Chaos erupted in the hall as a hundred people shouted at once. Many approved of their Lords judgment for they too did not trust the shady men. There were a few dissenters but their arguments were soon lost in the din as people began filing out of the hall.
G’relg turned and faced Urold. “You seem pleased by the insult handed to us by your lord.” He spat onto the hard packed earthen floor.
Urold shrugged his shoulders, “I am only wondering how long your vessel will burn.”
G’relg glared, “I would not light your torches just yet, Ship Thane.” He turned and stormed out of the hall.
Urold followed him across the square and down the lane to the beach. As he walked he noticed Casius following a short way off, with a wave of his hand he beckoned for him to catch up.
Casius picked up his pace until he walked beside his father. “Do you think they will stay, father?”
“Not likely,” Urold said with a smile. “Lord Baln judged them rightly and has kept the law. Sparing New Hope the trouble of having the likes of them living among us.”
“Are we so certain that they are more than what they claim?”
Urold thought about his response for a moment before speaking. “These men are more than simple sailors. I doubt that they have ever served as crew on a merchant vessel.
“They carry themselves as warriors and are marked by the scars of swordplay.” Urold gripped his son’s shoulder. “When a man is captured by raiders he is beaten and the mark of Bjorn’s towers is burned onto his brow.
“I have heard it said that they even have an enchanter who binds the slaves so that they can never attempt escape should the chance arise. Our friend G’relg here has never felt the weight of a slavers shackle, men like him would die before succumbing to such a plight.”
“Then if they are not escaped slaves,” Casius said puzzled by the days' events. “Who are they and why come here at all?”
“That’s the question that has me worried.” Urold replied. “They may be nothing more than a mutinous crew of raiders who have fallen from Bjorn’s favor. It matters little for they will be gone on the morning’s tide. The terms Baln offered will not sit well with this lot.”
“What if they were sent here simply to spy on us? Once they leave they will return and tell Bjorn all they have seen.” Casius said giving voice to the nagging thought in the back of his mind.
Urold stopped walking and gave his son and approving look. “You are growing into manhood fast son. Those are my very thoughts on this matter as well.
“Were we cut of the same cloth as these men I would slay them and burn their ship.” Urold shrugged, “Let Lord Baln worry this bone, he is a wise man and will do the right thing.” He picked up the pace to catch up with the stiff-backed sailor.
When they reached the shore Urold motioned Casius to come no further. Casius stopped and watched while the two men walked to the ships bow. He did not hear the words G’relg spoke or the replies from his men. Their faces however clearly displayed their anger at Lord Baln’s offer. G’relg stood glaring at the villagers for a moment before climbing on board the beached vessel.
It appeared to Casius that his father had been correct in his assumption. There was no way that these men would subjugate themselves to the life Lord Baln’s conditions would grant them.
Urold added to the insult by posting sentries. Twenty men guarded the beach within plain view of the ship. They built a large fire and intended to stay the night until the vessel left with the mornings tide.
The remaining villagers wandered away, the excitement now over. There was always work to be done with winter fast approaching.
Thick clouds blew in that afternoon and a light rain had begun to fall making the day all the more colder.
It was late in the afternoon when Casius returned home. The small two-room cottage he shared with his father was ice cold and he quickly set a fire in the hearth. The crackling logs shed light and warmth making the small cote warm and comfortable.
After his mother’s death from fever two years ago he had assumed the duties of keeping the household. This mostly consisted of keeping it clean. Casius and his father never cooked instead they took their meals at Lord Baln’s table in the Long house. Their neighbor a widow took in their wash for a small fee.
For many months some of the single women sought to catch Urold’s eye. His intentions became clear over time. The Ship Thane would never again wed. His heart belonged only to one woman, Cewyn. The memory of her could never be replaced.
Casius straightened up the room and opened a cedar-lined chest at the foot of his bed. Beneath his clothing at the very bottom were his two prized possessions. Leather bound books, a gift from his mother when she had taught him to read.
