“Come in, boy,” someone croaked.
“How do you know I’m a boy?” Folc asked with a wobbly voice. An old woman stood inside the shack with her back turned. She was clad in threadbare brown robes. Her grey hair was long and entwined with wooden branches. The green leaves on them waved in the air.
“I’m a seer—” she gave a snigger “—my eyes are everywhere.” She turned around. Her eye sockets were empty. “Come inside and sit.”
The room was a mess of junk hanging from the walls and the ceiling. Stuffed animals looked at him with their charcoal eyes. The shelves had more pots than Brother Benedict’s workshop. Some glass bottles were filled with floating dead animals, like lizards and frogs which had swollen in the liquid beyond recognition. A table stood in the middle of the room. Folc did not know if what lay on it could be called food or if it was ingredients for mystical experiments. Candles had blown out and had dripped their red wax on the board in large rings. The place was dark, dusty, and smelled like cat piss. Folc coughed. He spotted a stool and sat down on it.
“What can I do for you?” the seer asked.
“I thought you would already know.”
“I know. I want to hear you say it.” The seer coughed.
“My friends are worried about the dragon,” Folc said.
“And who wouldn’t? Dragons are not from this world. They are from hell!” she shrieked the last word. “Yet, everything dies in this world, including dragons.”
“Can you kill the dragon?” Folc asked, full of hope.
The seer laughed and nearly choked herself. She spat. “I can’t kill dragons, young fool, but I know how to extinguish his fire.”
“How?” Folc hung on the edge of his stool.
“There is an artifact on the island on the Sihr Loch. It has been hidden there for an eternity. You and your friends could give it new life.”
“So it’s just that. Finding an artifact?” Folc was nearly deceived.
“Just that?” she repeated. “Maybe, maybe.”
Folc did not like her nasty smile. “And what should we do with the artifact?”
“That is the most exciting part, my boy. The dragon has to eat it.” She sniggered.
“And what would be the price for this information?” Folc inquired.
“Bring your friends to the island, and we will discuss it. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” The seer’s body blurred.
“No, wait!” Folc screamed, grasping after her.
The seer turned into a flock of crows and flew through the door.
Folc stood on the floor with black feathers in his hands. “Damn! How will I explain that to my friends? Unless…” He looked around and found what he needed.
CHAPTER 27
Selen looked at the shiny, blue eyes. “It is as disgusting as it’s fascinating,” he whispered, rolling the two eyeballs in the palm of his hand.
“But why did you take them?” Louis asked. He stood at the entrance of the tent, making sure no one entered.
Folc sat on his bed, looking away. “I wasn’t sure you would believe my story. I thought this could make it a bit more…convincing.”
“I’m convinced that an angry seer will be looking for us in search of her eyes,” Selen said, folding the cloth over the eyes and placing them on the table.
“Yeah, I got that,” Folc grunted.
“Too bad it wasn’t obvious when you decided to take them,” Louis added. “So, what exactly did you learn about the artifact?”
“She said that it was hidden on an island on the Sihr Loch. If the dragon eats the artifact, it will extinguish the fire,” Folc resumed. “Will you tell the others?”
“No. The incredulous ones will laugh in our faces, and the believers will deliver us to the seer,” Louis answered. “I will find an excuse to get the army near the lake. It’s on our way.”
Selen turned to Louis. “Do you believe it can work?”
His friend shrugged. “How would I know? But it’s definitely worth a try.”
“How do we make a dragon eat an artifact?” Folc inquired.
“I guess you feed him with the bearer. Preferably a juicy, young boy.” Selen grinned.
“I have a hard time thinking that it can work. It sounds too easy,” Louis said.
“Those are exactly my thoughts,” Folc added. “But Brother Benedict was sure it would help us.”
“We will check the place. Maybe the seer doesn’t believe we can find it. Maybe there are traps of some sort,” Louis said.
“Lissandro could have had a vision about it,” Selen murmured. They still had not received news about their friend. Worry grew in him with each passing day.
