Armies of the Silver Mage (38 page)

Hallis gestured to Llem and Derlith. “Ride ahead to the border of the swamp and let Dakeb know our findings. I don’t like what’s happening here.”

“What are you thinking?” Celegon asked. His hand dropped to his sword.
“I think the Goblins circled around beyond our range so they can attack while we’re separated like this. It’s the only thing that makes sense. This is their chance to pick us off one by one and we haven’t been fired at once yet,” Hallis said.

Celegon agreed. “Perhaps our ranger friend has been feeding them information when we’re not looking?”

Hallis forced a laugh. He’d been suspecting much the same. The wind flipped his long hair about wildly. Hallis stretched as best he could and tried to loosen up. Then Scarn came back. His horse came flying around the bend, kicking mud and snow up. His eyes betrayed fear as he whipped his horse to go faster. Squat bodies in chain mail and waving barbed spears came running close behind. Goblins!

“Run!” he yelled.

Celegon aimed his bow and fired in one swift motion as Hallis climbed back on his horse. A second Goblin was dead before the first hit the ground. Both riders turned to flee when a hideous scream shredded the air. It was the roar of a Mountain Troll. They had to flee now, before it was too late. Even with Scarn, they’d be hard pressed to defeat one of the lumbering giants. With a compliment of Goblins following it, Celegon knew it was a losing battle.

The ground trembled under the weight of the approaching footsteps. Snow fell from the branches and pine needles. Thunder frightened the land. Barbed laughter rose from the Goblin ranks as their foe fled. A dark shadow suddenly towered over them, blocking the sun. The thunder stopped and the only sound was the whistle of a soft wind careening off the snow laden slopes. The Troll came into view. It was an ugly beast over three meters tall and close to a thousand pounds of muscle and hatred. The Troll was a sickly color, pale and wreaking in death.

A massive forehead made his eyes hollow and smaller than they were. Clumps of bluish hair dotted his head, some as long as three feet. Scars riddled his body. Wounds new and old served as a reminder to the pain and hardships of perpetual struggle. The Troll leapt towards the Elf and Man. He hit the ground with a roar and swung his heavy

cudgel at the nearest rider. The heavy weapon barely missed, instead striking and shattering a slender tree into slivers and dust.

The Troll recovered quickly and attacked with frightening speed. Goblins roared in approval. Celegon and Hallis disappeared into the trees. Enraged by not having fresh blood n its hands, the Troll turned on the smaller Goblins and crushed one with his fist. Only then did it stop. It was breathing hard and steam rose from its back in waves.

Scarn slowed not long after passing his companions. He knew the Goblins would make short work of them and give up the hunt. Two horsemen against a Mountain Troll was hardly a contest. Scarn already had his story ready for when he returned to the Mage. He’d speak of their bravery and give an oath of revenge, even if meant killing the Silver Mage himself. To be honest, the Goblins ambushed him perfectly. His clothes were ripped and his body bruised. He wasn’t sure, but he thought a rib was broken as well.

He wiggled his lower jaw, thinking that punch was harder than he believed. The voice in his head told him not to worry, and to let the Goblins do their job once they had him in their grasp. Only know did he realize the voice was coming from the Hooded Man, or should he say the Silver Mage. Either way, he did what the darkness commanded. There was no other way.

Doubts and questions plagued his every thought. The Silver Mage invaded his mind more than Scarn wanted. Time was almost up and they’d never been so close to the fourth stone as now. Day by day Scarn felt himself slipping deeper in the mage’s grip. He’d be concerned if he was a religious man.

It all started simple enough. One man hiring him for a quiet job no one would even be concerned with. The Hooded Man quickly lost patience and the quest dragged on. Then came the promises of violence and damnation. He’d even come under physical assault. Scarn wanted nothing more than to forget this entire mess and lose himself in a good bottle of ale. Hopefully his reward would be enough to entice a few women to his bed. That would go a long way in easing the anguish suffered. He was smiling when Hallis and Celegon came riding up to him. They eyed him suspiciously, almost bordering on open hatred. His smile faded as they flanked him.

“Glad to see you made it,” Hallis said through grated teeth.

