The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (29 page)

Zard’s expression turned from one full of questions to one of abject fear.

“Sulgor fears that you will attempt to eliminate the brotherhood as well. He believes you hunger for all ...”

“Your years of devoted service and supply of information have been invaluable and ... they come to an end,” grinned Drengel as he turned, walked away and motioned to his Memnod.

Zard grasped for the fire of Chaos. The Memnod closed in.

“When you finish,” called Drengel to the men of shadow. “Rally the Memnod. We move south.”

Woil’s anger grew. His Ulrog should have attacked the Elven archers long ago. Woil motioned a tracker forward from the dozens he kept stationed behind him. A cruelly curved claw pointed to the archers.

“I sent orders for those archers to be destroyed,” snapped the Lamentation. “The battle Hackles do not comply. See to it.”

The tracker turned to depart.

“And warn the priest in charge that I will take his head if he is slow to obey my commands again!” roared the Malveel lord.

The tracker dodged and sprinted through the tall Eru grasses. He focused on his speed. The battle lines lie much further south and no fighting could be found on the path he chose to reach his destination. Suddenly, he stumbled over the lifeless hulk of a brother tracker. The black blood of the stone man stained the grasses and freely flowed from wounds on both the tracker’s legs and his neck. Confusion clouded the face of Woil’s messenger. Was this the body of the stone man sent to order the attack upon the archers?

A flash and shadow flitted behind the tracker. The Ulrog spun, lifting his cleaver and scanned the grasses. Nothing. A burning sensation enveloped his right leg. The beast peered down to inspect the pain. His own black blood gushed from a deep wound behind his knee. He reeled in shock.

Another flash raced past him and the Ulrog clumsily chopped at the nearly imperceptible figure. Pain seared his senses. Blood poured from a second wound on the left leg nearly identical to the first. The weakened legs could no longer hold the bulk of the beast and he dropped to his knees, staring incredulously at these mystifying wounds.

The tracker’s mind rushed in confusion and fear. What did he face? Where did it come from? His head rose to scan his surroundings. A diminutive figure darted from the grasses and slashed a long silver blade beneath his chin. His last thought was that an Elven child killed him.

Woil ordered every movement of the Ulrog army. However, the bulk of his forces were either not responding or their response came after far too many requests. Rage filled his mind and the eyes of the Malveel filled with the power of Chaos.

“Do you simpletons not understand how to convey orders?” roared the Lamentation as he spun on his trackers.

The fire died. The Malveel stared in disbelief. Only half a dozen trackers stood motionless behind him. He began this battle with nearly forty handpicked stone men. They were to convey orders to his priests and immediately return for further instructions.

“Where are your brethren?” snarled the beast to the lead tracker.

Panic filled the creature’s black eyes.

“We do not know, my lord,” mumbled the tracker. “We assumed they were sent on errands by Lord Strang or the priests.”

Woil’s eyes widened and his lip quivered in a hate filled snarl. He glared at the trackers and the rigid figure of Strang the Storm.

“No other creature is to give orders to my trackers!” roared Woil. “Take some fighting Hackles and search for them.”

The Lamentation spun back south. He ignored the main battle and scanned the grasses behind the frontline. He had overlooked something and determined to work out this puzzle.

Lilywynn checked her pouch. Only three precious Reas darts remained. It galled her to use Reas instead of her blades, but this particular high priest doused the Elven forces with the fire of Chaos. His Hackles advanced deeply into Elven held territory.

The Sprite replaced the Rimshar tube in the folds of her Meld cloak and glanced up from her hiding place to see the huge, red robed priest topple to the ground, black foam spluttering from his gaping mouth.

Woil stalked through the grasses. One eye remained fixed upon the progress of his battle, but the other poured over the empty waving grasses and brambles strung out behind his army. The Lamentation noted a grayish hump sprawled near a clump of gorse bush. As he moved forward to inspect it, Lord Strang and three trackers raced forward.

“Lamentation,” snapped Strang. “We discovered the bodies of at least a dozen trackers and several priests as well.”

Woil’s eyes fired with intensity.

“Where?” growled the beast.

Strang swung his head across the plain.

