The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2)

by Daniel McHugh

  “A weapon I have never seen.” stated Woil. “Interesting.”

  Lightning quick, the Malveel lord sprang toward the bowing Hackle and rammed the dart into its neck. The Ulrog reared back howling in surprise and pain. It desperately clutched at the dart attempting to remove it with its large, clumsy hands. Woil calmly stepped back to observe the full effect of the poison. The Hackle thrashed about the shallow water of the crossing spraying all around with water. Woil’s lips curled into a snarl as his face was flecked with cold mountain water, but the Malveel continued to stare intently at the Ulrog as black foam spilled from its gaping mouth.

  After a few moments the Ulrog’s body tensed and its limbs failed. It collapsed face first into the flowing Frizgard, convulsed once more, then stilled.

  “Fascinating.” whispered Woil to himself.

  Quickly the Malveel turned to the remaining Hackles and growled orders. It was obvious to Woil that the Seraph had been at the crossing. Woil was in the West supervising the movements of Ulrog toward the Keltaran kingdom when word came concerning the captured Elf. The Malveel hoped to return to the area before the Elf’s departure. If this were the one, Woil would terminate the priest’s that made the capture and take credit himself. Sulgor would find favor with any who captured the new Seraph. Woil intended to garner that favor.

  The Malveel called forth his best trackers. Three smallish Ulrog bounded into the river. They moved low to the ground and their big dark eyes searched the surroundings as they ran.

  “I must know what happened here!” snapped Woil. “I must know where Ader DeHartstron went!”

  The three Ulrog bowed to their lord and spread throughout the riverbed. They first inspected the dead then conferred mid river. The smallest of the three directed his counterparts to the tree lines on both sides of the river. The remainder of Woil’s Hackles stepped aside as the trackers moved past them, inspecting the crossing. Woil stood waiting for their report.

  The lead tracker slowly circled the battle scene at mid river. He intently studied the slime covered rocks beneath the flowing water, carefully picking up several and slowly turning them in his hands. Finally his compatriots returned and they conferred once more. After several minutes of animated discussion Woil broke in.

  “Ettreck! What have you discovered!?” roared the Malveel.

  The small Ulrog turned to his master and in a surprisingly deep growl replied.

  “There has been much activity at this crossing, my lord. The Seraph sat astride the eternal horse here.” said Ettreck pointing to a spot in the rushing Frizgard. “He was set upon by the priest and his Hackles several hours ago.”

  “What of the Elves?!” snapped Woil.

  The Malveel knew Ettreck was more than competent at his duties, but it was important to hold the Hackles in their place. Woil needed to show he was capable of reading the signs without this Ulrog servant. The Hackles survived to perform the tasks Malveels shunned. Ettreck nodded and bowed.

  “As my lord can easily see,” began Ettreck. “Many of Gnarok’s Hackles were felled by arrow shot.”

  Ettreck moved slowly toward the southern tree line pointing.

  “We believe the Seraph stationed several Elves here, screened by the trees.” continued Ettreck. “The Elves fired on the Hackles when they crowded about the Eternal Horse.”

  “Ader DeHarstron grows foolish.” snorted Woil.

  The Ulrog trackers looked at their master with puzzled expressions. Woil was pleased to see their confusion. Once again he would demonstrate his mental superiority to this scum. Ettreck proved himself time and time again to his lord since joining the Vrith Pack, but Woil grew tired of the Ulrog trackers displays of intelligence.

  “The Seraph has grown desperate in his quest to stop our Lord Amird.” snarled Woil. “He has gone so far as to use himself as bait during a battle.”

  A look of recognition passed across Ettreck’s and only Ettreck’s face.

  “The damned old man allowed the Vendi packs to focus on him and lured them into a trap.” Woil explained further. “His Elven archers attacked the exposed Hackles huddled in the middle of the crossing. Then he unleashed Seraph fire on those remaining in his presence.”

  Ettreck nodded in agreement, taking great pains to appear properly awed by Woil’s assessment of the situation. The Ulrog tracker was debating whether to share his additional information with Woil, when the Malveel broke his thoughts.

