The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (5 page)

No. It was his war against the Northern Kingdom of Man that filled him with pride. Ravensdred remembered the proud Athelings of Man, dressed in their finest ritual armor, valiantly slashing and hacking at his soldiers. He really enjoyed killing those humans. It was such a shame that internal, political intrigues had already weakened the nation. The king, Haergill, fled the capital years before, and the kingdom was loosely held together by the viciousness of the High Atheling.

If Haergill had still been in command, and his nation had been at the height of its power, what a glorious battle that would have been, Ravensdred thought to himself.

His Dark Master undoubtedly arranged the inner corruption that destroyed Haergill's court, as he had for every other kingdom, setting them against each other, making them weak enough to be defenseless against the invading garond armies.

Then, the garonds went to war against the elves.

There were barely a hundred elves left in the world. And even though Ravensdred brought ten thousand soldiers, he left with half that number after the elves finally succumbed.

That had been another gigantic failure. He had been sent to take the capital Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam, and secure all the magical items of the elves for his Master.

But, after the last elf had been killed, the enchanted walls of the city closed, and would not open. The walls were like a living thing. They leaned out and pushed down ladders, became slippery, and even stacked bricks higher when the garonds piled on top of each other to get over the edge. Chisels and swords by the score were broken until he realized it was useless, and his armies could be better used elsewhere.

He had to leave it to his Dark Lord to access the elvish capital with his frightening powers.

And his failure was compounded further with the survival of one, lone elf, a maddening, frustrating, single, young female elf. Ravensdred's hands worked at the thought of her. She killed his troops at will. She was unstoppable. They should have just sent her out when the garonds attacked, and every last garond would have been killed.

There was no way to catch or kill her. He had to leave the last elf also to his Master. He will surely find some way to end her life, Ravensdred thought.

Of the humans of Wealdland, there was only the Weald and Reia to finish. His attack on the Weald had been foiled with the burning of the Three Bridges of Rogar Li. Clever old Yulenth had seen to that. His troops couldn't cross the rapid Bairn River. Garonds were pathetic when it came to swimming, and at the time, they had no boats.

Ravensdred frowned to himself to consider the large fleet of long boats his troops would have to use to cross the New Sea that now separated Wealdland since the destruction of Byland by the fool Stavolebe.

And then there was the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands.

Ravensdred growled to himself to remember that colossal failure. Besting the human army, better than ten to one, the human general Kellabald had beautifully commanded his armies into a route of the garond forces.

He still remembered fighting Kellabald who wielded the Sun Sword, the Mattear Gram. That human was unbeatable. But then, a despicable human betrayer stabbed Kellabald in the back on the field of battle.

Ravensdred involuntarily turned his head and spat with the memory of Apghilis, the dishonorable traitor. He had heard from one of his soldiers that the son of Kellabald, Arnwylf, had killed Apghilis at the Battle of Byland.

Good, Ravensdred thought, let those who must win by attacking from behind be slain in battle.

Ravensdred thought of Kellabald mortally wounded by treachery on the field of battle in the Eastern Meadowland, crumpled before him. Ravensdred had been deprived of finishing Kellabald by the accursed Archer from Kipleth. One of his strange black arrows had pierced his arm as he raised it for the killing stroke. Ravensdred still carried that arrowhead with him at all times.

He felt in his pocket the lump of metal that had been an Arrow of Yenolah, forged by the elf smith Weylund, given to Sehen the blind sage, to give to the Archer from Kipleth, to kill his Master.

The Lord of Lightning surely must have known about the remains of the Arrow of Yenolah he carried. But Ravensdred never mentioned it, and His Dark Lord had never asked for it.

Ravensdred had tried to fashion the metal of the arrowhead into a knife or other weapon, but all his efforts were in vain. The metal was too difficult to tame, and all that remained was a black, misshapen hunk that was his only memento of his failure and defeat in the Eastern Meadowlands.

He could not bear to fail in battle again. He would never disappoint his Master again.

