Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  “Well, Ris Kaverling, I have no need of your assistance and no desire to go to this Ipn Shal,” she said forcefully.

  Ris cocked an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

  “I heard you last night. You and that wizard. I don’t know who you think you are, but I’ll not be carried away from my course.”

  Ris eased forward. “Your life is precisely the reason we’ve come. There is great danger coming towards us. We need to be gone before the Goblins arrive. Tarren, please. Listen to me. I have given my word to a friend that no harm shall befall you while I draw breath. Would you have that trust shattered for childish fears?”

  “A promise made without my consent. I am my own woman. This wizard friend, whom I never met, holds no sway over me, nor do you and your kin. Go away and let me about my business.”

  He admired Tarren’s independence, but this was no time for stubbornness. His life was at risk right with hers. A change of tactics was required.

  “Very well, Tarren Brickton. I shall leave you, though I warn you that your life is in forfeit soon. Goblins have been hunting you for weeks now. They won’t stop until they catch you. They’ll come on you when you least expect and steal you away to their dark master in the land of Gren. But the choice is yours, as you so kindly remind us. I leave you now.”

  She suddenly wasn’t so sure. The Centaur appeared likable enough, and he did have concerns for her well being. Still, she and the pony had done well enough on their own. If only he was here now. Come to think of it, Tarren hadn’t seen him since she went to sleep the night before.

  A dark bearded Centaur came galloping into the campsite, a cloud of dust chasing him. A half empty quiver was strapped over his leather jerkin. Dark blood stained his powerful flank.

  “Goblins,” he hissed in warning.

  Ris walked to his friend. “What happened?”

  “They came upon me from the south, though I do not believe they knew I was there. I killed five and fled. They are numbered well over a hundred and heading this way fast. I tried to lose them but they are driven.”

  Strong as his band was, Ris knew they were no match for a force so large. He turned to Tarren and asked, “well, Ms. Brickton, what shall is be? I cannot protect you like this.”

  A deep horn bellowed through the trees. The Goblins had come.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The sound of the horn was enough to strike fear through Tarren’s soul. She’d never heard such a vile and demanding sound. And now that she had, never wanted to again.

  Confused and alone, she wanted her pony back more than anything. Tarren could hear the Goblins now. The clank and rustle of armor and mail running through the trees coming to kill her.

  “Decide quickly,” Ris demanded. “Time has left us.”

  His brothers formed a solid line, arrows smoothly knocked. Their sharp eyes watched the trees in anticipation. At least six more Goblins were going to die before this was done. Tarren reached a hand out to her appointed guardian.

  “I accept,” she politely said with a trace of fear in her words.

  Ris effortlessly pulled her on his back. “The company is much appreciated. We ride.”

  A series of successive thrums told her the first round was away. Several grunts followed and then heavy crashes. Tarren knew someone was dying. Six more arrows sped true. Ris whistled and they turned and fled. Goblins broke into the open with axes and cudgels waving menacingly overhead.

  Tarren risked a glance back. Her fears were realized at the sight of them. She’d never seen a Goblin before. Their stout, gray bodies stunk of malice and waste. Wicked teeth poked up and down, too large to fit in their mouths. Tarren felt hatred seething from their looks. She buried her face into the Centaurs strong back and didn’t look back. The gap quickly widened.

  She guessed they ran nonstop for close to an hour. The smell of sweat and energy mingled as one, at once revolting and intoxicating. Ris finally held up his arm and the company slowed to a trot. For Tarren, there was no going back. Her fate was solely in their hands now.

  Ris let her off so she could catch her breath. Her legs felt wobbly and her heart was pounding. It was the first time she’d been in danger of losing her life. Two of the Centaurs doubled back and disappeared. Tarren knew nothing of warfare or tactics but was smart enough to figure out the pair were searching for signs of pursuit. Her stomach growled. She’d forgotten they hadn’t eaten yet, and it was nigh on midday. She blushed when she noticed Ris smiling down at her. He wordlessly handed her a pack with some old bread and the last bit of cheese.

