She screamed out and fell to her knees, it felt as if Valarth was reopening the wound all over again. Isolde could feel the ruby within her burning, she clutched at the spot, but there was no opening, she wanted to rip it out, but there was no way. Gasping for air, she looked up. The mirror Isolde was writhing on the floor, silently screaming out in agony.
Somehow, Isolde could feel what the reflection was going through. She reached out to the mirror and her hand passed through as if there were no barrier at all. Her body followed her hand, and she passed through the surface into a world of shadows. Behind her through the way she had come, she could still see the mirror-room, but only through the doorway. All around her swirled deep mists of inky black, and a deep wind sighed in slow torment.
The girl… she was on her back, heaving for breath in silence, her knees high in the air and her legs apart. Isolde crawled to her and reached out, but the skin was deathly cold, and the mirror-Isolde didn’t even seem to notice her there. The apparition screamed out in silence, Isolde could feel the pain, the veins on her face were pulsing, her eyes red and heavy. Her neck was straining and her jaw tensed as the mirror-Isolde ground down on her teeth.
Isolde's heart was pounding. She found her way to her feet again and watched the poor girl struggle alone on the floor. Am I only an observer?... In horror, Isolde watched the poor girl thump her fists against her belly, again and again, as she squirmed on the floor. That was when the shadow came. Slowly at first, from between the girl's thighs. It snaked out of her, lithely, like a snake exploring its surroundings. But it grew, and a second shadowy tendril emerged, and together they wriggled and pulled until a trunk-like body came out and the form of something diabolical started to take shape.
The poor girl on the floor was motionless, dead for all Isolde could tell. But the shadow figure came alive, it stood on two feet, hunched over, and slowly began to flesh out. Orlog…
CHAPTER XI
“He is an incredible mage, and now he is fashioning himself as a necromancer,” Skaldi said. “If Valarth can control the legions of the dead than he can form a secondary force to flank whoever fights Hrothgar.”
“We have to stop him,” Harald said.
“Aye,” Snorri agreed, “we cut down the pretty elfling, you get your fountain, we get our book, the dead stay dead, and everyone’s happy.”
Thodin nodded in agreeance.
“You cannot keep this book, I am sorry, Snorri. It is far too dangerous for the idle hands of Krazkul," Skaldi said.
"Well, we don't work for free, Skald," Snorri snorted. "Someone's going to pay us."
The old man sighed and rubbed his eyes.
"We will work something out," Skaldi said reluctantly.
"Aye," Thodin chimed in, "plenty of treasure in Mousa to be had still."
"It is a big city,” Skaldi said, “which makes me think, unless Valarth wants to be found, then he may as well be lost to us.”
Snorri snorted, “you haven’t been hunting in a long while have you, Skaldi?”
“No,” the old man admitted, “why?”
“Grimeye,” Snorri said turning to Harald, “you’re a hunter. If you want to kill a wolf, how do you do it?”
“Bait,” Harald answered almost at once.
“Exactly!” Snorri replied, his eyes bright with an idea. “You have to draw the wolf to you, the hunter picks the spot, plants the bait, and waits.”
“Valarth is not an animal,” Skaldi rebuked, “he will smell a trap long before it is laid.”
“Maybe he will,” Snorri said, “so we make the bait is too irresistible to refuse. Even if he knows it is a trap, he’ll still go in for it.”
Skaldi shook his head, but Harald understood it, it made perfect sense to him.
“You’re right,” Harald said. “This could be the only chance we have to stop him.”
Skaldi began to scratch his wiry beard and mumble under his breath… “but what does he want? Why Mousa? Why not stay in Swona?...”
“It doesn’t feel right,” Skaldi said, “something is amiss.”
Harald shook his head, “we might not have a choice, we need to do this.”
“We will walk, think, plan, rethink it, replan it, and walk some more,” Skaldi said. “It is still a long way to Mousa.”