They all stayed silent. Louis sat down near him and stared at him. “Visions may help him right now. Maybe he has already learned the truth about all this.”
Selen tilted his head sideways. If not for the boy, he would have closed the distance between their mouths. He thought about Lissandro again.
“But we leave tomorrow even further east. I can’t stop thinking that we didn’t do enough.” Selen gnawed at his hand and turned his eyes on the lantern behind Folc’s bed.
“I know. We didn’t.” Louis wrapped an arm around Selen’s back. Selen closed his eyes. The touch of his friend felt so good, so comforting. His left arm curled around Louis’s waist. Selen surprised himself by laying his head on Louis’s shoulder but raised it quickly.
“No. You did all you could!” Folc exclaimed. “You had no choice. You did more for this army in three weeks than anyone could have conceived. You have no right to give up.”
Selen and Louis looked at Folc in astonishment.
“I am only a young boy. I would probably be dead by now if you hadn’t rescued me. You give hope to people. You give us the will to fight. I admire you,” Folc said with a thick, brittle voice.
Deeply moved by his words, Selen smiled heartily at Folc and stretched out his right arm. The boy rushed to them for a hug. When Selen heard the sobbing between their chests, he realized it was the first time Folc had cried in their presence. Selen and Louis put an arm behind Folc’s back and stayed silent for a while.
Selen heard the men outside dismantle the tents and put the materiel on the carts. They would leave tomorrow morning. Nothing but large poles of wood would be left behind. The stocks were full and ready. Even Brother Benedict had been satisfied. From the villages around, a hundred men had volunteered to join the new Rebellion. Surprisingly, the soldiers were motivated to depart. Maybe they too felt it was time to act. The decisive battle for the reconquest of Trevalden could start. Many would die, but many would regret to have stayed at home. From tomorrow, they would write history. Though he still had no idea what to do and how, Selen was proud to be a captain in this army. Proud to walk alongside his friends. He was scared to death to lose them, yet he knew it would not happen. Not this time. This time, he would win. Selen smiled and laid his head on Louis’s shoulder.
CHAPTER 28
The apple was juicy. Kraalh took another powerful bite between his huge tusks and ground the piece with his strong molars. Bits fell from his mouth onto his hairy chest. “Get him out of here!” he yelled, spitting slimy morsels in the air. “Put him on a spike!” Two guards dragged the pleading man out of the room. Kraalh took another mouthful. Boring buffoons, all of them, he thought. “I should have impaled more,” he spat.
Millhaven had been hard to conquer. Sound, strong walls, only three gates, the east side backed by a high cliff. He had lost many soldiers, expendable scum and good officers. The sack had been a treat. The nobles here were filthy rich, and the women beautiful. His orcs had thrown trunks of gold through the windows onto the streets when he had walked by. As for the women, five chains were fixed to his seat. Kraalh tugged at one. A blond girl rose from the floor in front of him. She only had veils around her. Kraalh saw the bruises on her body. I shouldn’t have hit that one, he thought, it’s not pretty. He looked at her breasts instead. That was better. The girl was sh
aking, terrified, but already tame. He pulled another chain. Another girl rose from the other side. This one was better looking. He pushed his loincloth to the side and pulled on both chains. The girls knew what they had to do. The heads of previous slaves stood on the hearth’s overmantel in different stages of decomposition as a delicate reminder.
Over his long stay in the city, Kraalh had learned that not all the comely girls of Millhaven could be tamed. Some had had a tragic end, usually by his own hand. It was even more pleasurable for him to know that he had taken over the city from the hand of a woman. The old nag was locked away in the prison tower. He may use her later, once he was done with all these, just to observe the fear and disgust in her eyes. He looked at the two girls having their way with him. He grimaced. They could at least try to put some little enthusiasm in it. He was the orcs’ general after all and, in his opinion, among the most handsome of his kind. His eyes were sharp and deep-set in his skull. His nose could be compared to a pig’s snout, in shape as well as in dirtiness. His protruding tusks were large and of shiny ivory. Kraalh’s long, black, braided hair contrasted with his green-greyish skin which he liked to grease to make his huge muscles gleam. Of his armour, he only bore the pauldrons. The plates were adorned with short, sharp spikes. Kraalh’s girth made the massive wooden chair look tiny. “This great hall will need a new decoration,” he mumbled, looking at the dull mouldings and carvings. Who could want flowers and horses on his walls?
