Devastating Hate (21 page)

“I'm afraid I haven't quite understood why this needs to be done,” Welkar admitted. He did not look very pleased to hear the stranger's message. “Why would your army need to conceal itself?”

Horgàta lowered her voice, but it was still audible to every ear in the square, “There is a storm coming. A terrible force will explode over your land and no one will be able to stop it. But we, the elves, want to protect you. We are taking up secret positions everywhere in the land so that we can fight back when the invasion comes.”

The square fell silent as the people absorbed what the elf had told them.

Ossandra looked at the elf and then at her father. She could see he was struggling to make a decision.

“How will this work, Horgàta of the Elves?” he asked. “Am I to keep this secret even from my own king?”

She nodded. “It must be kept secret from everyone outside of Milltown. Evil will have sent out spies and they will move secretly among you, crushing any resistance.” Horgàta placed a hand on his shoulder. “You should count yourselves lucky that we have chosen to come here. We will keep you safe from the clutches of darkness.”

Welkar turned to the townspeople. “You have all heard what the elf has to say, but I'll make no bones about it: it is treason to deceive our king in this way. The king ought to be told about this threat. The council will meet and if I am alone in my opinion I shall give in to the majority view. Otherwise,” he said, addressing Horgàta apologetically, “I shall have to decline your request, or at least seek royal permission to accede to it.”

Ossandra observed the elf's face. She was smiling, it was true, but her eyes were cold as ice. The burgomaster's words had angered her.

Here and there in the crowd, people began to call out in support of Horgàta.

Horgàta raised her hands. “Humans! Listen to me. The situation has become urgent: evil is on its way and there is no time to waste in holding council meetings or sending messages to the king. If I can't find a secret campsite for my army, we'll lose the advantage of surprise. Even we elves,” she said, running her eyes over the heads of the townspeople, “are not capable of confronting and defeating this danger in open battle.”

Ossandra shuddered. Elves were known to be pure beings, the best warriors in the whole of Girdlegard—nothing could hold a candle to them. But here was Horgàta, admitting that their army would find victory difficult to achieve. “What is this threat you speak of?” someone called out. “Who is it that wants to invade our land?”

“Yes!” shouted another voice. “The orcs and other monsters out there in the wilderness cause trouble occasionally, but there aren't enough of them here to do us real harm. How is this Evil going to get here with the dwarves protecting us?”

Horgàta placed her hands on her narrow hips. “A gap has opened,” she said darkly. “You have to be told, so that you'll understand.”

“Where?” Ossandra wasn't happy with the answers they were getting. “How did the gap open up? Didn't the dwarves notice? Why haven't they sealed it?”

The elf pointed north. “It happened in the Gray Mountains. The Stone Gateway fell to the enemy and Tion's monsters took over. The dwarves have been defeated and eradicated. Nothing will hold back the dark wave of terror that is about to pour into our native land.”

The crowd were speechless with horror.

Ossandra was reluctant to believe what the elf was saying, but Horgàta seemed utterly convinced of the truth of her news. The girl wished fervently that she could hold her father's hand.

Welkar Ilmanson kept his cool, as might be expected of a burgomaster. “This is terrible news. But . . . why are the elves remaining silent? Why not spread the word throughout Girdlegard and assemble a fighting force big enough to repel the invaders?”

“As I said before, there are spies everywhere, even at the royal courts.” Horgàta cast another glance over the crowd. “If you help us, people of Milltown, you will be celebrated as those who helped us defeat evil. Your names will be in the history books!”

The market square fell quiet again.

“Are you telling us that our king—?” Welkar started to say.

The elf nodded. “It is not safe to speak of this to anyone except you. Help us!” She pointed west with her flute. “A group of óarcos is about
seven moments of unendingness from here. We will protect you if they come, but it would be better if we took the children and any vulnerable old people with us to the cavern. They'll be safer there.”

