The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (26 page)

Vieri spun from her cousin, horror in her eyes. Rada! Her heart, her world crashed around her. In an instant Cefiz appeared. The Zodrian wrapped her in his arms, saving her just as she saved him on the cliffs of the Scythtar.

  The Lady Jenpry moved through the crowd with Chimbre by her side. A throng gathered to watch the force disembark the boats. Cheers went up. Revelers gathered in the weary Elves and Windriders. Jenpry took no notice of the celebration. Her son strode a half step behind her as they made a purposeful path to the small woman standing frozen amongst the activity, her hands clutching her cloak tightly over her head and close to her features.

The Lady Jenpry halted before the woman whose head dropped to her chest and body quaked. The delicate hands of the leader of the Sprites rose and slowly pealed back the cloak from about the woman’s face. Those hands moved to the wet cheeks of the sobbing Lilywynn and soothingly wiped away the tears.

Chimbre moved beside his sister and the trio embraced in a wordless hug. The granddaughter of Sprite returned to her people.

“They have no idea what awaits them,” commented Nostr coldly from on high. “They embrace as if their reunion will last a lifetime. Little do they know how many of their lives are soon to be cut short. By the time He returns through the obelisk within, they will already be within the throws of annihilation.”

“Their weakness is a tendency to hold onto emotional connection and material possessions, my lord,” replied Yully the Scribe. “However, if they put it aside at this early stage, they will be every bit as formidable as they can be.”

The Prelate Nostr raised an eyebrow and pondered the statement of the man he ordered to infiltrate the highest levels of the Zodrian military.

“I will retire to the chamber,” stated Nostr as he turned and entered the tower. “I would rather He returned sooner than later. There are too many variables at play.”

The scribes followed their leader into the tower chamber.

When the door to the balcony closed, a pair of small eyes crept over the edge of the flattened tower’s rooftop. The eyes were uncertain, confused. What had the scribes meant by “His” return? What did the tower contain?

The eyes drifted to the shoreline and the flotilla grounded there. They inspected the crowd that milled below then danced with delight and settled on a diminutive trio locked in a warm embrace.

The door below opened quickly and Sprig ducked out of sight.

“Keep an eye on the armies within our walls,” rumbled the deep voice of Nostr from within the tower. “The time is close and I must be informed of any developments.”

Yully backed from the opening onto the balcony.

“Yes, my lord,” stated the old general as he bowed deeply.

Leinor embraced his son, then stepped back and looked proudly into the Elf captain’s eyes.

“You represented our people most admirably, Eidyn,” said the king.

“Thank you, father,” replied Eidyn.

General Chani stepped forward.

“Your father and I believe your place is at the head of our forces, my prince.”

“But general you ...”

“No,” Chani halted the protest. “This is your battle, Eidyn. You are the best and the brightest. The Elves of Luxlor will follow none other with the kind of passion you instill in our people.”

Leinor removed the white Almar circlet resting upon his head and placed it upon his son.

“Lead them well,” smiled Leinor.

Eidyn bowed deeply. He rose and in one sweeping motion he was on the back of his horse. The host of Grey Elves stacked in ranks behind him followed his example and instantly the Elves of Luxlor stood prepared for battle. Eidyn removed his bow from his back and held it high. He surveyed his army then chucked the flanks of the stallion and the host moved forward as one.

“The Grey Elves are on the move, my lord,” declared Yully.

Nostr stared at the face of the obelisk, but his stony hands crunched loudly as he balled them into fists of anger.

“He should have exited the stone by now,” stated Nostr in frustration.

“The armies arrayed within our courtyards are quite formidable,” replied Yully. “The addition of the Elves, Sprites and Windriders makes it a dangerous force.”

“They matter not. All that matters is His return.”

Nostr spun and strode past Yully onto the wide balcony. He stared down upon the movements below. The Grey Elves slid through the chaos of the courtyards as a determined unit. Eidyn, seated upon a blazing white stallion, shown out like a beacon at their lead.

“Nostr 6:2,” mumbled the prelate.

Yully stepped forward, glanced down then whispered the verse his leader referenced.

“I looked, and there before me was a white horse. Its rider held a bow and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.”

