Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron) (23 page)

Michael sighed softly and bracing his hands on the desk before him, rose to his feet.
  “Well, since I know you are all dying to ask, let’s start with the obvious.”

Miles
' little hand shot into the air so fast Michael was afraid he would dislocate his shoulder.  Michael couldn’t help but smile.  “Miles, what is your question?”  Michael asked as he walked to the front of the classroom.

“Where did you get the new robe and sash?  How come the sash doesn’t have any stripes on it?
  And why is it gold?”

Michael laughed at the barrage of questions
, but he could see that all the students were waiting for the answers.  “For starters, the robe and sash are not new.  In fact, they are very, very old,” Michael began.

“How old are they?”  Miles asked as Michael took a breath.

Michael ran his hand along the sash as he thought.  “They are older than Headmaster Merric.”

Miles’ eyes grew round as saucers
, and Michael couldn’t help but laugh again.  The other students smiled and chuckled as well.

“Both were given to me by a magi named Mason.  They had been passed down to him from his teacher and he passed them down to me
,” Michael told him.

“Was he your teacher?”

“Very briefly, yes, he was.  He saved my life and taught me what he could in the time he had left.”

“You mean he died?”

“I’m afraid so.”  Michael, seeing the hurt look on Miles’ face, quickly continued.  “He did not suffer and his passing was gentle.  He told me he was quite content to move on.  You see, Miles, he was very, very old and all of his family had already passed.  He was looking forward to joining them.”

“That’s sad.”

“It is only sad to us.  To him, it was like finally being able to go home.  As to why the sash is gold, he did not tell me, nor did he explain why there are no stripes.”

Martin cleared his throat to get Michael’s attention.
  “What do they signify?  All of the colors we are accustomed to correspond to a level within our magic.  You no longer wear the gray robes of an apprentice, nor the blue sash of a wizard,” Martin asked, perplexed.

“You are correct.  I no longer wear the blue sash of a wizard because I am no longer a wizard.  Mason called what I am a Myrkron.  He and his predecessor were Myrkron as well.  The way he explained it was
, every ten thousand years a magi is born under a sky full of shooting stars.  It matters not how many children are born on that night because, the magic carried by all of those stars is bestowed on only one child; that child is a Myrkron.  We are what is beyond a wizard.  I am, however, still an apprentice.  My power may surpass that of a wizard, but I still have much to learn.  I wear the purple robe of the Myrkron out of respect for Mason and his teacher.”

Morgan, a black haired teenager, wearing the red sash of a magician with
three black stripes, spoke up.  “If, as you say, a Myrkron is only born every ten thousand years, then this Mason was ten thousand years old when he died?”  Morgan asked incredulously.

“Actually
, Mason was over twenty thousand years old.  He waited for the last Myrkron to come into existence, but for some reason, he or she never did.  Mason had to wait for me,” Michael informed them.

“If Mason’s teacher waited for him and his teacher’s teacher before him
, then you will live for at least ten thousand years as well.  Why have we never heard of these magi if they were still around?”  Morgan asked.

“Because
, after his normal span of life, Mason stayed confined to a valley as part of a pact he made.  That pact allowed him to remain to pass on his knowledge to the next Myrkron.  When he was finally able to complete that pact, he passed on.”  Michael hung his head and closed his eyes.  “I cannot even conceive of what that kind of wait was like.”

“Extremely boring I would imagine,” Morgan replied.

Martin, seeing the look on Michael’s face, changed the subject.  “Those are weighty matters better left to the minds of wizards.  Let us return to the day's lessons.  Morgan, how about you show us your illusionary fire wall.”

As Morgan rose, he cast a glance in Michael’s direction.  He thought the man looked like he might be sick at any minute.  Morgan shrugged and walked to the front of the classroom.

Michael barely heard Morgan speaking.  The words were distant and incoherent as he turned inward.  He saw the three golden doors again, the first one standing open with a mellow golden light spilling out; the door of life.  As he looked closely, he noticed a symbol on the two closed doors.  The eleventh door had what looked to be a flower of some sort, bent over to the left.  The twelfth had an infinity symbol within a circle surrounded by an equilateral triangle.  Though he could not see the face of the tenth door, Michael somehow knew it had an Egyptian ankh on it.  It was strange that he never noticed them before.

Michael rose to his feet and headed for the door.  Barely noticing his surroundings, he turned left and headed toward the library at the end of the hall.  As he approached the door
, he suddenly remembered the last time he came this way.  Thoughts of Mieka and her betrayal set his head to pounding.  He could hear the rushing of his own blood thumping through his temples and had to reach out and brace himself on the door frame.  Reek and Branik were instantly at his sides, supporting him.

