The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (14 page)

He immediately sent a Hammer of his swiftest riders to investigate the source of the smoke. Their information would lay to rest any doubts in his men’s minds, then they would move on to Zodra.

His servants erected his pavilion and Fenrel retired for the evening.

Piled rocks and tree limbs lay stacked before a wide, open trench dug at the base of the hill. Manfir inspected its workmanship as he paced the base of the hill and questioned the veracity of his plan. Taken as a whole, he believed in its merits.

However, when he examined each portion of the plan, Manfir realized how many tenuous events needed to align themselves in order for the Zodrian army to acheive success. The prince chuckled to himself. The first of these events, the Anvil discovering the Guard at Dunmor, was the most important.

The sound of hooves thundering in the distance swept over the hillside. Calls and shouts went up in the darkness. Manfir turned to his men. Their bodies were rigid and many held hands on their weapons.

“Easy men.” called Manfir. “I hear but one or two riders and the sentries stationed on the perimeter raised no alarm.”

A short while later, a rider in a green recruit’s uniform rode into the hazy light of the hillside fires. His horse glistened in the dancing firelight as sweat poured down the beast’s twitching muscles. The rider jumped from his mount and approached Manfir.

“My lord.” called the scout bowing his head.

“What do you have to report?” asked Manfir.

The rider took a moment to catch his breath then answered the prince.

“Scouts spotted a Hammer unit moving toward the hills, my lord,” blurted the man. “They approach cautiously. These scouts alerted our sentries and they opened a wide berth in the line to allow the unit to approach. Thus far the Keltaran are unaware we hold the hills, but they shall arrive within the hour.”

“Excellent,” replied Manfir. “Leave the opening in our patrols until the Hammer gathers its information and retreats. Once they depart, close the gap and tighten its perimeter to a league’s distance from the hills.”

“Yes, my lord,” cried the scout as he turned and leapt upon the back of his roan.

 “We shall soon see how great is Fenrel’s lust for blood,” whispered Manfir to the darkness pressing in on the hillside.

“My lord. My lord,” called a voice from outside Fenrel’s pavilion.

 “What is it?” snapped the Captain.

“News from the scouting party,” called Fenrel’s second in command, Lieutenant Aul.

“It could not wait until morning?” snarled Fenrel.

“No, my lord,” exclaimed Aul.

The huge Keltaran lieutenant fidgeted nervously as curses rolled from behind the heavy curtains of the pavilion. He quickly exchanged concerned looks with the scout captain who stood wide eyed beside him.

“Hold a moment. I will be out shortly,” shouted Fenrel. “This better be important, Aul.”

After a few moments, the Keltaran prince stepped from the pavilion covered in black robes. The smell of burning flesh rolled from the darkened pavilion and Aul took a step backwards, recoiling from its distasteful odor. Fenrel sweated profusely and appeared extremely agitated.

“What is the report?” he snapped at the scout leader.

The leader nervously glanced between the prince and Aul as he began his report.

“We followed a direct line to the rising smoke as you ordered, my lord,” said the leader

 “And?” demanded Fenrel.

 “The Zodrian Guard, my lord...” stammered the scout leader. “It camps in the Dunmor. It appears that they rode forth to engage us, not the other way around.”

“What?” exclaimed Fenrel.

He often boasted how the remaining Zodrian forces would cower within the walls of their great city, terrified of the Anvil’s might.

 “Impossible,” roared the captain. “The Guard is bogged down along the Scythtar.”

 The Keltaran prince burst past Aul and the scout leader, charging into the camp amongst his troops. News spread. Many men were up and small groups formed, whispering in deep conversation.

“What are you yapping about?” bellowed Fenrel toward a group near the pavilion. “You stand upon the brink of world domination and you fret over nothing. A fly buzzes in your face and you would have us retreat to caves to escape it.”

He spun back toward the scout leader.

“How many troops do they have?” he questioned accusingly.

“I ... uh,” mumbled the scout.

Fenrel charged forward and smashed a tightened fist into the face of the scout leader. Immediately, the soldier fell to the ground as a rush of blood poured from his swelling nose. The scout leader scrambled backward along the ground as Fenrel advanced on him screaming obscenities. Two massive guards attired in Ramsskull uniforms slid from the tents shadows in support of their captain. They smiled menacingly at Aul and the Anvil regulars.

“You didn’t even ascertain their numbers, their strength?” howled the captain.

The scout’s hands covered his face as he grimaced in pain.

“We .... we were stunned to find such a large force,” replied the scout frantically. “We feared that we stumbled through their picket lines accidentally. We were very close.”

His hands came free from his face and his eyes registered shock at the amount of blood covering them. Fenrel fed off the fear and confusion of the scout leader. The captain’s eyes drank in the scene then narrowed in malice. He charged forward.

“So you returned to spread fear and uncertainty among my troops?” bellowed Fenrel.

The Keltaran prince’s iron booted foot crashed into the ribs of the prone scout. The desperate man curled into a ball and threw an arm up in an attempt to protect himself from the crazed prince.

“No, my lord,” cried the scout. “I simply report what I have seen.”

Fenrel ignored the protests and continued to mercilessly hammer the scout with damaging kicks to his head and body. Aul backed from his master and several men from the scouting party glanced to the cruel faced guards then bled into the darkness of the campsite.

The scout leader’s arm fell limply to his side as Fenrel continued to punish his lifeless body. Finally, the wild-eyed prince turned to the silent camp, sweat and spittle running down his face and neck. He extended a fist at his troops and slowly his index finger rose to point accusingly at the Anvil.

“You.” roared Fenrel. “You will not falter. You will not question. Your lot is to live or die at my bidding. For my glory! I will conquer Zodra and take our people kicking and screaming from their prison in the mountains.”