  “Finally, the Seraph allowed his final surprise to attack. An Elf or very secretive human left the riverbank to the North and set upon Gnarok with these poisoned darts.” stated Woil nodding toward his own dead, frothing Hackle. “Gnarok fell due to his own arrogance. Always leave your retreat covered!”

  Ettreck smiled and bowed to his master. The Ulrog tracker successfully avoided another confrontation with Woil. His Malveel lord’s own arrogance would probably get them all killed one day, but Ettreck preferred to die at the hands of the enemy, not his own superiors. Ettreck sighed and decided his lord discovered all he needed here. There was no need to expose himself to reprisals by offering any more information. If Woil could not see the additional signs of activity at the crossing, Ettreck would not expound upon them. Ettreck’s job in the pack was over for the time being and the Ulrog tracker could relax.

  “Where did the Seraph go?” questioned Woil abruptly.

  Ettreck feigned searching the swirling water for the evidence he already possessed.

  “My lord is correct in his assessment.” said Ettreck pointing to the water. “An Elf sped past the body of Gnarok here and mounted the eternal horse. They fled into the woods to the South. Presumably to unite with the Elven archers.”

  Ettreck paused to let his next statement elicit the proper reaction.

  “The remaining Hackles in Gnarok’s packs followed.”

  A low, guttural rumble issued from Woil and Ettreck smiled to himself. The packs often competed for the favor of their Malveel masters, and Hnarg and his Vendi packs made a damaging decision.

  “Gnarok’s second has left his post.” rumbled Woil. “I will remove his eyes for such disobedience.”

  Woil’s mind raced. Had the Seraph rescued the Elf that Gnarok captured the day before? If so, the Malveel had one choice. He must follow Ader DeHartstron and retrieve the prize. If he could destroy the Seraph in the process, all the better. However, this would require a great deal of luck.

  The Seraph possessed a sizable head start, and he would soon be in Eru country. Facing a Seraph and several archers was one thing. Facing the Seraph backed by a troop of the horsemen was quite different.

  What if DeHartstron had not intercepted the captured Elf? What if Gnarok and his underlings acted as ordered and sent the Elf to Kel Izgra? If he chased after the Seraph, Woil would be putting himself in danger amongst the Eru while the true prize was being marched to Izgra’s halls by his own servants? Ader DeHartstron had roamed this world for centuries. Another year mattered not. What mattered most to Woil was currying favor with Sulgor. He needed more information before he made a decision.

  “What of the Elf captured at the river the previous day, Ettreck? What do you see?” questioned Woil.

  The Ulrog tracker winced and lowered his head. How much could his Master see? Did he attempt to lie in order to protect himself, or did he tell all he saw? Would his skills be rewarded or would the Malveel find anger in his answers? Ettreck ground his teeth then pushed forward.

  “The signs are old and cloudy, my lord.” rumbled Ettreck.

  “Then you had best part the clouds!” snapped the Malveel.

  Once again Ettreck studied the river for answers he already possessed. He feigned confusion as if new information appeared from his closer inspection.

  “Much has taken place at the crossing these past two days.” began Ettreck. “There are signs beneath the signs.”

  “Go on.” growled Woil.

  Ettreck forged ahead.

  “A woman made many journeys back and forth acros
s the fjord, Lord Woil.”

  “Yes, this is the report I received from Gnarok’s runner. The woman was the Elven assassin. She removed a priest from our service.” replied Woil dismissively, turning to stare toward the southern shore. “The signs demonstrate her travel from our camp and subsequent capture at this fjord.”

  Ettreck’s eyes narrowed at the Malveel.

  “I speak of a different woman, my lord.”

  Woil spun and raised a scaly brow.

  “Speak Ettreck!” snapped Woil. “What else?”

  “It is as if the woman wanted to leave signs. She clearly left trails between Gnarok’s encampment and the fjord. As you said, my master, the signs were unmistakable on our journey down from the heights, and are confirmed here at the crossing.”

  “Yes, the Elven woman was foolishly brazen about her movements.” thought Woil aloud.

  “It was not the Elven woman.” interjected Ettreck.

