“The little man is a guest,” stated Temujen. “When you find him, offer him the typical hospitality of the Eru.”
Ader smiled and shook his head.
“They will not find him,” laughed the Seraph.
CHAPTER 8: FAITH REWARDED
Granu was uncertain how long he slept. Day and evening held no meaning within the mountain. The giant stood and rubbed the stiffness from his muscles. He gathered his belongings, carefully wrapping the ax of Gretcha in his bedroll.
Recent events left him confused and anxious. The matriarch of his people directed him to take up arms against his brother. A command issued across centuries. How? He and the Guardsman were trapped in the tomb of Awoi. To stay meant a slow death by starvation. To depart meant facing three-dozen Hackles in the pass below, as certain a death as if they remained.
Cefiz stirred and slowly woke. Granu smiled. The Guardsman weathered much hardship, but as the Keltaran prince often said, Cefiz was made of stern stuff. Once more he proved it by making the trek up Tar Hdjmir. Granu marveled at how proud he was to call the Guardsman “friend”. He stepped toward Cefiz and helped the man to his feet.
Cefiz brushed the dust from his clothing and ordered his belongings as well. When ready, he stood and slung a pack across his back.
“I suppose it is time for us to contemplate alternatives,” said the giant. “Our choices seem to be limited to death by starvation or an Ulrog cleaver.”
Cefiz smiled in return and worked the kinks from his neck muscles.
“The former holds neither dignity nor glory,” replied Cefiz. “With the latter, at least we may take some of the demons with us.”
The pair shared a smile and reached to gather the remainder of their belongings.
“Again you fail to recognize possibilities,” came the comment from the doorway.
The pair turned to face Nostr as the stone prophet entered the chamber. He quickly surveyed them and moved toward the dais supporting the remains of Awoi.
“Do you think I would lead you here and show you all this just to allow you to die upon the slopes of Hdjmir?” asked the Ulrog scribe as he slowly circled the dais, studying it intently.
Granu and Cefiz did not answer. An answer was not required. Nostr halted and focused on a corner of the great stone block. His huge, rough hands slowly passed along the edges of the dais as he studied the base of the stone.
“No,” continued Nostr. “The Creator has other plans for you, if you are willing. The Malveel are intimately familiar with the mountain and know there is no escape from the slopes of Hdjmir. However, they have never entered this chamber and therefore are unaware of ....”
Nostr locked his stony claws upon the edge of the granite dais and laid a tremendous force into its side. The rock shuddered and slowly pivoted from the center of the room.
“... this,” finished the stone man.
Granu and Cefiz backed away as a gaping hole opened beneath the dais. Nostr removed his hands from the stone and snatched a burning torch from the wall.
“Your path lies there,” said Nostr flipping the torch from his hand into the hole.
The sound of the wood torch clattering and bouncing across stone echoed from the pit and all three men moved forward and peered into the opening. A rough-hewn staircase stretched out beneath them reaching toward the torch burning far below in the darkness. Its faint light stretched toward the tomb and threw dancing shadows across the irregular stone face of the stairway walls.
Granu and Cefiz looked to one another in surprise and Nostr allowed a broad smile to slide across his gray face. Granu raised a questioning eyebrow and a smiling Nostr turned to face him.
“What confuses you?” said Nostr still smiling at the giant.
Granu cleared his throat and appeared uncomfortable.
“I ... I am confused by your pleasure in this situation,” said Granu. “Why at this of all times do you show such delight?”
Nostr turned, continuing to smile, and collected several torches from the floor of the chamber.
“Do you not think I can feel amusement?” replied Nostr through a deep, grating laugh.
Granu and Cefiz were taken aback by both the sound and the attitude of the stone prophet. He was so expressionless in their previous encounters that this change of character befuddled them. Nostr shook his head and approached the giant, placing a hand on the Keltaran’s shoulder.
