The Ghost Of Eslenda (Book 1) (2 page)

It seemed to fill his head with joy, he smiled, blood at the edges of his mouth. He saw visions of victories, spoils of war and the homage of thousands for him. He even saw so far as the defeat of the Daerlan and the death of Navir by Tag Makk's own hammer. The taste in his mouth was sweet.

"Menaloch, help me defeat my enemies. I will do whatever is necessary for the strength to crush those who oppose me."

A pain pierced his head. His blood pumped hard in his breast. He fell prostrate in front of the black carving.

He lay there when the Warlords found him. They dressed similar to their Overlord; robes and head dress to protect against the sand and heat, bracelets and necklaces of gold, their hammers in their sashes. Their belts weighted with the finger bones of their enemies.

"Overlord? Are you ill?" asked one. "Should we call for a peptic?" They all laughed.

They nudged him with their feet. He rolled over, looking up with shaded eyes. He did not seem to recognize them.

"Shall we stake him out for the dawn to claim?"

"Nay, a dagger from one of us."

"Who shall have the honor?" asked a Warlord.

"Hardly an honor," said another.

"Let's all strike together," said the first speaker.

Tag Makk rose to his feet, his eyes glowed afire. The Warlords stood mute. He raised his war hammer and killed the nearest and then another before any of them moved. He paused and realized none of them were moving. Why? Are they frozen in place? He touched one shoulder but the Warlord did not respond. He waved his hand in front of the Warlord's eyes. Then it became clear to him. He glanced back at the Menaloch carving and grinned. He took his time killing each of the remaining Warlords. He cut off their hands with their rings and tattoos of rank. These he bound together and with the black carving, he returned to his tribes.

In the years that followed Tag Makk's war hammer cut down his enemies, strengthening his control on the tribes and lifted the Turuck people to new heights. Their culture flourished as they assimilated the people they conquered. The Turucks never doubted their Overlord again. Tag Makk ruled hard but well. The Menaloch whispered to Tag Makk continuously and one day it spoke to him of Daerlan.

The taste of blood and sand filled their mouths and true Turuck warriors reveled in it. It gave volume to their voices and speed to their limbs. The blood lust pushed them onward. The great war hammers smashed into the helmets of the Penarol soldiers like so many eggs, killing each instantly. Each blow thundered, muting the dying cries of the Penarols. The next wave of defenders came to take their places, shouting and swinging their curved blades, but they too, died. The black robed Turuck army moved swiftly over its foes routing them as easy as picking flowers. The remaining defenders turned and raced to the walls of the city. Their sandals kicked up waves of sand as they fled like the whitecaps in the surf. But the desert men did not dream of the surf. The white flag appeared on the city wall deep in the night and a great cheer rose up from the Turuck soldiers. Their leader, Tag Makk, grinned and waved his bloody hammer in the air.

The Turuck Overlord stood a head taller than most Turucks and the strength in his arms knew no equal. The last thirty years he spent conquering the desert cities. His army now reached but fifty miles to the sea. He had never seen the sea. Sometimes when he dreamed he heard the crash of waves, but he told no one. Desert men do not dream of the sea.

Slowly the host rode forward to the walls of the last free city. The great stone walls crumbled and failed before the onslaught of the Turucks who raced like shadows through their opponents. The Penarol army was crushed and the survivors were hunted down and executed. There were few remaining who could attempt to raise a sword to defend their city, but it was too late. The Turucks' night attacks had unnerved the Penarols and the enemy seemed to appear out of the very shadows around them.

