Armies of the Silver Mage (24 page)

Summing up his courage, Steleon went back inside and joined Hallis next to the fire. “How are we going to survive this?” he asked suddenly.

Hallis was staring off into the long reaching darkness. “With men like Graeme. He has fight in him.”

“And Fennic and Delin,” Steleon added.

“Yes sir.”

He clapped his hand on Hallis’s shoulder and nodded. “I hope you’re right. Now come, we have a war to plan.”

Steleon turned to those assembled and said, “gentlemen, tomorrow I ride back to Paedwyn to inform the king. Melgit, your men stay here for the moment and I need you to come with me. You and young Master Graeme. The army will deploy to the banks of the Thorn River and make its stand there. Every available man will move in three days. I think the Silver Mage will consolidate his forces before moving on the lowlands.

“Begin the defenses immediately. Fynten was a good friend and I will not let his death be in vain. Whether Harlegor, Antheneon or the Dwarves come to our aid or not, we will make a war more terrible than Sidian’s darkest nightmares. There will be no retreat. The very life of Averon depends on our actions. Our war starts today.”

“Sir, I wish to remain here,” Hallis announced. “I should have been there with my friends. It’s the least I can do to stand the watch now.”

There was a gleam in Steleon’s eye. “I may have to promote you if you keep this up. Master Graeme, I offer you the chance to go home to your family. After what you’ve endured, I believe you have done more than your share. Go home and live a good life.”

“It would dishonor what they died for, sir,” Graeme said with all the courage he could muster. I’d like to stay until the mage is defeated.”

Steleon eyed the boy appraisingly and liked what he saw. “Very well. You are hereby ordered to spend the next week with you family. I can’t see the enemy arriving before then. Report back to Captain Melgit or myself. You’re going to serve as my aide for the duration of the war. Now go and get some rest. You have a date with the king tomorrow.”

Fighting back a smile, Graeme saluted and left.

“Take care of that one, Melgit. He’s a good lad,” Steleon said.

“I’ll treat him like my own son,” the cavalryman proudly said.

Fennic’s sudden yawn reminded them all of the hour and provided enough motivation for them to wrap up their discussions and head to bed. Emotions were heavy and many a man wept himself to sleep. Two thousand friends had paid a horrible price for them and there was revenge to be had.

* * *

Hard winds whipped through the city streets, howling round every corner. No one strayed outside unless they absolutely had to. Winter crept closer with a heavy hand. Pasty gray clouds filled the skies, threatening heavy snows. The very air was thick and menacing. Winter promised to be especially cruel this year. Atop the tower where his private study was, King Maelor felt a hundred years older than the day prior. Steleon had returned at midday with a small compliment of men and news of their defeat. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, though Maelor had hoped they would hold out longer. Averon wasn’t ready to fight a full blown war yet.

“A dragon,” he whispered, hardly believing his own words. “What chance have we against a dragon? Gren Mot was ancient, carved from the spine of the world. Paedwyn was hand built over the course of a decade. This dragon of his will send us all to ruin and slavery.”

Steleon stood quietly contemplating the future. He’d been over all of this information before. “Sire, it isn’t inconceivable to kill one of the wyrms.”

“I admire your determination, but we must face reality. Averon is finally at war. Send out heralds to every hamlet, city and village. Have them encourage all single men of fighting age to come and make the stand. I think married men would appreciate being left alone to care for their loved ones before the end.”

“Do you truly believe our fate is already sealed?” asked Steleon. Simply accepting defeat was too hard for him to swallow. “Remember young Graeme.”

“Our fate,” Maelor began, “is under extreme distress. The next month is going to see the future revealed. And as much as I’d like to see the heroism of this boy, all I can see is a prisoner set free to deliver a message.”

Neither spoke for a long while. The prospect of living under the cruel hand of Gren was all too real. Generations of growth and society threatened to be destroyed under a rain of fire. The Silver Mage was too powerful. Unless… Maelor shook his head. No. His allies were not coming. He wondered why the other kings and stewards couldn’t see it. Averon was but the first target. Then would fall Antheneon and Harlegor. The Elves were all but memories and the Dwarves were trapped in their dark caverns.

