Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron) (15 page)

"
Ok, scratch that then.  Let me think. 
Sino mihi viscus.
"  Michael felt the familiar wind waft through his mind informing him that the magic had functioned.  He walked forward with his hand outstretched.  When he got to the area of the field, his hand came up against a solid surface.  Michael pushed harder, but it was like trying to push the curtain wall itself.  "Well, that didn’t work."

"Apparently not," Merric stated.

Lowering his hand Michael tried again, "
Transfero mihi ut mea cella
."  Again Michael felt the wind, but he remained standing where he was.  The teleport spell that would have normally taken him to his room in Kantwell did not function.  Still staring straight ahead Michael inquired further.  "How does the field handle physical attack?"

"
The only ones who can physically assault the shield are those whom it is designed to keep out.  To anyone else, it simply does not seem to exist.  Therein lie its greatest weakness.  You cannot simply say, for example, prevent all trolls from entering.  You have to name the specific person you wish to bar from entering."

Merric squatted down and ran his hands through the grass until he found two small rocks.  He straight
ened and walked up to Michael, who was still staring forward as if he could see the field, completely lost in thought.  Merric nudged Michael’s shoulder to get his attention.  When Michael turned to look at him, Merric handed him one of the rocks.  "Let me demonstrate.  You are barred from Kantwell, and I am not.  Throw your rock at the wall."

Michael looked at Merric then at the small rock in his hand.  He bounced it a few times on his palm and then pitched it at the wall.  It hit the field about two feet in front of him and deflected back.  Michael quickly ducked to keep from being hit as it
ricocheted passed his head.

"
Now watch," Merric told him.  Merric threw his rock and it sailed all the way up to the curtain wall, striking it and bouncing off harmlessly.  "Anything to do with you or originating from you is barred from entry.  You cannot teleport in nor can you, in any way, harm those on the inside."

"
Would Mortow and his magi be able to batter down the field with magic?"  Michael asked.

"
No.  The field does not weaken from attacks against it.  Only time diminishes its strength.  As long as I continue to maintain it, it will remain indefinitely," Merric informed Michael.

"
I guess I could drain the magic from it until it dissipated, but I don’t want to do that on our field."

"
Yes. You could do that, but the second you started draining Mortow’s field, he would know it and any element of surprise would then be gone."

"
Maybe Mortow hasn’t thought to bar me from Gratton yet."

"
You don’t really believe that do you?  The minute he lost control over you, he would have altered his field.  For everything that the man is, he is not stupid."

"
Maybe I am too tired.  I can’t think of any way around or through it other than draining it."

"
It was a long shot to begin with, Michael.  These fields have been designed to keep people out.  It is quite possible that, even with your powers, you could not breach it."

"
Could I alter the field like you did?"

"
Under normal circumstances no.  Only I can alter the field, unless I permit you."

"
Then that must be what Micah did with the one around my room because I was able to alter it to allow someone else access."

"
That is exactly what he did.  He set it up for you and then allowed you to alter it so that you could maintain it.  If he hadn’t, then he would be the only one that could feed energy into it."

Michael rubbed his eyes and yawned.
  "I need sleep.  I can’t even think straight anymore.  Merric, would you grant me access again so I can go lie down?"

"
Of course, Michael. 
Tribuo obvius ut Michael
.  There you go.  Go get some rest.  If anything comes up I will wake you."

Michael nodded then turned to Branik and Reek.
  "Ready?"

"
Always," Branik replied.

"
Transfero nos ut mis visum
."  Michael spoke the words and disappeared along with Branik and Reek.

Merric stood there looking at Kantwell
’s outer wall then spoke the words of transport himself.  He reappeared in the scrying chamber below Kantwell.  Gazing down at the silvery surface of the scrying basin he muttered, "
Ostendo
."

The surface went black
, then cleared to reveal the stone structure of Gratton.  Its huge central tower soared high above the surrounding defensive walls.  Merric sucked in a breath of dread as he watched rank upon rank of troll warriors pour forth from the gates.  Everyone one of them was sheathed in glistening chainmail and most were carrying the traditional troll gahln, a five foot long war hammer with a serrated face on one end and a long slightly curved spike on the other.  The trolls employed these wicked looking gahlns both as tools for their mining and as weapons of war.

