The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (5 page)

“Then we must turn from the Zorim and make haste to Zodra,” said Manfir. “What little we own will be shared with your people.”

Olith nodded in approval. Utecht shook his head in disbelief.

“To think we stood toe to toe as enemies but three days ago,” mumbled the newly decommissioned Keltaran sergeant. “Avra is truly the healer of all wounds.”

Vespewl limped through the mountain city for the hundredth time. His mind raged and his retainers stayed clear of his path.

How? How could thousands disappear? Where had they gone? Were they hidden behind some ingenuously crafted stone doorway, waiting to pounce upon his Hackles? 

He scanned the sheer granite cliffs that comprised the north end of the city. Were expertly hidden hand holds or stairs carved into its surface affording the Keltaran a means of escape?

“Where are you?” roared the Malveel.

Ratem, the high priest who assumed control upon the death of Krin, appeared at his master’s side.

“Lord Vespewl,” began the Ulrog priest with a bow. “We discovered a tunnel.”

Vespewl spun on the Ulrog.

“Where?” hissed the Malveel.

“In the lowest levels of the royal house. A tightly sealed stone doorway leads into the roots of the  mountain.”

“Just as I suspected,” smiled Vespewl limping forward and staring at the house of Hrafnu rising before him. “I will exact my revenge. Rally your packs. We will butcher them in their hole.”

Ratem bowed, began to comply, then hesitated.

“My lord. What if the tunnel is not a place to cower in fear, but a means of escape?” asked Ratem. “What if it leads from the Zorim into the fields of Zodra?”

Vespewl clenched his jaws tightly.

“Then we hound them through the bowels of the cursed Zorim until I grasp retribution,” seethed the beast.

CHAPTER 4: MEN OF DARKNESS

IZGRA SAT UPON his thrown covered in the dark robes that hid his rotting body. He was still.

Before him, facing the stone chamber’s door, stood Sulgor. The Malveel king crouched low to the ground. He eyed the wooden barrier as if ready to pounce upon the next thing appearing upon its threshold.

A knock sounded. The door swung open and a tracker stumbled backward into the room. Sulgor growled from the disrespect but caught himself short. The tracker turned to face him,  clearly distressed. The Ulrog attempted to speak but the presence of another silenced him.

Drengel The Conjuror, sixth of Amird’s Chosen, crept into the room. A heady smile played upon his scaly face and an intense confidence lie in his eyes. Of The Chosen, he resembled Sulgor nearest in appearance, yet a hungry lean look replaced Sulgor’s power and bearing. Sulgor slowly rose. His upper lip curled in anger and  his massive chest expanded.

“Drengel,” rumbled the Malveel king in acknowledgement.

“Sulgor,” responded Drengel offhandedly.

The lesser Malveel moved forward, the confident smile never leaving his face. His eyes remained locked upon the figure perched on the thrown above his king. Izgra remained still. 

Drengel circled to Sulgor’s side. With head held high he faced Izgra. Sulgor rumbled in disapproval and flashed his razor sharp fangs but Drengel ignored him.

“Greetings, Lord Izgra,” sang the Conjuror smugly. “I anticipated this meeting for many years.”

Izgra remained stone still. Drengel ignored the reaction and delighted in himself.

“Please forgive my tardiness. I would have visited the broken throne of Astel at an earlier time, but my Lord Amird set my task and ...” the Malveel hesitated and his smile grew. “ ... as you shall soon see, its completion preoccupied me.”

Twin glints of red fire ignited within the cowl of Izgra.

“I do not believe in forgiveness, Drengel,” rasped the Half-Dead. “I care only for compliance and subjugation. Have you completed the task set forth by us?”

Drengel laughed and threw his head back in pleasure.

“I have!” he announced with fervor. “The taskmy master Amird  set before me is complete. I produced the army he instructed me to create.”

Drengel spun and hissed a barely audible command to the doorway of the chamber. Instantly, a palpable darkness blotted its space. Shadow and night filled the opening. The darkness swirled through the open doorway and the shifting figure of a man of shadow stood before the broken throne of Astel. It swallowed the torchlight of the chamber within its form and sparks of lightning danced across its inky surface.

The tracker stationed near the opening immediately backed away, his oily eyes transfixed on the creature that stood nearly double his height. Sulgor’s chest heaved and his ragged ears flattened against the back of his skull. The Malveel king edged from the creature’s approach. The shadow remained at the center of the room, a faceless void.

