The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (10 page)

“You did splendidly.”

“But it didn’t feel complete.”

“You did all I asked of you and more. It is the boy’s turn.”

There was a pause and a deep sigh.

“I am so tired.”

“I know,” the Voice filled with sympathy. “It is time for you to rest.”

“That would be nice,” replied the Seraph.

“Someone waits for you.” 

“Waiting for me?” said the Seraph. “Who ... Loriad!”

“Husband, you are late,” came the fruity laugh of a woman’s voice.

“I will leave you for a time,” said the familiar Voice.

“Thank you, Master,” replied the couple in unison.

Kael saw a pinpoint of light in the darkness. It grew and moved toward him. Within moments a brilliant figure dressed in flowing robes stood before the boy. Light emanated from the figure and Kael found it difficult to look directly at him. The familiar Voice spoke.

“You are lost, little brother,” stated the figure.

“Y-Yes,” stammered Kael then smiled.

“You know your task as I laid it out before you in the Mnim, but you do not know how to accomplish it.”

“That is correct,” replied the boy more confidently.

“I will show you the way.”

The figure held out a dazzling hand and Kael laid his own hand within it. The figure strolled forward and Kael found  he too could walk. The figure spoke.

“Do you possess faith in the tasks ahead?”

“Yes,” replied the boy.

“Good,” said the figure. “I would not ask it of you if I did not see it in your heart.”

In the distance another light appeared. The pair moved toward it. In a moment, they stood before an opening in the darkness.

“You will find answersand many questions beyond this opening,” said his escort.

“I am ready,” said Kael.

“Know that We have always been and will always be with you,” said the figure.

He laid a hand on Kael’s shoulder then turned to go.

“I know,” said the boy.

Kael stepped through the glimmering light.

Chapter 7: TURBULENCE

A BUZZ OF activity filled the camp. Men carried the injured upon stretchers and hastily loaded them onto any transport able to support their weight. Black smoke rolled up from a hastily erected smithy. Hindle’s thick muscled arm swung a heavy headed mallet onto the white hot steel pulled from the smithy’s roaring furnace. Piles of repaired and reshaped weapons lay at the foot of a massive grinding stone. Nyven the cattleman drew the blade of a broadsword across the stone. Sparks showered the matted grass at his feet.

Tents fell. Provisions were packed. Small herds of cattle and larger groups of gaunt horses ambled southward out of camp. Men focused on their tasks. None greeted Manfir as he moved toward the last undisturbed structure in this beehive of activity. A large, unguarded tent stood amidst the rush, flaps down, enclosed. Manfir pulled aside the main entry and ducked inside. His cousin Gage stood and addressed those assembled.

“We must retreat to the fortifications of Zodra and line her walls with every man who can wield a weapon,” said the Rindoran King.

Mumbles of assent greeted the suggestion.

“The Ulrog hold the Pedestal,” continued Gage. “And will use it as a launching position to strike south into the heart of Zodra. Their numbers are too great to engage in open country. We must find shelter.”

“But we concede all of the villages and towns to the north,” protested General Wynard.

“Empty buildings on desolate land!” scoffed Dravgo. “Let the Ulrog take it. It is not worth the lives of my men!”

“But to allow the Ulrog to sweep south might crush the morale of the Guard,” added Sergeant Deling. “To run might do more damage than to stay and fight.”

Brelg turned to Manfir.

“What say you, my lord?”

Manfir furrowed his brow and scanned the faces before him. Confusion and uncertainty lined every face save one. Only one man stared at him steadfast with determination. Manfir immediately knew what must be done.

“Tell them,” he nodded toward Flair.

The young man immediately turned and faced the group of older men.

“We discussed this a week ago,” stated Flair. “Whether it is the Keltar or the Ulrog. To seal ourselves within the walls of Zodra is to seal ourselves within a tomb. We must remain free to attack and retreat on horseback. It is our only chance.”

The tent again filled with a rumble of discussion.

“I’m not sure whether you noticed, lad,” snarled Dravgo. “But there are few horses left with which we might harass the Ulrog. We are predominantly a foot soldier’s army. Although the Keltaran amongst us thrive in that type of warfare, the remainder of us stands at a disadvantage against the long armed Hackles and their cleavers. At least the walls of Zodra offer us a vantage point to take as many of the damned stone men with us as possible.”