  “What now?” she asked between bites.

  Ris stretched his arms. “Providing the way is clear, we start the trek to Ipn Shal. Winter isn’t far off and I’d as soon get there before the snows come. The way is perilous enough in good weather.”

  “What is this Ipn Shal place? I’ve never heard of it before,” she admitted.

  “It was once the fortress home of the order of Mages. Those born with the talent came from all parts of Malweir to learn and develop their crafts. Life was simpler back then. The Mages worked in concert to better all races,” he told her.

  She stared at him wide eyed. “You can’t be that old? We’ve heard stories about the Mages and how long ago the world fell into war. That must have been a hundred years ago.”

  “Almost four hundred,” he said. “And no, I was nowhere close to being born. My grandsire lived through those times and passed down what he was forced to endure. I think that will be the only thing to save us. Our understanding of the past.”

  “It is said the Silver Mage first learned the dark arts and slowly subjugated others to his fell cause deep in the underbelly of the fortress. A great war arose between good and evil, and the world took sides. Many of the mages were killed in but one night and Ipn Shal came down around them. That was the beginning of the dark times. Today the keep is all but a forgotten ruin in an abandoned part of the land.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  Tarren had always been fascinated by the lore and lure of magic and the grand age of magery. She often imagined herself in flowing robes and gowns of the finest silks as she danced across marbled floors in grand ballrooms. It was an alien concept, her living in a small town practically no one had heard of. Ris saw the dreamy look in her eyes and it warmed him. There was so much violence and mayhem in the world her brand of innocence was reassuring.

  “Once,” he replied. “The landscape is inhospitable now. Ruined by magic and warped beyond sustaining life. There are several abandoned towns along the way. They say the people fled during the war. Now nothing is safe. Everything north of Thuil Lake was des-toyed by the mages. The ground is broken and unstable. Much of it is hardened rock, sharp and jagged. There is no vegetation anymore and the very water was turned to sulfur. The last livable town is called Braem. Fair enough as far as Men go, but I will not set foot within its boundaries. That will be our last chance for getting supplies and good sleep before we reach the ruins.”

  He tossed the apple core he was nibbling on away and continued. “The people of Braem seem friendly enough, but our races have never been comfortable with each other.”

  Tarren didn’t know what to think. She was lost. Goblins and Mages. Centaurs and wars of unimaginable devastation. It was almost too much for her. Life was a simple thing, only she was suddenly finding out differently. She finished her meager meal and thanked him politely. It was then she realized there was no turning back. Delin and Fennic were going to have to wait. Destiny had chosen her for a different task.

  “How long will it take to reach Braem?” she asked him and thus resigned herself to the present course.

  “Four days if I reckon right. I’m not too familiar with this part of Averon but we’re far enough north of Alloenis to give me a good idea. Braem will be there regardless of when we arrive. We need to concern ourselves with the Goblins and other foul creatures in league with Gren.”

  “I’m not so sure I like the sound of tha
t,” she confided.

  Ris sympathized with her. “Goblins are spread across the continent and beyond. Those behind us have been blooded and will not stop easily. They will kill us or we them. It is the way of things. Fear not, we will keep you safe.’

  Part of her felt defeated by the bleak prospects of tomorrow. “Tell me, why does this wizard care so much for me? I’ve never met him.”

  “He may well be our strongest hope for success against the dark. As I’m sure you overheard last night,” he said with a grin. “He has many names in different lands, but I only know him as Dakeb.”

  The scouts returned then, storming back into the loose perimeter. Vinz took his time to catch his breath and report.

  “They are coming. A league, maybe more away, but they do not stop to rest,” he said.

  Ris scowled. He’d been hoping for a longer rest. “That gives us less than an hour. We need to get moving. Tell the others we leave in five minutes.”

