Mojak took the mace in his gigantic hand, bowing his bald head. The giant put his right hand over his heart. It was the first time Luchy had seen him make that gesture, which undoubtedly meant thank you.
“Let the elf who will represent Allündel during this dangerous mission come forward,” Azuri said.
The young elf Luchy had known as Flóregund stepped up and bowed to the leader. “Behold me here, your honor,” he said.
“After the destruction of our world and the murder of almost all the Houses, the elves have kept themselves secluded in Allündel, remote from all the day-to-day life of the universe, isolated to weep in silence. With Flóregund now playing a role in saving the God of Light, we will be taking part, for the first time in thousands of years, in the battle to save the universe.
“Let the union between species begin now. Let leiwas, elf, human, and Naevas Aedán carry out their mission. It is possible, my dear ones, other creatures may join your mission. May the heart of those brave spirits help you to win and ultimately, find the God of Light.”
“So be it!”
“May the God of Light be found!”
“May the union between species live forever!”
Luchy smiled. At last, a tangible and palpable fight was beginning, something that would allow her to contribute. No matter how difficult the path might be, she knew she would find Manchego, whatever might happen.
“This is for you,” Luchy said, as the congregation began to melt away. The elves were going back to their dwellings and daily duties.
Azuri took the copper coin and looked closely at it. It was plain with the same face on both sides.
“What is it for?”
“In case the elves decide to join the fight against evil,” she said gravely. “My king told me you need to present this coin to the custodians of the Portal. Without it, you won’t be admitted in peace.”
“Balthazar was here a short while ago,” Azuri replied. “He came asking for our legions and urging us to take part in the defense of the Meridian against Mórgomiel. We are still weighing whether or not to do so. Thank you for the coin, Luchy. We elves, unfortunately, are slow to make these decisions. Perhaps we will incline towards participating. We might not do so in every way. Only time will tell.”
Chapter XIX — Ruthless Soul
The Goddess of Night had not expected to see the God of Chaos. She was paralyzed and had no way of defending herself. Her dragon Mégalath would never help her. She was at the mercy of the God of Shadows.
“D’Santhes Nathor, I have come to take your essence. Wrath is hungry and her hunger must be sated promptly.”
Mórgomiel looked long and hard at his next victim: the Goddess of Night, a sphere of black energy that floated over a stone throne. Before the throne was an endless line of souls awaiting judgment from the goddess.
“You swore you would leave me in peace! I did not join the Summoning, just as we agreed! Are you going to break the promise you made to me?”
Mórgomiel smiled. He had taken off his helmet on purpose, revealing his horrifying, completely black face. His nature of black matter meant that his face and appearance absorbed all light.
“The promise I made to you has been carried out. We have moved into a new time now. I have unleashed the Times of Chaos once again. Thousands of years ago the opposition to the Summoning ended in my defeat. But now there is nobody to oppose me, and thus here I am, on your planet and in your dimension without fear of attack. You have no-one left any longer, D’Santhes Nathor. The Summoning will always exist if you remain. You must die. You must understand that.”
The Goddess of Night made no effort to flee. There was nowhere and no way to escape Mórgomiel’s terror. She might elude capture for a while, but she would inevitably be found and tortured.
“Do you think that without me, the dead and their souls will find reparation? Without my presence, the souls will accumulate and there will be no-one to judge them. You cannot kill me. Someone has to judge them.”
“It is necessary,” Mórgomiel replied. “And that is another reason why you will die. My wish is that there should be more and more souls in the Interim. If not, how do you think I will manage to bring so many of the dead back to life?” He smiled. “I need the souls of the living for my spells.”
“Then you wish to possess them,” D’Santhes Nathor said, horrified.
“It is necessary. Come. Too much empty talk. There is a whole universe to conquer and I have no time to lose.”
Mórgomiel summoned Wrath which manifested in his right hand, terrible and screaming with the echoes of the countless souls it had devoured over time.
The God of Chaos went up the steps to the throne and, without any warning, stabbed the Goddess of Night with Wrath. D’Santhes Nathor screamed in terror. Nothing frightened her more than joining the tortured souls enclosed in the magical blade of Wrath the Godslayer. Her terrified moan ended in a sigh. The black sphere that had been the essence of D’Santhes Nathor vanished completely.
Chapter XX — The Threshold of the Worlds
The portal was much bigger than Turi could ever have imagined. In his mind, the artifact ought to have been the size of a cart, the kind that carries goods from city to city. Yet, the thing in front of him was around five times the size of a conventional cart. It was nighttime and the camp was illuminated by the torches burning around the platform that supported the portal.
The vortex was a steadily turning spiral that emitted a silver light. He noticed that the soldiers around the platform were uncomfortable with this spacetime phenomenon. Two mages sitting on tree stumps and smoking pipes. He knew that these were Troikar and Landos Üdessa.
Until then, it had been said that nobody had ever crossed the portal without leave. Elgahar had not handed out the copper coins yet, a security measure that the mage knew to be weak as the coins could easily be replicated. But he wished they would move quickly enough to prevent impostors from crossing the portal. Troikar and Landos were supposed to be guarding it against an invasion of magical creatures. Instead, they were sitting on their backsides and chatting as if they were on holiday. They did not seem to be doing anything to prevent it.
