Rob laughed. “It’s the fight between Warder Dech and Malig’s knights. I’ve never heard the tale.”
“You know the man?”
“I do, since I was a child. We have crossed paths recently as well.”
“Ah, I know why you’ve never heard it then. The incident with Duke Philip and Dech’s entry into the order, that’d be it. It’s not right… the whole situation with Dech, but that’s not what you’re asking. Best I tell you now, because come tomorrow we’ll all likely not mention Dech at all,” he said with sadness and distaste.
“Because we’ll be rendezvousing with Philip’s forces?”
“You have it right. Shameful as it is, that’s the way it will be until all this comes to a head. Tonight though, we tell of deeds past, even if it rankles dukes, the church, or even the king. I do wish Sir Dech were here, but being that he’s not, I’ll tell you what happened.”
He paused to sip from his cup. “Late in the fight at Creator’s Rock, the field was chaos as battles often are, but with all the burning wagons and siege engines it was even more so. If you found yourself alone… well, it was not a pleasant experience. Malig was pulling what he could from the field and doing a fine job of it. In the midst of all this, he and four of his guard rode up on Harold and Lord Arundel who were moving to rally some stragglers. As Malig and his men readied to charge, Dech rode out of the smoke. Lowering his lance, he yelled a challenge and charged without hesitation. Malig had little choice but charge as well, his four flanking him.
“I cannot say how he did it, but Dech passed through the five like a ghost, Malig falling to the mud as if he’d ridden into a tree branch just as John said, though it surely wasn’t the first time he’d been unhorsed. Still, Malig was as fierce a warrior as ever fought. For a moment I thought the war was over then and there, but no. Malig regained his feet as his four circled back to cover him. Dech came around as well and rode for them again, sword and shield in hand. Soon it was four against Dech, then three, then two. By then Malig was back in the saddle and he rode for the main body of his force. By the time there were four dead men under the hooves of Dech’s mount, Malig was gone. You know, I’d have paid an Aratainian mark to have seen Malig’s face after that.
“Dech salvaged a lance from the mud, saluted Harold and Arundel without saying a word, and rode on like he performed such acts every day.” Owen paused and smiled. “Oh, to have such skill and style. We all knew he’d go on to great things, but….”
“He still does such things.”
“True enough. I’ve heard tales, but he ought to be doing them as a landed lord, not in the contrition order. Then again, he may be happier there. Otherwise he’d end up like Gilbert Arundel, a fine knight saddled by a king and forced to fight on the field of politics. Bah! Never mind me, lad. Such are statements of a man who’s had a bit too much to drink.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Such tales need telling. Just remember to watch your tongue tomorrow.”
. . .
Chapter 27
Dech’s group stayed the night at a roadside camp before departing early in the morning. The ride the previous day was a grueling one to all but Dech, his body used to long days in the saddle. Granum and Dealan’s spells helped and the group took heart knowing they would make the western entrance into the Brosalean well before dark.
Only a small portion of the Brosalean sat within Arataine’s official borders, but that meant little to the denizens of the region. Autonomous and mysterious, surrounding powers had learned long ago to let the area be, as encroaching or attempting to exert power there only resulted in wasted effort and dead aggressors.
The cobbled road that followed a course with the border would take them to the entrance road, a modest dirt track that wound its way through loose forest before running into a dense wall of green.
Slowing to a walk as they neared the thick foliage, not one of the six held anything more in their hands than the reins to their horses knowing they were under watch.
“Stop where you are,” a man’s voice called out once they were well within arrow or bolt range. “State your business.”
“We seek audience with the Council of Elders,” Dissy replied.
“I know you,” the voice said. “A ranger. Dissy, yes?”
“I was a ranger, but not now.”
“You have an order knight with you?”
“We do.”
A human male stepped from the brush, a man Dissy recognized but did not know well. Wearing a mottled green and brown surcoat over a sleeveless mail byrnie, he waved the group to approach.
“Ranger Dissy, you’ll speak for those who travel with you?” the man said.