  Adrenalin eased through her veins again. She really didn’t want to see another Goblin. Fate had other ideas.

  “Feel like going for a ride?” Ris halfheartedly asked.

  She already knew there was no choice. Staying meant death. Tarren accepted his hand and resumed her place on his back. And the tiny band was away. He tried to belay her suspicions of Goblins tracking them all the way to the ruins. He had a few tricks left to play and Goblins weren’t overly bright.

  The game of cat and mouse went on for the next three days. Ris and his friends ran hard and managed to put good distance between them and the enemy. It gave them enough time to eat and relax before moving again. He sent two teams of two out each night before dusk to sneak upon the enemy and reduce their numbers. And each night they returned with positive results. Another twenty Goblins fell to their cunning, but the war band was much too strong to face head on. Tarren and Ris became friends during those long rides. Their conversations ranged from the simple smell of the golden dragon flower to the first war against the Silver Mage. She found herself liking the Centaur more and more as the time sped. She finally found someone to talk to and decided to make the most of it.

  Another two days went by, with the band of Centaurs zigzagging across the endless plains. More Goblins died and the gap between them steadily widened. Ris assured her he knew where he was and that Braem was near. She had no choice but to accept it. They crossed many tracks along the way. Most were normal forest animals and wildlife yet some were intensely puzzling. Booted feet and heavily weighted. Ris had no explanation. His mood darkened and he insisted they proceeded with extreme caution. Something about the type and frequency of the tracks disturbed him. The Goblins must have noticed as much too, for they pulled back into the shadows of the foothills just east of the Sibit River and remained.

  Twilight fell upon them, bringing winter one day closer. Ris halted at the top of a small rise overlooking a quaint town.

  “Braem,” he announced. “You should enter tomorrow morning. The dark is always dangerous regardless of the where. You’ll be safe enough with us in the meantime.”

  “But still no fire or a hot meal,” she teased.

  Ris tossed his head back. They’d had no fire since joining company. Goblins had an excellent sense of night vision and smell. Fire and roasting meat were more than enough to draw the attention of even a lone Goblin.

  “No. No meat. It looks like another night of berries and dried deer meat. we don’t want to take unnecessary chances.”

  Her stomach growled at the thought of having to eat more of the bland travel rations. That being said, Tarren settled down for another cold night.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Thunder so loud it trembled the ground and blasted the Gren Mountains. Men and beasts felt the awesome power and knew fear. Soldiers scrambled to their positions atop the walls of the beleaguered fortress in alarm. The thunder wasn’t natural. Another attack had begun.

  Fynten emerged from his chambers, naked from the waist up and sword in hand. His eyes were half closed from sleep. Days of constant battle sapped his strength until he found himself at the edge of his stamina. Last night was the first time he’d managed uninterrupted sleep since the siege began. Tens of thousands of enemy soldiers lay dead and rotting on the fetid battlefield. So many, that the defenders of the mountain pass felt sure Gren would not attack again so soon.

  The stench of death was fierce. Soldiers heaved their stomachs over the battered walls from the intensity of the carnage. The army of Gren didn’t care. They trampled their dead under foot, crushing them into an expensive highway from the wicked kingdom. Ever so slowly the defenders were pushed back towards their last lines of defense. Time was almost up.

  “What’s happening?” Fynten demanded from a young soldier rushing past.

  “We’re… we’re under attack, sir.”

  Fynten regarded the boy with a sour look. He’d already guessed as much, but then again, most of his men had never seen such reckless slaughter. The commander of the fading fortress of Gren Mot ducked back into his meager quarters long enough to don a tunic and armor. Dents and blood stains had ruined the once magnificent shine. It was like so much his world had become. The old veteran headed towards the sound of fighting.

  “Commander Fynten! You need to get to the tower at once!” Surnish shouted after running into him in a darkened hall.

  Thunder violently rocked the castle foundations. The roar was deafening.

  “What in the world was that?” Fynten asked.

