The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (24 page)

Yulenth watched in horror as Desprege's skin began to dissolve into the jelly of the demon's mass. Desprege went slack, and floated as muscle and tissue began to slough away into the translucent goo that was Lah'ugh'gloth's body.

Desprege's clothing and shoes blackened and dissolved into the creature's body as though they had suddenly, very quickly aged centuries.

Desprege's face pushed through the goo. Yulenth could see that the poor man's skull was completely dissolved in the back and empty. A bony arm extended from the gelatinous mass. Lah'ugh'gloth's voice spoke from the dead man's shining, liquefying face.

"Come and join me, Yulenth of Glafemen," the face of Desprege said. "I offer you complete understanding. All the wonders you've ever dreamed of will be answered."

With a bellow of terror, Yulenth turned and cut at the oak door with his sword. He could hear Lah'ugh'gloth squishing behind him.

Yulenth hacked at the splintering door with all his might, then he threw his shoulder at the door as it exploded in wooden shards.

Yulenth threw himself through the shattered oaken door. He scrambled to his feet, backing down the dark, stone corridor.

"Now, now," the voice of Deifol Hroth echoed from the shadows. "You have done exactly what he wanted. You have broken the door that has kept him confined in that room, Yulenth. Now he is free."

Yulenth felt his way down the inky, stone corridor. A rumbling made Yulenth pause. Bricks began to shift and slide.

Yulenth ducked as large stones fell from the roof.

"Do you like games?" The Lord of Lightning spoke from the shadows. "The elves had a favorite, Search for the Hidden." Then Deifol Hroth's laugh echoed and faded through the changed and remade corridors of the citadel.

Yulenth heard Lah'ugh'gloth squishing out of his prison.

"Oh dear, oh dear," the monster muttered to itself.

Yulenth felt his way along in the dark, away down into the unfamiliar, refashioned labyrinth of the Depths of the Citadel, with a demon on his heels.

Halldora watched Yulenth disappear into the mist for only a moment, then she turned her horse, the horse laden with Caerlund's body, and the horse heaped with elven swords and shields followed.

"Who was that?" A ragged, human soldier with a scar across his nose challenged as he ran up.

"Peace," Halldora said. "I am Halldora Queen of the Northern Kingdom of Man, and I bear sad tidings."

"I know who you are," the soldier sneered. "But who was that who just went into the deadly mists? No friend of humanity would voluntarily enter in there." The soldier rubbed the scar on his nose. "Unless, he was in league with the Dark One." The soldier turned and ran towards the human encampment.

Halldora just shook her head and turned her horse to follow him. The two pack horses followed with a jerk of their heads as the rope lead pulled tight.

The human encampment was home to just about every surviving human left in Wealdland who wasn't a reian. The last three moonths, the remnants of the human armies that fought at the Battle of Byland migrated to the Valley of Syrenf with the intention of ousting the Dark Lord from his citadel.

The first attempts were awful mistakes, with platoons lost forever to the vile shroud that surrounded the evil edifice, attacked and consumed by the mutated garonds that hid in the blinding mists.

More and more humans came from every part of Wealdland, except from the Green Hills of Reia, with the understanding that they needed to attack and expel Deifol Hroth before his numerous garond armies traveled across the New Sea to his defense.

But there was no leader. No Kellabald. With the death of Alrhett, Queen of the Weald, the loss of Wynnfrith, her daughter, to a quest in the Far Grasslands, and the disappearance and presumed death of Arnwylf, heir apparent, the wealdkin were leaderless and left to the mercy of the political squabbles of the Lords of the Weald.

The Northern Kingdom of Man had lost their king, Haergill, over a year ago. His daughter, the Princess Frea left with Wynnfrith on her quest. And with Halldora, Queen of Man, off traveling with the elf, the Kingdom of Man was left to the violent assertions of the Athelings, the nobles of Man, none of which would support the other. The High Atheling, Apghilis, had proved himself a traitor and was killed by Arnwylf in the Battle of Byland, and so the Northern Kingdom of Man was a rudderless ship.

And, the other nations resented the arrogant violence the Northern Kingdom of Man had visited on their lands before the garond invasion. So, few lower level leaders obeyed or listened to Halldora's commands.

The men of Kipleth had Derragen of Pelych, the Archer, as a respected general, but their shattered nation, decimated by the garonds first incursions into Wealdland, left the people  no more than a shard of its former glory.

The race of Glafemen, brought nearly to extinction by first, a war with Man, and then the finishing stroke of the garond army, had all but two glafs left, Yulenth and Ronenth.

