Armies of the Silver Mage (33 page)

“Father, we have a chance to end this war now, before it comes to our lands. If my displeasing you is the price I pay to save our people, so be it.”

His father dismissed him with a bitter wave. “Go then. Do as you will. Leave me now.”

Celegon closed the door behind him and fought to keep the tear from breaking free.

* * *

“Where do we go from here?” Delin asked.

He felt stronger. The good food of the Elves put meat back on his bones and cheered him greatly. There was a magic about Elvanara he wished was everywhere. His biggest concern was in Fennic recovering. They’d heard no word since the healers took him away, a day ago.

Hallis rubbed the fresh stubble on his chin. “North, past the Thuil Lake and the end of the Gren Mountains. There will be enemies about, but it is less guarded than the passes south.”

“That’s if the Elf king allows us freedom,” Scarn reminded with a scowl.

He was trying his best to fit in, relieve some of the suspicion and maintain the solitary attitude of a ranger of Averon. Perhaps he tried too hard. He knew they watched his every move. It was as if they were waiting for him to reveal his true purpose. Scarn was jumpy in the tree city. One wrong move and his future ended. He suddenly regretted speaking.

“It serves no purpose to keep us,” Norgen spat. “We are not the enemy.”

Delin turned from the conversation. It was the same they’d been having since they became guests. He looked out the window, down the soft fern covered ground where children played.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Hallis,” he admitted. “I can feel the world constricting on us and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

The old soldier walked over and laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t speak of such things. There are many leagues ahead of us and none know the future. Hope,” he paused to touch his heart, “hope lies in here. Never forget that, Delin.”

The door opened without a sound and Celegon entered. A troubled brow marred his handsome face. There was a new weight on his shoulders.

“Our healers say young Fennic is improving, though by no magic of theirs. He is still ill, but out of danger for the moment. It’s actually quite remarkable. The sword must be staving off the infection,” he told them.

“Is he well enough to travel?” Hallis asked. He hated to sound cruel, but time was against him. Winter’s Day was fast approaching and he had a feeling that whatever was going to happen was going to be on that day.

“Aye, but not fast or hard,” Celegon said. “My father has agreed to let you go as soon as the boy is moveable. As I said before, my men will be with you.”

Norgen nodded thoughtfully. “That should make for interesting company.”

The Elf prince looked down on him quizzically.

They were ready within the hour. It was all faster than Delin liked. Being here among the Elves helped him remember a happier time. Back before the notion of traipsing around the world really formed. He desperately wanted to see his family again, Tarren most of all. Leaving Fel Darrins the way they did was wrong. He knew that now. The madness of it was passed and he felt glum over what his parents must be feeling. He had just finished saddling his horse when he stopped and stared at Fennic.

The boy crept towards them on unsteady feet. Color was returning to his face, but the horrors he’d endured would forever scar him. They helped him on his horse and pretended as if nothing was wrong. He mumbled his thanks to each of them and let Hallis lead his horse. The small band began their trek out of the Elven haven. There were no crowds, no spectators to see the heroes off. Not even the once mighty king looked down on them. The last image they saw was of children playing in the ferns.

Winter’s Day was eight days off.

FORTY-FOUR

A pale, shapeless fog covered the land. Tarren held out her hand but still couldn’t see it. The heavy cloak she wore did little to stop the chill from seeping in. She shivered atop Ris Kaverling as the Centaurs marched on. He often spoke with her, keeping her company and taking her mind off the winter. The harshness of Shadom Gein lay behind them and was already a dwindling memory. They’d seen things that no one ever should and lost two friends in the process. Tarren almost felt sorry for the Goblins pursuing them. Almost. Their screams would forever haunt her dreams.

The deep chill penetrated to her very bone and it took a concentrated effort not to let her teeth chatter. She focused on why she was here. Why she even left Fel Darrins in the first place. It was all for Delin and Fennic. She’d left home nearly a month ago and didn’t feel any closer to finding them than she did when she left. All of her adventures amounted to nothing. Despair tried stealing her will and everyday was a struggle to avoid it.

