The shadows suddenly came to life and fell on her.
“I… I didn’t mean to startle you,” Scarn said after stepping back to let her see him. “I am merely on my way to do the same thing you just did.”
She waited for her heart to settle, but the beat remained fast and strong. If it were anyone but him, she thought. “I thought I was the only one still up. Good night.”
Tarren hurriedly brushed past him, not wanting to be caught alone with the man so far from immediate help.
“Wait,” he called.
Her legs betrayed her. Tarren stopped and turned. For a moment they stood and stared at each other.
“I disturb you, don’t I?” Scarn asked her, and took a step forward. “I’d really like to know. This is a dangerous time and we need to be able to trust one another if the mage’s plan is going to work. Please don’t fear me.”
“I’m not afraid,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
Scarn eased closer, his boots crunching through the thin layer of ice covering the snow. His eyes burned into hers, almost seducing her to keep looking. “Aren’t you? I wonder. I can smell fear on you, girl. It’s in your eyes. The way you watch me. The way your body tenses when I’m near. Tell me what you’re afraid of. You can trust me.”
He moved closer still, until he was directly in front of her.
“You want to hurt us,” she said with in an almost trance-like voice. “Why else would you follow us so far from Fel Darrins?”
He smiled, toothy and demanding.
“I know nothing of those boys and didn’t see them for the first time until the battle at the Thorn River. They’re not my concern, nor was your little village. I was hired by a nobleman from the east to find his wayward grandfather,” he lied. “The trail merely went through your village. Sadly, I found him dead in Rellin Werd.”
“You don’t believe me?” he innocently asked.
Scarn took his index finger and traced a line from her soft lips down past her jaw. He lightly touched her flesh down her neck and stopped at the top of her blouse. her mouth trembled. The cloak slipped from her shoulders, leaving her exposed to his lingering gaze. Fear coursed through her but there was something else. Something primal deep inside. Could it be arousal? She wasn’t sure but her mouth involuntarily opened when he brought a finger back to her lips.
“Tell me you believe me, Tarren,” he whispered in her ear.
She answered without hesitation, “yes. I believe you.”
“Good girl,” he cooed. “Now I want you to go back and sleep. Forget this conversation even happened.”
Or things might not go so well the next time, he thought.
Tarren snatched up her cloak and ran off. The moment was already fading from memory. She curled up next to Delin and drifted off to sleep. Her dagger was clutched to her breast the entire night.
Tolis Scarn collapsed once she was out of sight. Blood trickled from his nose onto the pure white snow, making it look violent. He looked around and wondered why he was so far from camp and the fire. It didn’t make sense. The last thing he remembered was wanting to confront Tarren and find out what she knew about him. And now he was lying in snow covered bushes far from the others. Reluctantly, he picked himself up and went back to his bedroll. Sleep didn’t come to him for the rest of the night. He was too busy plotting.
Dakeb roused them much too soon and they ate a meager meal of apples, old bread and cheese in the predawn cold. They were sore from sleeping on the unforgiving ground. Hallis and Celegon rode the perimeter again and came back with grim faces. The enemy moved within visual range during the night and were pulled back just far enough to melt into the fading night. They agreed to keep the information to themselves for the while, at least until the old man managed to sneak them into Gren successfully.
“Good morning, Tarren,” Norgen grumbled to her.
She flashed a brief smile back. She didn’t know it was out of character for the Dwarf to be so cordial. Delin noticed it immediately and decided to watch her closer.
“Everything all right?” he asked once they were alone.
Scarn’s head rose just enough to get her attention without arousing questions.
“Fine. I’m just sore from sleeping on the ground,” she replied. A nagging feeling in her brain told her there was more, but what she had no clue.
Scarn finished buckling the strap around his horse’s belly and walked away. His confusion over the events of the night prior was disturbing. He vaguely remembered being there and speaking to her. The voice and body were his but the words weren’t. Had he been possessed? Scarn didn’t know the answer and that frightened him.
* * *
Dark, thick clouds hung low over the towers of Aingaard, choking the air in a pall of oppression. Lightning scored the ground around the palace but never once inside the decaying walls. The same magic responsible for the coming darkness protected the city from all out destruction. Fires spit from the fissure surrounding the city. The very ground was turned to ash and charcoal. Sidian’s will alone kept this brand of Hell from taking control.
Spendak stood outside the Silver Mage’s door, fingers lightly rapping the hilt of his sword. He didn’t know why he’d been summoned but knew better to question. Sidian was steadily becoming unstable. Executions were increasing. Rows of heads impaled on pikes ringed the parapet. Screams from those being flayed alive lasted the night. Matters were getting out of control. On top of that was word from Hoole and the battle in Averon. A second army was hastily being formed to follow the invasion force.
The iron door groaned open and the Silver Mage appeared. His hair was frazzled and his face dark and drawn. Even his robes, normally spotless and impressive, were wrinkled in disarray.
“How long have you been standing here?” he asked accusingly.
“A few moments, my lord.”
Sidian glared at the man, searching for hints of betrayal or sedition. “Come with me. There is much to be done.”