  Surnish shrugged. I don’t know. The others are already in the command post waiting.”

  Grim stares met him when they entered the tower. He knew at once this was the final assault. His mind went over recent events and Fynten was glad he’d made some of the decisions he had. He’d sent Melgit and his surviving cavalry back to Paedwyn days prior. He knew that they were next to useless in this kind of warfare and King Maelor would have need of the chargers in the coming war. Melgit, of course, sputtered and fumed at being dismissed, but in the end the long column of riders left the fort. Jeurle, his eyes bloodshot, merely shook his head in frustration. He was on the verge of tears.

  “Report.”

  Cpt. Wiln saluted and said, “This has been going on for the past hour. None of the look outs have seen anything, but that means nothing considering the heavy cloud cover. I suspect another trick from the Mage.”

  Again the boomed thunder, followed closely by a large shadow sailing overhead.

  “Dear gods,” Prellin whispered.

  Fynten stepped forward to reinforce his command and take their minds from the horror about to be unleashed upon them.

  “Archers and infantry to the walls. I want every bow and arrow in this fortress ready to use. Surnish, I need those two remaining catapults primed and ready. Jeurle, provide back up. I don’t need to tell any of you that this is going to be rough. But always remember that no matter what happens here this day we are the defenders of our country and our people. Go with the Gods, my friends.”

  The older Surnish was about to answer when a fifty meter section of the inner walls erupted in flame. Burning men fell screaming. A dark shadow raced overhead again, carrying with it the acrid smell of sulfur and acid. Fynten felt his heart fall. A dragon! A handful of arrows sped into the sky in reply, but the commander knew it was a futile gesture. No arrow had ever pierced the armor hide of a flying serpent. The shadow wheeled about and bore down on the tower.

  “Everyone down!” Fynten screamed.

  The heat washed over them first, blistering their flesh inside their armor. Fynten’s last sight was a thick wall of flame rushing towards him. If he screamed, no one heard it.

  Columns of smoke funneled into the early morn. Gray skies and heavy clouds threatened snow. The smell of burnt flesh filled the mountain pass. Vultures perched atop the jagged crags waiting for the living to leave so as that the feast could begin. Drumming pounded through the pass, dominating the snarls and curses of the hundred Goblins trying to tear down the
gates. Ladders and scaling ropes were already covering the walls, allowing hundred of Goblins and Men of Gren to enter the fallen keep. Those few survivors from the dragon attack were no match for the bloodthirsty enemy. A great cheer erupted when at last the mighty stone gates came crashing to the ground in a storm of dust and rock. Captains and sergeants reformed their companies to enter Gren Mot. Now nothing stood between them and the richness of Averon.

  A lean man with the hungry features of a wolf elbowed through the throngs, pushing his way to the very front ranks. Goblin and Man alike bowed and gave him a wide berth. The man had doom in his eyes. Few knew him by name, though his dark reputation ran rampant through the armies. He was the incarnate of evil itself.

  “Lord Hoole, the keep has fallen. We now control the pass,” a blood stained Goblin snarled.

  Jervis Hoole felt his eyes light up. He was born a poor farm boy who decided to join the army the day his parents were killed. His ruthlessness and barbarism were of a special sort and it quickly propelled him through the ranks. He was twice decorated by the Silver Mage for his actions in battle. Man, woman, and child alike fell beneath his steel and he held no regrets. Life was suffering, plain and simple.

  He wore a wolf skin cloak over a wool jerkin and leather breeks. There was no trace of fat on his body. Long years of war and sacrifice made him lean. Scars and burn marks covered most of his upper body. They served as a constant reminder of his personal weaknesses and overcome ordeals.

  “Is it?” he asked in a wicked voice. “Then why do I still hear the sounds of fighting inside?”

  The Goblin hesitated to answer.

  “I want all survivors brought alive to the main yard. Do not kill another unless I order it.” he commanded.