Lady Of The Helm (Book 1) (42 page)

“It did not seem so at first.  Eadran was no rescuer.  He was at first a mercenary and then in time the greatest of Maelgrum’s lieutenants.  Maelgrum entrusted him with great power and kn
owledge.  Raised him up as the Dark One’s apprentice. Ah, I see this is another part of my story you find hard to credit.”

Niarmit hastily closed her mouth which had opened in growing asto
nishment. “This was not in the history books that my father bid me study,” she admitted.

Feyril’s lips twitched in a wan smile. “
History can be edited my Lady so that inconvenient truths are hidden.  Eadran grew rich in power and favour.  Maelgrum taught him much about the magic of the planes in which art there has been no greater master than the undead Lord.  Malegrum even thought to make Eadran deathless like himself.  You see the evil one was once a living wizard who, fearing that death would end his exploration of the fantastic universe, sought out this undead form.  Through it his spirit could endure and resist the call of the gods to leave the world of the living.  It is true that Eadran also grew to fear death as his Master had, for life held too much pleasure to be readily forgone. But he was still young, a Marshal not yet past his fortieth birthday and the years did not yet weigh so heavily on him.”

“If the Vanquisher himself was once a mercenary pirate, perhaps my father being a cuckold is not the most incredible part of your tale.”

“Everything changed when Eadran was sent on one particular slaving mission to the Eastern lands,” Illana took up the story.  “Maelgrum’s tribute demands were a heavy burden on the fragments of the fallen Monar Empire.  The Church of the Goddess was young then, and there were those in the Eastern lands who held them responsible for the dark age of chaos that had descended.  It was after all Jocasta, the first prophet of the Goddess, who had foretold the Monar Empire’s ruin if its rulers did not embrace her faith.  There were many saw that as a threat rather than a prophecy and one that had been carried through.  So, when an enclave of the Goddess was overrun by one of the seven Caliphs, the entire population was turned over to Eadran as a ready payment of slaves.”

“And in that miserab
le company of slaves was Morwena.  Eadran carried Morwena and the faith of the Goddess all the way to Maelgrum’s realm,”  Feyril spoke up.

“She converted him
?” Niarmit guessed.

“Not at first.
” Illana admitted.  “She was a striking lady of extraordinary beauty and Eadran lusted after her.  He was used, as Maelgrum’s chief lieutenant, to doing and having exactly as he pleased, but in Morwena’s case he was disappointed.  Try as he might, her faith would unman him and her words would shame him and in the end she admitted him to her love only after he had first accepted the grace of the Goddess and then joined with her in marriage.”

“What did Maelgrum say to that?
”

“He never found out.
Morwena lived to all outward signs as a bed slave in Eadran’s household.  But, in secret ways they both spread the faith of the Goddess far and wide until the time was right to overthrow Maelgrum.”

“To vanquish him
?”

“Surprise was their greatest weapon, their only weapon, for Maelgrum was the greatest sorcerer, the greatest necromancer and one of the greatest warriors the world has ever seen.  The rebellion had to begin with his overth
row as its first act for only by striking off its evil head could they have any hope of unravelling the rest of his vile realm.  Eadran created a pocket of time and space within the planes which could be entered through the gateway of a great gem.  He and I offered it to Maelgrum as a gift.  Eadran said he had heard tell of a demi-plane of wonder and amazement reached through a secret maze.  I said I had paid Eadran for his skill to research and craft a gateway to that realm.  I had wanted him to make a worthy gift that I could exchange for more time with my hostage daughter than the single day a year which Maelgrum allowed.