Spendak obediently followed him down a marble stairwell.
“What more can we do? Our borders are protected. Lord Hoole and the army are engaged in Averon and we know the location of the fourth shard,” he reported.
“Do we? The crystal left Ipn Shal yesterday. They are brining it here.”
Spendak couldn’t believe it. “What? That makes no sense. Why would they risk it?”
Sidian laughed. It was a wicked sound.
“They’re coming to kill me and they bring an old friend. The one man capable of doing just that. This will prove interesting.” The thought amused him.
He’d never liked Dakeb. The youth had been the first to recognize the threat of Sidian’s scheme. He organized the resistance and became the main reason for the division and the war among the Mages. Sidian admitted their wholesale destruction was the ultimate goal, but he wasn’t ready to implement his plan when Dakeb struck back. Too many died before he was ready and the crystal of Tol Shere was ruined. Centuries were lost because of Dakeb. Sidian was going to take extreme pleasure from ripping his old friend’s body apart. Just the thought of dark rivers of blood made him giddy with excitement. Five more days and it would all be over. Finally.
“Are you sure? Your agent may have it and is returning it,” Spendak offered. The potential disaster of the former left him cold inside. Armies he could fight, but he’d never had to battle a Mage before.
“No,” Sidian answered. “The fool still doesn’t know my true identity. I suspect he may have a better idea though after last night.”
Alone in his inner sanctum, Sidian used his powers to seek out the crystal and his enemies. He was only slightly surprised to find them on the border of his lands. He’d
been tracking Scarn through a minor spell from the moment he hired the petty thug. It was then Sidian decided to possess the man’s mind and learn what he could. By doing so he set the future in motion. Already his forces were herding the small group of would be heroes in the direction he wanted. A
ll was going according to plan.
Spendak pressed further. “Let me take a battalion out and finish them before they gain the Nveden Plains.”
They both knew Dakeb had a chance to disappear on the vast plains.
“My lord, please. We can’t afford to take the chance.”
Sidian raised an eyebrow in question. “And if you fail? Will they slip back into Averon? Or perhaps the Old Forest and those retched Elves? Your head would be the next on a pike, Spendak. Do not fail me. My generosity has expired. I want them hunted and harried all the way to Aingaard. Only then will I release my true fury.”
The Man of Grelnor turned to leave. He was angered and confused with his orders. Sidian was taking unnecessary risks with the future of the kingdom. Spendak entertained the thought that the Silver Mage may need to be dealt with before too long.
“Oh and Spendak, make sure you remain in the city and oversee the defenses. Just in case Dakeb finds a way through your forces.”
Spendak marched off in a brooding silence, leaving the Silver Mage to delight in his dreams of the future.
FORTY-NINE
The wind swirled the loose snow into a gentle funnel that ranged through the valley. Around them the foothills rose in gradual slopes reminding them of a long forgotten peace. Hallis came upon numerous tracks but not the kind he feared. So far it had been reduced to just animals and birds. He knew better than to relax though. Dakeb and the Elves said the enemy was still there tracking them and the closer they got to Aingaard the more dangerous it was getting.
The scouts ranged back and forth, easily covering twice the distance the main body went. Hallis was relatively sure they weren’t fooling anyone and that they were being watched every step of the way. He made sure to keep Scarn in his line of sight as much as possible. They consulted on a number of occasions and Scarn always gave limited opinions and answers and each lie confirmed their suspicions of the thief.
They called the halt just shy of midday and let their horses graze on the shoots not completely buried under the snow. A crow cawed from the upper branches of a lone pine, mocking them with a haunting call. Pitch black eyes watched them with interest.
“Bah, vile things,” Norgen scowled.
Fennic looked up. “I think that’s the first crow I’ve seen since leaving home.”
“Our elders say they bring curses,” the Dwarf said. “Tis a bad omen too see one so close to Gren. Nothing good will come from this.”
Dakeb let out a heavy sigh. “Nonsense, Master Dwarf. A crow is more than a bird. I knew many Mages who kept them as pets. Superstitions won’t do you any good now. Rely on your cunning and strength if you wish to see Breilnor again.”
Norgen’s face burned crimson. “Ha! Easy for a mage to say. I should be so brave with the aid magic. Common folk don’t have the luxuries of some.”
“There is no luxury in my life,” Dakeb snapped back, losing his temper for the first time. “I’ve seen more hardship and heartache than you can imagine. Could you be so strong to watch everything you ever knew destroyed in a single night? Friends, family, loves and interests? Do not speak to me of luxury. Time and again I’ve wanted to end this pain of mine. The choice to march into Gren or sail back across the waters loomed in my mind every day. But I stay. I’m the only one left who can stop Sidian.”
“What about the sword?” Tarren asked. She was uncomfortable with the argument and wanted to change the subject.
“Phaelor is merely a tool, an instrument if you will. Young Fennic can wield the sword and carry out its destiny, but he alone cannot kill Sidian.”
“I don’t understand then,” Fennic chimed in. “I thought Phaelor was designed to choose its handler until the day it was finally needed?”
