by P D Ceanneir
Many weeks after leaving the Assassi Oasis, they found a vast lake with a huge forested island at its centre; Gurio called the island Marte Kenthul, Isle of Crabs. The island’s main indigenous population, apart from the blue backed crabs, were many sure-footed antelope. Therefore, the hunting began.
They had spitted one of the antelope and cooked it slowly over hot coals for the better part of a day and the crew drank the rest of the Firewine that Gunach was rationing out. The occasion was one of funereal benefit to Tia, as the Paladins, in their formal green uniform, carried a makeshift coffin on their shoulders. Inside was the purple robe of the ex-Havant. They solemnly burnt the coffin and its contents on a large pile of logs.
While the crew looked at the burning coffin with a feint look of sadness on their faces, Tia was smiling; she felt emotionally and physically separated from the Havant Order and because of the mock funeral, felt closer to the crew, they were her new family now.
‘Yes, the Elders felt that the Elementals were freaks, mutants of the Rawns,’ continued Ness Ri, bringing Havoc back to the here and now. ‘So when they left with the Roguns and the Vallkytes to live on Tattoium-Tarridun they charged the remaining ancestors of the Elementals to look after the Citadel of the Assassi. A bitter-sweet honour, seeing as the oasis was drying up.
‘This they did to the best of their abilities, but they were few in number and areas of the citadel fell into disrepair. After a hundred years or so, they found out that the oasis was dying. My hypothesis was correct about the lowering water table. The citadel dried up a very short time thereafter.’
‘So they built the pyramid to produce water and use it to irrigate the areas of the citadel that they lived in,’ said Havoc.
‘Correct, unfortunately the pyramid was to be their undoing,’ added Lord Ness.
‘They say here,’ said Tia, as she passed over a piece of parchment to the prince, ‘that they never got a chance to use the water tower because of the appearance of the First Enemy.’
‘The First Enemy would be the Brethac then?’ said Havoc.
‘Yes, though they never called them the “Brethac” until later in the war that kicked off shortly after their arrival,’ said the Ri. ‘They are also referred to as the Firstborn, I have heard Mistress Cinnibar speak of them.’
Lord Ness glanced at her then, though ignored the faux pas of Cinnabar’s name. ‘They are one of the Five Who Speak,’ he said. Tia frowned; clearly she had no knowledge of the old legends. Havoc and Lord Ness informed her of what they knew about the Five Who Speak from Baron Telmar without mentioning the baron himself.
‘Where does it say they originated from?’ Lord Ness asked her as she shuffled through the parchments.
‘I found that out the other day,’ said the prince. ‘It explains where they came from but not how the Assassi knew where to look in the first place.’ Havoc said, and showed him the notes he jotted down. In fact, he had found out plenty of information about the Brethac. The Assassi Elementals had been thorough in their research about the Vul’yoi and the Korzac. The Brethac, in the form of the Vul’yoi, had come from something called a “Borehole” near an ancient My’thos temple. The remaining people of Assassi learnt that the Vul’yoi, or the Firstborn, had come from deep underground, banished there by the Old Gods. This confused them, why would the My’thos banish such kind and harmless creatures that looked so childlike, yet mature and very much sexually responsive.
‘You mean these Elementals coupled with the Vul’yoi?’ asked Tia in disgust.
‘Yes they did. It appears that the Elementals found them irresistible. Their mating produced litters of children that were completely similar in looks to the mother. Seems the Vul’yoi did not do anything on a small scale, they also gave birth on the same day of mating and the young grew quickly,’ said Havoc.
‘What about the Brethac Korzac?’ Lord Ness asked.
‘There is a record somewhere mentioned that the Assassi only saw the Vul’yoi in daylight and called them the “Daylight Children”. They would disappear before nightfall, where they went to no-one knows. It was only a matter of time before the Korzac found a way into the citadel at night. They slaughtered the men, kidnapped and raped the women to produce more Korzac-Vul’yoi. Soon, the Assassi suspected the Vul’yoi and the Korzac were one in the same so they captured several of the Daylight Children and caged them till they changed.’