Branik turned Michael and
, seeing the ashen look on his face, grabbed both of Michael’s upper arms.  “Michael, look at me,” Branik said tersely.  When Michael finally focused on Branik’s hazel eyes, Branik continued.  “Remember the centering lesson.  Focus on your breathing.  No!  Do not close your eyes,” Branik said, shaking Michael urgently.  “Look at me and breathe like we taught you.  Breathe with your stomach.  Put all thought from your mind and breathe.”

Michael’s mind began to swim and then
he felt two iron clamps attach to his arms.  He heard Branik’s voice and looked up into the big man’s eyes.  He listened to the words Branik was saying and they took him back to the rock garden.  He was seated on the grass surrounded by the circle of stones, the largest one behind him.

Reek and Branik sat cross-legged before him
, and he started to close his eyes.  He heard the emphatic NO and was shaken once, almost violently.  He opened his eyes and focused again on Branik’s hazel ones.  Michael began to breathe as they had taught him.  His mind went calm, but for some reason he could still feel the grass beneath him even though he knew he was standing inside Kantwell.  The grass, the rocks, the bluing sky above him, the wind flowing over him all seemed real.

Suddenly
, the symbol from the eleventh door was before his mind’s eye, the bent flower.  He recognized it.  It was another Egyptian symbol, the lotus.  Michael physically felt connections in his mind being made, paths to knowledge of which he was previously unaware.  The lotus, symbol of nature.  Ianua Vir, the door of man; life’s connection to nature.  His immediate surroundings disappeared and Michael found himself standing before the eleventh door, the symbol of the lotus right before his eyes.  He reached up and brushed his right hand over the symbol and the door began to glow.  The glow matched the mellow golden light coming from the tenth door. The eleventh was no longer before him. It had opened.

Michael found he could see beyond the
light.  The glow was that of sunlight reflecting off a vast ocean.  Upon that ocean, he saw many large ships sailing to a coast.  The coast was unfamiliar, but he somehow knew it to be just west of Kantwell.  He focused on the ships.  The crews were busy guiding the ships; but as he looked closer, he saw the men and women for what they were, Weres, hundreds of them.  He felt a malevolence beyond the hatred the Weres exuded; something ancient and evil.  He heard a sibilant laughter receding as he snapped back to Kantwell and the hazel eyes of Branik.

“Weres approach from the west.  I must warn Merric,” Michael said to Branik not noticing the stunned look on the big man’s face
, as he mentally sent out a call to the Headmaster.

Chapter Nineteen

All Mieka could think about was the hurt look on Michael’s face as he saw Mortow walk into the little room.  She knew he would be hurt by her actions. She knew that his growing feelings for her had been more than mere physical attraction.  What she had not counted on was how she felt now.  At first, she had been all calm detachment. She was following Mortow’s plan and all she had ever wanted, was to please him.  As she looked inward, examining her feelings, Mieka realized that over the course of the time she'd spent with Michael, something had changed.

Mortow was all cool,
confident, calculating power; a lethal and charismatic leader.  She had always been drawn to him, even when they were children.  Michael certainly had power, but he lacked the confidence that seemed to come naturally to Mortow.  Comparing the two physically, there was such a great contrast.  Mortow was imposing and handsome, dark hair, massive physique and arresting pale blue eyes.  Michael, on the other hand, was of average height and build, though he had certainly put on some muscle while training with the two Avari.  His hair was a common brown and his face was merely pleasant.  Michael had blue eyes as well, but unlike Mortow’s, Michael’s were a deep, dark blue that warmed when he smiled.  Why now, did those eyes haunt her?

Mieka had done what Mortow had wanted.  She had delivered Michael to Gratton.  Initially
, she had been pleased that she had completed her assignment. But after seeing the look on Michael’s face as Mortow walked into the room, she no longer felt pleased.  That look had mirrored a look she had seen on Uncle Merric’s face, five years ago when Mortow made his bid for power.  Then, she had dismissed it as sadness over the deaths of the other magi. Now she knew it for what it was; the heartbreak of being betrayed by someone held close.

As she closed her eyes, the sunlight of the clearing faded behind a cloud.  She saw Michael’s hurt expression once again
; then suddenly it was the face of Merric, but the expression did not change.  Mieka knew that Uncle Merric would have that same expression when he found out what she had done.  Why did this bother her now?  She opened her eyes as she felt the sun pour down on her once again.

Mieka
looked around the little clearing.  Not much had changed in all these years.  The trees were perhaps taller, but that was all.  Her rock was as she remembered it and the sound of the stream was the same.  She had always come here as a child when she was sad or needed to think.  The little clearing was about half a mile from her childhood village.  She sat once again on the big rock. It was not as big as she remembered it. She sat facing the stream, watching it flow from the left over the smooth bed of rounded stones.  Mieka had not been here in over thirty years.  Why was she here now?  Why had she transported herself here of all places?

