The Merchant and the Menace

by Daniel F McHugh

  “I was given plenty to think about. You might as well attend to Prince Granu. I shudder to think what might happen to the walls and occupants of this palace if he becomes any more agitated,” said Kael smiling.

  Ader patted the boy on the back once more and he and Teeg stepped from the room closing the door behind them. Kael returned to his seat by the window and once more stared through the beveled glass at the river sliding by beneath him. A calm settled over him. Slowly his heavy lids closed as he sunk into the thick cushions arranged on the seat.

  CHAPTER 26: THE BLACK OBELISK

  Guttering torches cast odd shadows on the walls of the dank chamber as Sulgor crept forward in search of his master. Usually, Izgra sensed the Malveel Lord’s approach and stood waiting for him. This time however, the beast found the chamber empty, Izgra’s dais deserted. Sulgor moved forward. The heavy, black velvet curtain hanging behind the dais shifted in the sluggish currents of air pushing through the open balcony of the chamber.

  Sulgor stopped. A barely audible hiss and buzz emitted from behind the curtain. Sulgor was drawn to the oddly familiar noise. The Malveel desperately strained to hear more. Dare he move forward? Izgra was clear concerning the curtain. None were to look past its blinding darkness.

  The Malveel growled. Was he not Sulgor the Magnificent, first of the Malveel? Surely when the Deceiver returns, he will once again place Sulgor at his right hand.

  The Malveel lord moved forward and slid his scaly head past the corner of the midnight curtains. Darkness enveloped the beast and his eyes fought to capture the scene before him.

  The curtain created a small inner room within the greater chamber. Set near the far wall of the enclosure was a large chunk of rock, seemingly hewn from solid granite. Standing at least three yards tall, the slab dwarfed the form of Izgra who stood arms raised and positioned in front of it. The edges of the giant obelisk were irregular and crudely cut. A polished black surface lay entombed within the rough-hewn edges of the slab. The black rock formed a void within the stone. The substance absorbed all light around it.

  Izgra swayed unsteadily in front of the stone, arms raised in supplication. He chanted feverishly. Sulgor was unable to hear or understand any of the chant until the warlock threw back his cowl, exposing a hairless gaunt skull covered in tightly drawn, diseased and decaying flesh.

  “Amird, my Lord and Master!” cried Izgra. “I have need!”

  The smooth black surface of the obelisk changed. It no longer appeared rigid, but more an insubstantial sheath, shifting and changing before Izgra. Blackness flowed within blackness and bled across its surface.

  “I HAVE NEED!” shrilled Izgra.

  Abruptly, red flecks of flame appeared within the surface of the obelisk. They swirled and sputtered across the blackness, coalescing toward the center into an image. Smoke rose and slowly filled the curtained enclosure. At once the image in the center of the obelisk both heightened in clarity as more of the burning red flecks completed the image, and grew hazy as smoke obscured the vision of the Malveel Lord.

  Sulgor curled a lip into a snarl of pleasure as the beast realized what he witnessed. There before him, on the surface of the black obelisk lay the likeness of his true master, Amird, Lord of Chaos. It took all of the Malveel’s self control not to throw himself toward the base of the slab and declare his everlasting loyalty.

  A deep voice filled the chamber. It boomed from the blackness and echoed against the walls of the room. A cavernous, pitiless howl, filled with rage and venom.

  “Why do you call me?” demanded the voice as it faded into the hiss and crackle of a smoldering fire.

  Izgra kept his head bowed and arms raised.

  “Lord Amird. I have need,” begged the warlock.

  “You were warned, Izgra Admir,” snapped the towering image of Amird. “I expend too much energy maintaining this form! The fiery winds of Chaos tear at my soul in this realm and force my disembodiment.”

  “I implore your forgiveness, my lord,” pleaded Izgra. “But I seek knowledge.”

  “You were given all knowledge held for your task,” snarled Amird. “You tarry! Finish your duties or others will finish in your stead!”

  “I seek knowledge only you can provide, my lord,” squealed Izgra. “I seek knowledge from within the mists of Chaos.”

  Amird’s fiery eyes narrowed and glared at the warlock. He considered the request for a moment then replied.