‘So they got their answer,’ said Tia nodding. ‘But all they needed to do was hunt down the Vul’yoi and round them up.’
‘That would be the smart thing to do. However, they could not find the Vul’yoi’s lair. In addition, as we already know, they are immortal. Kind and thoughtful fruit eaters, harmless and of low intelligence, but immortal, none could be killed as they would heal instantly from sword cuts. It seems that they are very strong in the water element; this is possibly, why they call the water tower the Brethac Ziggurat. They are mortal in their Korzac form and we know how hard it is to kill them. Anyway, daylight brings them back to life again. It was going to be a war they could not win, a war that went on for a number of years until the Elementals finally gave up’.
‘So they erected the cenotaph and left for pastures new. I wonder why they did not send for aid,’ pondered Ness Ri. ‘They tell us on the monolith that they left for a high and cold place, “Mountains of snow and ice” to the north east, “a place, known to them”, apparently. There they found the gateway to Mortkraxnoss at the far end of a high narrow valley were once a year the Guardians “show the way to the island”. This must be the place the sultan was on about, where the floating isle of Mortkraxnoss comes to rest for a while.’
‘How long is a while, Master?’ Havoc was dreading the answer, he watched as the Ri shuffled through the paperwork and then pulled out a torn white sheet from his notebook.
‘Ah, here it is: “the floating island of Mortkraxnoss appears every two years at the end of a High narrow valley in the lands with Mountains of Snow and Ice. It will wait for the Keeper a day and a night, and then move on. The Guardians will show the way to the island”.’
The Keeper, said the Blacksword as a whisper in Havoc’s mind now that is interesting. Havoc ignored him.
‘A day and a night,’ said the prince, ‘not long then, and we have to be there before it disappears again or we will have to wait another two years.’
‘That’s assuming we find this valley,’ put in Tia.
‘Where the valley is, is immaterial, because all we need to do is find the descendants of these Elementals. The draft goes on to mention that they plan to live near the valley and leave a second marker for “those following on behind”,’ said Lord Ness. ‘Let’s head a course for the north east and pack for cold weather.’
‘No, not yet,’ Havoc held up his hand. Lord Ness gave him a questioning look as Havoc rummaged around the paperwork on Ri’s desk and pulled out a charcoal rubbing of a map taken from the cenotaph.
‘I am going to speak to Guiro first. He knows this land better than we do. I want to find that Borehole.’
‘You’re worried about what Gunach told you, aren’t you?’ asked Lord Ness. The prince nodded, while at the same time, thinking back.
The dwarf had not seen the Brethac in their daylight form until Oasis Varich, since then he began to act strangely. The two Vul’yoi chained in the hold were guarded day and night. When they changed into Korzac at nightfall, the guards would put an arrow into their heads until daylight brought them back to life. This was only a precautionary measure, at night, dead Korzac were no trouble, by day the docile Vul’yoi were no threat to anyone.
Gunach did not appear to think so. On the first day, he had sent the guards away and he sat and watched the two albino creatures as they ate fruit and tried to engage him in conversation with their limited vocabulary. He just quietly stared at them with his trusty axe on his lap. Havoc, on hearing of Gunach ordering the guards away, found him sitting in the same position in the darkest area of the hold.
&nbs
p; ‘Three hours away from your forge, my friend. Are you feeling alright,’ Havoc quipped as he sat cross-legged beside the dwarf. He noticed, by the half-shuttered light from the lantern on a nearby table, that Gunach gave him a token half-smile, yet the smile did no reach his eyes. Dwarves always showed amusement in their gaze, whatever the situation. The lack of it worried the prince more than he cared to admit.
‘I know you jest, Kervunder, but what I see before me fills me with sadness,’ said Gunach.
‘Tell me.’
