Light Of Loreandril (11 page)

After nearly two hours of tripping over slippery rocks, and falling into freezing pools, they made it round the edge of the lake to the collision area. The water had returned to its serene state, with only the wind disturbing the mirrored surface. Disappointed that there was nothing to help them search further, they reluctantly realised that there was nothing more they could do that night.

The morning choir of birds in the surrounding trees woke Cradon early. The sky was a dismal grey, and it was clear the sun would not be making an appearance that day.

Looking over, he could see Nechan was still slumbering soundly. Try as he might, Cradon could not get back to sleep. The yearning thoughts to search the water played endlessly on his mind. When he could bear it no longer, he crept past his brother, walking as quietly as possible on the crunching sand towards the water’s edge. It was bitterly cold, combined with a pleasing, cleansing sensation as it lapped over the tips of his toes. Braving it, slipping off his cream tunic, Cradon took a deep breath and began wading into the water, stopping every few steps for his skin to acclimatise. Eventually, he was chest-deep and forced to swim.

Visualising where he remembered the object falling, Cradon swam out some distance and started to tread water. Looking below him, even in the dim light, it was crystal clear enough to see the gritty bottom of the lake. Placing his face into the water, he swam, studying the floor, searching for anything that looked out of place.

After several more searches in between deep breaths, he finally found something of interest. At first he doubted what he had seen, but upon checking several more times, Cradon was certain. Lying amongst the grit in a small, shallow crater was what looked like a silver orb. Positive his eyes were not deceiving him, he inhaled deeply and dived down to the lake floor. Clearing away the grit and sand he quickly uncovered the entire object. Clutching it tightly to his chest with his left hand, he resurfaced and swam back towards to the shoreline, surprised by how light the object was.

Nechan slowly woke from his deep sleep and yawned widely before rolling over to perceive his brother. He had to rub his eyes again, at first confused by what he saw. In an instant, as soon as the realisation dawned on him, he was filled with raging anger.
Why did Cradon not wake him?
 

Cradon, still shirtless, his skin goose-pimpled, was crouched over an object, studying it intensely. At first he was unaware of Nechan standing over him, his eyes smouldering with the fury of deceit.

“Nechan, you’re awake, come look. It’s amazing!” Without taking his eyes of the enchanting object, he beckoned his brother closer.

With the first glance Nechan also found himself drawn to its strange, mesmerising beauty. Quickly forgetting his anger and disappointment, he crouched down next to Cradon, scrutinising the sphere more closely.

It was only about a hand’s width, with a delicate, silvery hue that seemed to glow faintly. Peering deep into it, the brothers could almost make out swirling mists trapped inside. Its perfectly spherical outer skin was warm to the touch and covered in intricate etchings in what looked like finely inlayed silver. The markings appeared to be a language. Somehow, they knew unmistakably that this was an item of great power, perhaps even magic, but who made it, and where did it come from?

It dawned on Nechan that he had seen similar engravings before. Grabbing one his saddlebags, he rummaged around and found the small box Barnon had given him. Kneeling down again by the orb, Nechan snapped open the box and carefully removed the silver artefact on its chain. He was right. The etchings did appear to be the same as those on the orb.

Holding it in his palm, he gently pressed the clasp, popping open the delicately engraved lid. His hands began to shake nervously, as before their eyes the item appeared to spring to life. Small, silver rings lifted from the base and began spinning and weaving around each other. They gained speed, and a light began to glow in the centre of the sphere formed by the rings. Nechan instinctively held it out towards the orb. The rings span faster, and the light emitted grew to a blinding brightness. He pulled it away again, as he shielded his eyes, and the light appeared to dim and spinning rings slow.

“That’s……..”

“…amazing!” Nechan finished Cradon’s sentence. They were both almost speechless at their discovery. Not only had they found a strange silver globe that had fallen from the sky, but the object that Barnon had passed onto them seemed to be related.