Merric continued to watch as the trolls left Gratton followed by thousands of ogres
, all likewise outfitted for battle.  Unlike the trolls, who preferred metal armor and their Gahlns, the ogres wore hardened leathers decorated with feathers and shrunken heads and primarily carried swords or huge war hammers.  Both the trolls and the ogres marched in neat, orderly military rows.  As the last of the ogres left the gates, a flood of animals came pouring out, slavering and snapping.  They spewed forth as if Gratton itself was vomiting them, trying to rid itself of their foulness.  The swarm of animals ranged far out and around the marching lines of warriors.  It was a formidable display of military might and a sight that made Merric’s heart sink.

"
He must have close to fifty thousand troops."

As Merric continued to watch, the last of the
Weres emptied from the gates.  Three lone figures mounted on black horses rode out, one in the lead and two flanking, slightly behind.  All three wore the black robes with red sashes of the traitors of Gratton.  The lead figure with his impressive size and long, jet black hair caused a pang to run through Merric’s chest.  It was the first time he'd seen Mortow in over five years, and a tear trailed down Merric’s face.

"
Ah, my son, what you have brought us to that we must once again fight one another?  For once, I am glad your mother is not alive.  It would break her heart to see what has become of you."  Merric studied Mortow closely.  The blood red sash around his waist bore many black stripes.  As Merric counted them, his heart sank even further.  "Nine.  So it is true.  I would feel a sense of pride if I did not loathe you so much.  I…"  Merric’s voice stuck in his throat as two giant forms slithered out from Gratton’s gates.

C
overed in rotted remnants of hooded, black robes, the scaly creatures towered over the riders.  Each carried a huge scythe and, trailing behind them, their long reptilian tails moved in undulating cycles, propelling them fluidly forward.

An overwhelming sense of fear swept over
Merric, causing him to tremble.  Here was a nightmare come to life.  Here were the Garoliths.

Chapter Fourteen

Mortow stood at the top of the steps leading up to Gratton’s main and only visible entrance.  He looked out over his army
, not with pride at bringing these three nations together, but with speculation as to how they could best be used to achieve his goal.  That goal was the unification of
all
races under a common ruler, himself.  Mortow knew what he was doing was right.  Under his leadership, the races would cease their warring and bickering.  He would see to that end, even if he had to cull them down to near extinction.  He was the only one with the vision of how things should be.  He was the only one with the power and will to see it done.  When he ruled, the wizards would no longer be at the beck and call of those squabbling masses, but would be their arbitrators and governors.

The combined might of the trolls, the ogres
, and the lower-caste Weres now represented the majority of the population on Thelona.

The elves, never great in numbers, would be decimated in a matter of hours
; knowing the elves would never flee their beloved Trelom. Mortow surmised that with the five hundred or so Forest Guard in exile, there would be perhaps six to seven hundred elves left after the Weres did their job.

The dwarve
n race had already been slaughtered to near extinction.  Maklin reported that only about two hundred had escaped the raid visited on them by the ogres.  They ran and hid themselves away in their mountain hold within Delven Pass.  Those few, plus the remaining dwarven fighting units deployed around the realm, were all that remained of that once proud and ever stubborn race.  In all, there were probably less than five hundred dwarves remaining. 

The humans of Branna numbered around
twenty thousand, but most of them were farmers.  King Brose would only be able to field around eight to ten thousand warriors and, of those, only four thousand or so would be trained soldiers.

The Avari
, on the other hand, were an unknown factor.  None of the spies sent to the Avari Isle ever returned.  Mortow had been unable to scry on the island.   Some force blocked it from his view.  It was not the total blackout that he got when trying to scry on Kantwell, but rather a dense fog that obscured everything from view. It puzzled him and, the truth be told, worried him a little.  The amount of power it took to shield an entire island was disconcerting.

Mortow had known that Micah had
a little magical ability, but he did not believe the Avari Lord was capable of such a feat.  No, there had to be some other explanation.  Still, he had no way of knowing how many Avari there actually were.  The island was not large, but it could hold a dense population; a population of some of the fiercest warriors ever known on Thelona.

His army
, however, would be intimidating to the other races for its sheer numbers, not to mention the size of the trolls and ogres.  The troll nation had turned out just over ten thousand warriors.  The ogre tribes had supplied him with nearly six thousand, and the Weres, probably the most prolific race on Thelona, had come to him in droves.  There were nearly twenty-five thousand of them left, even after all the raids he had sent them on.  Three thousand Weres were now on ships headed around the northern edge of the continent.  The people of Branna would have their hands full.  King Brose would be forced to divide his troops and fight the war on two fronts.  By the time he realized what was happening, a good number of his citizens would already be dead.