***
Orlog stood before Isolde, in all the fury that The Black Witch could summon. She stood a head taller than Isolde and loomed over the girl with eyes that pierced her soul.
The creature stepped forward, lurching like a broken wheel, but Isolde held her ground. She did not know why, but she felt no fear from the fiend. She studied the pale witch, her scarred face, the glowing runes, the claw-like hands with razor nails. But none of it seemed to phase Isolde.
Orlog seemed to sense her fearlessness, and her foul, twisted mouth gaped open wide as if she were screaming, but no sound left her throat and the moaning wind was all Isolde heard. The witch reached out, her talons grasping at Isolde’s neck. That was real enough. Her heart faltered, and Isolde tried to lunge back, but Orlog was faster and tightened her grip. Isolde felt her throat choke closed. She thrashed out with her fists, but the witch squeezed tighter until it forced Isolde to drop to her knees.
Isolde felt the hard rock crunch beneath her, but at once, she stood back up defiantly.
“You can’t kill me,” Isolde said, “you need me!”
Orlog’s eyes widened and Isolde knew she was right. She had the power now, she was the one in control. She clicked her fingers, and the witch shattered into a thousand slivers of broken black glass that rained onto the ground. And from the black rubble, Isolde saw the glint of red and leant down to pick it up.
***
“I think the issue is,” Skaldi said to Snorri, perhaps a little too harshly, “that Valarth is an incredible magician. He is of the old blood, I remember him in the days before his self-inflicted exile. He is not a force to be reckoned with lightly.”
“I don’t care,” Snorri said, “elflings are elflings, dark or light, they all go down when you give them a taste of dwarfish steel.”
“That may be the case,” Skaldi said, “but at the end of the day, it is Harald you are putting in danger.”
“He’s the choice bait,” Snorri exclaimed as though he were offended. “If Valarth were after me, I wouldn’t think twice about luring the prissy bastard into a trap.”
“But, lucky for you,” Skaldi said, “that is not the case. I will not let you put my friend in danger because of dwarven greed.”
The argument had been going on all day, and all the day before that too. Harald had slumped to the back of the group with Thodin and Dok. They plodded along in silence and let the other two bicker and fight as they led them south through the misty hills. It was cold, not the bitter cold of the north, but a miserable, wet kind of cold. The ground was sodden, the air was heavy, Harald’s clothes were damp, and his dark hair had glued itself to his face.
"Fine," declared Skaldi as he halted the team for his final decision.
"Valarth will know that the only way to cleanse Isolde is through the waters of the King's Fountain. He will expect us to go there, which means, that is what we will do. I am sorry Harald, but you will be the bait."
Harald's stomach suddenly dropped and he couldn't help but frown. The dwarves saw it, and he felt ashamed, he gritted his teeth and nodded.
"I'd be happy too," he lied. "Let me be the one to slit his throat and pay him back for what he's done."
Snorri and Thodin whooped in agreeance and even Dok let out a howl. Thodin slapped him on the back and Harald felt good, it sent blood to his chest and he thought for a moment that he was a hero. But Skaldi's face melted the feeling away, he looked grim, his eyes were sunken and he wasn't smiling at all.
"You won't slit his throat," Skaldi said solemnly. "You young warriors always think of glory, but how many friends have you seen fallen, how many names have you forgotten?"
The dwarves looked at their feet and even Ha
rald felt the pain of loss.
"There's a good chance that he will, in fact, slit your throat, Harald, or worse," Skaldi went on. "Should you fall, let's not forget that Valarth is raising the dead. If we fail, then Isolde may find us on the wrong side of the battle line."
"Then we won't fail," Harald said, determined to not let anything stand in between himself and Isolde.
Skaldi hmmed as if to say he wished Harald were right but knew otherwise.
"When we reach the fountain," Skaldi said, "Harald will go to it alone. I expect that Valarth will be waiting there unless we are ambushed in the streets. He will have the draugrs, probably some other foul creatures too. Snorri, Thodin, it is your job to keep them at bay. When Valarth springs the trap, Harald, you make a hasty retreat back to them and stay alive. I will deal with Valarth, if I can get the book, then we can turn his fiends against him."
