"Mael, I need you to make another journey."
Mael placed a long cloth marker in the book and closed the cover. He stood and faced Mortow.
"Whatever you require, Master."
Mael was a nearly a foot and a half shorter than Mortow, with light blonde hair, bordering on white. Even though he could be no more than thirty five years of age, his features made him look much older. His eyes were a very pale gray set in a thin featured face. His body, even encompassed by the black robe, could be called nothing but stick like. Mael was not quite up to Maklin’s level of power, but what he lacked in power he more than made up for in cunning and finesse. The man was ruthless and unshakable. Mortow found it slightly disconcerting that Mael seemed to fear nothing, not even him.
"I have sent Maklin to carry a message to Rydon in the elven city of Trelom. I need you to join him there. Rydon has not kept his people in check as he was instructed, and at least some of the Forest Guard joined Merric."
"Is this to be a lesson, then, Master?" Mael asked without expression.
"It is. You and Maklin are to teach Rydon the cost of failure. Refrain from killing him. I want it to be a lesson, not a cause around which the elves might rally. We want them cowed, not rebellious."
"Understood, Master. Finesse instead of force," Mael said with a slight twitch of a smile.
"Precisely. I leave the details in your most capable hands," Mortow affirmed smiling himself.
Mael folded his hands into his sleeves, bowed, and disappeared on the words of a spell.
Mortow glanced around the library once more and shook his head. When Merric is removed and Kantwell reduced to rubble, then this place will be as it should be, breathing with the life of students studying magic the way it should be taught. Those of our ability were not meant to serve. We were meant to rule as only we can. Mortow then spoke a few words and vanished, leaving the library completely empty.
He reappeared in a large workroom on the ground floor. Two huge trolls were working a large block of black marble with hammers and chisels. The one facing him looked up from his work and bowed deeply. The bowl and stem of the stand had taken on definite shape. They were making good progress.
"Talg, I see you are as good as your word."
"My Lord, you honor me with your visit. This is my son, Hern," Talg replied, gesturing to the other troll who turned and bowed as well.
"My Lord," Hern acknowledged with deference.
"I must say, I am pleased with the speed at which you have been working. How long until it is finished?" Mortow inquired.
"It should be done by tomorrow evening, my Lord. We will work through the night to make sure you have it by then."
Mortow nodded.
"I eagerly await its completion. Send for me when it is finished, and I will see to its placement."
"Yes, my Lord. It shall be as you have commanded," Talg assured him.
Mortow again spoke the words of a transport spell and returned to his study.
"Damned inconvenient to be without my personal scrying basin. But, the trolls are almost as good as the dwarves at working stone and have assured me that Talg is the best among them." Mortow returned to his chair and laid his head back. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep knowing that, any moment, Rydon would be experiencing a most unpleasant visit from a very ingenious man.
Far from Gratton, in the Elvish lands of Trelom, a very angry Rydon was raging at a man in black robes standing in front of him. Rydon continued to pace back and forth, yelling and screaming curses, the delivered message crushed in his right fist.
"We had an agreement! My people were to be left out of this. We want nothing to do with the outside world. Now Mortow wants me to allow his armies to pass through our lands! He must be…" whatever Rydon was going to say was cut off in mid-sentence by the appearance of another black robed figure in his living room.
"How dare you come into my home uninvited?!" Rydon screamed.
"It is insult enough that one should be so bold, but two..."
Rydon’s tirade was cut short by a barked command from the newly arrived figure. Maklin, his own black robe swirling slightly with his movements, had turned at the unexpected arrival, to find Mael standing confidently to his left. Maklin smiled slightly to his peer. Mael merely nodded to him and turned his gaze to face the seething Elder.
"My Master, Mortow, has bid me come here to instruct you on the consequences of failure for those who do not keep their promises," Mael announced.
"I don’t give a damn what your Master bids. This is my home and my land," Rydon returned.
