Alliances

by B. T. Robertson

  "This way.” The marked man led them through the sea of Klull-folk toward the northern end of the ringed clearing.

  The wind picked up speed and blew across the clearing, bringing dead leaves and pollen with it. Even though it was winter in every other part of the northern lands, the home of the Klull people was a mystery wrapped in a riddle. Nothing the elves had seen up until then perplexed them more. Magic was expected—to a lesser degree, of course, but still expected. Menishka'dun's coming was a huge surprise, undoubtedly. But this place—the race of hidden beings, the assumed resting place of the second of the Elfstone fragments, an uncharted section of land, and the supernatural weather patterns—this was the place they knew they were supposed to find.

  The marked man stopped about fifty paces from the northern edge and pointed. “There,” he muttered, not daring to go any further.

  The elves exchanged glances; Farrin kept an eager grip on his axe handle. But when they saw what the marked man was gesturing at, they all gasped in sudden recognition.

  Through the massive redwood trees, no more than ten paces beyond the threshold, was a grove of smaller trees. Each was covered in blood oozing from the bark and down into the ground.

  "The bleeding trees again,” Aerinas surmised, remembering the look of them in the woods only the night before at the foot of the same mountain.

  "Did the same magic make this happen?” Ithyllna asked, directing the question at Aeligon even though she was staring at Aerinas.

  "It would appear so...Pux has gone silent, which means magic is strong here. He's trying to identify it, but I've never seen it go on this long."

  "Why did you not identify it in the woods a night ago?” Tristandor asked, scowling.

  "I did not feel the need to waste the time when we had more pressing things with which to be concerned,” Aeligon retorted. He turned back to the grove and scratched his chin. “Besides, neither Pux nor I felt the magical presence then like we do now; the sources of each of these occurrences may not be the same."

  "There is no such indication,” the Elf-Lord pressed. “The trees are bleeding just like Aerinas and Ithyllna reported before. It must be the same energy responsible.

  "Not if magical fingerprinting is what we learned of it back in Lunathar.” Pux's face formed in the head of his wooden prison. “Tristandor, magical energy in Vaaluna leaves behind a distinctly different—how should I say it?—signature. Each being gifted with the ability to sense and use the magic—of what we now know is bound, in some way, to the Planes—leaves behind a unique pattern of energy which lingers on long after the magic was used."

  "How does this happen, young apprentice?” Tristandor was obviously challenging the youth into defending his position, while using tactics only a high Elf-Lord and politician could use: belittlement and skepticism.

  "It has been written that normal magical energy, of the type most practiced by today's wizards upon expulsion, never returns to the world as the same magical energy it was before. For example, this type of magic requires some sort of ingredient or set of ingredients to make it work, because magic has already been put into those items from previous magical energy expulsions. So, if I were to, say, use normal magic to conjure up a stone golem like the one Menishka'dun let loose on us, I would have to have a particular stone possessing a small amount of Nominscia Magic, which is easily sensed by all wizards."

  "All elves possess such magic in some form or another,” Tristandor said, unimpressed. “What is your point?"

  "There is another kind of magic, Elf-Lord: Wild Magic, which we wizards call Aicsnimon, the anti-Nominscia Magic. If you'll notice, Aicsnimon is Nominscia spelled backwards. Wild Magic puzzles the strongest of wizards even to this day. Until recently it has not had a truly identifiable source. Why do you think it's so hard for Aeligon or me to sense it, yet Aerinas feels it throughout his whole body? Let the One who can sense, light the path. Sense, in this case, means to sense the Wild Magics—that's my theory."

  Pux looked at Aeligon, who nodded—a sign of confidence. “We believe it may be tied to the Planes of which Aerinas’ book speaks."

  "You mean to tell me the magic which made trees of Vaaluna bleed is something from another world?” Tristandor asked, his eyes focusing hard on Pux.

  "No,” Pux answered, shaking his head. “I believe this universal magic works, though violently in this case, on every possible world, which means it's part of Vaaluna as well.” Pux turned to look at Aerinas. “This may explain your son's inexplicable use of magic without ingredients of any kind. Magic doesn't come from nowhere, but it doesn't have to come from items of Vaaluna to work."

