The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (24 page)

The tracker lay before Woil cowering in fear, a large slash across his chest dripped black blood onto the green grass of the plain.

“He dare not take my Hackles,” roared the Malveel. “I gave him orders to support my flank!”

The tracker debated his response. Defend Nagret and inform Woil of the commands of Vespewl,  or say nothing and hope the Malveel lord turned his attention back to the battle at hand. Woil glared at the messenger then spun toward his high priests. The tracker heaved a sigh of relief and began to crawl from the distracted Malveel’s presence.

“Tell the stone men to disengage and reform in the camp,” snarled Woil to his priests. “Without a wall of Ulrog to the west we cannot crush the Eru between us. We waste numbers against the War Circle.”

He spun back toward the slowly retreating tracker, slashing a claw across the stone man’s hide, sending him sprawling on the ground. Woil stomped forward to hover over the fallen Ulrog, his body quivered in a spasm of fury.

“Go to Nagret and tell him if my Hackles are not returned to me immediately, I will skin him alive,” hissed the Lamentation.

CHAPTER 18: RAKH THE SECOND

RAKH HAD NEVER been a leader of men. He was too much a fool. He chuckled to himself at the thought and smiled. At least he possessed enough sense to recognize how little sense he possessed.

Due to his lack of intelligence, Rakh grew to realize that men such as he would be taken care of as long as they flocked to men of power. He did so throughout his life, culminating in his post as Fenrel’s personal guard.

When Granu Stormbreaker vanquished Fenrel at the Bear’s Knuckles, a weight lifted from Rakh. He no longer believed himself a tool to be used and manipulated to murder or destroy those who his masters despised. His encounter with Granu dashed that belief. Granu offered him choice. Rakh, the second of Fenrel, received a say in his own redemption. A chance to change his life, become whatever he chose to become. All the limitations others forced onto his brutal, foolish life lifted. He gained freedom.

Of course he chose to follow Granu. The new king gave him a gift more precious than any gold. Granu offered Rakh the chance to be his own man, not the tool of another.  The giant grabbed it with both hands.

At first he tried to settle himself into the ranks of the giants without notice. However, that trick proved difficult indeed for a man who abused or berated more than half the men in the Keltaran ranks. He could not fault those men. He was a discarded weapon, a blade tossed upon the ground. The tool was no longer a threat with none of power to wield him.

Rakh endured the abuse and hatred aimed his way. He returned insult with compliment, abuse with a bow and apology. When his own rage boiled to the surface, Rakh remembered a day in the square in Keltar, when Granu Stormbreaker was beaten by his own brother and disowned by his father. The monk said nothing, refused to lash out. Granu actually prayed for the redemption of his abusers.

Rakh’s simple brain took time to grapple with that concept. The courage it required was far greater than any courage he displayed when facing lesser men and beating them into submission. Rakh took strength from the memory, a memory in which he was the abuser.

On the march from the Bear’s Knuckles to Delvi many scoffed at the former Ramsskull. They felt Rakh played a role to ingratiate himself with the new king, but a few began to appreciate the giant. Occasionally, an encouraging word was directed toward him, a helping hand given.

One of the first to offer such help was Olith Stormbreaker. The general kept an eye on all things within his force. He took note of how Fenrel’s former henchman stood first to unload the supply wagons and last to enter the food lines. He watched as Rakh remained at the front and center, attentively listening to all instruction. First to dive into even the most demeaning task.

“Excellent job warrior. You lead these others by your example,” said Olith one day.

Lead? Rakh the fool, a leader? Rakh the tool, an example?

Now Rakh was the last to turn and flee as a fresh group of Hackles rushed from the east. Behind them loomed the dark figure of a second Malveel. The first raged somewhere to Rakh’s west against the Brotherhood of Awoi and General Olith. Trapped between a pair of Amird’s Chosen and their massive force of Hackles was not in the plan. Rakh reluctantly turned and followed the others in the prearranged retreat route. Hopefully the Anvil inflicted the damage they wished and could return unmolested to the walls of Delvi.

A few weeks toting water and fetching saddles did not make up for years of sloth under the command of Fenrel. Rakh found it difficult to catch the main line of retreat. As he fled he stayed clear of Hackles lumbering in the opposite direction. The enemy appeared uninterested in the loan giant and more concerned of reaching their own lines. The battle here in the east disintegrated into confusion and combatants on both sides streamed toward numbers and safety.

