Armies of the Silver Mage (41 page)

King Maelor casually walked up to them, an ash bow in his left hand. “Save the decorations for those soldiers out there.”

He dropped his bow and walked to where the remains of the amulet had fallen. He had a grimace of disgust when he picked up the cursed jewelry. An uneasy feeling coursed through him at the slightest touch. He felt as if the Silver Mage was staring into his very soul, stealing the warmth. Maelor handed it off to the nearest soldier.

“Take this to the smithy and have it smelted and poured into the river. It is an evil thing and I’ll not have it stain my lands again,” he ordered.

“I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it,” Ordein told him as Maelor rejoined them.

Maelor offered a weak smile. He was as worn down as the others but knew he couldn’t let it show. “Years of hunting excursions and a hard task master when I was growing up are to thank for that. I’ve spent more time on the archery range than I care to recall. I think this just might be cause for celebration.”

Ordein said, “I like how you think, king. Let us discuss the future over a pint of beer.”

Steleon shook his head in defeat. Recollections of drinking with Norgen disturbed him and he had no desire to repeat the performance with his brother. Besides, there were more pressing issues at hand. Melgit and the cavalry were still running down the enemy and if they got too far from the main body there was the potential for disaster, especially among the boulders and crags of the foothills.

The whoosh of fresh flames hit before the actual fires burned into the retreating Goblins. The dragon was taking revenge and in a cruel way. Thankfully, Melgit had ordered a halt and even now formations of riders were doubling back away from the combat zone. No one had the desire to see even their enemies flamed alive.

“Sire, I believe we’ve won the field. Do we now follow the remnants of their army back into Gren and end the threat for good or do we trust that a small band of heroes can actually defeat the Mage?” Steleon asked.

Maelor placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the carnage around them. A great sadness welled inside. So much death and chaos and for what? One man’s greed. He wanted nothing more than to plunge his father’s sword into the Silver mage’s cold, dead heart.

“See to the dead and wounded. Give the men rest for a day. They earned it. Break out the ale and mead. But no one is to get drunk or I’ll them flogged for it. We are still at war, my friends. Set the picket lines and bring the camps forward. I want all field commanders in the tent in two hours.”

“My Dwarves will take the front lines,” Ordein volunteered. “We’re the most rested and ready for what might come in the night.”

Maelor nodded. “Thank you.”

The group broke up, each going their different ways. The sun was dropping by the time the commanders assembled for Maelor. A little at a time, the soldiers from Averon, Harlegor and the Bairn Hills settled down and relaxed. The tension and anxiety remained, as it would for days to come. Many fell asleep the moment they sat down, too tired to even enjoy the king’s ale. Up in the mountains, the orange glow of the dragon’s hell continued.

Alone at last, Steleon dropped onto his cot and stared at the tender flames in the fire pit. He placed his head in his hands and cried for all those lost today. He suddenly felt very old. The weight of his days bore down heavily on his tired shoulders. Graeme reentered his thoughts and haunted him with his bravery. He’d been only a boy, and should have been home with friends and family. Not out here. He wasn’t the only one, Steleon lamented. Somewhere out in the wilds were Delin and Fennic. Images of the boys being tortured and killed tormented his mind. For the thousandth time he wished he hadn’t let them go so easily. A guard entered with a bowl of stew. Steleon wordlessly took the bowl.

He knew then what needed to be done. Finished eating, he gathered himself and went to the king’s meeting.

“Ah Steleon,” Maelor said. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”

He agreed after a moment of silence. “Yes, sire. It has indeed.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Ordein offered in casual dismissal. “Though that wyrm was nearly the end of us. You have a fine army. It just my axes to get you moving again. Ha! I name you Dwarf friend, Steleon. You’ll forever be welcome in the halls of my people.”

Steleon smiled back. “I’d be more than happy to take you up on that offer once this business is finished. But we have much to do before the end.”

Melgit and a dark haired man of middle age entered the tent just then and all eyes turned to them.

“Sire, this is Lord Flonish, captain of the Harlegor cavalry,” he told those assembled.

Ordein eyed the newcomer skeptically. Dwarves had a natural mistrust for horsemen. Steleon clasped Melgit’s hand with a genuine relief.