“You think of me as some mystical presence,” said Nostr, “full of the answers to questions you cannot conceive. That is where you are mistaken. I am a man like any other. The visions given to me are just that. Do I think they will come true? Yes. Have they always come true? Yes. But that does not eliminate the joy and wonder I experience every time one of them does comes true.
“When I pushed on that stone, I hoped it would move. When I pushed on that stone, I believed it would move. But nothing compares to the elation a man feels when his faith is rewarded with proof.”
Nostr thrust the torches into the hands of Granu and Cefiz. The smile slowly dropped from his face as he addressed the pair.
“Your path lies below. Follow the stairway and you will exit the mountain at its base.”
“What then?” asked Granu.
“That is for you to decide, Prince Granu,” returned Nostr.
“But what of Lilywynn?” asked Cefiz. “What of her rescue?”
“That is not your course,” replied Nostr. “I cannot force you from attempting that undertaking again, but you and I are both aware that any attempt would be fruitless. Her captors are too far ahead of you. Your original plan was adequate. It was composed of two groups, a second group to back the first if they failed. They did.”
Cefiz dropped his head slightly and Granu set his jaw. After a moment the giant turned and stepped into the hole in the floor of the chamber. Cefiz took one last look at the stone prophet, lightly bowed and followed the giant. Granu descended a few dozen steps then stopped at the guttering torch on the granite stairway. He bent and lit a second torch from the first. Cefiz met him and Granu handed the Guardsman the second torch.
A loud grating of stone on stone echoed from above. The faint light from the tomb of Awoi shrank as the Ulrog called down to the pair.
“I know not whether the Hackles will gain access to the tomb now that it is unsealed. I will close this passage and the stone door to prevent you from being followed. May Avra bless your endeavors.”
The grating halted and the tomb above disappeared. Granu and Cefiz stared at one another in the flickering light of the torches.
“You asked me to contemplate alternatives when we woke,” frowned Cefiz, “but I feel as if there were never any choices but those laid out by the scribe.”
Granu pursed his lips and nodded in reply.
“Agreed,” returned the giant, “but I cannot say I am unhappy with the lot he has given us.”
Cefiz nodded in return. The pair spun and slowly descended the dark staircase.
CHAPTER 9: SMOKE OR FIRE?
The wind held steady throughout the Anvil’s march to the East and scouts sighted smoke on the army’s seventh day from the mountain city. At first, Fenrel dismissed it. The haze originated from an area of the Dunmor hills he intended to skirt. The hills would make travel difficult and the giant knew he possessed plenty of time to march to Zodra.
The smoke remained persistent on the Northeast horizon even after a half-day’s march. This fire neither spread nor dissipated. As the Anvil bedded down for the night, talk ran through the camp. Fenrel became perturbed. He did not need the distraction in his men’s minds as they prepared for battle with the Zodrians.
He had stripped Keltar of nearly all of her fighters, leaving Ramsskull subordinates in charge of a small contingent of Anvil regulars to guard the valley. His men left all they cared for in the valley and would worry over the source of the smoke so close to their borders.
“Fools,” thought Fenrel. “They stand at the threshold of greatness and worry ove
r a Zodrian hunter’s cooking fire.”
He immediately sent a Hammer of his swiftest riders to investigate the source of the smoke. Their information would lay to rest any doubts in his men’s minds, then they would move on to Zodra.
His servants erected his pavilion and Fenrel retired for the evening.
Piled rocks and tree limbs lay stacked before a wide, open trench dug at the base of the hill. Manfir inspected its workmanship as he paced the base of the hill and questioned the veracity of his plan. Taken as a whole, he believed in its merits.
However, when he examined each portion of the plan, Manfir realized how many tenuous events needed to align themselves in order for the Zodrian army to acheive success. The prince chuckled to himself. The first of these events, the Anvil discovering the Guard at Dunmor, was the most important.
The sound of hooves thundering in the distance swept over the hillside. Calls and shouts went up in the darkness. Manfir turned to his men. Their bodies were rigid and many held hands on their weapons.
