The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4)

by Daniel McHugh

  The scribe stood alone, his head hung low. No special insignia adorned his garment. In fact, with his features hidden beneath the cowl one might assume he was just another of the scribes. However, the size of the figure beneath the gray robes told the four horsemen all they needed to know. Nostr the Ulrog, prelate of Delvi, stood before them.

  “What is it you wish gentlemen?” asked the deep voice of the figure.

  “Refuge,” replied Manfir from the broad back of the Black.

  “For how long?” came the coarse reply.

  “Until we devise a plan to repel our foe,” suggested Temujen.

  “Do you think such a plan exists?”

  “We have faith in Avra,” replied Granu from the back of a deep red Brodor. The horse’s shaggy blonde mane cascaded across its broad shoulders.

  Nostr turned toward the giant. He stepped closer, dropped the hood of the gray robe and displayed his hard Ulrog features.

  “Faith is a commodity in short supply, king of the Keltar,” stated Nostr as he inspected Granu’s beaten and bandaged body. “Your faith has been tested and it appears nearly broken. What makes you believe the common folk you lead will fare any better?”

  “I do not,” answered Granu. “I cannot see into the heart of any man and only speak for myself, but if just one of us shows enough faith he might carry the rest to victory.”

  Nostr’s stony face broke into a broad grin. Black and broken teeth jutted from behind his mud colored lips.

  “A quaint concept giant, but a faith kept hidden dies like the flame of a candle placed beneath a cup. These people you lead had their faith nearly starved to death. They have nothing to give and the feeble faith which remains will quake and fall before the might of Chaos.”

  “I will be honored to stand with them on the field of battle and test that faith,” interjected Eidyn. “They faced horrors and stood firm.”

  Nostr turned to the Elf who sat upon a brilliant white stallion. The prelate’s smile grew broader.

  “Of course you would, my Elven friend,” said Nostr. “But what of your people? They remain absent from this fight, still happy to sit in the shadows and watch as others struggle.”

  “We sit in no shadows,” stated Eidyn sternly. “We contribute all we can.”

  Nostr’s stony brow contracted across his forehead. He scrutinized the four men and their mounts. Finally, he spun and strode back through the gate.

  “You and your people may enter our courtyards to seek refuge from the Ulrog,” he said over his shoulder. “But you are expressly forbidden from entering the archive buildings within the compound. My scribes will not tolerate disobedience.”

  He moved toward the whitewashed buildings within and a contingent of followers rapidly surrounded him. As the gate slowly swung to a close Manfir noted a group of scribes practicing hand-to-hand combat in a dark corner of the courtyard.

  “Time is our enemy ... ” announced Teeg to the assembly.

  The group he addressed stood under the night sky at a place where the Toxkri met the southernmost shores of Lake Eru. Teeg stood near the water’s edge and the Lady Jenpry stood resolutely by his side. Three different armies arrayed before them.

  King Leinor and General Chani fronted the Elven army. They led their troops to this encampment that afternoon. The Elven army stood tall and proud. They were expertly trained and supremely confident. Rows of young warriors held their heads high and listened attentively to Lord Teeg.

  “... and scattered reports from the north indicate the Ulrog moved out of the Derol and linked with the Hackles from the northern range,” continued the Master of Spies. “We cannot afford to rest... “

  Borz Windriders and small groups of Sprites stood scattered around the larger Elven force. They had been on a forced march in order to catch the Elves. The Sprites hadn’t slept in nearly two days and the Borz remained haggard and edgy due to their experience within the Toxkri.

  “ Our allies to the north will face the consequences of our fail... ”

  Sayid Dubad paid little heed to the words of the Elf. His head hung low and he found it difficult to look into the eyes of his brothers and sisters. The Borz were a broken people and he most of all shamed himself in the swamp. His comrades stood like beggars amidst the glory of the Elven army. The Borz were dirty. The dried slime and mud from the treacherous bogs of the Toxkri covered their clothes. Sleeplessness nights staring into the shadows of the swamp took its toll.