“Behold, the Memnod,” cackled Drengel. “Creatures of Chaos. Harnessed by the will of Drengel the Conjuror and commanded to obeymy orders.”

“You control this thing?” questioned Sulgor, his eyes darting between the Memnod and Drengel.

The lesser Malveel turned back to his king and smiled.

“I do,” snapped Drengel. “What had you thought me doing all these years exiled to the wastes of Irdricht?”

Sulgor’s eyes flashed and he spun on the Conjuror.

“Fulfilling the will of our Master,” snarled the Malveel king.

Drengel’s eyes flared in return.

“The Memnodare the will of our Master!” barked Drengel. “They are a culmination of the plan. For centuries I toiled within the frozen wastes releasing nightmares upon this world. If it is unnatural and haunts a wood or prowls a swamp, be assured that it originated in my halls.

As Chaos grows and grasps a tighter stranglehold on this realm, I am afforded more power to build my creations. The Memnod are the result. They are beings of pure Chaos. Their only goal is to destroy the order and uniformity of Avra’s precious world and add to our power.”

Drengel’s head snapped back to the creature centered in the room. Another hiss emitted from the lesser Malveel and his red eyes flashed. Immediately, the shadow and flame within the Memnod spun and thrashed.

“A demonstration,” growled Drengel, his eyes narrowing upon the unfortunate tracker stationed near the doorway.

The shadow man turned. Huge black arms of swirling darkness locked upon the Hackle and pulled it toward the Memnod’s body. The imprisoned Ulrog struggled desperately, roaring in terror. Its body slid forward. The Chaos within the Memnod reached out like a thousand sharpened claws and tore into the Ulrog, sucking its body into the shadows. Chips of rock flew through the otherwise still chamber. Oily, black blood sprayed upon the stone floor. When the tracker completely disappeared, the Memnod turned and faced the throne. Drengel stared at his creation, beaming with delight.

“We are pleased,” stated Izgra.

The smile fell from Drengel’s face. The Conjuror spun.

“I care not for your pleasure,” spat the Malveel.

The twin flames within Izgra’s cowl intensified.

“It is the will of my Lord Amird which I fulfill. Not yours,” continued Drengel icily.

“The will of Amird and I are one in the same,” shrieked Izgra as he lurched to his feet. “You dare ... “

“I dare what I will, sorcerer!” bellowed Drengel. “You are not Amird, andif  he takes you as his vessel you will retain no memory of this confrontation. All slights against Izgra the warlock will go forgotten! Lord Amird is only concerned with the successes ofmy army. I assure you, those successes will be significant.”

Drengel turned on Sulgor and his wicked smile returned.

“Your reign lasted centuries, Sulgor, but you bowed before this Elf Seraph mongrel and lost your place. We are the Chosen! When Amird returns, those of faith will rule by his side.”

Sulgor’s eyes peaked in fiery intensity and he rose even higher on his haunches. Drengel scoffed. The Conjuror slid away from the dais and stood by the side of the Memnod.

“You cling to the past, Sulgor. The fight passes by your Ulrog. The tide turns against them. The One Eye’s failure and death at the hands of the horse breeders proves this.

The entire contingent of the Mnim in his grasp and the humans drove the fool back into the mountains. You are as blind as he. The Eru and the Derolians feared the Mnim and dare not venture near it. Now it is Woil and your pathetic Hackles who fear the flatlands and remain locked within their valley prison.”

Drengel’s eyes narrowed and he smiled into the swirling darkness of the Memnod.

“The future lies in the hands of the Memnod,” announced the Conjuror. “ ‘Behold! The earth will tremble and the rivers run dry. The men of shadow will emerge before the coming of the beast and the trees of the forest will rot and the grasses of the plains wither. Woe unto those who stand before the men of night!’  So wrote the scribes in foretelling the might of my creation.”

Drengel took one last look at the seething form of Izgra.

“ I dare what I will because the Memnod are the key to Amird’s victory ...”

Drengel spun toward the chamber’s door and stalked from the room followed closely by the Memnod.

“ ... andI am the key to the Memnod!”

“I have never seen anything like them,” said Ader.

The Seraph lay behind a cluster of boulders atop a small hill. He peered down upon an open plain filled with motionless Memnod. Kael lay beside him, obscured by the ragged grasses.

