“Because he saw in her the evil that he desires to nurture in all of his servants. It was an evil that was, fortunately, only passed on to Maebh.”
“No,” Malthor laughed, shaking his head. “She was born to be his prophet. He engineered her birth from another realm, bringing the most vile people together throughout history to one final end product. Though he lost track of her, his servant, Torak, found her again and anointed her in his temple.”
“Torak?” Maedoc scowled.
“You may know him as Tyrus, the Jindala noble who appeared to your sister after a short battle with your nephew.”
Maedoc remembered his presence, and the fear he inspired in Siobhan’s heart.
“I remember him,” he said. “As for our mother, she lived for many hundreds of years before she met my father. How could Absu have lost track of her for so long?”
“Simple,” Malthor said. “His attention was focused on the realm he was currently feeding upon. When he was finished, Tyrus and Igraina brought him through fully. But even before this happened, she had spent her life wielding his magic against the innocent people of this world. Women, children, animals… she destroyed anything that displeased her, and fed upon them.”
Maedoc glared at Malthor through narrow eyes. He was not sure what to believe. Everything he had learned about Absu and his minions had been an eclectic mix of theories, false or dubious information, and outright lies.
He was no longer convinced that anyone really knew anything.
“I have no love for my mother,” Maedoc said finally. “She was lost long ago, and I care nothing of her, or of her fate. She can suffer in Hell for eternity, and I would not bat an eye.”
“Pity. And she so loved the three of you.”
“Show yourself out, Malthor,” Maedoc said, no longer afraid. “And harm no one, or I will expedite your decomposition to a painful degree.”
Malthor’s grin faded as he felt the seer’s eyes burn into his very soul. He had no doubt that Maedoc’s power was great; but there was something else that troubled the Corruptor.
Maedoc knew something he did not.
“So be it,” Malthor whispered, turning to approach the window.
Without another word, he transformed into a large crow, perching on the window sill for a moment before flying away.
Maedoc sighed with relief. His heart had been pounding relentlessly since Malthor had arrived. The seer was, after all, a mortal man, and he could be killed just as easily as any other.
Perhaps he should speak to Traegus on that matter.
Chapter Sixteen
King Tregar stared out over the northern plains of Thyre. In the distance, a massive army of Northmen marched steadily in the morning mist. At their head, he saw the High Jarl, Cannuck, atop his noble steed.
Tregar had awaited the Northmen for a month now, and was glad to see that they had finally arrived. With his own army behind him, he would meet Cannuck on the field and greet him as an ally.
He raised his hand into the air to signal the Northmen that he had been spotted. He saw that Cannuck returned the gesture and spurred his horse forward, accompanied by a single companion. Tregar did the same, motioning for his captain, Mael, to follow.
“I hope they’re as brash and uncivilized as the legends say,” Mael joked.
Tregar laughed, finding amusement at the mostly inaccurate stereotype.
“The Northmen are as civilized and honorable as the rest of us,” he said. “I think the word you were looking for is ‘brutal.’”
Mael chuckled as he took in the grim faces of their new allies. They were dressed in gleaming steel, furs, helmets of fearsome design, and armed with all manner of deadly weapons. It was a beautiful sight to him, and would most definitely be a fearsome sight to the Jindala.
Cannuck himself wore very little armor; only a pair of gauntlets, a wide belt, armored boots, and a horned helmet the likes of which neither Mael nor Tregar had ever seen.
He was a fearsome sight on his own.
The four slowed their horses as they met in the middle, looking each other over as warriors did. Cannuck was the first to speak.
“Well met, Tregar,” he said, nodding his head in respect.
Tregar returned the gesture riding closer to offer his hand in friendship. Cannuck was happy to oblige.
“And you, Jarl,” he said. “This is my captain, Mael. My cousin.”
Cannuck greeted him with a nod. “This is my brother, Ragnar. He is not my cousin.”
Tregar grinned. “Good humor, sir,” he said. “I was expecting to meet Thorgil. How does he fare?”
