Armies of the Silver Mage (25 page)

Scarn rubbed his throat. His only chance for survival lay in finding that damned stone and discovering how to use it before the Hooded Man. Even then he wasn’t so sure.

* * *

Morning arrived to the sound of trumpets and clarions announcing the arrival of the last units from Paedwyn arriving to the battlefield. The army of Averon was fully deployed and taking up positions west of the river. Catapults and ballistae were being hastily constructed by the royal engineers. Companies of infantry were sent to find stones and suitable ammunition for a prolonged battle. Great supply trains stretched an entire league towards the camp. Cook fires spread the promise of roasting deer and elk. Aside from the impending invasion, it wasn’t so bad a place.

Hallis led his own small column into the encampment with a grim look in his eyes and his head held high. Behind him rode Delin and the others. They had finally returned. Bumped and bruised from the ride, Delin stared down at the expansive plain with eyes wide open. He’d spent most of his youth dreaming of epic struggles against the night. And here he was looking down on an army tens of thousands strong. He stared into the faces of the battle hardened veterans and scared recruits and realized he never had wanted to be in such a place.

His thoughts turned to Tarren and a great longing filled his heart. Only recently did he discover how important she truly was to him. It pained him every time he woke up and when he went to bed. What a fool he’d been to run away from home and join this adventure. Right now he would have given anything to see her smile one more time.

Fennic, on the other hand, was quickly becoming enamored with the war and the Star Silver sword. Never the one for adventures or the stomach for a war, his every thought seemed bent on it now. The ease with which he slew the Gnaal went to his head and the sword filled his dreams with greatness. Something mysterious lurked in the corners of his dark eyes, troubling his mind to great ends. He kept it to himself, waiting until the moment was right to tell his friends. Until then, Fennic Attleford kept his demons to himself.

“This is just one of three camps we’ve established along the river,” Hallis told them.

Norgen scoffed. “No doubt the enemy will strike here first.”

“Don’t forget that pesky dragon,” Jin laughed.

The Dwarf shot him a scowl but kept his tongue.

They spied the command tent with relative ease and rode for it. Guards armed with sword and shield ringed the enclosure. A burly sergeant with a silver beard casually walked out to greet them. Norgen subconsciously fondled his own beard. All around them the organized confusion of the army camp noisily went about its preparations.

“Hallis you old goat farmer,” laughed the sergeant. “I thought they killed you a long time ago.”

Sliding from the saddle, Hallis shook his friend’s hand. “I haven’t met one yet that can do it proper. Good to see you Roln.”

“Steleon told us to expect you and the new heroes of the realm. Word of them has spread to every cook fire for two leagues up and down the damned river. Most of us think we got a pretty good shot at winning this thing. There’s even rumors of marching into Gren after to put an end to this once and for all.”

Fennic’s eyes grew wide with the fear of his plan being discovered.

“A bit premature for my tastes,” Hallis replied. “We need to win here first.” He paused to take in the added security around the command tent. “This can’t be all just for us?”

Roln laughed even harder. “You always did take yourself too seriously. No. Steleon feels the enemy has spies running in the army and didn’t want to take a chance. The Men of ancient Gren march alongside the Goblins and Trolls, they say.”

Norgen yawned. He enjoyed the casual banter between warriors as much as the next man, but he was tired and hungry.

“Seeing there’s no foe to cleave, I’d like a bite to eat and a mug of ale,” he told them. Truth be told, he hated riding horses as much as fighting Gnaals and it showed.

Roln laughed again. “Don’t fret, Master Dwarf. We’ve food and drink aplenty. Let’s take care of your mounts and see about filling your stomachs before Steleon discovers you’re here.”

One hour and a good pipe later, they pushed away from the table and stretched and yawned. Not even midday and the skies were darkening. Passing soldiers saw this as a bad sign and made wards to protect themselves. Steleon, being a warrior all his life, recognized the danger and ordered huge barrels of ale to be opened. Older and wiser men knew the real reason and it did the trick. The camp was saved from demoralization.

“I wonder what it’s going to be like,” Fennic said to Delin. He had intended on stopping eating after his second plate of roast pheasant but couldn’t help it. It was too good to pass up and reminded him of home.

