"Lorcan," he groaned.
"I'm here, Captain," Lorcan said. "You're safe. There's a cave here that leads through the mountains."
"You've done well, Lorcan," Jarka said. "King T'kar will give you the highest honors."
That sounded good to Lorcan, but his only concern at the moment was getting back home and away from the wretched Highlanders. If he could get Captain Jarka back as well, that would look good for him, but it wasn't a priority.
"I suppose our horses are lost," Jarka said as he sat up, coughing. "That fat bastard cracked my ribs."
"Bel will figure it out, Captain," Lorcan said. "But I looked forward to killing him. As far as your ribs, they will heal."
"You've been relieved of that requirement," Jarka said. "Your promotion is set in stone. Congratulations, Sergeant Lorcan."
Lorcan smiled. Perhaps getting the Captain to safety was a good idea after all. "Thank you, sir."
"Where did you get that cloak?" Jarka asked, clutching his chest.
"My father gave it to me when I joined the army," Lorcan said. "But that is a story for another time. Let us get you back to the fortress."
"Aye," Jarka said. "I'll need your help."
"Of course," Lorcan said, standing and helping Jarka to his feet.
"Blasted Highlanders," Jarka said. "Galik is dead. He was my favorite sorcerer."
"There are others just as ugly and cruel as you, Captain."
Jarka laughed out loud, patting Lorcan on the back. "Ah, Lorcan," he said. "That is why I like you. You'll be a Captain in no time."
Lorcan smiled as he led Jarka into the dark cave. Captain sounded even better than Sergeant.
"Pardon me, sir," Randar said to the peasant that passed by him. "I was wondering if I could recruit your assistance."
The peasant stopped, eyeing Randar suspiciously, looking strangely at his clothing.
"What do ye need?" he asked. "Did ye rip yer fancy britches, lad?"
Randar laughed humorously, clapping his hands together in front of him. "My wagon lost a wheel on the road and I need help fixing it."
"Well, do ye have another wheel?"
"In fact, I do not," Randar replied. "But the wheel did not break. It simply fell off when I went over a bump in the road."
The peasant looked around him, evidently looking for others in the village that he could recruit for help. But, when he realized there were only women and old men hobbling about, he sighed and shook his head.
"Fine then," he said. "Lead th' way. I hate t' see a man in need. Even a fancy-dressin' lad like yerself."
Randar smiled at him. "I thank you, kind sir. Your assistance is appreciated. As you can see, I am not much for laborious tasks, only matters of state."
"Well," the man said. "Whatever ye say, lad. Let's have at it."
Randar led the man down the road, keeping to his right, and keeping watch behind them. It would do no good to be followed, lest Randar's scheme was exposed and Lilit went hungry.
"Did ye hear th' news?" the man asked.
"What news is that?" Randar replied.
"Adhaen was found dead this mornin'. Her 'ead layin' a ways away."
"Oh my," Randar said. "That is terrible news. Especially for one of her station."
"What do ye mean by that?" the man asked. "What do ye know of her station?"
"Oh, I assumed she was someone of importance since you mentioned her."
"Well why would I not mention her?" the man said. "Ere'one is important. Not just someone of station. What kind of shite-filled mind is that?"
"Forgive me, sir," Randar said. "I did not mean to insult anyone. Ah, here we are."
They stopped in a clearing, where Lilit stood cloaked and still, her body completely covered by Randar's garment. The man looked around suspiciously.
"I see no wagon, lad," he said. "Unless yer wagon is a lass."
"Oh there is no wagon," Randar said, grabbing the man's shoulder. "But this lass is broken and needs a fixin'."
He shoved the man toward Lilit, who opened her cloak to reveal her shriveled and skeletal body. The man screamed as he stumbled forward into her, and she closed her cloak around him, dropping to the ground as she began to consume him. His screams were muffled underneath the cloak, and his thrashing was amusing to Randar. He watched with a smile, pleased that the witch was finally enjoying a long-deserved meal.
She would be as good as new in no time.
