by P D Ceanneir
‘Good morning, your highness,’ he said with a smile. Telmar let out his breath and tucked away the weapon back under his pillow. Outside, beyond the wind-flapped opening of his tent, was total darkness.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked calmly. He now realised that this strange creature was as much a victim of the Earth Demon’s machinations as he was.
‘I come with a warning,’ said Cronos.
Telmar remained silent, though wide-eyed.
‘Midwinter,’ was all he said.
Telmar nodded. ‘I suspected the end of the year, midwinter is two days away, and I will never get back to the capital in time. Are you sure the Door will arrive then?’
Cronos cocked his head to give Telmar the impression that his information was obviously correct.
‘Then I’m too late,’ sighed the king sadly.
Cronos knelt on one knee and looked straight into Telmar’s eyes. ‘Hope is a flimsy thing, my friend, but hope has chosen you for this task. There was once an Elder of the Assassi called Eighthan, who believed in hope. Little did he realise that it also came with great sacrifice, and pain.’
Telmar frowned, he wondered where this was going, but remained silent and listened.
‘He saw power and violent energy in its rawest form and was afraid,’ continued Cronos. ‘Yet, in the darkest moment of his agony, he understood the Great Plan of the My’thos to destroy the Dark Force of the Earth, and he vowed to retain as much of his humanity as he could to aid them in some small way.
‘That way was you, Telmar.’
‘How is that so?’
‘A part of me that was once human looked into the shifting patterns of time, and saw that you were an integral part of the Old Gods plan. You have transferred the Dark Seed to Prince Vanduke, this is good, he will pass it to his first son and then a new chapter in the history of the Rawns will begin.’
‘You are talking about the Blacksword Prophesy, aren’t you?’
‘Correct.’
‘This land cannot wait for the arrival of some warrior with a sword of power! The Helbringer is coming now, and if you know the future then tell me how to stop it?’
‘I already have.’
Telmar was about to argue when Cronos waved away his protests.
‘I have followed you all of your life, my friend. Though my powers are vast, I can only manipulate humans through dreams.’
Telmar frowned as he thought on this, then he gasped. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? You are the one who has been feeding me dreams of the Door!’
Cronos nodded. ‘Nevertheless, not all of it was my doing. It seems I had some outside assistance that was not part of the plan.’ At this point he turned to look at Basilisk propped up against a wooden stool on the other side of the king’s cot. ‘Isn’t that right, Styx?’
The Glemmarstone orb spun on its emerald cradle, and gave off a faint white light that lit up the inside of the tent. Harlequin floated towards Cronos.
‘Hello Eighthan,’ it said. ‘You have changed.’
‘That name holds no meaning for me now, Eighthan the Elder is dead, so too is Styx, we are all that is left of their legacy.’
Telmar was watching them both with interest. The whole scene was so surreal. Before him were two of the Eldi from an age long gone, some two millennia ago. Yet here they were, if not in flesh and bone, then in spirit and mind.
‘I have seen the Mastirton Maelstrom,’ said Cronos to the Powerball. ‘I use it to travel with the Door. Truly you were a genius when alive, Styx, its potential is truly astronomical.’
‘A lifetime’s work, sadly it is unstable,’ said Harlequin.
Cronos stood and nodded. ‘Even though, therein lays your salvation.’ He started to fade.
‘Wait!’ said Telmar. ‘How can the Mastirton Maelstrom stop the Helbringer?’
‘The question is not how, but when,’ said Cronos as he faded and disappeared from sight.
‘He never was good at revealing secrets, was Eighthan,’ sighed Harlequin.
6
The snow outside his tent was a foot deep as Telmar dressed in his mail, chest plating, and long black leather boots with steel greaves and silver spurs. He also placed the gold circlet of monarchy on his head, fumbled with the harness buckle of Basilisk’s sheath as he strapped the sword onto his back, and threw on his silvery grey travel cape. He then crossed to Count Talien’s tent and woke him.
‘I have to go somewhere, my friend. I leave you in command of the king’s army; Jarl Olav is to be your second. Hold out here until I come back.’