Kraalh was bogged in boredom. He pulled on a third chain. Maybe this one would make the difference, or maybe he should try something new. By what he had heard, his son, Xruul, had been killed by a peculiar creature, a she-knight painted in weird colors. Kraalh would not mind adding a sixth chain with something more exotic. He straightened in his seat. That last one was at least more skilled than the others. As the girl finished him, the apple exploded in his hand.
The door opened. “One of your chieftains, General!” the guard barked.
“Let him in,” Kraalh grunted. That would be a change for him from all these human solicitors. Always pleading for food or justice. As if he had not been accommodating enough. He had only asked for four hundred heads, after all. On a big city like Millhaven, it was nothing. He could have killed them all, but Agroln would not have appreciated. The king wanted to keep the place running. Too much gold at stake, he had said. Kraalh sniggered. The man already had a dragon and most of the country; why bother about gold? The king did not even have to pay him. Pillaging and eating on the land was a lot more exciting. What an orc wants, he takes, as simple as that.
The Chieftain entered the room and knelt in front of him. “General.”
“Speak!” Kraalh shouted. He picked up an apple from the large silver plate on his side and aimed at the orc. The fruit missed him.
“An army is heading south towards us, General. My soldiers say it’s the Rebellion.”
“It’s impossible,” Kraalh grunted. “I have crushed that coward. His army was in ruin.” The Rebellion had been challenging at first, but with time, it had reduced to nothing. The men left were drunken beggars wading in their shit in what they called a camp. He had even heard rumours that they had burned villages in his name.
“But there is an army coming, General,” the Chieftain said.
“How many?” Kraalh asked, chewing noisily on an apple.
“Around a thousand,” the orc said.
Kraalh guffawed. “That is not an army! I will crush them in a blow. Where are they?”
“Near the Sihr Loch, General.”
Kraalh swallowed the piece of fruit he had in his mouth. “What?”
“They are near the Sihr Loch,” the Chieftain repeated.
“I heard you, son of a troll!” Kraalh yelled. “What are they doing by the lake?” They could not have heard about the artifact. It was impossible. No human had that knowledge.
“We don’t know, General.”
Kraalh pondered the situation. He could not leave the city. With his soldiers roaming the whole country, he only had three thousand orcs in garrison in Millhaven. He had been too confident of his strength. Should he meet the Rebellion on an open ground, he would lose his advantage. Still, he could not let them find the artifact either.
“Send a party of our best orcs. Let them spy on the Rebellion. Whatever the humans find on that lake, make our orcs steal it,” Kraalh ordered. It was all he could do for now. Should they march towards the city, he could still destroy them. The artifact was useless against orcs.
“Yes, General,” the Chieftain said. He knelt and took his leave.
Kraalh got up. It was time he paid a visit to the landlady.
The cells were crowded. The orcs had so many prisoners that they had requisitioned rooms in the keep, but that was not where Kraalh was heading. These poorly lit corridors were at the top of the old tower, the most insalubrious part of the prison. It was murky and humid to a point that he was forced to tramp in pools of water. It stank. Some prisoners had been voluntarily forgotten in their cells. The rats had made a feast on the most delectable morsels. Kraalh thought that they would have to clean one day to prevent any disease. The guard sitting on a chair in front of the door snored in his sleep. Kraalh kicked him with his foot. The orc fell heavily to the floor.
“Open the door!” Kraalh bawled. The guard rose hastily and obeyed. The hinges grated when the large oak door opened.
