The Hollow: At The Edge (20 page)

“Annabella’s a mage,
but not a very talented one. She specialises in enchanting.”

“And stabbing people,”
said Mouse.

“We multi-task in the
Nightblades.”

“Just one thing,” said
Serrel. “Where
is
your staff?”

“I, uh, think I may
have left it on the boat.”

Serrel and Mouse looked
at him in horror. The first thing they had learned: never lose your
staff.

“Holland is going to
murder you,” Mouse breathed.

“Only if he finds out,”
Victor replied, without conviction.

“Oh, he’ll find out,”
said Serrel.

“Holland knows
everything
,” Mouse added omniously.

“Right this moment, I
reckon he’s back at Fort Amell, pacing up and down with his stick,
trying to decide which of your limbs he’s going break first.”

Victor fell silent.
Serrel knew Victor never really cared about anything all that much
to be afraid, but gods be damned if the thought of Holland finding
out he had lost his staff didn’t make him go just a little bit
pale.

“I’m sure I can find it
again,” said Victor with forced indifference. “It’s probably right
where I left it.”

“Sure.”

“He never needs to
know.”

“Of course not.”

“After he kills you,”
said Mouse. “Can I have your knives?”

They came to a small
clearing in the trees that lined the river as it ran its way north.
There were other Legion there, most of them wounded, sitting or
lying on the ground. No one said much, and when they did it was in
whispers. One woman who lay on the ground had a thick roll of
bandages around her midsection. She was drenched in sweat and
groaning in pain.

Most alarming though
was the dead Ferine that was hanging from a tree, its blood running
down its face and dripping into the sodden earth beneath it. A
tall, middle aged man with grey hair and a stern expression was
slowly and fastidiously cleaning his hands in front of the elf. The
rag he used was stained red.

“I though I told you
not to go wondering off?” he said without looking up as Victor and
Annabella stood to attention before him.

“We didn’t wonder off,
Sir,” replied Victor. “We knew exactly where we were going.”

“Don’t get cute with
me, Blackwood,” the man replied calmly.

“We found some more
survivors, Captain,” Annabella said quickly.

The man turned to
regard the Hounds with an unimpressed stare. A small smile
flickered at the corner of his mouth when he noticed Caellix.

“I thought I smelt wet
dog,” he said.

“Jurgen,” Caellix said
stiffly as way of greeting. “No one’s slit your throat yet I
see.”

“Not for lack of
trying. You still running around, chasing rabbits and pissing in
the woods?”

“You still murdering
children in their sleep?”

“Good to see the years
haven’t mellowed you, Sergeant. Were you there during the
attack?”

Caellix shook her head.
“My people and I were taking the scenic route through the forest.
We saw the light show in the sky last night, but by the time we had
arrived the battle was over.”

“It wasn’t much of a
battle. The Ferine came close to destroying the Legion, but we
don’t go quietly. Dillaini rallied whoever was still standing and
forced the Ferine to retreat. They chased them north to
Vollumir.”

“And this lot?” asked
Caellix, gesturing to the wounded and dying around her.

“Anyone who got
separated from the main force, or was injured and unable to march
was left behind.”

Caellix stared at him.
“You are joking.”

“I’m afraid not,” said
Jurgen. “Our new supreme leader is not a woman renowned for her
sentimentality. In fact, if she were anyone else, I would venture
so far as to call her a nasty, cold hearted
bitch
.”

“That’s saying
something, coming from you.”

“Indeed it is,” agreed
Jurgen.

“But you survived, of
course,” noted Caellix. “But your lot never travel with the regular
army, do you?”

“No, we do not. My
Nightblades and I were sent ahead of the fleet. We have a fast
cutter, and with the help of Annabella and Victor here, we made
landfall close to a day before the rest of the Legion. We were
meant to take Fort Etten back from the rebels, then join up with
some of the local Elsbareth forces that are still loyal to the
king. We were going to rejoin the Legion on the way to Vollumir.
The first and second parts worked out quite well. Perhaps too well.
Vharaes’ forces seemed small and unprepared. But when we
rendezvoused with the local soldiers...” His face went hard.
“Somehow they knew we were coming. There was a massacre. Ferine
slaughtered everyone. Two thousand strong, all dead.”

