The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (31 page)

Dropping from the sky above came another blackness. This one, however, was clothed in silk and held a pair of silver daggers at the ready.

Manfir lowered his blade and jumped from his mount. The girl alighted beside him and tore the mask from her face.

“News?” he asked.

“We waited within Delvi as you ordered,” stated Vieri. “We mixed in amongst the refugees in order to go unnoticed.”

“And?”

“The Scribes are true to our Lord Avra,” continued the girl. “They join the Greys in the battle to the west and send more reinforcements to the giants.”

Manfir took the news with no change to his expression. He glanced to the west and noted dozens of other black figures dropping in amongst the Elves and giants. A soft hand on his arm drew his attention back to the girl. A wide smile played across her face.

“There is more,” said Vieri.

CHAPTER 24: ACTOR EXTRAORDINAIRE

DRENGEL THE CONJUROR stood on the ridgeline staring down at the battle below. Why join in? Why risk himself? With the Memnod by Amird’s side, the Deceiver was sure to be victorious. With victory came reward. Drengel grinned in deep satisfaction. Amird would reward Drengel for all those years the Conjuror toiled in the frozen wastes of Irdricht. All those years tearing at Avra’s world in what seemed like a hopeless attempt to gain a foothold for Chaos. All those years with no one to command, no one to wield power over.

Soon he would gain his reward. Once the forces of Amird swept the humans from this earth, Drengel would be awarded the power he so rightfully deserved. Then Sulgor and the others would know who truly accomplished Amird’s work. The Malveel would know a new leader.

“Ah. There you are.”

Drengel’s body tensed and the Malveel lord spun toward the voice. An elderly elf stood a dozen paces from Drengel, deftly spinning a pair of silver daggers in his hands. The Elf smiled and shrugged.

“A puzzle which bothered me for centuries finally solved,” continued the Elf through a broad smile.

The Conjuror relaxed and stared in wonder at this foolish creature. A lone Elf was no threat to the great Drengel, let alone an Elf of such advanced age.

“When you disappeared a millennia ago, I could not determine your whereabouts or your task. You vanished from the face of this earth,” stated the Elf as he advanced and casually circled the Malveel.

Drengel followed the old fool with his eyes. The Malveel lord believed himself an avid student of corruption and deformity. He used both attributes in his quest to perfect the Memnod. Obviously, some twisted delusion of power played out in this simple Elf’s mind. It amused the Conjuror. The Elf continued.

“However, when the creatures of darkness appeared, I suddenly realized what your quest had been.”

Drengel’s toothy grin grew even broader at the mention of his handiwork. His chest rose in pride, but his eyes narrowed as he assessed this mystery Elf. This Grey held knowledge. Was the Elf such a fool after all?

“Who are you, little Elf?” growled the Malveel. “I know you not, but you are either quite insane or ignorantly brave to stand alone before one of Amird’s Chosen.”

“I am neither insane nor instilled with any more bravery than most of my people,” returned the old Elf as he circled the beast. “I am, however, a being who simply abhors loose ends.”

Drengel’s face contorted in confusion.

“Loose ends?” mumbled the creature.

The Elf flashed a condescending smile at the poor, uninformed Malveel lord.

“You see Drengel, dear boy,youare a loose end,” said the Elf as he pointed past the Malveel to the battle. “You burden my friends below with the task of removing your creations from this world. Yet you refuse to join the fight yourself. Instead, you cower here in these hills. I believeyou are a significant loose end which needs tidying up.”

The Conjuror’s face fell and his eyes boiled with rage.

“And you intend to perform that task?” rumbled the beast.

“I do,” smiled the Elf.

“Not if you lose that head of yours first,” roared the Malveel as he rushed forward.

In an instant Drengel leapt at the smirking Elf. His razor sharp claws slashed at the fool’s head, but just as quickly the Elf sprang forward, tumbled beneath the Malveel’s legs and emerged from under an outstretched wing.

Drengel turned to face the Elf and felt a sharp pain beneath him. The Elf stood a dozen paces away still brandishing the twin daggers. However, instead of spinning them, the Elf clutched them firmly. Oily, black blood oozed along their edges.

The Malveel lord’s eyes widened and he quickly inspected his belly. A pair of long gashes ran between the ridges of a set of stony scales. The wounds were not deep, but definitely painful.