Maelor suddenly remembered days when he’d play and pretend to beat back hordes of Goblins in the name of justice and right. Those were innocent times, now long lost. He wondered how his father managed to balance peace and war after the brief civil war in which he assumed power. Now he feared he wouldn’t get the chance to find out.

“Tell me your plans,” the king finally said.

“Word has already gone out to the army to head for the banks of the Thorn River. Hopefully we can be in position and ready to defend before the armies of the Silver Mage come down from the mountains.”

Maelor raised an eyebrow. “And how long can we realistically hold them on the eastern bank?”

“Sire, we have fifty thousand men, with more coming daily. I believe I can hold them at the river for the duration of the winter,” Steleon answered confidently.

The king wasn’t so sure. He liked his commander but doubted his confidence in this matter. Of course, Steleon hadn’t told him everything. He hadn’t told him how many able troops Gren was throwing at them. Hadn’t told him their barbarous intent and the nature of the Man who led her armies.

“Let us hope the river doesn’t freeze,” Maelor said. “Though I’m sure you have something in place to counter that.”

“Naturally,” the charismatic warrior said with a sly smile. “They may get a few battalions across, but no Trolls or heavy siege machines. Make no mistake, Sire, this will be a costly war. Tens of thousands will die regardless of the outcome.”

Maelor moved to his window and stared out at his kingdom. The world was coming down on him and he was powerless to prevent it. A thousand men must have stood in the same situation during various points of time, there was nothing special about him. The only difference he found was that he knew it. He was just another man in a long history of men. No one would remember his name in a thousand years. This was the deciding point in his life. There wasn’t much he could do to prevent it, or affect the outcome. The thought of his people dead and his great city in ruins ached his heart greatly.

“Very well. Move the army. Take as many as you need,” he finally conceded. “I don’t want word of the disaster at Gren Mot circulating. Panic is going to hurt us more than the invading army. This is a delicate time. One mishap and our world is lost.”

Steleon had no reply.

Outside, the wind howled even harder.

“I fear it may not be soon enough,” Melgit replied.

THIRTY-TWO

Word of the invasion spread much quicker than Maelor had hoped. Wagons laden with household possessions streamed past Paedwyn day and night. The poorer families walked while the richer enjoyed the fruits of their wealth. Either way, no one wanted to be anywhere near the capital when the enemy arrived. Emissaries and scouts from Gren were already moving through the lowlands spreading word of the impending doom. The people started to panic.

Merchants and traders stopped in Paedwyn on their trek westward, spreading rumors and creating an overall commotion in the city. Maelor ensured that word of the war was passed down to every street and alley; giving people time to decide their course of action. The fall of Gren Mot and Sidian’s dragon were ominously left out.

Army units mobilized and a long cycle of deployments began. Winding columns of cavalry and infantry passed from the garrison to the east. Locals and passersby stopped to watch the brave men march off to their deaths. The soldiers held their heads high and sang battle songs to lift their spirits. A chorus of shouts and cheers of encouragement followed them into the plains. Colors and pennants waved overhead.

“We might stand half a chance if they fight half as well as they parade,” Norgen said from the walls one day. He exhaled a thick plume of smoke.

He and the boys had spent the majority of the last week running petty errands and collecting gear and provisions for themselves. Steleon’s assurance that they were going to be as far away from the actual fighting wasn’t good enough to rest on. Weapons were in short supply and smithies were working overtime to meet demand. More people were being hired as a result. The local economy was beginning to boom, much as it did at the start of every war.

Fennic said, “Averon is a strong land. I may not know much about hot to fight a war, but I’ve seen enough in the last few weeks to know strength.”

“Strong or no, it takes more than a desire to win a war. Goblins are poor fighters but they can crush you in numbers. That’s what is going to happen here,” the Dwarf replied. “Not even the power of my folk can turn this tide.”

“Will they come?” Delin asked.

Norgen shrugged. “Who can say? We have little trust in Men or Elf. My king is wise and powerful, but have little in the way of trust.”