“Curiosity was ever Maelgrum’s weakness, his spirit left his blackened body and entered the pocket of space Eadran had created.  Immediately we began the spell of impr
isonment Edaran, I and Morwena, for she was always in attendance on the Vanquisher.  It took the three of us casting our magic and sealing the prison with Eadran’s own blood spilt on the gem.  We had to work fast before Maelgrum could realise the circumscribed nature of the tiny planar prison that Eadran had been able to form.  True there was a maze, but that was all. The maze led round in circles, never touching on the fabulous realm Eadran described, which never even existed. It would take Maelgrum moments to uncover the subterfuge. That was all we had.  It was only just done in time.  The gate closing and the Lich’s body crumbling to dust even as his black spirit crashed against the barrier vibrating the stone so much I thought it would shatter.”  At a thousand years distance, Feyril still shivered momentarily at the memory of that desparate night.

“With Maelgrum vanquished,
or at least imprisoned, the story converges more closely with the history books you have read.  Eadran and Morwena freed the slaves and drove out the orcs and ogres.  If truth be told the liberation of the Petred Isle consumed a decade and a half of strife and struggle before the last orc was cast beyond the barrier and the Vanquisher and his lady could rest easy on their thrones.”

“What of the g
em, of Maelgrum’s prison?”

“We buried that deep within Morwencairn.  We placed it in his foul subterranean throne room and sealed up all the entrances and then Eadran built his fortress atop the Lich’s hold as an
everlasting guard against anyone stumbling on the means to release his evil back into the world.  There was always a risk he could be freed or that the prison might fail, for we had not killed him.  That which is dead cannot be killed.”

“And you think someone has freed him now.”

“It took three to imprison him, one of royal blood, one in tune with the Goddess and one who could master the sorcerer’s arts.  The same combination might unlock his planar cell.  Prince Xander has the richness of blood and the shortness of sense to have been a party to this folly, the renegade antiquary Haselrig may have served a priestly part and treacherous mages have been the Empire’s curse since Thren the Eighth outlawed the study of magic for all humans. There can be no doubt that Maelgrum is at large once more, the dark hand that drives our distress.”

“You would
have me confront such long dead evil with this?”  Niarmit dangled the ankh before Feyril’s gaze.

“That is but a trinke
t, crafted by the Vanquisher. It proves you are his rightful heir.  The weapon you must wield is the Helm of Eadran.”

“You would not tell me before what make of weapon it is.”

“It was crafted by Eadran after Maelgrum was defeated. He told me it was his greatest magic, that Maelgrum himself could not have made a finer artefact.  He would tell me no more, and his successors who have worn the helm have all been guarded in their description of it.  However, I have seen it used in battle.   On the wearer of the helm, no blow falls, no arrow strikes, no enchantment touches.  I have seen kings wearing the helm stride untouched through fire and ice, while those who try to lay hands on them are flung far away for the helm can only be touched in safety by one of Eadran’s line.”

“It is an impenetrable armour
?”

“And more besides.  Kings who wore it whatever their own skills could
for hours unleash great blasts of sorcery at a rate that would have exhausted any other wizard in minutes.  The Vanquisher was right, it is the greatest weapon I have ever seen.”

“Yet the Vanquisher still died beyond the barrier and there is many a king has shunned the wearing of the helm,” Niarmit reminded him.

“The Vanquisher took a force too small too late in the year for a chevauchee through the lands beyond the Gramorc mountains.  The helm could not protect his men from orcish arrows, nor keep him fed and warm in the depth of winter.  He died alone at the hill known as Edaran’s folly three leagues shy of Sturmcairn.  The blood line magic kept the green hued looters at bay and his remains and armour and equipment were still there when Eadran the second ventured forth in search of him at the coming of Spring.  The Helm will protect a man from every blow save that of his own stupidity

“As to why
so many have shunned it since, ‘tis entwined with the folly of Thren the Eighth.  He outlawed magic use and the Helm is indisputably an implement of sorcery.”

Illana cou
ghed at Feyril’s side.  “My Lord offers one explanation, but it is also said that those who have worn the helm since Thren’s time have succumbed to insanity.”  When Feyril gave her a troubled glance she rebuked him.  “There is much that has been kept from the Lady Niarmit. I would she had all the facts to make up her own mind on the great issues that face her.”