The giant crested a small swale and confronted the smoldering carcass of Vespewl the Scourge. A dozen giants in Rakh’s hammer unit stood mouth agape at the still form of Olith Stormbreaker crushed beneath the Malveel.

“Move Keltaran,” came the sharp bark of command. “They come!”

Rakh turned to see Sergeant Utecht struggling with the weight of one of the Brothers of Awoi. The wounded monk’s arms draped over the old sergeant’s shoulders and dangling feet dragged across the ground.  Utecht nodded back toward the east and all eyes locked on the line of Hackles streaming toward them from only a few hundred yards away. The dozen giants turned to flee.

“No!” roared Rakh.

They froze. Utecht’s expression changed to one of confusion.

“We are dead if ...” began the sergeant.

“Torin and Hurg,” snapped Rakh, ignoring his commander. “Take Sergeant Utecht’s burden from him.”

Rakh rushed to the side of the huge, dead Malveel.

“You others, help me,” he barked.

He tossed his battle axe to the ground at his feet and locked his hands on the stony scales of Vespewl. Those around him hesitated for a moment then jumped into activity. Two Keltaran soldiers ran to Utecht’s aid. They lifted Brother Shor from the sergeant’s control and rushed from the scene. The remaining giants sped to Rakh’s side. They groaned and shouted as they dragged at the weight of the enormous dead creature.

A moment later the carcass hovered a foot above the ground and Utecht dragged the fallen general, still clutching the sword of Stormbreaker, from beneath the Malveel. Two men took charge of the corpse and sped off. The remainder of the party, including Utecht, looked to Rakh as the Ulrog line rushed up the low swale a few dozen yards from their position.

“Go,” shouted the right hand of Fenrel, the Rammskull thug and fool. “I will purchase the time you need.”

The group complied, Utecht was the last to go.

“Granu was right to give you a chance, Rakh of Keltar,” said Utecht. “I will make certain they sing of this day in your honor.”

Rakh snatched his long handled axe from the ground and stepped forward to meet the Ulrog advance.

“Go,” he commanded over his shoulder, “and give the blade of Stormbreaker to its rightful heir.”

Utecht bowed and disappeared, happy to take orders from a true leader of men. 

Sulgor spat. His priests were fools. From his vantage he watched a sizable contingent of Hackles fall into an obvious Zodrian trap. The Malveel king sat calmly analyzing the destruction of these Hackles. What was the Zodrian purpose? Certainly, as the greater Ulrog Horde came to life, the battle would sway in Sulgor’s favor. This bold raid by the human forces might inflict some damage, but it held no hope to change the outcome of this war. A few Hackles dead. Izgra’s plans hardly delayed. Why attack? Was there an unseen danger? Did the Zodrians possess a weapon he knew nothing about?

Sulgor delayed a moment longer. Priests rushed to the struggling Hackles. The fire of Chaos erupted above the heads of the Zodrians.

“No,” thought Sulgor. “There was no grand plan here. This attack was the last desperate act of the inhabitants of this world.”

The Magnificent spread his heavy, armored wings wide and drove down the hill toward the Zodrian forces.

The Hackles trapped behind Flair’s cavalry were nearly gone. Most of their number had been killed and a few managed to slip back to their main force. Brelg’s infantry held up well under the pressure but showed signs of fatigue. The Ulrog’s numbers swelled to the north. Manfir took one last moment to inspect the battle’s progress and spied a huge, dark figure moving down the hill toward the battle.

“Retreat!” shouted the king of Zodra.   

Nagret reveled in the adoration of his newly acquired Hackles. They roared in recognition of his triumph over the lone Keltaran hero who lay lifeless before the Malveel lord. Already Nagret gained their loyalty. Soon, his power would grow and Amird would see how the Hackles followed him into battle. Woil best beware.

The Shadow eyed the dead man. The giant was large even for a Keltaran. Nagret’s Hackles were right to fear such an enemy. The Malveel nearly rebuked them for halting their charge, but even he balked at the sight of the massive Keltaran swaggering forward from the steaming carcass of Vespewl the Scourge.

