The Ghost Of Eslenda (Book 1) (3 page)

"Well, perhaps you won't have to. We shall see how well my soldiers fight after you train them. Only my Shadow Runners need to touch it, but that may change. Would you teach the Shadow Runners too?"

"If you wish."

"You aren't afraid?"

"I noticed they died just as easy as your regular soldiers. My blade was not impressed with them. Be wary you do not overestimate them."

"I believe you are too free with your tongue. Will you need it for the training?"

"Of course."

"Then don't force me to rip it out!" Tag Makk roared. Sir Norman did not back away. He nodded and kept his grin to himself.

"Do you have any more need of me at this time? I wish to sleep and recover my strength. I am an old man now. And your soldiers did kick me severely after I was down. It is a wonder I can even stand."

Tag Makk stared at the old man.

"You will be awakened at sundown and begin the training." He abruptly left the room. Machel watched Sir Norman for a moment.

"Whatever else you are, Eslendian, you are brave." Machel touched his forehead in a salute and followed Tag Makk.

Left alone, Sir Norman sighed and slumped down to rest. He was nearly spent, but he still lived. He would have his revenge on Henry Islen and on Tag Makk too. He had spent so many years away from home. Would they think him dead? His grandchildren would not know him. But Henry would know him and fear him and that thought would sustain him through the coming days.

Loric Greyrawk opened his eyes and saw the swarthy complexion, long bushy black mustache and red eyes peering closely at his own. His mind quickly processed the image, one he recognized but then his other senses kicked in.

"Argh, do you ever chew mint leaves?" asked Loric, waving his hand in front of his face.

"Good, you're awake at last," said Blackthorne the sorcerer. "Your head wound was worse than I first thought. Bled for quite a while. Didn't think you had so much of anything in your head. You should be fine now."

"The Turuck scout?"

"Dead."

Loric sat up slowly, rubbing his black hair with his pale blue hand. Blood had soaked the bandage and his fingers spread the blood and sand across his forehead. Loric was a tall swordsman, half Man, half Celaeri, an elder race of Amloth. The Celaeri blood granted him long life, if he didn't cut it short on his own. He stood slowly unlimbering.

"He was good at his task; I didn't see or hear him."

"The Celaeri blood is overrated, perhaps?" asked Blackthorne.

"You are the only thing overrated, Blackthorne," answered Loric. "If I want to know how great a sorcerer you are, all I need do is ask you. I could hear an endless discourse of your great discoveries that have eluded the rest of Landermass."

"Do you insult me? I did not want to come on this journey; I was perfectly content with my research but Kerreth was insistent. I should have been more determined however it is difficult to deny a being of Kerreth's size and strength. If I do not get the proper respect I will tell Kerreth that I shall return home."

"I doubt that it is possible to insult you, Blackthorne. You haven't any feelings to insult."

"One day, Loric, your wit will leave you in a place you cannot escape. You are not as clever as Kerreth so your limited charm is lost with your words. I agree with Kerreth when he told you to keep your mouth shut and have people think you are stupid than to open your mouth and prove it."

"Come on, let's get after the Turucks again. Kerreth will have both our heads if we mess this up."

"Well, the fault will not be mine. I did not agree that following the Turucks was necessary."

"Naturally."

"It is an army of Turucks, Loric. How could they give us the slip?"

"Kerreth wants a firsthand account of what is happening. Where have you been the last thousand years? It's the way Kerreth has always been. Taina says he was sending Gorm out with the same instructions in the beginning of the Talos Company."

"Until Altair was killed. Then Kerreth wouldn't let Gorm or Taina out of his sight."

"Guilty feelings?"

"I assume so. He felt protective of the Talos family so Altair's daughter and his brother stayed close. I think Jalic Deade and Barken Fole handled the scouting after that."

"Why did he always send Daerlan and Tuors to scout?"

"Because Men are slow and noisy. I wouldn't be out here if not for my sorcery masking my movement. Darkin would be out here but Kerreth doesn't want him mistaken for a Turuck soldier."

"There's one question I always wanted to ask Kerreth or Navir and that was the origin of the Talos Company. I never felt comfortable asking them. Do you know if Navir suggested it when he was king?"

