The Immortal Mystic (Book 5)

by Sam Ferguson

Gilifan nodded. “I would.”

  “This is not a sound plan,” Serndar put in. “We suffered a major defeat from the dragon.”

  Gilifan held up a finger. “But, now you know to expect him. Furthermore I will fight alongside you.”

  Maernok looked up and a wry sneer curled his lips at the corners. “You would speed our victory?” he asked. “You do remember the terms of my debt?”

  Gilifan nodded. “Just remember you have to wait two days after Ten Forts falls.” He narrowed his right eye on Maernok for a moment and then looked back to the others. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve that can aid you.”

  “No magic,” Maernok was quick to throw in. “That is a dishonorable path to victory.”

  Gilifan chortled. “Victory is victory. How a battle is won is not important. All that matters is that it was won.”

  “I disagree,” Maernok said sternly.

  “And that is why you will never defeat me,” Gilifan concluded. “Now, as for what I have to offer, I believe even Maernok will approve.” He turned to the hallway and called out. “Gersimon, come in.”

  Gersimon strolled in proudly, a grand smile upon his face. He marched up to the table and unrolled a yellow parchment over the table. The orc chiefs stepped in for a closer look. “This is my battering ram. It is made of solid iron, with a steel cap over the ram itself.” He stepped back and waved his hand at the design. “It takes a team of twenty to move. It can destroy the gates.”

  Maernok snarled at Gersimon. “And how, may I ask, did the two of you meet?”

  Gersimon’s proud smile vanished and he fumbled with his fingers.

  Gilifan stepped in. “As you know, I was quite close with your predecessor, Chief Gariche,” Gilifan began.

  Maernok narrowed his eyes on the necromancer and growled low. “I am aware that you helped him murder my father and scheme his way to become the chief,” Maernok said. “I was also the one who found the two of you scheming together in Gersimon’s home when Gariche died suddenly.”

  Gilifan smiled and held Maernok’s gaze. “And then you became chief,” he said. “What a lovely turn of events for you. It seems everything has turned full circle, as it were.”

  Maernok clenched his fist and his body stiffened. “When did you two meet?” he pressed.

  Gulgarin stepped between them all. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said. “Let them present the idea for the ram. If it helps us conquer Ten Forts, then all is well.” The orc looked to the other two chieftains for support.

  Gerarn and Serndar voiced their agreement.

  Maernok bit his tongue and gestured for them to proceed.

  “As I was saying, the ram is made of solid iron and requires twenty people to move it.”

  “Solid iron?” Maernok echoed. “That would take a team of oxen to move. We’ll never get it close to the gates.”

  Gersimon shook his head. “Not so,” he said emphatically. “I have been testing it while the army marched to this location. I actually brought it here with a team of twenty she-orcs. The design is flawless.”

  “Where did you get she-orcs?” Maernok asked.

  Gersimon smiled. “I asked for volunteers. They were eager to help you, my chief.”

  “I didn’t authorize that,” Maernok snarled.

  Gersimon bowed low. “I apologize, my chief. You had taken all of the males. So, I asked for volunteers. The she-orcs are all single, and they come from the lands outside of our city, where males are scarce. They were eager to aid you, and did not want to dishonor their village by not sending in volunteers.”

  “I have done similar things at times,” Gulgarin commented.

  Serndar nodded. “I will be sending out for more volunteers as well, to replace those who fell today. I will likely include she-orcs.”

  “Tell him about the fire,” Gilifan said, moving the presentation along.

  Gersimon nodded. “I improved upon the original design and changed the cap of the ram. The ram has two openings in the front that will spray oil over the door with each strike. Then, it is simply a matter of lighting it to weaken the door.”

  “What about dragon fire,” Gerarn pressed. “Surely the flame of a dragon could destroy it. I don’t see any Telarian steel.”

  Gilifan stepped forward. “That is where I come in,” he said. “I can transmute the metal.” The orcs looked to each other with confused frowns. “I can change it to Telarian steel.”

  “Magic,” Maernok grumbled.

  “Not directly aimed at the enemy,” Gulgarin put in. “It might work.”

