Thousands of figures were marching out of the valley towards the south. Their columns stretched as far as he could see. This then, was Soren’s army. Thomas knew they were headed for New Haven. He knew this time the city’s walls would not hold. He knew the city and its king would fall. Nothing could stand against such numbers.
This is what the end of the world feels like.
He stood there for long minutes watching the tide of death leave the valley. Knowing there was nothing more he could do he turned back to the keep and went in search of food.
Sleep would give him temporary respite. For no nightmare could beat his reality, no nightmare could surpass this threat. He closed his mind to the pain and the distress and focused on the present.
~
“It begins my liege,” the blind priestess whispered to the king.
Reglis nodded and stroked his beard.
Finally, he responded. “Let them come, we are ready. The mages have a plan, or so they tell me.”
“The north wall is not yet fully repaired after the last attack. The masons say it will take another month, the foundations are weakened,” the priestess persisted.
The king flinched. “We’ll let the enemy into the northern part of the city. That quarter has been a thorn in my side for too long now, it’s rife with thievery and disease. The undead will clear it for us, I’m surprised the place hasn’t burnt down before now. It’s a boil that needs to be lanced.”
“Will the secondary walls hold, my liege?” the priestess spoke in a singsong voice.
“There you have it. The secondary walls. The undead will break on my walls like rag dolls. Those walls were built by the city founders, those walls go back to the Slipworld Fathers themselves.”
The priestess blinked her unseeing eyes and cackled loudly. “The Slipworld Fathers? I’ve not heard those words for an age. What do you know of the ancient ones?”
The king stood and walked to the window overlooking his city, the great city of New Haven. “I know what has been handed down to me through generations of kings. I know this city doesn’t give up her secrets willingly. She is old, wise and unforgiving. She is connected to another time and place, another great city in another world.
“The city fathers built New Haven on the bones of this twin city, it draws its strength through the Slipworld energy left in its walls, its fountains and foundations. This city is strong, no army has ever won out against her.”
The king’s words sounded hollow. His rhetoric fell diminished to the ground.
“Well my king, they come. The augers say they come from the north as before and also the east, a tide, a great wave. They mean this to be the final battle. Let’s hope you are right.”
Reglis sneered. “Sister, the augers have spoken. I thank you for your service. Now leave me.”
The priestess hesitated, about to say something more, then thought better of it and backed away towards the door. “As you wish, my king. Let them come.”
She left the king’s chambers and was met by her sisters. They swept her off her feet and into the carriage for the journey back to the Sacred Well.
“What did he say Sister?”
The blind priestess cocked her head and smiled. “He said what all men of power say when they face death. He denies any concern and will allow the enemy into the city, trusting in his walls, trusting in his mages.”
The hooded acolyte nodded slowly, resignation in her voice. “He’s the one who is blind my Sister.”
“It is the end of days my girl. We are lucky to be alive at this time, for we will witness it all. A turning point for the Erthe, she will have to adapt once more. Adapt, hide and heal to return again, to try again.”
“It is the cycle of things, is it not? Light follows darkness, from one beginning to the next, time and again,” the acolyte recited the words from the Book of the Sisterhood.
The High Priestess did not reply. Her heart was heavy, her heart was dark. The young always spoke of beginnings, of new growth, of healing. Life was an eternal spring for them. She knew with certainty, the augers had been unequivocal, she had never before seen such certainty.
This was the end.
~
The stars were bright over Leerma. It was cold, a hard cold Liriana thought; winter was coming. Her bones ached, her heart ached for Thomas, lost at Kreshe. She closed her heart, she did not want to open that wound again. At least she had her two girls, Kate and Eveline.
They were her light, her life. She would remain strong for them, she would fight for them, they deserved a chance in this world. They deserved to live without fear, she would protect them with her life.
Leerma had been good to them. She looked down at her two girls asleep on the rug beside the fire. Kate, at age eight was just like her father, strong and single minded, a bright girl who demanded respect. She smiled and wondered what young man would be her equal, would measure up to her strengths.
Then there was Eveline, unpredictable and fey, wistful and not quite of this world it seemed. Eveline in her thirteenth year, full of promise, always deep in her imagination, dreaming, talking to the animals and stars.
Tomorrow would dawn as it always did and bring its share of burdens and blessings. She did not sleep, could not sleep since her love, her Thomas had been torn from her life. She would rest and watch her girls, bide her time, she would meet her husband again in the next world. Of that she was sure.
A sound at the door, a soft knock.
“Come,” Liriana said.
Rurik entered the room. “My Lady, forgive my intrusion at this late hour.”
Liriana smiled. Rurik the faithful, Rurik the true. He had refused to leave her side after she had lost Thomas, after they had to abandon Elverium. Those were bad days, days to forget, days of loss.
“Yes Rurik, what is it?”
“There is talk, My Lady. Talk in the town, down at the market today. They are coming again, sweeping out of the north. To the south and west, to the coast. Like a plague.”
Liriana stared. They had three months of safety behind Leerma’s walls, three months of security. Three months to forget, three months to remember. She knew the dead would come again, it was not over. Everyone knew.
