“It is clear,” Batten answered, “But what of my half-brother.”
“When the time is right, my king-to-be, I am certain you will deal with him appropriately.”
“Meriq, you are a devious fiend.”
“A quality which I intend will serve my king extremely well.” I answered.
Dthor walked up to me frowning. “Balten seemed most deferential, ‘b’zaddi,” he said as I took his arm. “And you appeared most cordial with the Crown Prince, I must say.”
“Yes.” I answered non-committally.
My consort regarded me stonily for a moment before his face softened and he began to smile. “You are plotting something, you little fox. I can tell.”
“What under heaven’s gates could I be plotting with the Crown Prince?” I asked cutely.
Dthor frowned. “I have no idea, Meriq. But I feel sure that I should not like it.”
I turned away slightly to stare up at the dark mountains. High above in the dark crags of these mountains stood a temple. Anubis had told me of it and its particular power many times. The tales of the Dark Watcher who inhabited the place had chilled me as a child and I had never once thought that I would ever consider paying the dark temple even a cursory visit, let alone entertain the idea of performing a conjuration there.
“Do you trust me, my love?”
“With my life, Meriq. I would die for you. You know that.”
“Yes. I do. Tonight we must climb the Forbidden Path to Kalzaq-Tor.”
“The Soul Reaver’s Temple? Why in Zoar’s name would you go there?”
“Not in Zoar’s Name, Dthor, in Janir’s. I have work to do, and I fear there is little time left for me to do it.”
Dthor and I climbed in silence save for the rasp of our breathing and the soft sputter of the torches and as we reached the temple of Kalzaq-Tor the moons were just climbing over the distant horizon.
The black granite obelisk that was the temple of Kalzaq-Tor loomed over us like the very Shadow of Death itself, the spinous minarets crowning the summit clutched at the night skies like a skeletal hand almost as if it would grab the passing moons from the heavens. The facetted tower glistened moistly in the strengthening glow of the moons giving the edifice an eerie, other-worldly quality. I nodded to myself, satisfied that I had arrived in plenty of time to start the summoning of the Soul Reaver. “We have some time to rest, now before the ritual,” I said quietly.
My consort nodded and then grabbed my arm. “Why must you call such a dread creature, Meriq? It could kill you or snatch you away. I could not bear it if I lost you.”
“You will not lose me, Dthor, “I told him, “and neither will the Reaver take me—at least not this night,” I added conditionally. “Guard the door for me.”
The darkness inside the temple closed around me like a shroud. I could feel the enchanted stones teasing at the very edges of my life force, the force it needed to awaken from its slumber. The black torches on the dark altar flared to life as I entered the knave of the temple. I shuddered at the drain on my life force as the wall lamps burst into life and as the glyphs on the altar began to glow I began to wonder if indeed I did have the physical strength required to complete the conjuration successfully.
I had scarcely completed the chant of summoning before a thick black viscous cloud spewed from the cauldron in the centre of the altar. The air was filled with the stench of rotting flesh so intense in its foulness that I felt I would choke on it. The air filled with shrieks and screams so shrill that I could almost feel my ears begin to bleed.
“Adrayim ex torris Kelzaq-Bahir!” I shouted above the din and all fell quiet except for the hiss and pop of the torches.
The black cloud swirled and gradually coalesced into a recognisable shape. Tiny pinpricks of light appeared like stars in the dark mass and gradually a pale face appeared.
“Who calls Kelzaq-Bahir?” The spectre’s voice boomed as if hundreds of voices were shouting in a cave.
“I am Meriq ibid-Syrrith and I come to make a pact to protect one Jae’nt ibid-Janir-ibid-Azeem.”
“And what shall be this pact, Wizard.”
“That what injury shall befall him shall fall on me in his stead even unto death.”
“And what will you give me to seal this contract, Wizard?”
I drew my ceremonial dagger. “I give you my life blood.”
“No!”