"Right," Snorri smiled, "that all sounds easy enough. How far are we now?"
Skaldi stretched his finger out to the horizon. Rising above a sea of mist towered the white stone towers of Mousa. It looked like a city in the sky with nothing but the sea behind it. It's great curtain walls ringing the city, spired towers and palatial buildings just visible to the eye. From where he stood, Harald thought it looked like a jewel sparkling in clouds, the site mesmerized him, and if it weren't for the nagging thought of what lived there now, he might have thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
CHAPTER XII
When Isolde opened her eyes, the first thing she felt was the deep throbbing pain in her shoulder. Then her hazy vision focused, and she could see the craggy face of Ama looking over her.
“What happened?” Isolde asked through a broken voice.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” Ama said. “What did you see in there.”
Isolde frowned, her head ached and she wanted to sleep.
“Where was I?” Isolde asked.
Ama tapped her temple with a bony finger and her cracked lips broke into a smile.
“You were in there,” she answered. “What did you see?”
“Mirrors…” Isolde answered trying to recall the dream... if it had been a dream at all. “Black mirrors, all of them like polished stone. But the visions were nightmares.”
“Your fears…” Ama murmured. “What else?”
“I saw myself… I was pregnant and I went into the… darkness…” Isolde’s head pounded, “and then there was Orlog! But I clicked my fingers, like you said, Ama, and she shattered into a thousand pieces, until all that was left was…”
Isolde suddenly realized how tight she was squeezing her fist. She could feel something hard within it, something warm. She opened her hand, and the ruby was there, shimmering with a life of its own in her palm.
“The ruby…” Isolde said with wide eyes, “that was all that was left of her.”
Ama nodded slowly and smiled.
“Tea time, I think.”
They sat around the wooden kitchen table. Ama had made her calming chamomile, and Isolde felt the pain in her head begin to ease. She had put the ruby in the middle of the table and watched its crystal face dance in the light of the candle.
“It is Orlog,” Ama said, speaking of the crystal. “When that beast, Valarth, put the crystal in you, it was like the egg of Orlog, fertilized by Hrothgar, and left to incubate within you.”
Isolde shuddered at the thought.
“But it is done now?” she asked.
“Not quite,” Ama said with a pitiful smile. “Orlog is still alive in there. You have to finish the job. You need to cross into her world now.”
“But I was there,” Isolde exclaimed, “I clicked my fingers and she shattered!”
“No, Isolde,” Ama said as she tapped her head again, “you were in your own mind. Orlog had infected you, you have only pulled her out of one plane. The netherworld is complex, I know. Just imagine, each being has its own plane in its mind, plus the common planes that we all inhabit. Orlog crossed from her ethereal plane into your personal one, so that she could be reborn into the physical world. But you have torn her out now, and she lives within this crystal, but alive she is, and that needs to end.”
Isolde was shaking her head, “what do I do?”
“You need to go into the underworld, Isolde. You need to cross into the Land of the Gods, with Orlog’s ruby, and destroy it once and for all.”
“And what if I don’t?” Isolde said, panic beginning to grip her heart. “What if I refuse to go?”
Ama sighed.
“Then the world will burn.”
“How? Why? We already have her trapped!”
“Let me show you, Isolde.”
***
The forsaken city of Mousa - that is what the dwarves had called it, and Skaldi only nodded in agreeance. But to Harald, it seemed like a city built for the gods. The immense gates stood before them, like an entrance into heaven. The great white towers stood sentry at the city's entrance, their marble stones as big as men. Their peaks rose high into the sky, Harald guessed at least eighty feet before being capped by black-slate steeples.
A warm wind rushed out from the main thoroughfare ahead and whipped across the faces of the travellers. It smelled dry, an odd thing for being so close to the sea. He couldn't hear the ocean from where they stood, but Harald knew the city was built right on to the cliffs, and that the King's Keep towered high above the ocean.