“You did that?” Turi asked, wide-eyed. “With Balthazar?”
“It took a lot of energy,” Elgahar explained. “It wouldn’t have been possible without Balthazar. He’s a very powerful shaman. Even before we’d created the Portal, he’d already been to several worlds asking for help.”
“Balthazar is a being of Devónicus, but very strange,” said Unna of Devnóngaron. She was a very large woman of the Wild Lands with muscles that bulged wherever her skin was visible. Her green eyes and golden skin would have attracted any man. But any man who had lived around the Wild People, as the Mandrakians had, knew that getting involved with her would be a mistake unless he wanted to die or else be a very unhappy partner. She was wearing wyvern-hide armor. At her waist hung an ax honed to a razor’s edge and a satchel in which she carried all sorts of items from her land. Her long hair was tied in a braid, a symbol of her power: the longer the hair, the more power and self-control it implied.
“How is it that Balthazar didn’t summon the armies straight away?” asked Merkas of Moragald’Burg. His tone was insolent and sneering. The soldier was dressed in burnished iron armor so, even though it was night, he shone with his own source of light. He carried both a long sword and a short one at his belt and a cloak covered him down to his metal boots. This all looked uncomfortable, but those seeing him were unaware that knights of his kind grew up in Moragald’Burg with less in the way of comfort than in any other empire, and spending day and night in metal armor was perfectly normal there. The greatest difficulty for knights like him was their bodily functions. It was not unheard of for them to relieve themselves in their underwear rather than take their armor apart. His golden hair fell freely over his shoulders and his hand always lay on the pommel of his long sword. His blue eyes and straight nose made him a handsome lad, but
his self-satisfaction made him unbearable. On this occasion, he was not wearing his helmet, since his function was not to fight but to inspire.
“I hope that at least the shaman will have made it easy for us to convince other species to join our effort,” said Khad’Un, the dwarf from Doolm-Ondor. He was dressed in wyvern-hide armor, reinforced with slabs of stone. Wyverns flourished in Doolm-Ondor and the dwarves made use of both their meat and their skins. The preparation of the skin for the making of armor was very different from that used by the Wild People. Unlike Unna of Devnóngaron’s ax, his weapon was longer and double-headed. He did not carry a shield. It was unnecessary as his ax was his height and very heavy and with it, he could defend and attack simultaneously. His black beard, long and bushy, together with small eyes set in a round face and eyebrows as thick as brooms, left no doubt as to his Doolm-Ondor origin. He reached to Merkas of Moragald’Burg’s waist and yet was stronger by far.
“Going to other worlds isn’t like going to neighboring lands on your own planet,” Elgahar explained. “To avoid foreign cultures reacting badly to our arrival, Balthazar has risked going ahead of us to make the first contact. With endless patience, he’s devoted himself to enlightening the minds of those cultures in the worlds he’s visited, helping them to see that there are other worlds, other species, and that very soon the Times of Chaos will return. I’m practically certain that any culture, whatever planet it may be on, will already have felt the changes following the death of the Gods and I’m sure that any being will have been aware of the shadows spreading.
“By the time we arrive on the worlds Balthazar has visited, the minds of their leaders will be ready for negotiation. Our purpose is simple: to make use of Balthazar’s work to gain allies. We’re looking for more soldiers and the more, the better. That’s what our coins are for.”
Elgahar was carrying a small pouch at his waist. In it were twenty copper coins.
“Excuse me, sir,” came a voice from the camp.
They all turned. It was the captain assigned to the watch post. He was wearing armor with the badge of Háztatlon on his chest: a mandrake flower.
“The area is free of danger and we’re trying to keep it that way,” the captain said. “I am Mondragon Garza, your excellence.” He bent at the waist and was followed at once by all the soldiers with him. He wore full armor. His tanned skin could barely be seen under his helmet.
Elgahar understood that the soldiers did not want to climb up on the platform to avoid approaching the vortex. The fact was that anyone with two legs could cross the portal and find himself in another world. Even if an unfortunate bird were to miscalculate, it too could end up elsewhere.
“I’m grateful for that, Mondragon. Your service is duly noted and appreciated.”
Towards the back, several Dakatak marched in squads of six by six, keeping watch on the perimeter. On the Toroks were their tamers from Grizna. Dwarves from Doolm-Ondor, knights form Moragald’Burg, and Devonic Shepherds—gigantic dogs from the Wild Lands—were among the watchmen of the portal. Any mortal being who dared to cross it unbidden needed to come well prepared or else face the consequences.
Amon Ras of the Divine Providence was dressed in a striking golden outfit with pointed slippers and red and gold turban. His beard was well-trimmed, his eyes jet-black, and a curved sword hung at his belt.
“In all honesty, lords, ladies, and other beasts,” he said to Ushka and Tenchi. “I haven’t come here prepared to go to other worlds and meet all sorts of strange rabble. I say this with all due respect to those wretched insects, which are an abomination.” He looked into Ushka’s six lidless eyes. “And that floating orb, another abomination,” he added, turning to Tenchi.