“Be that as it may, we face Maelgrum and it took all our strength and luck and the element of surprise to imprison him when last we faced him.  Niarmit will
have no chance to pursue the same artifice.  With the Helm she will at least be protected from him and able to find her own path to challenge and defeat him.”

“You have not got a plan then, bey
ond that I should wear the Helm?”

Feyril shrugged.  “I have seen some of what the Helm can do, but I do not know its true n
ature.  Only the wearer of the Helm can know that.  I simply say again, this is the greatest weapon at your disposal and you will found out more only by wearing it.  It maybe that with the Helm you can do what we could not, that is face down Maelgrum and his forces on an open battlefield.  Bulveld the third and Thren the fifth conquered virtually the entire Eastern lands with the aid of the helm.  Had Gregor worn it I cannot see how he would have fallen or even lost the battle at Proginnot.”

Niarmit was si
lent at the mention of Gregor, the man Feyril claimed was her father.  Feyril’s lips parted to launch some fresh entreaty, but Illana’s hand on his arm bid him bide his time.  “We have told you much, and it is perhaps a tale to think upon a little.  There are some days left while we make arrangements for our departure.  We will speak again when that time comes and you can hear from others who have witnessed more closely the resurgence in Malegrum’s evil power.  In the meantime, mayhap you should return to Hepdida. Tordil has his virtues but I gather the girl is more comfortable with your company.”

“
As you say, my Lady.”  Niarmit gave the elf Lord and Lady a short bow before departing, but she took the ankh with her.

It was the screams that would haunt Udecht’s dreams.  The assembled orcs and outlander rebels were wildly cheering each pass as the great wyrm swooped over the walls of Morwencairn.  But drifing on the wind, in every pause, there came the thin shrill screams from within the city. 

The dragon
had appeared at dawn for the beginning of its day of servitude and the assault had begun within the hour.  The down draft from powerful beats of its leathery wings had bowled over the stoutest of Maelgrum’s orcish honour guard as the Lich took to the sky astride his scaled serpent. Now at the Lich’s behest the dragon swung low over the town walls scorching them with its incandescent breath.  A few arrows launched at the great beast had bounced off its hide as it turned and dived with horrific grace.  Whatever troops Forven had to hand, they were unequal to the challenge of Maelgrum’s latest ally.  Smoke rose from a dozen fires within the city confines and the screams were fainter now.  Those that had not been turned to cinders by the dragon’s ire must be seeking refuge in whatever stone built, slate rooved buildings they could find.

The dragon banked in a gr
aceful circuit round to land by the great East gate.  The battlements were empty of any defenders save a few sorry piles of ash.  The dragon breathed again a long jet of white hot flame bathed the ancient timbers of the iron bound gate.  The diamond headed nails glowed red and the iron straps binding the oak beams together softened even as the wood beneath them smouldered into flame.  At another searing breath the gate flared into blazing light. 

Even at a half mile’s distance Udecht shielded his eyes from the blinding white light. When he dared to look again the dragon
was leaping into the air beating its way away from the yawning opening.  The timber had been reduced to ash on the wind and the still glowing ironwork of gate and portcullis drizzled to the ground like treacle.  From his seat on the wyrm’s neck, the undead Lord waved his arm in a long awaited signal. To Udecht’s right the necromancer Marwella took up the cry.

“Let the legion advance,” she called to her fellow wizards, arraigned in a line behind the stumbling shuffling legion that they shepher
ded.  “Let them feed!”

Before the
will of the harmonised necromancers the legion of rank and decayed beings began their jerky march upon the city.

To Udecht’s left, Xander shuffled nervously at the head of his troop of outlander cavalry.  “It is not meet that the honour of taking the city should fall to the likes of them,” he declaimed to no-one in particular and to everyone in general.

“Hush, my Prince,” Haselrig hissed.  “This is our Master’s plan.  The legion grow restless and untamed.  They need to feed that the wizards can be sure to hold them in thrall.”