by GJ Kelly
“Did you think yourself safe? Where is your King of Nothing? While he feasts on Jurian sweetmeats and avails himself of many comforts, what have you, Queen of Nothing?”
Morloch’s face seemed to retreat a little as he stepped back from the immense aquamire lens in his tower. Those in Tarn Square caught a brief glimpse of the room around him, the great book behind him, presumably the Pangoricon, bare stone walls, and a bench on which strange objects lay in apparent disorder. Then his face contorted with a rage of its own, and he thrust forward to spew spite and bile upon them:
“You are nothing! No victory was yours! Where are your wizards? Where is your King of Ashes? Where are your defences? Where is your army? What good your worthless prophecies now! I shall grind you weed-dwellers and this bitch-queen and all your molehill mountains into dust! And I shall! Have! Vengeance!”
Morloch paused, hatred glowing from his eyes, breath whistling through flared nostrils. And the balloon of hitherto unknown rage burst within Elayeen’s stomach, and she took one pace forward, lifting her bow high over her head, and screamed the one word that all who had stood together at Far-gor knew well:
“Vex!”
The word pierced the wind and the drizzle like a bolt from a grappinbow, echoing back from the stone-faced buildings around the Square and carrying with it a depth of passion that Elayeen did not recognise as her own. More, as the rage flooded through her, the word carried that fury upwards to the vision of Morloch’s grotesque face; and there, by some unknown mystic means, it spread outward and down, as if amplified by an army a thousand strong. It echoed back, louder than Morloch’s own voice, filling all those who could see Morloch’s image with the same outrage, the power of the word and its fury reaching the very outskirts of the town.
At once, the entire population of Tarn took a pace forward, and as one, screamed that same word up at the sky. The old and the young, men and women, fists clenched and punching the air, weapons brandished, outrage like a hurricane roaring, and incredibly, Morloch flinched, and then before the echo of their defiance had died, the shimmering vision was gone.
“Stand to!” Elayeen screamed, “Look to the Graken!”
Already the winged creature was moving towards them, slowly but certainly closing the gap.
“Bows form square!” Elayeen commanded, and Rak hurried back to stand with Merrin and his son while the Kindred Rangers of elfkind and the men of Threlland formed a perfect square at the centre of the town.
“We are six longbows, ten crossbows, my lady,” Sarek announced softly. “We have no grappinbow, and no wizard twixt here and Crownmount.”
“Thank you, Major.”
“It is swinging around for an attack from the west, miThalin,” Valin announced. “It will pass over the western quarter of Tarn before it comes within our range.”
“We are mostly stone-built here,” Sarek said quietly, testing the lie of the bolt in his crossbow, “And the western quarter is small. It’s to the east that most of our people dwell.”
Horns sounded from the east as the Graken drew closer, gathering speed.
“The Tarn Guard are being summoned from barracks, though most are close by anyway,” Sarek announced, and then, as higher-pitched horns like trumpets began to sound, added, “And that is the signal to the fire-watch to make ready.”
“It swoops lower, and is increasing speed,” Valin sighed. “It will come easily within our range if it holds its course and height.”
The Graken dipped even lower, its rider clearly expecting little resistance, except perhaps from the small group mustered in the centre of the town’s square. They saw the Graken’s wings angle back, speed gathering, altitude diminishing as the rider leaned forward, a long rod held out over the creature’s neck in a familiar pose. Black and smoky fireballs began forming at its ends, and then started to fall.
Elayeen fixed it with her Sight, and turned a little more sideways on. Elves followed suit, and dwarves likewise a moment later. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she knew it was righteous fury and not fear which gripped her. The sounds of the Graken-rider’s fireballs striking ground began to boom, low and ominous, smoke rising in the creature’s wake, vibrations felt through the cobbles underfoot.
“Ready,” Elayeen announced, and drew string, tilting back on her hips a little.
