of her small shoulders.

  Mortow’s scowl deepened at her attempt to belittle Maklin. “Or perhaps he has been shot in the back with an elvish arrow.” Mortow was satisfied when he saw Megan flush and avert her face at the reminder of her own failure. For all her beauty she was as vicious as a cornered swiftclaw and nearly as dangerous. He was about to say something else when a robed figure materialized next to him. The figure pulled back its hood, and he saw Mieka standing beside him.

  “Where have you been?” Mortow rumbled.

  “I directed the Garoliths to the Avari Lord as you requested,” Mieka replied.

  “And?” Mortow demanded.

  “Since I could do nothing to aid them, I gave them direction and left. I returned to Gratton and scryed upon them. It would seem you have two less Garoliths now. The Avari Lord killed both of them,” Mieka said with a slight hint of admiration in her voice.

  “That is not possible,” Mortow said incredulously.

  “Possible or not, he did it; and he accomplished it with nothing more than his bare hands. Master, there is something more that you should know. The Avari Lord is not human,” Mieka said with a small shudder.

  “What do you mean by ‘not human’? I know he is ancient but…”

  “As I was watching, his eyes began to glow just as the Garoliths do, and his teeth extended into fangs. Master, he tore the Garoliths apart with his bare hands,” Mieka explained still unable to believe what she had witnessed.

  “It is as I thought. Then why did the talisman not work?” Mortow said musing out loud.

  “Talisman, Master?” Mieka asked.

  “It is unimportant. Obviously, the texts I read on the subject were mistaken. Now that you have returned, I have a task for you. Go to the other end of The Slot and see why Maklin has not returned. He was to lead a large force of trolls against King Brose’s rear guard and then hold his position. I expected him to return by now.”

  “Yes, Master,” Mieka replied, and teleported away.

  Mortow scanned behind him, searching for the Garolith he knew was there. He saw the creature rise up as his eyes passed over it. He motioned it forward. “It is time to begin. Are the others in place?”

  “They have been for some time, Nine Key. They only await your command. Shall I relay it to them?”

  “No. I do not want them to move until everything is in place. Tell them when the line is breached, they are to attack. Mael and Merric are their targets. Once they are dead, al
l of you are to kill Michael.”

  The Garolith cocked its head and hissed loudly. “Light blades! Light blades slay!”

  “What are you blathering about?” Mortow demanded.

  “The two sent to Kantwell have been slain. Light blades in the hands of the Avari. Light blades slay!” The Garolith shrieked.

  “What are Light blades?” Mortow rumbled angrily.

  “Light blades forged to slay us. Myrkron magic, ancient and powerful.”

  “Myrkron magic? What is Myrkron magic?” Mortow roared in frustration.

  “Powerful magic, ancient and beyond your comprehension, Nine Key. Wizards cannot know the power of the Myrkron, but we know. We know and we fear,” the Garolith said.

  Mortow could have sworn he actually saw the monster shudder. These creatures feared nothing, not even him; and he could kill them any time he chose. “Just follow the plan and do as I command!” Whatever this Myrkron magic was, the Garoliths feared it more than him. That could be trouble.

  The Garolith reluctantly bowed its head and slithered forward like a snake striking from its coil. Both his and Megan’s horses reared in fear. Mortow swore loudly at his horse and then felt the animal yanked down. Hagan had reached up, grabbed its bridle, and held the horse's head down while he stroked its neck. The horse shivered and its eyes rolled.

  Mortow slid off the horse and slapped a hand to its flank. “Alcedonia,” he rumbled. Instantly, the horse calmed. Mortow looked over to see Megan dusting herself off and her horse galloping away.

  “Flee bitten beast threw me off!” Megan said indignantly.

  Mortow motioned for Hagan to take the horse. “We no longer require them anyway. It is time for me to begin,” Mortow replied, gazing up at the starry moonlit sky. He closed his eyes and called out, “Atrum nox noctis.”

  Megan followed his gaze and watched, enthralled, as slowly, but with gathering speed, large clouds began to form in the night sky. They seemed to coalesce directly above her and spread rapidly out in all directions. Within the span of a few heartbeats, the night became as black as any she had ever witnessed. Once again she marveled at the power wielded by this man. Any sixth key could create a cloud, but to obscure the entire sky as far as the eye could see was a feat only the very powerful could accomplish. Megan’s attention was caught by a thrumming sound. She cocked her head, listening, and, as the sound grew louder, she realized what it was. The army was chanting a single word over and over, Magika.

  Mieka transported herself to the other end of The Slot, a discreet distance away, in case the fighting was still underway. Hearing only silence, she moved a little closer. There were no signs of a battle, and she could see human warriors standing guard. There was no sign of Maklin or the trolls Mortow had said would be here. Knowing West Gate was to the north and the desert was to her back, she knew Mortow would have hidden his troops to the south. She transported herself a short distance in that direction.

  When Mieka looked around she felt her stomach lurch and became violently sick. She closed her eyes to block out the sight and took several deep breaths. She realized that was a mistake as the smell nearly made her vomit again. Once she had her stomach under control, she pulled a small glass orb, the size of a large marble, from her pocket, and set it to floating just above her right shoulder.

