The Trees And The Night (Book 3)

by Daniel McHugh

  Hnarg lay frozen against the side of the ravine. With each passing moment the howls of the Hackles faded and the war cry of the Eru grew. Hnarg knew the Vendi pack was no more. Had they served their master in their death? Had they taken the old man? The answer was Hnarg’s only salvation. If he returned to the Scythtar empty handed he was dead, a sacrifice to the lessons taught by his masters. However, if he returned with news of the Seraph’s death, the Malveel would praise him. There remained a risk the Seraph lived and Hnarg would be caught in a lie. So be it. At least Hnarg would stave death off for a time. The alternative was unthinkable. An Ulrog outcast from his pack was a pitiful creature. North or south of the Knife Mountains he would be hunted. No, thought Hnarg, he would risk the lie on the chance his Hackles reached the old man first.

  He would return directly to Kel Izgra with the news of the Seraph’s death. Hopefully his Hackles finished the job. His life and place amongst the Ulrog were worth the gamble.

  However, first he must exit the lands of the horsemen. The battle grew silent. It was over. The horsemen would check the dead before they spread out once more. His opportunity to slip away was at hand. The Ulrog priest smiled to himself. Amird protected his chosen, thought Hnarg.

  Slowly he rolled over and pressed his chest against the ravine wall, staring to the ledge above. A five yard climb, then due north to safety. With a quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of the battle, Hnarg began to claw his way up the wall.

  The priest of Amird heard a strange pop. He quickly scanned the ravine but saw nothing. As he looked to the riverbed below, his eyes caught a hint of red near the hollow of his knee. A small feathery dart lay embedded beneath his hide.

  Panic raced through the Ulrog’s mind. He tried to scramble to the top of the ravine, unconcerned now by the stealth of his flight. His body refused to obey. Numbness crept into his arms and legs, followed by a burning. He felt frozen yet on fire. With each passing moment the fire grew. The only function left to him was his vision. Hnarg lay pressed against the ravine wall, his eyes darting to and fro searching for the enemy.

  A small trickle of dirt and pebble tumbled down the slope from above. Hnarg’s head remained locked, immovable, but the Ulrog priest strained his eyes to the ledge. There stood his enemy, an Elven child. The boy calmly stood above the Ulrog grasping a long hollow tube in his right hand.

  The Ulrog priest growled and hissed curses through labored breathing. He raged from within. An Elven child? A priest of Amird taken by an Elven child? Hnarg cried out in his mind as he lay frozen on the slope. How could his Master allow this outrage? Amird, Lord of Chaos, save me!

  The child cocked its head sideways and took one last look at the priest. The boy’s expression never wavered. The Elf displayed neither triumph nor distress. He simply studied Hnarg. The priest tried to curse once more and black froth spilled from his mouth and across his chin. The Elf slowly turned, then dashed from his sight as the fire consumed Hnarg’s mind and he was gone.

  Ader turned his stallion to face the battleground fifty yards down the riverbed. Death worked quickly. Kael sat in awe of the veiled riders of the Eru plains as they swept over the ravine’s edge and engulfed the Ulrog pack. The Eru were the essence of efficiency and order. Their mounts never broke formation as they encircled the pack and drew in on them like a noose.

  Riders released spears and slashed sabers with each spin of their churning maelstrom. The Ulrog staggered in confusion. As one rider danced from their stony grasp, another attacked from the opposite direction, constantly keeping the stone men off balance and defenseless. It seemed only moments to Kael before the Eru reined in, dropped from their mounts and checked the still forms of the Ulrog Hackles for signs of life.

  Eidyn drew in next to Ader and attended the white stallion’s injuries. Kael slid from Tarader’s back and joined the Elf.

  “How bad is it?” asked Kael.

  Eidyn shook his head.

  “I cannot be sure,” said the Elf. “The wounds are deep and there is quite a bit of blood.”

  “He will survive,” said a light voice from behind the young men.

  The pair turned to see an Eru rider sitting atop a beautiful black stallion similar to Manfir’s mount. Dark brown and black robes clothed the rider and veils covered all the horsemen’s faces.

  “His flank is built for punishment,” continued the Eru. “It is the place most creatures of the wild attack a grazing animal. The muscles are thick and tough. The wound already begins to close.”