“You’ve been gone quite some time, Lord Drengel,” huffed the Elf with a broad grin. “While others maintained their skills on the battlefield, you toyed with the elements which comprise the fabric of this world.”

Drengel shook off the pain and sneered.

“Toyed?” exclaimed the beast. “Fool. I am the engineer of your destruction. The Memnod march at the right hand of Amird as we speak, annihilating all!”

“Engineer of futility,” laughed the Elf. “Do you honestly believe the great Creator would allow the likes of you to devise the destruction of this world. Now who plays the fool?”

Drengel could not reconcile this Elf in his mind. So bold and brazen, even when staring at the face of death.

“Who are you, Elf? How has your pack allowed you to exist when it is clear you are defective?” spat the Conjuror.

“I am Teeg Cin Fair. Master of Spies. Magician. Acrobat and Street Performer. Poet of the People and Actor Extraordinaire,” smiled the Elf as he lightly bowed. “Today however, I intend to add Malveel Killer to the list.”

Drengel roared and rushed forward again. This time he kept his body low and his wings wide. This ignorant Elf would not fool him twice.

Once again the old Elf demonstrated amazing quickness. The Elf did not attempt to avoid Drengel. He ran directly at the Malveel’s fang-filled maw, leapt over the gnashing teeth and landed upon the beast’s back. A dagger plunged into a leathery wing just behind the bony, left arm. The Elf ran across the wing and dragged the blade behind him, shredding the hide connecting the wing to the body.

Drengel thrashed wildly, sending the Elf spinning through the air and crashing to the ground a dozen yards from the beast’s position. The Malveel’s roar of pain was deafening and he rose on high, lighting the sky with the fire of Chaos. Red glowing eyes sought the Elf and locked on the Master of Spies as Teeg scrambled to his feet.

Teeg’s eyes were panic-stricken. His body was dirty and badly beaten. He frantically searched the ground. The Elf’s empty hands told Drengel exactly what Teeg sought.

Teeg’s gaze froze. Need flashed across his features. Drengel followed the line of sight. Ten yards from the old Elf’s position lay a single silver dagger. Drengel grinned and Teeg’s face filled with distress. Their eye’s met.

The pair reacted simultaneously. Teeg dashed madly toward the weapon, but Drengel proved quicker. The Chosen reached the Elf a moment before Teeg could grasp the lone blade. Drengel knocked the Elf backward and pounced upon him, pinning him to the ground with a massive claw. Teeg hammered at the armored leg of the beast with his bare hands but affected no damage. Drengel sneered in pleasure.

“Flail away, Master of Spies,” laughed the beast. “You cannot harm the granite plates of a Malveel lord with your empty fists.”

“You ... do not ... understand. Do you?” gasped the Elf as Drengel slowly applied a crushing pressure to his chest.

The beast leaned his head toward the face of Teeg.

“I understand perfectly,” snarled Drengel in delight. “You thought yourself something of a hero. What did you call yourself? A Malveel Killer?”

“Yes,” gasped Teeg defiantly. “and you ... forget.”

Drengel’s fury built. Even in death this little fool tried to defy him. His razor filled maw ripped open inches from Teeg’s face, spraying the Elf with spittle.

“Forget what, Poet of the People?” he roared in anger and disdain.

The face of the Elf twisted in pain.

“No Elf ... could ever hope ... to single-handedly defeat a Malveel....” heaved Teeg through the pain and pressure.

Drengel’s grin broadened in satisfaction. Now the fool would beg for his life. Now he would acknowledge the power of the Chosen.

“... unless he could fool the beast .... and get him ... close.”

Drengel furrowed his brow in confusion. Teeg’s right hand ripped the second of his lost daggers from the folds of his cloak and slammed it upward into the soft tissue of the beast’s neck. The blade met no resistance, tearing through one of the few areas left unprotected on Drengel and his brethren.

The Malveel thrashed upward in shock and pain but it was too late. The long thin blade remained lodged in the brain that conceived the Memnod nightmare. Drengel reared backward and fell to the ground dead.

Teeg lay where the Malveel pinned him, his body too broken to move. His breath grew shallow and his eyes heavy. A slight smile played on the edges of his mouth.

“... and you forget ... my favorite title,” coughed the old Elf through the pain. “Actor Extraordinaire.”

Teeg Cin Fair closed his eyes.