“My son fell in battle a year ago.”
Tregar pursed his lips. “I am sorry, Cannuck.”
“No matter,” the Jarl replied. “He rides with the Valkyries now. He gave his life for his people. For that I am proud.”
“Very well,” Tregar said. “May he eat and drink in the halls of Valhalla forever.”
“May we all,” Cannuck agreed, impressed with Tregar’s knowledge of his peoples’ customs.
“Come then, friend. Let us prepare our men for a meeting. Allies fight better together when they’re familiar.”
“Agreed,” Cannuck said, signaling his army to march forward.
Tregar led the Jarl over the crest of the hill behind them, where Thyre’s army awaited. Cannuck grinned as he beheld them. They looked nearly as fierce as his men. Off in the distance behind them, a makeshift city had been built of logs and canvas. It reminded Cannuck of the smaller villages that surrounded his city of Falgraf. The longhouses looked most welcoming.
“There is enough room for ten thousand troops,” Tregar said. “That should accommodate our collective forces until the time comes to march on Khem.”
Cannuck grunted. “Have you received any word from the Onyx Dragon?”
“None yet,” Tregar replied. “But my envoys tell me he is waiting for the return of the Raja of Pashir. Word has it that the rightful heir of Khem is with him, too.”
“Why are they on Eirenoch?”
“I have no idea, my friend. Perhaps it has something to do with the blockade the Jindala have set up between the mainland and Eirenoch.”
Cannuck scowled. “Blockade?”
“So I’ve heard. Jadhav, the Raja, is well known to be an expert at sea battle. He and his men are adept at sinking ships.”
“Sea sappers, eh?”
Tregar chuckled. “I suppose you could say that.”
As the small group arrive at the base, both turned to watch their two armies blend and greet each other. There were friendly jests, shouts of alliance, and the bumping of heads that made both kings grin.
“They should get along well,” Cannuck said.
Tregar laughed, clapping the Jarl on the back. “Let us relax in the mead hall by the fire,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”
Traegus welcomed Jodocus and the moorcat to his large study near the top of Southwatch. Jodocus’ eyes were alight with the wonderful gadgets and tapestries that covered nearly every square inch of the perimeter. There were alchemy stations, star charts, maps of the world, maps of other worlds, and giant gears that operated machinery that was not within the immediate area. The center of the chamber was reserved for Traegus’ desk, tables arranged in a semi-circle facing his chair, and a strange contraption that was suspended from the ceiling.
Jodocus stood below, transfixed on the contraption above him, as Traegus prepared his chamber for the arrival of the Druids.
“What is this, Traegus?” the moorcat asked.
“That, my friend, is a telescope,” he said. “When it is operational, I can use it to look more closely at the stars, and sometimes the Moon.”
“The Moon is in the sky,” Jodocus said, grinning.
“Yes it is,” Traegus chuckled. “And very far away. With this gadget, I can see it much more clearly, as if it were closer.”
“That is fascinating,” the moorcat remarked. “You will have to show me sometime.”
> “That time is coming soon,” Traegus said. “When our guests arrive, that very ball in the sky will be the subject of our discussion.”
The moorcat smiled—as well as a cat could—looking forward to seeing it in action.
“I am very much pleased to meet this Grand Druid, and Aeli, as well.”
“Ah,” Traegus said. Sweeping some dust off of his desk. “You will find them most pleasant. I assure you.”
He then cocked his head in anticipation, feeling the gathering of energy in the chamber. “It looks like our first guest has arrived.”
Aeli appeared in the chamber’s center, disheveled and worried. Jodocus immediately turned and his eyes lit up with joy.
“Mama!” he shouted, rushing to her as she knelt to embrace him.
“Jodocus!” she cried. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Mama.”
She kissed him on the forehead, putting him at arm’s length to inspect him. “Are you alright?” she asked.
“Jodocus is well,” Traegus assured her. “And he was not left to himself, thanks to the moorcat here.”
Aeli looked to the great cat, who bowed his head.
