Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  The wagon rolled deeper into the night.

  “Dakeb, now that we’ve been given this opportunity, how do you intend on using it to our advantage? There’s not much we can do with these chains on,” Celegon asked.

  There was a twinkle in the old mage’s eyes. “I do happen to be a mage you know. How good would I be if I gave away all my secrets? Predictability is a crutch. Do the unexpected when they’re looking the other way, I say.”

  “So we can assume you’re not going to tell us what to expect,” Hallis added.

  Dakeb chuckled.

  “You have to admit, despite the situation, this is easier than riding the way ourselves. Maybe we should have taken a wagon from the beginning,” he brought up after a few hours had passed. “We certainly could have loaded more to eat. I’m starving. I’ll have to remember that for the next time.”

  “The next time?” Scarn asked skeptically.

  “There’s always a next time.”

  Scarn fell silent and kept to himself, every so often stealing glances at Tarren. She was convinced she knew who he was, and that troubled him. He desperately needed to do something about her before the others found out and turned on him. But what? He didn’t know. Hopefully time would play out in his favor. That was providing the Silver Mage and the Hooded Man were one and the same.

  Tarren burrowed her head into Delin’s shoulder and tried to sleep. Thoughts of home strayed into her dreams. A month ago she’d been a simple girl from a small town most of the world never heard of. She didn’t know what she wanted out of life nor where to find it when she figured it out. She hadn’t even known her love for Delin until now. She had always thought of him as a good friend, but the love didn’t reveal itself until he and Fennic left on their quest. Tarren’s heart nearly broke that day.

  Since then she’d found herself growing in every sense of the word. Her mind and spirit evolved the further into this dark journey she traveled. She’d gone from a naïve village girl to a young woman wary of the world. Her body was changing as well. She was steadily developing into a full grown woman. Maybe that was why Scarn kept eyeing her and making her uncomfortable. Maybe, but she knew better.

  Tarren regretted it all. She hated the reasons she was forced to grow up and the split second decisions that brought her to this foul land. All she wanted was the chance to go home and never leave again. Delin just being there gave her strength and hope, but the taint of evil here was so strong. She felt things inside her changing. She was more callous than she used to be. Her body often flashed hot for no reason at all. Dakeb remained ever secretive and she was sure he was hiding something from her. Tarren wanted to know what.

  The moment passed, and Tarren let it go with a sigh. There was too much she didn’t have control over. She finally pulled her head away from Delin’s shoulder and wasn’t surprised to see Scarn’s cold eyes staring back at her.

  The Elves sat huddled together in the back of the wagon talking in their own language. They all knew the risks involved with joining Dakeb. Many of their kind had fallen during the Mage wars and their quests over the centuries. But never before had the task been so dire.

  “This isn’t looking good,” Llem said. “We’ve been in tight places before, but none this bad. Too much can go wrong.”

  Celegon dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand. “The mage knows what he’s doing. Besides, a thousand things could have already gone wrong. Events are developing according to the mage’s plan. Soon enough we’ll be inside Sidian’s keep. Then we can finally end his reign.”

  “And these manacles?” Derlith asked, raising his bound hands. “I too have doubts. It’s one mage against another. Shouldn’t their magic cancel each other? This battle could well destroy the foundations of the world. Can we so confidently trust him with our lives so recklessly?”

  “Dakeb has been a friend for centuries. Our lives have been in his hands since we arrived at Ipn Shal. Two more days can’t hurt,” Celegon said.

  A pair of Goblins snarled at them.

  Llem eyed them casually and asked, “what about weapons? Providing we can make it to the throne room without losing our heads, we’re going to need a way to defend ourselves.”

  The Elf prince shrugged.

  “You’re not very inspiring,” Derlith scowled. “And then there’s that one. The so called ranger. He’s becoming a liability. We should finish him before we reach Aingaard.”

  Scarn shifted in his sleep and started to snore.

  “Dangerous,” Celegon agreed. “but the mage claims we all have a part to play. Killing him now may upset that balance. I’ll not take the chance. Not yet.”

