“Greetings, Eye of Avra.”
Kael stepped forward and inspected the medallion.
“You are the Sixth of the Seraphim,” stated the boy.
“At your service,” replied Nostr with another bow.
CHAPTER 23: BRIMSTONE
“WHERE?” SNAPPED DRENGEL to his servants, “Where is our lord?”
The lead Memnod’s hand lowered to the south then slowly swept across, aiming at the pavilion.
“HERE!” boomed a deep, ancient voice from within the tent.
Smoke seeped between the seams of the pavilion and the air filled with the scent of brimstone. The structure burst into flames. Red fire raged across its surface. The twine holding it in place snapped and heat billowed the canvass flaps outward. The entire structure flared a brilliant red then crumpled to the ground, revealing a huge figure, engulfed in flames, standing amidst the wreckage.
“I return, Conjuror,” snarled Amird. “Now give me my army so I might exact my revenge!”
The Army of Darkness swept by their caretaker and fell in behind Amird the Deceiver, their true creator.
“Move!” roared Sulgor to his priests and Hackles. “They are on the run. I want them before they reach the damned wall.”
Uncertainty filled the Magnificent’s mind. He knew the war turned in his favor. From his position, he clearly saw Woil’s forces making solid progress against the Grey Elves.
Nagret’s battle appeared a bit hazier, but from the location of the dust clouds and billowing smoke, Sulgor surmised the Shadow also pushed south.
The city of Delvi troubled the Malveel king. He sensed something. He could not name his fear, and that uncertainty concerned him most. The Scribes remained a mystery to the forces on both sides of this struggle and now the outcome of centuries of warfare unfolded on their very doorstep. Sulgor’s eyes rose to the white tower in the distance as another pulse of light shot from within the room atop it. These strange phenomena occurred again and again and Sulgor fought to ignore them. What did the Scribes hide in their precious tower?
Woil rushed forward igniting the air with the fire of Chaos. The Lamentation’s chest heaved. He was exhausted. Frustration filled his eyes and he roared in anger. The Elves were far too intelligent to be caught in the beast’s conflagration. Without Strang, Woil acted as the only true anchor of power in the Mnim force. The Elves were wise enough to keep moving and avoid his attacks.
The Lamentation gnashed his teeth and growled in pleasure as he watched the walls of Delvi creep closer and closer. Once he backed them against the city’s walls, these fools would have no choice but to face Woil. When that time came, he would make them burn.
“We cannot hold the plain, my lord,” shouted General Chani to Eidyn. “We will find no room to roam and the Malveel will rage in amongst us.”
Eidyn glared across the battlefield at the beast. Ulrog and Elf alike scattered from Woil’s presence.
“Then perhaps we need to take the fight to him, general,” returned Eidyn. “Something tells me that we must stay clear of the city and keep the Ulrog at bay or all is lost.”
The monks of Awoi astounded Nagret. He would gladly give ten hackles for each monk if such a trade could be made. Unfortunately, he would make due with his Hackles and if the price to kill one monk cost ten Hackles, he controlled more than enough stone men to pay in full.
The monks and their Keltaran brethren made short work of Canx and his trackers. However, that one small victory did not win the battle for the giants. Nagret’s order to consolidate forces and grind slowly toward the walls of Delvi proved successful. He needed only his vast number of Ulrog to assure victory. Slowly the Keltaran line retreated and their numbers dwindled as Nagret sacrificed Hackles in a methodical assault on their position. Time lay on the Shadow’s side. The Malveel brotherhood waited millennia to serve their Lord Amird in this battle. Nagret could stay his lust for victory a few hours more while his Hackles ground the Keltaran Anvil beneath their stony feet.
“My king, this Malveel shows uncharacteristic restraint,” stated Brother Shor. “He knows it is only a matter of time before the walls of Delvi and the waters beyond block our escape.”
Granu clenched his teeth and nodded in agreement.
“Pressing my back to a stone wall, behind which sits an army of unknown allegiance, is disconcerting,” stated Granu. “But I feel in my gut that we must stay the course or all might be lost.”
“There,” pointed Nostr. “His presence and that of his army stains the north.”