  “What do you seek?” questioned Amird.

  “Answers, my lord,” sniveled Izgra. “One of your servants was defeated and his soul was taken to the burning mists.”

  Amird’s lips curled in a cruel smile.

  “Methra the Beguiler. I brushed his presence here within the flames. He was one of my first,” said Amird with an air of satisfaction.

  Sulgor’s lips quivered in ecstatic pride at the recognition Amird bestowed upon his kind.

  “Yes, my lord,” stated Izgra. “He was taken from your service. He was weak.”

  The sputtering image of Amird roared into flame.

  “Did you summon me to curry favor and undermine the Malveel?” roared Amird as flame and smoke erupted from the shifting surface of the black obelisk. “Your task is all you require to be judged Izgra!”

  The warlock took a step backward and lowered his head in deference.

  “No! No! My lord!” whined the Half Dead. “On the contrary! Methra was close. He was sent to the edges of the Nagur to intercept Elven messengers. He was successful in his mission yet delayed return. I must know why. I must see what he has seen and know what he encountered. Only then will I begin to understand if he stumbled upon the new Seraph.”

  “Do you know what it is you ask? Methra has been torn asunder. He is scattered throughout the flaming mists. To call him back is to gather him in from the edge of madness and force his spirit together if only for a few brief moments,” rumbled Amird. “I try to build my strength, not waste it!”

  “It is crucial, my lord.”

  The image of Amird smoldered and sputtered. Finally, his red eyes brightened in intensity and rolled into his head. Sulgor heard more chanting and the fiery red flecks holding Amird’s image dissipated. They were replaced by new red flecks struggling to coalesce near the center of the obelisk. An image formed then drifted apart, only to reform seconds later.

  After several attempts to gain substance, the fiery image of Methra hovered in the center of the obelisk. The Malveel’s image threw its head back and gnashed its fangs, slashing the empty air as if it were beset by stinging hornets. A deep howl of anguish filled the chamber as the beast thrashed in pain.

  “Methra!” commanded Izgra.

  The beast growled and attempted to focus on the warlock standing before him. Methra’s body jerked in spasms, but his wide, madness filled eyes searched for Izgra.

  “The burning never ceases!” growled the image of the Malveel.

  The red flecks shifted and slid across the blackness of the stone obelisk. At times the image of Methra dissolved, only to reform moments later. Sulgor’s black tongue ran along the knife-edge of his fangs in anxiety over the fate of all of Amird’s servants. Victory over Avra in this world meant never having to face Methra’s fate.

  “Pain!” shrilled Methra. “Suffering!”

  “Silence!” shouted Izgra. “Heed my words, snake! You failed your master and you suffer the consequences for such failure. Obey my commands and perhaps your suffering will be relieved.”

  Methra thrashed and spun within the obelisk, slashing at the burning mists of Chaos.

  “What is it you ask?” howled the creature through his madness.

  Izgra’s lip curled in satisfaction, displaying rotting gums and broken, blackened teeth.

  “You sensed the new Seraph in the Nagur Wood?” questioned Izgra.

  “Yes!” cried out Methra.

  “You were drawn to his location?”

  “I was drawn toward the Nagur path,” snapped the beast. “Toward power!�
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  “Whose power?”

  “I found a boy,” wailed Methra. “I killed it!”

  “The new Seraph?” asked Izgra intently.

  “The boy. I ... it was I. I killed him,” raved the Malveel.

  “What of the new Seraph?” commanded an irritated Izgra.

  “He arrived within the day,” slavered the beast writhing in agony.

  “You sensed his approach?” asked Izgra.

  “I sensed nothing!” snarled Methra halting his spasms and glaring at the warlock. “Power surrounded me. The power of creation shown like the surface of the sun and obscured my senses. Power in the wood. Down the path. At my feet. Power filled the Nagur. I could not distinguish between any of it. Great power! The power of Avra the Creator pushes forth to flood the world and drown you!”

  Instantly, Methra shrieked in pain and flailed uncontrollably within the obelisk. His wails and howls filled the chamber with a deafening noise.

  “I AM POWER!” boomed the voice of Amird from deep inside the obelisk.

