Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron) (37 page)

“You do not know the histories, Myrkron?”  Mardak asked in surprise, still refusing to meet Michael’s gaze.

“I am new to this world and am far from all-knowing.”

“Then I fear to tell them to you, Myrkron,” Mardak said with a quiver in his voice.

Dain kept looking from Michael to Mardak not knowing what had transformed the confident shaman he had come to know
into the shaking giant he saw before him.  “Mardak, you have no reason to fear Michael.  He is not going to hurt you,” Dain said noting the blue aura around Michael.

“Young Dain is correct, Mardak.  I am not going to hurt you,” Michael told the ogre
, dropping his title so as not to sound so formal.

“If you knew the histories you would not make such promises.  Please, Myrkron, do not kneel before me,” Mardak begged, the fear growing in his voice.

“As you wish,” Michael said, rising to his feet.

Dain went to Mardak and placed his hand on the big ogres arm.
  “I don’t know why you would think Michael would harm you.  He is a friend,” Dain explained trying to ease Mardak's worry, as his aura clearly showed genuine fear.

“
You do not understand,” Mardak said in desperation, pulling at his coarse hair.

“None o
f us will, unless you explain it,” Michael replied softly.

Mardak, still pulling at his hair, slumped forward as if in resignation.
  “The Myrkron came to my people many ages ago.  He urged us to seek peace with the trolls as both of our races were in danger of dying out; but generations of hate are hard to overcome and we ignored him, continuing to fight.  Both of our races gathered what we had left of our warriors and met on the Steppes.  It is told that there were over one hundred thousand warriors on that field and the fighting was savage, with no quarter given by either side.  As the battle wore on into its second day, more than half of the warriors lay dead upon the ground.  Suddenly, a great fireball exploded in the center of the field turning hundreds to ash instantly.  Everyone stopped fighting and gaped at the lone figure standing in the midst of the scorched ring.  He was slim and small with a purple robe and gold sash, and the look on his face was said to be one of great sorrow.  He pronounced our fates there on the battlefield,” Mardak recited.

“That must have been Mason,” Michael prompted
, but Mardak seemed not to hear.

“He offered those who chose not to fight a chance to leave the battle
, but to do so would have been considered an act of cowardice, so not one single warrior moved. The Myrkron grew angry and said that our races would be doomed to fight until another Myrkron came to destroy us completely.  He then clapped his hands together and a great rush of energy flowed from him, destroying all those around him except two ogres and two trolls.  It is told that as the energy touch the warriors they burst into a red mist staining everything with the tint of blood.  He allowed those four to live; to return and tell what he had foretold.  Now you have come, and we are doomed,” Mardak cried out.

Dain looked at Michael with a touch of fear.  He had seen Michael destroy all the weres in the last battle in the exact same way.  Dain stepped in front of the sullen Mardak and tried to interpose himself between Michael and his friend.

“You have not come to destroy them have you, Michael?”  Dain asked now uncertain.

“No
, Dain.  This is the first I have heard such a tale; and, though I believe it has some truth to it, these things have a way of getting embellished with each retelling.  Besides, why would I hurt anyone willing to help us in this war?  Michael asked feeling hurt that Dain would think that of him.

Dain studied Michael watching for any shifts in his aura
, but it remained blue and only grew a deeper blue after his question.  He turned his head and spoke Mardak's name.  The distraught ogre had not realized Dain had stepped in front of him.  When he saw the tiny dwarf standing between himself and the Myrkron, he panicked and snatched Dain up in one massive hand.

Dain let out a high pitched yelp in surprise
, but before he could draw another breath, Mardak set him down behind his back.

“Please Myrkron do not be offended by Dain’s questions
.  He is young and does not always know the consequences of his words or actions,” Mardak pleaded.

Michael kept his facial expression bland as he stepped right up to Mardak.  Mardak remained still
, but Michael could see how he shook with fear.

“As I have already said, I have no intention of harming you or the
ones with you.  You have just demonstrated to me that you care more for the life of a friend than you do for you own.  That tells me all I need to know about the character of the man before me, and I want you to know that I would never harm Dain either,” Michael told Mardak.

Reek and Branik remained alert just behind Michael
, watching for any signs of danger from the distraught ogre.