Rurik hesitated. She saw his agitation. “There’s more?”
“Yes, my Lady. There’s a ship in the harbour, there’s talk of folk wanting to leave Leerma on it, take their chances at sea, perhaps escape to the Crosswind Isles.”
Liriana frowned. “What of those who said they would not leave their homes, those that wanted to man the walls, stand and fight? What of those good people?”
“There are still those, My Lady. Those that would fight with Ameran, Shield of the Coast…” Rurik looked distracted.
“What is it Rurik?” Liriana spoke gently.
“Well, my Lady. It’s just that the Runespeaker has declared. The runes say that all those who stay will perish against this new host.”
Liriana looked at her two girls, her world slowly imploded.
Chapter 28: Training
Halvdan stood in the gardens with Shiel, Mage of Sorrows by his side.
“Now concentrate, reach in here,” Shiel tapped his chest. “Pick it up, hold it for a count of five, then I want you to throw it into the lake.”
Halvdan looked incredulous. “I can’t lift that stone with my thoughts, that’s impossible.”
Shiel sighed and turned towards the stone. He steadied his breathing and closed his eyes. The decoratively cut stone, the size of a small child began to shake and rose from the ground. It reached the height of the school of magic’s first floor, then flew through the air as if thrown by an invisible hand and splashed into the lake on the far side of the gardens.
Halvdan stared.
His belief in his surroundings, in the Erthe, in his destiny deepened. Something changed.
He believed.
He closed his eyes and looked within, he visualised a mountain and started running up a trail. He pushed and
began climbing, using arms and legs, his muscles and joints ached, his heart pounded. He reached the top pf the mountain and looked down, surveying his new inner world.
He felt a pulse through his feet and became aware of a wellspring within, a dream within a dream. He was a lock and also a key. He searched, felt his way. His breathing quickened, he began sweating.
The lock opened.
The wellspring flooded through him, shaking him with its force. He reached down into the wellspring wrenching it free, it exploded in his hand.
His eyes snapped open, he was back in the garden, there in front of him an oak tree hung suspended in the air, its roots dangling to the grass below. He picked out fine details with his eyes, he saw the grain of the bark, he heard beetles crawling beneath the bark. He sensed every detail of the tree.
With a flick of his hand he threw the tree into the lake. It landed with a great splash and the sound of rending wood. Birds flew from the branches of the other trees in the garden. Halvdan looked at his hand and back at the lake.
Shiel stood still beside him. “You are a fast learner. You’ll need a familiar, of course. It’ll watch your back, look out for you, be your shadow and second pair of eyes.”
Halvdan looked at Shiel. “How do I get a familiar?”
Shiel looked away. “You do not choose them, they choose you. Through the veil, back amongst the scrolls, in the library. Come, I’ll take you there.”
They left the garden and took a winding path through the grounds until they arrived at an impressive building on a mound. They climbed steps and entered the building through gilded wooden doors. In the library’s vast hall Halvdan saw row upon row of cases packed with books, boxes and artefacts.
“This is where we store the knowledge. If there’s an answer to a question it will be here. If there’s an answer on how to defeat the necromancers, it will be here. We found you through the knowledge, we’ll find your familiar here.”
“What do you mean? You found me here?” Halvdan asked.
“There are doors, many doors. Every book and scroll is a door or doors to other rooms, other realities, alternate worlds of knowledge. We searched, admittedly for a long time, but we opened enough of those doors and found you, Halvdan. We recognised you and in truth, I think you recognised us, I rediscovered my lost brother into the bargain, serendipity.”
“Take me to my familiar,” Halvdan said.
Shiel led him through a maze of aisles to a tall bookcase holding hundreds of scrolls. He pulled a ladder over from another bookcase and climbed up to the middle shelf, selected a scroll and came back down.
“This scroll was calling us. It has led us here. It has summoned you.” Shiel handed the scroll to Halvdan.
“What do I do with this?” Halvdan asked.
“If your familiar chooses you, it will come through the veil that separates our world from theirs and will appear in this aisle beside you. You have but to speak to it through the scroll. Read the scroll and be open to the door within.”
Halvdan looked at the scroll in his hand, a quiver of excitement ran down his spine. He opened the scroll and looked at the words on the ancient parchment. The words meant nothing to him, they were a language he did not understand. Another barrier, but barriers could be surmounted by the change inside him. He searched within and found the key, he felt the parchment in his hands and felt its words open to his eyes. He understood.
He studied the words and found the connection.
He heard his voice echo in the dusty aisle. He was a vessel, the words spilled from the page onto his tongue and into the air. He felt deeper understanding blossom within, he could see the knowledge around and within him.
Something was watching him with intelligent eyes, considering, deciding. The veil parted, he saw a shimmer in the aisle beside him. A thing of beauty stepped out of the darkness.
A white panther looked up at him and captured his heart.
Her name came to him in an instant. “I will call you Lumina,” he said, “for you will shine light into the darkness.” Halvdan no longer felt alone.
Over the next two days Halvdan honed his skills and found he could control the wellspring within, sometimes he made mistakes but most of the time things went well. His power was wild, it would improve and grow, he was the great hope.
