They entered the tent, with Rhea more than a little suspicious. Obviously, his scouts had been watched on their approach, but for how long? Did Conn have spies within Meisthelm separate from the Hierarchy? His first view of the assortment of people standing around an old maple field table made his heart skip.
Man, elf, dwarf, gnome, and Wylin mulled over maps and upcoming battle plans. Most he’d only caught fleeting glimpses of as they strolled about the golden halls of Meisthelm. Myths and faerie tales came to life before his eyes. At the head of the table was the wily, experienced General Conn. He was a man who needed no introduction. His legend was famous across the breadth of the Free Lands.
To Rhea he appeared a giant, tall and proud. Conn was renowned as a difficult task master, driven by the urge to defeat the oppressors of righteousness. Dozens of battles were heaped upon his shoulders, great victories and minor ones alike. He was the hero of the Hierarchy. There was none greater.
“General,” Zin announced. “The messenger from Meisthelm has arrived. Rhea Ailwin.”
Conn’s intense green eyes stared hard at the young man standing awkwardly before him. “I’ve been waiting for you for almost four weeks. What kept you?”
Rhea swallowed his nerves. “I … I was held up by the darklings and a winter storm. The roads around Meisthelm are no longer safe. We came as fast as we could. I don’t remember how many times we were forced to hide from …”
Conn held up his hand. He had heard enough. “I already know the situation in the north. What you’re telling me has been known for weeks.”
“The Council wants you to return at once, General.” Rhea winced as he said it.
The General shook his head. “I cannot. There are pressing matters that need to be taken care of down here. Pirates have seized the Port of Grespon. In doing so, they managed to kidnap the heir to the throne of Guerselleorn. I’ve pledged to return him to his father’s custody. The army marches on the morrow.”
“But the Council …” Rhea tried to say, surprised at the blatant disrespect Conn displayed.
“Can wait!” Conn fumed. “I’ve given my word, and that is one matter on which I will not bend. My army marches tomorrow. Nothing you or anyone else says will make a difference. Meisthelm is in no immediate danger.”
The dwarf, dour faced and bitter, was known as Haf Forager, scoped Rhea and scowled. “Decisions have been made long before your arrival. Matters of allegiance, that may well improve our chances against the Black when the time comes, are at stake here.”
“What of Galdea?” Rhea argued, forgetting his reservations. “King Elian has need of us as well. Will you ignore their needs as his kingdom is overrun by the darklings?”
“They are in no danger. I know Elian and Field Marshal Dlorn. Both are strong men who know the arts of war.”
“But when the Black gets the Staff …” Rhea was confused.
“He will leave,” Genessen said, as he stepped forward. The elf was a head taller than Conn. From the Wilderlands, he knew what the army of Galdea faced. “It will take time for Imelin to amass his armies and supplies to mount a major offensive on Meisthelm. That will undoubtedly be his primary target. With the Hierarchy removed, the kingdoms will fall into chaos. There will be no leadership and many may well join the cause of darkness. What we do here, now, may cement the loyalty of a much needed ally.”
Rhea found himself almost mesmerized by the natural song of the elf’s voice. He didn’t think anything could sound so … pure. Mystified by the goings on in the Hierarchy’s army, Rhea Ailwin stood quietly and watched as the masters of the battlefield resumed their task and continued planning the next chapter in the history of the world.
FIVE
Battle of Dreamhaven
They truly felt safe for the first time since fleeing Galdarath. The oath of the elf prince and the very trees themselves compelled an intense feeling of security as they set about making camp and for the first time, a fire to cook and warm themselves with. Right before nightfall, Andolus and Long Shadow struck out in search of fresh meat and water. Protesting at first, Elsyn soon found herself overcome with undreamed of calm. The trees whispered reassurances only she could hear.