  “With a dragon in their midst, I don’t see another way to protect the ram,” Serndar added.

  “Do not let your pride blind you from your victory,” Gilifan told Maernok.

  The other chiefs turned and watched Maernok. The orc’s face darkened as blood rushed to his cheeks and forehead. His eyes grew hot, and would have likely consumed Gilifan in a single blink if they had had that power. “I will move my warriors to the west. The other chiefs may decide for themselves if they wish to follow a meddling magician and this contraption to the gates.”

  “The term is necromancer, my dear Maernok. A magician does parlor tricks, I alter the very fabric of the realm, and can extend my reach to other planes.”

  Maernok walked around the table and stood close to Gilifan so that his hot breath forced the necromancer to take a step back. “I swore before to kill you. I intend to see that through.”

  “Then you should get your warriors inside Ten Forts,” Gilifan said. “For you will never be free to pursue me until your debt is paid.”

  “Careful, necromancer,” Maernok cautioned. “The longer you talk the more enticing it is for me to slice your throat and rip out your insolent tongue.”

  Gilifan sneered and nodded quickly. Maernok pushed by, jolting Gilifan’s shoulder and exiting the chamber. “Well, Maernok is nothing if not stubborn,” he said to the others. None of them laughed. “Make your choice,” he said. “Shall I alter the ram or shall I let you continue to waste your warriors until the dragon is transformed?”

  “Change the ram,” Serndar said. Gulgarin and Gerarn nodded their agreement.

  “Very well. Serndar, Gerarn, come with me,” Gilifan said.

  “Gilifan,” Maernok called out.

  The necromancer turned expectantly. “Yes, Maernok?”

  “I want you to remember always that I work with you only because of the token of debt you hold. Had you come without that, I would have set your head above my mantle.”

  “Oh, I know, dear Maernok. Believe me, I know full well.”

  Maernok folded his arms and glowered at Gilifan. “Then remember also that after Ten Forts falls, and my debt is paid, I shall visit you upon the third day. This I say in front of all the orc chiefs. I don’t want any of them to think there is any love between us.”

  Gilifan nodded and smiled.

  Gulgarin and the other two orc chiefs looked to each other and then back to Gilifan. Gersimon gathered up the parchment and motioned for them all to follow Gilifan. The three orc chiefs and Gersimon followed the necromancer out of the caves. Once outside Gilifan stepped to the side and waited for Serndar and Gerarn to pass. Gersimon also continued on, stuffing his parchments into containers and chatting up the other two chiefs to give Gulgarin and Gilifan a moment of privacy.

  “Remember our deal,” Gilifan said.

  Gulgarin nodded. “Maernok will die upon the battle field,” he promised.

  Gilifan smiled. “I will remove these two before the sun sets today. Then you have only to win the hearts of the tribes before you strike Maernok down.” Gilifan sneered. “Then the orcs shall bow to a new high king.”

  Gulgarin nodded once. “And we will have our lands back,” he said.

  “All the way up to Pinkt’Hu,” Gilifan promised.

  The necromancer turned then and hustled to catch up with the other three. They walked along the road. The orc chiefs cast nervous glances to the sky every few moments. Gilifa
n kept his eyes focused straight ahead, however. He knew the dragon would not dare to fly again today. He led them down the main road south that led beyond the hills. The rocks and prominent weeds showed that the road had not been cared for since Ten Forts was erected and the orcs had been driven far to the south. Once, it had been a major thoroughfare for the orcs as they traveled to their northern cities, but now it was marred with shrubs, broken rocks and blocks, and pitted with holes caused by the weather over the years. Still, it was far faster to walk along the old road than to forge a new trail through the dense forests. They continued on toward the south for several hours until they found a clearing in a field of tall grasses.

