Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  The elder Mage found the winding staircase he’d been searching for and started to go down. Ipn Shal held many basements and sublevels. Most were used for storage and the like, even barracks for the Mage army when the need arose. There were also great libraries unparalleled in any land. Dakeb knew his foe never showed much interest in reading and now planned on using it to his full advantage. Dakeb reached the main library hall and stood in awe. Somewhere in the thousands upon thousands of books was the one he needed.

  He resignedly shook his head and set to work. His thoughts constantly returned to the girl, Tarren. She was a truly lovely woman and he was sad at the role she must play. Hers was perhaps the most important of all. Thankfully she had a good head on her shoulders and the resolve to see things through. The thought of her brought a smile to his face. There was hope for humanity so long as people like her chose to stand for right.

  He was on his third torch by the time he found the book he was searching for. A Composite History of the Crystal of Tol Shere and its uses in Practical Magic. Dakeb had two weeks left before Winter’s Day and the day Sidian planned his hideous ceremony. Satisfied for the moment, Dakeb sat down to read.

  * * *

  The inhabitants of the Old Forest spoke of invasion and following strife. Whispers and rumors drifted back to Elvanara, the woodland home of the most ancient of the Elven people. King Alsenal warned his folk to stay within the boundaries of the forest where his magic could protect them. He knew firsthand the dangers the Silver Mage possessed and was unwilling to let his people suffer. Celegon, his son, begged and pleaded for the Elves to get involved and help the race of Men but the Elf king was adamant. Enough Elven blood had already been spilled in the past.

  His sentiment went unheard among the youth. Most of it began with the king’s son and trickled down through the community until a strong following to enter the war was raised. Alsenal remained stolid. Celegon defied his father’s wishes and readied his friend’s for the inevitable. War was coming and not even the magic of the Elves was going to be of use if they were too late.

  “You can’t go against his wishes. He is the king, and your father!” Derlith warned.

  Celegon continued to pack for his trip.

  “What if you’re wrong, eh? What if the Silver Mage doesn’t bother to look this way? You’ll risk us all if they discover Elves fighting alongside those Men.”

  The Elf prince turned calmly to his friend. “Do you really believe he has forgotten or forgiven the part we played in his last defeat? No. We are all in danger. My father is too old and set in his ways to accept it.”

  He laid a friendly hand on Derlith’s shoulder. “You’ve seen what Averon is facing. There is no hope for any of us unless we stand together. Come with me. I need as many friends as I can find.”

  Some of the edge left the Elf warrior’s eyes. “Aye. I will follow you, but not for the reasons you think. If war is coming, you’ll need someone to keep you out of trouble.”

  They shared a quiet laugh and slipped unnoticed from the house. Twenty others were waiting on horseback below. They were a guard of honor. A token force to show Averon that the Elves were behind them. Celegon climbed aboard his roan and looked upon his home for what might be the last time. A tear in his eyes, he turned and headed south.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The unexpected battle with the vanguard of the Gren army pushed back Fennic’s departure a few days. Steleon wanted them gone as soon as possible but wasn’t willing to risk it with the enemy so close and focused. Two days after that battle the main army came down onto the plain and began arraying itself for campaign. They were an awesome sight to behold. Their armor glimmered in the pale winter sun, and each bore weapons sharp and eager for battle. Steleon was left with no choice but to delay their departure yet again.

  A day and half passed while the armies of Gren took the field. The defenders reeled in shock at the size of the formations. Rumors spread. The Goblins were going to kill every last one of them. Fear stretched into the deepest reaches of their souls that day. Hallis stood with the others atop a low rise watching the parade across the river. His muscles tensed as painful memories tormented him.

  “I’ve never seen such a sight,” Fennic exhaled. He suddenly felt very small.

  Thumbing the blade of his axe, Norgen nodded. “This is just the beginning. What you see is nothing compared to what awaits us. Gren holds many evils lads.”

  Delin’s stomach dropped. “We don’t stand a chance.”