Nagret snarled in pleasure. It was ironic how Woil’s own lessons helped tip the balance of power against the Lamentation. Nagret simply used the situation to his advantage, just as Woil would have done. He called his Ulrog back and faced the Keltaran alone. A gamble perhaps, but a quick inspection of Vespewl’s corpse revealed far too many wounds for the Scourge’s demise to have been caused by one human. Whatever hand this lone giant played in Vespewl’s death, he had not acted alone. Therefore, Nagret reasoned, this giant was like any other. Alone he could not possibly pose a threat.

The Shadow made short work of the Keltaran, and used his victory to assure his place in the minds of the Ulrog. They marveled at the fearlessness of Nagret as he faced off against the slayer of Vespewl the Scourge.

“My lord,” asked one of the priests. “Do we pursue the Keltaran force?”

Nagret mulled the question. Certainly he was no fool, and would never pursue the Keltaran back to the walls of Delvi, but he needed his new minions to believe him capable of anything.

“No,” replied the Shadow finally. “Izgra waits for a sign and commands us to delay until that sign arises. Though it vexes me to delay the annihilation of our enemies, I will do as the Half-Dead wishes.”

Nagret the Shadow placed his front paws on the rocky hide of his dead brother and scanned all Ulrog within his sight.

“Ulrog of the Zorim packs, you are now under the command of Lord Nagret. Your priests and trackers will report directly to me and you will join those Ulrog of the Scythtar and the Mnim who flock to my banner,” roared the Shadow. “The End Battle is near and all know the penalty for failure at such a key juncture. Together we will glorify Amird and win the riches he promised us!”

They roared in adoration. Nagret’s thoughts danced with pleasure. The packs of the Scythtar, half the Mnim and now all of the Zorim were his. No other Malveel commanded more Hackles save Sulgor himself.

Brelg’s infantry scrambled over the last of the small, grassy hills that lie in waves before the walls of Delvi. Their pursuers gave up nearly a half league before this location, but Brelg took no chances. He kept his forces moving at top speed and sprinted toward the gates of the Scribes’ city.

A rumble to his left diverted his attention from the goal. Flair and a line of mounted men broke from behind the hill Brelg descended. Flair ordered his cavalry forward then turned and raced to the old sergeant’s side. Brelg halted but he too motioned his men to continue forward.

“What news?” the innkeeper called to the southern lad.

“The Hackles drew up short,” replied Flair. “They recognized the futility of chasing infantry while dodging our arrows and spears.”

“What of the Malveel?” questioned Brelg.

“The creature never joined the fight,” stated the young colonel in reply. “He halted upon the far hilltop and drew his priests to his side. Tis a good thing too. I fear their numbers are too great and our hopes fade.”

Sulgor prowled before the assembly of stone men. He eyed them critically. None moved. Not a breath was audible.

“So you are telling me Lord Vespewl fell?” snarled the Malveel king.

“Yes, my lord,” rumbled a tracker bowing low.

“And Lord Nagret takes command of the Zorim Hackles, the Scythtar packs and a good portion of Woil’s Army of Mnim?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the Hackle without raising his eyes from the dirt beneath Sulgor’s claws.

Sulgor pondered the news.

“Too much power in one place,” grumbled the Malveel. “I made that mistake with Drengel.”

The Malveel king’s head rose and fiery eyes swept those before him.

“We retreat and regroup,” he stated.

A few eyes widened in dismay at the order. Sulgor laughed. This new breed of tracker was so much more intelligent than the old. They thought for themselves and could easily see the dire straights the humans put themselves in. However, none present would dare contradict Lord Sulgor. For once, Izgra’s desire to wait aligned with Sulgor’s plans. The Malveel king could ill afford a lesser of his brethren to stand victorious within the confines of Delvi’s walls.

“We will consolidate our forces and distribute them across the battlefield for maximum effect,” announced Sulgor. “Lord Nagret accomplished much, but he does not understand the desires of mighty Amird concerning the breaking of this world.”

He spun to the nearest trackers.

“Inform the Malveel lords that their presence is required at my pavilion.”

Eidyn silently moved through the herd of Eru horse in order not to disrupt them. The animals gathered around multiple bales of sweet grass laid out in the courtyards of Delvi. Eidyn periodically stopped and feigned inspection of one of the mounts legs or hooves, then slowly moved forward with an eye on the towers of Delvi.