The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (34 page)

“His trackers must have reported to the great worm by now,” said Portlo.

“He will know our numbers,” replied Temujen, “but that is according to plan. We’ve given the beast enough pause to allow Hai to assume his position in the wood.”

“The Ulrog trackers scouted as far as a league south of our position. If Greeb has not discovered Hai, he believes our entire force is concentrated before him,” said Portlo. “He should have discerned his advantage, I question why he hesitates in his attack.”

“Orders,” returned Temujen. “It is the only reason he didn’t attempt to overrun us in the past. We’ve never afforded him an opportunity such as this, but there were times when he could have inflicted ample damage upon us. Always the Ulrog broke off the battle and returned to their mountains. Izgra waits and wants to commit only when they are fully assured of our destruction. Even now Greeb the Dead Eye cannot be certain his attack upon us will be totally successful.”

Portlo grimaced and stroked his chin.

“I require a fast horse,” stated the steward, “a very fast horse.”

Ader sat with his backed propped against the huge stone outcrop, his head tilted backward and his eyes closed.

“How can he relax?” thought Kael.

The boy stood near the southern edge of the rocks and peered toward the force spread across the plains. As time passed, flickers of light twinkled to life in the darkness below. Temujen’s riders were igniting torches and campfires. The lights danced like fireflies as riders patrolled in and around the camp.

One of the lights separated itself from the others and slowly wove its way north. Kael motioned Eidyn to join him and the pair stared hard in the direction of the light. The darkness enveloped all else and Kael remained uncertain of what he beheld.

“It appears to be a rider,” said Eidyn. “He carries a banner.”

“Portlo intends to wield a weapon more powerful than a sword,” said Ader from behind them.

The young men turned and eyed the Seraph. Ader’s eyes slowly opened and he stared at the stars above.

“The steward provokes the One Eye’s desire for vengeance,” stated Ader calmly. “He carries the banner of Astel.”

The young men snapped their heads about and locked eyes on the tiny flicker of light as it halted a hundred yards from the last known location of the line of growling Ulrog.

The warm southern breeze increased and whipped the white and amethyst banner of Astel over Portlo’s head. His cape too was caught up in the wind and snapped near the head of his rock steady Eru stallion. The banner was adhered to a long staff resting in his left stirrup and securely fastened to the halter of his mount by a leather strap. His left hand held the reins of the stallion. In his right, the steward held a burning torch.

Portlo dropped the reins and reached into a canvas saddlebag slung across the stallion. He quickly drew another torch from the bag and set it aflame. The grass grew thin this close to the Mnim and Portlo tossed the new torch to the barren ground. He produced a second and repeated the process a total of six times. All the while, the opening of the valley remained silent and the shadowy gray figures aligned across it barely moved.

Portlo strategically deposited the torches in a half circle about his mount. He sat illuminated by their firelight. The steward rose in his stirrups and peered into the darkness of the Mnim.

“Greeb the Dead Eye,” called Portlo. “In the name of the throne of Astel and as a representative of the Eru tribes and Derolian peoples, I demand that you vacate the Mnim Valley and return over the mountains to the frozen homeland where you and your Ulrog spawn were crafted!”

Roars and growls erupted from the darkness of the valley. The shadows before him shifted and moved, and the air filled with the pops and crackles of stone grating on stone.

“SILENCE!” roared a guttural voice over the din and the Mnim immediately quieted.

Portlo’s gaze adjusted to the source of the command. The torches encircling him made it difficult to penetrate the blackness beyond. Floating in the darkness above the heads of the mass of Ulrogs hovered a single, glowing red orb.

“And who makes such a command?” growled a voice from beneath the eye.

“I am Portlo, steward and protector of the throne of Astel,” returned the knight.

Only the sound of the winds buffeting the flames of the torches could be heard for a long moment, then the eye narrowed.

“I have seen the throne of Astel,” rumbled the voice. “It lies fractured at the foot of my master’s tower.”

Harsh laughter broke out in the Mnim but a sharp growl from the eye cut it off.

