The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2) (22 page)

“Leave him be.” snarled Granu.

The Ulrog stared expressionless at the giant. The giant grabbed some kindling from near Nostr’s feet, then rose and stalked into the camp behind Kael.

“How did you know his name?” Kael asked the giant as they piled their wood next to the freshly dug fire pit.

Granu frowned and stacked the wood. He struggled with what he wanted to say.

“He is the Delvin Prelate.” said Granu hesitantly. “All know of him.”

“But you know more.” squinted Kael. “What do you know?”

The other members of the party gathered around the fire. Granu nervously scanned their faces then knelt and applied tinder to the kindling.

“It is nothing.” said the Keltaran.

“Then why don’t you share it with me?” asked Kael.

“Let it go, boy.” said Ader . “The issues are cloudy enough.”

Kael scowled, turned to retrieve his cooking pot and once again nearly ran into Nostr. The stone man stared at him.

“What?!” exclaimed the boy balling his hands into fists.

“Excuse me.” stated the Ulrog.

Kael swore he saw the hint of a smile break across the rocky face in the low light of the new fire. The boy felt fear and anger at the slight mockery. In an attempt to show some kind of control over the situation, Kael blurted out the question on his mind.

“What do the Keltaran know of you?” demanded Kael.

“I am the Prelate of the Delvin Scribes.” stated Nostr calmly.

“It’s nothing, Kael.” said Granu looking over his shoulder at the Ulrog.

“And we are kin.” continued Nostr.

Granu sprang to his feet and charged the Ulrog.

“YOU ARE NO KIN OF MINE, STONE MAN!” bellowed Granu.

The giant crossed the camp in two large strides and stood inches from the Ulrog glaring into the stone man’s eyes. The Ulrog stood impassive.

“The blood of Awoi flows through my veins.” stated Nostr.

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Granu. “The blood of Awoi cannot possibly flow through the veins of a creature branded with this!”

Granu’s hand shot out and tore at the sleeve of the Ulrog’s robe. The scribes forearm was exposed and Kael gasped. Carved in the creatures stony hide were symbols of Chaos and words in the strange Ulrog tongue. Kael didn’t understand what any of it meant, but he recognized one word. Standing out larger than the rest lay one bold carving.

“Amird.” whispered Kael. “You’re branded with the name Amird.”

Ader quickly moved beside to the giant.

“RETURN TO THE FIRESIDE, GRANU SON OF GRANNAK!” commanded the Seraph pulling the giant’s hand from the Ulrog’s sleeve. “We don’t need this distraction.”

“And in that way I hold a kinship to Ader and yourself, Kael Brelgson.” continued Nostr unaffected.  “Awoi is the brother of your distant grandfather, Ader Hartstrong. I am a child of Awoi. Thus we are kin.”

“SILENCE!” demanded Ader. “You are NOT connected to Awoi. Your people were the twisted vision of Amird and your blood is not connected to anything human!”

The Ulrog once again stood still and calmly looked at the Seraph.

“What is he talking about?” Kael asked Granu.

“All Ulrog are molded from the stone and mud of the Northern mountains...” began Nostr.

“Kael!” snapped Ader. “Stop asking him questions!”

“...I too was molded in a pit dug by the priests of Amird....”

“I’m not!” replied Kael. “I wasn’t talking to him!”

“....the Malveel channel the power of Chaos and breathe life into us...”

“LIES!” bellowed Granu advancing on the Scribe once more.

“.... Sulgor was unaware that the pit created for me....”

“NOSTR! Silence yourself!”

“...was on the spot where Awoi’s blood drained from his body and the Seraph’s life left him. The earth cradled that blood until my creation. It flows through me now.” concluded Nostr.

Granu roared and charged the Scribe.

The giant awoke under a blanket next to the crackling fire pit. He glanced to his left and saw Cefiz lying opposite him. The remainder of the party sat just inside the firelight in a small circle, speaking in hushed tones.

