The Melaki Chronicle Volume II

by William Thrash

  We have nothing like this. Nothing so detailed in one place as a practical view of a kingdom's ability.

  Dosdaran looked over the map. “The Tartessan courier before you said you would come to discuss coordination of effort. But I wonder how that could be.”

  Adaris felt the heat from his new blue silk shirt. “Oolan desires to coordinate an effort against the Vattonses--”

  “Yes, so I have heard.” Dosdaran picked up a pointer. “Every year, we throw our troops against the Asturjani there.” He pointed at the mountain ranges to their east. “With the Vattonses occupied by the Atlanteans, they have left their border lightly defended and have launched no attacks. This has given us the troops we need to hold back the Asturjani.”

  Adaris knew the situation well. “Oolan hopes some of your troops can strike your border with Vattonses. They are weakened by their struggle against the Euskaldani – the Atlanteans – and this might be our opportunity to topple them--”

  Dosdaran silenced him with a searching look. “With what troops?”

  He glanced over the map, searching for anything. “Your troops here in the capital--”

  “The lancers will be sent to the Asturjani border,” he said. He pointed to the troops in the capital. “Twenty troops of spear you see here will also be sent. All of our archer troops. That leaves three troops of spear to watch over the capital. Even if we left ourselves undefended, what would three troops of spears be against the Vattonses?”

  Adaris could feel the sweat on his palms. He was not a nervous man by nature. But he had been tasked with something in which he did not personally believe or favor. “I--”

  “Does Oolan have so many troops that he can provide the backbone of an invasion force against the Vattonses?” The king pointed at their shared border where it butted up against the Vattonses Empire.

  “It is possible that the Asturjani have plans to attack the Atlanteans again--”

  Dosdaran dropped the pointer onto the table with a silencing clatter. “Am I to leave my northern border vulnerable or lightly defended on a supposition?”

  He looked down at the map. The Callacans even had troop numbers on clay markers for Tartessan. They were depressingly accurate. What could he say? What could he possibly say? He would not lie to the Callacan king; he would not be responsible for damaging relations. But was there any way he could alter events to accomplish his mission? “I am no diplomat--”

  “I know that.” Dosdaran was squinting at him.

  “I am--”

  “A spy. I know that, too.”

  He blinked. The king's sources are good. “If I were to use my network to foment conflict between the Euskaldani and the Asturjani--”

  The king lowered his head, but still maintained eye contact. It was a look of disbelief. “Your network is that good?”

  “If I can and the Asturjani leave your border alone this season--”

  “If my scouts reported such, then I could see moving against the Vattonses with Oolan.”

  Alone, you would. How would that settle out in relations between our two countries? Oolan had no intention of striking Vattonses. Yet. “I will see what I can do.”

  “Whatever you do must be quick. If the border does not show a reduction in Asturjani forces by next month, I must leave my army where it is to insure the security of our northern border.”

  The king was right and Adaris knew it. “I--”

  “I think your task is impossible.”

  But Adaris was already formulating a plan.

  * * *

  Melaki rode Tila out of Roka.

  Eliam and Galli rode in the cart, now stuffed full of supplies.

  “You are sure you want to be a farmer?” he said to Eliam.

  “Better than watching more men die.”

  “It is not the most exciting--”

  “I have seen enough excitement, wizard.”

  Galli said, “Chasing chickens can sometimes be entertaining. I get a good laugh when Melaki tries.”

  Which is why I don't try anymore. Easier with magic, anyway. “Galli, you are horrid.”

  “I am offended.”

  “Good.”

  The bald man nodded. “I will make sure you get the smallest eggs.”

  “Yes, you would, wouldn't you?”

  “I do not know why I suffer your insult.”

  “Because the pay is good.”

  Galli's nose went into the air. “I am no common laborer--”

  “Which is why I wonder how your arrogance demands you give me smaller eggs.” Melaki winked at Eliam.

  Galli huffed. He plucked at his billowing sleeves as if they were sticking to his skin. “Arrogant? Me?”

  “Quite.”

  “The outrage.”

  Melaki threw them both a smile. “Never have I met arrogance as lofty as yours--”

  “I will put mud in your eggs--”

  “Nor have I met any whose pride was so obstructive of reason.”

  Galli's mouth hung open. “The impudence!”

  “There you go,” Melaki said. “Now you sound like a spoiled prince trying out a new word.”

  Eliam half snorted, half chuckled, and two-thirds guffawed. He ended up coughing frantically after having inhaled his own saliva.

  “To assume I am more arrogant or proud than your wizard friends--”

  Melaki's mind shut the rest of what he said out. He thought back to the Northlands. He thought back to arrogant Talin and his combative superiority. He thought back to the Ruka and the colossal arrogance found there within its halls. He thought of the pettiness and jealousies. His voice was almost a whisper. “No, Galli, you are nothing like them. You are a good man.”

  A curt nod from Galli.

  “You know I was just teasing you.”

  “Why must you--”

  “Be at ease, Galli. You are my one valued companion.”

  “Your teasing makes things--”

  “Insufferable?”

  His assistant went silent.

  “Is employment with me onerous?”

  “No, it is not.”