“How?”

“The same way they
attacked the Legion. They rained spells down on us, huge torrents
of fire and ether energy. Those that survived the initial blasts
were set upon by the rebels. They took everyone apart and ate
them.”

“Was that the night
before the Legion landed on the Faelands?” Serrel asked.

“Probably.”

“We could see the
release of energy from our boats. It was gigantic.”

“It was even worse up
close. I started with a dozen men. Now there are only three of us.
When the fighting was done, we followed in the rebels tracks. We
were lucky enough to catch the end of the battle with the Legion.
They fared better than the locals at least.”

“Did you see who did
the weaving?” asked Serrel. “Who it was that was casting all that
energy down on you and the Legion?”

Jurgen looked at him
sternly. He had blue eyes that were cold and unfriendly.

“What’s your name,
Caster?” he asked.

“Hawthorne, Sir. I’m
sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, Sir, but I am really very
curious to know who or what has enough power to almost destroy an
army of the Legion.”

“Would you believe me,
son, if I told you there was just a single elf mage?”

“One mage?” Serrel
thought about that. “Working with the Ferine?”

“Just one, run of the
mill, bastard, elven mage.” Jurgen smiled grimly. “That’s the good
news. You want the bad news?”

“Please,” said Caellix
coldly.

“Somewhere along the
line the Ferine got their grubby claws on some sort of powerful
relic. It’s what they’re using to perform all their weaving, to
cast some unbelievably powerful spells on us.”

“Of course,” said
Dhulrael suddenly. He walked painfully to the front of the group.
“Captain, tell me, did any of you see this relic for
yourselves?”

“Who’s this?” Jurgen
asked Caellix.

“The Patrician of
Vollumir,” Caellix replied. “Apparently.”

“You trust him?”

“He’s alive isn’t
he?”

Annabella answered, “I
had a brief glimpse of it during the attack. It was a tall pillar,
made of some glowing red crystal. If I was to hazard a guess, I’d
say the relic somehow amplifies their mage’s weaving.”

“A red crystal,” mused
Dhulrael. “About the size of a man?”

“About that... Do you
know what it is?” Annabella asked slowly.

Dhulrael became aware
that there were an awful lot of armed humans now staring at him,
and not all of them were wearing trusting expressions.

“This is just a theory
you understand,” he started.

“Oh, gods, here we go,”
muttered Caellix.

“Have you ever heard of
the Anphalae? They were said to be elven artefacts of remarkable
power, forged untold centuries ago during the Age of Discord.”

“Yes, I’m sure we’ve
all heard the stories, elf,” said Jurgen impatiently. “Relics
forged from materials that came into our world when the walls of
reality broke down, and demons roamed the planet unfettered.”

“And frogs rained from
the sky. And cats and dogs lived with each other in harmony. Myths
and legends, barely more believable than stories about Darklings
and Insectim,” said Caellix.

“Insectim?” asked
Annabella.

“Oh, it’s a good one.
We’ll tell you later,” replied Brant.

“Myths indeed,”
Dhulrael continued, nonplussed. “Here in Elsbareth as well as in
the Empire. But interesting myths regardless. I studied many of
them. In fact, I wrote a dissertation on the Anphalae for a
university report. It scored rather low, I am afraid. When
performing my research, I found many old records dating back only a
few centuries written by mages who claimed to have uncovered
several of the Anphalae, and had attempted to make use of them. One
in particular has always stood out, mostly because it was the
easiest to verify the truth of. It concerned a group of relics they
referred to as the Illudin.”

“These wouldn’t happen
to be giant red crystals, would they?” asked Annabella.

“As it happens, yes,
they would be. The crystals were supposedly created to be great
storage containers for the energy of the ether. They could hold
vast amounts of energy, a volume so large it was difficult to
properly numerate.”

“And whoever controlled
this relic had access to almost unlimited energy from the ether,”
said Jurgen darkly.