  “.... the city of the scribes. My sources believe our allies will reach Delvi’s walls shortly. Whether the gate is opened or not is anyone’s .... “

  Sayid heard the sound of the Elf speaking, but none of the words registered. He glanced at those around him. Yazir Dubad stood a few feet away, glassy eyed. The others in his clan could not focus on the old Elf’s speech, instead their eyes darted toward the groups of diminutive Sprites sprinkled throughout the assembly. Doubt and fear captured the minds of many of his comrades. They could not grasp how such simple, tiny folk incapacitated the fierce Borz Windriders.

  “ .... make speed. The Ulrog will not stop,” continued Teeg. “They will not retreat to their mountains. This is the battle that has been foretold. This is the battle for our world. We cannot afford to be absent when ....”

  Sayid’s heart sank into hopelessness. His people, his Borz, duped by the Deceiver. Their leader, Rada Shan, drawn into and used in Amird’s plans. They were all used. The Ulrog would destroy the northern peoples before they moved on and finished off the Borz, Sprites and Elves.

  Sayid’s eyes drifted to the lake in the distance. The wind whipped its surface and foamy white waves crashed over one another on their journey north. The Windrider’s cape lashed at his legs. He felt utterly broken.

  “... are all tired but the next few days will be a testament to us. Wemustforge on. Wemustpush north along the shores of the great lake and reach Delvi in time to aid our brethren.”

  The intensity of the wind grew for a moment. The old Elf struggled to be heard over its din. Sayid’s cape flapped rapidly against his body and he struggled to hear Lord Teeg.

  “Some of you believe it to be impossible. You think we cannot reach the city of the scribes in time. We are all exhausted, but we must try. We must find a way. Avra will guide us. He will set us on the right path... “

  “The right path,” laughed Sayid to himself.

  No path would get them to Delvi in time. He had studied the maps. The city lay on the northern edge of the great lake. His people were too broken to face such a march. They would die in exile from their own land, drowning in a sea of Ulrog as it stormed south and overran their allies.

  Drowning in a sea .....

  The Windrider blinked. His downcast eyes rose and looked past the old Elf. Teeg continued his challenge, but Sayid heard none of it. He stared at the waves rolling and crashing on the lake beyond. A smile crept across his face. He chuckled.

  Yazir heard his cousin’s laugh. His eyes narrowed in confusion. Had the young man truly gone mad? Had the strain of their nights in the Toxkri and their impending doom driven Sayid over the edge? Certainly his people met the Elf lord’s challenge with disbelief. Sayid simply reacted to the absurdity of Lord Teeg’s request. They would never reach Delvi in time.

  Sayid turned to Yazir. The young man’s smile grew. He crossed the gap between them and hugged his commander. Yazir’s face screwed into a look of shock and confusion. Sayid stepped back, beaming.

  “Avra will guide us,” he repeated and laughed. “I failed you in the swamp Yazir and I beg your forgiveness.”

  “It is given,” uttered the commander of the Borz strike force. “Perhaps you should retire while we continue this discussion.”

  Many of the Borz ceased to listen to Teeg. Their eyes and ears focused on their commander. Viday Shan moved toward the pair, concern in his eyes.

  “Sayid, the week’s events take their toll on you,” began Viday. “Yazir is correct. Perhaps you should ...”

  The
smile fell from Sayid’s face and his eyes filled with intensity.

  “We have little time,” announced the Windrider loudly.

  Teeg went silent. The entire assembly focused on Sayid. Yazir’s eyes darted across the Elves and Sprites. Should he silence his young cousin? Sayid locked eyes upon the woman who had appeared from the swamp like a mist.

  “These lands are yours, my lady,” he said to Jenpry. “And I assume your people harvest these trees, vines and Rimshar reed for all their needs?”

  “They do,” replied Jenpry confidently.

  Sayid smiled and again he looked to the white-capped waves rolling across the great lake.