Lighting an oil lamp he settled down into his father’s chair. He knew his father would not be home tonight. Duty would keep him on the beach with the men guarding the unwanted ship.
He turned the pages carefully, books were rare on the Island and few of the villagers could even read. His mother had been educated and had insisted that Casius would be as well.
The book was not new to him he had read it a hundred times over. Of the two he owned this was his favorite, a tale of the heroic deeds of the armored knights of Ril’Gambor. The stories still thrilled him and sparked his imagination.
For a short while as he read he too would become encased in polished steel thundering into danger on a horse's back, his lance tip glowing in the sunlight. He would scale the heights of the Dragon Spine Mountains and slay the giants that haunted the snow-clad peaks.
As the hours passed his eyes grew heavy, until he could no longer focus on the handwritten letters. He closed the book and returned it to the chest. Adding more wood to the fire he blew out the lamp and lay in his bed. He was asleep in moments the glow of the fire dancing on the plaster walls.
Urold stirred the fire into life sending a swarm of golden embers skyward. The tiny sparks swirled up the beach riding on the stiff wind. It was well past midnight and it was freezing cold. The rain had stopped several hours ago and a thin film of ice was now forming on the pools where the water lay.
Heavy clouds blanketed the sky cutting off any light from the moon and stars above. The men sat huddled around the fire their eyes never straying far from the ship. The men aboard the vessel no longer looked out over the gunwales. They had hunkered down seeking what warmth they could find.
“Damn!” The villages Blacksmith cursed, swatting at the flying embers that had blown into his clothes. “I get enough of this at my forge.”
The men about the fire grinned at his antics.
“Sorry, Wahlen.” Urold apologized. It was his stirring of the fire that had sent the sparks onto the man. He smiled as the smith tossed a small piece of driftwood at him.
“Its cold,” Wahlen said stating the obvious. “Coldest night of the year I’d wager.”
Urold nodded in agreement, “Just keep alert.” He warned the men. “Cold or not it’s all too easy to fall asleep in the coming hours. The tide is turning, and our guest will soon be gone. Then we can go to our homes and get our rest.”
“Tis a pity that,” The Smith said exposing a mouthful of broken teeth when he smiled. “I was looking forward to a good fight.” He twisted his fire-reddened face into a pout that best suited a small child.
“You are a nasty Bastard Wahlen.” One of the men said in a fair imitation of Urold’s voice.
The men about the fire laughed loudly, each hoping to disturb the rest of those aboard the boat.
G’relg muttered a curse. Let the fools laugh now, he thought. He slid away from the gunwale, back down into the darkness between the rowing seats. He pulled his share of the canvas sail over his shivering body.
“What are we supposed to do now G’relg?” Dulrich complained. He was the largest and most vocal of the group, a threat to G’relg’s leadership. “Freeze to death while we await the dawn?”
G’relg drew his dagger, and in the blin
k of an eye he had its keen edge pressed hard against the man’s throat. Holding it tight as a thin bead of blood seeped out along its length.
“Quiet fool,” G’relg hissed. “Do you want to face Bjorn with the news of our failure. I was told that should we fail to gain their confidence, to lay low and wait.”
Dulrich eyes shone with hate, “I am not as stupid as you would take me to be. But what is it we are waiting for, a sign from the heavens?”
G’relg relaxed the pressure on the knife, “I know not, only that Bjorn had said our way would be made clear enough, just stay silent and wait.”
Dulrich nodded, “For now G’relg we will wait.” He said threateningly while leaning back rubbing the thin cut on his throat.
G’relg mulled over Dulrich’s tone; sooner or later he knew he would have to kill the man. Dulrich was a natural leader and the men followed him. G’relg could not allow this threat to his command to continue.
