Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  Dakeb sighed. “Circumstances have changed. Time is running out. If we continue to slink across the plains we’ll never reach Aingaard in time.”

  “What are you saying?” Hallis asked. A familiar prickling itched his skin. The last time he felt such was back in the Gren pass before he was ambushed.

  Celegon added, “we never discussed this course of action.”

  “Because there is no time for a debate on the matter. The longer we spend arguing over the finer points of how to go about what needs to be done the further from the goal we are. I have my reasons for keeping my own council. You, Lord Celegon, of all people should understand the burdens of leadership,” Dakeb shot back. His voice was uncharacteristically heated.

  “So now you’re our leader in this merry little adventure?” Scarn scoffed.

  Tarren passed him a sideways glance laden with disgust. Her fears and misgivings towards the man grew each day. She knew he was going to try something foul soon but couldn’t prove it.

  “Mind your tongue, ranger,” Norgen spat, finally fed up with human bickering. “I haven’t seen you do much of anything since joining us, not even when your brothers fell that first night.”

  Scarn drew his sword. The Dwarf crouched low and readied to attack.

  “Enough of this!” Dakeb snarled. “Do not for one instant allow yourselves to be fooled in this. We must all unite for the darkest hour, lest the enemy steal his victory. This is the most dangerous time for us. Think of those men fighting on the Thorn River. Their blood is buying us precious time.”

  “You’re planning on letting us get captured, aren’t you,” Hallis quietly asked.

  “It’s the only way. I wish there were some other way to get there, but even cannot make miracles happen,” he replied apologetically.

  “What’s to keep them from just taking the crystal and killing us on the spot?”

  Dakeb answered, “it’s too risky for him. Sidian won’t feel secure unless he see us in defeat and destroyed by his own hand. Either choice is a grave risk for us. The potential for failure is great, but there is no other option. It’s the only way we’re going to get into his fortress of Aingaard in time to stop the ceremony.”

  An uneasy silence settled over them. Each was forced to struggle with their personal demons and darkest thoughts. Only Scarn found no trouble with the plan. In fact, he couldn’t have asked for things to turn out better. He was finally going to be free from the Hooded Man and his visions of bitter promise. Scarn didn’t even care if he got paid or not anymore. He just wanted done with the deal so he could put it behind him and never look back. After all these long months, hope took purchase.

  Norgen had his usual scowl. Hunted and harassed from the moment he left his mountain halls, the Dwarf managed to stay one step ahead of the enemy until now. Others died so he might stand here in Gren today. All of their blood and sacrifice would mean nothing if he failed. For a moment he thought of his brother Ordein and what he would do. When he came to a conclusion he spoke in careful prose.

  “Three Elves and a Dwarf are not welcome sights in this accursed land, Dakeb. If this goes wrong our lives are forfeit. But that is a risk I swore to take when I signed on. I will follow your lead.”

  “Thank you,” Dakeb replied. He took a small measure of hope in the stout Dwarf’s words. Now if only the others would go along, they might still have a chance at stealing the day from the Silver Mage.

  The Dwarf folded his burly arms across his chest and went to stand behind Delin and Fennic. He wasn’t going to leave the boys unless death took him first. One by one the others slowly joined him until all but Dakeb stood together. The old mage sighed in relief. He’d known since leaving Ipn Shal that this was going to be his hardest test. He looked into each of their eyes, silently noting how Scarn looked away. There were hints of latent fear in Tarren’s eyes and he knew why. The issue between the girl and the false ranger was becoming grave. Nothing good would come of it if Dakeb didn’t step in first. Unfortunately that was going to have to wait.

  “We enter Greeth at dusk,” he told them. “After all, we don’t want to make it look like we want to be captured.”

  “I’m scared, Delin,” Tarren whispered between bites of dried deer meat.

  Delin fought the urge to cradle her in his arms and steal them back to Fel Darrins.

  “We’re all afraid. I don’t think any of us would have ever left home if we knew what was going to happen. This is beyond me, beyond all of us. But as long as we have faith in each other, I know we’ll be fine, Tarren,” he told her in a soothing voice.