“Easy men.” called Manfir. “I hear but one or two riders and the sentries stationed on the perimeter raised no alarm.”
A short while later, a rider in a green recruit’s uniform rode into the hazy light of the hillside fires. His horse glistened in the dancing firelight as sweat poured down the beast’s twitching muscles. The rider jumped from his mount and approached Manfir.
“My lord.” called the scout bowing his head.
“What do you have to report?” asked Manfir.
The rider took a moment to catch his breath then answered the prince.
“Scouts spotted a Hammer unit moving toward the hills, my lord,” blurted the man. “They approach cautiously. These scouts alerted our sentries and they opened a wide berth in the line to allow the unit to approach. Thus far the Keltaran are unaware we hold the hills, but they shall arrive within the hour.”
“Excellent,” replied Manfir. “Leave the opening in our patrols until the Hammer gathers its information and retreats. Once they depart, close the gap and tighten its perimeter to a league’s distance from the hills.”
“Yes, my lord,” cried the scout as he turned and leapt upon the back of his roan.
“We shall soon see how great is Fenrel’s lust for blood,” whispered Manfir to the darkness pressing in on the hillside.
“My lord. My lord,” called a voice from outside Fenrel’s pavilion.
“What is it?” snapped the Captain.
“News from the scouting party,” called Fenrel’s second in command, Lieutenant Aul.
“It could not wait until morning?” snarled Fenrel.
“No, my lord,” exclaimed Aul.
The huge Keltaran lieutenant fidgeted nervously as curses rolled from behind the heavy curtains of the pavilion. He quickly exchanged concerned looks with the scout captain who stood wide eyed beside him.
“Hold a moment. I will be out shortly,” shouted Fenrel. “This better be important, Aul.”
After a few moments, the Keltaran prince stepped from the pavilion covered in black robes. The smell of burning flesh rolled from the darkened pavilion and Aul took a step backwards, recoiling from its distasteful odor. Fenrel sweated profusely and appeared extremely agitated.
“What is the report?” he snapped at the scout leader.
The leader nervously glanced between the prince and Aul as he began his report.
“We followed a direct line to the rising smoke as you ordered, my lord,” said the leader
“And?” demanded Fenrel.
“The Zodrian Guard, my lord...” stammered the scout leader. “It camps in the Dunmor. It appears that they rode forth to engage us, not the other way around.”
“What?” exclaimed Fenrel.
He often boasted how the remaining Zodrian forces would cower within the walls of their great city, terrified of the Anvil’s might.
“Impossible,” roared the captain. “The Guard is bogged down along the Scythtar.”
The Keltaran prince burst past Aul and the scout leader, charging into the camp amongst his troops. News spread. Many men were up and small groups formed, whispering in deep conversation.
“What are you yapping about?” bellowed Fenrel toward a group near the pavilion. “You stand upon the brink of world domination and you fret over nothing. A fly buzzes in your face and you would have us retreat to caves to escape it.”
He spun back toward the scout leader.
“How many troops do they have?” he questioned accusingly.
“I ... uh,” mumbled the scout.
Fenrel charged forward and smashed a tightened fist into the face of the scout leader. Immediately, the soldier fell to the ground as a rush of blood poured from his swelling nose. The scout leader scrambled backward along the ground as Fenrel advanced on him screaming obscenities. Two massive guards attired in Ramsskull uniforms slid from the tents shadows in support of their captain. They smiled menacingly at Aul and the Anvil regulars.
“You didn’t even ascertain their numbers, their strength?” howled the captain.
The scout’s hands covered his face as he grimaced in pain.
“We .... we were stunned to find such a large force,” replied the scout frantically. “We feared that we stumbled through their picket lines accidentally. We were very close.”
His hands came free from his face and his eyes registered shock at the amount of blood covering them. Fenrel fed off the fear and confusion of the scout leader. The captain’s eyes drank in the scene then narrowed in malice. He charged forward.