Ravensdred thought back to only two days previous.

Ravensdred walked among the boats being constructed. The morning smelled of the New Sea, salty and fresh. Weak waves lapped at the thin shoreline. Dark clouds rolled overhead with the cold dawn. All of it filled Ravensdred with hatred and contempt.

The shore along most of the Far Grasslands was a flat, dark, narrow stretch of sand. Tens of thousands of long boats were being constructed or finished, and waiting on the wet beach. Hundreds of thousands of garonds worked on the boats, swarming the beach like carrion beetles.

The sky was dark and overcast. Ravensdred was worried that there might be a storm when they attempted to cross the New Sea. Garonds weren't swimmers, and a choppy ocean wouldn't help the invasion at all.

But, it was the right time of year for an army to cross the sea. Summer could more hazardous than any time of year, with sudden thunderstorms that could whip up the ocean in only a matter of moments. Autumn and winter were too cold to ask his soldiers to cross the sea and then fight. It had to be in the spring.

This spring was weak and pathetic. Anything blooming was late and sickly. The winter had been too long and bitter. It would be a hard year for human farmers and foraging animals. It would be a glorious year for the meat eating garonds.

Ravensdred kicked the side of a long boat being constructed. The garonds building the ship looked up expectantly and waited. There was no apparent weakness in the boat, and so Ravensdred simply snarled and moved on.

His garonds would have to row over the New Sea. It would be hard and they would be filled with fear. But it was better for the garond soldier to be more afraid of his general than drowning in the ocean. Ravensdred smiled to himself.

Klad, Ravensdred's first captain approached. Ravensdred actually liked Klad. His second was vicious and quick tempered. He was shaping up to be a fine garond leader.

"Mudsang is looking for you," Klad said quietly so as not to offend, knowing how his general felt about the leader of Deifol Hroth's religion.

"Let him find me," Ravensdred sneered.

Klad strode one step behind Ravensdred, silent, knowing better than to engage his commander in idle conversation.

"How many ships have been completed?" Ravensdred asked, finally breaking the quiet.

"Twenty thousand are sea worthy now," Klad said, "at least as many will be ready in less than two days."

"That puts at least fourteen soldiers in a boat," Ravensdred mused. Klad just nodded. "We should be able to move the entire army," Ravensdred said with an uncharacteristic smile, then turned to fix Klad with a hard stare, "if the other boats are completed."

"They will be," Klad said with cruel certainty.

"See to it," Ravensdred said dismissively.

"General..." Klad apologetically said, indicating the approach of a tall garond with a crown of red feathers, followed by a large retinue.

"Mudsang," Ravensdred said under his breath with a violent contempt.

"Ravensdred!" Mudsang called with a wide, smarmy smile. "How are you, my honored general?" Mudsang's ability to use the common language of Wealdland was even better than Ravensdred's, and this irritated the garond general to no end.

"I'm busy," Ravensdred growled.

"Too busy for the High Priest of Our Great Dark Lord?" Mudsang dangerously chirped with a hope of confrontation.

"What do you want?" Ravensdred tiredly said, not willing to be drawn into another power struggle.

"Our Dark Lord is almost ready to complete his great plan," Mudsang intoned. "Will his army be ready?"

"We will be ready to move the army across the New Sea in two days," Ravensdred said between gritted teeth, hating having to answer to this religious jackass.

"See that you are ready," Mudsang said with superiority.

Then Mudsang began to tremble. His crown of red feathers shook. His black robe fell from his shoulders, revealing a muscled body covered with tattoos of mystic symbols. Mudsang shaved the fur from his body, a sight that repulsed Ravensdred.

The garonds all about, working on the construction of the long boats, suddenly dropped to their knees in fearful reverence.

A shadow fell over Mudsang until the image of Deifol Hroth completely covered his body. Mudsang opened his mouth and the Dark Lord spoke through him.

"Ravensdred," Deifol Hroth said.

"My Lord," Ravensdred said as he knelt.

