Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (39 page)

Closing his eyes, he called upon the energies that had brought him back from death and restored him once before. His skin began to glow, his wounds and blood shone like moonlight. The clouds parted and the moon cast light, eerie and yellow, across the road. With a roar, Hue released the energy and the centipedes flew away from him in a blast of magical energy.

Everything was silent as Hue struggled to his feet. A finely dressed man laid on the ground a few meters away, just an arm-length from Hue’s axe.

“Lord Emite, I presume?” Hue asked, his voice weary and his breath coming in gasps. “The same man, if I can call you that, that brought forth the evil from Aborgas centuries ago? You were the one who called down the werewolves on Red City and made it what it is today?”

“Yes,” the dark figure said, as he rose to his feet without using his hands or body to do so. “I am the one who conquered a land, and I am the one who helped bring about the birth of Nomed. And though you don’t know it, I am the one who will command that demon half breed once more. I have manipulated him for centuries, even from my prison. Now, you will die by your own weapon for bringing me such pain.”

The vampire bent and retrieved the fallen double bladed axe. He stopped and stared as Hue began to laugh. A laugh that started as a chuckle, and rose to a maniacal level. Hue gasped a breath, forcing the laughter down. Lord Emite cocked his head, looking at the man with a quizzical look.

“What you don’t understand,” Hue said, chortling, “is that axe would no more hurt me than my own hand would.”

With a gesture, the axe twisted in Lord Emite’s hand and swung towards the vampire. The dark lord threw up his other hand to stop the blade that was approaching his throat in a blur. Fingers and part of his hand flew into the air before the weapon lodged in his neck. Hue was there in a flash, ripping the axe from the vampire’s throat, and then swinging again. The lord tried to obfuscate, but his head left his shoulders before he could finish the thought. His severed head landed on the wet ground, rolling face down into an icy puddle.

Hue bent and picked up the man’s head by the hair in one hand, and the axe in the other. The eyes blinked and the mouth worked, trying to say something, before falling slack.

Exhausted and wounded, Hue looked over the scene of carnage around him. He hoped the rising sun would finish what he started, but couldn’t spend any more time here. He turned and ran. The future was in his hands. The head he carried would have to be proof enough for arrogant lords and overconfident soldiers. He had to get thousands of people into motion, and travel to the north where they at least had a chance of survival. A chance until spring, when the monsters would come.

Grenedal had flown over the city for hours, diving in to protect those he could. He watched as the town was almost overcome by the first line of the insect horde advance from the Lost Swamp in the west. Just as the people halted the attackers, the pale undead line crept in from the east. He felt Hue in the north, moving away. He saw the column of fifty or more horsemen that marked his friend’s retreat.

Three of the twelve cities of Humbrey had fallen in less than twenty-four hours. The two invading forces grew with each conquest. The cities to the north would be cut off from any reinforcements from the south, if Duke Malvornick would even allow his Puppet-King of Trysteria to assist them.

Grenedal felt another presence, one he should be able to track and find as he had before, as he could Hue Blueaxe. He could not pinpoint Nomed now, though he was below in Trism somewhere, but it was only a vague feeling. The demon half-breed could now hide somewhat from Grenedal. Dragonblood never was sure why he could track these two beings, what connection tied the three of them together, or why the other two could not feel each other. Like a seesaw, it was Grenedal that balanced Hue and Nomed. Three hybrids from different stock, and they all influenced the world.

Unsure what to do at this time; he rode the air currents effortlessly, circling the carnage like a huge carrion bird. Deciding that these people must be saved from the terrors that ravaged below, he tucked his wings tight to his sides and dove. Magic welled inside him, along with hunger, and magical electricity burst forth as he leveled his flight off.

People screamed all around Nomed. The voracious insects gave no quarter as they made their way deeper into the city. The undead lurched through the night. He watched as what could be called the sergeants and lieutenants of the corpse horde dashed here and there. Wholesale slaughter was the order of the night. Before joining them, Nomed had watched Grenedal meet with the blue man and learned his theory was right. Simple magics could make him undetectable to Grenedal if the other man was close.

Malvornick would not hold Humbrey now. Nomed had succeeded in breaking the man’s plans. The Duke’s puppets were dying by the hundreds. No armies from the north would dance to his tune; no kings or nobles would answer his call. Events were in place and moving. Grenedal had helped bring the last bastion of hope out of these condemned lands. They headed north on a tide of death, led by a man reborn. Now the observer had other things to do. Business in the south required his attention. There was a matter of a demon, Kez’et-dual, who wanted him dead.