  Izgra stood patiently watching the creature’s anguish. After a few moments, the shrieks died away and Methra slumped forward heaving. Izgra slowly continued.

  “What of the new Seraph?” demanded Izgra.

  Methra appeared not to hear the question. The Malveel’s image churned within the obelisk, heaving and glaring at Izgra. Finally, a crazed smile crept across his face. Sulgor couldn’t imagine anything eliciting pleasure in the horrific place Methra’s spirit was cast into. Through lowered eyes the beast glowered at Izgra and with supreme pleasure he addressed the warlock.

  “He comes for you,” hissed Methra in a whisper. “The boy comes for you.”

  Izgra saw Methra’s madness for what it was. No spirit could maintain a grip on itself when plunged into the realm of insanity Amird and Chaos created.

  “The new Seraph comes for me?” questioned Izgra.

  “The Old One assisted the boy within the woods. The boy was not defeated but raised up. I am the executioner’s sword, but you are the hand that held the blade. Even now he moves closer to you. The Old One is with him and he is with the Old One. They are the same. The Father awaits them and the three King’s are One. The end draws nigh,” snarled Methra.

  Izgra stared at the raving Malveel and considered his words. Surely this creature’s madness affected much of what he said, but there could be no denying he encountered the new Seraph in the Nagur.

  “Your rant has given me much to think on, Methra. Return to the mists,” said Izgra with a wave of his hand.

  The image of the beast shimmered. Izgra turned from the obelisk.

  “What of my torment?” questioned Methra frantically.

  Sulgor quickly ducked from the curtain and retreated to the main chamber’s opening.

  “Your torment is eternal,” hissed Izgra.

  The image of Methra the Beguiler flickered and disappeared.

  CHAPTER 27: TAPESTRY

  Aemmon stood on the Nagur path staring into the forest. Panic enveloped Kael. His brother was unaware. Kael wanted to shout to Aemmon. Warn him. Methra! Methra lurked in the woods! Aemmon turned and hobbled back toward the camp using a fallen limb to support his injured leg. Methra crept from the opposite side of the path. Kael’s heart ached. His thoughts raged. Why can’t I save you?

  Aemmon turned as if in response. He stared directly into Kael’s eyes. His expression was forlorn. He knew. Without seeing the rushing Malveel he knew it was coming for him, and he accepted it. Aemmon smiled weakly a moment before the Malveel’s jaws widened and the creature leapt.

  Light flashed. The figure of Aemmon transformed into a brilliant silhouette of blinding radiance. The light was so intense that Kael could see nothing else. The path was gone. Methra was gone. The trees were gone. Only the shimmering white magnificence remained. It hovered for a moment, strong and reassuring, flared once more and was gone.

  In Aemmon’s place stood Hilro, spirit of the Nagur Wood. The giant, old man calmly stared at Kael with the same winsome smile Aemmon had, but Hilro emanated the same reassurance Kael saw in the light. Kael knew things would be alright. Instantly, Hilro spun on the leaping Malveel and snatched it by the neck in mid flight.

  CRACK!

  Kael awoke with a start. He was curled on the small window seat in the Rindoran palace. The river’s steady flow pushed past the fishing boats that worked below. The sun had shifted across the sky since his discussion with Ader. It must be afternoon. The boy’s racing heart slowed. He stood and shook his head. His legs and shoulders were stiff from sleeping on the cramped seat. He walked about in order to get the blood flowing in his legs. After several tight rounds through the room, Kael stopped and frowned.

  “This is silly,” he mumbled to himself.

  Kael walked over to the door and opened it a few inches. He peered down the hallway. No guards were posted outside his door or at the end of the corridor. He swung the door wide and stepped out. Heavy tapestries hung on either side of the hallway. A pair of tridents, nearly as tall as Kael, was affixed to the wall above the stairway. He strolled close and admired their workmanship. They were most certainly steel, and the craftsman embossed the image of an otter in the area where the three tines met.

  Kael turned and studied the tapestries. One held the image of Rindor. Birds wheeled above the sun-dappled citadel as the river rushed past. Fish leapt from the river’s water and otter basked on the muddy shoreline. The other tapestry displayed the image of an ancient battle. Men in armor and chain mail stood on barges and drifted toward ancient Rindor. The barges also held catapults clamped to their decks. Rindorans in small skiffs with crews of three or four moved amongst the barges. The Rindorans wore no armor. Their tridents and nets of meshed steel were their only protection.