  Eidyn bowed in acknowledgment and Kael glanced nervously to Ader. The Seraph sat hunched forward on the back of Tarader with a look of both relief and exhaustion on his face. The Eru rider followed Kael’s gaze and nodded toward the Seraph.

  “Well met, Ader Peacemaker,” said the rider. “It has been a few seasons since the presence of the Giftgiver blessed the Eru.”

  “Well met, Hai,” replied the Seraph. “Your arrival was most fortuitous.”

  The Eru swung his left leg over the back of his black stallion and dropped to the ground. Slowly he approached Ader and his mount. As he did so, his hand rose and he drew the veil from his face. Kael was stunned to see the face of a boy close to his own age.

  Hai halted a stride from Tarader. The huge gray stood stock-still. Already the animal regained its proud bearing. The stallion held its head high and beads of sweat rolled across the five-pointed blazing white mark he bore on his brow. Hai dropped to one knee and bowed before the horse.

  “Well met, fair Finepion, Father of all Horses. Gift of the Seraph,” said the boy.

  The gray released a soft whinny followed by a rumble from deep within his throat. He tossed his head lightly and Hai rose and softly stroked the white marking on the horse’s head.

  “He has been sorely tested,” stated Hai.

  Ader nodded and slowly slid down from the stallion’s back.

  “He has run for nearly four days with little rest,” replied the Seraph, “often carrying two.”

  Hai stared at the gray with pride.

  “There is none like him,” returned the boy stroking the animal.

  “Only one perhaps,” smiled Ader in reply, “but he does not bear the honorable disposition of his father.”

  A grin danced across the boy’s face.

  “And how does Lord Manfir and my prize fair?” laughed the boy. “If I were not so sure of the Zodrian prince’s character, I would swear he stayed clear of the Eru to avoid a challenge from me.”

  “When last I saw the prince, all was well,” answered Ader, “and as for the Black, he remains as willful and angry as always. Few men have the ability to handle him.”

  Hai smiled at the news and his eyes drifted into memory.

  “He is an animal worthy of but a few men,” whispered the boy.

  An Eru rider approached, breaking the conversation.

  “My lord,” called the rider.

  Hai turned to face the veiled rider.

  “What is it Tyrs?” asked the young man.

  “No priest lies amongst the Ulrog dead,” stated the rider. “Either the pack ran leaderless, or he escaped.”

  “There is no such thing as a leaderless pack,” replied Hai quickly. “He may have slipped away before we rode onto the riverbed. Quickly, fan riders out north of the ravine. He will be thinking of nothing but escape. If we are diligent, we may be able to ...”

  “There is no need,” interrupted the weary voice of Ader.

  All eyes turned back to the Seraph. Kael was saddened by what he saw. Ader had always been an old man in the boy’s eyes, but never feeble. In fact, Kael’s impression was often quite the opposite. Ader usually appeared full of life. Ready for anything. Now the Seraph stood hunched over and weak. Ready for sleep.

  “He has already been taken care of,” continued the old man as he stared past Hai to the northern edge of the ravine.

  Kael noted Ader’s hands and how the Seraph feverishly manipulated them while they lay clasped at his wai
st. The group followed Ader’s line of sight. A small figure squatted in the moonlight on the ledge above. Its hands moved in unison with the Seraph’s hands. After a moment more, Sprig rose and dashed away. Those present turned back to Ader.

  “The priest’s body lays on the ravine’s northern wall about a hundred yards west of the battle scene,” said Ader. “If your men wish to dispose of him be quite sure they do not touch the black fluid surrounding the body nor the tiny red fletched dart in the small of the priest’s knee.”

  Hai turned and eyed the rider. The Eru subordinate nodded his understanding and rode from the group.

  “The People of the Woods surprise me,” commented Hai. “Even their children have been trained for battle.”

  “Master Sprig is not of Luxlor,” replied Eidyn quickly.

  “Master Sprig?” said Hai arching an eyebrow. “From where, pray tell, does Master Sprig hail?”

  Eidyn grimaced and looked to Ader. The Elf prince was unsure whether he overstepped his bounds. Ader nodded to the Elf.