“Yes. But more
importantly, it seemed that the relics themselves could draw the
energy it stored from both mages, and directly from the ether
itself. If the relic was placed in a location where the ether was
known to leak through, and in Elsbareth there are many such places,
then the Illudin could tap directly into the ether. The energy one
could access then would be... without end.”

“If it were real,” said
Jurgen.

“It has to be,” said
Serrel. “Someone has been weaving spells that should be impossible.
Summoning kraken, and making monsters. Nearly destroying the
Legion. This must be where they get their power.”

“It would explain what
we’ve seen so far,” said Annabella.

“And the elves, you’ve
had these things for several hundred years now?” Jurgen asked with
obvious disbelief.

Dhulrael made a face.
“That’s where the records all become rather hazy, I am afraid. You
see, the one thing all the records agree on is that the Illudin
were far too dangerous to ever use safely. It was said that they
were very fragile. That they cracked easily, and could shatter with
very little effort. Can you imagine what happens to a vessel full
of energy when it shatters, Captain?”

“It explodes?” Jurgen
suggested.

“There was once a city
called Ghoramir. It was home to Elsbareth’s most talented and
powerful spellcasters. Centuries ago, it disappeared without a
trace, wiped from the face of the planet like the tide wiping away
footprints in the sand. All that remains to mark its existence is a
single, giant crater. It is my belief that the mages of Ghoramir
tried to use an Illudin to power the city. Perhaps they filled it
with energy beyond its capacity, or perhaps someone jostled it too
roughly or sneezed at an inopportune moment. Regardless, it
cracked, and broke, and the resulting release of energy completely
vaporised the third largest city in elven history.”

He let that sink in.
“Afterwards,” he went on, “any mention of the Illudin is merely
speculative. The fanciful theory I have heard is that the old king
of Elsbareth locked the Illudin away in a secret vault, one
supposedly filled with the rest of the Anphalae that had been
discovered. I used to believe that they were all destroyed, rather
than running the risk of them ever falling into the wrong
hands.”

“Which, if you’re
right, they have,” said Caellix.

“If they did exist, how
have Vharaes and the Ferine gotten a hold of them?” asked
Jurgen.

“I do not know,” said
Dhulrael. “Vharaes and I travelled Elsbareth together. We used to
seek out stories about the Anphalae, hoping to find one for
ourselves. There was a rumour that the Enchanters Guild had hidden
away one of the Illudin for their own use, and kept it in their
fortress high in the mountains. If that is true, they certainly did
not tell anyone. But perhaps Vharaes took the old stories more
seriously than I did. Perhaps he kept looking, and maybe, after
decades of searching finally found one.”

“You believe all this,
Captain?” Annabella asked.

“I don’t think we can
afford not to believe it,” said Jurgen.

“All well and good,”
said Caellix. “And it was a truly inspiring and exciting tale,
Pointy. All the more reason that we should find whoever’s left of
the Legion and let them know what we might be dealing with. We
should head to Vollumir as soon as possible.”

“Sergeant,” said
Dhulrael. “If there is an Illudin in the Ferine’s possession, if
may still be close by.”

“How do you figure? And
don’t say “this is only a theory”, because I will hit you.”

“Um... yes. Well...
hypothetically
-”

“Elf...”

“From what I have
heard, and from what I saw last night, I do not think that the
Ferine truly know how to use the Illudin in their possession. When
they attempted to draw power from it, the amount of energy that
they released was far more excessive than what they needed. The
excess energy was projected into the sky, and became the Aurora
Ethereal.”

“That happened the
first time we were attacked,” said Annabella.

“If so, then perhaps
the Illudin is running low on energy. If the Ferine wish to make
use of it again, they would need to draw energy out of the ether.
They will need to find a place where the fabric between worlds is
weak, and the ether easily accessible. And,” he looked triumphant.
“if we are close to the Bridge of Kaelthril, then it just so
happens that I may know exactly where they would go.”

He beamed at the
group.

“Where the hell did you
find this guy?” Jurgen asked Caellix.

“Tied up and bagged in
the forest,” said Caellix. “He seems to know what he’s talking
about. Afterall, he’s a
teacher
. I’m beginning to see why
Vharaes wanted you so badly.”