Tarren rode on. She remained grim set and determined to save her friends. Only the Fates knew what was in store. She felt miserable more often than not. Her one moment of happiness came from Ris and his friends. She almost cried when he told her how they’d met Delin and Fennic some weeks prior. They didn’t know where the boys were headed, but it was enough for Tarren to keep hope.

Ever since she left home Tarren felt pulled in a certain direction. First it was the pony in the forest and then by the conversations with the Centaurs. Fate clearly wanted her to be more than she imagined. Thoughts of turning home didn’t even enter her mind anymore. She’d come too far to turn back. Deep down inside she knew Papa would be proud of her.

The smooth sound of water lapping at the shore brought her from her thoughts. She shivered even more as the wind howled across the water.

“What is this place?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice from trembling.

“Thuil Lake,” Ris replied. “This was once a wondrous place, full of life and cheer. The mages and their greed ended all that. There are stories of villages along the shore that were wiped out during the war. I have seen some of the ruins. Strangely, no ghosts haunt this land. There is a great void. Nothing grows or lives. There is nothing but emptiness from here to the ruined fortress.”

“Ipn Shal,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, “the ancient home of Mage kind.”

He said nothing more for a time, for the way was laden with dangers. The mages had set up protective wards in the surrounding countryside and it would do them ill to run afoul of one. Plenty of folk lost their way in these parts and were never heard from again. He silently prayed the way Dakeb taught him was still clear.

“You’ll be leaving once we reach the castle, won’t you?” she finally asked him.

“I’m afraid so. There are more Goblins threatening our village. My people will have need of me if we are to survive,” he told her with a tinge of sadness. “Take heart, Tarren. You have friends where you least expect it. The one awaiting you is more dear than you could imagine.”

She was confused. “Who is it? I’ve not even spoken a word to anyone but you since I left home. I haven’t met anyone else.”

“You’ll see,” he chuckled. “I have a feeling all will be explained once we reach Ipn Shal.”

Tarren grew flustered. She knew he wasn’t going to say anymore and that bothered her. She felt he knew the answers to her questions and wasn’t telling her.

“I wish you didn’t speak in riddles,” she sighed.

“And I wish I could tell you more, but I have been sworn to secrecy. I can only tell what I am allowed. Trust me, please. That’s all I can ask. It may not seem like a smart thing at the moment, but it will work out,” he tried to reassure her.

“Very well. As long as I have no choice. I promise, no more questions,” she submitted.

They rode on. The air grew slightly warmer as they moved away from the great lake, though it was hardly enough to take away the chill. Tarren tried to ignore the situation and enjoy the ride. Then a thought struck her and she decided to ask.

“Do you suppose we’ll ever see each other after this?”

Ris smiled, but she didn’t see it. “Who can say? I’ve never been so far south as your village. I can imagine the stares from your folk as we rode into town. Ha! Perhaps I just might find my way south once this war is done. It would feel good to stretch my legs on the southern plains.”

Nothing seemed to bother her after that. Calm took her. Delin and Fennic were out there somewhere and she was going to find them. It was that simple. The rest of the world was a minor consequence.

They finally caught sight of the massive ruins just before dusk. Bulky and ruined, the mass of Ipn Shal eased into view. She understood why they claimed it to be great. Massive buttresses and towers pierced the sky in challenge to the gods. Marble statues and intricate fountains littered the courtyards. Tall windows of every color let the light in from every angle. There were libraries and studies. This was where the mages did their work and honed their skills. All before the darkness, before the war.

Fires had gutted the keep, erasing the good committed through the years in the span of a single night. Some said you could still hear the screams if you listened at just the right time of the night. Ruined gargoyles, once the untiring and fearless protectors of the keep, stared down mockingly on the lonely band seeking entrance. The drawbridge was down, but was partially rotted away and spanning a muddied moat whose water had long since dried up. The magic of Ipn Shal was gone. Empty windows watched the world pass with-out concern, for they were broken and black as the dark of hearts. Tarren shivered. They stepped onto the drawbridge.

