“I didn’t mean that. I meant Némaldon’s plans. I bet it’s not just revenge that’s behind it, I bet they’re hoping to conquer everything.”
With a flick of his eyes, Turi indicated a table occupied by several men in armor made from leather and rusty metal. They were massive with long tangled hair. There were very special tattoos under their eyes. They were Crows.
Mérdmerén’s blood froze. He felt for the pendant and held it tightly. The Brotherhood of the Crows is here! Why? Have they been tipped off or is it just a coincidence? He had lived for long enough to believe in coincidences. Something was cooking and it smelt bad. If a skirmish were to break out that moment, none of those with him would come out of it alive. As a result, there was only one thing they could do: flee. They could reach the pier and Ságamas could manage the helm but the tyrant had seized the Nabas.
“Do you still have your Stingray, old friend?” Mérdmerén asked.
Ságamas’ face fell. “I lost her. I lost her because I was an idiot. I was left without any coins to pay my women and I had to hand over my ship instead.”
“Hellfire!”
“We need to get out of here as fast as we can,” Turi said urgently. “The tyrant’s waiting for us. If he gets cross, he might change his mind and decide to behead us instead.”
He took a long draught to finish his drink. The others did the same. Elgahar was the only one who was not drinking; it seemed to him that he needed to keep all his senses alert in case things went awry.
***
The night advanced under an almost cloudless sky full of stars. The waning moon shone with barely enough brightness to light the streets. Because of this, Mérdmerén’s retinue, with its hundred torches, stood out clearly.
When they reached the sentry box in front of the tyrant’s dwelling, Mérdmerén’s group stopped before a wall of well-armed soldiers led by a huge man in a bearskin cloak.
“This bearskin cloak is now yours,” Osuno the Fifth began. “In Moragald’Burg, what a man wins in battle becomes his property. It’s an honor for us to join in the hunt and capture of the Némaldines and their damned orcs.”
“Do we have to start now?” Mérdmerén asked uneasily.
“Of course. Now’s the time. Why wait? The enemy of my enemy is my friend, isn’t that right?”
Turi was impressed by the tyrant Osuno the Fifth’s courage—or his stupidity. Nobody did anything halfway here; things were done just like that, without pausing to think or exchanging fine words. Perhaps that was why they were economically and socially stagnant because they did not stop to think or plan.
Osuno had come with a small army made up of at least ten squads of six. The impressive figure of the tyrant stood out among them.
“We’re leaving!” And they ran off.
“Follow us, pirate king! Let’s drive those sons of bitches out of our land! Help me, and I’ll give you back the king’s ship!”
Mérdmerén could not find any way of objecting; his men and women had been infected with this impulse and were already running after the soldiers. This army did not need horses, their strong legs were enough to enable them to run fast. He had no option but to join them.
He unsheathed Stern’s Dagger and ran. Ságamas made an enormous effort not to be left behind because of his wooden leg.
***
They ran faster when they came near the edge of the city and the adjoining forest. Across a wide expanse of land were dotted huts and small tents that offered shelter and essential products for travelers. Faces, both surprised and sleepy, peered out of their windows to watch the progress of the army. Some came out and started to whisper. Dogs that barked earned a slap from their owners.
The Némaldines had settled in this area to disguise themselves as farmers, but the tyrant and his people had found them out from the beginning. Besides, it was ridiculous for them to try and hide the orcs; even though the creatures kept to their lairs, the mess and filth they left behind them betrayed their presence.
“Wait!” Mérdmerén shouted.
The thieves stopped and turned in puzzlement. The river of soldiers and torches went on toward the enemy camp so Mérdmerén and his people were left hidden in the darkness.
“This is too risky,” he said.
“Are we going to let them fight without us?” said a woman thief with strong thighs. “That’d be cowardly!”
“What’s up, Boss?” Greyson asked.
“This is suicide. We should’ve worked out a strategy. Look.”