This would not be much of a war.  Kantwell and its allies were outnumbered by
more than four to one.  The wizards of Kantwell would have a big surprise in store.  The Garoliths would deal with them.  Michael, alone, stood a chance against the fearsome monsters.  He was the only other ninth key wizard on Thelona, but he would have no knowledge of what he fought.

A smile touched Mortow’s lips briefly
, as he considered Michael facing several of the horrors.  The boy won’t know what hit him.  That should wipe that annoying little smirk from his face once and for all.  Mortow raised his right hand above his head and the mass of soldiers immediately fell silent.  "Let it begin!" his deep voice rumbled throughout the courtyard and echoed off the curtain wall.

The troll army turned with practiced precision
and began filing through the gate.  The ogres turned with grunts and growls of battle lust to follow the trolls.  The combined marching unit was swarmed and surrounded by the Weres, sending up a clash of howls, yips, growls, and roars as they flowed out and around the orderly ranks of trolls and ogres.

Maklin v
anished from his place at Mortow’s back to reappear at the bottom of the steps with three black horses.  Two of the horses were outfitted in plain leather gear. The third stood out, not only because it was at least five hands taller than the other two; but, also because all of its equipment was a matching red; the same red of the sashes worn by all the wizards of Gratton.  As Mortow and Megan walked down the steps toward their mounts, a gaping hole opened in the mountain to the left of the tower.  From that hole a palpable cold could be felt; and, behind that shock of cold came ten creatures created for no other reason than to destroy magic.

For Megan and Ma
klin, this was the first time they had laid eyes on the Garoliths.  Mortow could see the fear mirrored in both sets of eyes.  He saw the muscle in Maklin’s jaw tighten as he stood straighter.  Mortow thought he saw a slight tremor run through Megan, but that was the only outward sign that she had noticed the Garolith’s arrival.  Mortow wondered again about Mael.  He could see the slight wizard turning to face the Garoliths with nothing more than that sly smile of his.  No, even these would fail to move Mael to fear.

Mortow mounted his horse and without waiting for Ma
klin or Megan to do the same, motioned for two of the Garoliths to follow.  The rest knew their duties.

Ma
klin and Megan hurriedly mounted up and fell in behind Mortow.  Maklin cast a wary eye back at the strange creatures who were now his allies.  Maybe Mortow had nothing to fear from them, but any magi not a ninth key would be a fool not to keep an eye on them and give them a very wide berth.

Megan caught Ma
klin’s eye and frowned at him in disapproval.  She pointedly ignored the Garoliths.  There was no reason to fear them as far as she was concerned.  Mortow controlled them, and if Mortow wanted her dead, he did not need the Garoliths.  He would simply kill her himself.  Megan squared her shoulders and winced at the pain still pulsing from the arrow wound in the right one.  It was nearly healed, but the bruise to the bone would take a lot longer to heal than the flesh would.

Megan again glanced over at Ma
klin.  He'd noticed the twinge and was smiling, only turning his eyes her way.  He was still gloating over her failure.  Megan’s face turned red with rage.  She could see Maklin’s shoulders shake as he silently chuckled at her, and she vowed to herself that he would pay for the insult as well as for her injury.  She focused her eyes on Mortow’s massive back and erased Maklin from her mind as they passed through the gate.  For now, they needed Maklin, but when this was all over, she had a few things planned for him.

The Weres, ever eager for revenge on their ancient enemies, hit Trelom completely by surprise.  The shocked look on Rydon’s aged face had nearly sent Mael into an uncontrollable laughing fit.  The arrogant old fool believed he and his people were safe and untouchable; that his deal with Mortow protected them.  It would have, had he not declared the exile of his son, Ataum, Captain of the Forest Guard.  Rydon should have known the Forest Guard would follow their Captain.  But no, he thought the stigma of exile would distance Ataum from them.  He was wrong.  Now, over five hundred of the finest elven warriors had joined Kantwell and its allies.