Kael watched as the black cloud rolled slowly southward toward the rear of the Ulrog army. The force marched too far away to discern individual figures, but red lightning flashed from its midst and smoke roiled from the trail they scoured across the grasslands.
The boy glanced to the courtyards below as another flash of light pulsed from the doorway behind him. Dozens of scribes rushed through the remaining herds of Eru horses, draping and cinching bridles across many of the beasts of burden.
“My brothers make ready,” rumbled Nostr, the Eye of Avra.
“17th Lancers to center position,” barked Manfir to a messenger.
The lad saluted smartly and dashed from the king’s presence. Manfir pointed to three other young men.
“12th and 30th infantry to break engagement and support center line,” snapped the king in a rush, “and tell Colonel Flair I want at least three cavalry units on a hard charge behind the Lancers.”
The king spun to Brelg who stared at him with an arched eyebrow.
“The beast thinks he’s going to push me up against that wall,” snarled Manfir. “I’ll have none of it! We’ll die out here on the plain before he forces me back into that city.”
Sulgor threw a tracker forward with a mighty heave of his massive right claw. The stone man tumbled across the ground then quickly jumped to his feet and ran south.
“... and tell them if the center line buckles I will skin them alive!” bellowed Sulgor. “There are plenty more priests to fill their positions.”
Suddenly, a chill ran down the spine of the huge beast. He froze. The heat of battle put him in such frenzy, he thought of nothing but the destruction of the Zodrian Guard. Now he stood immobile. His senses danced and his great nostrils flared in fear.
Slowly he turned and his body shrunk toward the floor of the trampled grasslands. There, towering above him and surrounded by a wall of black Memnod, stood a gigantic figure clothed in the darkness of Chaos. Flashes of red lightning arced and crackled within the creature. Red venomous eyes bore into the soul of the Magnificent.
“My army tarries in its duties,” stated the hollow voice of Amird the Deceiver.
Sulgor took an instinctive step away from the Lord of Chaos.
“We try to fulfill your wishes, my lord,” said Sulgor weakly.
“I brought those who will accomplish what you cannot,” said Amird.
The Memnod army moved past their master, disregarded the prostrate Malveel and headed south.
“My lord, look to the south!” cried Diom.
Eidyn dodged a slashing cleaver then unloosed an arrow into the chest of the Hackle wielding it. Quickly he spun and danced his mount free from the fight. His sharp eyes scanned the southern horizon. Dozens of gray robed scribes rushed across the grasslands toward his position. The Elven king’s lip tightened in anger. Had the Scribes finally made their move?
“Diom. Gather a dozen units to your banner,” shouted Eidyn. “Alert the Sprites. Together you must keep them from our rear.”
The lieutenant nodded and turned his mount. He halted as a tiny figure dashed past him and leapt onto the back of Eidyn’s mount. Sprig cupped a hand over the Elf king’s ear and an instant later was gone.
“Diom,” shouted Eidyn with a smile. “Prepare to assault the Ulrog line. Pass the word. We gain reinforcements.”
The Elf lieutenant’s eyes went wide with questions, but he swallowed hard and slammed his heels into the flanks of his stalli
on. The mount shot down the Elven line as Diom barked orders to the Grey Elf force.
“They are here,” announced a panic stricken Lijon.
The Derolian stood before Manfir’s mount and pointed wildly to the north. The king looked over the heads of the battling armies and stared at the thick blackness creeping south.
“There is no stopping them,” continued the woodsman in despair. “We will all be killed!”
Suddenly, the Derolian howled in terror and his eyes went wide as they locked on something over Manfir’s head. Lijon threw his arms up defensively and Manfir quickly drew his sword and spun in his saddle.
Dropping from the sky above came another blackness. This one, however, was clothed in silk and held a pair of silver daggers at the ready.
Manfir lowered his blade and jumped from his mount. The girl alighted beside him and tore the mask from her face.
“News?” he asked.
“We waited within Delvi as you ordered,” stated Vieri. “We mixed in amongst the refugees in order to go unnoticed.”
“And?”