  Norgen laughed. “Nonsense! War is a fickle bitch. Size doesn’t always promise victory. You saw how easily the horsemen ran those others down. They may be many, but Goblins are notoriously poor fighters.”

  Hallis smiled. “Don’t fret. Our intent is to slip into Gren unseen. We won’t have a foe that big to face.”

  “Just the Silver Mage and his dragon,” Delin replied.

  They said nothing more. Across the river the massive army continued to emplace.

  The first sounds of battle began not long after midnight to the heavy song of catapults firing. Goblin units managed to sneak close enough to the Thorn River in an attempt at establishing a bridgehead. Only the artillery of Averon turned them back, leaving a bloody mess in their wake. Archers formed ranks and began a wholesale slaughter of any Goblin soldiers in range. The units already in the water were decimated entirely.

  Steleon burst from his tent with sword in hand and fuming. There was no reason why the enemy got so close without his scouts spying them first. He swore to himself that someone was going to pay. He was pleasantly surprised when he reached the front lines. Unit commanders were moving their men into battle ranks and repelling the Goblin assault. The edge left him. Satisfied the situation was still manageable, he began moving up and down the line shouting encouragement.

  The Goblins retreated.

  Steleon summoned his commanders and issued orders in case the enemy returned and went off to find Hallis.

  After warming his hands at the fire, Steleon said, “You must leave tonight. This was just the beginning. We can only expect worse.”

  Hallis agreed. “We are packed and ready to make the trip upstream.”

  “The river isn’t safe. You need another plan. The best bet is to double back a league or so and move north. The enemy wouldn’t see you from there, even if they manage to break through here,” Steleon told them.

  “None of this makes sense,” Norgen commented. “They attack before they are ready and waste lives. Why? As much as I hate to say it, we need to gain the Old Forest and the protection of the Elves before the enemy catches on to us.”

  Steleon merely nodded. “Indeed. I’m going to send a small detachment with you. Once you reach the forest they’ll return to me. If there were more I could do…”

  “Forget about us,” Norgen told him. “You have more pressing matters that need dealing with. I wish I could stay and split a few skulls.”

  Steleon snorted. “Indeed. Good luck, my friends. I fear you may need it more than us.”

  The catapults started firing again. The army commander sagged slightly. He was tired and this was but the first night. The long, lonely call to arms blared on trumpets across the front. Soldiers readied for the charge.

  “Leave now, this is your best chance,” Steleon said and walked away. “Sergeant at arms!”

  Less than an hour later the tiny band of would be heroes stood atop the highest rise surrounding the main encampment watching the second battle rage. Fires raged out of control in scores of places across the far shore, the flames offering brief glimpses of the mass of enemy warriors. Delin couldn’t figure how Steleon planned on winning. Not against these odds.

  “Come,” Hallis said. “Let us go before it’s too late.”

  They wordlessly turned and began the two day trek to the Old Forest. Ten soldiers rode with them. All were scouts and rangers. None wore uniforms and they were armed to the tooth. They were easily as lethal as a full company of conventional infantry. As
such, they possessed the ability to move stealthily through the land and strike without warning. Unrecognizable by all but their own commanders, they did the dirty work the king couldn’t admit to. Officially they didn’t exist.

  So when Tolis Scarn learned of their special assignment his instincts prickled. He’d never owned a uniform and had comparable skills to the men he secretly joined. Most of the rangers didn’t know each other so it was no big feat slipping in to the end of the column as it left the camp. Scarn thanked his luck. If it weren’t for the incoming round that exploded in his tent and killed three men, he never would have found the boys and Dwarf. He used the confusion to his advantage and scurried away. Once in the shadows he overheard their last goodbyes and waited. This was the perfect opportunity. Lady chance was finally smiling on him.

  They camped shortly after dawn, drawing up in a tight circle. Five rangers took off in different directions to scout the surrounding countryside. Hallis chanced a small fire and soon had a shank of venison roasting. Norgen stood off by a sapling elm tree smoking his pipe.