The broken gates welcomed the Turucks into the Penarol capital. Tag Makk rode in at the head of his great army, savoring the moment. His huge figure towered over his warriors. His clothes, loose fitted breeches and a sleeveless shirt were covered with a travel stained cloak. His hair was pulled tightly back and tied in a long dark ponytail. His Daerlan features flickered in the light; the slender tipped ears and the narrow cheekbones. However, his skin burned black in the centuries the Turucks dwelt in the desert darkness. He raised his mighty hammer, his hand adorned by a single ring, and all bowed to him. The torches burned low in the town square and most of the Turucks stayed to the shadows. But the power of Tag Makk withstood the torchlight. He looked at the dark windows of the buildings seeing empty souls waiting his command. His generals were already urging him to continue northward into Masina and Eslenda, but he would make them wait. Only he would decide when to strike again. He wanted to enjoy the sack of the city and the leaders of the Penarols begging for his mercy. He would enjoy that. Crowds of people huddled around their doorways to glimpse the conqueror as he took their city. Tag Makk was known throughout the southern lands as a night beast, a creature without mercy, but the people had nowhere to go. They would see if Tag Makk had any mercy in his body. His soldiers lined up a group of Men then pushed them to their knees. One remained standing and a sword lopped off his head. There was no sound in the square.

The huge man dismounted where the Penarol leaders waited on their knees. Tag Makk grinned at the six Men in the dirt before him. He shouted to the people of the city. He shouted to his men. Then he raised his war hammer and brought it down, and one by one he crushed the life out of each man. He waved his bloody hammer to the night sky and the Penarol people fell to their knees. His servant, Machel, shouted and the Turuck soldiers ran forward to despoil the wealthy city.

The golden casket was carried forward and set before Tag Makk. He closed his eyes, listening to his master's commands. Machel watched the beaten citizens and they stared at him. His bluish skin was a curiosity in the desert, as was his short copper hair and eyes. He waited for Tag Makk to finish and then led him to the great house where Machel had setup quarters for his lord.

Shadow Runners moved through the city killing anyone with a weapon. They ignored those who had given up but all resistance was crushed. In the Merchant's Hall a man stood waiting for them, dressing as a noble, graying hair tied behind his head, he held two swords and beckoned the Shadow Runners to join him in the dance. The arrogance of the Shadow Runners diminished as the first three fell at the man's feet.

"Is that all you have?" asked the man. "I've had better students who were half your size." They rushed him and the man's sword danced and sang and drank deeply.

Two more Shadow Runners fell in their own blood. The man breathed harder but still smiled.

"The desert has made you slow. You fight as children. You should have sent your best swords. Best hurry now, the dawn comes."

Soon a dozen more Shadow Runners joined their comrades and the man recognized the inevitable. Still, his swords sang as he rushed them.

Later, soldiers dragged the man to Tag Makk. The man was not a Penarol, but his clothes were made of fine cloth and his weapons were oiled and polished. The man was badly beaten and Tag Makk's Shadow Runners would not do that unless the man put up a fight. By the damage they inflicted the man must have been a fierce fighter. They dropped the man before their lord and bowed.

"Where did you find him?"

"In the merchants' hall," said Salie, one of the Turuck warlords. He was the first new Warlord chosen when Tag Makk returned from the desert with the Menaloch. Salie was short for a Turuck but broad and muscular. His long black hair fell in two braids.

"He fought with two swords and killed ten Shadow Runners before he fell. Ten Shadow Runners! I never saw such a fighter. His skin is fair so he must come from Eslenda."

"Do you lie to me? This man killed Shadow Runners?"

"It is so, my lord."

"Eslenda? Do you come from Eslenda?" Tag Makk's common tongue, while heavily accented was actually quite understandable. The man tried to raise his head to look at Tag Makk, but he collapsed. Machel nudged him with his foot.

"He will not speak now," asked Machel. "Shall I kill him?"

"No. There is no hurry. Lock him up somewhere. Put a guard over him and call me when he awakens. I would hear about this fighter from Eslenda from his own mouth."

Tag Makk sat on his platform while the people of Penarol bowed before him and swore obedience to the Turuck Overlord. He watched each one and looked into their eyes filling him up with the power of victory. Perhaps he would choose a new wife from this city. He desired children again; his last ones grew up and started their own lives. A father can be proud and he would be again. He would tell Machel to keep an eye out for his next wife.

His evening nap was short. Machel came to him shortly after nightfall to tell him the Eslenda fighter had regained his senses and took some food. Tag Makk grinned at the prospect of talking with the stranger. There were so few who would tell him the truth. The stranger would assume he was a dead man thus freeing his tongue. He was curious how an elderly man could best his Shadow Runners. The mark of the Menaloch was upon them. It would be nice to hear an outsider's opinion of his fighters. It would be a good evening.