Seeing that he was going to get nowhere with Mardak as long as he was upset, Michael struck out quickly with his right hand placing it against the ogres chest.  So fast did he move even Reek and Branik were taken by surprise.  Mardak froze in obvious terror at
the hand touching him.

Michael merely spoke a single word.
  “
Alcedonia
.”  He felt the power build and flow from himself into Mardak.

The expression on Mardak’s face changed slowly and his eyes lost the glassy crazed look they had contained.  Mardak shuddered and let out a massive sigh.

“Feel better now?”  Michael asked removing his hand and taking a step back.

Mardak bowed his head and nodded once.  He found it surprising that he was still alive
, so he touched his forehead to the ground at Michael’s feet again.

“Oh, would you please stop that!”  Michael said in exasperation.

Mardak raised himself up into a sitting position once again and cautiously studied Michael.  He was unsure if he had somehow offended him, but seeing Michael smiling, he tentatively grinned back.

“That’s better
.  Dain, tell your big friend here that if he doesn’t stop treating me like some avenging deity, I’m going to eat him,” Michael joked, turning to sit back down.

Mardak’s face drained of color then flushed an ugly red
until he realized Dain and the two Avari were laughing.

“Come Shaman Mardak, let us talk some with Dain of the art of healing,” Michael said
, chuckling at the ogre’s response to his jest.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The sun was setting; Micah could tell even though he could not see it.  He knelt silently next to the slain body of Rafe, his right hand resting lightly on the great wolf’s shoulder.  He had been there since Michael left, recounting aloud the times he and Rafe had played and hunted.  The sorrow of the loss cut deeper than any sword ever could.  All that remained now was to give Rafe over to the Oakkrin.  Micah heard the soft padding of feet behind him and knew the others had come.

Micah bowed his head one final time over his fallen friend
and then rose to his feet.  Turning, he beheld a sight no other living being on Thelona, save the Oakkrin, had ever witnessed.  His small clearing was filled with dozens of Grove Wolves.  Even Roam and Jewl’s pups were there, and Micah could see the glowing eyes of hundreds more gathered in the forest around him.  As one, they all sat facing Micah and Rafe. 

From directly in front of Micah, a wolf came walking through the group.  He was bigger by almost a head than any of the other wolves and
a muzzle frosted with white marked his age.  The big male walked up to Micah and stood before him, looking down on the Avari Lord.

“Ugan, I am sorry.  I was too late to save him.  He has been avenged.  I saw to it that the one responsible for his death would never harm another,” Micah told the big wolf with bowed head.
  Micah felt Ugan touch his head with his nose, and he looked up once more.  “He died protecting me.  Would you allow me to deliver him to the Oakkrin?”  Micah asked.

Ugan sat down, raised his head to the canopy above
, and released a mournful, almost haunting howl.  As his howl echoed off into the night, the other wolves joined in, bidding farewell to one of their own.

Micah turned and gently picked up Rafe, draping the giant wolf over his shoulders.  The weight was no problem for Micah
, but the sheer size of the Grove Wolf made it awkward for one of Micah’s height to carry.  Micah steadied the sad bundle on his shoulders and turned.  He began walking toward the grove.  Ugan fell into step right behind Micah and, as they passed through the gathered wolves, one by one, they all laid down until Rafe had been carried passed, then they followed Ugan.

When Micah entered the grove
, he heard the voice of the Oakkrin singing.  He was never able to catch the words, but the music was always beautiful to his ears.  He hated that it took the death of one of the Grove Wolves for him to be able to hear it again.  It was an ancient melody that sounded similar to a tune Dainy used to hum to their sons.  Thus, it was doubly painful to hear, but was more beautiful perhaps because of that.

Walking over to one of the great trees, Micah gently set Rafe down in the cradle of two massive roots
, then stepped back and transformed into a wolf.  Raising his head to the stars above, he began to howl softly.  All of the Grove Wolves followed suit.  As the howl died away into the night, leaves began to fall from the ancient trees.  They drifted with an obvious purpose, coming to rest on the body of Rafe.  When the last one had fallen, the valiant wolf was covered completely, and the singing of the Oakkrin ended.  The grove fell silent.  No insects chirped; no birds sang; and no wind rustled the leaves to disturb the sanctity of the moment.