  She emphatically shook her head. “That’s not what’s troubling me.”

  Delin coughed. “What is it then?”

  “Scarn,” she replied.

  He was confused. “The ranger?”

  “Come on, Delin. He’s no ranger. I know little enough about both but a blind woman can see through his ruse. He’s dangerous. Always watching me from the corner of his eye as if he’s waiting for me to reveal his secrets. I can’t sleep at night. The dreams are constant and horrible. The sad part is I find myself enjoying them a little more each time. don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m so scared.”

  They’d all been troubled with nightmares of late, though none seemed so disturbing as hers. He didn’t know what to say. What could he do to comfort her from the pain of sleep? Delin simply held her close and whispered it was going to be all right. Her weeping face buried in his chest as he struggled to believe his own words.

  Tolis Scarn took his gaze off the cuddling couple, content that his secrets were still safe, and resumed brushing down his horse. The game between the girl and himself was growing increasingly dangerous. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep her intimidated from talking. Even if the mage’s plan was successful, all it would take was a word from her and he’d never live to see Aingaard and his freedom. His choices were becoming severely limited.

  Still, he found a certain arousal towards the girl. She was a comely thing and part of him wanted to feel the softness of her flesh, see the curve of her hip. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman, but it was long enough that the dream was nearly a forgotten pleasure. It was a shame she needed to die. He could use a pet to relieve his frustrations for a night. Maybe the Hooded Man would give her to him as a reward. Scarn curled up in his bedroll and went to sleep with thoughts of her. His dagger lay clenched in his right fist.

  For all intents and purposes, Dakeb was fast asleep. Cross legged, eyes closed and snoring, the mage was anything but. His breathing was slow and deliberate. It was an old trick dating back to before the mage exodus to Malweir. With his energies consolidated, Dakeb was able to see into the deepest regions of the mind and soul. He reached out and entered Tarren’s mind. She was in the most danger of them all. He worried that she wasn’t going to be able to endure the test of the final days. Scarn and something else was driving her deeper into dementia.

  Fevered images clouded her thoughts, inching deeper into her conscience. They were trying to control her. The darkness threatened to seduce her with its wicked ways and torrid tasks. The purity of her soul had dimmed considerably since leaving Ipn Shal. Each time they stopped Dakeb found himself drifting back to her to try and salvage what he could. It was a task that demanded much of his energy, and he knew he’d need everything to confront Sidian. Focusing his powers into a thin beam of energy, Dakeb sent it coursing through Tarren’s sleeping body. Alone it lacked sufficient power to fend off Sidian’s curse, but he may just save her long enough to see the battle ended. Another day closer to what he hoped was his final task. Sweat beaded on his weathered brow. His muscles ached from the latent strain of the magic. His body hurt from days and decades of struggle. Finished for now, Dakeb released his hold on the magic and sank into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Dusk ushered in a near perfect darkness, tainted only by the menacing glow of apocalyptic fires burning across the Nveden Plains. Horrors unb
ound lay as far as they imagination lay. Greeth stretched out before the band of weary travelers at the base of a low rise. Sporadic lights gave off little of the city. Dozens of shapes scurried off into the shadows. A pall of terror and sickness seemed to hang over the city, permeating the very air with a special brand of sickness. Dakeb led them down.

  “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Delin whispered to Fennic.

  Fennic shrugged. He could already feel Phaelor trying to take control again. Power and temptations trickled into his veins. It was enough to make him swoon. The sword wanted to fight. It needed to fight. It was the only way. Destiny lay but a heartbeat away.

  “Much is unbelievable these days,” Dakeb cautioned. He caught the troubled look in Fennic’s eyes. Yet another potential for disaster lay in wait. If the Star Silver sword took control of the boy there would be a nightmare to pay. He decided to let it rest for the moment and tried to calm Delin. “Often times the hardest part in belief is taking the first step. Your heart will lead you where you need to go. I’ve found life is peculiar that way.”

  “Hmmph,” Norgen said, “nice to see one of us can see a brighter shade of things.”

  “Practicality, Norgen. It’s all practicality,” the mage replied with a smirk.