He’s very rude, Tenchi thought in Elgahar’s mind.
He’s scared, Elgahar replied. As are most of the ones who don’t fully understand what we’re doing.
An argument broke out among those who were not willing to go to other worlds. To Elgahar’s surprise, the only ones arguing were Merkas, Khad’Un, and Amon Ras. The other participants were ready to take on the mission.
The dwarf was saying, “Going to other worlds sounds a terrible idea to me!”
“And me,” said Merkas. Amon Ras agreed.
“Lords!” Funia shouted. “Stop all this nonsense and grow a pair of balls. What kind of spoiled pansies have your leaders sent us? I thought Haziiz Farçia, Othus the Benevolent, and Düll Donn were respectable people with good judgment. Come on, Elgahar. Let’s leave these weaklings here before they start causing us problems.”
Funia the Thief was a tall woman. She was tough, strongly-built, and moderately attractive. Her character made up for her lack of those gentle features that were expected of more refined women. She was wearing leather pants, boots, and a cotton shirt; simple clothes, typical of the thieves.
“Weaklings?” Khad’Un bellowed. “You dare insult me?”
“Nobody calls me a weakling without seeing the edge of my sword!” shouted Merkas.
“I’m not moving from here till Funia apologizes!” protested Amon Ras.
Funia went up to them. In front of the three of them, she stopped with her arms akimbo. “And? You want a fight, I’ll castrate you right here and now! It would be an improvement! You’d finally fit in with all the meek-and-mild ones!”
The three were silent. Nobody doubted that Funia was capable of taming those men and castrating them on the spot.
“That’s enough!” Turi broke in. Under the starry sky, it was hard to make out detail. “It’s good to be afraid. We all feel nervous at the thought of going to other worlds but it’s necessary. We have no other option. We need you because you represent different cultures and that’ll help the beings of other planets to realize that we’re a diverse group. Is that clear? In any case, I know you won’t refuse to come. That would be an act of insubordination and your leaders would tie a noose around your necks if anything like that happened.”
The protesters turned pale and said nothing more. Funia growled at them, then turned back to her position beside Unna and Ushka. Unlike others, she had no qualms about the giant insect. More than that, she found it to be the most interesting thing she had ever come across.
They were to the southeast of Kathanas at the center of the Fields of Flora. The entire population of Gardak and the Dakatak had moved to vacate it.
Chirllp was studying the encampment around the platform. “Do you think that two mages and a few thousand soldiers are enough to defend the Portal?” he asked. He was a man of Gardak, a Mílikin, and was dressed in armor made from resins that had been made by the Dakatak. His features were much like those of a man of the Empire except for his jaw, which was more angular. On the other hand, his hair and eyes were the same shade of black and his height close to that of Elgahar and other men of the delegation.
“Only time will tell, Chirllp,” said the mage. ”Now then, the first world we’ll be visiting is called Crallys. Their people are the Cristalur and according to what Balthazar has explained to me, they’re creatures made of crystal instead of flesh and blood. They communicate using vibrations, something Tenchi will help us understand when we get there.”
“Crystals? Are you mad?” Amon Ras spat out. Khad’Un and Merkas were about to join him in expressing their distaste, but Funia’s blistering stare silenced them once and for all. They did not utter another word.
Elgahar turned and started walking toward the arch. He entered the screen of vibrant energy that gyrated around a central axis and vanished at once.
Funia followed him together with Ushka, Chirllp, and Tenchi. After them came Turi. Last came Unna, who had deliberately stayed to the end to make sure Merkas, Khad’Un, and Amon Ras crossed the portal. They did while muttering obscenities.
Chapter XXI — Flowing in Silence
Lohrén waited for the other elves to say goodbye. Most of them withdrew to the dining hall, where a snack would be served presently. As commander of the armed forces, the powerful elf had neve
r before shown so many changes so quickly, but of course, creatures like Luchy were not as long-lived as the elves. A year for a human being felt like no more than minutes for an elf.
New currents are stirring throughout the universe, the elf thought. A great change is approaching. He had lived through the Times of Chaos, during which he had been apprenticed to Urolóch, the old general who had died in that carnage. He shivered at the thought of those bloody days and even more when he remembered that the armed forces would soon begin their preparations for marching and fighting to the end. But there was something else, something far deeper, that was troubling his mind. It was the human. Luciella…
Something about her makes me uneasy, he thought. He closed his eyes as if to hunt down the reason for that unease. What he saw was not a sensation of discomfort but something more than that.
“Lohrén,” Azuri said. “I was surprised you didn’t protest when they said a human could help us to save the universe. When Alac was here, you pestered him with your comments. Is something wrong?”
Both of them sat down on the floor of Uyca. Azuri had never seen Lohrén so uncomfortable, so upset.
“It’s Luciella, the Princess of the Holy Comment.”
“She’s beautiful, a truly wonderful creature,” Azuri said. “In all my thousands of years of life, I’ve never stopped being surprised by one or other of the mortal species. There are surprises everywhere.” In Lohrén’s deep eyes, she could see that something more than this was involved.
Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale) Page 16