  Aerinas’ mind began to whirl again. Pux is right! Somehow he just knew he was right. The young conjurer, though jesting, joking, and whining the entire trip, had made a convincing argument and offered a tantalizing explanation for what was happening.

  Tristandor, chuckling and chewing on his lower lip in defeat, put his hands behind his back and walked over to Pux. He eyed him for a few moments, then smiled. “You have done well, my young conjurer. Aeligon must be proud. You have convinced me to accept your theory as one of many possibilities to consider."

  Aeligon winked at Pux, who, though his face was forever walnut in color, blushed. Then he turned to the marked man. “I think we've seen enough of this place. You mentioned they took your stone. Can you show me where you kept it?"

  The marked man turned and silently walked to the center of the clearing. The party followed, and so did the crowd of Klull.

  "We missed this the first time through,” Aeligon noted when he came up beside the marked man to see what he was gazing at.

  There was a circular stone disk no more than a foot in diameter set into the ground in the tall grass. There were intricate markings around the edges, assumed to be the work of the Klull masons. In the center of the disk was an empty divot, angular and asymmetrical, which appeared to have once contained an object meant to fit inside.

  "It used to be here,” the marked man said sadly. “But he came from trees and stole it from us."

  He had seen enough. Aeligon rose to his feet, slammed his staff into the ground, and rose up on a thin disk of shimmering light.

  "People of the Klull, hear my voice!” The thunderous echo of Aeligon's powerful words shook the walls of the ring. “We need your help in this dark hour. The stone that was imparted to you to protect was the second of three fragments belonging to a very powerful artifact. If the ones responsible find all three fragments and complete the artifact, this world, and potentially many others, will be in grave danger. We need your help. Will you give it to us?"

  The silence was like a graveyard's. No one moved or spoke, only exchanged fearful glances with one another.

  The marked man looked around, then stepped closer to the hovering wizard.

  "Wizard, I speak for these people, even though I was punished for my failures. We would help you, but the Klull only fight from the sky. I'm afraid our birds have fled since the stone's disappearance. It is a curse sent down from the one who trusted us with the stone's protection. It is a sign that —"

  "A roc's loyalties lie with his leader, and he went to find him."

  Aerinas’ eyes grew wide with excitement. He turned to look across the sunbathed clearing to the spurs overhead.

  "Wesnoc!” he shouted.

  "The warbird!” the others hailed.

  "Look! They have returned!” the marked man exclaimed, jumping up and down.

  From the northern sky, riding the rays of sunlight from the western horizon overlooking the clearing, flew a host of roc warbirds. Wesnoc was perched on the largest of the spurs circling the redwood ring, with a gleaming silver armor plate around his neck and chest, and a studded black leather saddle on his back. Etched into the breastplate was the symbol of the roc race: a black roc with its four sharpened talons poised.

  "Boy am I glad to see you,” Aerinas said when he reached the point where Wesnoc had landed on the soft grass carpet. The
two embraced each other warmly. “Where'd you run off to, you silly bird?"

  "After I lost you in the fog of Salanthanon, I knew there was little I could do for you from then on. “I went to Lunathar and found one of my birds pinned on the city's spike. I'm assuming you all saw the tragedy when you made it there. I quickly made for my home to see if the same fate had befallen my kinsmen, but I found them looking for me, and quite desperately I might add. Upon hearing about what happened to the stone here, and knowing what happened at Lunathar, I readied them for conflict."

  "Why didn't you tell us about the Klull people here?” Aerinas asked.

  "You never asked, and it didn't seem to be of any importance at the time. I was given a mission by Kruna, and I stuck to it. Nothing else mattered but getting you to Gudred. However, we soon found your trail leading to Caran, and it was easy to figure out where you were headed. And here we find you."

  "And not a bad place to find you either,” Aerinas added, slapping Wesnoc's royal breastplate. “I had no idea you were the leader of such a large herd of roc warbirds."

  "Flock, Master Aerinas. And yes—I am their leader."

  "And a lucky lot they are to have you."