  Norgen wasn’t s convinced.

  Small bands of Goblins and corrupted Men could be seen now. They roamed about in search of a meal or trouble. Greeth loomed ever closer. The column slowly wound into town. There was no confusion or pause on their part. Dakeb led them true. No one even bothered to look their way as they finally entered the fringes of town.

  “Keep your mouths shut and your hoods up,” Dakeb warned them. “These are crude creatures, but generally keep to themselves. Do the same and they will leave us alone.”

  Celegon leaned in and asked, “this is all well and fine, but I was under the impression we were trying to get captured? Why all the secrecy?”

  Dakeb quickly answered. “Because we’re looking for the right person.”

  They each eyed the old mage quizzically but kept quite. He’d been right so far and they knew when not to ask questions. They didn’t need to wait long for the riddle to solve itself. Beady eyes watched them from the shadows. Spies and hopeful thieves looked to gain a quick profit should the opportunity arise. The smarter ones slipped away unseen. But one eased off to report to his masters. The enemy knew Dakeb had come.

  “Now what?” Hallis hissed once they entered a large open square in the heart of the city.

  They were the only ones on the streets. Windows and doors were closed and locked. The tiny group crowded closer together in anticipation of a fight. The heavy sounds of footsteps running at them echoed off the walls. Goblins poured from the alleys until the roads became impassable. Spears and halberds lowered menacingly as the circle tightened. Ogres and a few gangly Men moved to the front of the crowd. Snarls and curses filled the night. They were threats of unbridled hatred.

  A tall, thin man with greasy hair and sparkling black armor gilded in patterns of dragons and studded with gems edged his way through until he came to stop in front of the mage. The cruel look on his face was one of complete and total victory. The sword in his hand emphasized the point.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  “In the name of Lord Sidian, the Silver Mage and ruler of mighty Aingaard, I place you under arrest. Drop your weapons and climb down from the horses,” Spendak growled to them.

  A Troll stepped menacingly closer, the heavy tulwar anxious in his huge hands. One of the horses reared up in fright. One by one they dropped to the ground and began unbuckling their swords and weapons. Winds lashed around them, kicking up dust and a foul stench from the alleys. Spendak’s hair blew wildly, lending him a demonic look.

  “Now, off with the hoods. I want to see your faces,” he ordered and raised his sword level with Dakeb’s chest.

  Goblins ducked in and took the reins and led the horses off. Others began picking up the pile of assorted weapons. They stopped when they got close to Fennic. Phaelor was glowing hotly, as if tempting them to touch it and know what true hell was. A lone, dark hand with gnarled fingers reached out to grasp the sword. The Goblin nervously touched the cold hilt and screamed in pain. Lancing pain shot through his veins. Smoke poured from his flesh. Flames erupted from his nose, mouth and ears. Dead before he knew what killed him, the Goblin’s charred corpse dropped heavily. The others cringed back. Even Spendak betrayed a hint of fear.

  “The star silver sword,” he whispered, coming out of his shock. “Sidian was right. You are as dangerous as he warned.”

  Fennic too was shocked, but he quickly snapped out of it. “Touch it if you will,” he warned with a snarl. “Death wants a companion.”

  The man of ancient Grelnor leaned forward, “sharp tongue for a boy. Perhaps I should kill you now and have done with it.”

  A collective gasp escaped the Goblins and took attention away from the two men. Celegon and the others chose that moment to remove their hoods. Elves! The enemy of a thousand years had returned. The very sight of the long, pointed ears sticking out of the flowing hair was enough to inspire new fear in the Goblins and even the more stalwart Trolls.

  “Come on then,” Norgen growled. “Let’s finish this.”

  The Dwarf stood with his legs slightly apart, in challenge of his hated foe. His copper beard was tied in a tight tail and garnished by several gold rings. Hatred flared in his dark eyes.

  Spendak was impressed, if only slightly. He alone knew who it was that intended to kill Sidian. “My, my. What a curious group you’ve assembled, old man. I wonder how you expected to complete your task. Elves, a Dwarf, an old man and children. What did you hope to accomplish? Surely you don’t think you can actually kill Sidian?”