T'kar could feel the eyes of Kathorgo look down upon him as the entity's spirit arrived within the stone vessel. He had summoned the Ancient One reluctantly, only doing so to satiate his own curiosity of Igraina. Though he loathed to even speak of her, the fact that she had been in Kathorgo's presence had bothered him since he had found her here in the secret chamber.
"T'kar," Kathorgo spoke. "My sleep is precious. Why have you summoned me?"
T'kar straightened, looking straight up into Kathorgo's eyes, his fists clenching and unclenching in anger.
"Why was Igraina here?" he asked. "And why did I not hear your conversation with her?"
"Whom I speak to is none of your concern, T'kar."
"Tell me!" T'kar growled. "Or I will smash your wretched stone body into pieces."
The chamber darkened, and a hot wind began to swirl around Kathorgo's form. The eyes glowed red, and the stone lips parted into a snarl that revealed the entity's sharp and crooked teeth.
"You dare threaten me?" Kathorgo hissed.
"I am not afraid," T'kar challenged. "You are wasting your power in attempting to frighten me. I fear nothing."
The hot wind settled down, and Kathorgo cackled faintly. The lamps in the chamber flickered back to life, and Kathorgo's eyes dimmed. T'kar remained unfazed, still glaring up at Kathorgo's stone face.
"That is why I chose you, T'kar," Kathorgo said. "Your strength is like that of my children."
"Answer my question," T'kar said. "Why was Igraina here? What did you tell her?"
"I told her everything, T'kar. And then I took it away."
"What do you mean?"
"When you first asked me whom it was who would betray you, I answered your question. You banished her, knowing it was she who groveled on the floor before you. You have rid yourself of your betrayer, and now you stand unchallenged."
"You spoke a name," T'kar said. "Ach-Ia-gra. Is that Igraina? Is that her true name?"
After a moment of silence, Kathorgo hissed, then spoke, "Yes."
"What kind of name is this, then?" T'kar demanded. "Who is she? Why can she not die?"
"Her fate was changed, T'kar," Kathorgo said. "She was born to die for me, but that fate was taken away. As a result, she is immortal, as I did not give her the gift of finite life."
"You did not give her…" T'kar stammered, frustrated. "What madness is this?"
"She is my child, T'kar," Kathorgo replied. "She and others who no longer exist. I created her and her sisters to be the ultimate sacrifice to my own master."
T'kar shook his head, clawing his own scalp with his fingernails. He growled, gritting his teeth and snarling in frustration.
"You once again speak in riddles," he hissed. "Just tell me the truth for once."
"I am telling you the truth, T'kar," Kathorgo said. "But there is one thing you must know. Your servant Randar returns with another of Igraina's kind. I had thought her dead, like the others, but I sense that it was she who killed the others and has simply been dead but dreaming."
T'kar roared with rage, pounding his fists on the stone statue. "Silence your madness!" he shouted. "Everything you say is a contradiction! Your own master, your children dead but dreaming! What does it all mean!?"
There was no response. T'kar glared at Kathorgo's face, the rage virtually consuming him inside, boiling his blood and blurring his vision. He scratched at his head again, backing away as his mind swirled in a maelstrom of dark thoughts. Without thinking, he grabbed a nearby torch stand, charging the statue with the intention of smashing it to pieces.
But Kathorgo's magic flared from the statue's claws, blasting T'kar back with the force of a battering ram. T'kar slammed into the stone door and collapsed to the ground. He was uninjured, but shocked, and buried his head in his crossed arms, growling and hissing with rage.
"Do not be so insolent, T'kar," Kathorgo said. "You were correct in sending Igraina away. But Randar has done well for you. He is a most loyal and capable servant, and you shall have your new seer. She is far more capable than Igraina. She will serve you well. Your anger is misplaced."
T'kar sighed, still laying prone on the floor with his face buried.
"It matters not," he said. "You promised me mastery over this land and all I feel is that it is slipping away. I am weary of your lies."
"I have not lied to you, T'kar. Everything I have told you is true. Everything I have given you is part of our plan. You will have dominion over this island. It is up to you to use the gifts you have been given."
