Vegenrage: The Magic User (20 page)

The Swapoon Mountain Range to the north is so tall that all cloud cover blowing to the west is blocked, and the clouds drain all their moisture into the Swapoon floodlands. This is a thick, marshy land with thick grasses and large moss-covered trees all around. The earth here is saturated all the time, and the loose water is always draining into the Gwippen Uprising. The Gwippen Uprising sinks about a half mile down until the water is trapped in a bowl of impregnable rock that is heated from the hot earth below it. As the cooler water sinks, the heated water from the bottom rises, giving this half-mile-wide pool an uprising effect, and the excess water flows down, forming the Gwipps River. The northwest side of the Swapoon Mountain Range receives no waterfall, and an arid desert has formed, which swings down around the mountain range and ends where the Gwipps River meets with the Ugorian Highlands.

This is where Gripzon and his humanors intend to enter the Ugorian Highlands. The Gwipps River flows south through the Ugorian Highlands, and the elves do pay attention to the river but generally allow the humanors passage here. This is far from their kingdom, and they know the humanors hunt the floodlands for food. The fact that there are ten boats of swiftly moving soldiers may draw attention, but the humanors are moving by night, and their swift pace will hopefully get them to their destination without confrontation. Provided they make their first destination by early morning, they plan to rest and sleep until midday and then follow the map Bastrenboar has created especially for this mission.

The map is a well-designed map, and Gripzon is one of the leading commanders who have scouted this region with a handful of the humanors with him. They know where the elves mostly patrol and have a route to the northern tip of the elven stronghold. Gripzon and his humanors plan on leaving around midday, and they have nearly one hundred miles to travel in eighteen hours. The highlands are flat and easy to traverse, and provided they meet no resistance, they should reach their destination with plenty of time to rest before the morning charge on the Ugorian Kingdom.

In watching Lushantor run with his humanors and Rowgen run with his humanors and watching Gripzon and his humanors row and run, it is very noticeable the discipline and focus of these three armies. You can’t help but admire such a race so in tune with one another. There are no squabbles; there is no fighting among them. There is no complaining of hardship of any kind. They are all devoted to a final goal, and in seeing this, you can’t help but wonder what may be in store for the Ugorian elves. Just the physical challenge they accept before making an attack on a fortified kingdom is enough to make most envious of the physical ability of this young race. How have the elves been able to avoid this well-crafted fighting machine known as the humanors for hundreds of years?

The night is an hour deep, and Rowgen and his humanors have just taken their first magical elixir. They enter the Ugorian Forest, moving silently and swiftly using the night and the forest as camouflage as they move. It is amazing how their hoofed feet are absolutely silent. They move with great synchronicity about a yard apart nearly fifty yards wide, and they dart from tree to tree, absolutely silent, sniffing the air with their remarkable noses. When they move, it is quick and deliberate, then they pause for a good minute, looking, listening, and smelling. The patience they show is fascinating. They are hunting elf, and it takes nearly an hour before the first scent of elf is noticed.

The elves are oblivious to even the thought that humanors are in Ugoria, putting them at a great disadvantage. Rowgen is leading the way, and when he gets the scent, he stops, causing all the other humanors to stop. They quickly smell the scent, and they all stand close to the tree they are by and wait.

The elves have very good night vision, but the humanors standing right up to the trees makes their silhouette look like just an extension of the trees beside them. There is one elf patrolling the woods. He is not even a guard or a part of patrol; he is a lone elf named Gimstril. He is young and just working off his excess energy by exploring the forest, and this is unfortunate for him as he hears a strange noise on the forest floor. Unable to see what it is, he descends to the floor. One of the humanors notices him descend, and the elf heads right for him. When in range, the humanor thrusts his drawn sword right up through the chin of Gimstril, coming out the top of his head, ending his life before it ever got started.

The humanors quickly dig a grave and bury him, leaving no trace other than freshly dug earth that anything had happened here. They move on. It’s about two hours before they smell another elf, and this time the scent is strong. They hug the tree they are close to as they did before and hear the talking of elves as they approach. This is an actual patrol, twenty strong, and the hearts of the humanors start to race. The elves are moving through the trees, and they are talking about Gimstril. They know he has ventured into the forest and are looking for him.