  Woil’s head snapped up at the interruption. The beast glared at his underling. He disliked Ettreck’s confidence. It was a poor trait in a Hackle servant. Woil would deal with this affront later, but for now Ettreck was far too valuable.

  “Of course we speak of the same woman.” gnashed Woil. “The signs in the river are clear. She was set upon by Gnarok and his men. There was a brief struggle and she was captured.”

  “Yes, my lord.” replied Ettreck bowing his head. “The signs mirror the report we received. However, the signs read by Gnarok’s trackers were not made by this Elven woman. If they had applied only a portion of the ability my Malveel lords graciously conferred upon me, they would see the tracks of the assassin are human. Close but different from the Elf woman’s tracks.”

  “Human!” exclaimed Woil. “A human woman stole into an Ulrog camp in the middle of the Scythtar and eliminated one of Amird’s chosen priests?!”

  “Yes, my lord.” replied Ettreck.

  “She possessed the ability to accomplish this task, yet was unable to cover her tracks to the crossing?” scoffed Woil.

  “It appears as if she wished to be followed.” stated Ettreck. “The signs are too ... produced, my lord.”

  Woil stalked through the crossing, attempting to discern the signs his underling so easily discovered. The Malveel lord was perplexed. Why would this Zodrian woman betray her allies? Or was she betraying anyone? Had Izgra so expertly manipulated the humans that they turned on one another? Another favorable development in the exultation of their Lord Amird!

  However, this woman could become a threat to Woil and his Malveel brethren. Just as the existence of the new Seraph pointed to another possible master of the Malveel, so did this clever woman’s existence threaten the Malveel understanding of the order of things. Others with power and intelligence threatened the Malveel. Sulgor believed in the removal of anything that threatened, even if it was your ally.

  “So, this clever woman manipulated both Elf and Ulrog alike at the crossing?” demanded Woil.

  “I would agree with that assessment if not for the last of the signs.” mumbled Ettreck.

  Woil glared at the tracker. Ettreck moved to the western edge of the crossing and pointed to tracks emerging from the fjord onto the northern bank.

  “The same woman crossed the fjord after Gnarok’s encounter with the Seraph.” stated Ettreck. “She was accompanied by a Keltaran and a Zodrian. They moved into the gorge.”

  Woil wheeled and stared toward the mountains to the North.

  “They dare to enter the Scythtar! Humans and a Keltaran!”

  Woil’s mind raced and settled on a course of action. The Keltaran could be none other than Prince Granu. Reports from Izgra’s spies confirmed the prince’s movements within Zodra. Fenrel removed Granu as a threat to their plans within Keltar, but not completely from the picture. Word had come that Granu aligned himself with the Zodrians, but now comes information of his alliance with this assassin. What game was the Keltaran playing?

  One thing was for certain. Granu risked all in this mad dash into the Scythtar. Why? Was it sanctioned by Ader DeHartstron? Woil knew the Seraph played a hand in all matters South of the Scythtar. Accursed Ader had used himself as bait at the crossing for his archers, but had he really been bait for archers or for some other purpose? Would he truly risk all in order to allow his Elven archers a clear shot at some insignificant Ulrog Hackles? No, this captured Elf was the key. It was important enough that the Seraph risked himself to allow the Keltaran prince unencumbered access into the Scythtar. But what of this assassin woman? Why would she have a hand in the Elf’s capture, then join in her rescue? The Seraph will have to wait. Woil turned to his Hackles.

  “Ettreck! Get into the gorge and track the Keltaran!” barked Woil. “The rest of you dispose of these fool’s bodies. We will leave no sign of weakness for Zodrian eyes.”

  Woil took one last look at Ader’s escape route to the South, snarled and turned toward the gorge.

  CHAPTER 24: COUNCIL

  Rada Shan stood at the edge of the great forest staring in awe at a tall oak tree and basking in the wonder of Avra’s world. Here before him stood a living thing so breathtaking in its beauty and complex in its design that it made the Borz chieftain wonder how some could not conceive of an intelligent Creator to this wondrous world. The Windrider rubbed a hand across the peppery stubble remaining on his thinning scalp. These trips to meet the Counselor always invigorated Rada. To hear the words of truth from his mentor and join in the struggle filled Rada with pride.