  Night gradually turned into day. Distorted sunlight reflected off the snow capped peaks of the Gren Mountains, turning the snow a soft pink. A flock of geese in a v formation honked in passing. Tarren watched until the clouds swallowed them. One of the guards tossed a stale loaf of bread into the wagon. Depression settled back in. a few more hours and they’d be in Aingaard. The pace quickened.

  Spendak glanced back at the wagon from time to time. Only the mage disturbed him. He should have at least put up a fight, but the old man calmly accepted his fate. What game was he playing at? Sidian didn’t bother explaining who the other prisoners were, only to be wary of the mage. He could easily tear the Goblins apart with the flick of his wrist. Spendak contemplated the future as they rode on.

  Norgen came awake with a loud snore and shielded his eyes from the dim glare of the sun. He was sore and angry, much as he’d been for the last few weeks.

  “Good morning,” Dakeb cheerfully told him. The smile on his face was remarkably bright considering the situation.

  “At least one of us is in a good mood,” Norgen replied in a sour tone. “I’d give anything to get my hands on a good axe and cleave a few Goblins necks.”

  “How much longer until we get there?” Hallis asked. There were too many eager ears nearby to let Norgen keep talking like that.

  “Sometime after dusk I should think. Probably nearer to dawn. It’s been a long time since I was last here,” Dakeb answered.

  Hallis wanted to ask the obvious question but held his tongue. Some secrets weren’t meant to be shared. Instead, he said, “that’s cutting it pretty close to Winter’s Day.”

  “So it is,” Dakeb agreed. “But the ritual must be performed at the last minute of the last hour on Winter’s Day. Otherwise Sidian must wait another hundred years. It’s a complicated issue but I’ll do my best to explain.”

  By the time he finished, they all wished Hallis had never approached the subject. The sun was going down and not a one of them had a clue about what Dakeb had said. A few of them fell asleep somewhere during the telling, much to the mage’s distaste. Tarren’s sneeze brought the lecture to a close. Delin and Fennic smiled and winked at her, silently thanking her for ending the torment. Another loaf of molded bread was tossed in and the wagon stopped long enough for them to relieve themselves. Then the wagon rolled on with a series of metallic groans and creaks.

  The violent sound of thunder and lightning awakened sometime during the night. Fires raged in tune with the madness in the skies and a sleeting rain attacked them. The Goblins marched on under the whip. Fissures and crevices opened around them, inviting them with certain doom. Rock formations broke the ground like jagged teeth waiting to impale angels should they descend. Gren had suddenly turned into a vicious place.

  And there, silhouetted against the pale orange glow of the horizon, sat the ruined city of Aingaard. Dawn was still some hours off, making it look like Hell had come to Malweir. Blue tinged lightning struck not far away, sending a shower of sparks into the wagon. Hairs stood on end. Electricity tainted the air. Their flesh became goose pimpled. A metallic taste stuck in their mouths. Heavy winds rushed in, buffeting the fragile wagon to the point of destruction. Even the assurances of reaching the enemy citadel was stolen now. Hope diminished.

  The storms became increasingly violent the closer to the city the
y got. All around was a world gone mad. The Silver Mage had managed to destroy the balance of nature. The world was collapsing in on itself as it played closer to oblivion. The city of Aingaard was somehow untouched. Dakeb attributed this to magic, a serious misuse of magic. When the Silver Mage perished, so to would this nightmare.

  The wagon clattered across the cobblestone bridge spanning a fire laden chasm ringing the city. The gates were open, for no enemy had attacked in centuries. Dozens of Goblins and Trolls lined the way, all were dressed in sparkling dark armor. They had malicious glares and polished weapons. A trumpet sang to all, announcing the enemies of Gren had come. There was cheering in the streets from the massed crowds. Threats and promises of death rose from the myriad voices. In twelve hours the gateway to the under-world would be open and Gren’s ascension to the domination of Malweir would begin.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  The combined armies of Averon and Harlegor marched towards Gren in a long, winding column singing cadence and traditional battle hymns. Advance units had already made contact with the enemy in the ruins of Gren Mot and were in the process of cleaning out the fortress. On the lower plains, the last scatterings of Goblins were being hunted down and destroyed. Few of the dark host remained in Averon. Still, Steleon and Maelor were cautious in their approach on Gren. The victory on the Thorn River was a gift and it wouldn’t do to squander this one chance in a fool’s charge.