A thin, bony dog skulked out of the alley, and in the swirl of a short cape a man stood where a dog had walked a moment earlier, and stepped over the forms of the fallen humans. He crushed the head of a zombie that was rising for the first time. Grenedal had been roused; even now he could see the dragonkin swooping down, bringing death to the hordes of insects and undead, rallying the humans of Trism. Death was in that one’s future. Even a dragon could have strings attached, and be taught to dance upon command. Nomed loved what he did, and no one was better at it than he.

After the battle, the city of Trism lay in smoking ruin. Rondarius stared at the elegant man genuflecting before him. The man was dressed in silk and jewels and finery, and knelt in mud and rain. The necromancer picked at his own finery. It was delicately made, but was decades old, having come from corpses that had found him. It had holes from mites and moths.

“Your Grace?” The nobleman asked.

“What?” Rondarius screeched.

“I wanted to make sure your great ears heard the humble words this unworthy slug spoke. I would offer my loyalty and service to your greatness. Your immense power is unrivaled and no man could hope ever to stand against your magnificence. Would you have me as your pathetic servant?”

Rondarius thought about what the man said. Kings would bow before the necromancer’s armies. People would serve him. All tithes, taxes, riches, women, and treasures would be laid at his feet.

“Um, sure.”

“Very good, Emperor Rondarius. With your unfathomable wisdom and daunting mind, no doubt your Empire will grow rapidly. May I kiss your ring, Your Majesty?”

“Ring? I don’t have a ring! Why don’t I have a ring? Get me a ring, erm, what did you say your name was again?”

“Duke Malvornick. Of course we will get You a ring, Your Eminence, a large gold one with a sinfully large stone to match Your own greatness.”

Chapter 22: Open Portals

“When one door closes, it stops critters from getting in. Or out.”

A Woodsman’s Proverb

5854 – Ault – Quebal – Lasin

The city retained a shine, though time and lack of attention had dulled it. Silver City was not as large as many of the great metropolises on the continent. Rogen had seen at least a dozen that were larger. But this one was perfect. It was organized to the last detail. The Stone Folk could not have laid it out better. Situated on a hill, the center keep rose above all other buildings in the city. It was separated into three sections within the walls. Cyril explained one was for official buildings such as government, guilds and military. The second was for shops, businesses and guests of the city. The third was for residences.

The priest further explained the system of tunnels and sewers under the city streets. Trash and waste removal was an integral part of the city.  Huge underground aqueducts had been tapped to keep a steady flow of water passing through the sewers to wash refuse away. It was gathered and either returned to the sea or used as fertilizer. The waste removal tunnels helped to separate the burnable materials from the materials used for compost.

People petitioned to live in the city when it was in its prime. Merchants would join waiting lists in hopes of getting papers and credentials that would allow them to trade within the city. Crime was nonexistent, kept in control by a variety of factors. Taxes were low and tracked publicly.  The government had believed in honesty and people ruling themselves as much as possible. This created some problems at first. When folks realized that any information gathered by the authorities could be made public, they didn’t understand the implications at first. As soon as a crime was committed, it was announced. Punishment was made public, and the same for being found innocent. If someone was found to accuse others frequently, that was posted also. Soon it became apparent who was falsely accusing others to get ahead. Or if someone was accused of the same crime repeatedly by different people but was never found guilty, others became cautious. Like any system run by men, it had its flaws, but it worked better than most.

The five friends made their way towards the city. They decided to bypass the city, their final goal was the castle, and the city held nothing for them at this point, though they may need it to survive the winter. The castle lay to the southwest of the city, about a half days walk. They should reach it before noon tomorrow. The group found new determination now that they were so close to their goal.

They set camp that night just west of the city and watched the sun set beyond the mountain into which the castle had been carved. The castle was a wonder. It was not built on a mountain, but carved directly from it. Bands of earthen color of the different layers of rock could be seen in the walls and towers. Spires jutted upward, directly out of the smooth face of the mountain. Flat areas had been cleared for courtyards, but the walls in front of it were an original part of the rock of the land.