“Glad to see you made it through,” he told them both. What are our losses?”

Melgit shrugged. “They’re manageable. We lost a few hundred altogether but are still in good shape. A lot of horses went down and broke their legs when the dragon attacked. That’ll give you more infantry at least.”

Flonish agreed. “This little war of yours is proving costly. There is a decided lack of interest across the world. Antheneon refuses to get involved and my kingdom is already stretched thin. We’ve heard rumors of smaller kingdoms joining forces with Gren and have been forced to double the watch on the southern borders. But my men are here to see it through. What is the next step?”

The truth in his first statement was painfully clear. Only three nations rallied to fight the Silver Mage. Three out of more than a dozen. Steleon doubted it would be enough.

“I don’t think anyone understands the seriousness of the threat this time. We cannot afford to fight a war on two fronts. This battle here nearly finished us,” he said. “We have to find a way to end the war now, before they regroup and strike again.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Maelor as he warmed his hands on the fire.

“Is there any choice? This is our best chance at invading Gren, while their armies are in full retreat. Strike now while we have the advantage,” he replied with a cold voice.

“Go into Gren?” Melgit exclaimed. “I don’t think you understand what you say. No one here has ever been to that foul land. We would be effectively blind and at a disadvantage. This puts the army at grave risk.”

“We are in grave risk to begin with,” Steleon bit back. “Remember that we are not the only ones going to Gren.”

Only Flonish looked confused.

“As much as I’m inclined to agree with you, we need to assess the situation more carefully. The weather is already changing. I believe a storm in coming in from the east. Mountain crossings are dangerous enough in good weather. But to do so in a winter storm is suicidal. Even if we do make it through before the storm hit, we’ll be cut off in Gren and without follow on supplies or reinforcements,” he told them.

Many heads nodded in agreement.

Steleon said, “Sire, we need to do something to help Hallis and his group. They are the only ones capable of winning this war for us. Let us take the armies and create a diversion so they can reach Aingaard and put an end to the Mage once and for all.”

The idea was less than appealing, but they knew how important that tiny group of insurgents was to winning the war. Maelor knew he had to give them every chance for success. It was the only way.

“Sound the call to march,” he said in a measured voice. “We go to Gren. This is a momentous occasion for all our peoples. Not in a hundred years has a combined army gone to war. I leave the details to you. Gentlemen.”

They rose and bowed as he left them to their war games.

Steleon turned to Melgit. “I want scouts out immediately. Have them sweep the plain all the way to the edge of the pass. Take nothing for granted. The enemy may be regrouping as we speak. No one rides alone either.”

“I’ll handle it,” Melgit replied. “We’ve already got roving patrols out. Redirecting them won’t be an issue.”

Flonish folded his thick arms across his chest. “Let me know how many men you need. We will cover down.”

“And I suppose there’s no place for my Dwarves in all of this?” Ordein growled in outrage at being excluded.

“On the contrary,” Steleon said. “We have need of every able bodied soldier. I just as soon keep your forces consolidated and near the front just in case the Goblins return.”

Beaming with pride, the Dwarf lord exclaimed, “now we’re talking. I’ll lead the march all the way to Aingaard myself.”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Steleon cautioned. “We have five days until Winter’s Day. Can we make it in time to stop the Mage?”

“Depends on the weather,” Melgit replied. “It’ll take four days to gain the Nveden Plains if the way is clear and we’d be ready to fight by that afternoon. I don’t think we’ll be able to move any quicker.”

“That doesn’t leave us much time.”

“It’s the best we can hope for,” Melgit answered.

* * *

Locked in the security of his inner sanctum, Sidian paced restlessly. Unanswered questions torments him greatly. The strain of maintaining the war and his spells was wearing him thin. And now the defeat in Averon added to his misery. Sharp pain racked his bony frame, forcing him to his knees as he screamed in horror. Not even his command of magic was enough to stop the pain. He lay writhing on the floor for over an hour before it stopped. He knew then that his plans for Averon had failed. The dragon was free from his spell and wreaking terrible havoc on the Goblin army.