  Bodies lined the walls of the mountain pass. Steleon sent squads of pikemen forward to ensure the dead were just that. Goblins often used deceit to gain the upper hand and with quarters so tight in the pass, the potential for disaster was high. The northern winds blew strongly for most of the morning and early afternoon. Snow powder drifted down from the ragged peaks. Golden sunlight reflected off the slopes, though little of the warmth actually made it to the bottom of the pass. Halfway through their march, Steleon spied an omen. A lone eagle, large and inspiring, followed their progress as it soared majestically through the eastern skies. The men took heart and marched faster.

  But not even the coming of an omen was enough to stay their nervousness long. Shadows and cold draped over the column. Soldiers quickly complained from the bone numbing chill and a prolonged lack of sleep. The campaign had been tiring and demanding. Hundreds of their comrades and friends were already dead, and hundreds more would soon be joining them. Vengeance pushed the survivors on.

  Steleon felt their pain, for he was suffering too. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and the long years of battle and campaign were wearing him down. Still, he knew they had to move quickly if they had a chance at defeating the Silver Mage. Speed was the key. The sheer boldness of their plan hadn’t been done in military history for centuries, not since the last time the Elves went to war against the northern Goblin nations. They simply had to reach the Nveden Plains and be arrayed in battle formation in time or else the entire gamble was a failure. Either way, one of the great nations in Malweir was going to fall. he just wasn’t sure which one.

  It was close to dusk when he first spied what remained of Gren Mot. The smell was sickening and many soldiers heaved their stomachs up. Long dried blood stains added to the morbidity of the place. Bodies lay in ruined heaps, some having been chewed and eaten. Worst of all was the huge pile of heads in the center courtyard. hundreds more were impaled on long poles along the parapets. Steleon fought to contain his emotions. He pushed the men harder, ordering them to clear the fortress and press on into the plains of Gren. He silently hoped they would use what they saw here and bring that fury down on the enemy.

  “Keep them moving,” he barked to Melgit. “Push them down onto the plains before this place has the chance to affect them.”

  Melgit only nodded. He couldn’t speak. The horrors of seeing so many men he served with and knew personally ate at his soul. He knew that his head should be in that pile along with better men. It took a concentrated effort to bring him from his daze.

  “Move out!” he finally yelled to his men as they trudged past. “We march down to the plains and await our enemy! Move out!”

  Steleon sighed with relief. He’d been afraid of how Melgit would react upon returning to this dead place. The danger was passed for the moment. Now he needed to worry about getting his full army down through the mountains.

  Drinking deeply from his canteen, Steleon stopped long enough to wipe away some of the sweat and grime from the long day’s march. He, Maelor and the rest of the key leaders were assembled in a small cut off the main path beyond the fortress. Banners of dozens of units went by. Soldiers cheered their king and commander. The spirit of the army was still strong, despite the nightmares witnessed in Gren Mot. The tired commander hoped it would last long enough.

  “Impressive,” Ordein commented. “I’ve been a warrior all my life. I’ve seen many wars and battles, armies marching off to join steel with the foe. This is the first time I’ve seen an army so grand and proud. The Silver Mage ought to tremble in his dark tower at the thought of this mighty war machine. By Gru! How can we fail?”

  Maelor weighed the question carefully for a moment. Although he wholeheartedly agreed with the stout Dwarf, he had doubts over Sidian’s preparedness for their invasion. “This war is far from over. We’ve won the first battle, true, but the enemy is vast and full of deceit and surprise. We should not take the mage too lightly.”

  “That’s defeatist talk. My folk came here to fight,” Ordein snarled in response.