The stranger was sitting in the corner eating stale bread. His eyes followed Tag Makk into the room. The stranger was much older than Tag Makk expected. His long silver hair was loosely tied behind his head. His face was red and puffy from the beating he received. He had killed ten Shadow Runners of Turuck. Ten who had the touch of the Menaloch. Tag Makk decided right then not to kill the stranger.

From his sword skill to the frayed but elegant clothing, Tag Makk concluded the man was nobility from Eslenda who had not been home in some time. The Overlord smiled as he noticed the heavy ring on the man's hand. The rumors had a bit of truth in them after all and it was coming together into a story worth recalling.

There were few swordsman of such skill and age and the Menaloch had dropped him into the hands of the one who could use him to full advantage. Tag Makk knew him now. The man was renowned for his blade although he was rumored to be dead. Well, not yet. Tag Makk sat in a chair provided by a guard and the golden box sat at his feet.

"I hear you fight well," said Tag Makk. The man remained silent but still watched his host. "You appear older than I might have imagined from the reports I received. How is it you have left Eslenda to come to me?"

The stranger looked away.

"Your prowess with the blade is not unknown to me, Sir Norman."

"You know who I am?" There was concern in the man's eyes and his diction was still precise despite his wounds.

"Yes. Why you hide with the Penarols is nothing to me. The intrigues of Men hold no interest for me. Your kingdoms fall to dust soon enough. What you can teach my soldiers will reward you greatly. We are masters of the war hammer but the sword will add a needed dimension to my army. Do you have an interest in training my men?"

"Perhaps. Are you going to invade Eslenda?"

"Eventually. I am in no hurry at the moment."

"But you will strike there?"

"I will. It appears to be the next logical step after Masina. And Liannest after that," he spoke the last aloud but to himself.

"I will teach your soldiers if I may fight alongside them."

"Ah, Sir Norman. My soldiers will be the finest in the world. We shall sweep your king from his throne."

"He's not my king," snapped Sir Norman.

"Ah, I understand usurpers. Will you crave the fatal blow to King Henry yourself?"

"If it's convenient."

"So proper. Will my soldiers need to learn the courtesy of knights? I'm afraid that will be a bigger challenge than teaching swordplay."

"As you say, but it is central to the training."

"My army is greater than any in Eslenda. Perhaps I don't need you after all. We will overrun them without your help."

"Perhaps, but your losses will be great. Your army will be much reduced and may not be able to hold all your conquests. Which ones will Tag Makk surrender?"

"I do not surrender!" Tag Makk's voice crackled with power and the golden casket seemed to murmur.

His soldiers cringed and waited for the deathblow. The stranger laughed but the sound was thin and did not grow in strength.

"Rely not on strength alone. The deceits of smiling courtiers have brought death to many fools. I don't believe you to be a fool, Tag Makk. Do not even trust me."

"Believe me, Sir Norman, I will not." Tag Makk grinned. "I know you were the favorite nephew of King Robert and might have had the Eslenda crown yourself, but for the deceits of your brother Richard, who then proceeded to lose the crown to Henry Islen. Richard was a coward, who ran at the sight of Henry with a sword. You would not have run from Henry, but your brother had already exiled you. I have heard all the stories from Eslenda, and I know that you would stop at nothing to kill King Henry and reclaim your birthright. But know this - I will use all the weapons I have to crush my enemies. I want the world at my feet."

"And the Daerlan?" asked Sir Norman. "Do they figure into your plans?"

Tag Makk did not answer.

"I know the Turucks and Daerlan to be kin. Is there a need to strike at them? They will fight different than the soldiers of Eslenda. They use.."

"I know how they fight!" snarled Tag Makk. "Do not lecture me! We will see to them after Eslenda falls. I dreamt of their fall for centuries." He spoke to himself. "Let it come soon."

"What is in the gilded casket at your feet? An idol? A special jewel for luck?"

Tag Makk glared at the swordsman. The murmurs in his head stopped. His expression softened. "Would you like to touch it?"

"I already hear the whispers from it. There is darkness there that covers you and your people. I can see how it twisted you into night creatures. I have no desire to touch it."