Armies of the Silver Mage
Page 23
Hallis approached. “What now?”
“This next stretch of land is ripe with places for ambush. There are too many hills and valleys. This is going to be dangerous,” he replied.
“Can we go around?”
Scarface shook his head. “No. It will cost us five days at least. We don’t have that kind of time. The river keeps our right flank, but may prove deadly if we’re trapped against it. The nearest ford is leagues away and more than likely patrolled by Goblins. The best chance we have is to ride straight through.”
Hallis grimly agreed and they set out at a quickened pace.
* * *
A heavy crashing came from the trees to the right once the column entered a twisting valley. Delin’s eyes bled white with fear. They’d been discovered at last. His deepest fears were becoming reality. The Gnaals were coming back to finish what they began on the road to Paedwyn. Fennic grinned and drew Phaelor. Dusk was falling, leaving the snow covered world a haunting shade of its former self. The rangers lit torches and drew in closer for the coming attack.
A large, black shape flew past Delin and off into the darkness. He turned in time to see a torch fall to the ground from a riderless horse. A trail of crimson blood smeared the snow. Arrows flew in the same direction though it was a useless gesture. The Gnaal had struck and one of theirs was dead. Scarface recognized the seriousness of the situation and knew they only had one chance.
“Run!” he yelled.
Panic gripped Delin. He knew they were all going to die. He began to sweat and then tremble. A shout brought him out of his delirium. He was just about to drive his heel into his horse to get moving when the great demon of the dark landed in front of him. The horse bucked up on hind legs, throwing Delin before the Gnaal slashed it in half. Blood and ichors splashed both the ground and Delin. Steam rose from the carcass, making him gag. Hot blood coated Delin’s face and he started to cry.
The Gnaal stepped closer, sensing death. Delin dared a closer look at his murderer. Massive lesions wept a dark substance coating most of its body. Scaled appendages lashed out at him. A foul odor made Delin vomit. He screamed when the decaying flesh curled around his calf. Tarren, he thought, I love you.
Then the Gnaal dropped him. Darkness fled, leaving the boy and beast in devious golden glow. That was when Delin understood true fear. He looked up into a row of lifeless eyes void of color and comprehension. Razor sharp fangs glistened with thick strands of saliva shredded the Gnaal’s face. The Gnaal roared and turned on a new foe.
Fennic roared back and charged with Phaelor waiving menacingly in front of him. Magic met monster in a blinding flash of light. The shockwave of the blast threw everyone nearby to the ground. The Gnaal screamed again through serrated vocal chords and fell. A pain so sweet melted its flesh beyond regeneration. It flapped its ragged wings in a futile attempt at escape. Fennic struggled to his feet and stalked the monster down, leveling the Elven sword as he’d been taught. Using every ounce of strength, he stabbed Phaelor down into the Gnaal’s chest. Golden light seeped from every pore until the great demon evaporated into nothing. Fennic dropped unconscious.
“Fennic!” Delin cried and crawled to his best friend.
Norgen and Hallis ran to them. Fennic wasn’t moving, though his chest rose and fell softly. At least he was still alive. The force of the magic was too much for him.
“Fennic, wake up,” Delin begged. He looked to the others for help.
Hallis gently picked Fennic’s limp body up. “He lives. That is all we can hope for now. The Elves have a healing magic.”
Another scream shattered the still. And then another.
Scarface wheeled on them with a menacing look. It was the single most frightening thing Delin had ever seen in a man. “Get them out of here now. You must flee while you still can.”
“What about you?” Delin managed.
The ranger actually smiled. “I’m going to do my job. The dawn is your ally. Ride hard and gain the forest. You’ll be safe then.”
Scarface looked around and settled his gaze on Scarn, who was the only other ranger close enough. “Keep them safe. All Averon depends on them.”
Scarn nodded, slightly stunned from the battle. He thought he’d seen horror before, but never anything so graphic and disturbing. “You have my word,” he said.