  "You are not alone in this fight against evil, but we bring even worse news you may not know,” Wesnoc offered. “There is an army of dark Kelornian elves marching on Dunandor as we speak."

  Aeligon pushed through the crowd. “What? Jjyn Cormulan is an industrialized fool, but would he be stupid enough to open Kelorn to this war?"

  Wesnoc shrugged his feathered shoulders. “It appears so. I don't think he means his army to fight beside their Kraynish counterparts."

  Tristandor was fuming. “Of course he does not mean to fight beside us. We are different from them in every way imaginable, and Jjyn's only cause for this fight is to gain profit and power, nothing more. Thus he can continue to expand his precious iron-plated refuge beyond the Creshtuns."

  "In any case, his army is large, and is being led by a mighty solider said to be unstoppable. His name is Sebon. We found out by snatching one of the lesser soldiers in the night while they camped west of Lake Fenduin. We forced him to tell us before we dropped him from a thousand feet up."

  "Oh great, another ambitious, militant schemer looking to claim what is his,” Farrin barked.

  "The unfortunate Kelornian revealed more. Sebon has been genetically altered in some way. Though the soldier simply didn't know, he told us that Jjyn had Sebon put into his hospice there for a prolonged period of time. I don't know what it all means, but it sounded bad."

  Aeligon lowered his head. “This is getting worse with every news report we receive. Jjyn Cormulan's delving into the Black Arts is nothing new to my ears. Ever since his father passed away, Jjyn has been consumed with finding a way to reach him. He turned to Haarath and the Black Arts to help him find that path, but it seems he's sold his loyalties to his people for Haarath's cause. I don't expect to find Haarath and Jjyn crossing swords with each other when they arrive in Dunandor."

  Wesnoc stretched his wings out and screeched. “We fight alongside the elves and wizards, people of the Klull tribe. Will you ride with the rocs again and defend Vaaluna?"

  The Klull raised their bows and spears and dart guns into the air, shouting, “For Vaaluna, for Vaaluna!"

  Wesnoc lowered his head and whispered to Aeligon and Aerinas. “The Klull may be primitive, but we have developed an aerial attack so devastating and unique that Jjyn and Haarath will never expect it. Wait and see.” He winked.

  "How long do you need?” Aeligon asked.

  "Two weeks, at most. We need to get some material from the east and prepare for war. We can make it to Dunandor in less than three days. Since it will take you and the elves longer, I suggest you get moving right away. We'll catch up with you along the way, and look for you from above. With all of the rocs’ eyes watching for you, unless you are underground, we'll find you. Just be ready. Once the attack is launched, there's no turning back."

  "I understand. We'll make haste in getting to Dunandor. We'll take awhile to cross the Quagmirth to the west, but, from then on, it's smooth sailing all the way to the Dragon Mountains."

  "Just be careful, Aeligon. You never know what surprises await you on this quest."

  "No need to remind me, my friend.” The wizard smiled and ran his hand over the warbird's neck feathers. “And thank you, Wesnoc. It's good to know we have an ally."

  "Don't mention it. Rocs share this world with all races; we don't want to see it destroyed."

  Wasting no time, Aeligon and the elves raced to the exit at the other end of the ring. And out of the Lion's Ass, Aeligon mused. The Klull scurried about, preparing for the coming war; warbirds landed to aid them with their work. The Klull tribesmen opened vaults in the grassy clearing and rolled large black iron orbs out onto the flat, which were loaded into sling instruments and hoisted into large wooden carts. Aeligon took another brief moment to watch the secret society mobilize their strength, harmonizing with the rocs in an effort to prepare quickly. The wizard had no idea what was in store, but he suspected they had found a strong alliance with both the warbirds and the Klull.

  A tribe who's had its holy shrine defiled is more an enemy of evil than any army mustered by the will of the gods.