“I do so speak.”
Nodding, the man raised an arm, a signal to other unseen comrades who surely had them covered with bows and arbalests. “I’ll take you in. I think you were expected.”
As the group closed on the tree line, a gap not visible at a distance became apparent. The gap allowed access to a winding trail through the tangle of thorned brush and soon took them into dense forest.
“It’s a fair walk,” the man escorting them said. “Mount your animals if you wish. My name is Dugan. Might I have yours for introductions?”
Each in the party stated their name, Granum last.
“Would you be Adelbert Granum?” the man asked.
“I would,” he replied.
“I’ve read some of your writings at Elder Mus’ suggestion. Intriguing work.”
“Mus is still here?” Adelbert said. “I am happy that is so.”
“Still here? Aye. No one but him knows how long he’s been here and he won’t say.”
Granum laughed. “Ah, he does have a sordid past,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Quite the troublemaker he was in days past.”
Dugan laughed in return. “Armed with such knowledge, I look forward to prying forth some tales from him then.” His expression became serious. “He said something comes, that we should be as vigilant as we can be. I placed extra guards at all of the approaches. Is this why you are here, this… something?”
“I fear it is.”
Dugan nodded. “Another Dark Crusade it is rumored, or is it more?”
“Were I a wagering man, I place my coin on more. The Dark Crusade is upon us and it constitutes only a part of what threatens us.”
Grimacing before looking at Dech, Dugan asked, “The contrition order sends you?”
“It does, as does King Harold.”
“I’ve spoken with some of your brothers when they patrol near here. Stout men of discipline who have aided us on occasion. I know the markings on your surcoat, a warder. Would your name be Dech?”
“It would. Do you know me?”
“Mus said an order knight would bring an old friend. That is what we were to watch for. I know not if he meant Dissy or Adelbert being the old friend, but he said the man from the order was called Dech.”
“Prophecy?” Mayhaps asked.
“Foretelling,” Granum said. “A disturbing trait Mus exhibits every now and again.”
“I am confident yours is the group he expects,” Dugan said.
The walk in was a swift and pleasant one. After long hours in the saddle, walking suited the party and the packed dirt path made it all the easier. They soon came to the first sign of population within the trees, a pair of middle-aged human women who looked at them warily for a few seconds before smiling in greeting.
Dech saw Dealan no longer wore her usual field outfit, but was now attired in the robes of an abbess. Raising an eyebrow without saying anything, she noticed.
“It is a simple spell and we do meet with esteemed personages, yes?” she said.
“That we do. Changing in open view though… a bit daring for an abbess, yes?” he said with a smile.
She glared, but smiled in return. “A common spell and a useful one at times.”
“I cannot recall seeing it before,” Dech replied. “Perhaps it�
��s not as common as you think?”
A larger gathering stood at the side of the trail near the approach to a stone bridge spanning the bluffs that edged much of the Black River. Those watching them were grey elves, most of whom were dressed as rangers. The elves glared at the party and continued despite polite nods from most of the travelers.
“Never mind them,” Dissy said once they were past. “They are angry and bigoted, particularly toward humans.”
“She speaks true,” Dugan added as the party stopped to look down on the river far below. “They do not represent the view of all grey elves, but a significant portion of them share their narrow-mindedness. It’s an issue that eludes resolve here in the Brosalean.”
“So it’s the same here as everywhere else?” Mayhaps said.
Dugan laughed uncomfortably. “In that respect, it is. The way of the world I fear.”
. . .
The Brosalean was not a place of harmony nor was it one of enmity among those who dwelled there. Disputes between the four races of man and others were common, but only rarely resulted in bloodshed.
Most within the Brosalean lived in an area dubbed the Great Oak Grove, a place of impressively tall trees and little underbrush. Here most politicking, crafting, and trading was done within the region. At the center of the grove grew a gigantic oak that dwarfed all of its leafy companions. Commonly called the Great Oak, many called it the Source-tree, what they believed to be the center of the Brosalean’s power.