  Hallis took a step forward. A dozen archers raised their bows and took aim.

  “I wouldn’t,” Spendak cautioned. “The boy can keep his toothpick but one wrong move and you all die. My Goblins have been aching for target practice lately.” He turned to his forces, “bring the chains and bind them. I want to be back on the road to Aingaard in an hour.”

  Several Goblins moved forward with the heavy manacles. They were quickly bound and pushed along the road to where a rickety wagon awaited. Hallis was surprised none of them had been beaten yet. Not in a hurry to be pummeled by a Troll, Hallis decided to cooperate and held his hands out. The iron was cold and tight on his flesh. A pair of Trolls easily picked them up and dropped them in the back of the prison wagon. Both had pleased looks on their tusked faces. The wagon was locked and chained. It offered no protection from the elements, as it was a simple cage of iron bars and reinforced flooring. Hallis hoped the trek to Aingaard wasn’t going to be too long.

  Spendak stopped gloating over his prize. He’d been expecting them to put up a fight and was somewhat disappointed he didn’t have the opportunity to kill one or two. His hatred for the Elves ran almost as deep as for the disgusting Goblins Sidian insisted on using. Elves, he cursed. If their kind had stayed and fought the Silver Mage when he first came to Gren none of this would be happening. But like so many before them, the Elves chose to flee and leave the people of Gren to their doom. Not even the once vaunted combat skills of the Grelnor were enough to stop the evil from consuming them.

  “We are ready, my lord,” the wagon master snarled.

  Spendak nodded. “Bring their horses. We can always use them in Aingaard.”

  The capital city lay to the south, less than a day’s ride. The Nveden Plains were unusually harsh this year but wouldn’t pose too much of a problem. Sidian didn’t need the stone for another two nights. Spendak had plenty of time to deliver his prize. With a slight motion of his head, he urged the wagon master to proceed. The column started the long, slow crawl to Aingaard and the fate of the world.

  Fennic watched the empty desolation of the plains roll by in a collage of shadows and menacing shapes. His initial impression of the land of Gren hadn’t changed much, and then it was for
the worse. He didn’t understand how anything could stand to live like this. He hated the land. Hated it with all his heart. The smell was enough to inspire nightmares and the people were a ruined waste of culture. And it only got worse the deeper they traveled.

  It was only Dakeb’s silent warning that kept him from using Phaelor to strike down their foes when they were captured. He knew Phaelor would have made quick work of them, regardless of their numbers. After all, wasn’t he the Gnaal killer? Now bound like his friends, Fennic seethed in silent rage.

  “Relax, Fennic,” Dakeb told him. “We didn’t come here to fight. Not now.”

  Fennic thought otherwise. “We still should have tried.”

  “To what end? You’d be dead and Sidian would still have the rest of us. Remember, Phaelor chose you for a reason. Your time is yet to come.”

  “Just give me one swing and I’ll end his terror forever,” Fennic announced.

  Dakeb watched the boy with growing concern. Phaelor was consuming him and he didn’t know how to stop or even slow it. “I’ve already told you what will happen if you strike Sidian. Has this rage consumed you beyond reason?”

  “Listen to him, boy,” Norgen growled.

  He liked being caged least of all, but he also knew how foolish resisting was. Besides, the mage had a plan. Norgen recalled his father’s words. Fight with your head, not your emotions. Don’t ever give the enemy the upper hand. They were sound words and he wished he could drive them home with Fennic.

  “This is the chance we’ve been waiting for. Think about it,” Norgen continued. “The sword is still in our possession and we’re being taken to the heart of the enemy.”

  Delin watched his best friend with fright. This was the first time Phaelor had taken so strong a hold on him. He was afraid for Fennic’s soul. The sword was dangerous, and everyone could see it but Fennic. He clutched Tarren’s hand for support and was comforted when she returned the gesture. Times were bad enough without fits of insanity or delusions of grandeur. He hoped and prayed the end wouldn’t come down to him having to chose who to save, because he truly didn’t know anymore.