“A simple chair does not make a throne,” stated Portlo. “It does not matter what a king sits upon as long as he is capable to rule and others follow. The throne of Astel awaits its king, and it is my duty to protect his lands and possessions in his absence.”

“Fool,” laughed the eye. “A king must have power and power comes from control and conquest. Astel couldn’t hold her own lands let alone grow through domination and expansion.

“Any king rising to her throne would possess no land and find no countrymen to subjugate. Your remnants are an exiled people, forced to beg your existence from the ignorant hunters of the Derol. Be gone or I will ignore my masters, snap your bones and grind the horsemen beneath my claws.”

A low hum built through the ranks of Hackles as the threat of violence aroused them. Greeb let it build. Portlo sat steadily on his mount and stared at the floating red eye. Finally the hum dissipated.

“You made an attempt on my people once before Greeb and paid a heavy price for it,” stated Portlo calmly. “Do you dare commit such folly again?”

The glow of the eye intensified and narrowed to a slit. The only sound to be heard was the rustle of Greeb’s scaly wings as they shifted back and forth across one another. A low rumble started in the belly of the beast and through tightened jaws he cursed.

“Portlo, Steward of Astel. I shall remember that name and your weak human features. For when the time arrives, I shall make it my personal quest to tear your heart from your chest and show it to you as you die.”

The steward listened to the shifting of the great wings and noted the eye grow slightly larger. A clatter of rock and stone tumbling to the ground emitted from beneath the eye and the gray figures arrayed below shifted away. Portlo read the signs and knew it was time. He rose even higher in the stirrups.

“Be gone from our valley,” shouted the steward. “We give you until sunup on the morrow!”

The steward yanked hard on the reins of the stallion, turning him on the spot. He hammered the horse’s flanks with his heels and the mighty animal burst forward. A hatred filled roar erupted behind him and Portlo glanced backward to see the glowing red orb rise in the air for a moment then plummet toward the valley floor below.

Those Hackles too ignorant to make way for their master were crushed and skewered by his massive claws as he hammered their bodies to the rock below. Greeb raked at both the earth and bodies below him, propelling himself forward. Portlo’s stallion snorted in terror and raced away from the Mnim as the horse’s large brown eyes strained backward at the menace pursuing him. In a moment Greeb rushed through the half circle of torches, scattering them across the rocks. Sparks jumped from the skittering torches, rose in the night and rushed back over the heads of the roaring Ulrog on a stiff southern breeze.

“He flees from the valley,” exclaimed Eidyn. “I lost him in the darkness.”

“He is pursued,” said Kael pointing. “Look there.”

The pair witnessed the glowing, red orb charge the firelight. The form of Greeb illuminated for a moment, then disappeared into the darkness as well.

“A Malveel pursues Portlo,” gasped Kael in alarm.

“That would be Greeb,” stated Ader calmly.

The Seraph remained sitting. His back and head lay against the mammoth boulder that concealed the trio.

“Obviously Steward Portlo knew the proper cues to infuriate the beast,” continued Ader, “but we need more than an angry Malveel. We need the entire Ulrog army aroused.”

“The earth has burst into flame!” exclaimed Kael.

Greeb swept the flames of Chaos back and forth across the plain. The beast roared in frustration and cursed the name of Portlo. The human rode a fast horse and disappeared south into the darkness. This would normally not hamper one of Amird’s chosen. Greeb could taste the horse’s sweat in the air. The beast’s path was clear.

However, Greeb refused to be so easily baited. He commanded a thousand Hackles back in the valley’s opening. They were prepared to die for their master. He spun and crawled back toward the Mnim.

“Cortik!” roared the Malveel.

The Hackles standing before Greeb shifted and parted. Cortik and five other priests slowly descended a few yards toward Greeb, their heads held low. Their master’s one eye still pulsed with the power of Chaos and the entire line of Hackles stared at the Malveel in anticipation of his orders.