A man came out of the shadows. He was smallish and imposing at the same time. His shadow was large and hulking. Tarren didn’t understand, for the sun was already beyond the horizon. She couldn’t see any part of him, but he was familiar somehow. He waited for them to enter the courtyard.

The Centaurs bowed as the man slowly removed his hood. Tarren stared into his deep brown eyes. She found them faded and abused from time. He was neither too thin, nor too fat. He had shoulder length hair that framed a wizened face. Time and the elements dried his skin out, stretching away the fat and marking it with rough looking lines. He stared back at Tarren and smiled.

“Hello again friends,” the old man joyously said. His voice was strong, with a slight rasp.

Ris reached out and shook his hand. “It hasn’t been so long, though the way was perilous. It is good to be here.”

“Come,” the old man said. “Let’s get inside. The snows will be here before long. Let’s take that chill off before you get sick.”

Tarren, having dismounted, simply stood and stared at the odd man. He seemed to notice this and smiled even deeper.

“My apologies, Ms. Brickton. Solitude often makes me forget my manners. I have many names in many languages but you can call me Dakeb.”

Smells of roasting meat and stewed vegetables laced the air. A large fire burned in the corner of the chamber. Dakeb whistled as he pulled a loaf of fresh bread from a makeshift oven by the fireplace. He seemed pleasant enough to Tarren and she found herself relaxing. This was the first time she’d been able to do so since leaving Fel Darrins. She listened as he started and forgot conversations as he saw fit.

“I know the past few weeks have been strained and arduous for you, and I would truly love to explain everything,” he told her.

She groaned inwardly. “But you can’t?”

“Oh no, no, no. I know much more than I wish to. No Tarren, I’m simply expecting more guests tonight and don’t want to repeat myself. I know it’s not exactly polite of me, but once you’ve lived as long as I have you find yourself settling into old habits. Don’t mind me if I start talking to myself from time to time,” he said with a wink. “I do hope they arrive before the storm hits.”

He stopped rambling long enough for a mouthful of venison.

Late in the middle of the night a small band of riders circled Thuil Lake and presented themselves to Ipn Shal and the lone mage. Tarren and the others were already asleep, despite her strange desire to meet these other people. Dakeb alone greeted his guests. Two of them stared back in disbelief. The world was long and wide, holding many secrets and wonders, yet none so great as the meeting at the drawbridge of a place on memories spoke of.

FORTY-FIVE

Most of the fires had been put out. The rest smoldered and cooked among the scrub brush and saplings. A third of the camp’s tents were ruined. Ash and soot coated the ground, polluting the snow with a repugnant odor. Those men not needed on the line were immediately ordered to begin cleaning up. Steleon feared subsequent assaults while the army was distracted with cleaning the mess, but it was a chance he was going to have to take. Dead bodies meant disease. As it were, the field hospitals were already over-flowing. Too many wounded had to stay outside in the cold. And too many would be found frozen to death the next morning. Steleon shook his head ruefully. This had to end soon, he thought. A foul mood fell upon the defenders. The army of Averon balanced on the silver edge.

“I’d almost forgotten how disgusting this business is,” Maelor said as he walked up to the fire Steleon stood by. “How many years do we lose from this madness?”

“Too many, sire,” Steleon replied without looking at him.

They stood in silence for a moment. Neither man wished to think about the next attack. Both of them worried about the forces they’d secretly begun sending across the river. If things went awry, four thousand men were going to die without help.

Steleon sighed. “I’ve seen worse. We both have. Men die. The sun sets and rises. It’s just war, my king. Our focus needs to be on winning this next fight. We have to time it just right, or else…”

He let his words trail off. There wasn’t need to speak them. A runner came up just then, out of breath and sweating. He bowed to the king and saluted Steleon.

“Sir, the last units from Commander Melgit’s force has finished the crossing. They are getting into position now,” he reported.

Steleon smiled inwardly. “Very good, son. Go and get yourself something to eat. I suspect it’s going to be a busy day.”