‘Of course, your majesty,’ said a sleepy Talien. ‘But where do you go, and for how long?’
‘I go to Dulan-Tiss,’ replied the king. ‘As for how long, that is in the fate of the gods.’
Before the count could get out of bed, the king was gone. His squire had saddled his horse. He had taken only one skin of water and a small gauze bag of cheese and dried meat from the quartermaster.
An hour after leaving the camp, and having negotiating the steep slope that wound its way through the woodlands of the foothills, his army was stirring in the frigid dawn air behind him.
‘What is the plan, master?’ asked Harlequin.
The king chuckled. ‘After all this time, I should have realised why father gave me Styx’s Grymward. It describes the use of Energy Bridges for Driftwalking.’
‘Driftwalking can only be accomplished by a powerful Ri,’ informed Harlequin. ‘The harmonic balance of Rawn Arts is the only way to transport one’s self through the Dragon Lanes. Rawn Masters, like you, do not have this ability.’
‘True, Harlequin, true. I may not be able to transport myself through the Dragon Lanes on my own, but you can.’
The Powerball was silent for a while. ‘How long have you known?’
‘Not long, although I suspected as much when you appeared in my dreams in faraway places and far away times. You have been travelling the Mastirton Maelstrom, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but only to gather information.’
‘I see. Now if the Grymward is right, I should be able to use an energy charged Glemmarstone device, that’s you, to create an Energy Bridge from one stone circle to another and safely travel via the Drift.’
‘Or it may turn you inside out,’ informed the Powerball, which did not sound comforting.
They travelled for most of the morning through thick coniferous woodland along a narrow game trail. Several times throughout the journey they heard the distant sounds of movement and saw dark shapes flitting through the trees. He knew his forward scouts watched this area and they had come back with reports of Elkin’s soldiers saturating the western woodlands. Telmar kept to the north west of the wood’s tree line to avoid any confrontation with the enemy. The highlands that undulated near the lake were thick with forest, but it thinned as it reached the lowlands of Haplann, eventually becoming broken and sparse. He headed north until he reached thicker woodland of birch heralding the start of the Haplann Hills proper. Staying to the east, he avoided Caphun, even though the count was retaining his neutral rights in this conflict, Telmar did not doubt he would have spies watching his borderlands.
He travelled throughout the night and only stopped to sleep for a couple of hours. In the morning he reached a wide valley that led into the hills and it was there that he stumbled across a Berserker patrol. Many of his soldiers guarded the route along the Haplann forests and the hills. Reports of Prince Kasan moving his host from the northeast were numerous and Count Talien and Jarl Olav had urged the king to watch the eastern passes. Cokato received this task and Telmar had not seen him in over a month.
The patrol escorted him to Cokato’s base camp, which was a small cave above a narrow ravine.
‘It’s good to see you, Lord King,’ said a surprised Cokato, who was dressed in full war gear of padded jupon and furs. ‘Though I did not expect you.’
Telmar waved away the comment. ‘Apologies, Aelfric, I’m just passing through. I head off shortly
for the Rings of Port.’
Cokato regarded him for a time, and then nodded. ‘I will have refreshments brought to us then I will escort you myself.’
The king nodded and smiled. ‘It would be an honour, my friend.’
7
‘This Door of yours has come to the capital then, has it, sire?’ asked Cokato as he rode his mountain pony alongside Telmar’s taller gelding.
The king’s stern face was the only answer he needed. They had travelled in silence for over two hours, only stopping by a partially frozen burn to allow the horses to drink. A light flurry of snow had greyed out the sky for most of the day.
‘From what I have discovered, through my own research and your Loremaster’s memories,’ said Telmar, ‘the Helbringer is sent to collect volatile energy that is trapped within the Dragon Lanes and then takes it to nourish the Earth Daemon. This energy is Pyromantic in nature.’
‘Like yours?’
Telmar shook his head. ‘Not exactly. You see, the energy in the earth belongs to the Earth Daemon and is raw power. They are the component parts of him that must have broken away during his long war with the Old Gods. The power I have has been tainted or evolved somehow, because humans are one of the Five who Speak.’