Sidian cursed Jervis Hoole and his incompetence. The army was broken and his greatest asset was lost. The path into Gren lay exposed. He didn’t doubt Maelor would wait long before coming. It was inevitable. As depressing as that seemed, Sidian had a greater concern. The final shard was in Gren and coming to him. Plots and counterplots at work in his mind; Sidian finally pulled himself from the floor and opened the door for Spendak.

The warrior eased uncertainly into the sanctum.

“I have a task for you,” Sidian croaked out. “You will personally lead a company to the town of Greeth and awaited our enemies. The enemy has passed the swamps and made it past your soldiers. You will be awaiting them when they arrive. Once you have them in your possession, take their weapons and bring them back to me alive and unspoiled. Go now and do not fail me.”

Spendak bowed curtly and was gone. The danger was increasing and he worried about the stability of Sidian’s mind. More than once he considered running a sword through him and being done with the whole affair. Perhaps King Maelor would accept terms for surrender. Either way, the hourglass was draining on this whole, horrible affair. The end was coming quickly.

FIFTY-THREE

Heavy winds slashed mercilessly across the barren Nveden Plains. Dust and ash hammered into the tiny band, forcing them to huddle together. Darkness had settled in, though in comparison daylight wasn’t much different. The smell of death permeated the air. An occasional rotten corpse lay in a ditch or crevice. Such was the land of Gren, and they wanted nothing more than to turn around and go home. Dakeb, of them all, frowned in sorrow at what was once a beautiful land. His guilt knew no limits.

The village of Greeth lay less than an hour away. Smaller than either Feist or Alloenis, Greeth was Gren’s second largest city. The disorganized rows of buildings were primitive at best, most with broken doors and cracked walls. Few buildings had windows and the ones that did were fragile and shattered. The villagers were mostly men. They were the last remnants of the ancient Grelnor. Goblins and other foul creatures preferred the dark caverns running underground and in the mountains. Tales of cannibalism revolved around the broken village.

“And we’re going there why?” Norgen asked accusingly once Dakeb finished speaking.

Dakeb sighed. “Circumstances have changed. Time is running out. If we continue to slink across the plains we’ll never reach Aingaard in time.”

“What are you saying?” Hallis asked. A familiar prickling itched his skin. The last time he felt such was back in the Gren pass before he was ambushed.

Celegon added, “we never discussed this course of action.”

“Because there is no time for a debate on the matter. The longer we spend arguing over the finer points of how to go about what needs to be done the further from the goal we are. I have my reasons for keeping my own council. You, Lord Celegon, of all people should understand the burdens of leadership,” Dakeb shot back. His voice was uncharacteristically heated.

“So now you’re our leader in this merry little adventure?” Scarn scoffed.

Tarren passed him a sideways glance laden with disgust. Her fears and misgivings towards the man grew each day. She knew he was going to try something foul soon but couldn’t prove it.

“Mind your tongue, ranger,” Norgen spat, finally fed up with human bickering. “I haven’t seen you do much of anything since joining us, not even when your brothers fell that first night.”

Scarn drew his sword. The Dwarf crouched low and readied to attack.

“Enough of this!” Dakeb snarled. “Do not for one instant allow yourselves to be fooled in this. We must all unite for the darkest hour, lest the enemy steal his victory. This is the most dangerous time for us. Think of those men fighting on the Thorn River. Their blood is buying us precious time.”

“You’re planning on letting us get captured, aren’t you,” Hallis quietly asked.

“It’s the only way. I wish there were some other way to get there, but even cannot make miracles happen,” he replied apologetically.

“What’s to keep them from just taking the crystal and killing us on the spot?”

Dakeb answered, “it’s too risky for him. Sidian won’t feel secure unless he see us in defeat and destroyed by his own hand. Either choice is a grave risk for us. The potential for failure is great, but there is no other option. It’s the only way we’re going to get into his fortress of Aingaard in time to stop the ceremony.”

An uneasy silence settled over them. Each was forced to struggle with their personal demons and darkest thoughts. Only Scarn found no trouble with the plan. In fact, he couldn’t have asked for things to turn out better. He was finally going to be free from the Hooded Man and his visions of bitter promise. Scarn didn’t even care if he got paid or not anymore. He just wanted done with the deal so he could put it behind him and never look back. After all these long months, hope took purchase.