  “I don’t like this,” he grumbled. “Fire is dangerous, no matter how many men of the wild are with us.”

  “At least we’ll know if Goblins come close,” Hallis replied. “Enjoy the hot meal while you can. There will be none soon enough.”

  A long plume of bluish smoke drifted up from the bowl of his pipe. “There are worse things than Goblins to fear.”

  “Phaelor will warn us if another Gnaal comes,” Fennic confidently said.

  Norgen snorted and stalked away, mumbling under his breath.

  A light snow trickled down, briefly coating the land. Still too warm for it to stick, the white powder melted on contact with the ground. Delin warmed his hands and remembered reading stories of old heroes traveling the lands on epic quests. They always faced terrors incomparable than anything imaginable. Nowhere did he ever read about how hard and cruel the travels were. Or how inhospitable nature was to those few who braved doing the right thing. He found his own adventure was miserable at times and frightening at others. Delin wondered how his tale was going to be told in the ages to come.

  “The Dwarf is right. Having a fire in the open is hazardous to us all,” Scarn warned.

  He wrapped his cloak a little tighter and continued watching the treeline. It wouldn’t do them any good if Goblins ambushed them now. Scarn had been careful not to talk too much for he wasn’t sure exactly what the rangers had been given for orders. He took his turns off in the wild and performed those duties to the best of his abilities. Deciding he’d said enough, he turned and walked away.

  “Maybe we should put it out,” Delin suggested against his better judgment.

  Fennic immediately found it odd that none of the other rangers had commented on the fire. Suspicions formed about that man. Even Phaelor was trying to warn him, but why?

  He decided to watch him closely until he knew for certain what was foul about him.

  Hallis smiled fondly at Delin. “We will put it out as soon as the meat is cooked. Will that help ease your troubled minds?”

  “Greatly.”

  Soon enough they were enjoying the hot meat dripping fats and grease. Delin couldn’t recall anything tastier. The rangers declined, much to Scarn’s disappointment. They kept to themselves and ate a meager meal of dried meats and nuts. The boys traded tales of their youth once their bellies were full. They stopped short of mentioning finding the sword or the stone because Fennic’s mistrust of Scarn was growing. All too soon Hallis ended their merriment by scooping dirt over the flames. Norgen’s heavy snoring was prompt enough for the rest to bundle up in their cloaks and try to rest.

  It was hours later when the lead ranger, a tall man with a hideous scar running down his face gently kicked them awake. It was time to move on. Hallis and Norgen were up and moving as if it had been the entire night, while the boys grumbled and couldn’t stop yawning. Very shortly they were riding towards the Old Forest. Their scouts returned and were instantly replaced by another set. Fennic was greatly relieved to see Scarn ride out with them.

  “The Elf King does not permit Men to walk under the leaves of the forest,” Hallis explained to them. “It has been decades since anyone from Averon was allowed to do so.”

  Norgen spat. “All the more reason not to trust them.”

  “Why is that?” Delin asked. The animosity between the races seemed to tense and fester the closer they got.

  Norgen surprised them all by laughing. “Who can trust a race that keeps their borders closed and dissuade friendship? Besides, they live in trees! Man is bad enough, but we tolerate them all the same. It seems only the Dwarves are smart enough to live in the great halls of the world. And rightly so I say.”

  Fennic stifled a giggle. “What makes living underground any better than the open air?”

  “Why!” the Dwarf flustered. He scowled at them and said nothing more for a fair stretch.

  They’d just halted for dinner when one of the rangers came flying back. His face was beaded with sweat and he came from the direction of the Old Forest. There was a wild look of terror in his eyes. He spoke with Scarface in hushed tones and was sent back out as quickly as he arrived. Obviously terrified, the man obeyed his orders without question.

  Scarface solemnly rode up to Hallis. His face was as grim as the cold, cold stone. “We are being hunted.”

  “By what?” Hallis asked, his hand dancing on the hilt of his sword.