Cokato was frowning.
‘Put simply, the My’thos found one of five intelligent creatures on this planet with the ability to hold Pyromantic Energy, and alter it enough to become a potent poison to the Earth Daemon.’
‘I see, so you are the only one who can fight it?’
‘It would appear so, though I don’t rate my chances, but I have to try.’
Later that day they arrived at the high plateau where the tall thin standing stones of the Rings of Port stood, like silent sentinels in a snow-capped field. Long ago the Elders discovered that they had the ability to transport themselves through the Earth’s energy matrix via the stone circles, which stand over interconnecting streams of Dragon Lanes, the lifeblood of energy of the Earth Mother, a mysterious entity that could only be described as the soul of the planet. Moving through these matter streams of energy to other stone circles on the island is known as Driftwalking.
‘I thought only Ri had the ability to travel the Drift, sire?’ queried Cokato.
‘In theory, yes,’ informed the king. ‘But the Elder Styx, who discovered Driftwalking, hypothesised that a Rawn Master could, possibly, Driftwalk too, if he had a portable energy charged device to create a harmonic bridge from one circle to another. The bridge acts as a protective barrier that encases the traveller and shields him from the worst effects of the trip.’
‘I take it you have such a device?’
Telmar smiled, ‘Harlequin!’
The Powerball spun and glowed on its cradle. ‘Yes, master?’
‘Are you ready?’
‘I suppose so,’ he said morosely, ‘though I must point out that this is only a theory and has never been attempted before.’
‘Duly noted,’ said Telmar as he and Cokato dismounted and walked towards the ring of tall stones.
‘The Hinterlanders believe that no matter how evil a man in life is, if he sacrifices himself to save others then his soul is bound for the Valhol, and will be respected by the gods,’ said Cokato.
‘That’s good to know, I will keep you a seat,’ chuckled the king.
‘See that you do!’ With that both men clapped hands to wrists in farewell. ‘I thank you for saving my life, sire, and for giving me a purpose,’ Cokato said with some emotion in his voice.
‘Let’s hope I can continue that purpose,’ said Telmar as he stepped into the circle and stood on the low central dais. Harlequin still spun on the sword at his back. ‘Let’s do this, Harlequin. The Rings of Dulan, and don’t spare the horses,’ said the king.
‘Very droll, master,’ said Harlequin. The stones flashed once as the Powerball activated the energy field underneath. There was a strange metallic smell in the air around them and Cokato stepped back from the edge quickly. The gaps between the stones thickened with haze.
‘This is going to hurt isn’t it?’ asked the king as he felt pressure build in his ears.
‘Probably,’ informed Harlequin.
Telmar gave a quick wave to Cokato and promptly vanished. A loud cracking noise echoed around the mountains as the air rushed into the vacuum where he stood a split second ago.
Cokato turned back to mount his horse with a heavy heart.
This was to be his last meeting with Telmar; he would never see the king again.
Helbringer
‘I am what I must destroy.’
King Telmar of the Vallkytes, Baron of Tressel and Lord of Dorit Lorne
1
Telmar was still waving when he appeared on the stone dais of the Rings of Dulan. He looked around, dumbly at first, and then he recognised the snow covered plain and the distant mountains of the Dutresi that sat on the far northeast corner of the continent. It had been nightfall for two hours and this surprised him, it was daylight when he left, but the trip was instantaneous.
‘Well, that wasn’t so bad,’ he said, and grinned broadly.
Then the pain hit him. He felt cold and numb to begin with, and then the painful feeling of pins and needles cascaded along his entire body and organs. He fell onto his knees and groaned.
‘Gods, how do the Ri put up with the pain?’ he said.
‘According to Lord Styx’ memories, it gets easier after a dozen trips or so,’ said Harlequin, who now floated in front of him.
‘I hadn’t planned on that many.’
The Powerball floated away, and then hovered on the outer southern edge of the twelve standing stones. ‘I think we are too late, master.’