Mael couldn’t possibly care less.  It mattered not which side won
, though he had a more vested interest in seeing Kantwell victorious.  Under Mortow, Mael had to act subservient, a small price to pay for the knowledge and power gained. Once he had learned all he could from Mortow, that bowing and scraping would quickly grow wearisome.  Merric, on the other hand, required no such tribute.  Of course, he could not supply the wealth of knowledge that Mortow had at his disposal.  But, now that Michael had shown himself to be a ninth key, Kantwell had gained what before only Mortow could offer.  Mael watched another elf, this one a female, go down under a large black bear, her entire chest ripped open from one powerful swipe of its huge claws.  Such acts moved him not at all.

He
gathered the Weres together after the main fight was over; and, had them ferret out and round up the elders.  Most had been so appalled by what they witnessed that they moved without resistance.  Rydon had collapsed where he stood completely withdrawing into himself.  A few elves had escaped through tree portals that their druids conjured up; but, the majority, were lying bloody and dismembered throughout the village.

"
I shall take these wretches to Gratton," Mael told the gathered Weres.  "I will come back after giving my report to Mortow.  Until then, appease yourselves as you would.  When I return, I will begin taking you, a group at a time, to the main force.  Be ready when I return."  Mael moved in among the elders and spoke the words of transport.  He and the seven elders vanished.

It took Mael the rest of the day to transport the nearly two thousand Weres to the main force now marching across the Steppes of Sorrow.  Mortow had been pleased that all had gone according to his plan.  The elders, including Rydon, now resided in the room where Mieka had taken Michael.  There they would be powerless. After Mael transported the last of the Weres, Mortow ordered him to return to Gratton to keep an eye on Joshua.  Mael wearily bowed to Mortow and transported himself.

Mael returned to a nearly empty Gratton.  He
appeared in his quarters much fresher than he looked when he left Mortow’s side.  He removed his robe and washed to remove the stink of Were.  He found it distasteful to be in such close proximity to so many of them.

"
I will never be able to get that stench out." Mael muttered, looking down at the robe.  He threw it into the wash basin and held his hand over it.  "
Fundas Incinerate
."  He watched as the water boiled away and the robe turned to ash; and then, poured in a bit more water, swirled it around, and dumped it down the garderobe shaft.  Mael pulled a fresh robe from his wardrobe and slid it over his head.  He tied his sash in place with practiced ease, and combed his shoulder length blonde hair straight back.  Looking down at himself, he was satisfied with his appearance.  Mael smoothed the front of his robe once more, and again spoke the words of transport.

Materializing down the hall from the room that now housed Joshua, Mael looked at the four trolls standing guard outside its door.  It would have been much easier if he could have teleported into the room
, but Mortow had shielded the room to prevent anyone except himself from doing just that.  Mael walked up to the guards.

"
Wizard Mael," one of the trolls said, bowing his head slightly.

"
I am here to check on our guest," Mael said without looking at the troll.

The nine foot tall beast bowed his head again and inserted a key into the lock.  There was a soft click as the tumblers fell into place and the troll pushed the door open
.   Without another word, Mael strode into the room.  He stopped just inside the door and turned his head slightly, verifying that the door was closed behind him.  He waited until he heard the sound of the lock sliding into place before looking into the room.

Joshua was seated in one of the overstuffed chairs, leaning back with his feet straight out and crossed at the ankles.  He appeared to be lost in thought as he stared at the fire in the great fireplace directly across from him.  Mael surveyed the room and caught sight of what he
sought.

Rein stood against the wall near the door leading to Joshua’s bed chamber.  He nodded once to Mael an
d returned his eyes to Joshua.

Mael walked forward and interposed himself between Joshua and the fire
. He said a short phrase under his breath then regarded the man before him.  "Now that we are properly shielded, your Uncle sends his regards," Mael intoned with a smirk, as Rein moved forward.

Joshua heard the man come in and thought they might be bringing him his dinner.  He was still depressed with the situation
; and, hadn't bothered to look until a black robed figure stepped in front of him.  He could tell by the size of the man that it was not Mortow.  This man was tiny.  In fact, before Joshua raised his eyes to the man’s face, he thought it might be a woman.  The man was barely over five feet tall and very thin.  His shoulder length blonde hair was so fair it could almost be white.  The man’s pale gray eyes were almost as cold as Mortow’s.  The smirk on his face cast his features in a sinister light that ran a chill down Joshua’s spine.

"
So, you have come to taunt the prisoner as well.  Save your breath, I’m not interested," Joshua said with obvious boredom.

"
Now, is that any way to greet the man who comes to deliver you to your Uncle?  I think not," Mael replied, the smirk on his face still in place.