“Here! Here!” called several proponents of Gage’s plan.

“Zodra will protect us ...”

“It has stood for centuries ...”

“Without horses we will be overrun.”

“If it is horses you need,” came a voice from the tent’s opening, “I have plenty to give. But I must deliver you to them and not them to you.”

The group turned and Manfir rushed toward the opening, locking Hai in a warm embrace. The Eru rider grimaced deeply but patted the prince warmly on the back. Manfir quickly released his friend and stepped back. A bundle of bandages bulged under Hai’s leather jerkin.

“Gently, my prince,” winced the horseman. “Fatigue caused me to duck when I should have swerved.”

“You are injured?”

“A few broken ribs. Nothing more,” replied Hai. “Enough of an injury to allow my father to force me on this errand.”

“Which is?” questioned General Olith of Keltar.

Hai turned to the group and eyed the giant. A broad smile crept across his face.

“Well,” laughed the Eru. “At least that is good news.”

“What news?” asked the giant.

“That the cousins of the west finally put aside the ridiculous blood feud they carried on for centuries,” frowned Hai. “I made negotiating a truce between your peoples one of my foremost priorities after I assumed the role of chieftain. However, it appears a peace has been accomplished without me.”

The young man grimaced.

“I will cross it off my list of things to do,”  he stated with an arched eyebrow.

The tent went silent as Olith glared at the boy. Suddenly, a smile broadened on the giant’s hard features.

“With such confidence, I am sure you would have achieved your goal,” laughed Olith. “My apologies for prematurely stealing your glory.”

Those about the room joined in the laughter and Hai lightly bowed.

“Apology accepted.” 

“Horses,” growled Dravgo. “We need them and you have them.”

“I have them,” replied Hai. “But I need you.”

“In what way?” asked Gage.

“The Ulrog are on the move and I do not mean they harass us,” said Hai soberly. “They pour into the Tre in greater numbers than we ever beheld. Thousands. Tens of thousands. They crossed the Mirozert days ago and overran the Derolian outposts. However, instead of retreating they forged on. They united with the Hackles from the Mnim and gather strength.

The woodsmen and the knights of Astel fled to our protection, but we cannot protect ourselves from such a force. The Ulrog numbers coalesce as we speak. They seem to wait for a sign or a leader to drive deeper into our lands and we are ill prepared.”

“But you can’t seriously believe we are capable of coming to your aid?”  replied Dravgo. “We have greater need than you. Packs from the Scythtar are on the loose. Malveel direct them from the heights of the Pedestal. They move south. There is nothing to constrain them.”

“And something stirred the lazy worm, Vespewl,” added Olith. “He took Keltar and even now our scouts report he marches on our location.”

“Then let him march,” stated Flair.

All those in the tent eyed the young man. Flair returned the stare defiantly.

“Hai owns an unlimited supply of mounts,” gesticulated Flair. “We need them. Unfortunately, he also faces an unlimited supply of Ulrog. He needs us. The answer is simple.”

“But what of my people?” demanded Olith.

“Or mine?” added Manfir.

“The walls of Zodra and the waters surrounding the River city will be their defense,” replied Flair. “Either location can be defended by a limited contingent of troops. Why should we bottle our force within these walls? They become ineffective.

Give King Gage and his Rindorans the honor of defending our people. The river folk are undoubtedly the troops best trained in defense of a stronghold. The rest of us should march to rendezvous with the Eru. Our combined forces salvage what little chance we have against the might of the Ulrog.”

“But what of Vespewl?” asked Olith. “I have faith in the ability of Rindorans, but they can only withstand for so long. Eventually Zodra will fall and Rindor shortly thereafter. We abandon our women and children to slaughter at the hands of the Scourge.”

“Not if you force his hand,” returned Flair.

“How so?” asked an intrigued Manfir.

“The destruction  of all opposition is Amird’s desire,” responded the young colonel. “He is not interested in capturing one building within Zodra if it allows her forces to go unmolested. The Malveel possess orders and dare not disobey them. The key to their offensive is a concentrated attack on the might of their enemies.