He sighed. ‘Dwarf legends tell us that a long time ago the Goddess-queen Morgana grew the Loran Talathu - the Tree of Life. From this tree, she created three creatures. The first to flower from the buds came the Elvenkind, from the roots came the earth diggers, the Dwarves, and from the bark, she created our so-called protectors, the Felwraiths; the less said about them the better.
‘I will not bore you with the details of how Morgana became corrupted by evil and the Felwraiths followed her into war with the Elves and Dwarves. She was eventually defeated and imprisoned. Unfortunately, the bonds we shared with the Elves were broken so we Dwarves became wanderers in the world. Yet, we did not forget the War after Creation, as we called it in those days. Tales told to us as children by our elderfolk tell of those dark days. Most of the old tales are found in the GHurinissol, The Book of the Elder Days. Exquisite lithographs accompany the stories within the book and I was one of many to see my father’s old copy when I was younger.’ He stared silently at the two Vul’yoi who were silently watching them as if they knew what the dwarf was saying. Havoc felt a shiver run down his spine.
‘There is a picture of the Morgana at the beginning of the book,’ Gunach continued, lifting a podgy finger to point at the two occupants of the cage before him. ‘The resemblance is uncanny.’
Havoc looked from Gunach to the cage and back again, ‘this Morgana, your Goddess, was a Vul’yoi?’
Gunach stood up and hoisted his axe shaft over his wide shoulders. ‘Whatever it is you plan on doing with those two,’ he said nodding towards the captives, ‘do so without emotion, show no pity or guilt. Sometimes it is better to be a monster when you are dealing with evil. I’m sure the Blacksword would agree with me.’ With that, he left prince alone in the darkness, as alone with another man sharing his mind as he possible could be.
He is right.
‘I know.’
You can sense something is wrong about them, can’t you?
‘Yes,’ the prince sighed.
Then they must be dealt with.
‘I know. They will be.’
...beyond the ruins sat an earthen mound much like a burial Howe yet more circular than oblong in shape. Guiro took them to the entrance, but waited outside. There was no outer door, just a corridor that spiralled into the centre of the construction. On the way were many long niches hollowed out of the earthen walls, which held bones or mummified bodies in funereal wrappings. Most looked ancient and crumbling. They also passed timeworn statues of Korzac, smaller that actual size, yet the Vul’yoi shied away from them nonetheless as Ness Ri dragged them along by their collar and chains.
At the Howe’s centre lay the Borehole. It was a large circle of stone twenty-feet in diameter covered in pictograms and Skrol. The stone sat beside a huge black hole in the ground. Even through the torchlight, no one could see the bottom in the echoing darkness.
‘More deep holes,’ sighed Lord Ness. He was referring to the Maw that they had entered to rescue the Wyvern. Now it was just a collapsed cavern after several well-aimed cannon balls fired from the Cybeleion before they left the oasis. They had also found the fruit grove and the black water tower destroyed and entirely covered in desert sand and rock from the collapsed ceiling above. There was no sign of the Vul’yoi.
Havoc was scrutinising the pictograms on the Borehole cover. He pointed out the obvious outline of a cloaked man holding a sword to the Ri, who nodded when he recognised it.
‘Interesting,’ said Lord Ness. ‘So is this one,’ he pointed towards a large orb with hundreds of tentacles coming out of the top. ‘The Skrol beside it says, “Dark Tanis”.
Havoc was tracing his finger over a picture of a door flanked by fluted pillars and topped with an arch, which had smaller pictograms inside it. An intricate carving of a bald-headed man seemed to be floating beside the door on it’s left side, while on the right was a tall monstrous creature with huge horns. There were many other carvings and Skrol etchings. Lord Ness was going to have his work cut out for him unravelling it’s mysteries.
In the centre of the stone cover was obviously an Orrinn. It was small and made of a mixture of silver and gold that gleamed as it shone back the torchlight. Most of the Skrol and pictograms lay inside a spiralling runnel of white quarts that fanned out from the centre.