"Oh, I think you will care. You will care very much. You see, I am here with instructions that Maklin and I are to discipline you for your failure to keep your people under control and contained within Trelom," Mael said flatly.
"How dare you presume…?"
"I presume nothing, and I have heard enough of your tongue for one day. Habitum in locus quod silentium." Thus speaking, Rydon’s body went rigid, and he was rendered incapable of speech.
"Ah, silence is truly golden, don’t you agree elf?" Mael asked mockingly, with complete disdain as he spat the word elf. Seeing Rydon’s face livid with rage, Mael smiled wickedly at him. It was the first expression Rydon had seen on the man’s face since his arrival, and it gave him chills. Mael turned to Maklin.
"Do you have any preference for the intended lesson?" Mael inquired.
"None, as long as it is a lesson that’s not readily forgotten. It seems our little elf here holds himself in the highest esteem," Maklin reflected.
"Aye, shall we start with a bit of humiliation to put him in the proper frame of mind?" Mael suggested. His face was an expressionless mask once again.
"Aye, I think that would be best. For without the proper foundation, nothing can be built," Maklin agreed, smiling in anticipation.
Turning back to Rydon, Mael said, "Bow before your superiors, elf."
To Rydon’s astonishment, his body obeyed Mael’s command. His face flushed an ugly red.
"I see you object to showing proper respect. Kneel before me and place your head against the floor."
Rydon had no control over his body. He found himself kneeling with his forehead pressed against the cold tile of the floor. He heard one of the men step nearer to him. His body shook with impotent rage. He felt a boot placed heavily upon the back of his neck. The pressure forced his body to flatten until he was lying face down. The boot stayed there for several heartbeats before it was removed.
"Now, rise, cur," Rydon heard Mael command. As his body started to obey without his control, his face came up high enough to permit Rydon to see which one had dared to touch him. It was Mael. As Rydon sat back on his haunches, preparing to stand, Mael spat directly into his face. He could not move his arms to wipe it away. Rydon stood, his face a shivering mask of rage.
"It seems your lesson of humiliation has not had the desired effect, Mael. Maybe he is too old to be taught," Maklin wryly observed, grinning down at Rydon.
"Fear not, Maklin. I have only shown him what he will willingly do when I am finished with him." Mael stepped back a few paces and reached inside his robes. He drew forth an egg shaped, mottled, blue and red stone about the size of his palm. Mael smiled as he saw Rydon’s eyes grow wide.
"I see you recognize my little prize here."
"Mael, is that what I think it is?" Maklin asked stunned.
Mael raised it a little so Maklin could see it better, giving him a lopsided grin.
"None other, and since our friend here seems to think he knows what it is as well, I think I should give him a demonstration…just so there is no misunderstanding." Holding the stone out so Rydon had a better view of it, Mael continued.
"You see, Rydon, this is a Hy stone, the heart of a redeemed Seph, the winged folk of the north. It is very rare and extremely potent for psychic operations. In the hands of a skilled healer, it can accomplish wondrous feats. In the hands of one such as I, it can be a very useful tool in
causing varying amounts of physical and mental pain." Mael kept his eyes locked on Rydon’s.
"I see by your reaction that you are aware of the particulars, but are you also aware of the specific effects? I wonder? Shall we explore its uses together, you and I? Then we will see if you are capable of learning your lesson."
Mael cupped the stone in both hands and raised it to eye level. His gaze focused on the stone as he began to speak so softly that neither Rydon nor Maklin could hear him. The stone began to glow faintly, a noxious green that brought to mind stagnate waters. Mael ceased his chanting and slowly separated his hands. The stone continued to hover at eye level, then with no more than a flick of his head, Mael sent the stone speeding forward to strike Rydon on the forehead. The old elf’s head snapped backward and, when it came forward again, the stone appeared to be embedded in his forehead. His eyes went even wider than before.
Mael gave Rydon a half smile.
"Let the doors of pain be opened."