The Graken-rider saw the threat, but held his course to rain more black fire down upon the houses and shops of Tarn’s sparsely-populated western quarter, greedily eyeing the prize of square miles of broad-spaced buildings stretching away to the east…
Elayeen could see the dark wizard clearly, glowing black against the grey mist of the world. The long rod was held in one hand, and the foul black ball of the Jardember clutched to its hip with the other. She flicked away the Sight, the better to perceive depth and range, adjusted her aim up a little, and clucked her tongue at the very moment she loosed her arrow.
Sixteen sharp and deadly projectiles burst from bows and bolt-channels, racing towards an empty space in the sky, into which the Graken obligingly flew. Three burst through the leathery skin of the creature’s wings, one struck it painfully though harmlessly in its rear left leg, and one glanced off the scaly skin on the right side of the Graken’s neck and struck, point-first, the dark wizard’s right arm, just above the elbow. The rest missed, and arced away towards the smoke rising from the west.
The Graken-rider jerked back in his saddle, and something fell, the Jardember tumbling from his grasp, the blackened ball of Ulmus heartwood striking the Graken’s right wing-root before hurtling down to smash against the stone façade of the cobbler’s shop on the eastern side of the square.
On the ground, they followed the creature’s progress through the sky as powerful wings beat, the dark wizard clutching at something else, losing his grip on the beast’s reins as well as the Jardember, and as the Graken sailed over the eastern quarter, something long and slender fell from the sky too.
“Bastard’s lost his staff!” Sarek cried out gleefully, and it was true.
More projectiles were seen arcing skyward, a few of the volunteers or Tarn Guardsmen in the eastern quarter loosing their crossbows at the sudden and unexpected appearance of the winged enemy above them. Whether any hit, no-one knew. Deprived of its primary weapon, and painfully wounded, the Graken-rider succeeded in gathering the reins and regaining control of his mount, and swung it in a lazy loop towards the north, and then, at the extent of Elayeen’s range, away to the northwest, eventually disappearing somewhere over the farak gorin and its gorge.
Bells and high-pitched horns sounded, and dwarves with buckets and beaters, some carrying stretchers, others satchels of bandages and medicines, rushed westward through the drizzle, towards the conflagrations started there by Morloch’s aerial attack.
“Stand down, watch well,” Elayeen commanded, the pounding of her heart easing, and her stomach sinking at the sight of black smoke billowing above Tarn before it was whipped away in the gusts.
Her orders were repeated, the Rangers began to disperse, and Elayeen found herself flanked by Meeya and Valin as she headed towards Rak and Merrin, while Sarek raced away to the west.
oOo
6. Responsibility
“I have done this,” Elayeen sighed, her throat tightening, water dripping from her hair, and her cloak dripping on the kitchen floor where she stood by the fire. “I have brought death and destruction upon your town.”
“No,” Rak asserted, and there was an unfamiliar anger in his tone. “Morloch wrought this destruction, not you. Never take responsibility for his dark and evil actions! Your husband and king would not, nor must you!”
“I must help our people, Rak, will you take Travak?” Merrin broke her husband’s ire, and he had no choice but to accept the infant handed to him by his lady. In moments, Merrin had dragged a cloak from a hook by the back door, donned it, raised its hood, and was out into the garden and had disappeared from view to hurry down the path that ran alongside the house.
“You heard the words Morloch spoke,” Elayeen sighed, rage draining rapidly and leaving her feeling stunned, and terribly vulnerable. She laid her bow on the kitchen table, and sank onto a chair, her head low.
“Yes,” Meeya whispered.
“He knows of the Merionell.”
“He knows of the prophecies, miThalin,” Valin agreed quietly, eyeing her with professional inscrutability, “Why would he not? They were made in darken days of old, during the first war against him. Of course he would know them, after all this time.”
“It was to strike at me that he rained destruction upon Tarn,” Elayeen sighed, and had to struggle to keep the rising sorrow and horror from her voice.
“It was for his own spite he struck, lady Elayeen,” Rak announced as he stepped into the kitchen, his son safely in the care of another. “Had you not ventured out into the square, he would not have known you were here.”
“Did you not hear him addressing me directly, then?”
“I did. But he did not do so before you strode to the centre of that open space and showed yourself. Did you not hear him speak of Gawain, in Juria?”
Elayeen frowned, and blinked, confused by the question.