“Gimstril!” one of the elves yells. “Gimstril, where are you?” The elves head north in their search, and this is good for the humanors since Gimstril lies dead to the east. The elves move on, and the humanors begin their movement east again, moving quietly and surprisingly all the way to Gosebek Lake without another run-in with the elves. They wash up and make sleeping blinds for themselves and go to sleep.

Gripzon and his army have rowed all the way to the desert and slept for about six hours, and now they are running along the mapped-out route through the Ugorian Highlands. This is beautiful country with high hills and scattered clumps of trees. It is vast, and vision for miles is possible here, allowing the humanors to scout their surroundings as they run. They continue to their destination with no elves in sight.

Cloakenstrike has slept through the night and most of the morning. He finally awakes from his much-needed sleep and calls for Bastrenboar.

Bastrenboar enters the tent. “Yes, Cloakenstrike.”

“For how long did I sleep?”

“It is almost noon.”

“So our armies are en route, and tomorrow morning the assault begins.”

“Actually, it has already begun.”

“True. In reality it has come, we must plan.” Cloakenstrike gets up and exits the tent, stretching his arms high in the air, and Bastrenboar follows. “I am so hungry. What do we have to eat? I smell a stew, and it smells delicious.”

Cloakenstrike follows his nose right to a large kettle hanging over a fire from a tepee structure, and a boiling broth with potatoes and carrots and celery and full ears of corn on the cob is just simmering away. There is deer meat in this stew as well. He gets a plate and scoops as much of the boiling goodness as he can onto a plate. There is a table with bread and utensils; he gets a fork and a piece of bread and sits on a rock and digs in. “Mmmmm! This is just what I needed.” Cloakenstrike eats like someone who hasn’t eaten in a day—and he hasn’t.

Bastrenboar is followed by his ten most distinguished fighters, and they watch as Cloakenstrike eats like a man getting home from a full day’s work with nothing on his mind but dinner.

“Please have a seat, eat. We have little time to relax, so let’s take advantage of it,” Cloakenstrike says, extending his arm out, holding a piece of bread, talking while he chews. He is very pleasant and sociable, and the humanors sit on rocks, forming a circle with Bastrenboar and Cloakenstrike. Some of them get some food and eat as well. Cloakenstrike dips his bread in the broth, soaking it up and taking big bites out of the big piece of bread. He is loving it. “This is so good. You really know how to eat.”

“Master Magic User Cloakenstrike, we appreciated your courtesy, but our minds are on the great undertaking we face in the morning.”

“Yes, what is your name?”

“I am Wilnoar.”

“Wilnoar,” Cloakenstrike says, looking over the ten humanors circling him. “It is true, tomorrow morning the twelve of us will enter the kingdom of Ugoria in its heart, the throne room of King Trialani. Once there, the fight for control of Ugoria will begin. Let me make sure there is no doubt in any of your minds. This is a deadly task we challenge, and if surprise is on our side, we have a chance for survival. Bastrenboar can hold the Snow Gold Trinket and return the humanors to their human form once again. Are you ten ready to face this challenge?”

Humanors always respond to challenge with vigor. “Master Cloakenstrike, what is this dome that we have spent the past week building? Why here, and what is it for?”

“And your name is?”

“I am Zifock.”

“Zifock, I have instructed Bastrenboar to have the ten of you construct a special barrier to shield our greatest power source that will aid us in our fight against the Ugorian elves. Has the structure been completed? It must have been layered exactly as I have specified. A dome of hardened mud covered by three feet of foliage then a two-foot layer of wood covered by more mud and then a four-foot-thick crusting of Glownted.”

Glownted is a metal similar to lead. This is a very soft metal, almost pliable by hand. It is a very neat metal; it is like clay, soft and can be pulled apart by the very strong, but it does not break or splinter. It stretches and holds together like a piece of bubble gum being pulled from one’s mouth and wrapped around a finger. It is very stretchy and soft and has wonderful concealing ability, and this is why it has been layered outside of the dome structure.

The twelve head into it after a very satisfying meal. The twelve enter the dome, which is set off the camp near a patch of woods. The dome is eight feet tall and just wide enough to give the twelve of them a little walking room when they are all in there. A door has been formed, just a little bigger than the entrance and is pulled over the entrance, fitting snugly, creating a completely enclosed structure.