“They bait me,” scoffed Greeb more to himself than the assembled priests. “Why? They know we are a superior force, yet they attempt to draw us out.”

Greeb reached the priests and his lone eye surveyed them.

“I possess power,” thought the Malveel. “Yet I am ordered not to use it. These humans taunt me, yet I am not allowed to beat them down.”

His head rose and scanned the mouth of the Mnim. Countless black eyes peered back at their master. Eyes filled with conviction and hatred. Eyes prepared to go to any lengths to advance the cause of their lord and master. Why should Greeb hold now? The human fools handed him victory by attacking the Mnim. By annihilating them now, he would facilitate Amird’s return to this world. He would rise above both Sulgor and Izgra.

A deep strum sounded in the darkness to the south. Black eyes rose and shifted from the Malveel to the southern horizon. One lone red eye turned and joined them, attempting to penetrate the darkness. A low hum buzzed in Greeb’s ear as an object flashed past and slammed into one of his priests.

The Hackles broke into a deafening roar that even their master could not suppress. Greeb spun back to his priests and spied the form of a prone Ulrog with his black, oily blood gushing from a massive wound upon his head. The priests backed away and searched the night sky. The Hackles beyond created an opening around an object at their feet.

Greeb stalked past the priests of Amird and scanned the ground. There, amidst his roaring Hackles, lay the head of one of Slundoc’s lost trackers. Temujen’s sentries performed their duties as efficiently as always. Slowly Greeb’s scaly lips curled high above his black fangs in a wicked snarl. His lone eye filled with rage. His Hackles quieted.

“Slundoc. The disappearance of your subordinates is no longer a mystery,” snapped Greeb.

The tracker nervously lowered his head. Greeb’s eye swept the assembly.

“Kill them,” hissed Greeb. “Kill them all.”

The Hackles erupted and spilled past their Malveel lord out of the mouth of the Mnim and into the inky night of the Eru grasslands.

Temujen sat on his midnight mare staring toward the roar erupting from the Scythtar. Behind him, Derolian woodsmen quickly disassembled the makeshift catapult they had fashioned.

“Due to the Ulrog’s response, I fathom you were accurate with the device,” commented the chieftain over his shoulder.

The Derolians smiled and nodded in reply. Within moments, Portlo’s mount raced toward the assembled human force.

“Ready yourselves,” called the winded steward. “They will be on the move shortly.”

As if in response to his command, the angry roar from the Mnim tripled in intensity and washed across the grasslands of the Eru.

Ader’s head snapped forward and his eyes opened wide.

“They move,” stated the Seraph.

In a swirl of robes and limbs, Ader gathered himself from the ground and moved to the edge of the boulder. Eidyn and Kael jumped from his path and allowed him to peer around the rock. Over Ader’s shoulder Kael watched as hundreds of shadows streamed from the Mnim past Portlo’s ring of torches. Within moments the torches were obscured by the sheer density of Hackles pouring past the firelight. Sparks sprayed and darted through the flood like yellow jackets roused from their nest.

“We leave momentarily,” mumbled Ader as he peered at the rush.

Greeb turned and stalked toward the opening of the Mnim. A cold calm crept into a heart forged of molten rock. There was no need for his immediate presence. The priests of Amird would direct the Hackles and “motivate” them should they falter. Greeb would come upon the battle after its first major clash and determine where the fire of a Malveel lord was most needed.

He stomped forward raking the earth with his claws. He committed. There was no turning back. Never before had he used his full contingent of Ulrog against the humans. Never before had he completely abandoned the Mnim.

Again the question he dismissed upon the sight of the tracker’s head sprang into his mind. Why? Why did the Eru and their allies goad him into a battle with no chance of victory?

The sounds of the clash ahead rose and the clang of steel upon iron rang through the foothills of the Scythtar. Greeb’s blood rose and his lips twitched in anticipation. He fought hard to remain on task. He must think. However, screams of death filled the night and Greeb tasted the fear of battle on the air. Unwittingly, his pace quickened and the Malveel rushed from the Mnim toward the melee in his path.