The tyrant and his soldiers went further into the Némaldine camp. The tyrant delivered effective blows with his sword, beheading orcs with a single thrust. Then, a group of dark figures joined the fray. Mérdmerén knew they were assassins from the Brotherhood of Crows.
The tables were turned. The tyrant’s soldiers began to fall with no apparent cause though Mérdmerén’s money was on the stealthy blowpipes with their poisonous darts.
The ground shook. A cry of terror came from the deep, filling the entire space. Something terrible had awakened. Ghosts, shades that were slaves of evil, began to emerge from the ground like tentacles of horror. Mérdmerén exchanged glances with Ságamas and Elgahar, and they all understood the same thing: this was the work of a sáffurtan.
He appeared before them all, emanating a red brilliance. The necromancer had covered his body with a black toga but his terrifying head and face were uncovered, its flesh gnawed away so that the bones were visible under the thin layer of rotten skin. In his hands, he carried red energy. As he passed, the corpses of orcs and humans began to awaken and stir. Soon, they would yearn for the flesh of their enemies.
“Attack!” the tyrant ordered.
The platoon launched itself at the necromancer.
“Nooo!” Mérdmerén yelled.
But it was too late. The necromancer counterattacked and went straight for Osuno’s chest. Like an arrowhead, he buried himself inside him. The tyrant dropped his weapon, his eyes rolling. His veins turned black and his skin began to disintegrate. From his mouth poured a thick green vomit. Down his cheeks rolled tears of coagulated blood. The necromancer was inside the tyrant now and had taken possession of his body and soul.
An intense red light began to blaze from his arms. His skin melted and his hair burned. His hands became powerful claws.
He exploded. Osuno’s body was a bomb of blood, flesh, and bones. After the blast, there emerged a demon the size of a tree and made of fire, smoke, and hate. The beast expanded, surrounded by shadows that danced in a spiral, croaking. The tyrant’s soldiers could do nothing against this enemy or his sword of fire that clove them in half without meeting any resistance.
“Flee!” Mérdmerén yelled.
“Don’t,” Elgahar said, sounding unruffled.
“Are you mad? That thing’s going to destroy us!”
“That won’t happen.”
“Don’t be an idiot!”
“If we go, we’ll leave this infernal thing to wreak at its will and I can’t allow that. If I have to ignore my king’s orders, then I will.”
“You’re an apprentice! It’ll destroy you!”
Elgahar concentrated on the beast and stopped listening to Mérdmerén’s warnings. He entered his mind’s eye as if he were a captain boarding his ship. He connected with his being, his body, the most secret corner of his soul, and began to unfold a spell. When he was ready, he opened his eyes and turned his gaze on the demon which was no more than fifty strides away.
The humidity and the strong wind around charged the atmosphere with electricity and would be his allies. He stretched out his arms and began to summon the forces of nature. From his open hands there came a blue vortex which gained speed every second. The mage joined his hands as if he were praying. There came a loud crack and a bolt of light lit up his face. Between his hands, a spear of liquid sky took shape and began to grow, surrounded by a network of electricity and crowned with a slender spearhead.
Mérdmerén and the others ha
d not left; the spectacle held them spellbound. They were also aware that higher forces were being deployed. In front of them, the orcs and the necromancer, now a demon, could not hide their astonishment.
“Stop, beast! Or you will die!” the apprentice threatened them.
The infernal beast replied with a deafening croak, expelling toxic gases through its mouth.
“Humanity and its impoverished little world will fall before Mórgomiel, God of Chaos,” the demon hissed. “The shadows will soon descend upon you and consume you. I make you this offer now: join the efforts of the shadows or die in the attempt to defend yourselves. Choose now.”
“We’ll throw you out of this world,” Elgahar replied firmly. “We’ll defeat you just as we did in Háztatlon, just as we did in Kathanas, just as we did in the Times of Köel.”