He clapped both of them on the shoulder and laughed. “Who can say what the future may bring? I, for one, can’t wait to sink my axe into some Goblin meat.”

With that they left the walls in search of a their last decent meal before joining the ranks tomorrow. The Thorn River was calling, and with it, war.

* * *

The midday sun was hot for the onset of winter. Winter Day was only two weeks away and Tolis Scarn still hadn’t recovered the purple stone or found the thief, Dakeb. He knew the Hooded Man was growing more displeased but there was little to be done. Finding one man in all this madness was nigh on fruitless. The longer the search took the more he wanted to quit the job and move on to something more lucrative. Then again, Scarn had never left a job incomplete. In fact, this mission was slowly becoming personal to him. He had every intention of finding Dakeb and making the old man suffer. The thought brought a smile to his leathered face as he rode through Paedwyn’s gates.

Crowded as the streets were, it took him surprisingly little time getting to his favorite inn. They even had a room open for him. Scarn flipped the rough haired boy a copper to take care of his horse and bags. He’d normally do it himself, but something about the boy reminded Scarn of himself so long ago. Back before power and greed corrupted him. Smirking, he snatched a hasty meal without ale and stalked to his room. He was tired and needed to rest.

A familiar evil rushed at him upon opening the door, clutching him in its grip and dragging him inside. The door slammed shut. Scarn hung immobilized a foot off the floor. His muscles tenses and spasmed, surging with raw power. Struggling to reach his weapons. Darkness seethed and pulsed in a the middle of the room.

“I grow tired of you,” the center of the darkness rasped. “Winter Day is almost upon us and you continue to fail me. Perhaps a more lethal demonstration of my power is required?”

“You’ll have your stone,” Stone said in a ragged breath. “I just need more time.”

“Time is a luxury you do not have.”

Scarn’s look defied the evil. “Why don’t you find it yourself if you’re so damned powerful? Or are you afraid of the stone?”

The intensity of the spell faltered briefly.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid of what this stone can do to you. Ha! All this time I thought you were in control. Fate appears to have a different course of action, eh? You need me more than you think. Now put me down so we can talk like civilized men.”

Scarn knew he held the upper hand and planned on taking full advantage of it. A smug look on his face, Scarn slowly dropped to the floor. He suddenly saw untold treasures coming his way and decided to press his luck.

“Why is this stone so important? If it makes you so afraid what will it do to me if I touch it?” he asked.

Dark vapors swirled around the Hooded Man, once again concealing him from prying eyes. His body heaved with aggression beneath those thick robes. “The stone,” he began, “holds a magic more powerful than your mortal life can comprehend. It is a living being in itself, incapable of destruction.”

Scarn’s curiosity rose. “Then why should I give it to you? I’m thinking I should keep it for myself and start a brand new empire. Can you imagine the chaos?”

“You forget your place too quickly. I’ am not so helpless as you believe,” the Hooded Man snarled.

“Then why not collect the stone yourself?”

The mists swirled and flared out, seizing Scarn by the throat and squeezing hard.

“Do not presume for one instant that my reluctance to touch the stone will prolong your life. Men like you are cheap and easy to come by, Tolis Scarn. I could snap my fingers and have a dozen more ready to take your place.”

The mists relaxed their grip and dissolved.

“Remember that the next time you decide to feel important.”

Scarn fell to his hands and knees, eyes bulging and gasping for air. He wanted nothing more than t lash out at the man and it took a concentrated effort to keep from doing so. The Hooded Man, whoever he was, was more dangerous than Scarn had been led to believe. Salvaging his pride, Scarn forced himself off the floor.

The Hooded Man retreated to the shadows again and continued. “I have discovered the identities of those you seek. Farmer’s sons from an obscure village in the western reaches of Averon. They are hardly free from their teens and travel in the company of a Dwarf. My spies tracked them here, to join the campaign more likely. Do not let them succeed. Find them, follow them for as long as necessary and take the stone. No harm must befall them ere you take what I want.”

The mists swirled and then he was gone.

“Do not fail me again, Tolis Scarn,” a voice echoed softly.