Cloakenstrike looks around.
Yes, yes, this is perfect
. He shoots laser lights of blue, red, gold, and brown from his fingers. The humanors duck. “Do not worry. There is nothing harmful in this.” He follows, shooting small balls from his hands, which ricochet along with the laser lights throughout the structure. “Yes, this is perfect. You have done wonderfully in creating this structure that will allow us to plan and coordinate in complete secrecy. Nothing and no one will be able to listen in on us, and nothing will be able to recognize what I am about to reveal to the ten chosen humanors right here.”

Cloakenstrike has the ten humanors, Bastrenboar, and himself stand in a circle, and he waves his hands over the earth in the center of them, chanting magical words, and the ground starts to rise up, forming a three-foot mound with a bowl at its top. He reaches into his Bag of Holding and pulls out the magnificent Octagemerwell and sets it on the earth in its brilliant glory. The eyes of the humanors widen, and the green jewel can be seen reflecting in their black eyes. They feel the power of this one of a kind magical object tingle through their bodies but cannot harness the magical ability of it. Only someone as great and knowledgeable as Cloakenstrike can do this. There may be only a handful outside of the elven race that can handle and control this gem, and Cloakenstrike is one of them.

The dome acts as a shield reflecting the magical energy of Octagemerwell within it, so its presence is not felt outside of the dome. Still Cloakenstrike works fast, taking no chances that this power will be felt outside of this gathering. He starts to pull armor from his Bag of Holding and hands it out to the ten humanors. This is a beautiful golden armor fused with Tintyganium. This armor can block sword strikes and prevent penetration by most elven arrows. It is surprisingly light, and the humanors proudly adorn themselves with this. They have chest-and-back plates and ruffled shoulder pieces that flex as they move, with plates that cover their outer biceps. They also get plates that cover their large leg muscles. The humanors look mighty strong and certainly not to be messed with, and as if they are not already proud enough, Cloakenstrike pulls from his Bag of Holding swords that almost bring them breathless. Cloakenstrike hands each humanor a long sword with belt, and they fit the belt to their waist, and each draws the sword fixed, gazing upon these ten unique swords glinting and shining red and brilliant silver.

“Cloakenstrike, what are these?” asks Xylaboar.

“These ten swords are identical. They are Lavumptom swords. They have been exquisitely crafted by none other than Oriapow, the father of modern Erkensharie elven magic.” Cloakenstrike explains to the ten humanors how he has, over time, collected Lavtonium, Vullumptom, and the finest chrome steel to be used in the crafting of these one of a kind, magnificent swords. The swords are four and a half feet long, and that is just the blade, which has wide but thin hilts, giving the sword’s perfect balance. The handles are made of soft Rosepilst wood but tight and secure. They are capped on the bottom with a magical stone, the Sky Jewel. This jewel fixes the sword to its owner, and this is the first time the swords have ever been held. Once in the hand, the jewel fixes the blade hilt and hand as one; and now, for the duration of the life of the humanor, the sword they own can never be held by another hand, or it will disintegrate. Once the humanor dies, the sword will disintegrate as well.

The Sky Jewel on the bottom of the sword is amazing to look at. It looks like moving sky with clouds in it. Although the gem is fairly small, it is amazing and is the magical source of the sword. The magic of the Sky Jewel is powered by the life force of its master, and the humanor are very strong indeed. The blade of the sword has a vein of dark red running right down the middle of them. This is the Lavtonium metal that has been fused into the Vullumptom, mixed with a hint of chrome steel, which extends out, forming the razor-sharp blades on either side of the sword. The tip is so sharp it can penetrate metal.

Oriapow has used the elven magic to fuse the three metals together so they can work in harmony. The blades grow hotter and hotter the longer they are in contact with anything other than the magical sheathe that secures their wonder. The blade of the swords never dulls or chips or cracks because the Lavtonium heats the Vullumptom and steel, and it always maintains a perfect razor edge, always. The Vullumptom allows the swords to cut through any wood at all with ease. The swords make a beautiful
sssshhhhiinnnkk
sound as the humanors return them to their sheaths.