“All throughout the grasslands. Their bodies lie crudely concealed beneath bush and grass.”

Woil’s roar deafened those about him. The Lamentation spun hard and fire pulsed from his eyes engulfing the clump of gorse bush. A high-pitched scream pierced the air and a tiny figure stumbled from the bush engulfed in the fire of Chaos. The Sprite struggled to extinguish the fire as he fell to the ground. The Ulrog rushed forward. Their cleavers savagely rained down on the struggling form.  Woil exposed his fangs and his eyes raged with anger. He turned to the slobbering form of Strang. The simple beast’s chest heaved with excitement.

“Burn it!” roared Woil eyeing the tall grasses. “Burn it all!”

Eidyn stared in horror as thick clouds of billowing black smoke rolled up and over the battlefield. His mind filled with thoughts of Lilywynn. Where was she? Was she safe? Diom drew him back to the situation at hand.

“The Hackles push forward, my lord,” stated the Elf. “The priests and trackers drive them aggressively.”

Eidyn scanned the Ulrog force. Indeed, the Hackles pushed forward. All gaps along their line closed and the plain resonated with the thud of stone feet.

“Your forces have their orders, my lord,” stated a priest to Woil. “They are to advance on any Elven position until given orders not to.”

“Excellent,” smiled Woil. “There is no mistaking the plan. It eliminates the need for trackers. Now we do it Sulgor’s way. Brute strength versus weakness.”

Lilywynn huddled deeply within the grasses, her meld cloak drawn tightly over her face. The smoke hung thick and toxic in the air. The woman’s eyes burned and her lungs ached. She rose slightly and chanced a look. A dozen Ulrog priests, a pack of fighting Hackles and a solitary Malveel roamed the edge of the burn zone. The priests and the Malveel added fire where the flames faltered and the Hackles held out their cleavers.

Lilywynn heard a shout. The blur of a Sprite shot from a clump of gorse as the dry bush erupted in flame. Cloak and speed helped her kin avoid the first line of Ulrog, but a high-pitched scream echoed seconds later.

She froze. A hand gripped her shoulder. She turned in terror, heart racing. Another Sprite crouched behind her. The cloak fell from the Sprite’s face and Chimbre stared at her with a grim expression.

“We miscalculated,” he stated soberly. “But all is not lost. Many of Sprite’s children slipped through the Ulrog lines before the beasts filled the gaps. They make their way back to the Grey Elves as we speak. Others tested Woil’s perimeter to the north and penetrated past blade and flame. Nearly a dozen remain in the snare.”

The news heartened Lilywynn. Her people’s casualties remained small. She prayed they might contrive to free the rest. Chimbre saw the hope in his sister’s eyes and his frown deepened.

“I ordered the others to wait for my signal. Their opportunity for escape is close at hand. ”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“How will you ...?”

His finger rose to silence her.

“You will do as I say,” he commanded. “When the time comes you too will make your way back to the Greys  ... and Eidyn.”

She stayed silent, but her eyes remained wide with fear.

The hunt satisfied Woil. He eliminated the need for his trackers and his army once again made progress against the Elves. Any of the remaining assassins hunkered down within the grasses would be forced out shortly.

“Finish this,” he commanded Strang. “Burn the remaining few acres and flush out the last of these vermin. I must attend to the destruction of the Elves.”

The lesser Malveel slobbered and nodded. The Lamentation glared at the ignorant tool of Sulgor then turned and stalked toward the main battle.

Chimbre held his sister close in a tight embrace for a moment longer then released her, smiled broadly and dashed from cover. A roar of alarm erupted from the Hackles positioned around the burn zone.

Priests lashed out with flame at the little man, but he was too quick to be caught in their clumsy attempts. They ordered the fighting Hackles to move in on the Sprite, but the stone men found it too difficult to reach him with claw or cleaver. The slash of blunted iron whistled through emptiness time and time again.

Strang’s frenzied eyes danced with the flames of Chaos. He followed the efforts of his hapless Ulrog with the only emotions he was capable of feeling, anger and hatred. His eyes locked on the tiny creature that refused to be destroyed and their intensity could barely be contained.

