“But the plan is underway and none may countermand it,” said Rada. “The Borz are on the move and vengeance reigns on the morrow. Do you ask us to abandon the plan?”
Rada stepped forward and eyed the Elf suspiciously. The messenger remained calm and poised.
“The Counselor demands that you not deviate from the plan,” stated the Elf emphatically. “Nothing else has changed. Only one man will be removed from the Borz force at the Counselor’s request.”
Rada pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. The plan progressed as the Counselor ordered. Once underway, it would be carried out with no interruption. Rada was but one man. The battle would go on without him.
“I will do as you say,” replied Rada motioning to a Windrider on his right. “The clan received instructions concerning their task. Viday will lead the Windriders in my stead. The Almar Ring will fall. I am but one and the needs of the Counselor compel me to obey.”
Viday Shan stepped forward and bowed. The Elf returned the gesture. Rada turned to his people.
“I must go amongst the Grey Elves. It is urgent,” called out Rada. “Viday leads in my place. You will follow the plan. I will join you when I receive further instruction from the Counselor.”
“May the wind keep the sands from you eyes,” said Viday.
“And you,” returned Rada smiling.
The leader of the Shan tribe spun back to the Elf messenger.
“I will gather those things that I need and we will depart,” stated Rada.
“I will await you.”
Rada turned and strode toward his tent.
The Elf remained stone-faced and awaited the chieftain’s return.
“THALL!” bellowed the Ulrog priest in charge of Vespewl’s litter.
The Scourge’s eyes slowly opened and he cocked his head sideways to see the path ahead. The transport lurched to a halt. A hundred yards past his position, the Ulrog army gathered beneath a pennant staked into the hard packed earth. Trackers kept the fighting Hackles clear of the pennant and their leader trudged slowly toward Vespewl.
“What is it?” grumbled the Malveel.
“A message, my lord,” returned the tracker grimly.
Vespewl leaned further out of the litter and stared toward the pennant.
“From whom?” replied the Malveel.
“Olith of Keltar, my lord,” stated the tracker. “He asks how you enjoyed your swim, and whether you intend to partake in the festivities his newly formed army prepares for you on the Eru plains.”
Vespewl’s eyes flared.
“He prompts you to make haste. For if you do not ... “ again the tracker hesitated. “ ... the vision of Lord Sulgor’s head on a pike might alarm you.”
Vespewl’s teeth flashed and a wicked growl formed deep within his chest.
“There is other news, my lord,” continued the tracker quickly. “The main force of humans headed east. A smaller contingent of refugees and soldiers struck south toward the Zodrian capital.”
“It seems Olith believes he can goad me into pursuit,” hissed Vespewl. “He is a fool.”
“Orders to attack the capital, my lord?” inquired the High Priest Rtem from beside his master’s litter.
Vespewl’s eyes locked on the priest.
“Absolutely not!” snarled the beast. “We follow the fighting men.”
The priest’s eyes widened in confusion.
“Not because Olith desires it, but because it was our intention all along,” barked the Malveel. “Let the women and children cower in fear within their city walls. There will be time enough to attend to them after the great victory of Amird is complete. For now, we must stop the Zodrians and giants from uniting with the horsemen. Alone, these armies are an insignificant foe. Combined they create difficulties we do not wish to face.”
The tracker bowed and turned to go.
“And send word to the Ulrog of the Frizgard,” added Vespewl. “They are to break off pursuit toward the Zodrian capital and rendezvous with us on our journey to the Erutre!”
Sulgor slid past the long black drape covering the opening to Izgra’s pavilion. It was dimly lit and contained few furnishings but the traveling throne of the Half-Dead. Izgra sat in it now, talking in whispers to the muscled Malveel at his feet. The beast’s hindquarters faced Sulgor, but there was no mistaking Woil the Lamentation.
“Ah, Sulgor,” sang Izgra. “While you ran your errand to retrieve whatever you left in Kel Izgra, Woil wreaked havoc upon the forces of Avra.”
Woil slowly turned, head low, evil grin playing across his face.
