by V K Majzlik
The King nodded, now understanding what this one elf signified.
“But if you are to take the Aeonorgal back, you will need to leave now. Winter, as you know, is already sealing this Kingdom off from the outside world,” stated Gomel, still unsure as to what was the right thing to do.
“This is a fact I am very aware of. I barely made it to your gateway myself. I would need to leave in a few hours.”
“A few hours! But this is not enough for me to ready a garrison to accompany you!” The King motioned for a servant to come forward to ask him to take a message to the General of his army. The young gnome ran off quickly.
“Your offer is a generous one, but I believe I would draw less attention to myself if I went alone.”
Both Gomel and the King shook their heads in disbelief at the elf’s suggestion. It was noble, but also foolish.
“You can not go alone. I will travel with you. There is too much at stake. You should at least go with one or two as added eyes and blades for your journey.”
“A valiant gesture, Gomel, but I do not believe a wise one.”
“If my King is suggesting such a task is beyond me…..” there was a sound of indignation in Gomel’s voice and both his hands now gripped the arms of his chair.
The King smiled and tutted. “I merely believe you have done more than enough for now. Perhaps it is time you give someone else a chance to shine. Besides, I do not think your wife and family would ever forgive me if I sent you out into the wilderness again.”
“You are not sending me, I am volunteering!”
Gorthel held up his regal hand. “Enough, Gomel. It is my order that you do not go! In these dire times I need my most trusted advisors at my side.”
The flow of conversation was interrupted as Gothanal entered the room, bowing to the King. Upon his arrival a chair was immediately brought out and positioned for him to sit alongside the other three guests.
“Nilean, please meet my trusted General, Gothanal.” Gothanal stood again, and stooped low in respect to the elf.
“Nilean, it is an honour. It has been many centuries since I last looked upon an elf.”
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring the General up to speed, Gomel.”
Upon the King’s request, Gomel, in brief, replayed their conversation. Now fully versed, the members of the meeting sat in silence awaiting Gothanal’s opinion.
“Although speed is of the essence here, I believe it would be wise to travel with a greater number. If what you say is true, and war is very nearly upon us all, would it not be best to begin gathering our armies together?”
“We have little time. The mountain passes are closing as we speak,” pleaded the elf.
“How long would you need?” the King asked, acknowledging Nilean’s concerns.
Gothanal thought for a few moments, tallying up numbers on his fingers. “I would have one small company of thirty soldiers ready to travel within two hours. Within four, two companies.”
“That it not enough to wage a war!”
“Nilean, it is not the soldiers themselves who are difficult to come by. They would be ready in minutes. It is the weaponry to arm them with,” Gothanal explained. “You forget, we have not been a warring nation for many centuries.”
“You mean you have no weapons?”
“Of course we have some, but other than the number necessary to arm the sentries and King’s guards, we have very few additional supplies. I have enough to arm one company fully, immediately. Give me a few additional hours, other weapons can be quickly forged or repaired. But give me five days, I can arm the entire army.”
Nilean sat back in his chair, contemplating the General’s words.
Gomel spoke, as if reading the elf’s mind. “We do not have five days. It would be my advice that two companies leave with Nilean and the Aeonorgal in four hours. The rest of the army can follow at first thawing.”
“But I thought that war was already upon us. Isn’t first thawing months away?” Cradon spoke for the first time, drawing attention to himself.
“Yes, the first thawing is several months away, but even the dark lords cannot wage war within weeks. They are yet to discover our plan or where Loreandril is. Only then will they send out their armies. Otherwise they will merely be sending their armies out to wander the wilderness in search of an invisible foe,” explained Gomel.
Silence fell in the room, the only noise coming from the scribe who fidgeted impatiently next to the King’s throne as he frantically took notes. It was clear he felt uncomfortable being privy to such a conversation.
“Your words are wise, Gomel. I must also remember my promise to protect my people. To send the army out now would be folly. It would leave our Kingdom open to attack. Even under these mountains we still require a force to hold our defences.”
“Then it is agreed. I will wait until preparations are made for two companies and take the welcomed opportunity to rest. I will return with the Aeonorgal and word that the King of Ghornathia will send his army when the time is right.”
The scribe finished writing and handed his scroll to the King.
“I agree.” The King signed the bottom of the scroll. “Let my mark be shown that this a true record of all we have spoken of today. Take this with you Nilean so your Elders may see your words are true.”
Cradon adjusted his position in his chair slightly, and cleared his throat nervously, “Perhaps I could also accompanied you?” His voice sounded small and insignificant, as if he was a little boy again, trying to join in an adult conversation.
Three pairs of eyes turned and looked at him. Feeling the urge to continue explaining, as the others stared at him expectantly, Cradon continued. “I have some experience with the sword and my tracking skills are not too bad. I think I would be of some help. More importantly, I would also like to be reunited with my brother.” Having said his piece, he sat back in his chair, the nerves still jumping up and down in his stomach.
Nilean finally broke the silence. “Your words are brave and honest, Cradon. If the others accept, I would gladly have you as a travel companion.”