If Vespewl and his packs observe a clear picture of our intent, they will most assuredly abandon all thoughts of Zodra and push on to catch us in the open grasslands of the Eru. We will make our path clear. We will shout in their ears to challenge us.”

The room quieted. All pondered the young man’s words. Manfir glanced at Gage and the young Rindoran smiled.

“Centuries ago we withheld the might of Zodra as a small outpost,” smiled the new king. “Let the stone men come. They will flounder in the Ituan and wash downriver to die in the steaming bogs of the Toxkri Swamp.”

Manfir smiled in return.

“I believe they would,” replied the Manfir. “What of Zodra?”

“Leave me Wynard, Sergeant Deling and your existing security forces  and I will devise defenses you never dreamed possible for that monstrosity,” laughed Gage as he swung a hand in the direction of Zodra.

“The key is to convince Vespewl that the main force moved on and threatens his masters on the Eru plains,” said Flair. “If the Ulrog believe enough units remain within the city to constitute a threat, they will use this excuse to attack it. We must motivate the Malveel to follow us onto the plains.”

“I believe I might accomplish that feat,” smiled Olith.

“How?” inquired Manfir.

“With some subtle persuasion,” returned the Keltaran cryptically as he spun and stepped from the tent.

The gray robed figure halted before the gates. They were simple gates, not altogether tall or wide. Not thick like the massive things Izgra hung across the shattered threshold of Astel. These gates appeared simple, but the scribe knew otherwise. They would hold against any army. They were impenetrable.

He stepped forward and approached the heavy chain and ring hanging from the wall beside the gates. The black links snaked up the white surface and crawled into a small hole bore through the slab of stone. The scribe’s hand rose toward the chain and his sleeve fell to his elbow. The name of Amird, carved into the rock-encrusted surface of the arm, flashed in the sun.

A moment later the gates swung wide and several other scribes silently gathered around their leader.

“You’ve been gone quite some time Prelate,” said the first. “We grew concerned.”

Broken black teeth poked from behind rocky lips. The prelate smiled to his aides.

“I attended to the business of my master. You need not concern yourselves,” said Nostr. “Have you not yet realized that all was foreseen and my path fulfilled ere I traveled down it?”

The first scribe bowed his head nervously.

“Yes prelate,” he replied. “But a man can sometimes be troubled by ... doubts.”

Nostr spun on the scribe, authority in his countenance.

“Do not doubt, Samot,” stated the prelate strongly. “When He reclaims this world your doubts will vanish like smoke before a great wind. He is coming. He WILL return and His enemies will feel His wrath.”

The group moved through the massive courtyards of Delvi. At least three hundred yards in width, the courtyards lie behind the soaring alabaster walls that encircled half of the home of the scribes. The grounds terminated like the walls themselves into the waves of Lake Eru. The south side required no protection. The walls of the structure plunged into the depths of the turbulent lake. Although constructed as a place of education and reflection, the Monastery of Delvi also acted as a formidable fortress.

The group approached the main doorway on the far side of the courtyards and entered. Gray robed scribes bustled from hallway to hallway carrying scrolls and attending to their daily business. All halted and bowed as Nostr made his way through the maze of halls comprising the archives building. The prelate returned the bows but neither slowed nor spoke. After ten minutes of winding hallways and climbing stairs he approached a wide pair of closed doors manned by two hooded figures. The figures stepped aside. Nostr halted before the doors and laid his hand on one of their silver handles. He turned back to Samot.

“Any change?” asked the prelate.

“The surface grows .... agitated,” replied Samot.

Once again the broken teeth of Nostr’s smile flashed.

“He will be coming soon,” laughed Nostr. “We must prepare ourselves.”

The prelate leaned into the door and swung it wide. There in the center of a large round room stood a tall, black obelisk. Three additional scribes studied its shifting cloudy surface.

CHAPTER 8: THE REAPER

RADA SWUNG THE black handled machete and hacked at the base of a large stalk of rimshar. It lightly fell onto the hot sands that encroached upon this section of the Toxkri.   More of the swamp disappeared every year to the swelling Borz desert. This forced the people of the sands to travel farther and farther to harvest the hollow tubes that sprouted along the edges of the swamp.