  A hot wind swirled across the grassy dunes behind the chieftain and pulled on the edges of his flowing black robes. Rada turned and scanned the dunes. Not more than a league from here the grass grew thin and the sand overwhelmed all living things. A league away started the land Rada called home. The vast sea of sand stretched for leagues from the Mirozert mountains and ran south of the Toxkri swamps to the edges of the Nagur. This was the inhospitable country that Rada and his people called home. This was the Borz desert.

  “Early as always, Rada my friend.” spoke a familiar voice from inside the wood.

  Rada smiled and bowed as the Counselor stepped from behind the massive oak.

  “And as always, I neither hear nor see the approach of the children of the wood.” laughed Rada. “It is good to see you, my friend.”

  The Counselor nodded in reply to the compliment and dropped the cowl of his dark robes from around his face. Rada was alarmed to read concern in the expression of the man he had come to trust and call friend over the last ten seasons.

  “What is it my friend?” asked Rada. “You seem unsettled.”

  The Counselor frowned and slowly shook his head.

  “The followers of Avra are betrayed at every turn.” grumbled the Counselor. “We fight the good fight you and I Rada, but the servants of Chaos grow in number and courage. I begin to lose hope.”

  “Hope flows from an unquenchable spring.” smiled Rada. “As long as there is one with the Creator in his heart, all have a chance to hear his good news.”

  “Ah yes, Rada,” replied the Counselor. “But I feel we are all walls in a house made of gaming cards. When one of us falls the others lose their support and begin to crumble.”

  Rada furrowed his brow and grimaced. The Counselor’s words troubled him tremendously. The man who taught him how to unite the tribes was distressed. The man who instructed him in the ways of Avra let the seed of doubt grow. The rock that Rada looked to with admiration began to fissure. Concern turned to anger.

  “What is it that troubles you so, my teacher?” began Rada. “And what more can the desert wanderers do to aid in the struggle?”

  The Counselor shook his head and held up a hand.

  “No. No. I will not call upon my good friends in this hour of need.” said the Counselor shaking his head. “You have already sacrificed your daughter to the cause. You have already given so much.’

  “Sacrificed?....” questioned Rada, his face darkening. “Is there some news of Vieri?”

&nbs
p; “I .... did I say ‘sacrificed’?” stammered the Counselor. “I meant....”

  The Counselor hung his head.

  “The servants of Amird have infiltrated all of the seats of power.” mourned the Counselor, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “News has come to me of an attempt on the vessel’s life. The assassin failed and was trapped on the roof of the Great City’s fortress. Arrow and blade were used as she tried to leap to safety. The remainder of what occurred was quieted. I do not know more.”

  Rada’s eyes rose in alarm. The Borz chieftain fought hard to maintain his composure. His Vieri. His gem. His desert bloom, taken from him. He swallowed hard.

  “I... I feel your pain, my friend.” soothed the Counselor. “We have all lost loved ones in the struggle. This is the Borz people’s first loss and will not be their last, but for you none will equal in pain. Such is the curse Amird has put upon the land. “

  “Yes .... this is true.” mumbled Rada softly, dropping his head.

  “The throne of Luxlor is corrupted.” continued the Counselor. “They raised and protected the vessel in order to find favor with Amird. They hide the truth from their people , but slowly rally the army and the nobles to their cause. They see the doom of the Northern folk and cast their lot with the Deceiver so he will spare them. Their faith wanes and their backbone grows weak. They are a people I am ashamed to call my own.”

  Rada half listened to the explanation of the Counselor. His mind still reeled from the loss of his beloved daughter.

  “... Those of us that still fight for this world must make these type of sacrifices. I am ready to make my own.” continued the Counselor. “It will be with great pain but it must be done.”

  Rada snapped from his sorrow.

  “What do you mean?” asked Rada. “What must we do?”

  “Support those of faith holding out in the North.” replied the Counselor. “The Ulrog will attack from their mountain stronghold. This much is evident. What the Zodrian are unaware of is the knife the throne of Luxlor holds to their back. When the Zodrian march out and leave their capital unprotected, the Grey Elves will strike.”