As they neared the Great Oak, they saw a tall aged man with a wild mane and flowing beard of white much like Granum’s standing in their path.
“That would be Mus,” Granum said.
The man smiled. “I knew not who comes, but I am most happy it is you, Adelbert. Is it true? The Cataclysm is upon us?”
“It is,” Granum replied. “The Great Rift is said to be not far, north near Ke-Ammar.”
“We thought as much, but we sensed something much more near. Something familiar, yet baffling. I believe that is why you have come. First though, let me say I am delighted to see you, old friend.”
“And I you.”
“You bring Dissy back as well. A ranger of some skill.”
“You know of me?” Diz asked in a surprised tone.
“Do not be surprised. A most able ranger cannot escape the council’s notice,” he said with a smile. Shifting his gaze to Dech he said, “You are Warder Dech. I thought they would send you.”
“Do you know me?”
“I have heard of you, as far back as when they called you Crouse, but we have never met. Sometimes I see things and sometimes these things are true. What I saw a few days ago said you would come, though who sends you was not clear. You have brought an unusual group, not one I would expect.”
“I cannot say this is a group I would have selected on my own. We are gathered by convergence, or so Abbess Dealan thinks.”
“Convergence? Yes. I would not doubt she is correct.” Shifting his attention to Dealan, he smiled. “Deep reserves and skill. Arrogance and temptation pushed aside by contrition and strength of character. You have fought and won a battle few do.”
“Perhaps, but that arrogance and temptation harmed many,” Dealan replied, still sizing up Mus and his intentions. “It is that harm I remember every day.”
“Yes. It has made you more powerful than you were before. You may not think so. Darkness and Blood is raw and unruly, corrupting and deceitful, but you repudiated it. When needed, that strength will allow you to do great things.”
“Foretelling?”
“No. A prediction based on the few others I have known to walk the path you follow.”
Dealan nodded. Not perceiving any deceit, she said, “If time and circumstances permit, I would like to converse about this further.”
“As would I.” Turning his attention to Erie and Bard, he smiled. “Rogues of a rare stripe. Men of character and breakers of laws, locks, hearts, traditions, and conventions. Ah, what lives you must lead!”
“We have our moments,” Mayhaps replied.
Mus laughed. “I am sure you do. This world needs such beings. You play the lute?”
Mayhaps nodded. “Professionally at times.”
“Mus is a lute player,” Granum said. “He also picks locks.”
“But never professionally,” Mus said with a look at Erie. Looking to his left, he gestured. “Some members of the Council of Elders come.”
Five people made up the group, human, dwarvan, and elvan. Standing near Mus, they said nothing.
“I present to you, Lilith, senior member of the council,” Mus said placing his hand on the shoulder of an elderly elvan woman.
“This is the band you said would come?” she said.
“I am sure it is. They confirm a Dark Crusade comes anew.”
“And what of the conjuring south of us?” the woman asked. “It is that we must concern ourselves.”
“Would this be infernal work near the old castle in Nevar?” Dech said.
“It would,” Mus replied. “What do you know of this?”
Dech, Granum, and Dealan told them what they knew, suspected, and intended.
“We should simply accept this presentation and let them proceed?” Lilith said to Mus once they finished.
“No,” Mus replied. “Many here know Adelbert from years past. The information this party brings is revealing as well as compelling, a threat to all, even us here in the Brosalean. The information also provides us with a place to start delving into this for ourselves.”
“I am inclined to agree, but this is not something to be decided in haste.”
“I concur,” Mus said with a nod, “but it is not something to be debated at length either. Time is a considerable factor. We must be thorough and efficient.”
“No doubt.” Lilith faced Dech’s group. “We will look into this and discuss it through the night. You shall have our answer before dawn. Should we deem your mission essential, you must be prepared to depart immediately. Do you understand?”
“We do,” Dech replied.
“We shall select a group to accompany you should it be needed. Until then, prepare and rest as your journey, should it occur, will be an arduous one. You are welcome here until you are not.”