CHAPTER 25: WHIRLWIND

SCRIBES RUSHED IN amongst the Elves and the effect was like a wind scattering newly fallen leaves. The members of the Delvin order carried no weapons save their hands. They dashed forward to fill gaps in the Elven line, grabbing any item they found and instantly making it lethal. They plucked discarded and broken weapons from the ground or the bodies of the fallen. They expertly wielded cleavers, clubs, pikes and swords.  Each gray robed man who snatched a weapon from the ground displayed immediate expertise in its most deadly use. The surging wave of Ulrog abruptly halted and Scribes plunged in amongst the stone men without a care for their own safety.

“Fire!” shouted Woil the Lamentation. “Douse them in fire!”

Granu hammered the flanks of his blood red Brodor. The beast lunged forward toward the center of the line of giants. The king of the Keltar rose on the Brodor’s back, high above the battlefield. Many an eye locked on the sovereign of the giants. He leveled the mighty sword of the House of Grannak at the red-eyed Malveel two hundred yards behind the Ulrog line.

“To me giants of Keltar! To me Black Riders of the Wind! To me Keepers of the Book of Delvi!” came the terrible roar of the giant. “At the Beast!”

Viday Shan dropped from the sky, rolled once then snapped to his feet in a crouch. He discarded two Rimshar tubes to the floor of the grasslands and two long, curved daggers popped from beneath his cloak.

Viday and his brethren heard the giant’s call to arms. The Borz flooded forward into the ranks of the stone men slashing and dodging as they went. The beast’s hides proved tough, but the Borz trained their assassins to find the most damaging and vulnerable spots on an enemy’s body.

Viday ducked a clumsily thrown cleaver and scrambled low, ripping a blade across the back of the assailant’s knee. The stone man howled in rage and tumbled to the ground. In a moment, a hammer-wielding giant brought his great, iron rimmed weapon down on the prostrate Hackle’s head, sending the beast from this world.

Samot leapt past the blood red Brodor, dodged a pike thrust then spun the weapon from the owner’s hand and used it to skewer the Hackle. Five of the beast’s brethren lunged toward Samot, but the Scribe’s face showed no concern. He ripped the pike from the body of the fallen Hackle then stood confidently before his assailants, spinning and thrusting the weapon in a blur.

A cleaver jumped from an Ulrog’s hand and spun through the air, landing thirty yards from the creature. The Hackle balked then stumbled toward the weapon, but a flip and turn from the Scribe and black, oily blood streamed from a large wound in the stone man’s belly.

Granu’s mount finally met the bulk of the resistance. Its armor clanged loudly as the Brodor slammed into the huddled masses of stunned Ulrog. The black blade of Stormbreaker swept the air in wide arcs, sparking off the stony hides of the Ulrog. The Hackles clawed and scrambled over one another to retreat from the mad giant.

In the distance, the Malveel roared in anger and rushed forward.

“Steady,” shouted Manfir.

“Hold steady.”

The call echoed down the line by multiple commanders.

The Ulrog line parted as fighting Hackles, priests and trackers fought to remove themselves from the path of darkness. It loomed just beyond the Ulrog and crept toward Manfir. The Zodrian king slowly discerned the individual shapes of creatures in the darkness. At their head towered an enormous being. It absorbed all light around it. Red fire crackled within a body of blackness and a crown of flame danced above its brow. The being raised a gigantic sword of pulsing fire and pointed it at the heart of the human army.

“Manfir of Zodra. I claim this world as my own,” boomed the voice of Amird. “Lay down your weapons and become my slaves, or die at the hands of my Army of Darkness.”

Manfir clenched his teeth and chucked the flanks of the Black. The big horse trotted a dozen yards past the Zodrian line then halted.

“Amird the Deceiver. I may be king, but I will command no man to commit to slavery. I speak only for myself. My response to you is never. Never will I submit to you. Never will I allow this world to fall into your hands.”

Amird’s eyes flashed with fire.

“Then you seal your fate,” snarled the Lord Of Chaos. “I will destroy every last ...”

The sound of hundreds of hoof beats stayed the Deceiver’s words. Amird’s red eyes jumped to the southern horizon where the Elven host of Forend thundered from the open gateway of Delvi upon the backs of the Eru herd.

Manfir watched as well. He turned back to the Deceiver.

“Fate is a tricky animal,” shouted Manfir. “Those who believe they harness it, often find it a difficult beast to master.”