Dthor’s voice from the entrance brought me around. The Reaver seemed to swell to twice its size its voice shaking the very walls as it howled at Dthor’s intrusion. It reared up like a gathering wave as if it would smash us from the very ground.
Dthor was at my side before I knew it and he grabbed the knife from me. “Rage, all you will, Spectre. You will not take the blood of my beloved. You will have mine and be satisfied with that. My life for the Prince Royal.”
Before I could move Dthor snatched the blade from me and slashed his hand smearing his blood on the altar stone. Kelzaq-Bahir, shrieked and crashed down on my consort with such force that I was certain the Reaver had ended him for his hubris. The cloud swirled and reformed, the spectre rushing across the floor towards me. It stopped suddenly, its glowing white face but a hand span from mine. “It is done.”
The Reaver turned billowing over to where Dthor was climbing to his feet. “I await your coming—hero.”
“Then wait you shall, Reaver.” Dthor replied, “For I will not be an easy take.”
The air filled with the same unholy wailing there was a bright flash of green fire and the Reaver was gone.
Dthor staggered over to me clutching his chest. I pulled his hand away to find the Reaver’s mark burned into his flesh. “That was reckless, stupid and . . .”
Dthor cut off my diatribe by pressing his lips to mine. I pushed him away. “Rage all you want, little dragon but, as the Reaver said—it is done.” The soldier cupped my chin in his hand tilting my head so that he was looking directly into my eyes. “I said I would die for you and I will if it falls to me. You are doing enough keeping the king alive.” He smiled at my expression. “Jalin told me. He says he has a sense for such things.”
“Then he should have had the sense to remain silent. I will have words with that boy when he returns.”
“No, my love, do not. He honours you beyond words and told me out of love, not treachery. And besides,” Dthor added as we left the temple and began our descent towards the encampment, “I vowed that not even Death will keep me from you and I swear so again this night. No matter what, ‘b’zaddi if you are in danger not even the power of The Reaver will hold me.”
Brave words, I thought, but empty. Dthor had sealed his fate with one stroke of my blade.
We were just over halfway through the mountains when a rider came in at full gallop. The Black Legion had rallied at the other end of the pass, three centons or more in number, and was pushing forward. So far our archers and hoplites were holding their own using the mouth of pass as a choking point to limit the number that could assail them. Despite their courage and sound strategy, it would only be a matter of time before the vanguard’s barrier was breached and the Legion spilled into the pass.
Almost at once the generals began barking orders at the foot archers and javelineers who slowly spread out moving as far up the walls of the canyon as possible, closely followed by pikemen and halberdiers. At the sound of a battle horn the men surged forward, swordsmen and lancers taking the lead as the ranged attackers clambered more slowly over the less hospitable terrain.
Seizing Golgoth’s stave from its stay on my saddle I reined Vyrnath over towards the Kings calling the Kyr-Garrin to order as I went. The men ahead of us parted like water before the prow of a ship to give us passage and before I even realised we were ahead of the charging soldiers riding towards our enemies at reckless speed over the uneven ground.
Ahead I could see the flash of golden flights as the Morlan archers sent barrage after barrage of their poisoned arrows raining down on the advancing legi
onnaires while the Zetans sent their own deadly storm of fire bolts down on to the advancing soldiers from their vantage point high in the craggy walls of the pass. The air was thick with the stench of burning cloth and flesh and ringing with the shriek of the screamer arrows and the cries of the dying.
The men of the Kyr-Garrin broke rank as they rode forward, their crystal swords glowing eerily in the subdued light of the pass as they galloped in for the attack. I kicked Vyrnath onward, determined to be with my soldiers to lend whatever aid I could and as we drew close I activated the stave sending three roaring columns of fire around my cohort and straight into the ranks of the Black Legionnaires. Twenty of the men were vaporised almost at once, and those not so fortunate burst into flame before running panic stricken into their fellows. The fire spread through the black ranks like a wind whipped forest blaze until driven by the need to preserve themselves the following ranks turned momentarily on their fellows, slaughtering them to prevent themselves from being incinerated.
