Light Of Loreandril (48 page)

“Yes, my men were lost. But I found something far greater in return,” smirked Govan, knowing he had done well.

“Our armies have already begun making preparations.”

“You will lead them out.”

“We will release the Earth’s black fire upon them and the Elves will become nothing but grains of sand and dust in the wind.”

The captain bowed.
 
“I live to serve. Your commands will be fulfilled, my Lords.”

There was nothing more to say. Govan saluted, stood and left the chamber, leaving the Rjukhan to their dark deeds.

The heavy, black doors swung silently closed behind him and Govan sprinted quickly down to the garrisons to check on proceedings. The fortress held many legions of men, but beneath it lay numerous dormant, foul beasts that the Dark Lords would call into service. Together man and beast would march out, an army the size not seen for centuries.

Inside the Chamber of Daam the three Rjukhan were not alone. The karzon captain, Vlandac, slunk forward out of the shadows and bowed low before his creators and Lords. The only sound of his stealthy movements was the gentle swish of his robes on the cold, stone floor. He had watched in the shadows, in silence, as the Rjukhan dealt with the man.

“We have a further task for you,”

“The resting place of the star has been found.”

“You will hunt out its keepers, kill them and return it to us.”

The centrally seated Rjukhan stood, his full size suddenly dominating the room, blocking out the light. Even the domineering karzon captain seemed dwarfed in the shadow of his Lord. The Rjukhan swept his arm through the air, his hand hidden from view by the long black sleeves of his robe. Instantly the bubbling of the cauldron stopped, the swirling steam cleared and an imaged formed on the still, black surface. The karzon slid forward to inspect the vision. Immediately he recognised the scene before him and knew where his mission would take him.

“Leave none alive. Return with the star.”

“The Elves cannot be reunited with it.”

“They cannot go to war with it on their side.”

His orders understood, the karzon captain bowed low once more and left the chamber.

Within minutes he and thirteen Karzon rode out of the fortress on their hideous khalit beasts, their destination, the Lopthian Mountains. They left behind the preparations for war, riding purposefully into the growing darkness.

Glona and her family almost collapsed with the floods of tears as they were told the news. They were deeply mournful at the thought of Cradon, whom they had come to love dearly as one of their own, going into the wilderness to face the darkness. But they understood completely why the young clansman had to go, family being just as important to Gnomes.

Most of all they cried with relief, grateful Gomel was not joining Cradon. Gomel did not say it was the King’s decision, he wanted his family to believe it his choice. He had not forgotten his promise to his son, and was secretly pleased the King had refused his offer.

Family and friends began baking and salting frantically, preparing a variety of foods for Cradon to take, determined that he was not going to starve in the wilderness. Other gnomes prepared warm clothing for him, sewing with unsurpassable skill and speed. Drombil rushed to the best metal worker in the Kingdom, his personal friend, to attend to Cradon’s weapons and armour.

Upon request Gomel had taken Cradon away from the hustle and bustle. The clansman was feeling nervous and overwhelmed with the sudden hubbub of activity. The immense scale of what lay before him was beginning to dawn. This was not a jolly jaunt through the woods.

They made their way to the stables to check on Sonda, the horse he would ride, but everything was already being taken care of. With nothing they could do to help, the two friends found a quiet, hidden corner and took some time away from everything.

Time passed too quickly. The horns began sounding that the troops were on the move. His bags packed, dressed once again in armour and laden with weapons, Cradon was ready to leave. As was tradition, crowds started to line the streets, not in merriment as previously, but in sombre silence, heads bowed in quiet prayers for those leaving the safety of their Kingdom.

Nilean and Cradon led the procession. The silence of the crowds made Cradon feel as though he was walking towards his execution. It lay heavy in the air, like swaths of oppressive clouds threatening a heavy storm. Gomel had tried to stay close, following them through the crowds, but eventually they lost sight of each other. A lump in his throat Cradon was forced to move on, feeling his stomach turn to jelly with nothing except Gomel’s parting words of confidence aiding him.

