The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (20 page)

“It can and is,” stated Sulgor. “Trackers from Vespewl were intercepted on the northern grasslands. Fenrel fell and the Anvil joins the Guard.”

“They will never stand side by side. Their enmity is too great.”

“Allowing the Abbott Granu to live was a mistake,” stated Sulgor. “You should have forced Fenrel’s hand. You should havemadethe giant kill his brother.”

A hiss seeped from beneath the cowl.

“Now we must deal with the combined forces of the humans,” continued Sulgor.

“It means nothing,” snapped Izgra. “The Guard is wasted from years of battle along the Scythtar. Greeb the One Eye inflicted heavy loses upon the Eru and the Derolians are a shell of what they once were. Victory lies at hand.”

“A surprisingly effective militia bolsters The Guard from the south,” corrected Sulgor sternly, “and the Anvil suffered minimal losses.”

“But the mountain city fell,” countered Izgra. “The Keltaran homeland is ours.”

“Yes, but without a single Keltaran’s life lost,” snarled Sulgor. “The giants utilized an ancient means of escape. Hundreds of Hackles perished in the siege, but the populous of the Mountain City escaped unharmed.”

The black cowl quivered in rage but Izgra said nothing.

“The Anvil and the Guard lost numbers in their brief struggle but nothing near the quantity we planned,” said Sulgor. “The human’s set aside their hatred for one another and Prince Manfir leads their combined forces. I foresee a much more difficult battle to come.”

“But the outcome will be no different,” snapped Izgra. “What care have I if we sacrifice more Ulrog on the altar of Amird’s victory. This world falls to Chaos one way or another.”

“I agree that our numbers remain too great to keep at bay,” said Sulgor. “But I think you discount the Elves.”

A sharp laugh erupted from within the black hood.

“I discount nothing,” said Izgra, “and plan for all. I prepared for the Grey Elves. We will receive no trouble from them.”

Sulgor silenced and Woil rose slightly on his haunches.

“You are not privy to all of our plans, myliege.” Izgra’s laugh was thick with sarcasm. “The Grey Elves mean little in this struggle.”

Sulgor’s eyes narrowed. He pondered this last puzzle then attempted to offer one of his own.

“Perhaps you will be surprised to learn that the humans move toward ...”

“The city of the scribes,” finished Izgra. “Again I know more than you, Malveel. I told you time and time again. Amird and I dwell in close connection. What is in his mind is in my own. We know the final battle will come at Delvi. We let events move in their inevitable direction.”

“The city offers the humans protection,” returned Sulgor in confusion. “We afford them an escape.”

The burning coals within the dark cowl ignited and danced with the fire of Chaos. Izgra’s laugh filled with equal parts delight and contempt.

“That city offers the humans nothing but death.”

Four horses stood before the wooden door set within the alabaster walls of Delvi. Their riders waited as the master of the city answered a summons. The riders sat quietly. No one spoke. Each man knew their course of action as the only one available to them, but none felt sure in their endeavor. Finally, they heard a “clunk” as the timbers securing the large, heavy door drew from within steel slots. The door slowly opened and a figure in a coarse gray robe stepped from the opening.

The scribe stood alone, his head hung low. No special insignia adorned his garment. In fact, with his features hidden beneath the cowl one might assume he was just another of the scribes. However, the size of the figure beneath the gray robes told the four horsemen all they needed to know. Nostr the Ulrog, prelate of Delvi, stood before them.

“What is it you wish gentlemen?” asked the deep voice of the figure.

“Refuge,” replied Manfir from the broad back of the Black.

“For how long?” came the coarse reply.

“Until we devise a plan to repel our foe,” suggested Temujen.

“Do you think such a plan exists?”

“We have faith in Avra,” replied Granu from the back of a deep red Brodor. The horse’s shaggy blonde mane cascaded across its broad shoulders.

Nostr turned toward the giant. He stepped closer, dropped the hood of the gray robe and displayed his hard Ulrog features.

“Faith is a commodity in short supply, king of the Keltar,” stated Nostr as he inspected Granu’s beaten and bandaged body. “Your faith has been tested and it appears nearly broken. What makes you believe the common folk you lead will fare any better?”

“I do not,” answered Granu. “I cannot see into the heart of any man and only speak for myself, but if just one of us shows enough faith he might carry the rest to victory.”