“What say you Gomel. Only you can bare witness to the boy’s skill. Will he be a help or a hindrance?” asked the King.
Gomel still did not speak for some time. Finally, he turned to Cradon. “Part of me knows it is right you go and be reunited with your brother. It is true; your skills with the blade are not to be trifled with. But my other half would ask that you would stay. There is so much that I have left to teach you, about so many things, and it would be wise that you give your shoulder more time to heal. But saying that, I am neither your father nor your master. Ultimately it is your decision.”
“I need to go with him, Gomel.” Although saddened to leave Gomel, he knew it was the right thing to do. Already the scale and danger of what he had just committed himself to was beginning to become clear.
“Good, Cradon will accompany you. Gothanal make your preparations,” requested the King.
“You have four hours, then we must leave!” stated Nilean.
Orders were sent to the kitchens and stores to prepare supplies for the journey and the stables to ensure rides were made ready. With winter settling in, the elf and clansman would be prevented from riding their horses, but they would still accompany them as pack animals.
The three guests bowed to the King and left the palace. Several hours had passed but still the streets were filled with. The elf dare not leave for fear of being mobbed, instead he asked for a room to be prepared so he could rest for a few hours before leaving. This was done instantly.
With the time of departure agreed, Gomel and Cradon returned home, skirting round the crowds through back allies.
Chapter 54 – Govan’s Return
Huge clots of red, sandy mud flew up behind them as the horse dug its hooves in deep, galloping as fast as its remaining strength would allow. Govan had run the poor skinny animal into the ground, sweat streaming down its lanky, brown body, its
mane and tail matted with a combination of rain, mud and sweat. They were riding fast across the plains of Davathon, the fortress of Damankhur clearly visible in the red haze before them.
Already he could see the windows of the three watchtowers twinkling in the sunlight, which now lay low on the horizon. The guards had spied someone riding towards them fast and were watching his every move to determine whether he was friend or foe. Govan was still a quarter of a league away when he saw the gates slowly start to swing open, welcoming him into the safe haven of the dark fortress.
“Stand clear!” shouted one of the guards, as Govan ploughed through the monstrous, black gates and continued cantering up the steep, winding hill towards the centre of the fortress. Soldiers scattered to either side as he came riding down fast upon them without the slightest care as to whether he injured anyone. When Govan flung himself off his horse the sun was shining its last few bloodshot beams across the plain.
Without waiting to sort his exhausted ride he ran into the main building, climbing the staircase up towards the chambers of the Rjukhan. He knew they would have anticipated his return, watching his every move on their shadow map. Govan had seen it many times and each on occasion it gave him an uncomfortable feeling, one that he carried out with him into the field. He despised the feeling of being watched, even spied upon, as if he could not be trusted.
Without introduction, the doors to the Chamber of Daam swung open silently, invisible men heaving with all their might. Before him, in the shadowy darkness and burning glow of the hideously carved candle sconces and bubbling cauldron, sat the three Rjukhan upon their towering thrones.
Govan did not salute or wait to be invited, but instead strode boldly forward to stand before his Lords of Darkness. Their faces could not be made out, with their hoods pulled up over their shapeless heads. Even though the light of the surrounding flames fell upon them they sat under a continuous veil of darkness. On the back wall silhouettes of the three hands stared forebodingly back at Govan, a reminder of the Rjukhan’s rule.
“You return empty handed,” hissed the middle Lord.
“Without your men,” continued the shadowy figure to the left.
“And without our prized possession,” finished the third.
“My Lords, I come with something far greater than those things.” Sensing their disapproval, Govan wisely knelt on one knee. He was not going to risk losing his head at an impulsive, whimsical action of one of the Lords.
“Speak!” The gruesome, callous hiss seemed to slither around the room, reverberating around the tall columns and arched ceiling.
“I come with knowledge. It is as we have suspected, the Elves live.” He paused, waiting for a response to this blasphemous statement, but none came. “I passed through their devil mists and survived their weak conjurations.”
“We have seen. The map shows all except their light.”
“They hide themselves from our shadows.”
“But we saw our servants disappear, and only you come out.”
Of course, realised Govan, Loreandril, the Kingdom of the Elves, would have appeared as a blind spot on their shadow map, a place where their dark magic could not penetrate.
“Yes, my men were lost. But I found something far greater in return,” smirked Govan, knowing he had done well.
“Our armies have already begun making preparations.”
“You will lead them out.”
“We will release the Earth’s black fire upon them and the Elves will become nothing but grains of sand and dust in the wind.”
The captain bowed. “I live to serve. Your commands will be fulfilled, my Lords.”
There was nothing more to say. Govan saluted, stood and left the chamber, leaving the Rjukhan to their dark deeds.
The heavy, black doors swung silently closed behind him and Govan sprinted quickly down to the garrisons to check on proceedings. The fortress held many legions of men, but beneath it lay numerous dormant, foul beasts that the Dark Lords would call into service. Together man and beast would march out, an army the size not seen for centuries.