The moment of chaos gave the Kyr-Garrin and other riders the advantage they needed and they spurred their horses forward. The battle mounts scarcely flinched and struck the black clad fighters in a massive wave, trampling all and sundry beneath their iron shod hooves, kicking and lashing at the men with their spiked shin guards or slashing them with their bladed shaffrons.
Finding their crystalline weapons useless against the gold-coated peytrels of the warhorses’ armour the black soldiers drew their conventional swords only to find those destroyed by the topaz blades of the riders. And even as the disarmed men tried to move back the men behind them pushed them forward under the hooves of the advancing cavalry. Caught with no chance of retreat the men fell quickly to the swords of the advancing army.
The sun climbed higher, men, horses, dogs and war eagles alike fell in the struggle, but it was not until the black legion was reduced to its last few ranks of men did we begin to make headway to the Medran plains.
Sensing their impending victory the men began to roar and sing, the clash and clatter of swords against both their own shields and their opponents’ beating out the rhythm of their battle hymn as they pushed onward, wiping the black clad fighters from their path in a landslide of the gold-plated steel and bronze.
The jubilant shrieking and cheering of the men as they flooded out on to the escarpment leading down to the Medran veldt hung in the air only briefly before dying away as they gazed out over what should have been an emerald meadow but which was black as pitch covered as it was by an army of at least a thousand men ranked in battalions of around a centon each.
Janir and Keelan exchanged glances. I looked at Dthor and let out a heavy breath. Now it seemed it was our turn to be caught without hope of retreat as the juggernaut of soldiers moved inexorably forward. Janir turned his mount and trotted over to me.
“Meriq, can you do anything to buy us time to move the tired fighters aside and let the fresh ones through?”
“Well, King Janir, what would you have me do? Conjure a dragon?”
“That would be most helpful.” The king said artfully.
“I am sure it would, sire. Unfortunately even I cannot conjure the mythical.”
“They will not attack uphill,” Keelan said with quiet confidence as he joined us. “unless, of course, they are completely reckless. We still have the advantage of the higher ground.
I did not feel quite so certain and whether or not the Black Soldiers had more than once been victims of their over-confidence in their magical swords and armour, I doubted they would give us much chance to consolidate our foothold when they so obviously had our army bottled up so neatly in the canyon. Even if we did carry the victory by sheer weight of numbers the battle would cost us far more than the recent skirmish.
As it transpired, we did not have to wait for long. A blast from the battle horns sent the legionnaires toward us howling and baying like wolves on a blood scent. I glanced over my shoulder.
Our forces still poured through the debouchment on to the sloping scarp. As Janir said, we needed more time. I shifted my grip on the stave. Perhaps, with luck and a fair wind, I might buy us a little.
Kicking Vyrnath on, I broke away from the protection of the Kyr-Garrin and trotted a short distance before dismounting. Taking the stave in both hands I jammed the ferrule into the ground with all the strength I could muster. The earth beneath groaned and rippled briefly and then with a roar tore itself open.
The fissure shot away from me breaking into several branches like a lightning strike. Splinters of rock and great clumps of earth shot heavenward, plummeting like thunderbolts into the advancing soldiers. The front ranks skidded to a halt only to be pushed into the advancing chasms by the men behind them who, unaware of the immediate danger, pushed on with their advance. Then, suddenly aware of their peril they slowed, the neatly squared ranks splitting and fanning outwards in a pincer movement to avoid the advancing vents.
Behind me the allied forces responded with a split of their own, the division allowing the army to move out of the pass much faster.
Lighting and fire from the stave gave the Black Legion some pause for thought, but it was not enough. My strength was failing me and as I grabbed Vyrnath for support I knew I could not even have cast a fishing line if my life depended on it.
Then, as if in answer to the silent prayer I uttered, a brain-numbing roar erupted from the forest land to the north.