"Yes," said Blackthorne. "Navir felt his efforts against the Menaloch were hampered by being king. He did not have the freedom to do what he wanted. He asked Altair Talos to gather a group together that could search for the Menaloch and its minions. The initial idea was to defend Liannest from the outside so the Daerlan people did not have to revisit their violent past.

"Altair started with his brother Gorm, Taina, Jalic and a couple other Daerlan. It wasn't too long before they bumped into Kerreth Veralier and offered him the Captainship of the company."

"Just like that?"

"That's the story. How many centuries have you been in the company? I think you joined before I did and you don't know the history?"

"Well," said Loric. "There always seems to be something else to do."

"Luckily there are no taverns out here or we would only have tales of serving lasses to tell Gerrand. Come to think of it, you've done that before."

The warrior and the sorcerer made their way down the bluff to pick up the trail of the Turuck army. Blackthorne, as was his wont, walked with his eyes closed; his sorcery sensing the area around him. Loric held his long curved blade sword at the ready. The sword was lighter than it looked allowing him to carry it in battle position for long distances without tiring. It had been forged by Celaeri metal smiths in the far depths of time and never lost its edge.

They were members of the Talos Company, a band of mercenaries made up of unique individuals. They all possessed superior fighting skills and were long lived. No one with a mortal life span such as a human's would be accepted in their ranks. Some of the members, such as Kerreth Veralier, their leader, had been with the Talos Company for several thousand years. It was a singular life for a singular group.

Blackthorne was a Man mostly, but had studied the arts for so long that he outlived the island people that gave him birth. Wielding such power changes the wielder and the residual of spells and incantations seep into the very flesh. His sorcery sustained his life and he carried a gnawing urge to learn more and more about magic and its uses. He did not share much of his own knowledge, just dribbled out bits here and there when absolutely necessary.

They moved quickly over the ground raising no sound where they passed. Two hours later they rested near an overhang of rock just past the crossroads to Penarol City.

"Pity the Penarols," said Loric. "Good fighters, but better tradesmen. The Turucks will not be delayed long."

"No, indeed. The Turucks seemed to have picked up their pace."

"What are they doing?" asked Loric. "They had stayed in the south of the Koberi desert for eons. Now they are moving with speed and determination."

"The Menaloch," said Blackthorne.

"It truly survived? How did it get to the Turucks?"

"Loric, I do not have all the answers, as unlikely as that may seem. However, the Menaloch has never been one of my studies, I don't appreciate the Jungeguds. No subtlety."

"Yes, I can see how you appreciate subtlety, since you lack it."

"Sleep lightly, Loric, lest I garrote you in the night."

"Would you use your own hands?"

"No, of course not, it was the image I was after."

"Wasn't the Menaloch defeated by Cothos in battle?" asked Loric.

"That was the legend. Cothos, the strongest Altengud came out of hiding and tricked the Menaloch into tripping a spell that imprisoned the Menaloch in a carved idol. Now this was subtlety; Cothos had created some talisman the Menaloch coveted and wrapped a spell around it to trigger when the Menaloch touched it. So the Menaloch eagerly searched for its own imprisonment. It couldn't escape but its power could still reach out. It was lost in the dim reaches of time until the Daerlan found it and brought it home to Arda. It destroyed Arda and the Daerlan fled Anavar and founded Liannest on Amloth. When the Turucks returned to Anavar, the Menaloch found them."

"For someone who knows so little, you know a lot."

"I did not say I knew little of the Menaloch, I said it was never one of my studies. Loric, it is well you are handy with a sword, you cannot work your brain."

"A compliment from you is two-edged."

"I did not compliment you," said Blackthorne. "Come, we've rested long enough."

The dawn was still hours away. The desert air was too hot for travel and the Turucks had adapted to the night and its shadows very well. Loric and Blackthorne traveled quickly in the cool dark but they were not so vain as to expect their passage to be unnoted. The Turucks set rear guards as a rule and the consciousness of the Menaloch was aware of much. The Turuck army had done nothing to mask their passing, so confident they were in their might. Discarded food, bones, broken weapons, dead prisoners littered the desert, providing entertainment for the night creatures of the desert. As Blackthorne had said; how could they lose the trail of the Turuck army?

