The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  “What is that?” Tevvy whispered, pointing to the area just west of the entrance.

  Rokwolf looked where Tevvy pointed. “It looks like spider webs but the size of the webs, visible to us from this distance, would have to be made by a spider of monstrous size; I wonder. . . .”

  “I thought I must be seeing things,” Tevvy said, “so does that mean the rumors are true?” He shuddered.

  Rokwolf nodded. “That must be where the other sponsum bring their offerings to worship, the home of Spenthronsa, evil queen of the sponsum. It is believed that she is in nature equivalent to the ponkolum, Gar’s most powerful, and most faithful, servants.”

  “I think Klare was right,” Tevvy admitted, “we are in over our heads.”

  Rokwolf was frowning. “There has to be a way to get inside,” he noted.

  Harsh laughter sounded behind them; as Tevvy turned to see what it was, he was struck from behind, slipping into darkness to the sounds of guttural laughter.

  Chapter 15

  Never trust the superficial circumstances; never rely only on what you see, especially where Gar’s most trusted servants, the ponkolum, are concerned: they will deceive you for their own pleasure. . . .

  Attributed to Fereghen Wulfrik, ruled 983-1027

  Captain Dalbar stood in surprise as squad after squad followed their tall, sandy-haired commander with half of his face covered, through a strange, shimmering gray archway floating in the air. All of the seklesem wore pins on their shoulders indicating that the rumors were true: the Feragwen had reorganized the legendary Seventh Legion. Dalbar was captain of the company stationed at the Forsaken Outpost; his left arm was held in a sling and his head was bandaged, making his short, black hair stick straight up from the top of his head, further enhancing the look of surprise he wore. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks looked hollow, witnesses that he and his company were overwhelmed, so the seklesem sent to replace them were a welcome relief. He smiled weakly as he heard the young legion commander shouting for his troops to double their speed; he saluted as squad leaders jogged past, all leading horses. He recognized one of the seklesa, who mounted her horse and rode toward him when she saw him, dismounting next to him.

  “Captain Dalbar,” she greeted him, saluting smartly.

  “Captain Kella,” he replied, returning her salute. “You have done well.”

  “Thanks in part to your training,” Kella replied.

  “And many others’ along with mine, I’m certain,” Dalbar added. “When I asked for help, I did not expect the Feragwen to send me the legendary Seventh Legion.”

  Kella smiled. “We are here to help you deal with the sponsum,” she replied. “Our commander sent the First, Third, Fifth, and Seventh companies to patrol the road, while sending my Second, the Fourth, and Sixth here to aid you.”

  “Is that the commander?” he asked, pointing to Delgart.

  Kella nodded. The supply wagons rumbled through the shimmering archway along with more squads of the Seventh Legion.

  “I’ve heard some wild rumors about him,” Dalbar noted. “Did he actually kill two aperum single-handedly?”

  “He did have the support of his squad,” Kella noted, “but, yes, he did. I led one of the squads nearby in the same company, so I saw him do it.”

  “And the krugle, megatrem, and the purgle, also?”

  Kella nodded. “They wanted to make him the new potikoro, but the Feragwen chose instead to reform this legion and make him commander. They had a difficult time choosing among all those who wanted to join this legion: I heard that nearly every seklesi who survived the battle north of Reema volunteered. There is not one of us who would not follow him anywhere.”

  Dalbar was surprised by this. “That sounds like hero-worship, maybe even mindless adoration,” he noted. “That kind of attitude could lead to trouble later on.”

  Kella shook her head. “No, say rather that his natural ability to lead is that good: he has only been with us for days, and yet it seems he was born knowing how to lead us, in spite of spending the previous twelve years of his life enslaved by pirates.”

  “That is astounding,” Dalbar replied with the look of surprise returning and a slight shake of his head.

  “I only hope that you have the opportunity to see him in action,” Kella said, “although he is taking his command squad into the Mariskal for reconnaissance, after which we will launch a combined assault on Morokolu, as it is our belief that the source of the alteration in both the sponsum and the wedaterem emanates from there.”

  “Well,” Dalbar said, looking in awe at the companies of seklesem coming through the shimmering archway, “it looks like you are well-prepared to handle it.”

  “Commander,” Dalbar said, saluting.

  Delgart returned his salute. “Captain Dalbar, I’m Delgart, commander of the gwenakso; the Feragwen sent us to deal with the problem in the Mariskal,” Delgart said, and seeing a slight tightening around the captain’s eyes, he went on in a lower voice, as the Feragwen had instructed him, “and she wanted me to assure you that our being sent was not an indictment of your ability to lead. Had it not been for the attack on Shigmar that happened at the same time, and I believe the two are related, help would have come sooner.”

  Dalbar relaxed slightly. “Thanks,” he said, softly. “I feared . . . ,” he started to say, but Delgart interrupted him.

  “You were overwhelmed by superior numbers,” Delgart said. “Now, do you have detailed maps of the Mariskal?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’m especially interested in details on the attacks of the sponsum.”