Hallis herded them onto their horses and led them out of the valley. Horses snickered with fear and anxiety as they broke into a full gallop. The danger of stumbling and breaking an ankle was just as real as the Gnaal, but it was a risk the sergeant was willing to take. They had to gain the Old Forest.
A pair of Gnaals burst from the shadows as the last horse broke away and attacked. Scarface met the charge with despair. Both beasts were twice as large as the first and equaling menacing. He looked left and right and sighed. There were six rangers with him. He knew six was not going to be enough to win. Scarface raised his sword and spurred his horse on.
Screams filled the valley in a sea of pain and blood.
THIRTY-NINE
Dawn nipped hard on their heels. Rays of orange and yellow pierced the clouds, turning the sky a brilliant shade of reddish-pink. There was a heavy chill in the air, and just the slightest hint of wind reflecting off the ice crystals that had formed on everything during the night. When the sun at last crested the horizon, the weary band of heroes had slowed to a walk.
They were exhausted, the adrenaline having left them cold in the middle of the night. Their horses were coated with sweat and breathing hard. All were teetering on the edge of collapse. Sometime during the night Fennic’s condition worsened and he now hung near death. An infection was spreading through his body and they were powerless to stop it. The only chance they had was reaching the Elves. His flesh turned a pallid shade, his breathing slowed. Delin, for all his doubts and personal fears, buckled down to stay beside his friend. Fennic needed him now more than ever.
Darkness slowly lost sway and the world returned to normal. Warmth edged back into them. Boulders and trees lost their haunting shadows as the frost melted in the morning glow. And then, just around the last bend, Delin spied a sight he knew would stay with him for the rest of his days. It was the edge of the Old Forest. They had made it.
“Look Fennic, we’re there,” he excitedly announced.
Delin looked at the majesty of the ancient trees through his tears. The great trees speared hundreds of feet into the sky. It was said some took more than ten men to circle their huge trunks, others were as small as children. Though winter was fast upon them, the Old Forest maintained the splendor of greens it was famous for.
Bright light reflected through the branches, striking the ground in a mottled array of brilliance. Nowhere but in Delin’s fanciest dreams could he have envisioned such a place. So full of life. Their problems suddenly seemed insignificant. Here lay peace and a promise of a golden tomorrow. There were no dark mages, no armies intent on their destruction. Danger was a forgotten mortal punishment. The glories of freedom and life stood in a great expanse before them.
Delin took hope again. There still lay leagues between them and the forest, but the vision alone was enough to boost his spirits. He could almost feel the warmth reaching out to secure him in a tender embrace. Evil, however, had other plans.
The Gnaal’s bellow shook the foundations of the world. All turned to see how close the nightmare was. Fresh terror sprang to life in Scarn’s eyes. He’d been a fighting man in one fashion or another for most of his life, but had never been forced to endure such levels of torment. He felt condemned.
“We’re dead,” he said. “We must use the boy and his magic sword. It’s the only way for some of us to escape.”
Hallis felt a rage grow. Suspicions about this ranger formed. The old sergeant acted quickly. His hand flashed out and grabbed Scarn by the throat.
“I will not use Fennic just to save your hide. That boy is the reason we are alive now and we owe him better. We ride for the forest. It’s not far.”
“Then we take that chance. Now ride!”
They rode faster than before. The landscape whirled past in streaks of colors. Slowly, the Old Forest loomed closer. They raced forward for another league before Hallis turned. He instantly wished he hadn’t. The Gnaal was behind them and closing fast. He watched the monster speed across the frozen ground. It ran like one of the great cats used in the gladiator arenas, fluid and graceful despite its malevolent intention. Heavy muscles rippled from the strain of pursuit. Then Hallis noticed something. There was only one. He wondered if Scarface and the rangers had killed the other. Doubtful as it seemed, Hallis took hope from the thought. One was immeasurably better than two of the beasts.