“Rafe was a dedicated guardian and a loyal member of the pack.  We thank the Great One for the gift of his life and companionship.  May he bask in spring’s warm sunshine for all eternity.  Rest well
, warrior, protector and friend,” the Oakkrin recited.

As the grove grew silent once more
, all of the wolves turned and walked off into the forest; only Micah remained behind.  He changed to human form once again and watched as the Oakkrin wove their roots in a protective shell over the body of Rafe.

“How many must die because of me?”  Micah asked quietly.

“Rafe did not die because of you, Micah.  He died protecting a member of the pack, just as you would have done were the situations reversed.  Lay the blame where it belongs, on the one who sent those creatures, and give thanks to the Great One that no more were killed,” The Oakkrin replied in their leaf rustling voice.

“If I did not have reason to oppose Mortow already
, then this act alone would be enough to incur my undying hatred.  I make you a pledge.  No Garolith shall escape my vengeance.  I will hunt them down until none are left, and I will see Mortow buried in their ashes,” Micah vowed.

“Be careful, Micah. 
Challenging a wizard backed by such creatures will be a formidable undertaking.”

“No
, my friends.  The time for taking care has passed.  Mortow wanted me to sit this war out because he was unsure of what I represent.  It is time to show him why he fears me so,” Micah said, then spun on his heels and ran back to his house.

Micah moved with a speed born of rage.  He stormed in
side closing the door behind him with a resounding slam.  Micah refilled his flask, took a sip from it, and put it away.  His initial intent had been to teleport to the main camp within The Slot, but as he forced himself to think, he realized that maybe he should go to the western entrance instead.  The Garoliths had come for him. Maybe there were more stalking this side of the pass.  He could not imagine Mortow attacking on only one front, and Micah was certain Merric and Commander Salic would have troops stationed to guard their flank.

Micah spoke the words of transport and appeared a good distance back from the Western entrance to The Slot.  At this distance, no mortal eyes would be able to see him
, though he could see perfectly in the starry night.  He contemplated the stars for a moment.  The celestial vista might have been breathtaking, had he not been so focused on thoughts of destruction.

From his vantage point, Micah could see that Commander Salic had
, indeed, stationed men to guard the rear.  They appeared alert.  Micah’s acute hearing caught the faintest thump.  He cocked his head, listening intently.  Now that he was focused on it, he could hear the tramp of marching boots, but these were not the foot falls of humans.  They were much too heavy.  It could only be ogres or trolls.  Scanning the ridge to his right, he saw a long line of troops marching for The Slot.  It would be some time before they would be within sight or sound of the King’s guards.  Time to instill a degree of fear within the enemy.

Micah stretched his neck to the right slightly and opened his mouth wide
.  He felt his canines with his tongue as they elongated and smiled in anticipation of the blood-letting he was about to indulge.  His hands began to tingle and his nails grew into razor points.  Micah let loose a roar that blasted forth with the volume of an entire pride of lions, and then he began to run.

He saw the column of warriors pause and look around in confusion
; that's also when he saw the robed figure leading them.  Micah adjusted his course ever so slightly and had the pleasure of seeing Maklin’s eyes widen in fright.  Before the wizard was able to utter two words, Micah slammed into him and raised him up by the throat.  He saw the trolls start to move, their initial shock now passed; but Micah knew they would be too slow by far.

Meeting Maklin’s dazed eyes for just an instant
; Micah threw back his head, opening his mouth to allow Maklin to see his fangs then sunk his teeth into Maklin’s throat tearing it out.  He inhaled the hot coppery aroma as he gorged himself on the wizard’s gushing life’s blood.  Micah snapped Maklin’s neck like a dried twig then, hurled his lifeless body at the closest charging troll.

Maklin’s corpse fell to the ground in a bloody, twisted heap as it bounced off the big
troll’s chest, barely slowing him.  Micah stood his ground waiting on the big warrior, who swung a massive battle hammer at his head.  Micah raised his hand and grabbed the hammer just beneath the head and yanked it from the troll’s hands.  With incredible speed and agility, Micah leapt into the air and brought the hammer down on the troll’s skull, caving it in.

Others were upon him now
, it did not matter. Micah was lost in the blood lust he had struggled against for millennia.  All any of this band would see before they died were two glowing red eyes and blood cover fangs.  In the span of a few heartbeats, the battle cries turned to bellows of terror and death screams.