“The Scribes are true to our Lord Avra,” continued the girl. “They join the Greys in the battle to the west and send more reinforcements to the giants.”
Manfir took the news with no change to his expression. He glanced to the west and noted dozens of other black figures dropping in amongst the Elves and giants. A soft hand on his arm drew his attention back to the girl. A wide smile played across her face.
“There is more,” said Vieri.
CHAPTER 24: ACTOR EXTRAORDINAIRE
DRENGEL THE CONJUROR stood on the ridgeline staring down at the battle below. Why join in? Why risk himself? With the Memnod by Amird’s side, the Deceiver was sure to be victorious. With victory came reward. Drengel grinned in deep satisfaction. Amird would reward Drengel for all those years the Conjuror toiled in the frozen wastes of Irdricht. All those years tearing at Avra’s world in what seemed like a hopeless attempt to gain a foothold for Chaos. All those years with no one to command, no one to wield power over.
Soon he would gain his reward. Once the forces of Amird swept the humans from this earth, Drengel would be awarded the power he so rightfully deserved. Then Sulgor and the others would know who truly accomplished Amird’s work. The Malveel would know a new leader.
“Ah. There you are.”
Drengel’s body tensed and the Malveel lord spun toward the voice. An elderly elf stood a dozen paces from Drengel, deftly spinning a pair of silver daggers in his hands. The Elf smiled and shrugged.
“A puzzle which bothered me for centuries finally solved,” continued the Elf through a broad smile.
The Conjuror relaxed and stared in wonder at this foolish creature. A lone Elf was no threat to the great Drengel, let alone an Elf of such advanced age.
“When you disappeared a millennia ago, I could not determine your whereabouts or your task. You vanished from the face of this earth,” stated the Elf as he advanced and casually circled the Malveel.
Drengel followed the old fool with his eyes. The Malveel lord believed himself an avid student of corruption and deformity. He used both attributes in his quest to perfect the Memnod. Obviously, some twisted delusion of power played out in this simple Elf’s mind. It amused the Conjuror. The Elf continued.
“However, when the creatures of darkness appeared, I suddenly realized what your quest had been.”
Drengel’s toothy grin grew even broader at the mention of his handiwork. His chest rose in pride, but his eyes narrowed as he assessed this mystery Elf. This Grey held knowledge. Was the Elf such a fool after all?
“Who are you, little Elf?” growled the Malveel. “I know you not, but you are either quite insane or ignorantly brave to stand alone before one of Amird’s Chosen.”
“I am neither insane nor instilled with any more bravery than most of my people,” returned the old Elf as he circled the beast. “I am, however, a being who simply abhors loose ends.”
Drengel’s face contorted in confusion.
“Loose ends?” mumbled the creature.
The Elf flashed a condescending smile at the poor, uninformed Malveel lord.
“You see Drengel, dear boy,youare a loose end,” said the Elf as he pointed past the Malveel to the battle. “You burden my friends below with the task of removing your creations from this world. Yet you refuse to join the fight yourself. Instead, you cower here in these hills. I believeyou are a significant loose end which needs tidying up.”
The Conjuror’s face fell and his eyes boiled with rage.
“And you intend to perform that task?” rumbled the beast.
“I do,” smiled the Elf.
“Not if you lose that head of yours first,” roared the Malveel as he rushed forward.
In an instant Drengel leapt at the smirking Elf. His razor sharp claws slashed at the fool’s head, but just as quickly the Elf sprang forward, tumbled beneath the Malveel’s legs and emerged from under an outstretched wing.
Drengel turned to face the Elf and felt a sharp pain beneath him. The Elf stood a dozen paces away still brandishing the twin daggers. However, instead of spinning them, the Elf clutched them firmly. Oily, black blood oozed along their edges.
The Malveel lord’s eyes widened and he quickly inspected his belly. A pair of long gashes ran between the ridges of a set of stony scales. The wounds were not deep, but definitely painful.
“You’ve been gone quite some time, Lord Drengel,” huffed the Elf with a broad grin. “While others maintained their skills on the battlefield, you toyed with the elements which comprise the fabric of this world.”
Drengel shook off the pain and sneered.
