by Jake Adler
Many legends and tales existed surrounding the magical waters of Lake Diabhal, including those that claimed that it was the gateway to other worlds. It’s magical waters of both healing and prophesy were once collected and drank by the ancient Knights of Ellington prior to the battle at Malakan. Some believed that this action aided them and the High Sorceress Brid Clodagh in the final battle. Others viewed the waters with great fear, claiming that the waters were evil.
Many of the Fairies chose to live along the most Northern shores of the Lake. Although most people in Nemedia acknowledged the fact that Fairies were inherently good, some believe that they lived there due to possessing an affinity with dark magic. The answer remains a mystery as all Fairies have always refused to offer any explanation.
The Fairy was now silent. He had ceased his flight and now sat upon the shoulder of Nillapon who stared at the crowd with a deep frown. After a short pause the onlookers erupted into a frenzy of nervous chatter. People were firing questions at both Nillapon and the Fairy at great speed. Nillapon raised his hands, “Calm yourselves!” he barked in irritation.
“This fairy comes as a messenger. We are requested to spread word of this prophesy to Scribillon. Another Fairy has already travelled to Findias.” Nillapon rubbed his temple and squinted his eyes as if in pain, “We must call upon the Akrullin to attend a Grand Council with the Tuatha Dé Dannan.”
The Akrullin was the Elven term for Dragons and Tuatha Dé Dannan referred to the ancient view that the Elves, Fairies and Wood Nymphs were united as one people under the loving embrace of the Goddess Danu. Upon hearing reference to his kind the Akrullin, Vank stepped forward, “The High Dragon is presently at fort Mavak. I humbly offer my services,” he bowed his head at Nillapon.
Vank’s sudden appearance caused the village leader to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Before he could respond, a worried sounding voice interjected from the crowd.
“Vank? Ellaminva?”
Recognizing the voice as belonging to that of her uncle, Ellaminva quickly jostled herself forward. “We have just arrived this evening!” She panted, “This is most opportune as we can fly out tomorrow morning to deliver the message.” She offered Nillapon a faint smile while glancing back nervously.
Nillapon stared at her beautiful face and looked deeply into her twinkling blue eyes. The girl and her Dragon friend did indeed offer the quickest way to deliver the message.
“That’s four full days’ worth of flying at least!” Hallapind growled, who had by now pushed his way successfully through the crowd.
“They are too inexperienced for such a journey!” His angry expression was tempered with a look of desperation.
Nillapon nodded, “Yes, it is too far for them to travel to Fort Mavak.”
“But-,” Ellaminva interjected.
“BUT,” Nillapon continued as he ignored her interruption, “they can fly to the East flank of the Kalapel River. I know of a suitable man at a small trading outpost who can deliver the message quickly the rest of the way. He is also known personally by the High Dragon so his response will be immediate.”
Nillapon hesitated. His light blue eyes studied once more the beautiful face of the young Elven girl. At last he nodded, “Come with me. I will write the authority for this message. You will travel the location that I will specify to you shortly.” Before moving back towards his private chambers of Town Hall he glanced at the worried face of Hallapind, “Do not worry. The path that I will set for her will be safe.”
Hallapind’s expression did not change. The journey being proposed was at least two day’s flight time and this was the first time that he had seen Ellaminva ride Vank. They would be alone together, with no one to help them should they face trouble.
Sensing his thoughts Nillapon spoke again, “Very well. I will also send out two men to travel the same path. Although they are travelling much slower by horse, they will be able to quickly locate her if she is in need of help.”
Hallapind’s face was clouded with mixed emotions. After a short pause he nodded his permission. The crowd of onlookers still remained and with a wave of his hands the village leader signaled that the meeting was over. The Fairy had already taken flight and was last seen heading back towards the direction of Lake Diabhal.
* * * *
Councilor Delabo was worried. Following the massacre of the Council of Elders, there was a call among the populace of Ellington to elect a replacement Council. This was unexpected. The call had been reported by the local newspapers. Within less than a day, Yariq had ‘replaced’ all the chief editors with supporters of Delabo. However, discontent remained among the populace. Furthermore, he felt a growing sense of unease at being forced to wear a necklace given to him by Yariq. The creature had told him that it was to aid the GraJin in monitoring the situation, but from the first moment of wearing it, he felt trapped. His mind had been wrenched open and he was already certain that time had passed to which he had no memory. Although he was under strict instruction to never attempt to remove the necklace, he already knew now that he could not.
The thought of being under the direct control of the GraJin terrified him. He was nothing more than a puppet now and he knew it. At any moment, his body could become a vessel to GraJin again. At any moment, he could be killed.
Delabo nervously paced his private chambers. Yariq was unusually late for his nightly visit. Delabo had time to glance at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a face that now looked unusually thin, with skin that had a slightly grayish tinge. It reminded him of a corpse drained of blood and he curled up his lips in disgust.
“I am here,” Yariq rasped.
Delabo turned to face the small hooded creature, “You’re very late this night.”
“Yes.” Was the simple reply and the creature moved to the other side of the room. It cocked its head to one side, “there have been developments.”