The cold hit like a wall as they stepped out into the mountainous ravine. Winter was taking its icy hold. The snow seemed to fly horizontally, catching them in the face like whips. Shielding their eyes, the troops, Cradon and Nilean began slowly to descend the torturous mountain path, now hidden under vast drifts of powder. Even the wind seemed to fight against them, blowing uphill, making each step harder than the last. It was as though the mountain did not want them to leave its icy grip.

They fought for hours, battling downhill, until, exhausted, they decided to rest, finding a sheltered scouring in the mountainside. Huddled behind boulders the travellers tried to keep warm, supping on watery soups heated over meagre campfires.

Already the gnomes were wondering whether to turn back. Many of them had not ventured outside for centuries and felt insecure and exposed with no rocky ceiling above them. The appalling weather did not help to strengthen their resolve.

Only Nilean seemed content with the decision to leave. The elf urged the captain and two sergeants to keep their men encouraged with thoughts of Loreandril and freedom, although he knew the only thing keeping the troops there was the King’s order. Just like Gomel, these troops were loyal to the core, willingly sacrificing their lives if necessary.

It was too cold to sleep for more than an hour so they decided to continue battling onwards.

Without their knowing, each step was taking them closer to the enemy who were driven forward by sheer hate. The karzon, having ridden through the night, were making excellent progress. The unearthly khalit beneath them pounded untiringly across the plains towards the distant mountains, churning up vast gouges in the hardened ground with their black talons. They covered the distance faster than horses and already the Lopthians were a thin, hazy line on the far horizon, only two days ride away.

As they rode, Vlandac let out a piercing, shrill scream that echoed into the growing morning light, heralding their approach. All beasts and men who heard it covered their ears and ran for shelter. All doors and windows were barred shut in the villages they passed. Not a soul was seen or heard.  Ravenous black and grey wolves of the mountain regions soon joined the karzon, coming to the call of the Captain. With moth-eaten and flea-ridden fur the wolves had come out of hiding to join the hunt.

The karzon brought not only fear but also darkness. A strange, dark conjuration of the Rjukhans’ device followed their servants, pulling a blackening veil of hazy gloom behind them as they rode. It was as though they unzipped the sky itself, revealing a starless darkness. Even though dawn had begun to break it would make no difference. Daylight would not return to these lands while the dark armies stood strong.

Another tedious day passed. In the whiteness that covered everything and everyone, it seemed impossible to guess how long they had been travelling, or even how far. Behind them it was white, and before them it seemed whiter still. Even time itself seemed enveloped in snow. Although their progress was slow they were gradually making their way down the mountainside, having already travelled halfway down.

After two more brief stops to warm themselves and snatch a few restless hours of sleep, the travellers were finally given some respite from the relentless blizzard. Cradon was encouraged, his heart even warmed slightly as he held his gloved hand out before him catching flakes of snow. Not only could he see his hand, the flakes were visibly smaller and falling gently like downy feathers. Even the gnomes were now more cheery and began marching as fast as their short legs would permit as they waded through the snowdrifts.

Nilean and Cradon had gone before the troops, leading their horses in an attempt to plough a path through the snow. This was taking a toll on them both, especially Cradon. Although the healers had worked wonders with his wound, he could feel the cold gnawing  at it, the fingers of ice penetrating deep into his back. Still, he put on a brave face and continued stoically, determined to keep up with the elf’s long-legged pace.

That night as they sat huddled round tiny, spitting campfires the wind finally dropped. The travellers shivered as they listened to the echoing, deep-bellied rumblings of avalanches occurring on all sides. No one really slept for fear of being swept away in a torrent of snow and boulders.

The avalanches continued the next day. The clouds had started to break in the sky above them but did not reveal the light blue, winter sky they expected to see. It was hues of grey, like dark mists swirling above the heavy, snow-laden clouds.

“Lorth’ ath niorl!” exclaimed Nilean, staring up at patches of dark sky. His face paked and his eyes seemed to grow more piercingly blue.