“They seem to .... absorb the light around them,” continued Ader to himself. “What are they?”

“Pure Chaos,” stated Kael.

The boy stared at the army below. The old man turned to look into his eyes.

“Are you certain?” asked Ader.

“The power contained on the plain below roars in my head,” replied Kael. “It thinks of nothing but destruction.”

Ader’s head drooped toward the ground and his eyes drifted away in thought.

“The Men of Shadow,” whispered the Seraph.

It was Kael’s turn to wonder.

“The Men of Shadow?”

Ader’s head slowly rose.

“The scribes talked first to of such creatures,” said the Seraph. “There were tales in the east but I never put much stock in them. They spoke of creatures of pure Chaos who would arise and rake the lands, defiling all. They would be virtually unstoppable. No blade forged on this earth or power within its borders could harm them. They will be the key to Amird’s final push for power. His army of Chaos.”

“But the Ulrog?” replied Kael. “What need does he have for another army.”

“The Men of Shadow are the true army of Chaos,” frowned Ader. “As strange as it may sound, the Ulrog are creatures born of this world. They were spawned here with substances Avra himself created. In a way, they are ultimately Avra’s design. They were formed from his world and given life by the power of one of his greatest and most loved children. In the end, they are too full of the beauty of order for Chaos to let them survive. They are doomed no matter the outcome.

The Men of Shadow, on the other hand, are loosely constrained in the forms we see below. These shapes allow them to move and focus their destruction, but their real desire is to destroy everything.”

Kael sat wide eyed. Ader chuckled.

“You never thought to hear me offer a sympathetic view of the Ulrog, eh Kael?”

“I always thought of the Ulrog as pure Chaos,” returned the boy, his eyes drifting back to the army below. “The actual thing is much more terrifying.”

“Even more terrifying is the fact that their current master stands before Izgra, offering up their services,” said Ader, pointing to the towers of Astel rising over the distant hills. “These beings are a sign prophesied by the scribes. ‘Exalt ye believers for the Men of Shadow arrive upon your threshold. The signs of His return are nigh. The Chosen crawl down the mountainsides and the Stonemen fill the plains. Exalt! He Returns. He Returns!’ ”

“Exalt?” questioned Kael.

“Now you know why I distrust the Prelate Nostr and his scribes. They exalt at the sight of the Men of Shadow.”

“No,” replied Kael. “They exalt that ‘He’ returns. So I suppose we need to find out who ‘He’ is.”

Sulgor bulled into the stone chamber, rage in his eyes.

“He moves,” snarled the Malveel king.

Izgra stood at the window staring at the mountains in the distance.

“North toward the Mnim or west to the Mirozert?” asked the Half-Dead.

“The Mirozert,” answered Sulgor.

“Then we too must move,” stated Izgra. “We cannot afford to march upon the forces of this world separately. Drengel’s Memnod are powerful, but Avra has not shown all he commands. Send trackers ahead to order our Hackles out onto the Eru plains. Those in the Mnim and the Mirozert will unite and seek out the horsemen.

Those stationed here will follow the path of the Shadow Men. Do not allow them to close on Drengel. He is unpredictable and his forces thirst for the destruction of anything resembling order. Your Ulrog may find themselves victims of the Memnod before they ever face an Eru spear.”

“What of Vespewl and Keltar?” asked Sulgor.

Izgra turned from the window and moved toward his scorched throne.

“It is too distant,” hissed the warlock. “The fool should have sent word by now.”

“Is it wise to move forward without guaranteed support from the west?” said Sulgor.

“Drengel affords us the opportunity to abandon the plan,” laughed Izgra. “If Vespewl stands successful, the addition of his Hackles will serve to enhance our already dominant position. Either way, the humans of this world will be driven before us and meet their doom. Send out messengers, then ready my litter.”

Sulgor bowed and backed from the room.

The shadowy figures on the plain below disappeared hours before. Dusk settled over Astel. Ader and Kael remained in their hiding place hardly speaking, both lost in thoughts of the future.

Kael felt the tension between them. They reached a turning point. A monumental decision would be made, but Ader would not make it. Grunts and heavy cussing reached their ears. Ader grabbed the boy’s collar and quickly dragged him behind a boulder. They hugged its rough, stone surface, as the cussing grew louder. Heavy footfalls followed.