“They must have been made by the same people, don’t you think?” Nechan scratched his head and sat back, still staring back and forth at the orb and then the artefact in his palm. “I wish Barnon could see this.” He smiled, knowing how excited his old friend would have been with this discovery.
Could it be that all his tales were in fact true?
 

Together they sat for what seemed like hours, unable to draw themselves away from the two spheres, not even to make breakfast. Out of nowhere, a bleak thought crept into Nechan’s mind. “Do you think someone will be looking for this?”

“What?”

“Well, something like this must be valuable….really valuable. I don’t think someone would just let it go without wanting to find it again.”

“Brother, you may be right.”

They were both suddenly subdued at this thought, and sat back in the sand looking at each other.
Should they try and return it? But who to? And where?
There were so many questions flooding their heads.

“I think we should leave here shortly. If someone is looking for this, I am not sure how happy they would be to find
us
with it.”

The twins were filled with a strange sense of urgency to abandon camp. It was as if the drab, stormy skies above heralded the approach of a threatening danger. With great care and under the intense supervision of Nechan, Cradon wrapped the silver orb up in one of his woollen blankets and stashed it securely in a saddlebag. Nechan hung Barnon’s artefact around his neck for safekeeping.

They packed up their camp quickly and then doused the smouldering embers of their fire, scattering the ashes to hide the evidence. Deciding to continue travelling east, they left the beach in pristine condition, untouched, just as they had found it.

“My Lords, I request your guidance.” The hooded karzon stared fixedly into the murky contents of a crude bowl: the scoured-out skull of an animal. Taking a small glass vial from around his bony, wizened neck, he added several drops of blood. Then he waited for a response.

After their first failed attempt at recapturing the Aeonorgal, they were now forced to make a report and seek the advice of their masters, the Rjukhan. Vlandac, the leader, watched as the dark liquid in the skull began to swirl and steam. Gradually, a distant, shadowy image began to take shape.

“What news do you bring before this council, Vlandac?” A harsh, raspy voice had answered their call. It echoed in small, pulsating ripples across the concoction’s surface.

Vlandac, the karzon leader, was a respected member of the council of the Empire and he stood nearly a foot taller than the other karzon, who themselves dwarfed normal clansmen. Like all karzon, he was dressed in black from head to toe and about his shoulders, a sign of his rank, he wore the pelts of two black foxes, complete with stuffed heads, their dead, yellow eyes staring lifelessly while their white fangs still grimaced.

  “The Aeonorgal was taken from my very grasp,” Vlandac hissed, still visualising his outstretched hand just before the elf transported it somehow. He felt the writhing failure in the pit of his stomach, and did not enjoy having to bring such news to the council.

“Failure?” the voice shouted. The ripples deepened and the bowl vibrated in Vlandac’s hands. “You come before the council and speak of failure?”

“My Lord the Elven Star will be returned. But, perhaps you can impart your guidance.” The karzon waited, almost breathless with the anticipation of punishment. The liquid in the bowl was motionless, signallng silence at the other end.

Vlandac closed his eyes with relief momentarily when the voice returned.

 “You are to ride west until you sense its power. It is no longer cloaked from our vision nor your senses.”

“Perhaps my Lord, it would be wise to dispatch further forces.”

There was silence, so Vlandac continued.

“I believe one of the ambushers was an Aeon Elf. The travellers are all strong, skilful with their weapons, and now even more wary of our approach.”

The distant council contemplated Vlandac’s words. It was now clear how much they had underestimated the strength and cunning of the Elves and their allies.

“What of the uzgen?”

“We came across the remains of its body, but no others. To slay it, they must have used the Aeon power.”

A scream of rage emanated from the liquid, making the fluid jump and spit as it boiled even more ferociously. The skull began to shudder, but Vlandac resisted the mpulse to drop it.

“We will send support. They will meet you. Do not disappoint this council again.”

The black liquid cleared instantly, the surface now calm and almost mirror-like. Vlandac turned to his fellow karzon. “Find me some marsh rats, now!” he shouted.