Cyril was the most amazed by the scope and scale of the castle, though it has been him who had been telling the others about its grandeur for weeks now. To see his childhood dream standing in front of his own eyes brought him to a silent reverie. Though miles away they could see that the main drawbridge was immense, the height of ten men at least. It was closed and a ravine stood between the main path and the entryway. In the bottom they could hear the rapid waters, even from this distance. A waterfall plummeted thousands of feet from the top of the peak into the ravine. Other smaller waterfalls had been created to make waterways throughout the castle grounds.

They sat around the evening fire making sure everything was ready for tomorrow. The mood was high amongst the friends. Gruedo practically bounced off the trees as she daydreamed aloud how people would treat her after she helped open the legendary landmark. She asked Cite three times if he had written a saga about the journey. It was Cyril’s turn to clean up after the meal that Dawn had prepared, a basic soup of dried meat and beans. Gruedo had become accustomed to adding various seasonings – that she collected throughout their journey - to help flavor the meals. Cyril kept looking at the silhouette of the castle in the light of the half moon, wondering about his brother and wishing Cyrus could have joined in this adventure.

Cite’s arm had been cleaned and dressed and was healing nicely, and Rogen teased him about the collection of scars which the younger man was accumulating. Cite sat with his lute and plucked out simple tunes, lost in his own thoughts of the past as Cyril faced his future. Dawn leaned back on her knapsack, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. She found the constellations she knew so well from so many years at sea.  She found the dragons of Torr and Tarra, one with a red eye and the other with a white eye. The fox of Quixe was on the horizon to the south and circled the cloak of Parsay. It was the month of the Traveler and his ring would not be visible, since it was in the sky at the same time as the sun. She said a quick prayer to Senaria and Tarra for the safety of her uncle and his new crew.

Rogen sat outside of the fire circle, sharpening his weapons, supplies laid out for everyone to use. The Rokairn wondered if all his preparations would be enough. He knew the guerilla tactics he had ordered in the north to distract Kala’s troops – so they wouldn’t join him in the south – had been successful. But it was much harder to know if his efforts in other dimensions were coming to fruition or not. He was tired now. Having tried for so long to hammer the world into a better place, and a stronger weapon against those that would destroy it, he was as tired as any blacksmith who made weapons for an entire army.

Cyril went over to smooth the nicks out of his blade, as soon as he finished cleaning up. Gruedo took advantage of the older man’s offer, asking to hear a bit more about Rogen’s history. It fascinated the young woman that the slaver kept contacts with the slaves he sold into servitude and remained welcomed by them. Dawn and Cite honed their weapons after every battle, but didn’t feel the urge like the others, who relied on them for a living. Soon they were all gathered around the fire, ignoring the chill nip in the air, and warming themselves with a mug of spiced wine and companionship. They felt they could relax now.

“It’s been a long trip, and I am glad to see the end of it,” Cite said.

“I’ve found the journey never ends,” Rogen sighed, “it just has moments where you stop to visit friends, or see something else that interests you. But it never ends.”

“The sea is ever moving,” Dawn chimed in, “even when still and flat, the currents swim underneath the surface.”

“That could be said of people also,” Cyril said as he idly formed a bowl of earth under the fire using his magics.

“You’re all so maudlin.” Gruedo said with a comical grimace. “Grow down for a while, will you? You’re all too grown up for your own good. For the gods’ sakes, ease up and enjoy an evening! Cite, how did you do that thing with the Dasism? Are they going to kill Kala now?”

“Um,” the bard hesitated over his lute strings, flexing his injured arm and shoulder. “I just broke the control of Kala over them. Instead of snapping the bonds at each Dasism, I just blocked Kala from using the mental abilities that controlled them. It was a variation of my energy daggers, but it didn’t target the physical, but rather the psychic.”

“Could you have shut down the man’s lungs and blocked him from breathing?” Gruedo asked, leaning forward in interest.

“No, I don’t think so. But Dawn might be able to use her magic to remove the breathable air from around him, or you might be able to concoct something that would do the same with your alchemy.”

“Do you really think so? Hm, I guess if I blended…” Gruedo went on, mentally mixing chemicals in her head and aloud.

The evening was one of quiet celebration at the thought that they may be finished with their mission soon. Watches were set and Cite took the first. The others fell asleep to the gentle music that he plucked out on his instrument, as he was left alone with thoughts of his home and the people who had died there because of him.