  Steleon saw the fight brewing and moved to cut it off. It wouldn’t do them any good to fight amongst themselves with the enemy so close. “There’ll be plenty of fighting ahead, I can promise you that. Let us use caution a while longer. At least until we see what surprises the Silver Mage has in store for us.”

  “Bah! We have them on the run now. It’s been two days since we last saw sign of the foe. Let me take my Dwarves and finish this. The very road to Aingaard may lie open and you speak of caution. I say we press the attack.”

  Steleon shook his head. It appeared a Dwarf’s blood contained as much steel as his axe. “I’m afraid it’s not so simple. The enemy still has his magic. Not even the tenacity of your folk is enough to best such.”

  “What of Fennic and the sword?” Melgit asked. His newly appointed general’s rank glittered in the fading sun.

  Lord Flonish of Harlegor added, “I think we need fear the worst. If they’ve been gone this long and we’ve heard no word disaster may have befallen them.”

  “Whether they’ve fallen or not, I know not. But should they fail we’ll be all that stands between Malweir and the horrors of Gren. The very conquest of the world is at our door. It’s a fine line we walk, my friends,” Steleon said.

  “Dead or not, we keep moving. Winter’s Day is only three days away and I have a strong desire to see this through. The Silver Mage will have the same notion. It’s a matter of time now,” Maelor said.

  He looked around and focused on the passing men. “Leave a battalion of engineers back at Gren Mot. I want them to take care of our dead and begin rebuilding the defenses. I’m sure word of our coming has already reached Aingaard. Make sure the cavalry and siege machines are in the flatlands before this army stops moving for the night. Set up the picket lines and post my colors in the center of the field. I think it’s time for Sidian to know who comes calling.”

  “Sire, this is a haunted place. Many a good man won’t risk his life to Gren and the ghosts both,” Melgit cautioned.

  “Then we exorcise those ghosts with steel,” Maelor replied and rode off.

  Ordein smiled brightly.

  Melgit rode back to the ruins in middle of the night to confront his nightmares. He stood in the remnants of the command tower and surveyed what remained. The view to the east stretched a good half league, with the occasional glimpse down onto the Nveden Plains. This was the place he had watched the beginnings of the war unfold.

  He could still his friends. Fynten steaming over the map table. Wiln and Surnish arguing over tactic
s. The sour look constantly marring Prellin’s scarred face. Even quiet Crespith and that damned fool dagger he always carried. Melgit fought back the tears as long as he could before succumbing finally. He hadn’t realized how much he lost that day. Kicking at the piles of soot, he sat on a window bench and cried away the pain. He had a feeling he’d soon be joining his friends.

  * * *

  “My bones tell me snow is coming,” Flonish said. Total darkness surrounded them. Heavy clouds swept in, low to the ground and hateful. The promise of storm rode with them. It sat ill on his fears.

  Ordein nodded hasty agreement. “Winter in Gren is not a healthy thought. Should we wait until the storm passes?”

  Steleon listened to the useless conversation. They all knew that the Silver Mage wasn’t going to postpone his war until spring. Each of them understood the seriousness of the situation yet persisted in arguing over non-factors. They had less than three days before the dark mage was going to do what he intended. That was it. The redundancy of their arguments was numbing. Steleon wondered how they could be expected to fight as one and actually win this war. Matters were much simpler when he was the sole voice of the army. He closed his eyes and prayed that Delin and Fennic were close to finishing their quest.

  “We continue the march,” he finally said in a stern, controlled voice. “I’ll not sit idle and let this fine army lose all momentum at the threat of snow. Should we become trapped in Gren we ride south past the mountains and into Antheneon. Remember gentlemen, if we can’t ride the pass neither can they. If it comes to retreat, we make the dark mage pay with every foot of ground.”

  “I’m not so sure the Antheni will appreciate our advance through their lands,” Melgit said. “Rumors have it they deal with the Silver Mage.”

  Maelor smashed his fist into the small table. The candle flickered softly. “Damn them all. They should be fighting alongside us. Their policy of non-commitment will be the ruin of the east. If needs be, we’ll slam through them as well. I will see this war finished. By the gods I will.”