Halvdan spent long hours in the library, reading and learning, he discovered many other dreams and beasts within scrolls. On the third evening he heard a sound from the end of the library, at the high lectern. He went to investigate, Lumina by his side. The panther was rage surrounded by beauty, a soldier of violence waiting to be unleashed.
He saw a man and a girl emerging from a grate in the floor. His deeper knowledge recognised the thieves’ cant as the girl spoke. Anger welled up in him. “You dare defile the sacred library with your presence? You’ll pay for this!” He moved his hand and Lumina responded, leaping at the man standing over the grate.
The man threw himself back and across the open grate. He landed on the stone floor on the opposite side and groaned. Lumina jumped through the air over the shaft towards the fallen man. A rumbling sound came from the shaft, yellow tendrils shot out from its depths and encircled the big cat in mid-flight. The tendrils jerked and pulled the panther down the shaft, a wet crunching sound filled the air.
The man looked across at Halvdan. “Get out of here while you can, that thing is stronger than both of us. It’s coming.”
Halvdan ignored the thief and ran to the shaft, he looked into the dark pit and without warning jumped in. “You will not defile this sacred place!” his voice disappeared and was replaced with a rumbling, from below.
Halvdan descended into the darkness beneath the library, his body hurtling through space. Yellow tendrils flailed around him, stinging and lashing. Halvdan reached out with his own tendrils of consciousness and connected with his familiar.
He smiled in surprise, there were two panthers now, he understood. This enemy had broken Lumina’s spine when she had jumped into the shaft, the panther was immune to physical damage and had returned to the fray with a magical double.
Halvdan smiled, this would be interesting.
He landed at the bottom of the shaft, his body absorbing the shock easily. He held the staff Shiel had given him. Light burst along its length illuminating the passage ahead. Yellow tendrils extended along the floor, beyond the light’s reach. Halvdan struck at the tendrils with the staff, they withered, turning to dust.
The roof above Halvdan vibrated and started to crumble. Halvdan drew his cloak around him and spoke words of protection. He followed the passage, delving deeper into the labyrinth. It took him down steeply, he crushed the tendrils with his staff as he went. He came to an opening and hesitated, reaching out with his consciousness.
It was waiting for him.
Violence hung in the air, those thieves had woken this dread thing. Halvdan almost retched at the creature’s stench, it reeked of the battlefield, of men’s guts emptying, of blood. A flashback came to him, a faint memory, a distant battlefield, the smell of death, of fear and burning flesh, heat so intense men’s skulls exploded. The desert war of Iraq returned to him like a demon.
Halvdan harnessed the fear, the violence within. He buried emotion and released the flame of magic from the wellspring. It shot from his hands, a crimson flame, jumping around his form, bathing his head and limbs in searing heat. The flame jumped like a living thing into the chamber ahead.
A high pitched shriek pierced the air. One voice, made up of hundreds of others, rose from the ground. Halvdan detected surprise, anger, hatred. He stepped into the chamber and recoiled at what he saw.
In the centre of the chamber lay a mass of writhing bodies, bones and the skin of dead animals and men. The thing was made up of the remains of its victims, body parts in a state of flux, a mishmash of flesh and bone. Beneath the seething layer of dead, Halvdan saw a bulbous yellow body of soft flesh. Like an abscess, it looked ready to burst, the armour of dead flesh it
s only protection.
Halvdan reached out with his mind and felt the creature. He touched it with thought and was sucked into its existence, his mind flashed along the entire length of its body. He recoiled, sweat pouring from his brow, the thing was massive, like a weed it stretched for miles underground its bulbous flesh connected by the root like tendrils.
Halvdan sensed its blindness but it was highly adapted to its underground world. It perceived him in a different way; it was sensitive to smell, movement and touch.
Its brain lay hundreds of feet below Halvdan’s feet. He could defeat this bulb of sightless flesh but the thing would regenerate and attack him again. A growl came from the corner of the chamber and a white flash caught his eye. Halvdan saw Lumina and her paler, translucent double, launch themselves against the creature, their white fangs delivering significant damage to the creature’s armour.
The panthers succeeded in tearing a section of dead flesh off the creature, it hung, a torn gash to the floor, blood clots welling from the slashed bodies. Halvdan stood transfixed. At a deeper level an instinct kicked in and the soldier within saw his enemy’s vunerability.
Already the thing’s wound was healing, black threads appearing at the edges of the torn flesh weaving, matting together, forming a scab of hardening scar tissue.
Halvdan reacted, he turned within to his wellspring, he reached deep within his memory and tapped into the pool of imprinted violence. He pointed his right arm and staff at the beast’s exposed yellow flesh.
Potent fire crackled and flew across the floor into the exposed flesh. It carried distilled violence, delivering its poisonous effect into the creature’s jelly like interior. The thing absorbed Halvdan’s crimson fire until he was empty and could stand no more.
Halvdan collapsed to the floor, the two panthers left the creature and sprang protectively to his side. The creature remained pulsing at the centre of the room its tendrils lashing at the air. Halvdan looked up and saw his effort had made no impact.
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