“If you have finished playing children. Perhaps we can return to the work at hand.” A thin voice spoke, barely a whisper above the sighing of the wind and the distant rolling thunder of the waves slamming into the breakwater. It came from the darkness, soft and filled with malice, a voice that froze the hearts of those who heard it.
Caught by surprise the men drew their weapons and turned to the ship's stern from where the voice had emanated. Their faces lost all color and their eyes widened with fear. Steel rang upon wood as they hastily cast their weapons aside.
Vool, The enchanter had come and where the dark one traveled, death followed in all her glory. He was tall and thin, wrapped in a voluminous cloak of purest black. The stiff wind that tore at the men’s clothing did not touch Vool. His robe lay perfectly still only stirring as he moved.
He stood with his arms crossed his hands tucked within the sleeves. The hood of his robe was up hiding his face within the inky darkness of its shadow. A sickly emerald light shone from his eyes. Even in torchlight nothing could be seen of his face. There were stories of those who had looked upon Vool’s continence. In all the tales those that did died a horrible death.
For once in his life G’relg was speechless, he had heard of the horrible power this man wielded, if such a being could truly be called a man. It was rumored that even the touch of his shadow could render you insane.
The men scurried backwards, much to Vool’s amusement. They fought with each other to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the shadowy figure. The aura surrounding the warlock filled them with uncontrolled fear. A few of them had actually soiled themselves in their terror.
Vool stood motionless, a patch of darkness in the night. “Do you forget your station G’relg?” he asked in his whisper like voice.
G’relg hastily bowed his head, motioning for the others to do likewise. “Nay Lord Vool,” He stammered feeling the loathsome touch of those malevolent eyes. “Your sudden appearance simply startled me.” He added in explanation. “How did you come to be here? There are no hiding places on this ship.” he cringed at once, realizing he was treading upon dangerous ground. No one ever dared to question Vool. It was a quick way to meet your end.
“That is of no consequence,” Vool replied. “Heed my words well, you are to kill every man in this village. There is no room for mistakes, fail to accomplish this task and you will spend the rest of your life begging for the release of death.” He left the threat to their imaginations. No explanation was needed, as his reputation was enough.
“We are outnumbered and under heavy guard, how are we to accomplish this task?” G’relg asked flinching; he expected death to strike him at any moment.
When Vool answered his voice had grown menacing. He was beginning to lose his patience with these men. “Ready your blades, the way will be opened for you.”
Vool turned his back to the men, raising his arms he began to chant softly. The sleeves of his robes fell back revealing hands so thin they appeared to be nothing more than pallid skin stretched over bone.
The words he spoke were in a language that no human tongue could emulate. The incantation sent searing waves of pain through the sailors' bodies. It was as if a knife was tearing at their very souls. They collapsed unable to stand, watching in horror as a faint blue fog fell from Vool’s hands.
The strange mist filled the boat and seeped out over the railings, flowing smoothly down the hull of the ship. As with Vool’s attire, the wind simply passed through the mist, leaving it unchanged. The fogs vaporous tendrils drifted slowly up the beach towards the encamped men. Writhing as it went growing thicker until it spread out along the entire shore.
G’relg rolled in agony completely covered by the mist. Every hair on his body stood on end, his skin burning at its touch. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound would escape his lips.
On the beach Urold leapt to his feet. “What madness is this?” He shouted a warning to the others that something was amiss. From the ship he could hear the sounds of soft chanting. “Sound the alarm!” he said raising his ax. “This is a ruse of some sort.”
Vool smiled maliciously from within his robe's shadow. He clapped his hands together with a resounding boom that shattered the peace. The earth heaved, rocking the ship violently. The Fog raced outward in a rolling wave, encompassing the entire village in a shroud two feet deep.
The pain disappeared with the shaking of the ship. G’relg rolled onto his side and slowly drew his dagger. For a brief instant he actually thought about driving it between Vool’s shoulder blades.
