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

The torchlight shined upon the wet, rough-hewn walls of the tunnel, dancing and jumping across its many juts and crevices. Olith frowned. The water seeping from the fissures in the tunnel gathered strength. In many places, weak fountains twirled above the rising water or squirted from the tunnel walls. The gurgling and hissing of the fountains mixed with the grunts and prayers of the struggling Keltaran.  Olith cursed the Ulrog. If they did not finish their task soon, or if he did not find what he sought, the people would all drown in these tunnels.

The general splashed forward followed closely by three of Shor’s brother monks. They had been briefed on what to look for and used their own torches to scan the walls. One of the monks called to Olith.

“It is here.”

The general spun and the mass of Keltaran filing through the knee-deep water of the tunnel parted to let him through. The crowd silenced. The bubbling water echoed through the tunnel. The grim faced monk stabbed his torch into the darkness shrouding the ceiling. A row of ancient iron bars protruded from the wall and angled upward.  At first glance, the bars appeared to be driven into holes bored into the wall. Olith held his torch closer and ran his fingers along the wall’s surface. He found the split in the rock he looked for. In truth the bars acted as levers wedged beneath a giant slab of granite. Olith glanced at the rising waters about him then turned back to the monks.

“The people must pass this point in the tunnel if we wish to seal it from the city,” stated Olith. “Do not instill panic in the population, but make your way back west and exhort the stragglers to make haste. When the rear of the procession reaches this point, we will block both the water and the Ulrog from ever finding their way through this concourse.”

The monks nodded in unison and turned to go, but the lead brother stopped abruptly and stared at the walls. The gurgling halted. A hiss and a splutter replaced it.

“The water!” called a woman to Olith’s left.

The general held his torch toward the floor of the tunnel. The fountains disappeared. Swirling, sucking whirlpools spun in their place. The water dropped rapidly. The walls seethed and hissed as the icy flow sucked back into the mountain’s crevices in a noisy rush. Olith’s torch guttered and danced in the rushing air. The old general sighed with relief.

“At least we will not drown in this place,” stated Olith. “The determination of our enemies sees to that. The gates of Hrafnu fall.”

No shout of joy or cry of thanks erupted amongst the people of Hrafnu. Instead, they whispered prayers and shed tears. Olith turned back to the monks.

“We are free of the water’s danger, but I am certain the trap scarcely dents our opponents numbers. Do as I asked and we will remove the threat of chase.”

The monks nodded and departed. The remaining Keltaran relaxed. It was done.  Slowly they gathered their things and resumed their trek.

CHAPTER 3: FEAR IN THE AIR

T
HE QUARTET MOVED along the forest’s edge beneath the afternoon shadows of the Mirozert Mountains. Several days passed since their exit from the dangers of the Mnim Valley and they made good progress. Multiple times they ventured into the interior of the forest to search for little known passes Ader remembered from centuries of travel along the Mirozert. Unfortunately, packs of Hackles manned the passes or walls of stone ripped from the mountain’s heights and thrown into their basins barred the group from entry.

Kael threw a hand into the air. They halted as the boy’s eyes narrowed. Ader approached with a question in his eyes.

“Ulrog,” came the boy’s simple reply.

“Where?” questioned the Seraph.

“A few leagues distant,” answered Kael. “But there are many. Malveel as well.”

Ader frowned.

“Malveel on the march is a dire omen,” stated the old man. “Outside of the occasional raid, the Ulrog stationed along the Mirozert have not moved in years.”

“There is something else,” added Kael as his eyes rose to meet those of Ader.

The Seraph grew concerned.

“Creatures of pure Chaos trail the main formation,” continued Kael. “They ... they seethe with hatred for everything.”

“Have they reached the wood yet?” asked Ader sternly.

“No.”

Ader spun to Lilywynn and Eidyn.

“You will take a risk and attempt a crossing at the next alternative,” stated Ader. “Portlo and Temujen must be warned of Izgra’s assault.”

“You mean ‘we must’  do you not?” questioned Lilywynn.

Ader frowned and sighed.

“If I am correct,” began the old man turning back to Kael. “Our young friend here will not be going with you.”

Ader paused and stared at Kael.