“The loss of Greeb appears a boon to my forces,” continued Izgra. “It allowed a true tactician to step forward from amongst the beasts and bring victory to the Ulrog of the Mnim.”
“Twas nothing, my lord,” growled Woil as he eyed his king. “The Eru war circle appears complex but is easily breeched if one is willing to sacrifice numbers to its maelstrom.”
“Numbers we possess aplenty,” laughed Izgra. “Victories had been few. Perhaps we need to allow the young blood amongst the Malveel to step forward and demonstrate what they are capable of.”
Woil rose higher on his haunches. His grin grew broader.
“Whatever responsibilities you afford me will be carried out with the utmost fervor, my lord,” stated Woil. “I am yours to command.”
“You prove yourself admirably, Woil,” stated the Half-Dead.
Izgra’s eyes narrowed at Sulgor. His bony hand stroked the beast’s scaly head and he continued his fawning praise.
“Perhaps the battle to comes needs a commander worthy ....”
“I eliminated the Light-Wielder and the new Seraph fell,” interrupted Sulgor.
The hand upon Woil froze in mid stroke.
“You what?” muttered a stunned Izgra.
Sulgor confidently stalked forward.
“You mean to say you do not know?” asked the Malveel king.
“I felt ... something .....” hissed the warlock.
His hand slowly withdrew from Woil. Sulgor advanced upon the pair. Woil the Lamentation dropped low and backed away. Izgra hurriedly spun and climbed the small platform supporting his throne.
“How is it you do not know?” questioned Sulgor.
He brushed past Woil who slunk from his path.
“Lord Amird appeared. He played a hand in the death of the Seraph. If you are so deeply connected,how could you not know?”
Izgra reached the top of the platform and spun on the Malveel king. Fire raged in his eyes, illuminating the rotting skull hidden beneath the black cowl.
“DO NOT DARE QUESTION ME, SULGOR!” raged the Half-Dead. “I answer to none but Lord Amird.”
“When you answer, does he reply?” growled Sulgor.
The light flared within Izgra’s eyes then faded.
“When he is required to use his power elsewhere, our connection becomes ... tenuous,” replied Izgra. “It is so now.”
“Then you are unaware of the events which transpired within the tower of Astel?”
“The tower of Kel Izgra remains hidden from my sight, yes,” snapped Izgra in return. “What do you report?”
Sulgor delayed and his eyes shifted toward Woil. Izgra followed his gaze.
“Woil, leave us!” commanded Izgra.
The Malveel bowed low and crept from the enclosure. When the tent flap fell back into place, Sulgor continued.
“I discovered Ader De Hartstron and the boy in the tower. They faced Lord Amird’s image within the black mirror. I attacked from behind and Lord Amird, from in front.”
“My lord used force against the Light-Wielder?” exclaimed Izgra.
“He manipulated the mirror and brought the fire of Chaos upon Ader.”
Izgra clasped his bony hands before him and paced across the platform.
“Excellent,” chortled the Half-Dead. “Lord Amird grows in power. The time draws near.”
“When the protective wall of the Light-Wielder fell, I pers
onally sank my claws and teeth into his body. He is no more.”
“A major victory,” laughed Izgra. “The death of the Light-Wielder fulfills the sign. This world crumbles beneath us!”
He stopped.
“What of the boy? What did my lord do to the boy?”
Sulgor remained silent, staring at Izgra.
“What of the boy, Sulgor?”
“The boy is gone,” stated the beast.
“How?”
“He drew the Needle of Ader and attacked the mirror. He vanished within it.”
Izgra froze. The pair faced one another for a long moment. Finally, Sulgor broke the silence.
“Do you feel our master?” asked the Malveel king, his eyes studying Izgra intently. “Or is the connection stilltenuous?”
The embers within the cowl of Izgra reddened and he stepped forward leaning over the massive creature.
“Do not mistake my lord’s silence for catastrophe, Sulgor,” snapped Izgra. “Lord Amird grows in power and soon will return. The attack by the boy accomplished nothing save the demise of Kael Brelgson. Lord Amird will contact me shortly.”