They fell under the shadows of the hulking trees and the Gnaal slowed. It was reluctant to come closer. The Gnaal was driven by one binding command. Kill the sword bearer. But ancient fears resurfaced. It remembered the pain caused by the Elves so many years ago. But the Master would accept no failure. The Gnaal must kill, or be destroyed at the hands of the Silver Mage. With a reckless howl, the great demon of Gren charged. Between the mage and the Elves, it knew it was already dead.
“We’re out of time,” Norgen shouted. “The horses are spent and still it comes. Let us take our chances and make a stand, Hallis. At least we can say we made a worthy end.”
Hallis finally let his shoulders drop in defeat. To come so close, he thought. He was tired. Tired of running. Tired of fighting for his life. Norgen was right. If they were going to die, they might as well salvage what dignity they could. Fate seemed against them from the beginning, always conspiring to steal hope when it was within their grasp.
“So be it,” he said in a grim voice. “Let’s end this.”
He eased his horse to a stop and slid to the ground. The air sang with the sound of steel being drawn. Hallis tried thinking back to happier times. Times when his life was full of promise. He relived his first meeting with his wife when he was a mere ranker barely old enough to hold a sword. She was the daughter of simple market owners. They’d fallen in love that day and his life was richer for it. His love went beyond the power of mere words. Fates be damned, Hallis growled.
Norgen stood beside him with his bitter axe in hand. The blades glimmered menacingly in the morning light. He prayed to his god, Gru, for the strength to meet death bravely. With the Gnaal so close, there seemed little doubt he would be meeting his god soon.
“You’re all mad!” Scarn shouted. “Didn’t you see what happened to the others? Didn’t you? You’ll be killed for sure.”
He looked at Fennic, who was hardly awake. Delin was clutching him tightly, his eyes screwed shut.
Scarn circled his horse towards Hallis. “I was wrong about using the boy, but we can still make it into the forest. It’s right there.”
His voice was weak and pleading with a hint of shame. Never before had he been forced to beg another man, but what was about to happen was worse than his darkest torments. Not even the agony caused by the Hooded Man was so great. The Hooded Man. Scarn cursed him. He vividly recalled the day they met and how much he hated the man. The thunderstorm. The night drenched in rain and wreathed in lightning. He was half drunk when the Hooded Man came to him and appealed to his weaknesses. He was seduced with the lure of riches and power. All the things in life he ever wanted. And now here he was, reluctantly facing a death far worse than the gods intended.
“No. We stand,” Hallis said.
“ Smile ranger. This is what you wanted. A straight fight,” Norgen added with a grunt.
The Gnaal was barreling down on them and was meters away when it slowed. It felt the sword. Phaelor’s power mocked it. The stench of death choked the air around them. Sharp claws flexed with anticipation. Axe and sword wavered before it. The distance gently closed. The Gnaal reached back to strike and roared in rage.
“Attack!” came a fair voice from the rise behind them.
Only Scarn took time to look back. He was greeted by a sight as terrifying as it was comforting. Twenty slender warriors sprang from the snow banks, dressed in light leathers of green and brown. Their faces were painted dark with mud, lending them a dangerous appeal. Tolis Scarn was staring at a company of Elves with bows drawn and aimed. The Elves showed no emotion as they loosed the first volley at the Gnaal.
Confused by their sudden appearance, the Gnaal halted and lost the advantage. Another ten Elves appeared from the right and launched long, barbed javelins that struck with bone crunching impacts. Sickly ichors bled from the wounds. The arrows feathered its head and neck, causing the Gnaal to rear back and futilely try to block them. Norgen bellowed and launched a smaller axe made for throwing. The Gnaal groaned and reeled from minor pain. The arrows normally wouldn’t have had much effect, but these were Elven weapons and were enchanted. It felt unprecedented pain.
The Elves moved quickly to surround the monster. The Gnaal screeched from the intensity of the assault. Soon it dropped to its knees. A hundred small wounds took their vicious toll. Hallis stayed Norgen from charging in and likely getting himself killed by a stray bolt. Together they watched with amazement at the precision of the Elves.