“...don’t need you stirring things up.” said Ader. “There are many facets to what’s happening here, Kael. I’m trying to juggle an extremely complex situation. There are thousands of years of prejudice and hatred at play.”

“I’m sorry.” whispered the boy dropping his head. “I want to know what’s going on. I want information. Sometimes I can’t help what I say, and Nostr wants to answer.”

“That’s just it, Kael.” said Ader. “Why? Why does he feel so motivated to answer your questions? Why does he comply with your instructions? He easily incapacitates two accomplished warriors, but halts when you demand it. Why you? In the entire history of the Delvin Scribes they’ve neither offered information outside of their text nor obeyed an outside command of any kind. Twenty seasons ago this Ulrog mysteriously becomes their Prelate. Now he appears here and is willing to do as you ask. Only you.”

“I don’t know why?” said Kael. “He claims that I need to know certain things.”

Ader scowled.

“Rumors.” rumbled Granu as he sat upright.

The giant winced and grabbed the back of his head where he found a small lump. He quickly scanned the camp and noticed the dark form of Nostr standing ten paces outside the firelight.

“We heard rumors of the Prelate.” said Granu as he stood and moved to the group.

“Must we?” sighed Ader.

“The boy wants to know.” said Granu. “Why should it be kept from him? What are your reasons?”

“It will cloud his judgment.” stated Ader.

“Or clarify it.” challenged Granu.

“Being told that an Ulrog priest turned Scribe may possibly have the blood of an ancient Seraph flowing through his veins AND have the ability to predict the future will certainly cloud his judgment concerning the Scribes!” blurted Ader.

“Is it clouded if he concludes the Scribe is a fake and has evil intent?” asked Granu.

“Don’t twist my words, son of Grannak!” demanded Ader.

“What if he concludes the Ulrog is trustworthy and providing guidance?”

“That’s what we certainly don’t need!” snapped Ader.

“I agree!” announced Granu. “But we’ve passed this crossroads with the boy already. He should be provided the facts as they come and determine things on his own. I don’t trust the Scribes or their precious Prelate, but I cannot force the boy to think likewise.”

The giant spun toward Kael.

“You now know his claim.” stated Granu. “It cannot be proved and therefore can only be taken through faith. I hold no faith in a creature of Amird. I do not accept the claim that he carries the blood of Awoi in his veins. You decide on your own.”

Granu retrieved a bucket of water and strode over to Cefiz.

“He’ll be all right.” said Ader. “I attended to both of you after the Ulrog defended himself. Cefiz will be stiff and a bit light headed when he comes around.”

Granu smiled down upon the lieutenant and shook his head.

“Many would be nonplussed at the idea of a Zodrian sacrificing himself for a Keltaran.” mumbled Granu.

“The world changes rapidly my friend.” said Teeg softly.

CHAPTER 13:  OFF LIMITS

Manfir rode the Black through the streets of Zodra. A contingent of staff officers followed in silence. The streets were quiet and deserted in the early morning. Manfir enjoyed the silence, the first he received since the departure of Ader and Kael two days before.

Since the day Ader had taken the boy North, Manfir began to feel the gaping hole in his life caused by the Seraph’s absence. Too many years he relied upon his wise friend’s guidance. Too many years he deferred to Ader’s judgment on the important decisions. Manfir grew comfortable following orders, and unpracticed at giving them. These past weeks revealed much to the heir of the Zodrian throne. Leadership must be exercised daily to remain fresh. Manfir slowly started to exercise his power and his confidence just as slowly returned.

After Ader’s departure, Manfir found himself bogged down by the immense undertakings of building and supporting an army. Men without weapons needed to be armed. Food supplies needed to be bolstered and constantly restocked. The cavalry commandeered mounts for their units. The General Staff interviewed men with previous leadership experience and assigned them to appropriate locations. Manfir tried to control every aspect of the process, but soon learned to trust the General Staff and their decisions.