  “Lumen,” she spoke softly, and it began to glow with a light blue radiance. She kept the light dim so it wouldn’t be visible from a distance. As her eyes adjusted she covered her mouth with her hand and willed her stomach to behave. All around her were dead trolls or parts of them anyway. She was standing in the middle of an open-air slaughter house. Not a single body in sight was intact. All had been ripped apart. The ground was soaked with blood and strewn with entrails.

  Mieka levitated herself off the ground to keep from having to walk through the gore. She began to look for clues as to what had happened. When she reached the northern end of the carnage, she caught site of a figure unlike the others. This one was intact and, with a chill, she realized it was wearing a robe. Mieka telepathically turned the twisted body over and retched again as she saw the gaping wound in Maklin’s neck. But, what was worse was the look of absolute terror on his face.

  Mieka had seen enough and she quickly spoke the words of transport taking her back to Mortow. She opened her eyes and drew a deep breath. Even the smell of the marsh was a welcome relief after the stench of all that death.

  “Well?” Mortow prompted in his low rumbling voice.

  Mieka drew a few more deep breaths while she tried to clear her head. “Maklin is dead as are a great number of trolls.”

  Mortow swore under his breath. “So King Brose’s knights were able to defeat them. Perhaps I underestimated his abilities.”

  “I don’t know what killed Maklin and all those trolls, but it certainly wasn’t King Brose’s men. It looked more like some great beast tore through them, ripping them apart as it went,” Mieka recounted with a faraway look in her eyes.

  “Dragon,” Mortow stated flatly.

  “It could have been, I suppose.”

  “So it is my father that I seem to have underestimated.” Seeing Mieka’s questioning expression, Mortow continued. “When last we camped, we were attacked by dragons. They came at us and torched the heart of the army then fled toward The Slot. Merric appears to have tamed a couple of wurms and is using them to great advantage.”

  “I didn’t think it was possible to tame wurms, and I never heard Merric express any interest in them. Maybe Michael is behind this somehow instead of uncle Merric.”

  “You think too much about that boy,” Mortow growled. “He lacks the knowledge and experience to pull off such a feat. No. It had to be Merric. Best ready yourself; we are almost there.” Mortow touched his index and middle fingers to Mieka’s eyelids. “Ostendo sum lux lucis.”

  Instantly the darkness around her opened up and she could see as if it were a heavily overcast day. “Nice spell,” Mieka said in awe.

  Mortow shot her a half smile then turned, looking for Hagan. The troll was just returning from taking care of Mortow’s horse. “Hagan, go and tell the captains to begin.”

  Hagan grinned fiercely. “Yes, Magika.” He took off at a dead run to relay the orders.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  After a quick stop in his room, Michael tried to find Mael. No one had seen him since before the Garoliths had shown up. He was running out of time and couldn’t waste any more with his search. “We will have to return without him,” Michael told Branik and Reek as they stood in the great hall. Michael removed his swords and handed them to Reek, along with his dagger and sword belt. “Please remove the sheaths from my belt,” He instructed Reek as he pulled his purple robe on over his clothes. He threaded his golden sash through the leather thongs on the sheaths and tied it around his waist. He was afraid of destroying the artifacts entrusted to him, but Mardak’s reaction to him being a Myrkron had given Michael an idea.

  “You will find it hard to move as you should, in such attire,” Branik informed him.

  “If I am correct, that will not be an issue. If not, I have the two of you,” Michael said smiling. “Now, let’s get going.” Michael was just beginning to speak the words of transport when he heard his name called from up above.

  “I hear you are looking for me,” Mael said peering over the fourth floor railing.

  “Aye, Merric wanted me to bring you back…” Michael stopped as Mael was suddenly standing in front of him. “…with me,” Michael finished.

  Both Reek and Branik had turned and moved closer, interposing themselves between Mael and Michael.

  “You have no need to fear me doing harm to your charge, gentlemen,” Mael said smoothing the front of his blue robe.

  “No one knows where you truly stand, Mael. The stigma of traitor is not something easily dismissed,” Michael replied.

  “I have only betrayed Mortow. I would think that would be more than enough to make us allies.”

  “Une
asy allies at best.”

  “We all have to start somewhere, and this is my beginning with you. Whatever you have heard or think you know about me, I am a man of my word. I give you my word that I have no designs against Kantwell or her inhabitants. I will even go so far as to swear service to you for a period of one year.”

  “Why would you want to serve me?” Michael asked perplexed.

  “Anyone who can hold his own against a wizard of Mortow’s power is someone from whom I want to learn.”

  “I cannot teach you anything, Mael. My powers are not like a wizard’s.”

  “Then you have nothing to lose and everything to gain, but I think you have more to teach than any other nine key.”

  “You do not understand. I am no longer a wizard. I’m a Myrkron,” Michael said gesturing to his robes. “Our magics are not the same.”

  “See. You already have something to teach me. As I have no idea what a Myrkron is, we will have a starting point when time permits.”

  Michael sighed and shrugged. “Let’s talk about this if we both live through the war. For now, Merric is expecting us, and we are running low on time.”

  Mael inclined his head. “Lead the way, Myrkron, and I will follow.”

  Michael shook his head in disbelief and spoke the words of transport.

  The four of them appeared at the entrance to the slot. Michael looked around and saw Mardak standing by his brother on the other line. “Report to Merric,” Michael told Mael. “Reek, go with him and fill Merric in on the Garoliths. Branik and I will be out there with Mardak.”