The hunters returned swiftly, gone for less than an hour. Watch was established as they cleaned and quartered three rabbits and a put on a pot of fresh potatoes and carrots. They ate in relative silence, drinking cold spring water and enjoying a good, hot meal. The darkling threat, of which they’d been so engrossed in the last few weeks, was forgotten, set aside.
Andolus warned the enemy would still come, for Dreamhaven was no longer regarded as a threat. The Druinna Calar, he explained, were as old as the world but steadily losing their power. The elves first brought them to these shores at the dawn of recorded time. Like their caretakers, the silver trees gave the impression of immortality. That truth was flawed, for when one of the mighty trees died, it simply vanished and was immediately replaced by another.
They possessed a power few outside the elven people could explain. The trees were old when Gelum Drol, the mighty dwarfholt, stood where Galdarath now occupied. Those who knew of Dreamhaven feared the magical powers associated with the sacred ground. Even dragons flew clear. Only the select among the elves knew the truth of the trees, a secret they gladly took to their graves.
Shortly after midnight, Long Shadow snuck back from his post to stir the others awake. Soldiers all, save the princess, they flushed the sleep from their eyes and took up arms. The group was small but excessively deadly.
Elsyn stared in surprise at the lethal intent displayed in mere moments. “What is it?”
Battle was still a relatively new experience for her. She failed to rationalize how a man could kill without feeling and keep on doing it. Even with her father a king, and having grown up around soldiery, she’d never witnessed the cold act of killing until the darklings came.
“Darklings,” Amean whispered. “They’ve found us.”
The squat, hairy creatures stole through the broken monuments and barrows with undaunted arrogance. Their very presence was an act of defilement, desecrating the tombs of elven legends along their path. The fear of Dreamhaven was gone. Some remained cautious in their approach. They remembered what once was and were still deathly afraid of the elves. Many remembered the long years of oppression at the hands of Dol’ir. Now was the time for retribution. It was fear of the Black that drove them onward.
The first darklings caught the flicker of flame as it died out. They tensed with wicked anticipation. The stench of their enemy reached them. It was laced with fear. Before them stood the hulks of the Druinna Calar. Unwillingness to advance spread through the darklings. Only the promise of obtaining the Staff of Life unlocked their aggression. It called to them, luring them closer, so they could partake in the power and glory. Madness called upon by the Black pushed the darklings to new levels of insanity. If not for the rogue wizard, they would still be oppressed in the bitter pits of Suroc Tol.
Andolus used his superior night vision to discern the front ranks. Taking careful aim with his bow, he drew a deep breath. A quiet voice in his head whispered for him to wait. To not fire. The elf prince turned to tell the others and was surprised to find they had already stood down. The trees! He looked to Aron and the Golden Warrior nodded understanding, though he failed to understand the governing principles of magic.
The darklings arrived with alarming rapidity, seemingly oblivious to the inert threat the trees possessed. The defenders found it most difficult to do nothing as a wave of enemy advanced on them. Praying salvation was close at hand, they hunkered down and waited. A sudden wind swept through the glade. Change danced upon the air. The Druinna Calar came to life. Their branches swayed and moved, angry at the intrusion of the demon spawn.
The first darkling stepped foot onto that most sacred ground, eyes fixing on his prey. Frozen breath stole from the creature’s gaping maw. Strings of hot saliva, acidic to the touch, splashed on freshly fallen snow. That h
is prey wasn’t moving didn’t matter. He took another step forward, claws extended for the kill.
Elsyn screamed when she noticed seven sets of red eyes bearing down on her. The group was surrounded and still no one moved. Horses snickered. Should the darklings kill the horses … Her heart fell, even as it pumped furiously. She stepped back, bumping into the hard bark of an unforgiving tree. Rather than screaming again, Elsyn took comfort from the energy streaming from the tree. Then the world erupted in chaos.
The ground trembled, as the darklings halted in stride. Elven magic, ancient and largely forgotten, awoke. The Druinna Calar bent down with remarkable flexibility no natural tree had. Branches snatched the nearest darkling and crushed the life from him. Bodies were flung to the cold earth, dead before striking. Silver leaves fell from the trees as those small, yellow birds erupted in a very different, more volatile song.