"You also promised me an assassin," T'kar said. "Someone who will hunt down the son of the Dragon."
"I have kept that promise, T'kar. Your assassin has been summoned. But it will take time for him to arrive."
"Who is this assassin?" T'kar asked, rolling over to sit on the stone floor against the door.
"He is your salvation," Kathorgo said, prompting T'kar to pound his fist on the floor beside him.
"Riddles," T'kar whispered. "Always riddles."
"Have faith in our plans, T'kar. You are the king of this land. The people fear you, and you must maintain that fear if you are to succeed. Send my children out to wreak havoc. They are yours to command."
"My soldiers keep disappearing," T'kar said. "Galik has not reported to me. I fear the army I sent north has been annihilated."
"You acted in haste," Kathorgo said. "You cannot destroy the tower. That is not part of the plan. I will deal with the Dragon. You focus on growing your army, and spreading terror among the people. When your army is as great as it can be, then we will grow your kingdom. We will lay waste to the Alvar, and they will grovel before you like the dogs they are."
T'kar grinned. The thought of conquering the Alvar was appealing. He hated them for their divine nature. They did not belong here; not in Eirenoch, not on this world. They were a menace, and a disease to be cured with death. He would find their fortresses and smash them to pieces. Their Lady Allora would bow before him, and he would ravish her, planting his seed within her.
What great children she could bear him.
He began laughing, slamming his head into the stone behind him as his cackling grew in ferocity. Kathorgo seemed to laugh with him, but he knew the entity had gone once more, leaving him to decipher his riddles.
How T'kar hated him.
"You surprise me sometimes, Jarl," Igrid said as she leaned on Svengaar's throne.
Svengaar raised his mug, smiling. "It should be no surprise," he said. "Though you think me weak and unfit to rule the tribe, I am not a heartless man."
Igrid turned and poured herself a cup of wine from the flagon on the table. "I never said you were heartless," she replied. "But it was just surprising how quickly you accepted the women and children."
"They may stay, as I said, as long as they must. If Dearg and the others have eliminated the threat, they may return home to their villages. If not, then they will be accepted into the tribe where they will be protected."
"So you believe that their blood will not taint ours," Igrid jested.
Svengaar laughed, slamming his mug onto the arm of his throne. "Blood!" he shouted. "What is blood anymore? Dearg does not share our blood, but does it matter? We are all children of Gaia. We are only separated by the lands themselves, and those Firstborn who rule them. What does it mean anymore?"
His smile faded and he leaned back on his throne, staring up at the ceiling. Igrid wondered what was going through his mind. His words were strange, very uncharacteristic of his station. It was a Jarl's duty to keep his people safe, and continue the purity of their blood. But now it seemed that Svengaar was more concerned these days with simply surviving and continuing the tribe's traditions, not necessarily the tribe's blood itself. It was an interesting development. Perhaps there was something good in Svengaar's ideas after all.
"Survival is important," he said finally. "We are all human. The people of Eirenoch are not our people, but they are people. There is no need to see them as outsiders. That is why I welcomed them. If they are to stay, then their strength will strengthen us as a tribe."
"The High King would not approve," Igrid reminded him.
"To Hell with him," Svengaar said. "Who even knows who the High King is? We left our homeland for a reason. This island was ripe for the taking; to live in peace, not to conquer and destroy. I do not believe that is how Kronos wanted us to live."
"How does he want us to live, do you think?"
"With honor, not blood. We will not indulge in the conquests of our kin. They have grown to be savages under Thorgrymm's rule. The Jarls have given up their own sovereignty to appease the blood lust of a madman. They have lost their way, and they too will fall eventually."
"What of our tribe then?" Igrid said. "What if our kin were to decide that we are just as much an enemy as anyone else? Can we stand against them?"
"Not likely," Svengaar replied. "We can only hope that they will not decide to set foot on this island."
"Or we can join the people of Eirenoch," Igrid said. "We can become a new people. A people that bears the blood of the Dragon and the blood of Kronos."