  Aeligon thought back to his writings in the catacombs of Gudred, which seemed eons ago. Another part of their quest was complete, but much more lay ahead—that never seemed to change. He would have to lead the elves through the Quagmirth, home of the Moor Goblins and the deadly Djinn who had imprisoned Pux many years before, back through the Hollow Wood where Aerinas had faced certain death at the razor sharp claws of the direwolves, and, finally, into Dunandor, a wasteland where they would struggle to find the underground chambers of the lost city of Trunith, while facing an assault from Haarath's and Jjyn Cormulan's armies.

  Home, where has it gone?

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  Epilogue

  Jjyn Cormulan's army camped at the northern edge of Merchindale, just inside the border dividing it from Dunandor. He expected Haarath to enter from the Unodin Pass to the west, so the Kelornian Dark Elf-Lord chose the southern pass through the Dragon Mountains as his entry point. Jy'Shandan's specter had ordered his son to change the original plan of confronting Haarath at the Unodin Pass. He sat alone in his royal tent, made of black material as opaque and murky as the onyx of his spike tower home. A quivering soldier scout, clad in black armor, was standing before him.

  "My lord, we didn't discover Argis missing until earlier this morning. We could find no trace of his abductors."

  "Where was the night watch during this kidnapping?” Jjyn asked coldly, eyes half-closed and accusing. “They neither saw nor heard anyone enter the camp to take him?"

  "No, M'lord, no one saw anything. Perhaps Argis was a traitor and fled."

  "Perhaps,” Jjyn answered, standing. He walked slowly toward the fearful scout, a tactic Jjyn wielded well to strike fear in hearts and make knees quake. “Do you know what I'm trying to do here?"

  "We're sacking Dunandor, M'lord,” the scout answered, unconfident with his answer.

  Jjyn smiled. “Soldiers are so simple. Sometimes I even envy you. Yes, I am trying to sack Dunandor, but do you know why?"

  The other shook his head.

  "A power, dormant for countless ages, lies there, and Haarath thinks he's going to take it for himself. I'll let him toy with it for a time, but in the end it will be the Kelornians who take hold of this power. It has been promised to me."

  The scout stared blankly at his leader, unsure of what to say or how to process the information.

  Jjyn suddenly leapt forward and grabbed the scout by his throat. Pulled close, the scout could feel Jjyn's boiling blood rushing through his hands. “Which means, you worm, that any suspicious activity is to be reported to me immediately, and the night watch is not to fail me again! Every happening results in eternal ripples affecting many. I want you to find out
what happened to Argis, or I'll have your head on a spit for Dunandor's crows before the sun goes down."

  The scout turned and fled the tent. Jjyn went back to his throne, and bade the servants and slaves leave the tent.

  When he was finally alone, he sat down on the floor next to his father's shrine. He took it with him everywhere he went, but it was imperative he consult with his father's specter regularly on this trip.

  The smoke smelled sweeter than it ever had before. Must be the Merchindale air . . . it doesn't hold the industrial smog Kelorn does. Once the ritual was complete, he felt a renewed strength to continue on, and a new resolve to locate Trunith. Whether it be for Haarath's glory or his own, he didn't know or care. Only one thing mattered—Jy'Shandan was proud of his son's actions.

  Employing the same tactics He used when He watched the wizard and elves step inside the catacombs at Gudred, the menacing form watched Jjyn bed down for the night in Merchindale.

  "As big a fool as the wizard,” the deep voice groaned, accented by the environment's tortuous screams. “Each of them struggle for power they think I will grant them, power they think is theirs to master.” Laughter echoed along the edges of the Nether, the writhing of the lost souls growing in its wake.

  He turned to another hole to watch Haarath the Sorcerer march his Drothghight creatures across Anwarna to the Misty Falls. “And you . . . you dare imagine these creatures were born of your hand. How foolish you are to forget the power to create is hailed only from a god's hand. You will realize the truth too late in the end."

  Finally, He opened a hole to the party of elves led by Aeligon. But, He focused his attention on Aerinas. “Ashinon's strength is powerful in you, young elfling. But it will be no match for my power once I return with the Power of the Three. Your precious Vaaluna will be the launching point for my wrath, and it will begin with your destruction. The Chosen One of Sheevos will die, and all Ashinon and Aeligon hold dear will be lost . . . lost and tortured like I have been for so long until I found the way."