“And if that’s the case. I will be remaining with him.”

“No!” exclaimed Kael. “You need not remain. I can do this on my own.”

Ader laughed.

“I don’t even wish to know what it is you intend to do. However, whateverit is, I will be standing beside you.”

Kael could see the determination behind the Seraph’s smile and he slowly nodded his agreement. Ader turned back to the couple.

“You are beings of stealth and trickery. Strike into the woods here and search the base of the Mirozert. With Avra’s help you will cross the mountains within a few days.”

The pair bowed lightly to the Seraph then Lilywynn embraced Kael.

“Don’t be foolish. Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Eidyn put a hand on the boy’s shoulder then he and Lilywynn disappeared into the woods.

Manfir and Utecht stood and watched as the dust settled on the horizon to the north.

“I do not understand thesealliesyou send off to counter the threat along the Scythtar,” commented Utecht. “I have never seen a more contentious pair.”

“Macin and Corad built a long history of dislike,” laughed Manfir. “But I assure you, they will do their utmost on the battlefield.”

“But they must work together if they wish for any hope,” countered Utecht. “And they appear unable to agree upon anything.”

“Ah,” smiled Manfir. “Precisely when my secret weapon will take charge.”

Utecht’s face screwed up in confusion.

“Prince Gage is with them,” replied Manfir. “Corad finds the opportunity to show what a great warrior he is to his son, and Macin encounters a nephew and future rival king he wishes to impress. They will both comply with what makes sense in order to demonstrate their abilities. The true leader of that force is Gage. He will direct all tactics by simply suggesting the most appropriate.”

Utecht shook his head in dismay.

“You Zodrians and your politics. You take something as straightforward as a battle and complicate it beyond knowing.”

Manfir laughed and threw an arm around Utecht, directing them back toward their own force.

“You talk of the complicated relationship between long standing allies. Then what hope do you and I possess of directingour situation?”

Utecht stopped and stared at two groups marching on opposite sides of the westward road. The armies remained segregated, avoiding contact and conversation.

“It appears we discover work of our own,” muttered the giant.

“Yes, indeed we do.”

Sulgor crept into the courtyard of Astel and tasted fear upon the air. The Hackles and lesser Malveel gathered about the courtyard hushed and all eyes turned to the Malveel king. Canx the Silent stood out from the group. The lesser Malveel had not spoken to any save Sulgor in a millennium. Some of the brethren thought the Silent a fool, but Sulgor knew otherwise.

“Where is the tracker?” demanded the Magnificent.

Normally Sulgor would not bother with a tracker’s return. However, this particular tracker arrived from the east and Sulgor needed all the information he could glean from that area of the world. Canx moved to the crowd of stone men, locked a claw on a smallish Ulrog, and threw the beast forward. Sulgor moved in on the stone man, towering over the Hackle’s hunching form.

“What is this idiocy you report?” growled the Malveel.

The soulless black eyes of the tracker stared into the red orbs of Sulgor. The Magnificent compelled the Hackle to reply.

“An army moves upon Astel from the east, my lord,” returned the tracker. “Lord Drengel the Conjuror leads them.”

The tracker hesitated and his eyes averted to the ground. Canx moved in beside the Ulrog.

“Go on,” rumbled Sulgor through clenched jaws.

“It is not an Ulrog army, my lord, “ the tracker murmured. “The creatures Drengel leads are of shadow and darkness.”

Sulgor’s eyes narrowed to slits of violent red. His jaws remained clamped shut as he looked to Canx and replied.

“So .... Drengel succeeds.”

“I am no general, Lord Manfir. Perhaps another should be chosen.”

“You are a leader, Utecht,” replied the prince. “Besides, I never cared much for titles and the false power they bring.”

Utecht nodded at the wisdom of these words and turned to survey the combined armies marching past his position.

“If King Granu is correct and the Ulrog lay siege to Keltar, I fear our combined forces will be unable to rout the Hackles from Hrafnu’s valley,” said Utecht.

“Then we will die trying,” returned Manfir. “I made a pledge. I will not abandon your people or your homeland.”

Manfir laid a hand on the giant’s shoulder.