“It was, but magic is complex, more so than you think. The Elves knew this, at least to an extent. They watched our war grow and became disgusted by it. Their druids forged the sword in the depths of the Old Forest thinking it would protect them against the fury of our magic. Their thinking was admirable, but off the mark. Phaelor destroys products of magic, but not the creator of such. Gnaals and other terrible creatures can be cut down without much effort once the blade touches them.”
“So even if I stabbed him it wouldn’t do any good?” Fennic asked.
“Oh he can be wounded. After all he is a man. But do not make the mistake of trying to kill him. His magic will destroy you, Fennic.”
The conversation slowly faded. Each of them ate a silent meal and readied for the next leg of the journey. Dakeb’s last words opened a new realization none of them wanted to think of. The threat of death was a constant companion until the end of their adventures. The air suddenly grew colder. Tarren wanted to bury herself in Delin’s arms and forget this entire affair. The old mage realized his mistake at mentioning potential doom and tried to make amends.
“I remember the last time I was in Fel Darrins,” he gaily said. “Oh it was long before any of you were born. Must have been when your grandparents were still young. It’s a quaint village. The townsfolk treated me like royalty and I was dressed a mere pauper. I’ve never met more polite people.”
Tarren smiled. She tried imagining what her parents were like as children. She desperately wanted to go home, but it was too late. Now she had to find the warmth of home and her childhood in the depths of her heart. For now though, Dakeb gave it all back to her in his gentle words.
“What brought you there?” Delin asked, suddenly curious. In his short time with the man he’d come to understand Dakeb never did anything without a motive.
“I was in the employ of King Baeleon, Maelor’s sire. He’d just taken the throne when the Silver Mage rose to attack Averon the first time. It was a bitter war, not quite so threatening as the events unfolding around us. We beat him back in a resounding defeat and then stopped. I sometimes think that was Baeleon’s weakness. We could have gone in to Gren and ended it once and for al, but he halted and had Gren Mot made to defend his people.
“I traveled with your grandfathers back to Fel Darrins. They were tired of the big city life and the toils of warfare. They both agreed to raise their families in peace in a quiet part of the world few knew. They wanted to be as far away from kings and politics and corruption as possible. I often visited them until they passed.” Dakeb felt his heart swell at the thought of dear friends.
“You knew Old Man Wiffe too,” Fennic surmised.
Dakeb didn’t wish to respond. “Yes. And I knew Phaelor and its potential to shape the future.”
Fennic’s heart skipped. “Did you know I was going to be chosen?”
“No.”
Fennic stared blankly at him.
“Prophecy is a dangerous tool. It’s one I will not attempt. There’s something wrong about meddling with the future. Nothing good comes from manipulating lives. Not even the Elven druids understood the full potential of what they’d done.”
“Does that make the sword alive?” Tarren asked.
“In a manner of speaking. Phaelor knows who will be the next bearer long before that current one is done with his task. None of us ever truly figured out how, and the Elves who created it disappeared long ago. In all that time we never came to understand how the sword worked.”
“That isn’t reassuring,” Fennic said.
“Fear not. So long as it is in my power, no harm shall come to you,” Dakeb told him.
“Nor to any of you. Besides, I’d very much like to see Fel Darrins again. I can still recall bouncing your father’s off of my knee. They will be very proud of you.”
Delin tried to put the pieces together. He’d been given a huge puzzle and aimed to solve it before they reached Aingaard. He didn’t remember a single time when either of their parents mentioned knowing a mage. Then again, he assumed mages weren’t overly popular after the terrible wars they fought. His parents never mentioned Old Man Wiffe either, at least not until after he was found dead. The call to break camp came too soon for him to come to any conclusions.
<
br /> Dakeb led them on for the rest of day and they stopped again much sooner than the day prior. They looked around to see the foothills all but gone. It was like stepping into another world. The snow and ice was behind them as well, replaced with thick vegetation and an ungodly stench. Vines as thick as a human leg curled around the molding trees. The air grew heavy with sudden humidity, making it harder for them to breathe.
“What place is this?” Norgen asked. He resisted the urge to vomit.
“This,” Dakeb announced, “is the border of Gren. The Sanken Swamp. It’s a lifeless place. If we entered without the Elves chances are we’d never find them again.”
Fennic looked around at the vast expanse of rotted greens. “Should we go find them?”
The mage emphatically shook his head. “Where would we begin? I can’t find them even with my magic. Certainly not this close to Sidian. We wait here.”
“But how will they know to come?” Delin asked.
Dakeb flashed a private smile.
* * *
Hallis drank sparingly from his canteen and put the stop back in. The air was cold. His breath froze the moment it left him. Beads of perspiration dotted his face, matting his hair down. He knew he’d pay for it later when he stopped moving. The sweat would turn to ice. The wind chilled him even more. Fortunately he didn’t have to wait long for the return of the Elves.
“Did you find anything?” he asked as Celegon emerged from a copse of pine.
“Nothing. Not even a track,” the Elf prince replied. His voice thinly disguised his disappointment. With the swamp not far off, the enemy should be teeming the last few foothills.
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