Lilywynn glanced to the empty pouch at her side then discarded it. A howl of rage brought her eyes up and tears flowed freely. The Malveel and remaining Hackles rushed in on Chimbre’s position. It was time. She wrapped the meld cloak tightly around her face, took one last look at the blur befuddling nearly three dozen stone men, then darted north from the smoldering grasses toward salvation.

Woil halted upon the crest of a small swale as he heard the howl of his brother. The priests surrounding the Lamentation parted and the Malveel lord turned to view the scene below. The Ulrog tightened their circle toward the center of the burning grasslands. A diminutive figure sped about like a hare trapped by the wolves. Woil’s smile was short-lived. His jaws clenched in rage as he noted a handful of similar blurs using the cover of smoke and burning brush to bolt the snare he prepared.

“Fool,” grumbled the Lamentation.

Strang charged the Sprite, slashing his powerful claws toward the scampering figure. In an instant, it disappeared, tumbled near the feet of a cleaver wielding Hackle and burst back before his eyes. He ripped at it again, and again. The creature thwarted his attempts to pin it to the ground. Rage boiled within the slow-witted Malveel. The Storm must kill this thing. Red eyes locked on the little man and the Malveel’s huge, muscular body tensed, becoming a rigid coil.

Woil’s eyes narrowed and glowed in near white-hot intensity. More tiny figures emerged from all about the perimeter of the burn zone. In an instant they disappeared within the tall, waving grasses and were lost. This should have been a demoralizing defeat for the Elves, but instead they slipped from Woil’s grasp. The Lamentation glared across the distance at Strang.

“Fool!” he snapped and rushed back toward the snare.

Lilywynn shot through the thick brush, hot tears cascading across her cheeks.

The noose tightened and the little man found nowhere to run. Strang readied himself. If the creature would halt for a moment, the Storm could finish him. A cruel grin played across his black maw.

A thin tube flashed from the running man’s side. The Elf leapt to the middle of the circle and spun in Strang’s direction. Now was the time. The Storm would crush ....

“POP! POP! POP!”

Strang shook his face violently from side to side. Small red feathers stuck to his jowls, refusing to drop free. Stinging pain enveloped his face. Pain spread rapidly throughout his body. The Malveel’s blind fury erupted. He launched himself forward at the little man but his legs betrayed him. He staggered forward slamming his jaw off the charred earth. His eyes clouded, his breath burned.

Darkness swept past him then flared into the bright red flame that could only be the fire of Chaos. The flame engulfed the small figure standing in the circle’s center. A host of Hackles rushed past the darkness, slashing cleavers and hurling stones. Strang’s eyes grew cloudier and his breath ragged. A soft, muffled cry rose from the circle’s center then fell silent.

The darkness spun and moved toward Strang. The Storm struggled to lift his head or move his limbs. His body lay useless. The Malveel’s eyes fought to focus. The sounds of the battlefield faded. He barely discerned the heavy outline of Woil the Lamentation lowering toward him and inspecting his condition. Their faces hovered only inches apart when Strang gained focus and saw Woil clearly. The Lamentation held an expression of utter contempt as his lips parted to utter the last word Strang would ever hear.

“Fool.”

Far too many Hackles crowded the battlefield. Their movements were no longer specifically orchestrated, but the sheer number of stone men stood too great to challenge. Eventually, these numbers would overwhelm the Elven army. Eidyn needed space. He needed to break free of this pitched battle without compromising the protection of those within Delvi. 

“We lost an insignificant part of our force,” declared Nagret to the trackers and priests surrounding him. “We will not separate our forces again. The humans find no place to run and we can be patient with their destruction. Grind them into the earth.”

Granu and Utecht motioned men past their position.

“Half a league south,” shouted the Keltaran king. “We will regroup and make a final stand.”

Manfir rode the Black up and down the lines of retreat. The Eru War Circle bought his army precious time for rest and reformation. The Zodrian king glanced northward at the mass of Ulrog pressing into the horsemen. Would their effort amount to anything?

Nostr stared out over the battle in the distance with a frown.

“The humans initial attack caused damage.”

“Yet they are repelled and retreat,” stated Yully.