Delin just looked at him and shook his head. He was afraid to find out now that he was here.

“This is very exciting. The battle. The war. I want to know, Delin.”

Delin eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not the person I knew back in Fel Darrins. I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

His words were harsh and not altogether unexpected, but Fennic did his best to take them in stride.

“It’s Phaelor, Delin. I can feel it changing me, folding me into something I never wanted to be. What’s worse, I think I like it,” Fennic told his best friend.

Delin shook his head and silently wept for his friend.

And so it was few people saw the lone rider in purple and black with the horns of an elk emblazoned on his banner ride into camp. He’d been riding for nearly a week to deliver an important message to the king. After tonight, he could return with the answer.

THIRTY-THREE

Fennic walked along the river bank watching the sun rise slowly over the jagged peaks of the Gren Mountains. The sky was alive in shades of orange and red, appearing as if the very underworld had opened up and unleashed hell. That was exactly how Fennic felt. A fever raged deep within his innermost mind. Too many dark and wonderful thoughts collided to torment him. He’d barely been able to sleep.

The top of the sun poked over the highest crag and he was suddenly reminded that his birthday was just two weeks away. Eighteen years old and already a man. Winter’s Day was fast approaching and would normally be cause for celebration in Fel Darrins. This year he saw no reason to celebrate. Not even his birthday was cause to ease the trouble in his soul. He raised a hand to shield the sun’s glare. Then it came to him. An unspoken whisper in shadows of his mind. Fennic knew what he had to do. It was the only way.

He knew there was simply no way to slip in to Gren alone. He needed friends. Fennic clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked back to the tent. His mind fumbled over the right words to convince the others of the importance of this quest. In the end it wouldn’t matter if they said yes or no. Phaelor would not be denied.

Handfuls of stragglers and volunteers walked or rode into the three main camps throughout the day, steadily building up the numbers. Most had little or no formal military training and were sent to the reserves. Steleon ordered instructors to go over the basics with them. He hoped it was just enough to keep them long enough to matter. They were farmers and shopkeepers, peasants without land claims. They were the very soul of what Averon had come to be over the long course of its history. Many a mother and wife were left behind with tears in their eyes. Others chose to come along to see their husbands and sons sacrifice themselves if need be. They cooked and cleaned for the troops, selflessly giving to the men who defended them. Steleon was careful to keep them away from the regular army. They could ill afford any distractions at this point.

Tolis Scarn was in one of the last groups to arrive. He was hooded and carefully disguised on the off chance someone recognized him. After all, he was unpopular in many lands. More than one ruler had put a price on his head and that made him an inviting target for would be mercenaries and bounty hunters. He was spending more time running for his life than working to fix things these days.

So when the Hooded Man came to him one night after heavy drinking with a sinister proposition it didn’t take much convincing. Now here he was. He’d been tracking the stone for almost three months and was almost right back where he started. The closest he’d gotten was in Rellin Werd but all he found was the empty cairn. The Hooded Man was increasingly becoming agitated at his results and now he was in the middle of a war. Lady Fortune seemed to have abandoned him completely.

A sergeant came out to the assorted rabble barking orders and asking questions. Those with weapons experience were herded to the right while the rest were sent back to the reserve compound to get what training they could before the enemy arrived. Scarn and a group of experienced men were marched over to one of the newest recruit regiments for integration.

Half of them were already bloodied, having served with Sergeant Hallis on his way back from the western lands. They were almost legendary by now, for no one had ever slain a Gnaal. The meager band suddenly found themselves a focal point for the army. The quiet heroes in shadows remained Delin and Fennic. The common man’s friend and role model. Most of the recruits were much older than the boys. A sigh escaped Scarn upon seeing them. He just knew he was going to die here. Yet there was a strange sense of determination in him. Tolis Scarn settled down and eased himself into his new role as a soldier in the armies of Averon.