He had locked her in one of the cells facing west so that she could admire the misfortunes happening to her dear city. The windows offered a good view of the execution yard and on the ramparts where he had had the four hundred men impaled. Kraalh had seen the rage in her eyes, but she had never uttered a word. The countess had endured all his vile persecutions, from the rotten food to the most despicable filth, without a single twist of her mouth. Now, she still stood proudly at her window.
“Still waiting for a sign?” Kraalh scoffed.
“What is the object of your visit?” she inquired in a croaky yet plummy voice.
Still too noble to cry, Kraalh thought. Some women were harder to tame, indeed. “What do you know of the Rebellion?”
“I thought you had eradicated them,” she said. Kraalh noted the faint, sarcastic smile hidden in her words. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much about their last moves. I have some complications with following the latest news.”
“But what can you tell me about them?” Kraalh insisted. She had better not test his patience.
“That the Rebellion is commanded by Sir Bertrant Heymon, a valiant knight and a brave lord, once.”
“What more? What of his captains? Of his men?”
“Are you expecting me to reveal useful information? That I betray their cause?” She sounded offended.
“I could squeeze the words out of your brittle body,” Kraalh hissed, approaching the countess’s face.
She lowered her eyelids with disdain. “Well, I suppose that death could only improve my present situation.”
“I won’t kill you now.” Kraalh swayed slowly around her shoulders, hissing from one ear to the other. “First, you will admire your precious Rebellion being crushed against your high walls in waves of blood. Then, maybe I’ll give you the honour of raising your head next to Bertrant’s skull.”
“I can’t wait to see that,” she whispered coldly.
Kraalh stayed silent, burning with rage. His curled lips trembled on his sharp fangs. He left the cell with a tremendous roar.
CHAPTER 29
They had ridden for a week now. The army was comprised of approximatively a thousand soldiers, and most of them were mounted. The Rebellion had lost so many men in the past that it was more lacking riders than horses. Behind the cavalry, a long cortege of chariots and carts followed with the materiel and provisions. Because of the supply train, they could not cover over fifteen miles per day. The pace felt horribly slow for Louis. They had not met orcs on their way, but he knew they were being watched. He considered that the orcs in Millhaven would be warned
of their coming long enough to build a proper defense. Louis could only hope that the enemy would not take the threat seriously and consequently drop its guard.
Faremanne rode by his side. The tall, redhead captain had been in a bright mood since their departure. Louis thought that action, even in the shadow of the scythe, was better than tedious procrastination.
“When was the last time you had news of your family?” Louis asked the captain.
“Three years ago,” Faremanne answered, “a few months before we lost contact with the north. I miss them every day, but I know I made the right choice. If I die…”
“You won’t,” Louis interjected. “You may die, but you won’t.”
“I still don’t get why you are so passionate about fighting at our side,” Faremanne inquired. “You are well-read, clever, and handsome. You should be working with the city council in Neolerim and get a family of your own, not risking your life with unshaved churls like us.”
Louis laughed. “Did it occur to you that I like it here?” His face turned solemn again. “There are only two reasons to fight and die in life. Justice and love. I’ve seen enough injustice in this land to lead this army to Nysa Serin.”
“And love?” Faremanne joked, lighthearted.
Louis did not answer but looked dreamily at the group in front of them. He turned to Faremanne. “And I see no churls here. Every man ready to fight for justice is a brother to me,” he said with a smile. “But it’s true you are unshaved.” Both men laughed.
A sentinel galloped the other way, right towards them. “My lords! Captains!”
“What is it?” Faremanne exclaimed.
The soldier’s horse reared when he pulled on the reins. “The lake, Captain! The Sihr Loch is beyond that hill!”
Louis and Faremanne moved their horses from the column and trotted forward. Louis made a sign to Folc and Selen, riding at the front, to urge them to follow. The four riders galloped to the top of the hill.
Downhill, the lake stretched on for miles. Its waters of cobalt blue reflected the sunlight in thousands of sparks. The banks, covered in high grass and speckled with flowers, were emerald green. Down in the valley, near the shore, a flock of cranes took flight. Their white wings flapped slowly in splashes of water.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 19