Darklings tried to flee but were snatched up within a few steps. The mayhem lasted but a few harsh minutes before the last of the darkling invaders was dead. Roots burst free from their eternal prison and dragged the bodies underground, until not a sign remained. Eventually, the trees returned to normal. It was as if the battle never happened.
Long Shadow and Amean immediately scouted the surrounding terrain, should there be a secondary force lurking. Not even a fool would dare resume the attack after witnessing what just happened. The elf prince went to kneel before the closest tree. He spoke softly, almost imperceptibly, in ancient elvish. Though the trees showed no outward indication toward their caretaker or his companions, they conveyed respect through the power of the earth now filling his soul with hope.
When finished, Andolus rose with a smile. Long Shadow and Amean returned a short time later with good news. The area was clear. They had escaped one more time, but were far from being safe. Darklings proved most relentless. It was just a matter of time before they came again. The journey to the Twins was still many days. Days in which anything could happen.
Aron decided to let them sleep for a few more hours, once the excitement faded. Only Elsyn took him up on that. She still wasn’t accustomed to the hard life. Three days on horseback was more than she’d ever endured. The others conferred quietly around the rebuilt fire. A change of course was necessary before leaving.
“What now?” Aron asked. “The darklings haven’t given up on us. We can’t go back the way we came and they will more than likely be waiting for us somewhere ahead.”
Andolus agreed. “It will be very hard to sneak between their lines. The night is theirs, despite my ability to see in the dark. They know we can’t remain here for long. Even if we tried, the Black would soon arrive. I think his magic is a threat, even to the old elves.”
“How far to the nearest river?” Amean asked.
The veteran was as anxious as any to reach the security of the army. The cold tore through his battered frame, down deep into his core. He was past ready to end the quest. Days of heroism had come and gone. It was days like this that made him wish he’d retired long ago.
“A day and a half at a good pace. But we can’t just ride straight for it. The darklings will complicate our movements. Might take two, three days,” the elf guessed.
“What would you do, if you were the Black?” Aron asked out of nowhere. The others jerked their heads up, questioning his motivations. “If I was in his position, I’d focus on attacking Dlorn’s main army. That is, after all, our ultimate destination. He’s going to keep a small force pushing us. They should be in a place to strike long before we gain the army. What we must do is find a way through the flankers. We’re not a large force. That gives us the advantage.”
“Sounds easy,” Karin said sarcastically. “What are we waiting for?”
“Did you know that when we started this quest, I had the utmost confidence in the world that we would succeed?”
She backed away from the brutal tone in his voice.
“And now?” she asked, reluctantly.
He hung his head. “Now I wonder how we’re going to make it from day to day. And the Staff! I set out to stop a traitor, not become the caretaker of a token so powerful it destroys the minds of those who wield it! This is madness, the whole damned thing.”
Karin laid a consoling hand on his arm and stared hard into his fierce gaze. Even the tiger backs down when looked upon with love. He saw in her something he’d been fighting since the night in Prossin. Never having known it before, he was perplexed by what men called love. Aron reached up and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
His smile was gentle, strong in her warmth. “We are going to give them the ride of their lives. I don’t intend to rest until we are safe within the strength of Dlorn’s perimeter. Wake the princess up. We’re leaving.”
Field Marshal Dlorn and Jou Amn finished their morning meal and made their rounds of the camp. Company level weapons masters kept soldiers in constant drill, anticipating the battles ahead. Day in and out, thousands of soldiers worked to hone their already lethal martial skills. Earlier battles with the darklings provoked a collective rage. Their appetites became whetted and they were eager for the main course.
The company of Golden Warriors was welcomed with open arms. Only fifty strong, they were well worth over six times their number. They were given tents, hot food, and most importantly, privacy. They trained alone, ate alone, making it a point to keep to themselves. The rest of the army understood them and did little to get in the way, aside from gawking awkwardly as the knights passed.