  “Then I will put them to work,” he returned with a grin. “And if Avra is willing, I will stand with our allies before the gates of Delvi and fight for this world.”

  CHAPTER 16: GLORIOUS AND TERRIBLE

  MANFIR STROLLED THROUGH the array of tents and yurts crowded near the shores of Lake Eru. He noted how the people went about their business. They were silent, stoic. A group of Derolian women stripped the green bark from a group of sticks. Soon they would be dried and an arrowhead affixed to a split in each shaft. With Avra’s blessing, these arrows would pierce the rough hides of the Ulrog.

  “My lord!” called a voice from behind the king. “Scouts return from the plains.”

  Manfir spun to face Brelg. The old sergeant bowed and moved closer.

  “What news?” asked Manfir.

  “Not good,” replied Brelg shaking his head. “We are nearly set upon by three separate forces. From the west comes Vespewl the Scourge and his Ulrog of the Scythtar. Their numbers are great and our scouts were unable to count the multitude.

  From the north comes the Army of Mnim. Temujen and Portlo weakened it greatly, but Hackles from the Frozen Wastes bolster it. The Mnim stands every bit as strong as when Greeb the One-Eye commanded it.”

  “Do we know who directs the Mnim Army in his stead?” asked Manfir.

  “Woil the Lamentation has been seen at its head.”

  Manfir grimaced. For many years the General Staff of the Zodrian Guard considered it a serious misstep of Kel Izgra to deny Woil more power. The Lamentation carried a reputation as a cunning tactician even when he worked with inferior personnel. His control of the Army of Mnim made the task ahead that much more formidable.

  “He is a dire threat,” acknowledged Manfir.

  “But not our greatest threat,” stated Brelg. “The contents of Kel Izgra spill over the Zorim and through the Derol. Sulgor and Izgra ride at the head of this contingent and its numbers dwarf those of the armies to the north and west. “

  “So we are surrounded?” grumbled Manfir.

  “Save to the south. There is no threat to the south,” shrugged the sergeant, waving a hand in the direction of the lake and the archive buildings perched on its shores.

  Manfir turned in that direction and movement on a lone balcony near the pinnacle of the highest tower attracted his eyes. At this distance the figures upon the balcony appeared small, but there was no mistaking the prelate of the scribes amongst them. Nostr stood high over the courtyards with the closest of his advisors in tow.

  Manfir watched as the group surveyed the chaos of the human camp below then held a huddled conversation. The Zodrian king’s eyes drifted down the massive white towers and fixed upon a group of twenty gray robed scribes standing at rigid attention before the doors to the main buildings. Manfir scowled and turned to Brelg.

  “I often wonder if we overlook a threat of a different kind,” grumbled Manfir.

  “Increase the numbers of our brethren posted at all other entry ways to the archives,” ordered Nostr. “We cannot afford prying eyes within the confines of the towers.”

  “As you wish,” replied the scribe Samot. “Do you fear forced entry into the towers prelate?”

  Nostr’s face drew tight and he weighed his response.

  “I fear nothing, Samot,” answered the prelate. “But I trust no one. What we harbor here can be discovered by none outside the order.”

  Nostr spun from the balcony’s edge and marched back into the tower’s highest chamber. The wide circular room was unadorned by furniture or art. All was white and barren within save the tall, irregularly shaped stone standing near its center. The black surface of the obelisk swirled and churned like the waters of a sluggish river under a moonless sky. A group of scribes surrounded the stone staring into its surface and noting changes upon scrolls of parchment.

  “Anything to report?” asked the prelate.

  “No, my lord,” returned a scribe. “The agitation waxes and wanes.”

  Nostr took a moment to inspect the stone then turned to his advisors.

  “It will not be long now,” announced the prelate. “It will be the final sign before His return to this world.”

  Nostr drew a deep breath and closed his eyes to steady his fervor. His stony claws clenched tightly.

  “And when He returns it will be both glorious and terrible,” murmured the prelate. “I have longed for this day.”