The Zodrian prince left the training of the militia in the capable hands of Brelg. The old sergeant responded with sweeping changes in training style. Manfir laughed to himself. How grievously had his father underestimated this man? Brelg was a man of action, a man of intelligence, and most importantly a man of conviction. Manfir was honored to call him brother. The prince only wished that Yanwin were here to see all of the qualities she so loved in her husband rise to the top during this crisis. She would have been proud.

The Hold stood before the prince as his stallion trotted down the cobblestone street. The rising sun baked its rough, stone surface. The sentries posted at the north gate snapped to attention as the riders approached. Manfir halted and dropped from the saddle.

“I shall spend the day reviewing the training and the trainees.” stated Manfir as he handed the reins of his stallion to an attendant. “Please make sure our mounts are properly cared for.”

The sentry bowed and tethered the Black to a nearby post. A runner dashed away to summon stable boys to the gate. Manfir strode past the sentries followed by the staff. 

He entered the training yard to the sound of metal striking metal. Immediately, the prince noticed change. The familiar training stations had been removed and a small battlefield stood in their place. Barricades and obstructions were strewn randomly across the yard. Men in militia clothing brandished wooden swords and manned positions to the East. Recruits in green uniforms, similarly armed, lined positions to the West. Brelg stood in the middle of the yard barking orders.

“When you are struck with a fatal blow, remove yourself.” shouted Brelg. “Any heavy weapon blow to the head or chest that does not strike armor is fatal.”

The old sergeant pointed to the areas on his own body then turned and pointed to the rooftop.

“It may seem as if the archers possess an advantage.” called Brelg. “That is because archers
do 
possess an advantage. Often they hold higher ground and are unreachable.”

Manfir glanced to the Southern rooftop and saw a dozen archers in green uniforms. The prince turned and craned his neck to get view of the Northern rooftop above him. An equal number of militia sported longbow on this side of the yard. The tips of the arrows in their quivers looked blocky and dull.

“Any man who takes an arrow tip to any exposed spot on his upper body will immediately leave the training area!” shouted Brelg. “Success is the complete destruction of your opponents forces! Begin!”

Brelg turned and marched toward Manfir. Shouts arose as the commanders of the small units ordered their men into position. A few arrows clattered off the barricades hiding men. Brelg halted in front of the prince and bowed deeply.

“Brelg, there’s no call for that.” said Manfir.

“I beg your pardon, my prince, but there is always a call.” stated Brelg soberly. “When you were a member of my unit, I expected you to salute me and obey my orders. Only one man can lead. All others must follow. Without rank an army disintegrates into chaos. “

“As always.” smiled Manfir. “You’re right.”

Brelg returned the smile.

“How goes the training?” asked Manfir putting a hand on Brelg’s shoulder.

“Excellent!” replied Brelg.

As if to highlight the point a cry went up from the recruits positioned to the West. A handful of green garbed men circumvented a large overturned cart and raced toward the militias line. They were met with a hail of arrows from both the rooftop and  a row of hay bales to the East. The recruits huddled together. Those in the lead held their shields in front of them while their comrades  in back held theirs aloft.

A few recruits removed themselves from the group as arrows bounced from leather jerkins, but the bulk of the party reached the militias hiding spot and a small skirmish ensued. As soon as the militia showed themselves, arrows pelted both groups. Several more participants from both sides of the line removed themselves from the battle.

“Good.” smiled Brelg as he saw the recruits turn and run. “Flair doesn’t commit completely. He tests their line for strength.”

“Flair?” questioned Manfir.

“Yes.” said Brelg. “I’ve kept his unit at the Hold and I use them quite frequently in these training exercises. He’s developing into quite a tactician.”

“How so?” asked a puzzled Manfir. “He trains in use of weapons, doesn’t he?”

Brelg beamed.

“No sire, he does not. He trains at so much more now.” said Brelg. “The old training methods are gone. In the past we could only hope to produce a man proficient in the use of specific weaponry and a decent shot with a bow. We were never given the ability to train a man in tactics and reactions. So much has changed!”