Nostr’s stony face broke into a broad grin. Black and broken teeth jutted from behind his mud colored lips.

“A quaint concept giant, but a faith kept hidden dies like the flame of a candle placed beneath a cup. These people you lead had their faith nearly starved to death. They have nothing to give and the feeble faith which remains will quake and fall before the might of Chaos.”

“I will be honored to stand with them on the field of battle and test that faith,” interjected Eidyn. “They faced horrors and stood firm.”

Nostr turned to the Elf who sat upon a brilliant white stallion. The prelate’s smile grew broader.

“Of course you would, my Elven friend,” said Nostr. “But what of your people? They remain absent from this fight, still happy to sit in the shadows and watch as others struggle.”

“We sit in no shadows,” stated Eidyn sternly. “We contribute all we can.”

Nostr’s stony brow contracted across his forehead. He scrutinized the four men and their mounts. Finally, he spun and strode back through the gate. 

“You and your people may enter our courtyards to seek refuge from the Ulrog,” he said over his shoulder. “But you are expressly forbidden from entering the archive buildings within the compound. My scribes will not tolerate disobedience.”

He moved toward the whitewashed buildings within and a contingent of followers rapidly surrounded him. As the gate slowly swung to a close Manfir noted a group of scribes practicing hand-to-hand combat in a dark corner of the courtyard.

“Time is our enemy ... ” announced Teeg to the assembly.

The group he addressed stood under the night sky at a place where the Toxkri met the southernmost shores of Lake Eru. Teeg stood near the water’s edge and the Lady Jenpry stood resolutely by his side. Three different armies arrayed before them.

King Leinor and General Chani fronted the Elven army. They led their troops to this encampment that afternoon. The Elven army stood tall and proud. They were expertly trained and supremely confident. Rows of young warriors held their heads high and listened attentively to Lord Teeg.

“... and scattered reports from the north indicate the Ulrog moved out of the Derol and linked with the Hackles from the northern range,” continued the Master of Spies. “We cannot afford to rest... “

Borz Windriders and small groups of Sprites stood scattered around the larger Elven force. They had been on a forced march in order to catch the Elves. The Sprites hadn’t slept in nearly two days and the Borz remained haggard and edgy due to their experience within the Toxkri.

“ Our allies to the north will face the consequences of our fail... ”

Sayid Dubad paid little heed to the words of the Elf. His head hung low and he found it difficult to look into the eyes of his brothers and sisters. The Borz were a broken people and he most of all shamed himself in the swamp. His comrades stood like beggars amidst the glory of the Elven army. The Borz were dirty. The dried slime and mud from the treacherous bogs of the Toxkri covered their clothes. Sleeplessness nights staring into the shadows of the swamp took its toll.

“.... the city of the scribes. My sources believe our allies will reach Delvi’s walls shortly. Whether the gate is opened or not is anyone’s .... “

Sayid heard the sound of the Elf speaking, but none of the words registered. He glanced at those around him. Yazir Dubad stood a few feet away, glassy eyed. The others in his clan could not focus on the old Elf’s speech, instead their eyes darted toward the groups of diminutive Sprites sprinkled throughout the assembly. Doubt and fear captured the minds of many of his comrades. They could not grasp how such simple, tiny folk incapacitated the fierce Borz Windriders.

“ .... make speed. The Ulrog will not stop,” continued Teeg.  “They will not retreat to their mountains. This is the battle that has been foretold. This is the battle for our world. We cannot afford to be absent when ....”

Sayid’s heart sank into hopelessness. His people, his Borz, duped by the Deceiver. Their leader, Rada Shan, drawn into and used in Amird’s plans. They were all used. The Ulrog would destroy the northern peoples before they moved on and finished off the Borz, Sprites and Elves.

Sayid’s eyes drifted to the lake in the distance. The wind whipped its surface and foamy white waves crashed over one another on their journey north. The Windrider’s cape lashed at his legs. He felt utterly broken.

“... are all tired but the next few days will be a testament to us. Wemustforge on. Wemustpush north along the shores of the great lake and reach Delvi in time to aid our brethren.”

The intensity of the wind grew for a moment. The old Elf struggled to be heard over its din. Sayid’s cape flapped rapidly against his body and he struggled to hear Lord Teeg.