  Off to the side sat a gathering of she-orcs sitting around several cooking pits. Unlike the male warriors at the front, they were dressed in light leather clothes that allowed them to focus on pushing the mighty ram without being weighed down by armor. A few packs were strewn about the encampment, but certainly the group was traveling light. None of them acknowledged the newcomers. They sat eating from clay plates and talking amongst themselves. About forty yards away from them stood a large, iron contraption. Six massive wheels made of iron were locked in place with large stones to keep them from rolling. Above the chassis stood an impressive array of trusses and struts, all designed perfectly to support the gargantuan ram’s weight. Thick, black chains held the ram in place. The ram itself was fashioned into the head of a dragon, with a snarling snout and bared fangs. There wasn’t a single piece of the ram that wasn’t made of iron.

  “By Khullan’s bones,” Gerarn said. “That is a beast of a battering ram.”

  “Come,” Gilifan said. “I need your help.”

  “Help?” Serndar echoed with a puzzled look. “We don’t have any magic.”

  Gilifan nodded and pointed to the front of the ram. “Come and help me. I need you both to hold the ram.” Gilifan turned to Gersimon. “Have the she-orcs step back.” The engineer hopped to and shouted at the team to move back from the ram. Gerarn and Serndar moved into position near the front of the ram and waited for instructions.

  Gilifan pointed to the ram itself. “Climb on up and place your hands on either side of the ram. I need you to keep it from swinging. It is vital that you both keep it absolutely still.”

  Gersimon approached Gilifan once more and whispered. “Gulgarin sent the she-orcs from his tribe. They are sworn to my service,” he said.

  Gilifan nodded. “Then see to it that each of them swears to the story as we agreed.”

  Gersimon smiled wide. “They will.”

  Gilifan gestured for Gersimon to return to the she-orcs, then he turned back to the two chiefs. “Remember to keep it absolutely still.”

  The two orc chiefs nodded and clambered up onto the contraption. They placed their hands on the ram and pressed hard, holding it in place.

  Gilifan smiled. He pulled a small piece of Telarian steel out of his pocket and set it on one of the lower support beams. Then he pulled a black, onyx stone from another pocket and held it before his face. He started to mutter a phrase in a low voice.

  Wind picked up around them, throwing leaves and bits of grass everywhere. As if pulled by a large magnet, the orcs lurched forward, pulled in tight against the contraption. A dark mist spiraled down from the sky and touched upon the onyx stone. Gilifan continued to recite the incantation over and over as the mist moved into the stone and the onyx began to glow. The wind around them became stronger, nearly ripping Gilifan’s cloak from his body.

  The onyx first gave off an orange hue, and then it turned blood red. The stone grew and flattened, waving as if made of shiny cloth. It hovered over the battering ram and grew until all of the contraption was under its shadow.

  Gilifan then looked to the two orcs stuck to the battering ram. They were struggling against the spell, but there was no sense in fighting, Gilifan knew.

  “Your brothers will thank you,” Gilifan shouted into the horrendous wind. “A sacrifice must be made for the transmutation. Your willing offering will ensure our victory.” The necromancer raised his left hand and pointed to Gerarn and Serndar. A sickly green light issued out from his index finger like a great snake, extending and slithering toward the orcs. The green light split in twain, one tendril slipping into Serndar’s mouth and the other penetrating through Gerarn’s nostrils. The orcs twitched and their muscles tensed. All went still for a moment. The onyx blanket above floated still, the wind ceased, and there was no sound. Then the orcs threw their heads back and cried out in a desperate howl. The green light erupted from their throats and struck the onyx above. The black, shiny covering fell over the whole of the battering ram, swallowing it and the orcs in its darkness.

  A series of green lightning bolts erupted from under the covering while a pair of large, gray bolts struck from the sky. The onyx hummed and morphed, wrapping itself over every curve and angle on the ram. A white glow from underneath intensified. Gilifan knew that was the Telarian steel. It would meld with the onyx and transform the battering ram. The white glow spread in a matter of seconds. Lightning continued to strike the onyx furiously under the clash of a continuous thunder that threatened to rip Gilifan’s ears apart from within. The wind swirled again, this time so forcefully that Gilifan stumbled a bit to his right.