“What developments?”
“We sensed the use of powerful magic at the College of Mages. They have brought forth another.” The creature moved in closer now and Delabo felt his skin crawl. Although the creature was small and slight, he knew that it could kill him if it so wished. He also sensed that although it appeared calm, that just beneath the surface lurked an insatiable hunger for murder.
“The College must be eliminated,” it stated, handing him a small document. “This gives you proof that the senior mages have been using necromancy. With this, you can disband the College and call for the execution of all senior mages.”
“What is this document?”
“A signed confession from Grand Master Bedwyr,” the creature sniggered, “he will not survive long enough to deny its authenticity.”
Delabo recognised the strategic brilliance of this move. With sightings of unknown creatures increasing across the lands, what better way of diverting attention away from their true source, than blaming the College of Mages for necromancy? Doing so would also rid GraJin of his enemies within the College. “Where is the Grand Master?” Delabo enquired as he rubbed his chin reflectively.
“My spies inform me that he is travelling on the mainland. We will find him and kill him.” The creature made a slight smacking sound which Delabo guessed would be for whatever passed as its lips.
“There may be questions. It won’t be as simple as–,” Delabo’s sentence was cut short. “OBEY”. Spoke the darkness that filled his veins. Delabo did as he was commanded.
Chapter 8
The four companions were grateful for the cover of night as they departed the forested area west of Takrak. However, the city watchtowers would soon note their approach as soon as dawn’s sunlight flecked the sky. They had been jogging at a brisk pace now for nearly two hours with no sign of pursuit. “We’ve made it!” Gizurr panted.
The old man had fallen far behind and the heavy clunking of his backpack was now clearly audible. When they had first begun their journey, he had been careful to hug it close to his side, but now, through sheer exhaustion such care was ab
andoned.
After a further hour of steady jogging, the four tired men reached their destination. Glancing upwards, Gizurr marvelled at the finely chiselled beauty of the city’s walls. Each block of granite sat at least a hundred feet wide, with a height of at least fifty feet. The walls stood at over six hundred feet in height. Legend stated that they possessed a thickness of over fifty feet. Each massive block sat so perfectly next to its neighbour that the joins between them were indiscernible.
The companions quickly passed the finely chiselled statues of Thor and Baldr, the Dwarven gods of War and peace and headed towards the gates.
“Who goes there?” A youthful sounding voice yelled from atop the front gate.
“We have urgent business with Jarl Egill.” Gizurr shouted who had quickly stepped forward, “I am Gizurr Eklund. He may remember me. It was my Smithy that gifted him a jewelled scabbard last summer.”
“State your business,” said the voice that now sounded bored.
His ears burning with a mixture of anger and embarrassment Gizurr growled, “It’s a matter of life and death you idiot. Now open this gate before I get mad.”
Sensing that the situation was worsening, Jetzan quickly interjected, “Please inform the Jarl that we bring him urgent news.”
After a short pause and the sound of muffled voices the front gates began to slowly swing inwards. “Come forth,” spoke a different voice that was much older and deeper than the last.
The companions were met at the entranceway by a stout looking Dwarf with jet black hair and a huge scar across his right cheek. The Dwarf was suited in light blue and silver armour, signifying the colours of the city. His shoulder plate was embossed with three gold chevron bars, indicating his rank of Sergeant.
He spoke curtly, “You must leave your weapons and possessions behind.” He motioned towards a rather grumpy looking young red haired Dwarf, which Jetzan surmised to be the original one that they had conversed with.
Without argument, the companions did as they were instructed. After a swift body search, he gestured them to follow him. They moved swiftly across the courtyard that was chilled with the morning’s frost. On passing through a second gateway into the palace, they were led into an opulent looking reception room. During their wait, Gizurr and Ragni took the opportunity admire the long tapestries of famous Dwarven battles displayed on each wall. Baxan and Jetzan instead each chose to relax on one of the many high backed chairs and partook a goblet of fresh water.
After a relatively short wait, a palace official arrived. He was dressed from head to toe in an outfit of light blue crushed velvet. Both his sleeves and trouser bottoms were edged in golden embroidery to complete his image of opulence. His face held an expression of superiority and sniffed at them disparagingly. Jetzan smiled, realising that they must indeed now look rather dishevelled, given their recent adventures in the mines. With a quick motion of a crisp white hanker chief that he brought out of his trouser pocket, the official directed them to follow him through to the throne room.
Jarl Egill was sat atop an intricately carved granite throne that was strewn with a plethora of deep crimson cushions. “This had better be important,” he growled.
“It is.” Jetzan responded with a tired sigh. He then proceeded to inform the Jarl of the tunnels just west of Takrak. As Jetzan spoke, Egill’s expression steadily darkened. His message was immediately accepted as a credible source based upon Gizurr’s reputation that was known by many of the more palace officials. All senior officers were immediately summoned to the War Room. It was decided that the army was to be placed on high alert but that the citizens would not be informed. This was to avoid panic as well as to retain secrecy that they were now aware of the threat.