They moved in a well rehearsed orchestra, like a pack of wolves. Their actions were slow and deliberate as if they’d done this a hundred times. The Gnaal sank lower to the ground. It saw death coming and welcomed the embrace. The Gnaal was tired and broken. Long centuries of fear and loathing left it cold. It wanted to die. The Elves drew the noose tighter and made for the killing stroke.
An Elf slightly taller than the rest left his kinsmen and walked directly to Fennic. He laid a tender hand on the boy’s forehead and whispered words none of them understood. When he finished, Fennic was awake and moving. His heart warmed at the Elf’s touch. The Elf nodded at him appraisingly.
“Now boy, finish this ere it has the chance to recover and come at us anew,” he told Fennic. When he spoke, the words were melodious and precise.
Fennic sighed and let the Elf help him to his feet. He drew Phaelor on his own and limped towards the fallen Gnaal. The Elf was beside him every step. Menacing eyes glared up at the pair. The sword. The Gnaal silently pleaded for a merciful demise. For reasons he’d never know, Fennic felt his contempt and fear ebb. The Gnaal was merely another of the Silver Mage’s pawns. It didn’t have a choice any more than he or Delin.
Fennic plunged Phaelor into the Gnaal’s heart with one swift stroke.
A gasp escaped the dying body and the Gnaal was no more. Ashes of the corpse drifted away on the morning winds. One by one the Elves disappeared until only the one remained. He stood beside Fennic like a father.
“Well done,” he praised. He then turned to the others, noting with interest the presence of a Dwarf. “I am Celegon, son of King Alsenal. You are safe here now.”
Hallis bowed his respect. He was about to reply when Fennic’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed.
FORTY
The Cracked Crystal of Tol Shere was a delicate myth for the majority of Malweir’s population. For Sidian, the Silver Mage of forgotten Ipn Shal, it was a lifetime of lust and desire. He’d spent decades searching for the shards. Only when all four were found and the crystal was remade would it unlock the secrets of magic long lost. His very will was bent by that desire. Sidian knew it was the lure of power and the unobtainable. The energy and magic spent to find them left him a haggard shell of the man he once was. Once the crystal was complete he would be new again. Whole to reign over the world with an iron hand. He shivered at the thought.
It took him one hundred and fifty years to recover the first three, with Dakeb hounding him at every turn. The first was the easiest to find. It was buried and warded by the dead in the Zurn Swamp at the base of the Acrafen Mountains i
n southern Antheneon. The wards set by his former brothers were simple, hardly problematic though more than enough to keep mortals away. Then again, the mages never counted on one of their own ranks to betray their trust.
The second he found protected by sea monsters in the Bay of Cuerlon. Again, it was only slightly more difficult than the spirits of Zurn. The third was the trickiest for it was hidden deep in the heart of the land of Chrysrar, home of the dragon men. The sentient saurians kept the shard deep in the Crystal Mountain where their queens hatched and dwelled. Many Men, Dragon and Goblin lost their lives that violent day.
He had the fourth in his grasp once, more than a hundred years ago, but was again stopped by the aging mage. Sidian bitterly remembered the battle in the Deadlands, far to the north when Dakeb slipped in and stole the fourth and final shard from under him. Perhaps it was because Sidian was in the process of subjugating Gren at the time, or just maybe Dakeb was that good. Either way, Sidian lost the shard and never came close again. Until now.
He cursed Dakeb’s name and all the man stood for. He once thought the goodness of Ipn Shal and the Order of Mages was destroyed. He knew for certain Dakeb had been killed during that fateful night when dozens of mages, dark and light, lost their lives. He was wrong. Dakeb returned again and again to foil his desires. How? He didn’t have the answer and it plagued his dreams.
Alone in his private tower, Sidian paced tirelessly. Worries creased his brow. There were too many unanswered questions bothering him. A pang of doubt surfaced. Every other person involved with the shards of the crystal were dead and gone. He’d made sure of that, one way or another. Two questions lingered above the others. How did Dakeb manage to survive time and again and how did he learn of his quest? Neither presented answers.