  Melaki sighed. “I know it is not your custom to be teased. Be assured I mean none of it.”

  “You will not bribe larger eggs out of me.”

  He laughed. “Your arrogance would not allow it.”

  “Why you pompous young child.”

  Melaki looked at the man. “Pompous? Child? Me?”

  “You. You should be whipped like an errant youth.”

  Eliam snickered.

  Did he really think that? “Sometimes I don't know what to make of you, Galli.”

  A sly twinkle and grin lit his assistant's face. “Good.” Another curt nod and the matter was settled.

  Once again, Melaki was unsure who had gotten the upper hand in the exchange.

  * * *

  The demon Goroth waddled along the halls of the palace in Vescon. He did not come to visit the Iberian colony of Atlanteans all that much, preferring to keep his claws on Tarep in Atlantis. But this situation seemed special.

  Alongside him walked a thin and hairy insectlike demon who ruled over the Tartessan.

  “It is good your plan worked,” Goroth said to Ralial.

  “Oolan has sent the spy. We shall see.”

  “I am sure the plan will succeed. This is our opportunity to rid Iberia of the meddlesome Lagash and carve up his territory for ourselves.” Goroth had no intention of giving any land to Ralial, but the Tartessan demon did not need to know that. The puny demon was among the smaller rulers and not deserving of the glory under Lucifer that Goroth was due.

  They entered the king's room unseen by the humans around them.

  Goroth sank his spiritual claw into the king's head and deftly moved his fingers.

  The king of the Atlantean colony stood up straighter. “We need to push more, harder. Everything. Spare nothing. Remove troops from all borders and push them against the Vattonses.”

  “All?” said a counselor.

/>   “Even our wizards.”

  Goroth released the man's head and smiled, smug and sure. “I have Tarep sending an army. Lagash will be crushed.”

  Ralial radiated doubt. “I wish we could have brought Coron into this plan.”

  Coron was the demon overseeing Callacan. Goroth grunted. “He can not be trusted. Perhaps after, we shall carve up Callacan as well. We should be in position to do so.”

  “If the spy fails--”

  “Then you will force Oolan into attacking Vattonses himself.”

  “I am not sure my power--”

  Goroth's spiritual shout silenced Ralial. “Enough! I will do it myself if--”

  “That is forbidden.”

  “Lucifer will see the brilliance of the plan and reward me. Besides, extra steps must be taken; Lagash has taken form and resides in the flesh.”

  Ralial still radiated doubt and it sickened Goroth with its weakness.

  No, each prince and ruler were strictly bound to their own territory. Ralial was right. The power over them and above them, the demon Pruflas who ruled the entire region from Iberia into Jubalite territory, would likely be displeased that Goroth stepped outside his authority. But Pruflas adored war and Goroth was going to bring it to Iberia in bloodier battle and conquest the likes of which had not yet been seen.

  Maximum effort. Maximum warfare. Maximum bloodshed. Maximum death.

  Lucifer will be proud.

  CHAPTER 5

  Melaki knew something was wrong. He felt it before they saw the lighthouse. Something was not right. Something was very dreadfully wrong. He saw no smoke up the hill and heard nothing unusual. Except that Rishtu was flying somewhere ahead, cawing and squawking. Their property had been firmly secured, his valuables from the Northlands hidden, buried. But...

  Even Galli tensed.

  Eliam's hardened leather tunic creaked as he flexed – some innate danger-sense telling him to beware.

  And that was when the buzzing began - and the heaving and twirling and twisting. Melaki's vision spun, receding.

  Not now. Why now? Why when something requiring my attention was happening?

  He knew he fell from his horse. Then he knew nothing else.

  This vision was different.

  Instead of water or drowning, he felt as if he were floating in air, by what manner he knew not. Darkness was all around him and he saw something unusual. A hilltop came closer, or rather he floated to it. The blades of grass shone with silver as if magical. His gaze, however, was drawn up. Above him, instead of undulating waters, dark and mysterious, was an open sky that showed brilliant silver points of light. One large light hung low and luminous over the hilltop.

  “What is that? Is that the sun?”

  “That is the moon.”

  Melaki snapped his eyes down. A figure in white stood before him, clutching a hooded robe about him from the inside. The face was in shadow, but the eyes blazed with a light of their own.

  “Wizard?”

  “I am not. I am a messenger.”

  Melaki looked up again looking around in silence. The figure appeared patient to let him. “The moon? Is that not a god of legend?”

  “The moon is not.”

  He looked back down. “What is this place?”

  “A meeting place.”

  “I am to meet someone?”

  “Me, as your messenger.”

  Melaki breathed, feeling at ease. He did not appear to have anything to fear, nothing of which to guard against and nothing to worry his safety. “What is the message?”

  “The Most High has use of you.”

  “Most High?”

  “He Who Is.”

  Melaki was not sure what to make of that. “And?”

  “You will go to Cilenn. Events are in motion that will cause great evil and bloodshed. An abomination must be destroyed.”

  “Another lich?”

  The figure said nothing for a second. “The land grows in wickedness. A cleansing is coming.”

  “Why Cilenn? What am I supposed to do there?”