“Some of you believe it to be impossible. You think we cannot reach the city of the scribes in time. We are all exhausted, but we must try. We must find a way.  Avra will guide us. He will set us on the right path... “

“The right path,” laughed Sayid to himself.

No path would get them to Delvi in time. He had studied the maps. The city lay on the northern edge of the great lake. His people were too broken to face such a march. They would die in exile from their own land, drowning in a sea of Ulrog as it stormed south and overran their allies.

Drowning in a sea .....

The Windrider blinked. His downcast eyes rose and looked past the old Elf. Teeg continued his challenge, but Sayid heard none of it. He stared at the waves rolling and crashing on the lake beyond. A smile crept across his face. He chuckled.

Yazir heard his cousin’s laugh. His eyes narrowed in confusion. Had the young man truly gone mad? Had the strain of their nights in the Toxkri and their impending doom driven Sayid over the edge? Certainly his people met the Elf lord’s challenge with disbelief. Sayid simply reacted to the absurdity of Lord Teeg’s request. They would never reach Delvi in time.

Sayid turned to Yazir. The young man’s smile grew. He crossed the gap between them and hugged his commander. Yazir’s face screwed into a look of shock and confusion. Sayid stepped back, beaming.

“Avra will guide us,” he repeated and laughed. “I failed you in the swamp Yazir and I beg your forgiveness.”

“It is given,” uttered the commander of the Borz strike force. “Perhaps you should retire while we continue this discussion.”

Many of the Borz ceased to listen to Teeg. Their eyes and ears focused on their commander. Viday Shan moved toward the pair, concern in his eyes.

“Sayid, the week’s events take their toll on you,” began Viday. “Yazir is correct. Perhaps you should ...”

The smile fell from Sayid’s face and his eyes filled with intensity.

“We have little time,” announced the Windrider loudly.

Teeg went silent. The entire assembly focused on Sayid. Yazir’s eyes darted across the Elves and Sprites. Should he silence his young cousin? Sayid locked eyes upon the woman who had appeared from the swamp like a mist.

“These lands are yours, my lady,” he said to Jenpry. “And I assume your people harvest these trees, vines and Rimshar reed for all their needs?”

“They do,” replied Jenpry confidently.

Sayid smiled and again he looked to the white-capped waves rolling across the great lake.

“Then I will put them to work,” he returned with a grin. “And if Avra is willing, I will stand with our allies before the gates of Delvi and fight for this world.”

CHAPTER 16: GLORIOUS AND TERRIBLE

MANFIR STROLLED THROUGH the array of tents and yurts crowded near the shores of Lake Eru. He noted how the people went about their business. They were silent, stoic. A group of Derolian women stripped the green bark from a group of sticks. Soon they would be dried and an arrowhead affixed to a split in each shaft. With Avra’s blessing, these arrows would pierce the rough hides of the Ulrog.

“My lord!” called a voice from behind the king. “Scouts return from the plains.”

Manfir spun to face Brelg. The old sergeant bowed and moved closer.

“What news?” asked Manfir.

“Not good,” replied Brelg shaking his head. “We are nearly set upon by three separate forces. From the west comes Vespewl the Scourge and his Ulrog of the Scythtar. Their numbers are great and our scouts were unable to count the multitude.

From the north comes the Army of Mnim. Temujen and Portlo weakened it greatly, but Hackles from the Frozen Wastes bolster it. The Mnim stands every bit as strong as when Greeb the One-Eye commanded it.”

“Do we know who directs the Mnim Army in his stead?” asked Manfir.

“Woil the Lamentation has been seen at its head.”

Manfir grimaced. For many years the General Staff of the Zodrian Guard considered it a serious misstep of Kel Izgra to deny Woil more power. The Lamentation carried a reputation as a cunning tactician even when he worked with inferior personnel. His control of the Army of Mnim made the task ahead that much more formidable.

“He is a dire threat,” acknowledged Manfir.

“But not our greatest threat,” stated Brelg. “The contents of Kel Izgra spill over the Zorim and through the Derol. Sulgor and Izgra ride at the head of this contingent and its numbers dwarf those of the armies to the north and west. “

“So we are surrounded?” grumbled Manfir.