Blackthorne stopped. Loric stood motionless.

"Twenty yards ahead on the left," whispered Blackthorne. "Something lives."

Loric moved forward in a crouch, his sword close to his body ready for a lunge. A man lay in the dirt, wounded and discarded by the Turucks.

"He was a Penarol," said Loric. "The Turucks must have beat information out of him. I don't think he will last much longer."

"Let me see." Blackthorne moved his hands over the man. A faint green glow illuminated the scene. The sorcerer pulled back his hands and shook his head.

"As you said, he will die soon. There is more damage to him than merely beatings. There is something there foul, and decayed. There is the touch of the Menaloch about him. Let us leave here quickly."

Loric spun suddenly and his sword blocked an attack by a dark robed assailant. Two more charged up to them. Blackthorne backed away, keeping Loric between him and the attackers as he gathered his thoughts. Loric fell back on the defensive as all three now engaged him. He had wounded the first one severely but nothing slowed him down.

Suddenly, the night sky was filled with blue flame and Loric saw his attackers. Turucks, but their eyes were black and their wounds did not bleed.

"Turucks, but different! They don't bleed!"

"Ah, I know what they are," said Blackthorne.

"Good! Tell me after they are dead."

"I believe they already are."

"Blackthorne!"

"Patience, my dear Loric. These things cannot be rushed. I am a sorcerer, not a hire sword."

Loric stared at the space before his opponents visualizing his movements. He bull rushed the trio, knocking them backward. He beheaded one just as a green flame consumed the other two.

"There," said Blackthorne. "A little more effort than I anticipated. Ah, I see beheading does the trick too."

"What are they?"

"Shadow Runners. I heard rumor that Tag Makk was subjecting his soldiers to some spell with the Menaloch to create a lethal troop of assassins. Never tiring, nearly invincible, or should I say, unstoppable, without magic or beheading, as you just proved."

"Are they linked to the Menaloch? Does it know they are dead?"

"I don't think so. That would be power unimaginable. No, the Menaloch twisted the Turucks into these creatures and gave them direction, no more. I don't believe the Menaloch has detected our presence. However, we must convince Kerreth of the danger the Shadow Runners present. Are you wounded?"

Loric checked himself quickly.

"Nope. Pristine as always."

"Loric, you are such a bore."

"Let's continue on. Penarol City is ahead."

"Yes, and the sky glows reddish in the north. I fear the Turucks are attacking the city now. It will fall before we can reach it and the Turucks will have moved on before Kerreth catches up with us."

"What do you suggest?"

"A proper burial for this man from Penarol. Then we shall wait for Kerreth and the others."

The majestic castle at Riverdowns witnessed many coronations of Eslenda kings in its storied histories, some bloody, some bloodless, yet its stoic walls changed not, heedless of the colors flying from its ramparts or of the siege towers and catapult assaults throughout its existence. Men settled Eslenda a thousand years ago when the clans settled into farming and their settlements dotted the land. The strongest families protected the others and a nation rose from the fields of Eslenda. The northern Men remained nomadic and called themselves Nunari, the traveling ones. Only the Nunari had much contact with the Daerlan of Liannest and the Eslendians kept to their own business. They were aware of the doings of Landermass from the trading ships but they made no treaties and promised no allegiance to any other kingdom. On the far eastern lands of Amloth the kingdom of Cresida emerged from the shadow of the Celaeri.

The mountains to the east of Eslenda kept them focused on their own lands and what wars they fought were between the clans who strove to dominate. The strongest families were Islen, Cane, Oswald, Tucker and May. Among these a king was chosen and strength of arms decided the continuation of the family rule.

The reign of King Henry Islen proclaimed itself from the colors now flying and the wind snapped the cloth unseeing the glory of Men. It was Men who filled the grey stone castle, men loyal to King Henry, and men loyal to his sons. Those descriptions applied to many men together, yet not all. There were some who claimed loyalty to those opposing the king and still the castle cared not.