  “You will buy a records service. You will know which one when you see it.”

  “Records? Me?” Records services were dull, uneventful, and primarily run by old men. They provided records of important transactions, deposits and receipts, witnessing the agreements of people for various reasons. In fact, that sounds like the perfect way to rebuild my studies.

  “Those with you will aid you.”

  “And this is for the Most High?”

  “I have delivered His message.”

  “Who is the Most High?”

  The figure grew intense, though its manner did not appear to change. “He is the Almighty, the first and the last. The beginning and the end.”

  “A god?”

  “He Is Who Is. The Almighty God. There is no other.”

  “There are no other gods?”

  “Only those in the minds of men.”

  Interesting. A heresy amongst men, for sure. “If I refuse?”

  The figure was silent. Then it was gone. One moment there, the next moment just gone.

  Melaki shook his head and looked back up at the brilliant lights. So beautiful...

  His world spun.

  He was looking up at the waters above him, roiling in their usual way. Galli's face obscured some of it.

  “Master?” Galli said.

  Melaki groaned and tried to sit up. “A vision.”

  “Eliam says there are Asturjani in our tower.”

  He tried to sit up faster, but his head swam sickeningly. Instead, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, his robe scraping in the mud.

  “Master?”

  Melaki heaved a sigh, trying to calm his stomach and nerves. “Be at ease, Galli.”

  “I am at ease.”

  He heard the twang of Galli's bowstring in a test-pluck.

  “I just want to know if you will be joining us as we clean the tower.”

  “You are insufferable.”

  Galli grunted. “I wager I kill twice as many as you, if you can even get to your feet.”

  His assistant’s arrogance got him to his feet. “I should throttle you.”

  “Who will prepare your bath?”

  “I am sure Tila could do a better job of it than you.”

  His horse nickered.

  Galli looked him up and down and then gave his customary curt nod. “Glad to have you back.”

  Melaki grumbled.

  “Shall we? Or shall I go with Eliam alone?”

  “I am coming.”

  Eliam was up ahead at the ridgeline, crouched behind a bush.

  Melaki and Galli trotted up to him, leaving cart, horse and mule behind.

  Eliam pointed. “One man on lookout at the light. I see no others on the lands.”

  Melaki swept his gaze around. The stable door crushed in. The chicken coop toppled. The storage shed door hacked to pieces. He could not see the main lighthouse door, but he assumed it broken, too. Some shaggy horses were tied to the posts of the stall.

  “Those are Asturjani,” said Eliam.

  He shook his head. “This far in?”

  “A deep raiding party. They go deeper every year.”

  With a grunt of disgust, Melaki stood. “We shall be about it then. But this does not bode well – Asturjani striking this deep.”

  * * *

  Eliam led the three of them towards the lighthouse. His sword out, his buckler in hand, he crouched low and took long, quick strides around to the entrance. Low, low. Arrows sometimes are aimed high. Stay low. “Keep low, you two.”

  A raven was cawing somewhere above.

  He saw Galli hunch over satisfactorily. Melaki did not. Instead, the so-called wizard stood tall, gazing with anger at the damage around him. “You will not live to repair it if you don't keep your head down.” His growl had no effect on Melaki.

  Unbothered by the wizard's lack of care, Eliam sprinted around the building. Hefting his buckler, he barged into th
e entry and immediately took three sword hits to his shield.

  Roaring challenge, he swung his sword with over a hundred years of practice and application on the deadly field of battle. The three Asturjani, unnerved, fell back. Eliam sliced off an arm. The stricken man looked at his stump, lifeblood spurting, refusing to realize his weapon arm was gone.

  Eliam turned his dismembering swing into a spin and stabbed the opposite man in the gut. He would take a while to bleed out. They might ask him questions if any of them survived.

  The third man stumbled back as the former subcommander emitted a howling roar of rage. The white-haired man's rush had the third man scrambling for the stairs.

  There on the stairs were four more, bows in hand.

  This is what I hate. All alone, no support, and archers laughing as they kill you.

  Two arrows flew past his ear from behind. Two arrows sprouted in the throats of the aiming men. But the other two were about to release. They flew backward as if hit by flying boulders. They slammed into the stairwell wall and crumpled.

  He heard the shouts outside and from above.

  “Surrounded!” He did not know if his warning would matter to these two untrained citizens.

  Asturjani poured down the stairs. They poured in from behind.

  He knew he was dead.

  Red filled his eyes. Rage filled his soul. Hate filled his heart. A hundred years, surviving countless battles and skirmishes, only to fall in some lonely tower. He did not back away, seeking escape. Instead, he charged.

  “Eliam, stay close!” The so-called wizard called.

  Eliam paid him no heed.

  The Asturjani at the bottom of the stairs were surging forward, so he ran right into the middle of them. He twisted, spinning, shield up over his head. The adrenaline that flooded his body was of small consolation. Amongst his fellow soldiers, these would have been handled easily. Alone? He waited for the pain of a scoring hit. Where would it be? His ribs? His arm? His thigh? He thrust, fast, swung through another, and spun to chop across a belly. His teeth were clenched, sweat pouring down his forehead in concentration from just a few seconds of battle.