"Two days," Deifol Hroth said. "I need my army in two days."

"They will be sailing up the River Syrenf in two days, as you have commanded," Ravensdred fearfully said.

"I hope so, for your sake," Deifol Hroth said through the possessed mouth of Mudsang. "You still have the Sun Sword and the Moon Sword?"

"They are safe with me, my Lord," Ravensdred answered.

"Bring them when you come," Deifol Hroth commanded. "Reserve one sea worthy boat and a full crew for my High Priest. If he crosses the New Sea before or after the army it does not matter. Obey me."

"I will, my Dark Lord," Ravensdred said bowing his head.

The shadow left Mudsang, and he shook himself to recover from the possession.

"You heard the orders of our Lord?" Mudsang demanded of Ravensdred.

"Yes, yes," Ravensdred said with irritation.

"I need a platoon of fifty warriors to help find the two human women who travel in the Far Grasslands," Mudsang demanded.

"You still haven't found them?" Ravensdred said as a dig. Every garond knew of the two human women who were given the Ar, the sacred Stone of the Earth, who had eluded detection for the past three moonths.

"The Dark One will lead me to them," Mudsang said.

"I'm sure he will," Ravensdred sneered. "Klad!" Ravensdred turned to notice a gang of garonds gathered together and pointing out to the vast plain of waving grass to the east.

Ravensdred strode up to see what the disturbance was.

A beautiful hind stood still on the expanse of the Far Grasslands.

"Why has no one killed that animal?" Ravensdred demanded.

"Ravensdred!" The deer called, just out of bowshot.

It was then that Baalenruud promised Ravensdred a weapon of immense power. Ravensdred thought of again facing the dark haired human boy with the elvish weapon, the paricale. He knew he had time to follow the hind into the Snowcloak Mountains, and be back for the launch of the invading garond forces.

"How much further?" Ravensdred snarled at Baalenruud.

"We are very close," the hind darkly lisped with dangerous delight.

The trail was now little more than a rocky ledge high up above a jagged death on the rocks below. It would be generous to call the path the hind led a 'trail'. Baalenruud led Ravensdred along a rocky outcropping, a broken fragment of the heart of the mountain, two thirds of the way to the snowy peak. A glacier hung just overhead. If Baalenruud led any higher, they would come to the bottom lip of the hanging wall of ice.

Ravensdred heard a human calling deep in the ravine, down on the valley floor, echoing up the canyons of stone. The call was answered by another human, then another.

Wonderful, Ravensdred thought to himself, my waiting troops are about to be attacked.

Ravensdred had come to the Snowcloak Mountains with a platoon of fifty garond warriors. He left his warriors at the base of the mountain to wait for him, knowing they would only slow him down.

The faint sounds of battle echoed up to his ears, the faded screams and bellows of mortal combat.

"Baalenruud," Ravensdred growled.

"Here it is," Baalenruud said with excitement.

"Where is it?" Ravensdred could see nothing but solid, rugged granite. The even wall of white and blue rock sloped away, up  with a rounded sweep, which led to a deadly cliff just ten paces away. It had to be here. There was no going any higher.

"Look!" Baalenruud hissed.

Then, Ravensdred saw the faint, oval outline where the rock did not match. The rock was just a slightly darker shade of white and blue. Anyone who was not looking for the door would have walked right past it, as Ravensdred had nearly done. The door was completely featureless without hinge or handle. It was simply a piece of rock cut perfectly to fill a cave.

"A door!" Ravensdred exclaimed.

"A door to wonders," Baalenruud bleated with sickening, dark  pleasure.

Ravensdred drew a plundered elvish sword he always carried on his person. In battle he only used a club. The club was the preferred weapon of any garond, but Ravensdred's club was usually the size of a young tree. He loved the swath of destruction a nice hefty club afforded. There was no defense against the massive, violent weight as it came crashing at an enemy, unless they were someone special, like Kellabald, or the elf, or Arnwylf. Ravensdred banished thoughts of the blonde haired boy from his mind.