The first challenge was to assess the extent of the tunnels. The second was to assess the size and location of the enemy. A group of the city’s finest engineers were summoned to survey the sewerage systems underneath the city for signs of enemy activity. A second group of engineers were given the task of surveying the surrounding grasslands for signs of subsidence and excavation. All engineers were to be accompanied by an armed battalion of soldiers. For cover, the soldiers were to be sent out under the guise of a training exercise.
Baxan offered his expertise in explosives to aid the city’s engineers. Within only a few hours, they had designed an explosive device that was more powerful than the contents of Baxan’s entire backpack that could be used to close off the tunnels at critical structural junctions.
The exact location and size of the enemy forces remained unknown. The vast bulk of the enemy forces may already be amassed within the tunnels, or located miles away.
Jetzan hunched over the map strewn across the table and pointed towards the location of the exit tunnel, “There were at least a couple of hundred soldiers headed in advance of this point. I am unsure what they were doing.”
Commander Haugen reflectively stroked his blonde bearded chin, “We must get someone in there to have a look.”
A rush of murmurs filled the hall. Positioned at the head of the table, the Jarl spoke, “We need someone who can blend in. We need Axcil Binnadan.”
Once again, the hall erupted into a rush of murmurs and whispers. Commander Haugen raised his hand signalling the need for silence and then spoke, “A half-Orc.” Commander Haugen gave a faint smile, “granted, he looks slightly more human than Orc, but with a bit of face paint, he could pass for an unusually handsome Orc.”
“Aye”, nodded Corporal P’Jaz, “we also have a full set of Orc armour in our stores to further his disguise. He could be with us in two days.”
“Do it.” Commanded Jarl Egill and with a swift salute, Corporal P’Jaz left the chambers to issue the orders. From the immediate response by the men in the room, Jetzan surmised that this man was both well-known and trusted.
“We need more options,” Commander Haugen pressed. “We need an immediate plan to defend ourselves should the tunnels already extend underneath Takrak.”
Baxan stepped forward “With your permission highness?” he asked, signalling the need to place a second map on the table. The Jarl nodded his approval. Baxan proceeded to unfurl a large map of the underground sewerage system, “If they have breached the area under Takrak they will most likely utilise some or all of the sewerage systems. If the size of their excavations are as large as we suspect, this degree of overlap will be inevitable. Also, as they near their final destination, they will be keen to minimise noise of their excavations, so utilizing the existing tunnels seems a logical choice.”
“Here,” he said, tapping his finger on a location marked South West of Takrak “this is the most likely area where the enemy will have breached. It follows the direction of the tunnels that we came across and intersects with a major sewerage branch of the city which pipes downhill some forty miles into underground rivers.” Moving his hand to his lower lip he rubbed it deep in thought. After a short pause he then pointed towards a second location on the map. “This second area is a guess, but it may be that they are planning to invade from two points. Your engineering plans point towards major fresh water being taken from an inlet from the Kalapel, just North West of the city. There are masses of open rock formations that your engineers have blasted along the way. It’s another good entry point for an enemy excavation.”
The face of Commander Haugen looked ashen “How could they have missed such an important security risk?”
“They are civil engineers, not soldiers,” Baxan replied softly.
“What are our options?” Commander Haugen asked with a firmer tone.
“We must get two teams down to both locations as soon as possible. These teams may well be on a suicide mission. We must place a series of explosive devices at key locations.” Baxan stood up straight and eyed Jarl Egill firmly in the face, “I volunteer my services for the South Western expedition.”
* * * *
The morning had begun cold. Prior to wakening, Ethan had shifted many times in the night in a vai
n attempt to gain warmth from his sleeping blanket. His eyes finally forced opened to the chill winter skies just as the chilled morning sunlight touched the horizon. Immediately, he sensed the presence of the spirit ring. He wondered if he should think of it as an object or as a person. Without fully understanding why, he instinctively felt the importance of recognising its humanity.
Ethan stretched and rolled over to face where Cara had been sleeping. To his surprise she was already awake. She was sat leaning forward upon her sleeping blanket with her arms wrapped around her legs, her expression deep in thought.
“How are you?” he asked gingerly.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled, jumping angrily to her feet and moving swiftly towards where the horses were tethered.
Shocked at her response, he silently watched her go. For the first time since his arrival in the Nemedia, Ethan felt terribly alone. He felt his cheeks flush with anger as he realised that he felt a deep sense of resentment towards Cara. It was due to her that he had entered the Kingdom of Nemedia in the first place and when he had agreed to do so, he thought that he was hallucinating. Now, he was trapped in a strange new land and the reality of the danger that they faced was beginning to sink in. He was also missing his parents and worried in particular about how his mother was faring while he was away.
After a long pause, he slowly rose to his feet and walked over to where Master Bedwyr was busily cooking breakfast. “Have you given Cara her spirit ring yet?” Ethan asked as he angrily scuffed the ground with the toe of his right boot.
Master Bedwyr smiled faintly “Don’t fret. She is just angry that she couldn’t protect either of us last night.” He looked up at Ethan from the campfire where he was busily stirring the contents of a bubbling pot, “I will give her the ring when she has calmed down.”