“Clearly,” Rak continued, “Morloch has at least one agent in Juria who by mystic means must have communicated to him Gawain’s arrival in Juria’s Hall. It is the only way Morloch could have known he and Allazar were there. None in Threlland knew his destination but us. Until he saw you outside, Morloch did not know you were here.”
“We cannot know that…” Elayeen began, but Rak dragged a chair from under the table and sat, gazing at her in great earnest.
“If he did suspect you were here after the battle, he would have believed Gawain and Allazar to be with you. Why else did he not attack in the aftermath of the battle, while the square heaved with a dancing throng? Do you think that miserable creature on the Graken’s back would have risked venturing within sight of Allazar’s staff?”
“Perhaps not…” Elayeen could feel Rak studying her, and she fought hard to drag her eyes up to meet his.
“You heard Morloch’s first words, lady Elayeen. They were addressed to us, to all the dwarves of Tarn. He sent his winged servant to strike at Tarn, not at Raheen. To strike at dwarves, not at elves. Set aside your fears for my people, and harden your heart against the horror of false responsibility. We know who struck at us, and it was neither you, nor your presence here, which prompted Morloch’s actions.”
The best Elayeen could manage against the tears pricking the back of her eyes was a nod. Rak studied her a moment longer, and then stood.
“You must excuse me, lady Elayeen. My people need me. I will return as soon as I can.” And with that, Rak took his leave, the sound of the front door banging behind him echoing down the hallway.
“The war has changed,” Valin announced, and let his detachment slide, leaving him looking suddenly older, and distinctly worried. “And this town, like many others, is defenceless. They have no wizards to loose mystic fire upon a dark enemy.”
“G’wain said Morloch had done his work well. We were fortunate to hit the Graken, even more so to strike the rider on its back. If it should return, and with the wizard Allazar far beyond hope of recall…” Elayeen drew a shuddering sigh, and leaned both elbows on the table, her head in her hands.
“You cannot be responsible for the safety of the world any more than Thal-Gawain, miThalin.”
“Morloch knows I am here now. Even if lord Rak is right, and he neither knew it before nor dared to strike out of fear of G’wain and Allazar, he knows I am here now. We must leave. We must draw our enemies away from our friends.”
Valin let out a long breath. “We shall be hunted by two enemies, then. Morloch, and Toorsencreed.”
“All the more reason for us to flee to the wilds. I would rather our enemies expend their effort searching for us in the wilderness than inflicting such horror upon our friends and allies.”
In the distance, and faintly, more bells and horns could be heard in snatches on the swirling gusts. Elayeen glanced at Meeya, who promptly strode down the hall to the front door, and out, to ascertain their meaning.
“I have gathered clothing and such provisions as can be found in Tarn, miThalin,” Valin said.
“We didn’t have much when we left Ferdan for Raheen last summer,” Elayeen drew herself up, and wiped her nose. She felt strangely pleased with herself, for having stifled the tears which had threatened when she saw the destruction wrought by the Graken-rider. “We left in a hurry.”
“You left in summer. We leave in the dead of winter. In truth, there is little else but that detestable frak and some kind of dried vegetable soup mixture for travelling food. They have a bitter drink they call ‘loofeen’, though from the taste I had of it, I’d rather drink crushed acorns boiled in ditchwater.”
“Thank you for your uplifting words, Valin, they light a fire in my belly and put steel in my spine.”
“I’m sorry, miThalin…”
Elayeen tried for a smile, but couldn’t manage it, and gave a slight shake of her head instead.
“I did find a small canvas tent, and Sarek’s men have quietly provided other equipment which might prove useful.”
The front door banged and the fire in the kitchen hearth glowed suddenly in the draft that preceded Meeya down the long hallway.
“The signals were sounding stand down. They call it an ‘all-clear’, it means the fire-watch and volunteers can return to their homes.”
“The fires are out so soon?”
“So it seems. One of the dwarves of the volunteer guard in the square told me that the western quarter had received ‘nought but a scratch and a bit of a busted win-da or two’, but I am not sure what that means.”