“So you returned to spread fear and uncertainty among my troops?” bellowed Fenrel.
The Keltaran prince’s iron booted foot crashed into the ribs of the prone scout. The desperate man curled into a ball and threw an arm up in an attempt to protect himself from the crazed prince.
“No, my lord,” cried the scout. “I simply report what I have seen.”
Fenrel ignored the protests and continued to mercilessly hammer the scout with damaging kicks to his head and body. Aul backed from his master and several men from the scouting party glanced to the cruel faced guards then bled into the darkness of the campsite.
The scout leader’s arm fell limply to his side as Fenrel continued to punish his lifeless body. Finally, the wild-eyed prince turned to the silent camp, sweat and spittle running down his face and neck. He extended a fist at his troops and slowly his index finger rose to point accusingly at the Anvil.
“You.” roared Fenrel. “You will not falter. You will not question. Your lot is to live or die at my bidding. For my glory! I will conquer Zodra and take our people kicking and screaming from their prison in the mountains.”
He turned and pointed at the scout leader lying motionless in an extending pool of blood.
“This is the fate of any who question the crown or neglect to fulfill their duties to the fullest extent,” shouted Fenrel. “Look upon this and know it is I who you must fear, not the remnants of the defeated Zodrian army.”
Fenrel turned and moved toward the pavilions opening. Before entering he turned once more to the silent Anvil.
“Remove the body of this traitor from the grounds of my pavilion,” snapped Fenrel, “and strike camp. We leave within the hour to erase any sign of these Guards from the face of the Dunmor.”
Kael awoke the following morning to the hand of Eidyn on his shoulder.
“We should be going,” stated the Elf. “We have a long journey ahead and the Eru have decided to escort us most of the way.”
Kael nodded his assent and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He spent the night in a small yurt located directly behind Fondith’s quarters. It was comfortable and well prepared with food and drink. Eidyn joined him later in the evening and the pair fell into a deep sleep.
Kael was not sure how long he slept but he was sure it was not enough. The previous three days of travel without respite left him fatigued to the point where he thought no length of rest would alleviate it.
&n
bsp; Eidyn tossed the Southland boy his pants and Kael quickly dressed. He stepped from the tent and was blinded by the light of the sun. After a moment his eyes adjusted and he was stunned. Where once a city of tents sprawled, now stood a huge field of matted grass. The signs of a massive tent city occupying the prairie were evident by outlines impressed upon the grassland, but no other tent pole remained standing.
“Where .... ?” began Kael.
“The Eru dismantled the entire city within minutes after sunrise,” smiled Eidyn. “Truly amazing. Not a scrap of waste was left. Our yurt remained untouched as to afford us more sleep.”
“Where have they gone?” asked Kael in dismay.
“My father has decided to move the people east,” came a voice to the tent’s side.
Hai rounded the tent and approached the two men leading four fine Eru horses.
“We are not far behind,” said the young man. “The main group moves significantly slower than a normal man on horseback so we should have no trouble joining them.”
The young man released the reins on the horses and bent forward, grasping one of the tent’s poles. A quick yank and the tent collapsed in upon itself. Hai moved forward and within moments the tent was folded into a tight bundle that was thrown across the back of one of the horses. Hai secured the tent with long leather straps and handed the reins of the additional horses to Kael and Eidyn.
“Shall we depart?” asked the Chieftain’s son.
“Absolutely,” replied Eidyn.
Time left Cefiz. His journey through the heart of Hdjmir erased all sense of it from his mind. He registered nothing but torchlight, virtually consumed by a darkness so palpable it clung to his clothing.
The silence was overwhelming. He never could have imagined how disquieting the sound of a guttering torch held close to one’s ear could be. Granu’s limp became more pronounced and his staff striking the stone floor boomed like thunder in the tunnel. Even Cefiz’s breathing seemed loud as the Guardsman huffed and puffed down the cavern. The pain in his chest built again.
The Trees And The Night (Book 3) Page 10