  The scene was utter chaos. Armored invaders spilled from floundering barges spinning in the strong currents of the Ituan. Images of struggling armored men sprang up all over the tapestry. Rindorans easily leapt from skiff to barge and back again. Their nets flashed out and incapacitated their rivals. The heavily armored assailants were unable to use their weaponry standing on such unsteady surfaces. The length of the Rindoran tridents kept the attackers at bay. The Rindorans were also able to use the tridents as boat poles, steering the barges away when they posed a threat and drawing them closer when their defenses were down. Kael marveled at the Rindoran mastery of the weapon.

  A small image in the corner showed a Rindoran trident catching a heavy blade between its tines and locking it there. The Rindoran simultaneously whipped his net across the ridged armor of the assailant. With a tug of the net, the armored soldier lost his footing and teetered over the swirling water of the tapestry for an eternity.

  Smoldering barges spun past the citadel to smash into the rocky shoreline. Steel covered arms and helms flailed in the water around the barges. Bodies littered the shoreline. Catapults launched ineffective salvos, unable to achieve a steady shot. Rindoran catapults returned accurate volleys from the parapets of the citadel.

  Kael smiled as he looked at the other corner of the tapestry. The artist summed up the Rindoran concept of the battle. A tiny image portrayed a pack of hungry, gaunt wolves standing on the muddy shoreline. A group of river otters spun and played in the murky water just out of reach from the hungry pack.

  Kael left the tapestry and moved to the stairs. Cautiously he stole down the stairwell. Corad and Lucyn had never granted them leave of the castle, but Kael was anxious. He yearned to see more of Rindor and couldn’t do it from inside. Kael scampered down the stairwell passing several uninhabited levels along the way. A flurry of activity greeted him on the bottom floor. Pages, soldiers and maids hustled back and forth along the lower level.

  News of the Army’s imminent departure threw this part of the castle into a hive of activity. Kael passed an open doorway and was nearly bowled over by the rush of three exiting pages. Inside the room, a hulking, gray bearded man in an oilskin overcoat sat at a large desk covered
in parchment. The man barked orders to pages and soldiers alike while he scribbled frantically on the parchment.

  “You there,” barked the man to a page as he held out an envelope. “Lord Yaw’s estates in the north! As fast as you can!”

  The page snatched the envelope from his hand and bowed deeply.

  “No time for that now,” snapped the man without ever looking up. “Off you go!”

  The page spun and sprinted from the room. Once again Kael was nearly knocked to the floor as the page brushed past and headed down the hallway. Kael recovered and looked back into the room. A tall, thin woman was rapidly folding the parchment the graybeard had written on. She turned a burning red candle over the fold and dripped wax upon it. Before the wax cooled, she slammed a large forged seal down upon it.

  “Remember, one and all!” bellowed the woman above the melee. “If the addressee obtains an envelope with a broken seal, they are ordered to detain you. So take care!”

  The entire hive of activity paused momentarily and bowed to the woman. The graybeard flicked his hand toward another page.

  “Lord Manfir’s estates in the northeast! His people will know what to do!”

  The page snatched the envelope and turned toward the door. Kael was ready. He quickly leapt aside. The page barreled through. Kael saw enough. He turned to follow the page toward the exit and nearly ran into a figure standing just inches behind him.

  “Pardon,” spluttered Kael and he backed away.

  A young man stood staring into the room. The man was completely covered in a heavy, woolen robe. Hanging in the middle of the man’s chest was a silver amulet. The amulet was fashioned into a swirling pool of water. A pair of dusty sandals sat upon his feet and he carried a long walking staff. Kael had never spoken to a Delvin Scribe before, though he saw a few travel through Kelky.

  “I didn’t see you there,” apologized Kael.

  The scribe lightly bowed and Kael returned the gesture. Kael stepped to the side and the scribe entered the doorway to monitor the activity in the room. Kael moved down the hallway. After a dozen steps he heard the graybeard shout.