Death walked the world tonight as it had not
done in over two thousand years.  As Micah killed yet another and began to drink, a small corner of his mind gibbered in near hysteria, wondering if he would be able to stop himself.

The soldiers guarding The Slot heard the roar and shifted nervously at their posts.  Suddenly
, screams of terror came from the south.  As those screams grew, the men shivered and made warding signs against evil as they prepared to meet the horror they knew must surely be coming for them.

One of the guards ran into The Slot for reinforcements as the others continued to listen.  The
tortured cries seemed to go on without end.  A large contingent of soldiers came pouring out of the pass and formed a defensive line.  Their stoic faces slowly turned to worry as they too heard the continuous screams.  After nearly an hour, the last horrific wail cut off and its dying echo faded.  The men shifted restlessly as they continued to watch the south.  Abruptly and seemingly out of thin air, a shadowy figure stood before them, its appearance causing more than one man to cry out in fright.  The figure stood motionless, its smoldering red eyes slowly fading.

Micah felt the rush of life flowing through his body.  It had been many centuries since he had given in to that kind of blood lust
, and his instincts screamed for more.  He forced himself to stop short of the men guarding The Slot.  He had to regain control, and the presence of living blood made the task much harder. Fortunately, this was a battle Micah had won before.  He stood staring at the frightened soldiers. Part of him reveled in their fear as he applied a meditation technique taught long ago to the Avari to calm their minds.  As he thought on the Avari, his mind slowed and he could feel the hunger fading.  When he was certain he had complete control once more, Micah walked slowly forward calling out to the soldiers to ease their fright.

“Have no fear.  It is I, Lord Micah,” Micah shouted.
  He could see the soldiers visibly relax, but they remained on guard and lifted their torches higher.  As Micah came into the circle of light cast by the torches, the soldiers gasped.

The sergeant of the contingent ran forward when he saw the Avari Lord was covered in blood from head to boot.
  “My lord, are you injured?” Sergeant Bale asked in concern.

Micah smiled as he glanced down at himself and shook his head.
  “The blood is not mine, Sergeant…”  Micah prompted

“
Sergeant Bale, My lord.  You look as if you bathed in a slaughter house, no offense meant, My Lord,” the sergeant commented.

“None taken, Sergeant.  In a matter of speaking, I guess I did.”

“Then that was you and your men we heard?  Where are they?”  Sergeant Bale asked looking out beyond Micah.

“What you and your men heard was a large contingent of
trolls that were marching on your position,” Micah explained.

The Sergeant’s head snapped around searching for the enemy
, and he called out to him men to ready themselves.

“You needn’t worry, Sergeant.  They are all dead.”

“Then we thank you and your Avari for that,” Sergeant Bale said sincerely and he motioned for his men to stand down.

“I am afraid it was only me, Sergeant.  All of my people are at the other end of
the pass with your Commander,” Micah informed him.

“But those screams, my lord.  It sounded as if they were being ripped apart.”

“What you heard was the sound of an enemy being punished in a manner befitting their aggression,” Micah stated vehemently.

Seeing the look
in Micah’s eyes, Sergeant Bale took a step back.

Micah had to reign in his temper.  It was far too easy to let it slip once unleashed.
  “Sorry Sergeant, it has been a trying day.  My anger was not meant to be directed at you,” Micah apologized.

“Quite alright, my lord.  I know the effects of battle nerves.  You said they were all dead?”

“Aye.  You need not worry.  Mortow is now short one wizard and a good number of trolls.  May their spirits haunt him to his grave.”

“I’ll join you in that curse, my lord.  Would you care for some food or drink?”

“No, thank you, Sergeant.”  Micah reached into a pocket and pulled out a small silver coin.  He mumbled something the Sergeant could not hear then handed the coin to the man.  “Sergeant, there were two Garoliths in Branna earlier today.”

“Garoliths, my lord?”

“They are an ancient evil awakened by Mortow.  You will know them if you ever see them.  Huge cloaked figures wielding massive scythes.  If any should happen to appear here, flip that coin into the air.  It will signal me, and I shall come deal with them.”

Sergeant Bale looked at the coin more closely.  It appeared to be a standard Brannan silver piece.
  “The coin is magic, my lord?”