  Fennic looked down at Phaelor and recoiled. There was a soft glow coming from the sheath. Danger!

  “My man says it is a great beast more terrible than his imagination capable of. It is the color of darkness and reeks of death. It can only be a Gnaal,” replied Scarface. His voice betrayed no emotion. “H went back out to try and draw it away from us, back into the wild.”

  “A wasted effort, my friend,” Norgen grimaced, axe in hand.

  “Regardless, it is what we must do if we are to succeed in getting you to the Elves alive.”

  Delin felt his world crumble. They’d only just begun their quest and ruin was upon them. He knew that if there was one hunting them there must be more.

  Looking at each man individually, Hallis tightened his grip on the reins. “We must hurry.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  They pushed hard, struggling to gain the security of the forest. But it was simply too far away and the Gnaal was bound to find them before long. Scarface reluctantly slowed them to a walk. Killing them now would do no good for anyone. Fennic constantly checked Phaelor for changes but the sword remained the same. Danger was close, but far enough away to be of little importance to the sword.

  “You make sure to tell us when Phaelor starts acting up, Fennic. I don’t want to run into another one of those Gnaals,” Delin whispered.

  “Don’t worry. We know how to fight them now.”

  “And if there’s more than one?”

  Fennic shrugged. “The more the merrier I suppose.”

  His voice was uncharacteristically cruel, almost as if he were looking forward to the battle. An unearthly scream shattered the still of the night. It was coming their way. The darkness crept in a little closer, threatening to choke them into submission. A second scream answered. Scarface clenched his jaw and rode on. The moon rose slowly. The light was chill and offered haunting images of the night. Suddenly the world became evil and threatening. Gnaals could pass through the black unseen and strike at any moment. Any of the shadows might be the enemy.

  Phaelor hummed now. Delin stole a glance at it and shuddered. He was no fan of magic. He’d never met and Elf and certainly had no reason to trust their weapons. Not after what Norgen had said. An owl hooted in the dark. A wolf bayed. Goosebumps prickled down Delin’s spine. The fear chilled his very soul. He felt everything turning against him. Too soon he doubted if he’d ever sleep again.

  Hallis saw the fear about to consume Delin. “Relax, Master Kerny. There are real enough dangers out there. Don’t focus on your fe
ars. You’ll be fine so long as you keep your wits about you.”

  Norgen also added his encouragement. “You have an advantage over these rangers.”

  “What is that?”

  “You’ve been hunted by a Gnaal before and lived to tell of it. That makes the four of us legends already. I think they should fear us instead.”

  Delin smiled despite himself.

  He was almost feeling good again when a riderless horse walked up to them. Scarface grabbed the reins and tried soothing the animal. Dark blood ran from claw-like wounds on its flanks. Fennic recognized the horse. It belonged to the ranger who had come back to warn them. Fennic wanted to cry. The night was hunting them one at a time.

  Scarface pushed them on. His emotions remained his alone. He’d known the dead man and had grown up with him. But Scarface wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t. Crying didn’t bring back the dead. Neither did vengeance. But at least that rode was accessible. The column pressed onward.

  Nothing more happened that night. Another ranger was sent out to replace the fallen one. He went without pause, knowing what was expected of him. Fennic scowled when he saw Scarn ride back into the main body. Of all the people to live through the night, he cursed. They stopped at dawn to eat a cold meal. Scarface warned against staying too long and much too soon they were moving again. Much too slowly, the distance between them and the forest shrank.

  Scarface reined to a halt and wiped his stringy, black hair from his face. His cold eyes searched the area for sign of the Gnaal. They were less than a day from the sanctuary of the Old Forest. He silently hoped they made it. He let his gaze fall upon the ragged bunch he was told to guide. The boys were small and weak in his opinion, dressed in woodland colors and looking near mangy from the escape. Hallis was an old hand and could hold his own. The Dwarf, well, that was another issue in itself. Norgen stood in his rust colored armor scowling again. His dark red hair and beard reminded Scarface of the blood on the freshly fallen snow.