Celegon fingered his dagger and added, “yes. We would have felt terrible if you’d have risked yourself trying to help us.”

“So I could die too?” Scarn spat back. “My orders are to ensure the safety of those boys. Two adults should be able to defend themselves. What more do you want of me? I warned you. You had enough time to run.”

Hallis leaned menacingly close. “I think you led them right to us.”
“Why would I do that?” There was a sliver of apprehension in his voice.

“You tell us,” Celegon said.

Scarn tried to laugh. “What is it about me that arouses your suspicions? Am I that imposing a figure? Am I? I think you overestimate my importance.”

“Tell us who you really work for,” Hallis demanded. “We know it’s not the king.”

Part of Scarn wanted to tell it all and have it done with. In relation to the part of him who knew what true suffering was, that part was very small. Living was more important than these fools having their concerns vindicated.

He vehemently pointed at his bruised face. “Does this look like I work for anyone?”

Celegon was about to reply when the chorus of howls began again. The enemy was back on the hunt.

“We’ll finish this later,” Hallis promised.

He and the Elf prince vaulted towards the end of the foothills and the border of the Sanken Swamp where Dakeb was waiting. Scarn followed closely behind. They rode as fast as they dared, unwilling to risk their mounts by stepping in a covered hole or stumbling over rocks and other hazards buried in the snow. Goblins were no match for horses on the open field, but here the odds were greatly evened. Soon enough the sounds of pursuit faded and all that remained were the three riders. Hallis slowed them to a walk. The swamp was near.

They reached the bottom of the valley just as the sun was disappearing behind the mountains. Norgen was the first to see them. He was already standing with his legs apart and his axe on the ground and hands on the hilt as if contemplating cursing them for

taking so long. The rest of the group were off behind him. Celegon noticed they were all ready for battle.

“What kept you?” the Dwarf growled.

“Unexpected business,” Celegon replied with a sideways glance at Scarn.

Dakeb took each of them in. He kept his opinions to himself for the moment. There were more important issues at hand.

“We need to hurry. The swamp is a dangerous place, especially at night. Creatures dwell in there that even I refuse to deal with.”

FIFTY

The Sanken Swamp was a place revered through much of Malweir as evil. A darkness so foul all life suddenly ended without cause was said to dwell within. Monsters and other hideous creatures afraid to enter the light stalked the deepest regions of the swamp. Horrible noises wailed throughout the nights, always threatening yet distant. The moon was setting by the time Dakeb led them through the far side of the swamp and onto the fringes of the nightmarish expanse of the Nveden Plains.

The plains ran the length of Gren and were a barren wasteland uninhabitable by all but the most desperate tribes of Men and Goblins. Fugitives and outlaws mostly populated the major villages along the path to Aingaard. The lowlands were a miserable place of greed and avarice. People were raised to be judgmental and cruel. The wickedness of the Silver Mage was complete.

Once Gren was a beautiful land filled with life and green. That was before Sidian and his visions of madness. Now it was the epitome of disaster. Massive cave and tunnel complexes underlined the plains from the mountains to the peaks of Aingaard. With no protection from the searing heat and light of the sun, the Goblins dug deep into the earth. Often they dug too deep, breeching lava veins of the few volcanoes dotting the land.

Dakeb remembered the world the way it used to be. He remembered the birds of every color gracing the skies and trees. Children played in the huge ponds at the base of waterfalls while their parents talked and ate along the shore. There wasn’t any war back then, and the Goblins seldom left their mountain caves. Those days were long faded, and the world was less of a place. Dakeb struggled to keep a tear from falling. Black clouds hid the moon, locking the plains in a cruel form of darkness. Fires sprang up here and there for as far as the eye could see and a noxious odor tainted the air. Gren was truly a nightmare.

“This is what we have to look forward to?” Norgen scowled. Even used to dwelling deep in the earth he found the land repulsive.

Dakeb nodded. “All the way to Aingaard and beyond I’m afraid.”

Hallis found himself attacked by bad memories. The battle of Gren Mot was fresh in his mind despite the trials since then. The smell on the wind was overpowering and he felt his stomach tighten spasmodically. He very much wanted to leave this place.