“I thank you,” she said. “I knew the forest and its inhabitants would protect him.”
“I felt the need to wake from my slumber,” the moorcat explained. “And I am happy I did. It seems exciting things are afoot.”
Aeli smiled, looking to Jodocus again. “You were very brave,” she said. “I am so happy the banshee did not hurt you.”
“I thought she hurt you, Mama, so I hurt her back. And then you were gone.”
“I know,” Aeli replied. “I was taken to a place where I met the banshee’s spirit. You were right; her name is Allora, and she is not a bad person at all.”
“This is all incredibly fascinating,” Traegus said. “So many things, so many mysteries, are coming together into a more cohesive pattern. The moorcat was right; exciting things are afoot.”
Aeli stood, holding Jodocus against her. “The answers are becoming clear to me. We may already have the means of defeating The Lifegiver. We always have, I think. It was right here on this island the whole time.”
Traegus nodded. “As the minutes pass, I agree more and more.”
“Forgive me, Traegus,” Aeli said. “But I see that you have inhabited Eogan’s body. This is a very strange thing.”
Traegus chuckled. “I agree,” he said. “But is it any stranger than inhabiting my own mummified corpse? I felt this form would be more conducive for dealing with other people.”
He stopped, cocking his head again, smiling.
Farouk appeared in the chamber accompanied by an unknown figure cloaked in dark blue colored robes. The Druid was surprised when he saw Traegus, fearing, perhaps, that he had teleported to the wrong tower.
“Traegus?” Farouk asked.
“Fear not, Farouk,” Traegus said. “It is I. I will explain in due time. Tell us, who is your friend?”
The cloaked figure slowly lowered his cowl, revealing his pale skin, golden hair, and strangely pointed ears. Aeli knew immediately who it was, and her heart pounded as if she were in the presence of the divine.
Indeed he appeared divine, even more so than Allora. She knew and felt how ancient and powerful his spirit was. And she could feel the great sorrow that weighed upon his heart. She felt herself nearly come to tears as she gazed into his anguished eyes.
“This is Faeraon,” Farouk introduced him. “He is the King of the Alvar, and father of Allora, the banshee. Faeraon, this is Traegus. And this is Aeli, the Great Druid of these lands. The child is Jodocus, reincarnation of the former Great Druid of the same name.”
Faeraon knelt, placing his hands on the child’s face. Jodocus smiled, mirroring the Alvar’s gesture.
“Your aura is familiar to me, Jodocus,” Faeraon said. “I feel that we have met before.”
“Perhaps you have,” Traegus said.
Faeraon stood, going to Traegus and touching his face as well. “You are very strange,” he said. “As if you have dabbled in the same things my daughter studied.”
“I am a minor Keeper of sorts,” Traegus said. “A Keeper of the sacred knowledge of the Universe.”
Faeraon nodded. “You know much more than you think.”
The Alvar king then turned to Aeli, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. “And Aeli, you have spoken to my daughter. This gives me new hope that my people can be saved at last.”
Aeli nodded, placing her hand over Faeraon’s heart. “I will do what I can to help you.”
“This,” Traegus added, “is our friend, the moorcat. They do not have names, but they are noble beasts of high honor and intellect.”
Faeraon bowed his head in respect. “It is a pleasure to meet you, moorcat.” he said.
“Likewise.”
Farouk opened his pack to retrieve the skull. Belo shot out of the opening, buzzing around and darting straight for Aeli. She laughed, scratching his head as he settled onto her shoulder.
“This is the banshee’s skull,” Faoruk said, handing it to Traegus. “I did not recognize the markings before, but they are an ancient language that had been used by a people that existed before humans.”
Traegus turned the skull over in his hands, studying the markings carefully. “And who made these markings?” he asked.
“The sorcerer, Tyrus,” Farouk explained. “When he was but a shaman.”
Traegus turned and placed the skull upon his desk, contemplating the markings and how they could be negated without destroying the spirit that they bound.
“Where is the banshee now?” he asked.