Rydon fell to his knees, his mouth opened wide in a scream that produced no sound. His hands came up to grasp the sides of his head. He tried to remove the stone, but it would not budge. Suddenly, his arms flew out to his sides and his back arched. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. Mael made a negating gesture with his hand, and Rydon collapsed onto his side gasping for breath and racked by silent sobs.
"You see, Rydon, my master is very disappointed with you. Because of your bull headedness, some of the elves have given their allegiance to Kantwell. You were supposed to keep your people here, but your arrogance has proven your lack of intelligence." Mael made another gesture with his hand, and Rydon rolled onto his back with his hands clutching futilely at the air before him, eyes and mouth wide open once again, and his back arching such that only his head and feet remained in contact with the floor. Mael let the pain wash through him for a few more heartbeats before stopping it again.
Rydon felt as if someone had poured boiling oil through his eye sockets, punctuated by knifing flashes of pain that were even more intense. Even though the pain was crippling, not being able to scream aloud somehow made it even worse. As suddenly as the pain began, it stopped. Rydon kept trying to catch his breath, but it seemed a futile effort. He opened his eyes again and saw Mael standing over him.
"My, my, it seems I should have let you out in the yard before we began. You must not yet be house broken," Mael drawled with a disgusted smirk.
Rydon thought he was lying in a pool of blood, but by the smell, he knew he had lost control of his bladder. Rolling onto his side, he curled up in a ball weeping.
Mael turned to Maklin.
"You see, he can be taught humiliation. It seems the fire has gone out of him after all."
"Aye, it seems like a good start," Maklin agreed.
Rydon would have groaned had he been able to utter a sound. He knew there would be no mercy forthcoming from these two. How could events have gone so drastically wrong? His people had been happy and safe in Trelom for many years. No, he had to amend that thought; most had been happy. He could see his son standing before the Council of Elders, shoulders squared and head held high, his noble blood apparent in every line of his bearing. Why could he not see that Rydon was only trying to protect his people? The outside world had only brought them pain and suffering. Ataum argued that the only way to protect his people was to make sure the war brewing in the outer lands never reached their peaceful homeland. Ataum had urged the council to send warriors and druids to Kantwell. Rydon had grown angry at his insistence, and the council ordered Ataum and the Forest Guard to tighten the borders and admit no one. Trespassers were to be dealt with in the extreme. Ataum rejected the council’s decree and had subsequently been stripped of his rank and banished for his impertinence. Ataum stood rigid and silent as the council pronounced his exile. When at last his turn to speak came, Ataum said with a calm voice, leaden with sadness that he would continue to perform his sworn duty to his people, even in exile. He then spun on his heels and walked with dignity from the council room. His complete lack of respect and display of unconcealed disdain for the council had angered Rydon even further.
"My son, what I have brought us to?" Rydon's thoughts were interrupted by another spike of pain, this time centered in his gut, as Mael resumed the lesson.
Chapter Nineteen
Michael was staring around in awe. This Stonehenge was completely intact. This must have been what the one in his world looked like thousands of years ago. This place had obviously been maintained and cared for through the ages. He was just about to comment to Micah when he saw shadowy shapes moving towards them at speed. They looked like animals, but a concerted attack by animals of differing species was out of the question. He heard the ring of steel and saw that Micah had drawn his swords. Michael drew his own sword and moved to keep pace with Micah.
Micah dashed ahead to meet the first of the attackers. He leaped high and caught a wolf lunging at him in mid-torso. The wolf let out a piercing yowl as it fell to the ground in two separate pieces. Michael was stunned at the sight of the wolf trying to crawl towards him, jaws still snapping. More and more of the beasts were pouring in from the outer ring. Michael suddenly realized that Micah was now far ahead of him. He had not kept up as he should have. Micah was surrounded by leaping, snarling attackers. Michael couldn’t see Micah’s swords move, but he could clearly see their effectiveness. Heads, arms, legs, and portions of torso lay all about the ground around Micah. Michael felt a surge of nausea when what had once been a bear’s head slowly morphed to that of a dark headed human male, eyes and mouth open wide in shock.