‘This Orrinn seals it,’ said Havoc with confidence. He was frowning deeply at the Skrol symbols that surrounded the central stone with the Orrinn inside it. ‘The Cantrip is long and complicated to close it.’ The Muse Orrinn on the Sword that Rules glowed to add emphasis to his comment.
‘Yes, but can you do it?’ Lord Ness asked.
The prince nodded, ‘yes, but that is not what is worrying me. If closing it is difficult, whoever opened it had excellent knowledge of Skrol workings.’
The chains rattled. Both the Vul’yoi stared into the hole. They had not shown fear before. Now it was evident on their faces.
‘They obviously remember,’ said Havoc. He nodded once towards the Ri.
Lord Ness had thought hard about how he was going to do this. In the end, he decided on the quickest and easiest way. He summoned the wind element and used it to grip both Vul’yoi in a hardened mass of air. He lifted them up and over the Borehole.
It was then that both girls began to scream.
‘I am so sorry,’ he said with much emotion in his voice, ‘but you’re far too dangerous to stay.’
The he let go of the element.
The Vul’yoi’s screams were torturous to listen to as they fell into the darkness. Havoc barely heard them as he concentrated on reciting the Skrol Cantrip that activated the Orrinn and willed the cover stone to move. It shifted slowly to finally seal the opening and block out the screams.
Seven Months Later
Somewhere in the Wildlands
A man stood in the middle of the dirt-track road.
Sycamores and chestnut fringed the woodland track. Winter was setting in and the brown leaves of the trees covered the damp ground under his feet. He stood alone, though others waited in bushes beyond the tree line on each side of him to spring the trap. He wore a dark green hooded rain cape that only hung down to just below his knees. Green armoured boots showed below the hem. When the sunlight filtered through the gaps in the trees the boots strange iridescent colour shifted into a variety of shades. The man was of medium height and slightly built, although the shape of the rain cape betrayed the tight fitting armour beneath.
The minutes passed by until the ground trembled under his feet. The man did not move as the two hundred strong cavalry troop of Kelang Horseboys rounded the bend in the road about a hundred feet to his front. The sizeable force wore black carapaces made from Ferington Woade, which was a cheap form of chain mail armour fashioned from goats wool dipped into a special concoction of chemicals. When dry, the wool hardened into a form that was as hard and flexible as leather, durable and, if well oiled, would last it’s owner a long time. They also wore steel skillets with leather cheek guards that gave them the name of “Flatheads”. The captain, who rode in front of the column, was the only one to wear a conical helm and black horsehair plume poking out of the top. He slowed when he noticed the lone man standing in his way in the middle of the road. He held up his hand to halt his men. The horses jittered and snorted as they halted. Each rider looked around them at the woodland, several pulled out short grey javelins about three feet in length from a canvas tube at the side of their saddles, and they held them, ready to throw.
The captain tentatively trotted forward, glancing into the trees. He was not happy about the thickets of shrubs beyond the tree line and up the woodlands slopes. Such foliage could hide many soldiers.
‘You there!’ yelled the captain, ‘this is the road of the Nithi Overlord, Mad-borath. Step aside, man!’
The man shifted, but only slightly. He looked up. His completion was swarthy, there was no emotion in his eyes, and he seldom smiled.
‘Who are you to stand in my way? Move aside, I say!’ cried the captain who was now close enough to notice the green armoured boots the man wore. His frown of annoyance turned to wide-eyed fear.
‘I?’ said the man clearly above the captains snorting steed. ‘My men call me Dark Mactan.’
‘Your…your men?’ the captain whipped his head towards the silence of the woods, his hand on the pommel of his sword.
‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘the men that are going to kill you and yours!’
Sir Mactan, Paladin-Knight to the De Proteous and Captain of the elite infiltration unit from the Raiders known affectionately as the “Dark Company”, stepped forward and flung open his cape. In one fluid motion he un-holstered his Spit Gun and shot a black wolfram-tipped bolt straight into the face of the captain. The bolt shattered the rider’s nose and punched a small hole out of the back of his head. Before the captain’s body had time to hit the ground, Mactan took out two more riders.