The other karzon scattered in all directions, their blades drawn, probing the ground for burrows and holes. The squirming rodents screamed as they were cornered, pinned down by black, heavy boots and skewered by blades. They flung the dead, furry bodies at Vlandac’s feet until their number equalled their own.

The karzon were still without mounts, having been unable to find the khalit that had fled from the burning, white light of the Aeonorgal. No doubt they had become trapped in the mud, eventually suffocating. Vlandac knew how to solve the problem quickly.

Picking up the first rat, he allowed drops of its warm blood to trickle onto his palm. Vlandac then flung the dead rodent a small distance away, watching its body slowly sink into the oozing mud. He did the same with the other rats. Rubbing their blood on his palm he muttered an incantation,
Yurch dranu stovailk
, over and over again, chanting monotonously. The other karzon took a step back, watching expectantly, as their leader conducted his ritualistic sorcery. Within moments, the night sky became shrouded in clouds, its stars and moon erased by a inky veil.

“Now we wait!” commanded Vlandac.

The ground started to tremble and the air vibrate, the pulse emanating from where the dead rodents had been cast onto the mud. All the karzon began chanting the black mantras, not even pausing when bolts of lightning struck each site where a furry body lay.

Silence fell, even the ground stopped quaking. They watched as the ground seemed to heave and moan, its surface pulsate. The mud began to crack as long thrashing legs broke through, dragging wet, glistening bodies behind them. Using the Earth Magic taught by the Rjukhan, Vlandac had created new rides for them. Being of black magic, these horses were not the normal beasts of the land. They were devilish conjurations, taller, stronger and faster, their eyes jet black and soulless. These animals were just as dark and terrifying as the masters who would now ride them.  

Mounting the animals bareback and finding their bearings, using the stars in the night sky that was once again clear, the karzon began riding fast into the west, towards their goal, as their council had advised.



The karzon were not the only ones who now travelled west. Guided by Nymril’s aeonthel, the comrades too had discovered that the Aeonorgal lay somewhere to the west. They could only follow the growing light of Nymril’s instrument. Tired and aching from the night’s ambush, their clothes still cold and damp, they were finding it hard to keep riding, however they knew they must press on. If they could track it from its emanating power,d so could the enemy.

“Omph!” grunted Gomel. “I’m still confuse!”

“Arghhhh! Why, Gomel? I have already tried to explain it to you!” snapped Nymril.

“Nymril, the Aeonorgal whisked itself away, at your command? Just like that?” Gomel rubbed the temples of his balding head as he tried to absorb and make sense of the elf’s explanation.

“Yes! As I said the last time you asked exactly the same question!” She would have been shouting at him had she had the energy to do so.

“Gnome, why can’t you just accept it!” Gaular was feeling the burning pain in his calf from where the arrow had struck. After closer inspection, it became clear that the arrowhead must have been poisoned. Thankfully, Gaular’s body was large and strong enough to resist the death that the miasma should normally bring. His large muscle mass would hopefully absorb most of the toxin, but he was still left terribly weakened, and felt sick to his stomach. He could feel the poison working its way through the veins of his leg, eating away at the flesh inside.

“So, it’s basically a self defence?” the gnome persisted.

Sighing heavily she replied, “Yes! Yes! As I keep saying!”

“Then tell me this, if you knew this was possible, then why didn’t the Elves do that two hundred years ago? It would have saved us all a lot of trouble, not to mention a number of lives!” There was an angry, frustrated tone in Gomel’s voice.

“Well, it might be powerful, but that power has to be commanded and wielded. It cannot conduct magic itself, it doesn’t work like that. Those that guarded it must have been slain before they…………” her voice trailed off, knowing that Gomel spoke the truth. She was struggling though, every breath hurting. Her chest still felt as though it were in the clutches of a vice, her bruised ribs limiting her breathing. It was as if she could feel the weight of the karzon upon her. With every movement of her horse she winced in pain.

“That’s enough!” Eilendan rode up between Gomel and Nymril. “We are all exhausted. There is no point trying to go on any further in this state.” He leaned in towards Nymril. “Are you in a lot of pain?” Eilendan whispered.