Michael turned away, feeling like he was going to wretch, and found himself staring into the eyes of one of the biggest panthers he had ever seen. It was staring straight at him, crouched, preparing to pounce on him. He raised his sword en guard like Micah had shown him. The cat roared and jumped. Michael dove to the side and slashed downward with his sword, feeling it make contact. Turning quickly and scrambling back to his feet, he readied himself for another attack. To his astonishment, the cat lay motionless on the ground beside him. He looked closer and saw three arrows protruding from behind its foreleg, each no more than a quarter inch from the other. The foreleg was missing its paw. As he stared, the cat slowly changed into a black haired female who was missing her right hand and had three arrows through her heart.
Michael hurriedly looked away. He saw Micah fighting with a huge bear, the only attacker left standing. The bear swung a giant clawed paw at Micah’s head, and Michael saw it go spinning off, slinging blood in a lazy circle. The bear’s head went back in a roar of pain only to be separated from its body by a mid-air, turning cut from Micah’s other sword. Micah landed on his feet facing Michael, his off hand sword held in a reverse grip, lying back along his left forearm. He twirled both swords in a flourish, slinging blood from the blades before sheathing them with economic precision.
Michael glanced around the circle and saw nothing except dead bodies and scattered body parts, many of them with arrows protruding from them. Overcome by the disturbing visual array, he dropped to his knees and wretched. Michael felt a hand on his shoulder, but his stomach wasn’t through rebelling yet, and he couldn’t raise his head. He continued to wretch, tasting bile as his stomach emptied itself and continued to heave. He had never seen such carnage before, let alone been directly involved in it. He knew he hadn’t killed the black haired woman, but that was not for lack of trying.
"Breathe easy, young man," a feminine voice spoke from right beside him.
Michael turned his head and shied away from the voice. Thinking the hand on his shoulder had belonged to Micah, he looked up and was shocked when his eyes beheld one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her deep green eyes were open and concerned. His breath caught in his throat as he suddenly realized she was not human. The eyes were tilted and almond shaped, and her pointed ears could be seen poking through her hair. He heard laughter and recognized it as Micah’s.
&n
bsp; "Michael, close your mouth, lad. One would think you had never seen an elf before," Micah teased him.
"I haven’t. Forgive me, m…m’Lady. I did not mean to stare," Michael stammered in embarrassment. He was embarrassed not only for staring, but also for being sick.
"No apologies are necessary. I would be more concerned had such sights not moved you so."
Michael wiped his sleeve across his mouth and rose shakily to his feet. A tall male elf was giving the woman a hand up. Micah walked over and stood beside Michael facing the elves. Michael glanced around and noticed that there were more elves standing around the clearing.
The elf standing next to the lithe woman was at least a head taller than her. He tipped his head slightly to Michael.
"I am Ataum, and this," he gestured to the woman beside him, "is my wife, Alissa." A spasm passed across Michael’s face at the word wife. Ataum looked at him in sympathy and continued, changing the subject.
"Merric sent us to ensure that you and Lord Micah had aid in reaching Kantwell safely."
"Ah, Lord Ataum, it is nice to finally meet you. Merric has always spoken very highly of you," Micah turned slightly to the woman.
"M’lady," Micah said, inclining his head to her.
"I am Lord no longer, I’m afraid, Lord Micah. Now I am simply Ataum. I am in exile, as are all you see here with me, though they are in exile by choice. The Council of Elders banished me for my refusal to follow their orders and for my stubborn insistence that we should aid in the war against Mortow instead of hiding behind our borders," Ataum explained, then turned to face Michael.
"And this must be the young sorcerer that Merric told us about."
"Aye, Lord Ataum," Micah affirmed with a reassuring smile, leaving no doubt as to his thoughts about the council’s decision.
The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic Page 24