He turned and pointed at the scout leader lying motionless in an extending pool of blood.

“This is the fate of any who question the crown or neglect to fulfill their duties to the fullest extent,” shouted Fenrel. “Look upon this and know it is I who you must fear, not the remnants of the defeated Zodrian army.”

Fenrel turned and moved toward the pavilions opening. Before entering he turned once more to the silent Anvil.

“Remove the body of this traitor from the grounds of my pavilion,” snapped Fenrel, “and strike camp. We leave within the hour to erase any sign of these Guards from the face of the Dunmor.”

Kael awoke the following morning to the hand of Eidyn on his shoulder.

“We should be going,” stated the Elf. “We have a long journey ahead and the Eru have decided to escort us most of the way.”

Kael nodded his assent and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He spent the night in a small yurt located directly behind Fondith’s quarters. It was comfortable and well prepared with food and drink. Eidyn joined him later in the evening and the pair fell into a deep sleep.

Kael was not sure how long he slept but he was sure it was not enough. The previous three days of travel without respite left him fatigued to the point where he thought no length of rest would alleviate it.

Eidyn tossed the Southland boy his pants and Kael quickly dressed. He stepped from the tent and was blinded by the light of the sun. After a moment his eyes adjusted and he was stunned. Where once a city of tents sprawled, now stood a huge field of matted grass. The signs of a massive tent city occupying the prairie were evident by outlines impressed upon the grassland, but no other tent pole remained standing.

“Where .... ?” began Kael.

“The Eru dismantled the entire city within minutes after sunrise,” smiled Eidyn. “Truly amazing. Not a scrap of waste was left. Our yurt remained untouched as to afford us more sleep.”

“Where have they gone?” asked Kael in dismay.

“My father has decided to move the people east,” came a voice to the tent’s side.

Hai rounded the tent and approached the two men leading four fine Eru horses.

“We are not far behind,” said the young man. “The main group moves significantly slower than a normal man on horseback so we should have no trouble joining them.”

The young man released the reins on the horses and bent forward, grasping one of the tent’s poles. A quick yank and the tent collapsed in upon itself. Hai moved forward and within moments the tent was folded into a tight bundle that was thrown across the back of one of the horses. Hai secured the tent with long leather straps and handed the reins of the additional horses to Kael and Eidyn.

“Shall we depart?” asked the Chieftain’s son.

“Absolutely,” replied Eidyn.

Time left Cefiz. His journey through the heart of Hdjmir erased all sense of it from his mind. He registered nothing but torchlight, virtually consumed by a darkness so palpable it clung to his clothing.

The silence was overwhelming. He never could have imagined how disquieting the sound of a guttering torch held close to one’s ear could be. Granu’s limp became more pronounced and his staff striking the stone floor boomed like thunder in the tunnel. Even Cefiz’s breathing seemed loud as the Guardsman huffed and puffed down the cavern. The pain in his chest built again.

Moments after they left Nostr and began their journey down the tunnel, the stairway on which they descended disappeared and was replaced by the irregular floor of this huge tunnel. The footing was difficult in the low light, but at least the cavern did not have rubble on its floor.

The duo traveled without speaking, allowing the slope of the tunnel to carry them forward. Cefiz guessed they toiled for hours, but had no real way to assess the passage of time. However, one thing was for certain. They did not descend the mountain as rapidly as they had ascended it. Humps and irregularities across the path caused them difficulty and the low light kept their pace slow.

Cefiz reasoned their direction to be somewhat south simply due to an innate sense that often proved itself trustworthy. However, part of him guessed that at some point their path began to angle to the West. If that were the case, and the Ulrog scribe was to be believed, they might be within the mountain for days before they came to an exit. Certainly if they edged even further west in their march, they would be passing almost parallel to the knife-edge of the Scythtar. Granu abruptly halted.

“We must rest,” said the Keltaran prince. “Going down can be as strenuous as going up and is certainly a greater strain on my knee.”

It was the first time Cefiz heard the giant refer to his injury as debilitating.

“I too must rest,” conceded Cefiz. “The stale air within this chamber leaves me wanting.”

Granu leaned his fading torch against the wall of the tunnel and carefully lit a replacement. The pack slung across his back was thrown to the ground and the giant quickly rifled through it, retrieving a small water skin and length of jerked beef. The Keltaran sat and tore into the beef. Cefiz imitated Granu’s actions and he too was soon munching on beef and swigging water.

“What direction do you think we are traveling?” asked Cefiz through a mouthful of beef.

“Southwest,” stated Granu staring into the darkness down the corridor. “I cannot say how this concourse was formed, possibly an underground waterway surged through this chamber eons ago, but it most assuredly has edged west as we have descended.”

“What are we to do when we are free of the mountain?” questioned Cefiz. “Return to Zodra?”

“I am unsure,” returned Granu, “but I am sure there will be a sign. As you yourself said in the death chamber of Awoi, it appears as if our choices have been provided to us.”

The pair continued to eat in the consuming silence of the mountain tunnel, each man equally preoccupied by his thoughts.

Granu’s memory turned to his childhood and life in Keltar with Fenrel at his side. Granu always led. He was older. It was natural for him to take the lead in front of Fenrel. Had he pushed his brother aside? Had the shadow he created as he achieved greatness eclipsed his brother from the favor of country and king? These were questions he never contemplated. Perhaps they were questions he ignored. Was salvation possible for Fenrel? Salvation was possible for all concluded Granu, but they must accept it.

Cefiz stared into the darkness of the tunnel and the image of a tattered, black cloak locked in the stony claw of an Ulrog Hackle repeated over and over in his mind. She had trusted and followed. She had seen the mistakes made by her father and herself. She determined to set them right. She did the honorable thing. Cefiz vowed to pass that information onto her father one day.

CHAPTER 10: STEEL RAIN