The crowd became restive. Ossandra recognized fear in the murmuring voices of her friends and family.

“Don't delay, Welkar!” called a young woman urgently. “Think of us and of our children!” Similar calls were heard on all sides.

The burgomaster lifted his hand for quiet. “I hear what you are all saying.” He lowered his hand and offered it to Horgàta. “I swear in the name of Milltown that we won't tell anyone about your army.”

The elf shook hands with Ilmanson and the people cheered.

Ossandra looked at Horgàta. There was malice behind her smile.

“Take the children and old people up into the cavern immediately. I'll have my elf-warriors move in overnight to protect them,” she said. “Don't forget to organize food for them.” Horgàta jumped down from the fountain, landing at Ossandra's feet. “Well, my little one? Are you glad we came?”

She knew it would be better to nod and pretend she was relieved. So that is what she did. But she would not join the elves, because that cavern was starting to sound like a prison.

Tark Draan (Girdlegard), south east of Gray Mountains,

4371
^st
division of unendingness (5199
^th
solar cycle),

early autumn.

Morana stood before King Odeborn of Ido, biting her lip so as not to say anything negative about the appearance of the court. It was a miserable dump, the air tasted of stale smoke and rancid candle fat and the frescoes might have been painted by a blind barbarian with absolutely no understanding of form or color.
I wouldn't even expect my night-mare to put up with this.

There were four men and women to the right and left of the king and everyone was staring at her with intense curiosity. These were, she had been told, the richest and most important nobles in the land: the king's closest advisers.

I think their main concern is to see that they do well out of things personally
. Morana's black leather armor felt slightly out of place. As long as she was abroad on the roads of Tark Draan she chose not to wear it, but it was more or less essential for the kind of negotiations she was conducting: she needed to show she was no ordinary elf.

And the barbarians had obviously fallen for it. People trusted her, even to the extent of allowing her into the throne room carrying the weapon Virssagòn had created for her: Sun and Moon.

Morana appreciated his gift hugely and had practiced with it on her way to the king. The moon part of the weapon was two curved sickle shapes fastened on to a central stick. The blades of the other part were as straight as the rays of the daystar. The inner and outer edges were honed as blades, and her fingers were protected by metal basketwork. The weapon was intended for close combat; used with speed and precision it would be lethal and unique in its efficacy.

I could kill them one by one.
She swept the room with her eyes, taking in the guards.
They look pretty slow. They wouldn't stop me.

She played with the idea of wiping out the entire leadership of the kingdom. They would be directionless and confused. Then the älfar would take this realm easily.

She noted some of the crude rings and chains the nobles wore over badly made garments.
If they fight the way they make their metalware we'd be better off without them.
But the nostàroi had ordered her to forge an alliance with this man and she could not disobey. She placed her hand on her midriff and sketched a bow. “Nobles of Tark Draan, King of Ido, you have my greetings and my thanks for agreeing to receive me.”

King Odeborn, a broad figure with a thick nose and drooping eyelids, sniffed audibly. “I just wanted to see what an elf was like,” he said baldly. The nobles gave titters of false laughter, and some of them rolled their eyes at his comment.

Morana knew that the king had inherited the throne—he had certainly not been awarded it due to intelligence or wisdom.
That should make things easier for me. It'd be better if I included these nobles when I address the king.
“Do I look like an elf?” she asked.

Odeborn waved a servant over and got him to refill his goblet. The wine slopped over the rim leaving fresh stains on the bright blue robe he was wearing. The stains were not without company. “Well. You look a bit . . .
dark
for a Being of Light,” he said, sipping his drink noisily. “Maybe you are a moon-elf? One that only goes out at night?”

“Your Majesty has a quick mind,” she smiled. “I am indeed different.” Morana saw fear in the faces of the nobles. Not fear of her, but fear of Odeborn. “And I am about to talk about something that may well affect us for longer than one human life span. Could we include the king's successor in our discussions?”