The Keltaran continued their preparations. Many Hammer units had been decimated and staff sergeants quickly assimilated new units from the remnants of the old. Hindle and a group of Keltaran smiths worked feverishly to put a keen edge on blades beaten dull against the stony hides of Ulrog Hackles. Granu inspected their progress as Brother Shor approached. The Keltaran king stepped past a glow of sparks cascading from Hindle’s sharpening wheel.

“Why is your face fraught with concern?” grinned Granu. “This is just another war with the Ulrog.”

“That may be the case,” replied the monk. “But this time my friend exposes himself needlessly.”

Granu’s smile faded and he stared into the monk’s eyes.

“You are not the man you once were,” continued Shor delicately. “The encounter with your brother leaves you ... handicapped.”

The monk glanced to the injured leg that Granu favored. The king attempted a weak smile.

“I will endure,” stated Granu.

“No, you will not,” replied Shor more strongly. “And you need not. You will not lead the pike men in this battle. Your place is as a leader and a symbol. You will ride into battle. Your injury will affect you less upon the back of a sturdy Brodor.”

“I will ...”

Shor ignored the king’s protests, turned and waved. Utecht returned the signal and led a regal beast through the hive of activity. The shaggy Brodor was by far one of the larger of its breed. Its bearing was proud and determined. Granu’s eyes narrowed in confusion as the mount came closer and he beheld its condition. The chestnut colored Brodor looked as if it stepped from a nightmare. Crimson blood streaked its long, shaggy mane and covered its flanks.

“This beast stood firm as a Malveel hammered at its rider,” stated Utecht proudly. “I’ve never seen a mount behave more bravely. You can find none like it in our herds.”

“He suffered no grave injury and appears rested,” added Shor. “We will clean and prepare him for battle.”

Granu eyed the creature for a moment.

“No,” said the Keltaran king. “I seek blood for blood. Let his condition be a reminder of my quest.”

Utecht helped his king into the saddle.

“The Keltaran,” pointed Samot.

Nostr watched attendants lead a large Brodor before the armored Keltaran king. The animal’s appearance unsettled him. Streaks of crimson accented its chestnut hue. Its coat blazed red in the sunlight. The Keltaran monarch struggled onto the beast’s back, but once there he grew comfortable and took command. A monk hefted the long black blade of the House of Stormbreaker and handed it to Granu. The king lifted it on high and his Anvil formed into rank. Yully glanced to his superior.

“Nostr 6:4; Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make enemies slay each other. To him was given a large sword.”

The Zorian army maintained a rigid command and structure. When officers called for assembly, every man knew his place and every man rushed to that place within seconds. Brelg stood proudly at the front of the ranks as his men filed into position.

Behind them stood the Borz. Black silk masks and clothes covered the people of the sands. They stood silent and still. The Black trotted before them and Manfir sat upon the horse’s broad back.

“Today is a celebration,” announced the king to his army. “Today ends the long struggle of our peoples against Amird and his evil. Today, those of you who acted as tools of the Deceiver find redemption. Your actions on this field of battle will lead to your ultimate judgment. Carry yourselves well and receive eternal favor in the eyes of your Creator.”

A few units who had taken in the remnants of the supply staff roared in approval. Individual soldiers slapped one another on the back, excited by the chance to wash away their sin.

The Borz remained silent, but every last man or woman felt the shame of the treachery perpetrated against them. Their hands tightened on daggers and their muscles grew taut.

“Know this,” continued Manfir. “I judge every man or woman who stands here today to be absolved of any and all transgression. The fact that you stand with us now, as we face the hordes of Amird, proves your bravery and resolve.”

The Zodrian king turned the Black and the army moved forward toward the gates of Delvi.

“Nostr 6:5; I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider held judgment over those before him,” stated Yully.

Nostr’s teeth ground against one another.

“It is too early,” growled the prelate. “When He arrives the balance of power shall be decided. Only then is victory within our grasp.”

“Perhaps He does not possess the power?” questioned Samot.

Nostr’s face relaxed and the Ulrog calmed.

“No,” he said slowly. “He holds the power. He always held the power. We will soon see all of what He can accomplish in this world.”