  “Inside,” Dalbar nodded, “if you follow me, commander.” He turned to go.

  “I’ll follow you in a moment,” Delgart replied, turning to his messenger who stood a few steps away; Dalbar nodded and left. “Forsonta, have Marilee pass the order to set up camp, send the scouts in a sweep around the fortress, and then bring the command squad and the three captains inside.” Forsonta nodded once and jogged away to find Marilee; Delgart watched her go then turned to follow Dalbar into the barracks where his office was housed.

  As the road west from Kilnar began to climb into the foothills of the Mountains of the Firm Star, it reached a plateau running north-south, parallel to the mountains, about ten miles long and five wide at its widest point. The road turned south following the plateau, traveling about five miles, the mountains climbing steeply to the west, falling into the swamp to the east, crossing over one stream before coming to the tall, wooden wall surrounding the Forsaken Outpost. Passing through the gate, the road went south another three miles before crossing a second stream that cut across the plateau and into the area occupied by the few merchants who resided here, along with the Forsaken Inn. The road turned west at this point, passed through a second gate, and entered the long, narrow pass through the mountains. The seklesi barracks were on the north side of this second stream.

  Delgart pored over the maps spread across the conference table in Dalbar’s office. “The attacks have come from these directions,” he noted, pointing to the east and southeast on the maps.

  Dalbar nodded. “As they increased in frequency over the last couple of weeks,” he added, “we cut down any tree within twenty-five yards of the outer wall, as the sponsum were suddenly able to throw their webs from the trees to the wall.”

  Delgart nodded. “I got the sense from your reports that the sponsum also seemed to be coordinated as they attacked: any idea how they communicate with one another?”

  “None,” Dalbar replied, shaking his head, “they do make an odd sort of sound, but as far as anyone can tell, the sound never changes.”

  Delgart thought for a moment before shrugging. “That does not mean that it is not their form of communication,” he said, “just because our ears cannot hear any difference.” He pointed to water channels marked on the map. “These channels are marked too deep to cross without boats or bridges: is this information still accurate?”

  “As far as
we know,” Dalbar replied, “although we have not been that close in quite a while. There are many bridges around the swamp that cross these deep channels at strategic points around Morokolu, but they are heavily guarded.”

  “If the sponsum regularly visit their queen,” Delgart went on, “how do they approach her? I cannot imagine them using this bridge here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “unless they are getting along with the swamp wedaterem, but you have not reported such an alteration in their behavior.”

  “No, the two groups still avoid each other,” Dalbar replied, “so I suppose they have some other way to approach her.”

  “And the sponsum are all concentrated along the west side of the swamp, next to the mountains,” Delgart noted. He tapped the map thoughtfully for a moment. “Somewhere around here, I think,” he said, pointing to an area just west of Morokolu and the spot marked as the home of the queen of the sponsum.

  Dalbar nodded. “Since they can bridge the gaps between trees and the deep channel is narrow there, you may be right, but how can we use it?”

  “I want to attack Morokolu from two directions,” Delgart replied, “from the north with four companies and from the west with the other three, giving my special team time to enter Morokolu and deal with the source of the problem: a morgle who has stolen the Rod of Melbarth and used it to alter both the sponsum and the wedaterem.”

  “So your legion’s attack is a diversion,” Dalbar said.

  “Not completely,” Delgart replied, “since we will significantly thin the numbers of both groups and hopefully, bring things back to normal.”

  Dalbar smiled wryly. “If you are right, but if not . . . ,” he left it hanging.

  Delgart returned his wry smile. “Let’s not consider the alternative,” he noted wryly, “at least not yet.”

  They sat silently for a few minutes before the door opened and the others started to file into the room and taking up every bit of space in the room, most of them having to stand. When everyone had entered, Delgart looked at Dalbar. “Is there anyone here unfamiliar to you?” he asked.

  “I recognize nearly all the seklesem,” Dalbar replied, “having worked with the older ones and trained many of the younger, although I do not recognize your messengers, second sword and shield, Sixth Company Captain, or these others, who must be your ‘special team,’ as you called them.”

  Delgart nodded. “Our messengers are Forsonta and Nofero, sister and brother,” he pointed to each in turn, who nodded, “Mitha, Hranda, and Captain Akwora,” again, each nodded as each was named and pointed to, “this shining kortexi is Sir Blakstar eli kerdu ghebi,” who nodded and blushed, “the maghi beside him is Master Thalamar, son of Hierarch Kalamar, who we call simply Thal,” who smiled and nodded, “and the kailum are my brother Master Klaybear and his wife Mistress Klare. It was by means of Shigmar’s staff, carried by my brother, that we moved here directly from our staging area in Holvar, and the kortexi’s sword, the sword of Sir Karble, sent four companies directly to the central camp on the road between here and Kilnar.”