Growing concern among the army focused attention elsewhere. Two days past reports came in of the approaching darkling army. There was no legitimate way to halt the advance, only delay. Field Marshal Dlorn decided to lead a raiding party of five thousand to attempt to stall the darkling army. Though many contested the hasty decision, none denied that Dlorn had never lost a battle.
“Still no news of the princess,” Dlorn muttered from atop a small rise at the edge of camp. From here he had clear sight of the entire army, all the way to both rivers.
The army was nestled in the middle of the two-thirds of a league valley between rivers. Offensive and defensive positions were constructed on all sides. Though the darkling army was clearly coming from the west, they might attack from any angle. Leagues on both sides of the bridges were rigged to burn should the need arise, or after the raiding party returned. The darklings would be forced to either swim or construct new bridges. If they swam, they would make easy targets for the archers.
Ten catapults had been constructed from fresh cut pine by Lord Felbar’s engineers. Felbar visited frequently, offering what he could, always explaining that his castle stood at the island as well and that he regrettably couldn’t commit his entire force to the coming battle. How could he be expected to defend his lands and people if everyone was stationed north?
Felbar was one of Elian’s strongest supporters, but no fool. The throne was not up for contention, but lesser lords squabbled for position in the hopes of gaining the throne. Dlorn grunted as those thoughts continued to interrupt his thinking process. The old general despised the backstabbing nature exhibited by the nobility. They had all the finest possessions in life and never had to fight for any belief. It was that superior attitude that earned his disdain. He put up with it by carrying on with his job.
“I wonder if evil has befallen them?” he asked, a thick, bushy eyebrow raised.
Jou Amn shook his head. “They have the Staff of Life and are small in number. Aron Kryte will make it, if any can.”
“Would you use the Staff if for no other reason than possession? It is the antithesis of evil. Made in an ungodly time when the night ruled the world. If they yet live, they may well be trapped by this darkling army. Northern Galdea is vast and un-traversable during deep winter. Getting lost out there is the same as committing suicide”
“They will come. I can’t explain it, but I know they will,” Jou repeated. The Golden
Warrior fell silent and resumed his vigil, the same one he conducted daily since arriving. A nagging feeling in his bones told him all would be fine, that Kryte would never use the Staff other than to strike down their enemies and deliver light back to the Free Lands.
***
Each pounding step brought them that much closer to the final destination. The darklings had yet to reemerge. Dreamhaven was far behind. Fear aside, the horses sprinted into their run. A thin film of sweat coated their flesh, keeping them warm through the blinding cold. Their riders, however, found their positions less fortunate. Ice crystals pelted their exposed flesh, froze in their hair and eye lashes. Even the thick pelts they wore provided little protection. Winter was just as aggressive and relentless as those in pursuit.
A fresh storm blew in shortly after dawn on their way out of Dreamhaven. It wasn’t as severe as the initial storm, but was harsh enough to keep pushing the riders to the edge of endurance. Drifts as tall as a man began icing up, making it treacherous for both horse and rider. Caution became priority. They had to find a way to beat the storm and darklings simultaneously.
Aron halted them by an ice-covered stream where they refilled canteens and relieved themselves in the nearby bushes. Andolus struck out almost at once to scout the lands ahead, for he had a terrible feeling the enemy had managed to circle around them. Aron chewed on a half-frozen piece of jerky and spoke with Amean. Long Shadow watched their trail, while the two women sat atop their horses and made small talk.
Days of escape and pursuit were pushing Elsyn much harder than she expected and she wasn’t handling it well. Karin did her best to sympathize but she found it difficult. She mused at the strange twist of fate that had brought them together. The daughter of the man who killed the other’s father. Now both were orphans. For them to break through that level of despair would take much more than pushing beyond idyllic hatreds and secrets.
The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2 Page 5