Morlan forces spilled out of the trees and spread like a bloodstain across the prairie. The battle cries were suddenly drowned out as volley after volley of screamer arrows shrieked from the heavens in a storm of scarlet and gold, their eerie wailing throwing the charging men into momentary confusion.
The Morlan cavalry crashed into the legionnaires with such force I fancied I could feel the earth shake with the power of it. But even as I watched I could see the sudden explosions of fire as our allies fell to the evil blades.
So intent was I on the fighting that I failed to see the five black clad soldiers who had broken away from the main conflict and stolen up on me. It was only when Dthor bellowed a warning that I turned just one of them reached me and struck out.
Surprised though I was I managed to throw the man back with a thought, but the effort brought me to my knees. Vyrnath let out an enraged whinny turning sharply to stand over me. He lowered his head and as the crystal blade shattered on the edge of his peytrel the gold dipped blades either side of his shaffron destroyed the assailant’s armour and took the man in the gut. The man fell, his hoarse cry becoming a shriek of terror as Vyrnath reared and, as if for good measure, crushed the man’s skull under his ebony hooves. Two dark shadows flashed across my vision as I rolled from under my mount as Clarix and Zorn entered the fray. The dogs took two of my attackers making short work of their throats. The two remaining men hesitated just long enough for Dthor and Aenar to reach me and despatch them.
“Are you alright, master?” I stared up from the ground to find Jalin standing over me offering his hand. “I am.” I answered as the youth helped me stand, “but what are you doing here?”
“Handling your dogs—and doing it rather well, I would say,” Dthor stated as he put his foot on the fallen legionnaire and twisted his blade free. “And you might thank the boy, ‘b’zaddi.”
With the Kyr-Garrin around me I rode back to the safety of the main army to watch the battle, and as the day drew to a close and the sun began to sink behind the distant hills the allied forces wiped the last trace of the Black Legion from the prairie.
The encampment was buzzing with excitement as I made my way to the Council Tent. The men were still so elated from the earlier victory that even the men on funeral detail remained in high spirits, singing battle songs and drinking to the fallen even as they built the pyres.
The Council tent was quite crowded, the newly arrived Morlan commanders swelling the congress to thirty and Keelan had commandeered one end of the marquee to hold a debriefing with his men while at the opposite end Janir
sat in session with his generals.
As I entered Aldrigan signalled Keelan who in turn signalled for me to join him. Janir gave me a cursory nod and returned to his discussions.
“I should like to introduce Ez’n-Kyr Meriq, gentlemen. He has been our saviour on more than one occasion.” Keelan presented each of the new arrivals in turn taking great pains to acquaint me with the individual virtues and battle skills of each. I concluded that this was a Morlan convention to honour the men and made what I hoped were suitably approbatory comments.
“Your earthquake was most impressive, Meriq,” Aldrigan commented eliciting much nodding and approval from the generals.
“It was not nearly as impressive as the timely arrival of these illustrious men, Lord Aldrigan.” I answered.
“Your words are most gracious, Meriq.” General Ibrahim said, offering me a goblet of wine.
I took the drink with a smile, though I felt slightly irked by the men’s informality with me. It was not something I was used to, but since they addressed Keelan by name, I saw little merit in labouring so petty a point.
When the kings had concluded their business with their respective commanders the council convened in earnest.
From the intelligence provided by the kayetim attached to the new contingent Illios was firmly in the hands of the Black Legion. A number of the populace survived in servitude to a council of military, religious and secular officials some of whom had been in office during the invasion and who had thrown their lot in with the Black Legion to save their skins.
“And who can blame them?” I asked.
There was a rumble of disapproval and scowling from the Morlans. “Where we might expect such actions from the civilian population, Meriq, we cannot countenance such abject cowardice from the militia or the priesthood.” Keelan said reproachfully, “Such men are responsible for the civil and spiritual protection of the people.”
A Rising Darkness Page 38