  Delgart looked around the room, then back at the maps. “Time presses,” he said shortly, “and we need to go to the camp on the road as soon as we finish. Commander Marilee will remain here and take charge of the Second, Fourth, and Sixth, whose task it will be to drive the sponsum first east away from the fortress, then south to this point: my suspicion is that they have some way here,” he pointed to a place on the map, “where they can cross this deep channel to visit their queen here, west of Morokolu. I want you in position within 48 hours.”

  Marilee nodded as did the three company captains.

  Delgart turned to Dalbar. “We brought an extra company of regulars to reinforce your company here,” he noted, “so we will leave you in charge of the fortress with orders to keep any merchant caravans here until we have cleared the road.” Dalbar nodded once, so Delgart went on. “I will take the command squad, along with my special team to the camp following this meeting. We will leave Klare there,” Delgart said and paused for a moment, turning to look at his brother. “It suddenly occurs to me that we should leave breath-giver with her and not bring it into the swamp,” he spoke to them in a low voice.

  Klare exchanged looks with Klaybear, Thal, and Blakstar, then looked back at Delgart. “The thought had also come to us,” she replied in the same hushed voice.

  Delgart nodded and turned back to the others. “We will then move south into the swamp, avoiding contact as much as possible, to get as close as we can and find out as much as we can. Our hope is to give the special team the opportunity to slip inside of Morokolu, if possible. If not, we will withdraw to the camp. By that time, Rellik and the other captains should have cleared the road; we will divide into two groups, drive south here, and here,” he pointed to places on the map, “and secure this bridge. At that point I will signal Marilee, and she will drive east and take this bridge, and once we have both bridges, we will move south and east: Marilee’s eastward thrust should draw off some of the wethem and wedaterem guarding the gate, making it easier for us to drive south and take this bridge, giving our special team entrance into Morokolu, along with at least one company to begin clearing the inside, leaving the rest of us to deal with the sponsu queen.”

  “What if you can get your team inside when you first approach?” Dalbar asked.

  “Then Klare can bring us directly back to the camp where we can begin the assault,” Delgart replied, “and if anything goes wrong along the way, she will be in a position to remove those elements from trouble.” Delgart looked around. “Questions?” Heads shook all around. “All right, let’s be on our way.”

  Tevvy woke with a start; his cell was dark but that did not defeat his awemi eyes, and he found himself in a small, square room, barely four feet per side, five feet high, a small hole in one corner that emitted a foul reek. The door was three by three, with only a small slot in the bottom and a small square in the top. He checked himself over carefully, and laughed softly to himself–idiots! They had not taken anything from him, not even his weapons! Either they were really stupid, or. . . . He thought carefully about it for at least half-an-hour: was it another trap? Or, perhaps, did they think him so inconsequential, so powerless, that they did not fear him, even with all of the tools of his trade and all of his weapons? He sat motionless for another thirty minutes pondering. Coming to no reasonable conclusion, and hearing no sounds outside of his cell door, he moved closer to the door to examine the lock; as soon as he touched it, he was surprised when the door slid open and light spilled into his cell. He sat back, again motionless, waiting for something to happen or some sound; the minutes ticked slowly by in silence, but he did not move. When another half-an-hour passed without any motion or sound, Tevvy ventured to peer outside his cell door, ready to pull back at the slightest hint of motion or sound. He saw only a long, empty stone passage, lit by torches, running in either direction, with similar small, square doors across from him and on either side. He entered this long hallway and moved to his right, going from door to door and listening for sounds from within each cell before pushing each door open; he found all the cells empty. At the end of the hall he pushed open the last door and found, instead of the small hole for a latrine, the entire floor open and covered with a lattice work of metal bars. He looked down through the bars and saw Rokwolf hanging upside-down, naked on the wall of a cell below this one. A steady stream of what must have been sewage was pouring down on him; Tevvy saw his body jerk and go limp and heard a familiar wail that faded into harsh laughter. But something about the scene was odd, since the stream of sewage, which had stopped, had to be coming from right where Tevvy knelt. The awemi felt all around the edges of the bars for any way to open them but found nothing.

  “Rokwolf,” he called down in a soft voice. “Rokwolf!” he called more loudly when there was no response to his first call. “Rokwolf!” he shouted, and he heard his voice echo down the hallway behind him, but the seklesi could not hear him, or could n
ot respond. Tevvy checked the bars carefully for any way to open them, and, finding none, shook his head and crossed the dead end hallway to work his way down the other side. Three doors down, he found another room with a similar floor, and he saw a ponkola standing next to an opening exactly like the one he, himself, looked through. Her reddish-black, leathery wings were half-opened, and she licked her lips with relish.

  “She nearly has him there,” she said suddenly, “start them pouring!”

  Tevvy now noticed other figures, purem with whips, lashed more naked figures with their feet chained together; the figures began to carry buckets to a nearby hole in the floor and pour the sewage through.

  “Keep ‘em going!” the ponkola shouted, and the whips cracked. The figures hauling the buckets moved faster, and Tevvy realized that he recognized many of them: students from his father’s school. For the second time, he checked the bars for a way to open them and found none.