“What is it? I have never seen a sky like that before!” Cradon felt a shiver of terror run down his spin, plucking at every hair as it went. He knew he was looking at pure evil.  

The gnomes began falling to their knees. Many covered their ears, others their eyes as the captain cried out, “Black skies! They dark ones are coming!” There was panic and terror in his voice. At his words even the surrounding mountains seemed to respond in distress, echoing his dread with rumbles of tumbling snow and sliding rocks and boulders.

“We have no time to waste,” commanded Nilean, shaking the terrified gnome by the shoulders. “Gather your troops. We must continue, our fate is already decided!”

At the captain’s floundering orders the troops stood one by one, shaking themselves as if trying to restore some sanity and bravery back into their bodies.

“I don’t understand! What’s happening?” Cradon stammered. He found himself gripping the hilt of his sword as if attack were mere seconds away.

Leading them on, Nilean continued to plough through the snow. “Steady your hand, young warrior. The time will come, but it is not yet upon us. This is only the beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

Nilean stopped and turned, whispering into the boy’s ear. “Dark skies mean dark enemies approach. You will sense when they are close.” The elf turned, continuing to make a path through the snow. “It should serve to hasten our journey, Cradon. Time is of the essence, every step towards Loreandril vital!” d drifts of white powder, the gnomes following them reluctantly, brandishing their weapons.

Together they continued to plough through the mounds an. With each step the skies darkened even though the clouds were lifting. Dread and fear increased, spreading across the snow-covered valleys and hollows. Cradon could feel his heart pounding fast and hard in his chest as if it were trying to escape his body.

Then they heard it, a shrill, wordless cry that stabbed like a hot iron through their ears into their brains, instilling a breathless fear. The karzon were upon them.

The two horses fled in fear down the mountain into the unknown darkness, carrying with them the Aeonorgal, away from the approaching karzon. The enemy had ridden almost continuously to reach the mountains and now without hesitation were launching their attack. They were drawn to the travellers, called by the Aeonorgal calling, its white light and pure magic cutting through the dark chasms of their minds, leading them straight to its keepers.

The Gnome army was now nearly enveloped in darkness, and flurries of snow began to fly again as if stirred by invisible whips. Dark shadows loomed above them. They were surrounded, trapped like rodents in the steep-sided ravine. Snarls and gnashing teeth of the khalit could be heard above the wind, mixed with the grating of steel weapons and armour of the karzon as they rode forward. The wind itself seemed to be an orchestra of howling beasts circling them. Then the sickly, sweet stench of the karzon hit.

“Draw your weapons!” yelled the captain, finally finding the courage to take command of his troops, rising above the gurgling fear in the pit of his stomach.

Nilean pulled out an elegant, white-wood bow and loaded it, pulling the string far past his ear, his muscles taut as he held his breath. Many of the gnomes did the same, stringing their short bows with purple-feathered, needle-tipped arrows. Together, as one, they let loose the cascade of arrows into the growing darkness. With the howling wind gathering strength, as the grating whines and yelps of the wolves grew louder, it was hard to tell if any arrows struck a target. They let loose another volley. This time, their enemies closer, even above the wind they heard yelps and thuds of bodies hitting the cold ground.

Their brave efforts were not enough. The shadowy shapes grew closer, becoming more pronounced. Screams of wrath were expelled by the karzon and their prey once again were forced to their knees, hugging their ears, wincing and crying in agony with the screech of the evil, black voices. With their foes disabled the karzon attacked, having lost very few with the meagre flurries of arrows.

The wolves struck first. Standing their ground, the gnomes found new strength, wielding their axes and short swords, but within seconds, their numbers were decimated.

Nilean fired several more arrows trying to pick off the wolves. Cradon drew his sword and stood close, ready to fight. It was clear the wolves were targeting the weaker, smaller gnomes, overpowering them easily by their sheer size. Even in the growing blackness the ground glistened crimson with spilt blood.