“Don’t you understand? This has nothing to do with Némaldon.”
They were all petrified, expectant.
“What do you mean?” the mage stammered.
“I see that now you are paying attention to me.”
Beside the beast, the dead wandered, heading toward the living.
“The God of Chaos has returned and he is regaining his armor. When he has it all, he will carry out the destruction of the universe and the battle of all times will ensue—the Times of Chaos—and we will rule for all eternity.”
“The Times of Chaos…” Elgahar muttered.
So the mythical battle between the Gods, during the origins was true after all? He and many others had grown up thinking that those stories were simply part of the paraphernalia of religion.
“You are taking too long and my patience is limited. Join me or be ready to die, it is as simple as that.”
That beast was a representation of what the God of Chaos might do, Elgahar thought. This meant an opportunity to practice before the terrible war broke out. He was not going to flee, that would not help at all.
“Die!”
The spear of light flew as if it possessed a will of its own until it buried itself in the demon’s chest. The infernal beast was not prepared to make it as easy for him, however. With a screech, it sent out a stream of lethal venom. Elgahar managed to anticipate the disaster and deployed a protective cloak that saved them from instantaneous death. The beast shrieked and ran toward the mage with a great sword of fire.
Fire against fire, Elgahar thought. His thought forged a shield of flames which stopped the deadly attack. The demon howled, realizing it had failed again. It had to cover its eyes from a burst of red light which was followed by a torrent of ice. Elgahar had one hand stretched out toward the beast and the other toward the sky, absorbing the elements to turn them into ice.
When half the body of the beast was frozen and motionless, the mage touched the ground. There formed a small puddle of liquid iron and in it, there appeared a sword of heavy metal, worthy of the kings of yore. The mage took the sword, which was light as a feather, and launched a blow at the beast, which shattered it.
The fleeing orcs disappeared into the forest.
Turi and Cail cheered. “Elgahar!”
“How did you do that? Elgahar, who are you?” Mérdmerén muttered. He was grateful to have a mage like that on his side.
I did it! thought Elgahar. I’ve no staff and I launched spells without words of power. How—how did I manage this? The young apprentice was confused about how he had managed to create such powerful spells. Had they been spells? They had not felt like other spells where words of power are muttered and create a specific effect. In this case, Elgahar was wielding matter dynamically as if his will were connected to the universe and allowed him to tamper with its secrets. This was too much to understand. He might be asked how he did it, but he had no answers. He was suddenly afraid of himself, afraid of his hidden powers. Was this why he had never really flourished as a magician in Omen? It seemed as though the doctrines of the school of magic had been developed to limit him and not to enhance his true nature. But why?
The lad got to his feet, gasping with the effort. He was pale as a corpse. He had no more time to dwell on this matter. Not for now.
“Cursed demons. No wonder Némaldon is so frightening. It’ll be hard to defeat the legions of evil when they’ve finished organizing themselves.”
They were all silent. What had happened was proof enough of the serious threat that hung over their world. A single sáffurtan was capable of a great deal of destruction. If the God of Chaos was capable of bringing even more powerful foes to the battlefield, this world was certainly at risk of falling.
“Thank you,” said one of the women thieves.
“Thank you, Elgahar,” Mérdmerén added. “Without you, we’d be dead.”
“Let’s be off,” Ságamas said. “Osuno is dead. With the government vacant, there’s going to be a right old mess here. The contestants are going to skin each other for the throne. War’s going to break out and many will die. My country will be a graveyard.”
“You’re right,” Mérdmerén replied. “We’re going to Grizna.”
On their way to the harbor, Elgahar leaned on Greyson so he could keep up with the group. It was in moments like these when he could have used a potion or two. He could very well find the local witch but he would follow his old master’s advice and never purchase potions. He had to create them himself.
The crowd was already gathering outside the city, watching the disaster and spreading the news that the tyrant had died at the mercy of demons and a pirate king.