"Even then, we will not be strong enough to defeat T'kar," Svengaar said. "Only a massive army could defeat him, and that is something we cannot build. Not with our numbers."
"But you would like to see T'kar fall?"
"Of course," Svengaar said, drinking from his mug. "But only with our kin standing with us could that ever happen. They will not rally together to that cause. Never. They maintain loyalty to Thorgrymm, not to each other or anyone else, especially me."
"You don't know that," Igrid said. "Their loyalty to Kronos is greater. They just misunderstand his will. If they knew how important it was to serve all of the Firstborn, then maybe they would see that Kronos and the Dragon are not enemies. They would see that serving Gaia is the only way to survive."
Svengaar stared at her strangely, as if he were looking into her soul. He always had the same reaction when she mentioned Gaia.
"Do you hear some calling that I do not hear?" Svengaar asked her. "The Dragon calls to Dearg because, as Mada believes, he is the son of the Dragon himself. Not just in a figurative sense, but the literal sense. I can understand why he hears that calling. But you, all this talk of Gaia… it makes no sense to me."
Igrid sighed. Perhaps she did feel some calling, but she wasn't sure. The thought of serving Gaia appealed to her. After all, she was the Great Mother, and serving her directly seemed to Igrid the most divine use of her blade. Surely Gaia could muster even greater power than all the Firstborn together. There would be enough power to defeat even the most vile and evil of enemies.
"T'kar must be destroyed, Jarl, and we must convince the other tribes to join us in standing with Eirenoch. This is their land, too, and I would think they would take up arms to defend it."
Svengaar sat forward. "And what of our kin from the Northlands?" he said. "What if they decided to sail across the channel and take our lands? Our warriors would be away, waging war against T'kar, and our tribes would be defenseless. Dearg has already taken enough warriors. We are already weakened."
"You are making decisions based on something that hasn't happened, or likely would never happen. Thorgrymm is busy expanding the kingdoms in our homeland. I doubt he has even had a single thought about us or conquering our lands. Even if he has, how do you know he wouldn't rally the tribes to join in the fight?"
"Why would he? To him, this island is insignificant. It has no appeal to him. There would be no reason for him to see T'kar fall."
"Not even fo
r the glory of battle?"
Svengaar chuckled. "He would proclaim himself king, if not emperor, when the battle was done. He would enslave the people here, and likely us for being weak in his eyes."
Igrid set down her mug and drew her sword. She pointed it at Svengaar, inches from his face. He was unflinching, but cocked his head in question.
"Not if I challenge him," she said.
Svengaar laughed. "And you think you could defeat him in battle?"
Igrid maintained her lock on him, smiling crookedly. "I would bet my life on it."
"Well," he said, smiling. "Let us hope it doesn't come down to that. For now, ride for the Highlands and find out if our kinsmen are still among the living."
Chapter Eighteen
The strange figure's words were shocking. Dearg froze, unsure of what to do next. His companions, both Northmen and Highlanders alike, looked around at each other, and at him. There was an uncomfortable silence, which made Dearg shift nervously. But then, much to everyone's relief, the first man stepped forward to speak.
"I am Baleron," he said. "And this is Menelith, my friend and brother in arms."
"I am Dearg. It means—"
"Son of the Dragon," Menelith finished.
His gaze was strange, and Dearg felt as if this Alvar knew him somehow, or at least knew about him.
"That's right," Dearg said. "Caillain, Liam, do you know these men?"
"Ne'er seen 'em before," Caillain answer. Liam shook his head.
"These men are rangers," the Alvar said. "They are trained in the ways of the Alvar to protect and preserve the forests and all who dwell within them."
"What re ye doin' here in our lands?" Caillain asked, shifting from one foot to the other. "Not that you're not welcome, but…"
"We have taken upon ourselves to attack and destroy all of T'kar's forces," Baleron said. "We saw the fires from the forest to the south, and knew that T'kar had sent his troops here. I can see that these Northmen have done the same."
"They came to help us," Liam said. "For that we are grateful."
"And we are grateful for your presence as well," Caillain added. "You and your… rangers."
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