* * *

Melgit watched with minor interest as his cavalry drill on the vast plain. He was normally enthralled by the sleek tactics and the thunder of hooves, but the precision held no joy for him this day. He was tired of war and seeing friends and subordinates fall. Nightmares of Gren Mot continued to plague him. He did his best to put them in place during the day but he also knew Steleon wouldn’t hesitate to relieve him on the field if he showed adequate reason. Melgit was convinced the only way to exorcise the demons was by leading his men back into the fray. His cold, blue eyes were shrouded in pain and de-termination.

Most of the others were already assembled in the command tent by the time he arrived. His eyes sparked when he noticed the ragged man with a travel beard dressed in purple and black. Graeme stood off by the map pointing and talking excitedly. One of the boys sat off by himself fondling an extravagant sword. Another was with Hallis and the Dwarf. Melgit had heard most of the stories by now and was hardly impressed. Too many of his comrades lay dead for him to care much about a pair of boys from some distant village few had heard of.

Steleon came from one of the smaller side tents dressed in a dull and dented set of training armor. Young Jin was with him. Neither said a word. Everyone watched as the bearded man got up and followed Jin from the tent. Questions raged throughout the tent and only Steleon had the answers.

“Our scouts have reported enemy movement at last,” he said in a low grating voice.

“The dragon is nowhere in sight, but the threat is too real to ignore. The army of Gren has recovered from the sting at Gren Mot and are moving down through the pass. The Dwarves have not come and no other land has sent troops to our aid. The hour grows dark yet hope still flickers. Come forward, Fennic.”

Awkward with addressing a group of people, even ones he was familiar with, Fennic slowly made his way to the middle of the tent. He slowly wrapped his hand around the hilt of Phaelor and drew the ancient and mighty weapon. A gasp went up from those who hadn’t seen it before. Even Steleon was impressed.

“This is Phaelor, the star silver sword of legend. How it came to me is a tale in itself and I will not go into details here. It has been my guiding hand for weeks now, pulling me towards whatever destiny the Elves created it for.” He cleared his throat. “Only recently has it become clear to me what I need to do. I must take the sword to Gren and destroy the Silver Mage. There is no choice.”

Silence dominated the tent. Graeme stood with his mouth agape. Disbelief stung his eyes. Steleon rose slowly. He had a vague notion of why they were there, but this went beyond those assumptions. He didn’t expect a task so dire.

“Foolishness!” spat Melgit. “You’re but a boy. Barely old enough to join the army. Surely we don’t expect to put the fate of Averon in his hands? I don’t care if he holds the cursed sword or not. No child can do what great armies have failed to.”

Steleon held up a staying hand. “You forget, he is the Gnaal slayer. I won’t judge him by his age. There are many strange powers in this world. Who are we to decide what is clearly beyond us all?”

“All Averon is at stake,” Melgit argued.

“Calm down, Melgit,” Steleon warned. “Let them speak.”

Hallis stood up and eyed them with a stern gaze. “I am no prophet nor scholar, but I know strength when I see it. This boy almost single handedly killed the Gnaal where a company of men could not. If his path leads him into the foulness of Gren he shall not go alone.”

Melgit rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious. I’ll have no part in this. Trusting our land to a mere boy!”

“No one is asking you to go,” Steleon replied. There was a hushed urgency in his voice. Sound traveled far at night and this plan was too important to be heard while still in the fledgling stage. Several spies and infiltrators had already been caught and hung. He wasn’t willing to take the chance of discovery.

“You were summoned here for your knowledge of the dread land, nothing more. All I ask is you remain silent to everyone outside of this council. The fate of all us now rides upon secrecy. As far as Fennic’s youth and inexperience, well, anyone capable of slaying a demon of Gren has earned the right to risk his life in the name of us all. I will not hinder the quest.” He paused to eye Fennic softly. “What support I can lend, I will. You have my word.”

“This is all well and fine, but I’ll not let the glory of victory fall solely on Men,” Norgen growled and moved to stand beside Hallis. His heavy battle axe rested on the ground.

Delin let out a long, controlled breath. He was as afraid of uttering his next few words as he was with the troubles in his heart. “We’ve been friends for a long time, and a real friend will stick by your side through the good and bad. Besides, you’ll need someone to look after you properly along the way.”