Attis
and Trask ran at a swift pace.  They had walked methodically through the ruins of the dwarven city, searching for survivors and found none.  Now they followed a faint trail west.  It initially led north to Delven Lake, and then went west from there.  Trask estimated that it had been left by six dwarves, two adults and four children.  By the depth and size of the adult tracks, they had to be females.  The children’s tracks were almost identical except for one set.  It was bigger, yet hardly any deeper; three girls and one boy.  The tracks were over a day old when they picked them up, but the trail had grown fresher as the ground eating Avari pace quickly closed the distance.  They were approaching a rocky outcropping of the Anvil’s Teeth.  The trail led in the general direction of West Gate.

Both Avari h
eard the twang of a crossbow at the same time, but it was Trask who side-stepped and snapped out his right hand.  Trask and Attis immediately came to a stop.  Trask held a crossbow bolt in his right hand.  He glanced at it quickly, noting it was of dwarven manufacture, and then quickly scanned the rocks ahead.

“Do not waste your bolts on us dwarfkin.  We mean you no harm,” Trask called out holding the bolt up.

A black haired, female dwarf peered tentatively from behind a large rock.  Seeing the bolt in the man’s hand, the look of fear on her face transformed first, into shock and then to understanding.  Only an Avari could accomplish such a feat.  She moved slowly from behind the rock.

Trask and
Attis could see the powerful crossbow in her hand.  It had been reloaded, but now hung at her side, as the identity of the two men registered in her fear- addled mind.  The black chain mail she wore was torn in several places and she had an axe at her right hip.

Trask and
Attis held their hands up and away from their swords showing they meant no harm.

“We have come from Middle Watch seeking survivors for Axethane Ralk,” Trask said trying to use familiar places and names to put the frightened dwarf a
t ease.

“You are Avari?”  The female asked meekly.

“We are,” Trask replied.

As he replied, the two Avari saw a child peek out from behind her, a look of awe on his young face. 
Attis could not help but smile at the boy.

“Axethane Ralk sent you to look for survivors?”  The female asked
as her voice grew steadier.

“No.  We volunteered
, but we did ask for his blessing,” Trask corrected her.  “I am Trask and this is my brother, Attis.  You, your companion, and your young charges are the first survivors we have found.  We tracked you from Delven Vale up to Delven Lake and to here.”

“We were cut off from the others as they fled to Delven Pass.
  There were too many ogres and we had the children to consider; so, we fled to the Lake hoping to meet up with others.  It seems we were the only ones.  The ones that went south, did they make it to Middle Watch?”

“Aye, Axethane Ralk reported that two hundred and thirteen survivors were taken into Middle Watch,”
Attis informed her.

As
Attis spoke, another female came out from behind the rocks with three small children in tow. She held them all protectively in the circle of her arms, as they clung to her.  All of them wore soot stained clothing, but were clean and appeared healthy.  This female was dressed in gray robes rather than the chain mail of her companion.  Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail and several strands hung loose at both temples.

Her blue eyes drew
Attis’ attention, and he nudged his brother.  “She remind you of anyone?”

Trask looked her over quickly
and shook his head.

“Look at the cut of her jaw, the shape of her nose
, the color of her eyes, and hair,” Attis instructed.

Trask looked at her again
, studying the features his brother pointed out.  He nodded.  “Dain,” Trask said.

“Aye, Axethane Bran’s young healer.”

At the sound of the name, the healer took a few steps forward, a hopeful look on her face.  “You know my son?”  She asked softly, but then her face sagged.  “But my Dain is not a healer.  He was apprenticing as a Forger.”

Attis
smiled brightly at her.  “I know of only one Dain. Unless you have a sister with a son named Dain, he could be no other, so much does he bear a resemblance to you.”

Hope began to light her face again.
  “My Dain does favor me greatly.  My name is Syanne,” she said, bowing her head to the two brothers.

“Well Syanne
, you should be very proud of your son.  He is practically a legend among the armies.  One cannot spend time among them without hearing tails of the miraculous healings he has performed.  Even the Axethane looks to him with awe and protects him as a father would a son,” Attis informed them.

“Dain was always a very bright boy
, but we never trained him as a healer.  How is it that he is a healer for a unit?” Syanne asked.

“The boy asked to join Axethane Bran’s unit.  Even though he is young
, the Axethane granted his request.  No one who has heard of Dain would dispute the Axethane’s decision.  Even the ogre Chieftain, Karg, and his brother, Mardak, are fond of the boy,”

“Ogres!  What are they doing around my son?”  Syanne demanded angrily.