5854 – Ault – Talsā – Ginof

The next morning was warm and grew warmer as the day went on. Everyone was eager to be on their way, and they had a quick breakfast before taking up the march with renewed vigor. As they came closer to the mountain castle, they could see more detail. It was apparent that the castle extended back into the mountain itself, though no one alive was sure how far. Myth told that it was enough to hold fifty thousand people and rivaled the underground holds of the massive Rokairn city, Tariluine, in the Rolling Mountains. More than once Rogen had mentioned that there were many reasons that his people worshiped and revered Jonath as chief amongst the Gods; Jonath represented order that they held so dear, as well as the element of earth that they dealt with in so many ways. The Stone Folk were known for their weapons creations, gemcraft, fine metal jewelry, earthen works, and homes.

The bridges from one battlement to another were impressive from afar, but as they drew closer, it became evident that they were also works of art. Stone scrollwork in shades of brown and grey arched underneath each span, and continued upward to become railings. The road that led to the castle had large braziers spaced evenly on each side, similar to the ones that Cyril had seen in Edgewater. The braziers were set above the walkways, and the statues that held them often were tall enough for the companions to pass under the legs that straddled the lane. The path wound back and forth and was still in fair shape, considering how long it had been since it had seen regular maintenance. It was wide enough for three wagons to travel abreast and had raised walkways on each side for foot traffic.

The road had small alcoves embedded in them that held dark stones about the size of a loaf of bread. Cyril explained that these used to glow with magical light, and he told of many other wonders of the city and castle. Gruedo fell back to study one and, when she thought Cyril wasn’t looking, dropped it into her satchel.

Rogen and Cyril spent most of the morning talking about the construction. Rogen was very sure that there had to be other ways in and out of the castle besides the front door. His people always had multiple back doors and entries. Many were small and hidden, but they were there. He felt to do otherwise was poor planning and bordered on overconfidence, arrogance, insanity, or stupidity; and Jonath wasn’t any of those things.

The sun was halfway to its zenith when a thunder-like crack thunder followed by a low rumbling that lasted for minutes made the group look behind them. The sky above Silver City had ruptured, and a gaping black tear in the sky appeared to the northeast of the city, spanning from the ground upward to cover half of the morning sun in the east. Dawn reached into her bag and brought out her spyglass. Placing it to her eye, she gasped and handed it to Cyril. It was passed around to each person.

The unnatural gash in the air spilled out horrors that plummeted to the ground and scurried off, or that floated, flew, or flapped around the sky. Others came through also; a mass of grey humanoids in robes that gestured commands to the otherworldly beings; and an army of green-skinned beings slid forward that blended with the terrain the moment they touched it.

“Troöds,” Rogen said, “an army of them. And they brought friends. Lesser demonic minions, from the look of them. But some are flying.” Rogen gasped. The sound scared the others more than anything he said. “Kez’et-dual.”

Rogen passed the looking glass back to Dawn and pointed at one larger figure that hovered above the rest. They each took turns looking. It was a malformed thing with a long snakelike neck and an oval head. Spindly arms hung from its bloated body and short stubby legs were pulled up underneath it. It was directing the force.

“It is a demon,” Rogen explained. “I have heard of it before, but never seen it. It came to this world through Land’s End, far to the east, about three or four score years ago. It is part of the reason that I learned the art of summoning and banishment. My informants tell me that the Troöds have a pact with Kez’et-dual, to breed Aeifain or Dasism with demons to create half breed super-soldiers.” The others turned to him, bewildered. “The meetings I have been having at each city, I have been keeping tabs on our enemies through slaves I placed with them.”

“What would that thing be doing here?” Dawn asked.

Cyril answered. “Isn’t it obvious? The castle has dimensional ties; it could be used as an amplifier to bring others of its kind here. Right in Kala’s territory, where the breeding material is easily accessible.”

“Why didn’t it come here years ago then?” Gruedo asked.

“It cannot summon,” Rogen explained. “It needed others who could. The Troöds have been trying to summon a powerful demon for a long time. They have made other attempts before this, and many of the sites that are attuned to this sort of thing have been objects of their raids. Daeth’s Pass was one. Ez’rainia-fromton, the city that was buried under the sands in the Great Desert north of my city, was another. It was uncovered when Verl’zen-luk rose to godhood. It goes on and on, but I do not think we have time for that now. I think the Talisman has opened other possibilities for them.”