“Toyed?” exclaimed the beast. “Fool. I am the engineer of your destruction. The Memnod march at the right hand of Amird as we speak, annihilating all!”
“Engineer of futility,” laughed the Elf. “Do you honestly believe the great Creator would allow the likes of you to devise the destruction of this world. Now who plays the fool?”
Drengel could not reconcile this Elf in his mind. So bold and brazen, even when staring at the face of death.
“Who are you, Elf? How has your pack allowed you to exist when it is clear you are defective?” spat the Conjuror.
“I am Teeg Cin Fair. Master of Spies. Magician. Acrobat and Street Performer. Poet of the People and Actor Extraordinaire,” smiled the Elf as he lightly bowed. “Today however, I intend to add Malveel Killer to the list.”
Drengel roared and rushed forward again. This time he kept his body low and his wings wide. This ignorant Elf would not fool him twice.
Once again the old Elf demonstrated amazing quickness. The Elf did not attempt to avoid Drengel. He ran directly at the Malveel’s fang-filled maw, leapt over the gnashing teeth and landed upon the beast’s back. A dagger plunged into a leathery wing just behind the bony, left arm. The Elf ran across the wing and dragged the blade behind him, shredding the hide connecting the wing to the body.
Drengel thrashed wildly, sending the Elf spinning through the air and crashing to the ground a dozen yards from the beast’s position. The Malveel’s roar of pain was deafening and he rose on high, lighting the sky with the fire of Chaos. Red glowing eyes sought the Elf and locked on the Master of Spies as Teeg scrambled to his feet.
Teeg’s eyes were panic-stricken. His body was dirty and badly beaten. He frantically searched the ground. The Elf’s empty hands told Drengel exactly what Teeg sought.
Teeg’s gaze froze. Need flashed across his features. Drengel followed the line of sight. Ten yards from the old Elf’s position lay a single silver dagger. Drengel grinned and Teeg’s face filled with distress. Their eye’s met.
The pair reacted simultaneously. Teeg dashed madly toward the weapon, but Drengel proved quicker. The Chosen reached the Elf a moment before Teeg could grasp the lone blade. Drengel knocked the Elf backward and pounced upon him, pinning him to the ground with a massive claw. Teeg hammered at the armored leg of the beast with his
bare hands but affected no damage. Drengel sneered in pleasure.
“Flail away, Master of Spies,” laughed the beast. “You cannot harm the granite plates of a Malveel lord with your empty fists.”
“You ... do not ... understand. Do you?” gasped the Elf as Drengel slowly applied a crushing pressure to his chest.
The beast leaned his head toward the face of Teeg.
“I understand perfectly,” snarled Drengel in delight. “You thought yourself something of a hero. What did you call yourself? A Malveel Killer?”
“Yes,” gasped Teeg defiantly. “and you ... forget.”
Drengel’s fury built. Even in death this little fool tried to defy him. His razor filled maw ripped open inches from Teeg’s face, spraying the Elf with spittle.
“Forget what, Poet of the People?” he roared in anger and disdain.
The face of the Elf twisted in pain.
“No Elf ... could ever hope ... to single-handedly defeat a Malveel....” heaved Teeg through the pain and pressure.
Drengel’s grin broadened in satisfaction. Now the fool would beg for his life. Now he would acknowledge the power of the Chosen.
“... unless he could fool the beast .... and get him ... close.”
Drengel furrowed his brow in confusion. Teeg’s right hand ripped the second of his lost daggers from the folds of his cloak and slammed it upward into the soft tissue of the beast’s neck. The blade met no resistance, tearing through one of the few areas left unprotected on Drengel and his brethren.
The Malveel thrashed upward in shock and pain but it was too late. The long thin blade remained lodged in the brain that conceived the Memnod nightmare. Drengel reared backward and fell to the ground dead.
Teeg lay where the Malveel pinned him, his body too broken to move. His breath grew shallow and his eyes heavy. A slight smile played on the edges of his mouth.
“... and you forget ... my favorite title,” coughed the old Elf through the pain. “Actor Extraordinaire.”
The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) Page 24