Sulgor stepped forward onto the platform. His bulk forced Izgra backward and the Half-Dead tumbled into the throne behind him. The Malveel hunched over his prone master. His jaws widened and the fangs of his maw lay inches from the face of Izgra.
“Do not mistake fealty to my creator as loyalty to his puppet,” hissed the Malveel king. “If the boy accomplished the unimaginable, your transgressions against the first of the Chosen seal your fate, warlock.”
Sulgor spun from the throne and exited the tent.
Woil remained not far from the pavilion’s opening. When his king appeared, the Lamentation again bowed low and backed from Sulgor’s presence.
“Walk with me,” barked Sulgor the Magnificent.
The Lamentation complied. They moved through the camp of Ulrog toward another pavilion that Sulgor’s personal guard busily erected.
“I admire your guile, Woil,” stated the Malveel king without looking to the Lamentation. “However, be careful whom you ingratiate and whom you deny.”
Sulgor halted and turned with burning eyes.
“If you choose poorly, you may make a stronger enemy than an ally.”
The Malveel king turned away and moved toward the tent leaving Woil frozen in place.
Kael staggered and fell face forward onto a hard, stone floor. He gasped for air, as if he held his breath while inside the obelisk. After a moment his racing heart slowed and his breathing calmed. He found a moment to smile. Joy surrounded him. His conversation within the obelisk lightened his load. He chuckled.
“Do you need a hand up?” asked a voice above him.
Kael raised his eyes from the floor and they focused on a pair of soft leather shoes two yards in front of him. He looked higher and saw Ader dressed in blue robes, sitting in an old armchair within a small circular library, sipping from a tea cup. The old man stood and moved toward Kael with his arm extended.
“Let me help you up, my boy. You’ve had quite a journey,” he smiled.
“Ader! You’re ... alive!” grinned Kael as he rose.
The smile fell and the old man knit his brow. He struggled with his next words.
“I ... am not Ader,” he said softly.
The pair faced one another in a moment of awkward confusion. Kael immediately recognized the truth in the statement. This man appeared nearly identical to Ader but both subtle and distinct differences became apparent.
First, his physical appearance was altered. This man looked to be softer than Ader. His features carried none of the worn and weathered aspect of the tinker Kael knew. A shock of white hair, drawn back and entwined in a long braid, replaced the short cropped stubble that peppered the crown of Ader’s head.
Second, the softness of this man’s physical appearance carried over to his speech and demeanor. An evident refinement which Ader never possessed or discarded centuries ago came across in his speech. An innate kindness replaced Ader’s harsh tone. Delicate gestures substituted for Ader’s deliberate movement. Whoever this man was, although he looked remarkably like Kael’s mentor, he most certainly was not Ader DeHartstron. The man kindly extended his hand once more, this time in greeting.
“I am pleased to meet you, Kael Brelgson,” smiled the man. “I am Alel of Forend ... your grandfather.”
“The Mnim army drives the Eru far south. New Ulrog packs pour over the passes of the Mirozert. Some will attack your forest camps and others will attempt to flank you and cutoff escape. Amird’s Chosen lead them. You stand outnumbered and your people at risk. To remain in the Derol is madness.”
“You speak sense, Elf,” replied Lijon. “But what are we to do? Run? Where? We are men of the forest. We live, hunt and fight here. To abandon the Derol is to abandon our advantage.”
“There is no advantage, Master Lijon,” replied Lilywynn. “The Ulrog’s numbers are too great. The power of their leaders too strong. You will surely be overrun.”
Portlo stood and paced the clearing. The knights under his command and their woodsmen allies followed him with their eyes. Finally, he spoke.
“Lijon is correct,” stated Portlo.
“Huh, finally,” laughed the woodsman to his comrades. “I began to think I’d gone addlebrained.”