  “Master Sprig is from the house of Sprite,” continued Eidyn. “A once revered branch of the Elven kingdom of Luxlor which migrated years ago from our realm.”

  “Migrated?” questioned Hai. “To what locale? My people have heard of no such Elven enclave.”

  “The Toxkri,” said Eidyn bluntly.

  Hai drew his brow down and knit it tightly. His hand slowly drew across his chin as he contemplated the news.

  “Fascinating,” mumbled the Eru horseman. “The Ghosts of the Swamp live.”

  “Pardon?” questioned Kael.

  Hai broke his concentration and looked to the boy.

  “My people have often spoke of the Wisps of the Toxkri,” said Hai, “but until this moment they have only been legend. Often we travel to the South when the winters are unusually cold. Sometimes we camp within sight of the towering willows of the Toxkri’s edge.

  “Although the Toxkri is very south and far from the threat of the Ulrog, we post guards as always. Through the years a legend has grown concerning the swamp. Our men swear ghosts and shades haunt the edges of the Toxkri. In the dead of night, shadows pass trees and the grasses part to reveal the hint of a form slipping past a sentry.

  “The introduction of Master Sprig and his homeland reveal a possible solution to our centuries old mystery.”

  A light chuckle came from Ader.

  “The people of Sprite must have allowed your sentries to catch that glimpse,” began Ader. “The Sprites do not allow themselves to be seen unless they choose to do so.”

  “The riders of the Eru are ever vigilant, my lord,” protested Hai.

  “I am well aware of the abilities of your people,” smiled Ader. “However, I am equally versed in the abilities of the Sprite. A glimpse of shadow, a form that appears then just as quickly disappears. All these things fit their purpose.”

  “And what would that purpose be?” questioned the rider.

  Ader noticed a smile creep across Kael’s face as the boy worked it out.

  “Hai of Eru,” said Ader holding a hand toward Kael. “This is Kael Brelgson, a ... distant relative of mine.”

  The young Eru rider smiled and bowed to Kael.

  “Well met, Kael Brelgson,” said Hai.

  “Likewise,” Kael returned the bow.

  “Perhaps Kael can illuminate you,” prodded Ader.

  Kael glanced at the Seraph in confusion then reddened slightly. He chewed his lip then turned to Hai.

  “Well, I cannot be certain, but it sounds to me as if the Sprites ... played with you,” said Kael.

  Hai cocked his head back.

  “Pardon?”

  “I mean to show no disrespect,” frowned Kael, “but the Sprites have a knack for ... manipulating people. It happened to me outside of Rindor. I was taught a lesson not to wander from camp.

  “It sounds to me as if the Eru were also manipulated. The stories of the Toxkri are infamous. It seems the Sprites perpetuate and even create many of these stories. The more we fear a place the more unlikely we are to enter it.”

  “The riders of the Eru plains do not fear much, Kael Brelgson,” returned Hai.

  “I am sure a lone rider would face a dozen Ulrog Hackles with little or no fear, Master Hai,” bowed Kael politely, “but a very wise man once told me, it is foolish not to fear the unknown, as long as you control that fear. Certainly the Toxkri is unknown. Even more certain, it is a place to fear, fraught with dangers few can comfortably navigate. The Sprites used your people’s fear of a dangerous place and added some quantity of the unknown, making it even more unlikely your people ever attempt to enter their realm.”

  Hai pondered Kael’s assessment then turned to stare at the spot on the ledge Sprig had held.

  “I am not qualified to determine the extent of physical danger the Toxkri itself holds,” said Hai, “but I am certain of one thing. If that one, little man defeated an Ulrog priest in hand to hand combat, then most certainly the people of the Toxkri are formidable warriors no matter their size, and have scant to fear within their realm.”

  Hai turned toward Ader and concern spread across his face. Once again he bowed to the Seraph.

  “Forgive me for babbling, Lord Ader,” said Hai. “You are ill?”

  “I simply need a long rest,” smiled Ader weakly. “Perhaps we might avail ourselves of some renown Eru hospitality.”

  “Of course,” exclaimed Hai.

  The young rider turned to his men.

  “Burn the Ulrog bodies and ready yourselves,” shouted Hai. “We ride to my father’s camp.”