“Successor?” roared Odeborn. “If there is anyone eyeing my throne I'll have his guts for garters!”

“You don't have a son or a near relative, who could—”

“Our king had most of his family executed immediately on seizing power,” a woman said quietly—one of those who had rolled her eyes at the king's previous remarks. “He has never married.”

Odeborn emptied his goblet in one long draft and threw it at the woman. “Stop telling the elf my secrets or you'll be joining my family, you daughter of a whore!” he snarled.

That's why he needs so many guards. Whoever kills him will rule.
Morana indicated the armed men at the entrance and dotted around the hall. “Perhaps I can help you secure your throne? I offer a pact between the Kingdom of Ido and ourselves.”

“Pact?” he growled. “What do I need with a pact?”

“The elves of Lesinteïl and Âlandur are planning to extend their borders at the expense of the human realms—and that includes your own.” Morana was aware of the surprise on the barbarians' faces. “We can work together to prevent this.”
It's not going to be easy to talk them around.

“Are you from Gwandalur or the Golden Plain?” asked the man at the end of the line on the right. Morana's attention sharpened on him—he looked quite smart for a barbarian.
He might be harder to convince
.

“And how do you know about these plans?” the woman asked. “Have you any proof?”

Odeborn ignored these questions and addressed Morana. “They're so rude, aren't they, these advisers of mine?” He gestured down the line. “Why don't you introduce yourselves to our
guest
?”

One by one they gave Morana their names.

“Now that you know who they are, you may as well understand that these are the few of my relatives I allowed to live.” He sank back in his throne with a malicious smile and called the servant over for more wine. “I hope you can give me a good explanation for your claims.”

“I belong to a tribe that has remained separate from the other elf races because we know how untrustworthy they are. For a long time we stayed in the south, hidden away from all eyes, watching them. They have been deceiving humans for as long as the two races have lived next to each other.”

“They have been
deceiving us
?” This was Starowig, a well-groomed noble with the neat beard. “If that is the case, perhaps you can tell us what their true intentions are?”

“They want the entire territory. They plan to conquer the human realms and assassinate the wizards. Then, when everything is under their control and they have divided the land among themselves, they'll eliminate the dwarves. They pretend to be creatures of light, but they are creatures of pure greed!

“You have little time: their numbers were once insufficient to risk declaring war, but now they are ready. Haven't you heard the news from Quarrystone?”

Odeborn's jowls quivered as he shook his head, but the woman sitting on his left, Sagridia, nodded. She looked more frightened than any of the others. “Some traders told me the town had been wiped out by the elves. Just like that. Only one little girl survived. She's got a mark on her forehead that protected her, they said. I thought it was all a fabrication.”

“It is the beginning of their war,” Morana announced gravely.
Convincing them may be easier than I thought, but I'm going to have to do something about the power structure here. There are more than enough candidates for the succession
.

“So what?” said Odeborn, not bothering to suppress a belch. “Let them come! I'll pull their pointy ears off and shove them up their asses!” He laughed. “My army is loyal to me and I have many men. I don't need a pact with
you
.”

Judging from the expressions, he was the only one of this opinion.

“I understand.” Morana looked at the nobles.
Let's try something different.
“Which of you is wealthiest and the most popular figure with the people, apart from your wise ruler here?”

There was a little muttering among them and eyes flitted anxiously hither and thither, before most settled on Starowig.

“So be it.” As quick as lightning, Morana pulled out the Sun and hurled the weapon with all her strength at the king.

The steel blades struck him in the middle of his fat chest. The impact was so violent that it tipped him back and overturned his throne. His carafe smashed on the floor and red wine and blood flowed together.

No one moved. Not even the guards.

Morana put her hand to her belt and nodded to Starowig. “Congratulations,
King.
How do you feel about forming a pact with us? Or do you think I should name
your
successor?” She grasped the steel Moon in her right hand.