“The ogre tribes have split into two factions.  Chieftain Karg has joined many tribes under his command and pledged loyalty to Axethane Bran.  He sees Mortow for what he truly is and does not wish to live his life under Mortow’s yoke.  He commands two thousand ogres that share his view.  Five days back they came to The Slot and treated with Commander Salic and Axethane Bran.  Mardak’s arm was badly injured and he had a malady of the spine that caused him to walk bent over.  Dain healed the arm and fixed his spine.  Karg then swore allegiance to Axethane Bran.  Mardak is practically a personal bodyguard to Dain now,” Attis explained.

“How can the Axethane be so blind as to trust them?  They are a murderous lot that should be wiped from the face of Thelona!”
The female in chain mail exclaimed.

Trask turned his eyes on the warrior.
  “The ones that have joined with us are nothing like the ones that attacked your city.  I have seen firsthand the destruction caused by the ogres that were here. I have also seen the honor with which Chieftain Karg conducts himself.  The two groups could not be more different.”

“Besides, I do not think Healer Dain would have helped Shaman Mardak had he not believed they were genuine in their intent,”
Attis added.

The heat left Syanne’s face and she hung her head.
  “You are correct, Avari.  My Dain would know what lies in their hearts.  They would not be able to deceive him.”

Trask addressed the female wearing chain mail.
  “Have you seen any other survivors?”

“Only the ones that fled south to Middle Watch. 
As I said before, we were cut off and had to flee another direction.  You say only two hundred and thirteen made it to Middle Watch?”

“That is the count that Axethane Ralk gave,” Trask replied with a nod.

Both Avari could see the tears roll down the woman’s face.

“That is less than half the number that fled Delven Vale.”

Trask walked slowly forward, followed by Attis.  He held out the bolt he had caught to the warrior dwarf.  “Axethane Ralk has asked that we bring any survivors back to Middle Watch.”

The young boy behind her stared in open amazement at the crossbow bolt in Trask’s hand
.  He tugged on the female's chain mail.  “Vandee, he caught that bolt with his bare hand,” the boy whispered loudly.

Trask looked at the boy, who couldn’t have been more than seven years old
, and knelt down on one knee.  He removed the sharp tip from the bolt and motioned for the boy to come forward.  “What is your name dwarfkin?”  Trask asked softly trying to coax the boy from behind Vandee.

The boy looked up at Vandee and
, seeing her nod, he moved forward a few steps and faced Trask with a smile.  “My name is Alin.”

Trask handed the bolt to the boy.
  “Alin, my name is Trask.  Here is a souvenir to show those back at Middle Watch.”

The boys brown eyes lit up with delight as he stared at the bolt in his hands
.  “Can I keep it?”

“Of course,” Trask replied rising once again.  He tossed the tip he had removed from the bolt to Vandee who instinctively caught it.
  “Come, we must get you all to Middle Watch so we may continue our search,” Trask said, his business-like manner returning once more.

“I will help you look for survivors,” Vandee said.

“That will be up to Axethane Ralk to decide,” Trask told her.

“We will carry the children.  I am sure they are tired
, and we will be able to move faster,” Attis said watching the children’s eyes grow wide with excitement.

The boy looked up at Trask questioningly, seeing him nod that it was true, he launched himself at Trask.  Trask caught the boy and
shifted him to his right side.

Attis
took a few steps toward Syanne and the three girls and knelt down in front of them smiling.  “Would you young ladies like to take a ride?”

All three stared at him still wide
-eyed as they nodded, giggling.  Attis scooped up the littlest one and handed her to Trask, he then picked up the other two and, setting one on each hip, addressed the two women.  “We need to travel quickly, but will set a pace you can maintain.”

Turning southeast, the two Avari started off at a brisk walk. 
Attis glanced over his shoulder to make sure the women were following.  Seeing them right behind him, he looked over at Trask.  The boy was whispering something to him, but the little girl had fallen almost instantly to sleep.  She had one little fist grasping the collar of Trask’s tunic and her head rested on his shoulder.  When Trask’s eyes caught his own, Attis could see the heat smoldering in them.  He could tell it was taking great control for his brother not to break into a run.  They both wanted to get the dwarves to Middle Watch as quickly as possible.

The look
Attis had seen in Trask’s eyes was battle rage.  He was anxious to confront the enemy that had caused such pain and fear, but there was still a large area to search before they could return to The Slot.  The trip back to Middle Watch would be agonizingly slow.  Though the dwarves were a stout people, their small stature and the stresses of recent events set a pace that made Attis feel like he was walking in slow motion.