Inside the Chamber of Daam the three Rjukhan were not alone. The karzon captain, Vlandac, slunk forward out of the shadows and bowed low before his creators and Lords. The only sound of his stealthy movements was the gentle swish of his robes on the cold, stone floor. He had watched in the shadows, in silence, as the Rjukhan dealt with the man.
“We have a further task for you,”
“The resting place of the star has been found.”
“You will hunt out its keepers, kill them and return it to us.”
The centrally seated Rjukhan stood, his full size suddenly dominating the room, blocking out the light. Even the domineering karzon captain seemed dwarfed in the shadow of his Lord. The Rjukhan swept his arm through the air, his hand hidden from view by the long black sleeves of his robe. Instantly the bubbling of the cauldron stopped, the swirling steam cleared and an imaged formed on the still, black surface. The karzon slid forward to inspect the vision. Immediately he recognised the scene before him and knew where his mission would take him.
“Leave none alive. Return with the star.”
“The Elves cannot be reunited with it.”
“They cannot go to war with it on their side.”
His orders understood, the karzon captain bowed low once more and left the chamber.
Within minutes he and thirteen Karzon rode out of the fortress on their hideous khalit beasts, their destination, the Lopthian Mountains. They left behind the preparations for war, riding purposefully into the growing darkness.
Chapter 55 – A Fond Farewell
Glona and her family almost collapsed with the floods of tears as they were told the news. They were deeply mournful at the thought of Cradon, whom they had come to love dearly as one of their own, going into the wilderness to face the darkness. But they understood completely why the young clansman had to go, family being just as important to Gnomes.
Most of all they cried with relief, grateful Gomel was not joining Cradon. Gomel did not say it was the King’s decision, he wanted his family to believe it his choice. He had not forgotten his promise to his son, and was secretly pleased the King had refused his offer.
Family and friends began baking and salting frantically, preparing a variety of foods for Cradon to take, determined that he was not going to starve in the wilderness. Other gnomes prepared warm clothing for him, sewing with unsurpassable skill and speed. Drombil rushed to the best metal worker in the Kingdom, his personal friend, to attend to Cradon’s weapons and armour.
Upon request Gomel had taken Cradon away from the hustle and bustle. The clansman was feeling nervous and overwhelmed with the sudden hubbub of activity. The immense scale of what lay before him was beginning to dawn. This was not a jolly jaunt through the woods.
They made their way to the stables to check on Sonda, the horse he would ride, but everything was already being taken care of. With nothing they could do to help, the two friends found a quiet, hidden corner and took some time away from everything.
Time passed too quickly. The horns began sounding that the troops were on the move. His bags packed, dressed once again in armour and laden with weapons, Cradon was ready to leave. As was tradition, crowds started to line the streets, not in merriment as previously, but in sombre silence, heads bowed in quiet prayers for those leaving the safety of their Kingdom.
Nilean and Cradon led the procession. The silence of the crowds made Cradon feel as though he was walking towards his execution. It lay heavy in the air, like swaths of oppressive clouds threatening a heavy storm. Gomel had tried to stay close, following them through the crowds, but eventually they lost sight of each other. A lump in his throat Cradon was forced to move on, feeling his stomach turn to jelly with nothing except Gomel’s parting words of confidence aiding him.
The cold hit like a wall as they stepped out into the mountainous ravine. Winter was taking its icy hold. The snow seemed to fly horizontal
ly, catching them in the face like whips. Shielding their eyes, the troops, Cradon and Nilean began slowly to descend the torturous mountain path, now hidden under vast drifts of powder. Even the wind seemed to fight against them, blowing uphill, making each step harder than the last. It was as though the mountain did not want them to leave its icy grip.
They fought for hours, battling downhill, until, exhausted, they decided to rest, finding a sheltered scouring in the mountainside. Huddled behind boulders the travellers tried to keep warm, supping on watery soups heated over meagre campfires.
Already the gnomes were wondering whether to turn back. Many of them had not ventured outside for centuries and felt insecure and exposed with no rocky ceiling above them. The appalling weather did not help to strengthen their resolve.
Only Nilean seemed content with the decision to leave. The elf urged the captain and two sergeants to keep their men encouraged with thoughts of Loreandril and freedom, although he knew the only thing keeping the troops there was the King’s order. Just like Gomel, these troops were loyal to the core, willingly sacrificing their lives if necessary.
It was too cold to sleep for more than an hour so they decided to continue battling onwards.
Without their knowing, each step was taking them closer to the enemy who were driven forward by sheer hate. The karzon, having ridden through the night, were making excellent progress. The unearthly khalit beneath them pounded untiringly across the plains towards the distant mountains, churning up vast gouges in the hardened ground with their black talons. They covered the distance faster than horses and already the Lopthians were a thin, hazy line on the far horizon, only two days ride away.
As they rode, Vlandac let out a piercing, shrill scream that echoed into the growing morning light, heralding their approach. All beasts and men who heard it covered their ears and ran for shelter. All doors and windows were barred shut in the villages they passed. Not a soul was seen or heard. Ravenous black and grey wolves of the mountain regions soon joined the karzon, coming to the call of the Captain. With moth-eaten and flea-ridden fur the wolves had come out of hiding to join the hunt.