He could see the keep, it was the highest point in the city. Its white walls glistened in the sun as they stood proudly over the rest of the beautiful city. They strolled through the open gate, it was quiet, silent in fact, only the rustling wind that raced through alleys and streets could be heard. That and the rhythmic clop of their steps.
It made Harald feel uneasy, for such a vibrant place to be so lifeless - it was unnatural. They walked in solemn silence up the main street. It was paved with huge flat stones, each perfectly squared to fit together so that none would shift out of place. This street could have served for a thousand years or more and never need replacing, or so Harald thought.
They passed deserted shop fronts, taverns and homes. Each flat faced with terraced ceilings and ornate balconies that overlooked the street. What a marvel this place would have been when its people flourished and lived. But now, the shattered windows and open doors seemed like hollow eyes watching every movement of the intruders.
Skaldi took the lead and it seemed he knew the streets as if they were his own home. He took the group left and then right, through open lanes and tight alleys, and they made their way ever closer to the sparkling Keep of the King.
"For in its courtyard lays the King's Fountain," Skaldi had explained.
Onwards they trudged with the wind howling through the tight walkways and streets as though the city was haunted by ghosts. But as Harald went on, he knew that the undead did haunt this city, though their bodies were as physical as his.
"It's a marvel what the old ones knew," Snorri said to break the silence.
No one answered him, the tension was too thick for small talk, but the dwarf seemed not to mind and went on.
"To build something like this would be unthinkable now," he said. "Just look at the brick work, the skill to quarry and shape so much marble..."
Skaldi shook his head and replied, "the old ways are not forgotten everywhere. Far in the east, there are cities just as this, but full of life!"
They passed between two great buildings that towered three stories high, shrouding the alley below in shadows. When they came back out into the sun, Harald saw the gates to the city's citadel. It was a marvellous site, two tall white towers stood like guardians on either side of a great gate. It hung lifelessly open, its gold veneer dazzling in the sun with bands of silver ornately carved with glyphs of flowers.
Thodin bellowed a laugh.
"What do you think Snor, we rip it down and drag it back to Kharstrom?"
Snorri snorted and hit Thodin in the arm.
&n
bsp; "Aye," the dwarf agreed, "imagine old Krazkul's face when he sees his new door!"
"Forget his face," Thodin said, "imagine what he'd pay for it!"
The dwarves chided back and forth, and Harald began to walk to the opening in the gate. Something had caught his eye. A glimmer of light, only for a second, but he was sure of it. Something, or someone, was watching them from high up in the keep.
"But how would we get it back?" Thodin asked.
"We'd need a team..."
Harald kept his eyes glued on the King's Keep. The hairs on his neck began to prick up and he was a good enough hunter to know he was being watched.
"What is it?" Skaldi asked, breaking Harald's concentration.
"Up there," he pointed to the far off window, "someone is watching us."
Skaldi nodded but said nothing, yet Harald knew what was on his mind... Valarth... The old man turned back to the dwarves.
"We're being watched," he said, but Snorri and Thodin were too busy in their own world of treasure to notice.
"Boys!" Skaldi yelled, and Dok's tail lowered with his eyes darting to the ground.
"What?" Snorri demanded.
"Forget your door," Skaldi said, "we're being watched."
Snorri took his crossbow and cocked back the string as Thodin drew out his pair of axes. Harald hadn't seen them until now and marvelled at their design. Each had a blade the size of his own battleaxe, but the dwarf's stone-hard muscles could take the weight in each hand as though they were as light as feathers.
"How much further?" Snorri asked as he lifted up his loaded crossbow.
"It is right through the gate," Skaldi said.
They crept past the golden doors in absolute silence. Harald watched his every step so that his tread was as soft as silk, but he couldn't silence his heart as it thundered in his chest. He knew the draugrs could fight, too many and they wouldn't stand a chance.
The Blind Seer Page 6