Sprig listened from his hiding place on the tower’s rooftop. The little man frowned as he opened the sack tied to his waist and peered inside. A half dozen Reas darts rested within the protective satchel. What danger lie ahead? How effective would his Reas be on the enemy he intended to face? Only time would tell.

“Do you intend on joining us in our afternoon ride today, Keltaran?”

Granu’s eyes rose from the preparation of his mount and he grinned as Eidyn and countless Grey Elves trotted past his position.

“I do, prince of Elves,” smiled Granu. “Or should I call you, King Eidyn? An Almar wreath adorns your brow.”

The young Elf smiled.

“My father thinks these others wish to follow me into battle,” laughed Eidyn. “But like them, I will always call Leinor my king. An Almar wreath will never change that.”

The Elven prince moved along.

“Be quick about your task, giant.,” laughed Eidyn, “or you will miss the fun.”

Eidyn neared the gates of Delvi then reined in his stallion. The entire Sprite contingent stood before him outfitted in meld cloaks, armed with daggers and sporting tubes of Rimshar. Lilywynn stood at the front. Chimbre and Jenpry flanked the young woman.

“Grey Elves of Luxlor,” called Lilywynn. “Look well upon the force before you. We give you this look so you do not mistake us for creations of Amird upon the battlefield. We will be amongst you. Sometimes seen. Sometimes unseen. Aim your arrows with certainty. Make sure the stone man whom you loose a bolt at does not have a child of Sprite upon him, slitting his throat.”

Silence fell as the two forces regarded one another. Finally, Lilywynn of the Toxkri strode forward to stand beside Eidyn of Luxlor. She motioned and the Elven prince leaned low from the back of his mount. The girl pressed her head close beside his and whispered in his ear.

Immediately, she turned and walked toward the gates of Delvi. Her force followed. She crossed the threshold and dashed into the grasslands of the southern Erutre. The Sprite army followed, scattering this way and that, disappearing from view.

CHAPTER 20: THE CHOSEN

SULGOR RESTED WITHIN his pavilion contemplating his command. There were so many possibilities, so many pitfalls. One poor decision by the Malveel king and centuries of manipulation and servitude might end in disaster if another stole his place of glory. A deep rumble formed in Sulgor’s chest. He could not let that happen. He would not let that happen.

First, he must regain control over the Malveel. That control came easily when the original six remained united. Greeb and Vespewl knew their place, carefully deferring to Sulgor’s power. Now they were dead, joining Methra in the mists of Chaos. The Six became three. Only he, Drengel and Strang the Storm remained from Amird’s first pack of hunters.

Sulgor clenched his jaws in anger. Drengel always loomed as a question mark over Sulgor’s control. Amird created Drengel to fill this world with creatures of Chaos. The Conjuror taught the others how to breathe life into the stone men. He unleashed nightmares from the halls of Irdricht. Now the Conjuror led an army and Sulgor knew little of the power Drengel controlled. It left the Malveel king uneasy.

Strang, on the other hand, was simple to discern. Amird created the Storm as a useful tool, nothing more. He was a tireless, indefatigable weapon, ready to throw himself at the enemy. However, the Storm behaved as a simpleton, a fool. Among the Malveel he ranked the least of tacticians. Sulgor looked upon Strang as a sharpened cleaver. A powerful weapon thankfully held in the claws of Sulgor, but a useless ally.

The second order of Malveel concerned Sulgor most of all. Of the four, Quirg Firebreather was gone, perishing in the Nagur at the hands of either Ader DeHartstron or Kael Brelgson. That left Woil the Lamentation, Nagret the Shadow and Zard the Shunned. All three of these creatures held no true fealty to Sulgor. The Magnificent spent most of their existence keeping them down and properly cowed. Now that two stepped forward into command and displayed an aptitude for conquest and subterfuge, they poised a serious threat to Sulgor’s control.

The third order of hunters held the key. Amird created Canx, Wulak and Irex as a pack unto themselves. Luckily Sulgor took it upon himself to control their every movement. Canx remained loyal to a fault. Wulak, like Strang acted as a fearless weapon, yet a much more intelligent one. Irex, the last of the Malveel, was all stealth and cunning. He ably undertook any work that might have fallen to Methra.