  Quickly the Eru captain turned to Ader.

  “It is but a short distance from here, my lord,” stated Hai. “I trust you are capable.”

  “Absolutely,” replied Ader.

  CHAPTER 6: THE STONE BARRIER

  The climb was slow and tedious. The conditions made it even more miserable. Cold crept into Cefiz’s hands and feet. The pain within his chest throbbed continually. At times, he and Granu paused to listen. They heard nothing save the wind. Apparently they were not followed. Their pace was unavoidably slow. If the Hackles and their Malveel master trailed them, Granu and Cefiz would most assuredly be overtaken by now.

  Granu estimated they ascended a thousand yards in their trek upward. Ice coated the cliff's face. Even the lichen found this elevation inhospitable for growth.

  “We will slow,” said Granu. “I believe the scribe acts in good faith. The Ulrog do not follow. If you are to survive, we must pace ourselves in this thin air.”

  The slower pace allowed the Guardsman to gather himself. Soon his color improved and the pain receded. Sorrow gripped him. He glanced to the Keltaran trudging up the slope beside him.

  “She died with honor,” said Cefiz finally.

  The giant’s eyes did not leave the trail.

  “She died with honor,” slowly repeated the giant in affirmation.

  Cefiz stopped and turned to the Keltaran.

  “She could have left at any time,” protested Cefiz. “Escape was possible, yet she chose to stay.”

  Granu halted and faced the Guardsman.

  “I do not offer false comfort, my friend,” stated Granu laying a hand on Cefiz’s shoulder. “You assessed her character correctly. She was loyal. She died with honor.”

  The lieutenant nodded in agreement. He was satisfied. The pair moved upward again and entered another ravine cut high upon the mountain. On either side the walls of a steep “V” rose within the peak of Hdjmir. It was still, dark and cold. A dead place. Granu and Cefiz crept forward through the darkness.

  “It may seem colder within these shadows,” stated Granu, “but in the evening the walls of this ravine will shield us from the wind and we will thank Avra for them.”

  Cefiz grunted his agreement. It seemed as if they moved into the heart of the mountain itself, but Cefiz looked above and noted clouds drifting over a fissure of gray light a thousand feet overhead. The walls of the ravine rose
so steeply, Cefiz nearly stumbled from vertigo. The air grew more still the further they advanced and a feeling of confinement came over the Guardsman.

  Fifty paces ahead a more palpable darkness loomed within the shadows of the ravine. As they approached, it took shape. Long ago, someone chiseled, pried and spilled the walls of the ravine onto the path, creating a dense wall of broken rock. Its jumbled mass rose like a sentinel before them, barring their way. Huge boulders lie hurled down upon huge boulders. Their eyes fought the semi darkness and strained to determine what they viewed.

  “There is writing,” murmured Granu.

  Cefiz stepped closer and inspected the markings. Scrawled on the boulders and walls of the ravine were the chaotic symbols. They were deeply etched in the rock by stone or steel. The name of Amird jumped from the walls everywhere one looked.

  “I do not like the look of this,” coughed Cefiz. “We are safe from the wind but I do not wish to tarry here. We should rest and decide our next move.”

  Granu moved closer and inspected the writing quietly. Cefiz waited a moment then anxiety overtook him.

  “This place is surely a crossroads for evil. The Ulrog call for their master here. They rally here to build courage.”

  Granu eyed the writing critically.

  “I see it with a different eye,” stated the monk finally. “I read a fear of this place in the hearts of the Ulrog. That which lies beyond this wall engenders that fear. They call on their masters to offer them protection and strength against the other side.”

  The giant stared at the wall a moment longer then addressed the Guardsman.

  “You are weak and the ravine affords us the greatest protection we are likely to find. The Ulrog have not followed us thus far,” said Granu turning to face the wall of broken stone. “I must see what is beyond the barricade.”

  Cefiz hesitated then nodded as he laid a hand on the Keltaran’s shoulder.

  “Take care,” warned Cefiz.

  Granu smiled and began to scale the wall. The climb was treacherous. The heavy giant dislodged many loose stones as he headed upward. The rock tumbled down, creating a reverberation of echoes within the ravine. He looked down to see Cefiz move back with concern on his face.