  The very atmosphere around the battering ram grew heavy. Gilifan had to fight through a horrendous pressure on his body in order to complete the spell. Blood trailed out from his right nostril and over his upper lip. Droplets were whisked away into the wind. The necromancer paid it no mind. He narrowed his eyes on the morphing material in front of him and held his concentration until at last there was a series of seven lightning bolts, each as thick as a tree’s trunk, that blasted the battering ram from above.

  A great clap of thunder shook the ground and all went silent once more.

  Gilifan dropped to his knees and put a hand to his nose to stop the bleeding. When he looked up, he saw not the battering ram of wood and metal he had seen before, but a great machine entirely made of Telarian steel.

  “No dragon’s breath can break you,” Gilifan said with a wicked smile. “It may take a thousand orcs or more to crush the doors, but bodies we have.” Gilifan pushed up to his feet and looked to the orcs standing near the road. “Come, we have a fortress to conquer.”

  Gersimon was the first to approach. “Your magic is indeed a work of dark art,” he said.

  The necromancer paused, as if frozen where he stood. A voice entered his head. No, not a voice, just a thought. Something had happened at Demaverung. Takala needed his help. Gilifan regained his focus and then noticed Gersimon staring at him curiously. Gilifan nodded and pointed to the battering ram. “I trust you can get this to Maernok on your own? I have some things I need to check on.”

  Gersimon nodded. “When it was only made of iron I thought it was a beast, but now…” Gersimon’s words trailed off and he stared in wonder. “We shall crush the gates with this.”

  “You said before it could withstand dragon’s fire,” Gilifan said. “Now, it actually will.”

  *****

  The moment the necromancer entered Demaverung he could feel that something was horribly wrong. None of the acolytes would return his stare, and others simply ran away or bolted their doors at his approach. Had Tu’luh been angered? There was no way for him to know. So he began his way up the tunnel. The air inside the volcano was as hot as it ever was, stinging his lungs with each breath. He looked up to the rubies and diamonds glittering in the wall like brilliant stars above the stark granite floor. The fact that none of the gems seemed to be humming gave him pause. Gilifan stopped and strained his ears while staring up the tunnel.

  Silence was all that greeted his ears. He looked to his left and saw a middle-aged woman approaching him. “Takala is in the master’s chamber. He expects you there. Others have been assembled.”

  He turned and increased his speed up the tunnel without responding to the woman. At last he came to the end of the tunnel. It op
ened into a large chamber. A great hole was situated almost dead center, with hot steam and smoke rising up out of it. To the far side on the right was a pile of gold coins and gems that made the hallways seem like costume jewelry by comparison.

  Takala and a group of others stood around the edge of the pit, looking down. Gilifan moved forward, walking to the edge of the pit and looked down. Down below he saw the twisted, rigid body of his master. His face soured and he turned away from the sight at the bottom. “When did this happen?” he asked.

  Takala looked up with a sober expression and answered for the group. “I called for you just as soon as I found out. The acolytes summoned the other elders, who had been out gathering firedrakes for an assault on Ten Forts.”

  “Where were you?” Gilifan asked.

  “I was also out in the valley,” Takala replied. “I was gathering some of the mercenaries we had hired. Our reinforcements are on their way to the westernmost walls of Ten Forts and should add significant strength to the orcs.”

  “What difference does that make now?” one of the elders asked.

  Gilifan nodded. He turned away from the pit and looked at the other elders of the order that stood nearby.

  “What do we do now?” one of them asked.

  Gilifan stood silently. He knew of the egg, but none of the others did. He turned to Takala and looked at the man for a moment. “Where do your loyalties lie, Takala?” he asked.

  “You have the power to raise men from the dead,” Takala said quickly. “Couldn’t you raise the master back?”

  Gilifan sighed. Even if he still had the amulet, raising a dragon was beyond his power. He would need the book for that. The only problem was, he needed a dragon to use the book.

  “I knew this was a waste of time,” one of the elders spat. “I have been sitting here waiting for the master’s return for all of my life, only to have him come back just in time to die at the hands of one man! This is ridiculous.”

  Gilifan reached up with his hand and a magical vice wrapped around the elder’s throat. “It was your job to secure the lair.”