Urold flinched as the unnatural mist washed over his legs. Its touch was freezing and sapped his strength. He fell to the ground fear filling him as his consciousness faded. Fight it! His mind screamed as he slipped into darkness.
Vool spun about his left arm pointing to the town. “Go now!” He commanded the stunned sailors. “Their slumber will last less than one hour. Be quick about your task and remember let no man survive this night.” Vool crossed his arms and faded away into the darkness.
G’relg stood for a moment staring at the now vacant deck. He tested the edge of dagger with his thumb a grim smile coming to his lips. “Let’s go,” he said to the dumbfounded men. “There are throats to be cut.” He vaulted over the ship's side. Upon landing he searched for his first victim, the Ship Thane.
The men followed G’relg, not out of eagerness but out of fear of Vool’s power.
They moved through the town rapidly, slaying every man that they came across. Vool’s fog had put to sleep the entire village. The animals remained unaffected, stray hogs rooted around the buildings excited by the smell of blood in the air.
Dulrich caught up with G’relg as he worked along the palisade, slitting the unconscious guards' throats. Both men were bloody their knives dripping with gore.
“This is grisly work were doing,” Dulrich complained. He was a marauder but this was pushing his limits. “Bjorn has damned us all to hell this night.”
G’relg laughed, “And just where was it you think you were going?” He asked wiping the blood from his blade. “All Bjorn has done is make our work easier. His bargain with Vool has spared us the prospect of facing these men in armed combat. Or would you rather have faced Baln in a fight?”
Dulrich shook his head, “Of course not.” He knew there were few men who could have done so and lived. “But this is murder most foul.”
G’relg slapped him on the shoulder, “Be thankful that Bjorn has our best interest at heart.”
Dulrich failed to catch the sarcasm in G’relg’s voice. “Now that’s a cart of dung,” he replied. “The only thing on Bjorn’s mind is gold and how to get more of it. If it means selling his own mother he would do so without hesitation or remorse.”
“That’s right,” G’relg said. “Wealth and power, remember he gets the lions share but we will still profit from this escapade.”
Dulrich had seen much of the village he knew there was little of any worth here. “Slaves,” he suggested.
“Only women and
children,” G’relg reminded him. “There’s a fair number to be had here for Bjorn’s Black Trumpet fields. At a gold Talen apiece this trip should set us up nicely.”
Dulrich smiled at the thought of the wealth to be had. “Perhaps I’ll find me a handsome woman, tis a long voyage home after all.”
“Cold as well,” G’relg added.
Both men laughed and returned to their murderous foray through the town. They took great care ensuring that Vool’s instructions were followed.
When the hour had passed, the streets of New Hope ran red with the blood of her citizens.
Vool stood upon the watchtower's roof, unfazed by the cold. He watched the men as they combed the town, satisfied by their diligence and speed. If his masters divining had been accurate then the god slayer was here. An unfamiliar feeling passed through Vool. It was the touch of fear. His master had ordered the god slayer's death and Vool was to see it done.
The Balhain had lived far too long to risk his own death. The Raiders were the answer; these greedy men would do the deed and by their own hands ensure their doom.
To the east the sky was brightening, even the meager amount of sunlight that filtered through the building clouds was causing him pain.
Vool took one last look at the village before fading away into the shadows. Confident in the victory over the one being that threatened his existence.
Chapter Three
Marcos stood within a circle of monolithic pillars of graven rock towering fifteen feet above him. The twelve stones had been erected long ago upon the summit of Ga’ron. A broad hill that stood surrounded by dense forest in the land of El’radrien, upon the isle of Eol.
The pillars were smoothly polished, reflecting the glittering light from the stars above. Marcos walked about the ring looking at each one in turn. Upon each a crown bearing seven stars was carved. Beneath the crown intricate runes of brilliant silver had been skillfully inlaid. These Markings glowed faintly in the darkness, swirling bands of sapphire light dancing within their depths.
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