. . .
The facilities lent to them and time provided by the council’s discussions were put to good use by the six. They bathed, ate, put together the gear they would need for their trek to Nevar, but mostly they rested knowing the next day would be a demanding one. They, like the army seeking Malig, might see battle, but of a vastly different kind.
As the sun dipped toward the western horizon, they gathered, cooked food over a fire pit, and talked. Inevitably, the Cataclysm and Olk Mirkness became topics.
“We’re sure Mirkness is still a man?” Erie asked. “I’d hate to slit his throat only to learn he’s an undead that doesn’t need to breathe. I once saw four men fight a revenant mage. Two died before they hacked her into pieces small enough that she could no longer function.”
“Olk a revenant?” Granum said. “Technically yes, given his time away from our plane… in all probability. Until we know whether he actually recovered from his battle with the abbess or requires magic to sustain his existence, we cannot say with absolute certainty. The council mages seeking him found no spells of sustenance. Likely magic played a large part in his recovery. I would say Mirkness was never quite fully dead. Nearly fully dead is how I would classify his state of decease. Re—”
“Nearly fully dead?” Mayhaps said, amused at Granum’s explanation. “There are degrees between dead and alive?”
Granum laughed. “A bard would question this? A lover with a soul mate, a knight on the eve of battle, a bard before an adoring audience, who is more alive than at these moments? Now, consider the reverse side.”
“A philosopher and a poet,” Mayhaps said throwing up his hands. “I concede the point. Please continue.”
“Recovery from such a state is no
t without precedent. There are numerous credible accounts of beings returning from the grave without quite dying, but most do so with magic as a sustaining force. Time passes differently on other planes and that may be a factor as well. I feel confident infernal magic is at play with Mirkness and not just of the derkunblod variety. If it sustains him, he is a revenant, but not the typical sort.”
“And that would be something we’ve not seen before,” Dealan said. “Do you know of any accounts mentioning infernal creatures lingering as revenants?”
Adelbert shook his head. “The only instance similar to it is Laerdavile’s avatar, but we know little about it except that it possesses one of its minions and transforms over time into the large creature the accounts relate.”
“And these demonic minions, killing the Lord of the Vile’s avatar sends all of them back to where they came from?” Erie asked.
“Only those from the Plane of Purge. The others, such as those from the Ifrunn will remain even if the rifts close. Fortunately they make up only a small portion of Laerdavile’s hordes, or so it seems.”
“Why is that?”
“Laerdavile rules only the Purge Plane. The other infernal planes are accessible to it, but are not under its control. It is a misnomer to call all of the infernal planes the Underealm, but we do. Not all of the creatures brought forth in a Cataclysm are evil. Many are savage, but are mere beasts. Some are simply physical beings like us, but with very different morals and motivations from those of us that inhabit our realm. Some adapt and dwell here successfully. I know, I’ve met some. Those people in our mortal realm rumored to have infernal ancestry are alleged to be descended from a union between beings of here and there. I firmly believe it is fact. There are accounts of this that predate the so-called First Cataclysm.”
“So-called?” Erie said.
“The First Cataclysm was not the first that occurred. It was merely the first documented incursion. There are signs many more happened prior, with little but oral accounts remaining to hint at how many. The physical evidence is more compelling.
“The world has been reshaped by past Cataclysms. The heaving of earth scars our world. The exodus from the Destrian Highlands after the Second Cataclysm was largely a result of the displacement of people by such reforming of the ground. Creator’s Rock, Banner Peak, the Blade that bars so much of Arataine’s northern border, the strange ridges that make the Helsh and Dark Forests all the more frightening, were all heaved forth during the past. Scars that mark the conflict and powers at play in such events. One place apparently untouched is where we rest now. You’ll note little of such altered topography in the Brosalean. It might also explain why these grand trees here in the grove have survived millennia. There is something here, something powerful that has fended off the abominable ravages that befell other places. That fact was one of many reasons I studied here.”
The Warder Page 40