“What lies beyond the city?” Fennic asked.

There was a wild look in his eyes. Phaelor’s power was reaching up through the sword to take control again.

“No one knows,” the mage replied. “All who once did are gone.”

Delin looked up. “How can everyone forget? I’d think kings and lords would want to know as much about Malweir as possible.”

The gleam in Dakeb’s eye faded. “There are some things best left forgotten. Even I have no desire to remember all I’ve learned through the ages. I have grown weary of this life. Perhaps I can rest once this is ended.”

“Aren’t mages immortal?” Tarren asked.

“Sadly, no. We die when our task is complete or whenever the Fates decide. We can be killed as easily as normal Men.”

“Can’t you use your magic to keep you alive?” Delin pressed. There was something in Dakeb’s voice he found disturbing.

“Yes and no. Magic isn’t so simple as you think. Some spells I can perform but once and others a thousand times without effect. A Mage draws his power from the earth, even the dark ones did. All this,” he gestured towards the distance, “is a result of Sidian’s overuse of his skills. He’s turned a beautiful land into barren misery.”

He paused to think. “Magic is about limitations, both physical and mental. When those limitations are breeched an anomaly occurs. Dangerous things happen then. The making of the sword was one. The druid weren’t clear with what they were dealing. Truth be told, by creating Phaelor they helped disrupt the balance. Once that act was done it was a small matter for Sidian to rise so quickly.”

Fennic scratched the stubble on his chin. “If the balance has been disrupted what can we do to stop him?”

“Sidian has one flaw that may prove fatal. His quest for the crystal consumes him. It drives the rest of the world from his mind. He’s distracted now, solely focused on opening the paths of doom.”

“Phaelor,” Fennic uttered.

“Yes, Phaelor. Sidian never paid attention to the little things in life. The Star Silver sword is not only the cause of the imbalance, but the cure as well. While you cannot kill Sidian himself, you can restore the world to rights. All you need to do is stand near enough the crystal when he inserts the last shard.”

“What!” Tarren exclaimed. “I thought we wanted to keep him from putting the crystal back together.”

“This is more complicated than you know. Phaelor can only succeed if its used at precisely the moment Sidian places the fourth shard with the rest. Strike the crystal and it all ends,” Dakeb explained. “The key is timing. If we strike too soon we run the risk of letting his evil cover the world. Just a fraction of a moment off and the nightmares begin.”

“How will I know when it is the right time?” Fennic asked.

The mage gave him a kindly smile. “You’ll know.”

Scarn listened closely, wondering how he was going to use this knowledge to his advantage. The prospect of unholy armies rampaging across Malweir left little room for men the likes of him. There was also no way he could get out of delivering the stone now. He’d already been possessed twice. Escape was impossible. Too many ifs lingered

in the corners of his mind. He was trapped and knew it. Scarn didn’t like it one bit.

They continued riding until the dawn. The small column inched ever closer to their goal and the battle at the end of the world. The landscape never changed. Much of it was scored from lightning strikes and rampant fires. Thistle and burdock bushes sparingly covered this part of the plains. Every so often they came across a dry creek bed. Rotted carcasses littered the area. The smell was putrid. By the time dawn’s bleakly broke, they were beyond exhaustion.

“There is a group of large boulders to the south. They should be sufficient enough to conceal us,” Celegon spied.

Hallis asked, “how far are they?”

“Less than a league.”

“Dakeb, we should pick up the pace before that Mountain Troll following us figures out where we are and comes calling,” Hallis said.

“Why can’t we just walk into battle like civilized folk?” Norgen asked before kicking his mount into a full gallop.

The last rider slipped into the circle of boulders less than a half hour later. Llem turned to ensure no one was following. Satisfied, he followed the others by dismounting and seeing to his horse. Tarren let out a prolonged yawn that expressed the fatigue they were all feeling.

“Bed down,” Hallis ordered. “We set back out in four hours.”

Celegon nodded to his brethren. “We shall stand the watch.”

“I’ll help.”

The Elf prince shook his head. “There’s no need. Rest and recover your strength. Conflict is racing to find us. You will have need of it soon.”