“She is trapped in a strange, featureless realm,” Aeli said. “It is somewhere between dimensions, in a place where reality does not exist.”
“Limbo,” the moorcat said.
“Ah,” Traegus said. “Very clever of this Tyrus. But we are much more clever.”
“Is there hope?” Aeli asked.
“Indeed there is,” Traegus replied. “But I have to study the precise meaning of each rune. For that, I will need Maedoc’s help. He is more familiar with Earthly languages than I.”
“I will go to him,” Farouk said. “If need be.”
Traegus turned. “Ah, yes! Good idea. Off you go.”
Farouk turned to Faeraon, whose eyes reflected a glimmer of hope; more so than they had since they met.
“I will return,” he said.
Faeraon nodded, removing his cloak. “I look forward to meeting this Maedoc.”
Farouk faded without another word.
Traegus turned to Faeraon, scratching his chin. “It is possible we will need some of your blood to facilitate the regeneration process.”
“I will do whatever it takes to bring my daughter back.”
“Good,” Traegus replied. “Now, Aeli. Tell me everything that this Alvar female told you; the nature of their kind, the manner of their deaths.”
Aeli sat on one of the divans, gathering her thoughts as the others gathered around her. Jodocus sat on her lap, kicking his legs and staring at Faeraon.
“I will do my best,” Aeli said. “But I am not sure I quite understand it myself.”
Maedoc was nearly finished packing a select collection of scrolls when Farouk appeared in his study. He was only mildly startled, as he was expecting at least one of the Druids to arrive eventually. He didn’t even turn, but continued rolling up the parchments and dropping them into their cases.
“Your presence is requested,” Farouk said.
“Good,” Maedoc replied. “I am ready. But before we go, take a look outside at the courtyard.”
Farouk scowled, walking to the window to investigate. Below, hundreds of skeletons lay in the street, with soldiers and townsfolk walking among them. No one seemed to be in a panic, but the collective fear was strong enough for Farouk to feel.
“What happened?” he asked.
“A Necromancer,” Maedoc explained. “A former
friend, specifically. A wizard named Malthor who once belonged to my order.”
“He fell under The Lifegiver’s spell?”
“He was brought back by The Lifegiver, more accurately,” Maedoc said. “My father had him executed when I was a child.”
“Why?”
“For things he did with the dead,”
Farouk nodded. “Traegus does undesirable things with the dead.”
Maedoc chuckled. “Traegus made use of a perfectly good body that was once inhabited by a dark soul. I do not fault him for that. Young Eogan belongs to The Lifegiver. But Malthor’s actions were vile and, shall we say, not so honorable.”
“If he was a seer once, then I’m guessing the methods that he used to gather information began to move into the realm of the dead?”
“Yes, indeed,” Maedoc said. “But not through mere divination. Could you take these?” he handed Farouk a bundle of scrolls. “He began to bring the dead back to life in order to divine their secrets.”
“How did he do this?”
“By breathing his own life into them,” Maedoc replied. “He gave them just enough energy to awaken, but not enough to heal them or regenerate them. What you see outside is the result of animation. It is not the same thing. Those dead Jindala are still dead. Their souls remain wherever they went upon death. But this necromantic divination is vile and evil; repulsive.”
“The skeletal men do not know their bodies had been reanimated. But Malthor’s subjects knew full well, and suffered the pain of decomposition.”
Maedoc nodded. “I knew Jodocus chose you for a reason.”
He smiled, gathering up the rest of his scrolls.
“If you need tomes to translate ancient runes,” Farouk said. “You should bring them.”
“Runes?” Maedoc asked. “How old?”
“Not even human,” Farouk replied.
Maedoc nodded, tapping his head. “No matter,” he said. “It’s all in here anyway. Shall we go?”
Chapter Seventeen
“He is called Scorpion,” the man said to the ghastly, dark creature that stood in the shadows. “He was King Magnus’ greatest assassin, and the protector of Queen Siobhan.”
Into Oblivion (Book 4) Page 17