“That is why I need their best leaders by my side. We cannot afford to allow old prejudices to harm our cause. Your men respect and admire you. King Granu is unfit for battle. I would ask them to take orders from no other than a Keltaran. Will you accept?”

Utecht pursed his lips and squared his jaw.

“My father would say I’d gone soft,” smiled the Keltaran. “He always said the fighting men won wars.”

“Trust me, Sergeant Utecht,” chuckled Manfir. “You will fight.”

“That I will,” smiled Utecht in reply. “And I suppose it is General Utecht now.”

Manfir shook the giant’s hand then turned and walked into the throng. A covered wagon rolled along the pounded pathway and the prince grabbed its rail and hoisted himself aboard.

Manfir settled against a sideboard within the wagon and watched a healer go about his work. The patient aboard the wagon lie still and drew ragged, short breaths.

“How does he fare?” asked Manfir softly.

“The Abbott is weak and his breathing is labored,” returned the Keltaran healer. “Several ribs are broken and they may have punctured a lung. Burns cover his arms, but they should heal. I am most concerned about the leg. It is severely damaged and I fear the Abbott will never regain the use of it. A sleeping draught relieves him of pain and settles him for now.”

As the healer spoke, Manfir noted a medallion dangling from the Keltaran’s neck. A heart, fashioned of silver, hung within a circle. The healer followed Manfir’s eyes and looked down upon the medallion.

“Fenrel disbanded the brotherhood and imprisoned many of us, but a monk with the ability to dress wounds and heal the maladies of a forced march is always an asset to be called upon,” smirked the healer. “I avoided Fenrel’s purge.”

“Well, thank Avra you are here, brother,” returned Manfir.

The pounding of hooves and a general unrest in the lines drew Manfir’s attention.

“ ... in the healer’s cart,” came a call from outside.

Manfir moved to the burlap flap and threw it wide as Flair drew up his mount.

“My lord!” called Flair.

“What is it, my friend?”

“Scout’s return with news of a large group heading in our direction from the Zorim Range.”

Manfir frowned and drew a puzzled look.

“Have the Ulrog bypassed Hrafnu’s valley and decided to march on us instead?”

“No, my lord,” replied Flair. “It is the Keltaran. They abandon their mountain home and by some magic elude Ulrog attack.”

Keltaran by the dozens broke rank and pounded across the open field in the direction of their people. They quickly took the very young into their arms or relieved the old of burdens. Cefiz joined them. Flair spun his horse toward the Zodrians staring at the reunion.

“Men of Zodra. Do you not see women and children struggling after days of forced marching?” barked the young colonel. “What kind of men are you?”

Immediately, the Zodrians broke from their own lines and filed in amongst the dumbstruck Keltaran. The Guardsmen took charge of litters bearing those with infirmities. They passed water skins amongst the thirsty and broke out provisions from their stocks.

Manfir trotted the Black toward the throng. A giant of proud bearing separated himself from the people and approached Manfir with Utecht by his side. Manfir halted, dropped from the Black and bowed to the Keltaran. Utecht addressed the prince.

“Much to the delight of my father’s memory, my commission looks to be short lived,” smiled Utecht. “Manfir of Zodra, I introduce you to Olith of Keltar, the true general of the mighty Anvil.”

Olith returned the bow.

“You chose wisely when you laid the mantle of command upon Utecht Forgar,” said Olith placing a hand on Utecht’s shoulder. “For years I tried to push greater rank upon him, but he bridled at each attempt.”

“I chose no one, my lord,” replied Manfir. “Those of strong character and training are chosen by fate. They cannot help but rise to the forefront when their nations are troubled.”

Olith nodded his assent.

“Such as yourself,” stated Olith. “My advisors heard nothing concerning you for years. But now, with the situation at its most dire, you stand in the thick of the mess.”

“I will do what I can,” returned Manfir. “And that begins with securing the mountain city.”

Olith frowned.

“The mountain city is no more. It lies in the hands of the Ulrog.”

Olith paused as Utecht and Manfir absorbed the news.

“So be it,”  said the leader of the Anvil. “We must look to the future and our responsibilities.”

He turned and swept a hand across the group behind him.

“My responsibility is to these people and their safety. I must shelter and protect them first, then turn my thoughts to the Malveel and their servants.”