Chapter XXVI – Sokomonoko
Out at sea, on course to Grizna, silence and solitude fed the travelers’ reflections. They had set out on a political mission and from the start, they had made one mistake after another. They had found out their enemies’ plans, but this was no consolation—rather, the opposite. Now they would have to face the God of Chaos and his legions of shadows and demons. The Times of Chaos would inexorably return.
Some would have preferred to remain ignorant, then they could have gone on with their lives without fear. But there was no way back. Questions like why? were futile, since the answers banished neither the fear nor the danger. They would have to prepare and stay hopeful. But how would they prepare? Would it be possible to fight against the God of Chaos? What could a mere human do against an all-powerful god?
The bright sunny day contradicted these black thoughts. The ship swayed in a cool breeze on the quiet waters of the sea.
By the time they were a couple of days away from Grizna, the travelers were feeling more optimistic. They had overcome many hardships and had even got back the confiscated ship by stealing it from the two guards who were watching it. Once again, the thieves had demonstrated their stealthy efficiency.
They were gathered around a simple meal of salted fish with octopus ink. Ságamas had caught an octopus and a flying fish to everybody’s surprise and had made a delicious broth out of them. For many of the thieves like Turi and Cail, it was the first time they had ever seen a creature with eight arms on a plate but the fragrant aroma tempted them, and the taste finally won them over.
“The plan is to enter Grizna as the King of Mandrake,” Mérdmerén said. “Luckily, the tyrant didn’t have time to plunder the ship, so you’ll all be able to wear your finest clothes.”
“D’you know the empress?” Ságamas asked.
Greyson, Turi, and Cail looked at one another. None of the thieves had ever set foot on other lands, let alone Grizna. Wonders were spoken of that country. Its advances in science were far superior to those of Mandrake and it had notable cultural development.
“Her name’s Sokomonoko. No, I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard things about her. They say she’s beautiful, slim as a spindle, and has a mind as quick-witted as a goshawk. I have no doubt she’ll welcome us with open arms. They’re very cultured people.”
“Don’t be too trustful,” Ságamas warned him. “They have a naval force that’s capable of destroying any other.”
“But her land army’s weak.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter, we’re on a mission of peace. And their naval power might come in handy in a war.”
Nevertheless, now that they knew the enemy’s weapons, those plans for conventional war sounded futile.
The sailor and the King of Mandrake had been chatting at length. Ságamas had told him how he had gone to rack and ruin on his arrival.
“Moragald’Burg is for visiting every once in a while and then leaving for long stretches,” he said.
Mérdmerén told him of his plans to create an alliance.
“I know what you’re looking for,” the old man had said. “Adventures. You can’t stay put so you have to keep yourself entertained with dangers and demons.”
The king admitted how complicated occupying the throne. It was something he had not told anyone. It turned out to be liberating. He was glad to have the old rascal on board because he understood his woes without too many explanations.
“It was stupid to set out without an escort,” Ságamas told him, although he later understood that it was because of this that they had been able to gain access to the tyrant and find out Némaldon’s plans. “D’you remember when we first met in that pigsty? You offered me your house in exchange for a horse.”
“Of course I do!”
They both laughed wholeheartedly at the memory of those bittersweet times.
When the conversation started to languish after long days of uninterrupted sailing, the old friends sank into silence and contemplation. Mérdmerén was sick of so much war, so much death, and so many threats. He longed to retire to the countryside, surrounded by a green landscape and animals. But the shadows would end up closing in over his head. Sadness overwhelmed him.
“You haven’t spoken in over a week,” Turi said to Elgahar. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The mage’s eyes were wide open but unfocused. Perhaps he was analyzing himself. All the travelers had concluded that he had aged at least ten years. Even his chestnut-brown hair appeared much darker.
“What are you going to tell Sokomonoko?” Ságamas asked below deck after dinner.
Soulseeker’s Descent Page 17