“I think we shall discover the meaning when lord Rak returns,” Elayeen stuffed her handkerchief up her sleeve, and stood to unfasten her cloak. She was becoming uncomfortably hot near the fire. “Have you attended to our horses of late, Valin?”
“I have. They are comfortable and well-tended in lord Rak’s stables. I have made arrangements with Major Sarek for a pack-horse, too. I do not intend for us to venture into unknown territory as ill-equipped and poorly prepared as your last sojourn in the wild, miThalin.”
“My last sojourn in the wild saw me accompanied by perhaps the finest horse-warrior in all the lands, and his horse-friend, and his wizard. Ill-equipped and poorly prepared in no way describes such company.”
“Alas, miThalin, in their absence, a pack-horse and as much in the way of equipment and provisions as it and we can carry will have to suffice.”
“Are you planning to leave so soon after the attack, Leeny?”
“No, not immediately. That would seem like running away. Morloch has done what lord Rak’s diplomacy and lady Merrin’s sisterly concern could not, and delayed our departure. But only for a short time. We must leave before the week’s ending.”
When Rak and Merrin returned an hour later bearing news that the aerial attack had succeeded only in destroying a little property and injuring very few, the relief on Elayeen’s face was plain for all to see; she even managed a broad smile.
“Five of the townspeople are being tended at the infirmary,” Rak announced. “The worst has a broken leg from flying rubble. Several more received minor burns helping to put out the flames, but apart from that, the western quarter escaped lightly.”
“Three homes were lost, but these can be rebuilt, and neighbours will care for the homeless until they are. A storehouse was destroyed, and two dovecotes and a chicken coop,” Merrin added. “But beyond that, and a number of broken windows and pot-holes in the avenues, no major harm was done.”
“I was so worried,” Elayeen breathed. “When I saw the smoke billowing…”
“The storehouse,” Rak explained, pou
ring strong wine into cups on the table, “It belonged to a tent-maker who hung his canvas sheets there for coating with a blend of waxes and oils, for their water-proofing.”
“The poor fellow is incensed,” Merrin smiled, and sipped the wine, oblivious to the soot and grime which stained her face and hands. “If ever new curses were required to be invented for Morloch’s deeds, he would be the fellow to see.”
“I imagine your uncle will be far from pleased,” Rak took his seat beside Merrin. “And that reminds me, word will have reached Crownmount by now of the attack upon you both last week. We may expect fast riders in three days, weather permitting. And more when his Majesty learns of this latest assault upon Tarn.”
“Yes,” Merrin agreed. “Major Sarek is beside himself, too. The word ‘pitiful’ peppered his description of our defences, and I doubt any would disagree with his assessment.”
“We were simply not prepared,” Rak sighed. “How could we have known such an attack would come so soon after Morloch’s army was destroyed?”
Elayeen suddenly felt more wretched butterflies in her stomach stretching their wings again. “Morloch has many creatures at his disposal, not just the Graken and its rider. The wizard Allazar was compiling a book of such horrors as might be loosed upon all lands.”
“He was,” Rak acknowledged, “And scribes at Crownmount have been labouring at the reproduction of that book since Allazar and Gawain left Eryk’s Hall. But it’s one thing identifying a creature when it attacks, quite another to destroy it in the absence of a wizard and his white fire.”
“And you have no such wizard now, Elayeen,” Merrin reminded them all, “You can’t leave, not now, not with one of those flying things seeking you!”
“I must, Merrin. With or without a wizard’s company, I cannot remain here. I know how concerned you are for me, but you have a whole town’s welfare to consider now. They, and you, are at far greater risk than I. I can hide in the wilderness. Tarn cannot.”
Rak reached out to comfort Merrin’s dirt-stained hand. “As much as I know I shall regret saying it, there is a certain sanity to be found in the madness of lady Elayeen’s plan. And lady Elayeen is right. Morloch’s spite knows no bounds. It is, like his patience in bringing his plans to fruition, limitless. We cannot expect our friends to remain and to feel some misguided responsibility for the defence of our home, or of Threlland. That duty falls to us alone. And thanks to lady Elayeen, it will be much easier than it might have been.”