His comrades laughed with him and Portlo advanced to put a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“You are correct. The Derol is where we fight most ably,” smiled Portlo. “To abandon it is folly. If we retreat to the plains we lose our element of surprise. Also, to search for allies at this late hour is foolish. By uniting with the Eru, we allow the Ulrog time to unite the Mnim, the Scythtar and the Mirozert. We must stand and fight here, in our homeland.”
A roar of approval erupted from the woodsmen. They beat their chests and raised their fists on high. The knights of Astel gave solid nods of approval and talked quietly amongst themselves.
“However ...” continued Portlo silencing the crowd. “Prince Eidyn makes good sense concerning the safety of our people. There is no logic in keeping them here in harms way. They offer no support and only serve as an anchor to our movements.”
“But I would not hide them somewhere within the Southern Derol while we fight,” said Lijon. “By our side is where they are best protected.”
Many of the woodsmen agreed.
“No, not byourside, my friend, but by the side of allies. We will send them south toward the lake of the horsemen. If we do not overcome the enemy then possibly the horsemen will.”
Protests erupted in the clearing.
“We will fend for our own ...”
“Derolians will stand or die for Derolians ...”
“Gentlemen!” barked Portlo. “Honor. Duty. Loyalty. You abandon none of these, for most assuredly you will lay your lives down for your people. However, let us not allow foolish notions of honor to make your sacrifice a vain effort. If we slow the Ulrog, if we hurt them, weaken them, give our allies time to devise a plan to halt them, then we accomplish much. Why add the bodies of our women and children to the funeral pyres of sacrifice?”
The clearing silenced. Lijon stared into the flames of the bonfire crackling amidst the group.
“It is as Lord Portlo says,” murmured the large woodsman. “We will fight. Our lives will purchase the time required for our people to escape.”
Portlo moved toward his friend and extended his hand. Lijon grasped it tightly and their eyes locked.
“Prince Eidyn?” called Portlo, his gaze unwavering. “Your father leads the Elves north as we speak?”
“That is what I pray, my lord.”
“Then I will give you the precious task of guiding our people to the safety of King Leinor’s forces. Are you up for the task?”
“It will be my honor, Portlo of Astel,” replied Eidyn bowing low.
CHAPTER 9: THE SHADOWS OF OTHERS
THE ESCORT PROVIDED by the Counselor impres
sed Rada. The Elf expertly led the Borz Chieftain through the Nagur avoiding discovery by the Elven soldiers patrolling the wood. Late afternoon on the second day since they departed Borz arrived. Rada and the escort stood in sight of the Almar Ring and rested a moment.
“I hope Viday and my people are finding their journey through the Nagur as uneventful,” whispered Rada.
“The patrols seem to be concentrated to the north,” replied the Elf. “As I said, I am not privy toall of the Counselor’s plans, but he must be influencing the placement of the security troops in order to open a pathway for the Borz.”
“He is a man of amazing talents,” smiled Rada.
The Elf nodded in reply then waved Rada forward toward the Ring. They halted beside the massive roots of one of the giants. The alabaster claws of the titan stood nearly as high as the men. The roots plunged into the moss covered earth of the Nagur. The Elf slipped behind the roots and into the shadows they created at the foot of the tree. Rada followed and to his amazement a small tunnel lie beneath the root, obscured from view by a heavy growth of ferns and a scattering of lichen covered boulders. The Elf again waved the Windrider forward and Rada complied.
The passageway was tight. Rada stooped in order to move through its darkness. The Elf moved quickly and assuredly. He displayed confidence of no discovery. Rada eyed the tunnels walls and noted steel. Someone planned the tunnel when this Almar sprouted as a sapling.
“... amazing talents,” reiterated Rada, marveling at the Counselor’s foresight.
The Elf halted and turned back to the Windrider.
“Those of faith prepared themselves,” he smiled.
The pair stepped from a small, vine covered gazebo into the midst of a garden east of the palace. The Elf confidently strode through the garden directly to an alcove in the palace’s white walls. A small entryway lay within the alcove. The escort held a hand up to halt Rada. He opened the doorway and checked the halls for signs of movement.
“Follow me closely,” said the Elf.
The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) Page 9