  The expressions surrounding him remained serious and unchanged. Nostr opened his eyes and swept through the double doors opposite the obelisk. A wide causeway lay before him and spun downward within the tower toward its base.

  Flair spent the entire day and evening culling the Eru’s herd of horses. He chose from many fine animals, wishing to find the very best for his men. The difference between life and death lie with these beasts and Flair intended to give his men every possible chance for success. He moved through the herd with Hai by his side inspecting the animals for the last time.

  “These horses are amazing,” commented the Southlander. “There is no comparison between what we rode and what you now give us.”

  “These are but pack animals,” laughed Hai. “My men ride upon the best of our herds.”

  “They are a blessing to your people.”

  “The true blessing today is this place,” said Hai sweeping his hand across the massive courtyards of Delvi. “It’s as if the scribes designed this enclosure for our group. Our armies find enough room to camp. The citizenry find access to both food and water near the lake’s edge, and the horses find all they need within the lush grasses. If not for the threat we face, this place is a perfect sanctuary for all our people.”

  Flair glanced about at the hive of activity taking place within the walls of Delvi. Truly the place was a miracle. The wide curving walls arced from behind the archives to the east and gathered enough land within their confines to shelter this huge population. The walls continued past Flair and dove back into the white-capped waves of Lake Eru on the west side of the towers. Essentially, the arc of wall divided the peninsula of Delvi from the rest of the world.

  As Flair marveled at the arc, he noted movement near the gates of the city. A group of ten scribes opened the door and allowed a pair of weary, dusty travelers within. The pair bowed deeply then moved toward the archives and entered the main buildings.

  “It’s been a steady stream,” said Hai beside him. “They come in twos and threes. Always they appear to have traveled a great distance in a short time.”

  “Where do they come from?” asked Flair.

  “That I cannot say,” replied the Eru horseman. “But their destination is certain.”

  He pointed at the archives of Delvi.

  “The number of scribes housed within the walls of Delvi has steadily grown from the moment we arrived,” said Hai. “As our eyes focus on the storm rolling down upon us from the north we completely ignore the growing number of highly trained and highly motivated fighters who disappear within the buildings behind us.”

  Flair grimaced and heeled the flanks of his horse, directing the beast toward the encampment of Zodrians and their leader, King Manfir.

  The red robed priests stepped aside as their master Sulgor moved to join them at the top of the small hill. The Malveel king ignored their presence and strained to see through the heavy, morning fog before h
im. The sun would rise shortly and already its light infused the mists covering the land with a glow. Somewhere in the south, the walls of Delvi lay shrouded in these mists.

  A rumble formed in the depths of the beast’s belly. The fact that his forces allowed the humans to reach a place of refuge infuriated the Malveel king. He would be forced to methodically throw his numbers at the walls of Delvi. True, they did not appear too formidable, but he trusted the defenders within to utilize them to their utmost.

  Whatever engendered such confidence within the dead heart of Izgra remained a mystery, but Sulgor preferred to face the reality of the situation as he saw it. He spun toward his most trusted ally. Canx the Silent stared into his king’s eyes bolstering Sulgor’s confidence.

  “We will let the daylight waste away and wait until sundown,” stated the Magnificent. “Darkness sets fear in the hearts of men. When the sun falls behind the horizon, Vespewl will move his forces in from the west and Woil from the north. I want rams and siege ladders brought forth. The wall is our first enemy, not the men upon it. Once the wall falls, the men cowering within will become easy targets.”

  Canx nodded his understanding and bowed.

  “You will be my eyes and ears in the battle to come,” stated Sulgor. “Too much power is being concentrated in the hands of too few. Keep me well informed.”

  The Silent slid from his master’s presence into the Ulrog encampment.

  The group gathered near the gates of Delvi.

  “They will come at dusk,” stated Olith. “It is their way. They believe darkness strikes fear into our hearts.”

  “I agree,” stated Dravgo. “Those with a feeble heart let darkness rule them. The Malveel will assault the walls with ram and ladder.”