Telmar realised he was facing north. He stood up unsteadily and turned south to look at the distant city of Dulan-Tiss and saw a burning ruin instead.
‘We are too late,’ he agreed with a sad nod, and then he sat heavily on the dais and clutched his head.’ I have failed. I should have stayed inside the city and waited.’ He felt hope leave him to turn the pit of his stomach cold, this only caused the Pyromantic energies to form. He tried to control his emotions, and failed miserably.
He slammed his fist on the dais in anger. ‘This cannot be right!’ he shouted and stood up to look at the tall columns of flames leaping upwards from the burning city. He looked from the fire to Harlequin as he floated in the gap between two bluestone monoliths and the image of his earlier dream came back to him. This time, this place, everything was so familiar. It was at this moment he was to have an epiphany; one that could save the city, and he knew that somehow Cronos had placed it in his head.
‘Of course!’ he cried. ‘How could I have been so stupid? It’s staring me in the face!’
‘Master?’ said Harlequin.
‘The Mastirton Maelstrom. All we have to do is use it to go back in time and stop this event,’ he said as he pointed to the destroyed citadel.
‘Ah, that would be unwise…’ began the Powerball, but Telmar cut in.
‘Tell me, Harlequin, does the citadel burn? Is that what is says in the history books?’
‘Actually no, but it will be destroyed by fire in the future during the Dragon Wars,’ chirruped Harlequin.
The king was surprised at this. ‘Really?’ Then he waved his hand for Harlequin to ignore the question. ‘It does not matter. It is not supposed to burn now, which means we succeed.’
‘But master, the Mastirton Maelstrom is unstable,’ implored the Powerball. ‘It is too dangerous to use. Going back in time to a few days ago will take precise calculations?’
‘Nevertheless we need to try; besides, I have seen the Door appear inside the Arch, long ago, and I think it was sitting in the main throne room of Parliament Hall. Come; transport me to the circle under the ruin of Dorit Lorne Castle, quickly.’
Telmar turned and stepped onto the central dais, but Harlequin did not move. Instead he emitted soft darts of light that produced a shimmering shape, which wavered in fr
ont of Telmar to form into a perfect holographic representation of his father. He looked exactly as he did when he last saw him in the Vault room as boy.
‘Son, do not do this, it is folly…’ he said.
Telmar stepped off the dais. ‘Stop this Harlequin! I know this is not my father but a projection made by you. Stop this now!’
Efron wavered and shrunk to turn into a young girl that Telmar knew well; the fourteen-year-old Namwi. The king gasped at the sight of her.
‘Namwi?’ he whispered. He was so shocked by her beauty that a tear sprang to his eye, ‘Oh, my Namwi.’
‘Hello, beloved Telmar,’ she beseeched him softly, ‘the Powerball is right. Meddling with time will have dire consequences for the future…’ Telmar screamed, unsheathed his sword and swung it at the image of Namwi. It passed through her. She became faded and unfocused.
‘Harlequin, I order you to stop!’ he shouted. The fuzzy image turned black and grew taller, suddenly filling out into a black-cloaked figure about seven feet tall with a distinct menacing presence. Telmar stumbled backwards in fear until his backside landed on the dais.
The creature before him was tall and thin with long spidery white fingers that looked as brittle as old bones. He pulled back the hood to reveal a pale face, hairless and with a small, almost non-existent nose with protruding cheekbones and thin lips pulled back over a neat row of white teeth. His brow furrowed into a severe expression over sunken pitch black eyes that only gave back a tiny orange light of reflection from the flames. There were no ears and his chin was strong and prominent. To Telmar the creature’s features were very much like a skull. He did not know why, but he knew what this thing was.
‘Blacksword!’ he cried.
The Blacksword extracted a pseudo image of the Sword that Rules from a scabbard strapped to his back and pointed it at Telmar’s chest.
‘You are a fool, Telmar, a worthless worm!’ he hissed in a harsh whisper. ‘Your plan to use the Mastirton Maelstrom is doomed to failure. Soon you will meet me, because everyone that dies will meet me in the end.’