The people of Harvestley were smashed and scattered to the corners of Wealdland when the garonds finally marched their massive army over Byland, over two years ago. The small farming villages of Harvestley had been but casualties in the path of the garond army whose first overt objective was the destruction of Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam, and the elvish race.

The enclaves of city states like Alfhich quickly disbanded and joined the throng of humanity desperate to win a seemingly hopeless war.

The humans of the Madrun Hills were the only nation left with a leader. Caerlund, the chieftain, was well liked and obeyed by all tribes and nations. Even the Athelings of Man grumbled at his orders, but carried them out with a quiet happiness at having a male to command them, rather than their Queen. Caerlund was the only unifying force amongst the disheartened, rapidly fragmenting human forces.

Halldora looked up at the looming human encampment. Just out of bow shot of the Mists of Syrenf, as they were called, a muddy ant hill of leaning wooden structures cluttered together in a shoddy conglomeration that resembled a trash heap more than a hastily constructed city. The wealdkin, who were the majority of surviving humans had tried to recreate the design of the glory of Old Rogar Li, the magnificent, ancient city that had nestled in the limbs of old, old trees.

Instead the flimsy houses and halls stacked up in a teetering pile that looked like a child had built it up. Mud splattered everywhere. Sanitation was abysmal. Refuse, defecation, and urine were simply thrown out one's front door, regardless of neighbors or fostering disease, such were the symptoms of the oppressing despair that filled the hearts of every man, woman and child.

The humans that trudged up and down cracking ramps and shaky wooden steps were grim, with sadness and defeat etching the face of every inhabitant. The whole encampment reminded Halldora of a priest's description of the Land of Yonne, known to the Wyfling tribes as Sipis, Lord of the Dead.

Several warriors ran out to meet Halldora, their faces red with anger.

"Did you send Yulenth, the glaf, into the Mists of Syrenf?" A  warrior snarled.

"Assemble the leaders, I have sad news," Halldora said.

"I am of the Weald and do not have to follow your imperial commands, Queen of Man," growled a warrior with close cropped, dark hair. "Answer the question."

"Some one fetch Stralain, Captain of the Armies of the Weald," Halldora said, staying on her horse, wary of the growing crowd of grumbling soldiers that were increasing with each moment. "At least he has sense. I can speak with him."

A soldier pulled at one of the pack horse's burdens and several elvish swords clanged out of their bundles.

"Oh, ho!" The wealdish soldier cried. "Fine elvish swords that you would keep from the human armies. Your treachery is clear! You serve the Dark One!"

The crowd of warriors descended into shouting and pushing. Halldora thought to cut the pack horses free and ride out of the frightening mob. The bright blast of trumpets made all the warriors pause. Stralain, with several heavily armed soldiers, made his way through the crowd, up to Halldora.

"Welcome back, Halldora, Queen of the Northern Kingdom of Man," Stralain said formally. "What is this riotous nonsense?" Stralain angrily said turning to the mob of warriors. "Have you no respect for your royals?"

"She trucks with one who went into the mists!" A soldier accused.

"She hides elvish swords from us!" Another barked.

"Falsehoods and lies!" Halldora cried, drawing herself up in her saddle. "Although I have no need to answer any here, I will answer your questions, calmly and without the anger and madness of this mob. I bring the elvish swords from Lanis, by the grace of Iounelle, the last of her kind, for you, at the expense of a life I dearly loved!" With that Halldora tore the tarp from the body of Caerlund, lashed to the closest pack horse.

Sorrowing silence stunned the shocked soldiers.

"I became very fond of him," Halldora said through her tears. "I had grown to love him as much as my departed husband, Haergill. Caerlund was slain by a ghaunt. A creature you rumor in terrified whispers. They do exist, and one has extinguished the life of this lovely man. Are there any madronites here?"

Several burly, short, orange haired warriors, tears streaming down their faces, raised their hands.

"Take my brave Chieftain and prepare him for burial honors in the custom of your people," Halldora said. "I would attend his funerary rites, if allowed. The elvish swords I give to you, Stralain. Distribute them among the soldiers who will use them best. And now, I would like to go to my home. I am tired and need a bath."

The madronite warriors sorrowfully cut their chieftain from the pack horse. Stralain's guard gathered up the elvish swords.

"You still have not answered why you were with the glaf when he entered the Mists of Syrenf!" A soldier cried.

"Yes!" Another warrior bellowed.

"Stay close to me," Stralain said to Halldora as he slowly led her horse to the encampment with the angry mob of warriors following and hurling accusations. But, none dared attack Stralain and his wealdkin soldiers, their reputation for fierceness and combat skills were well known.

The mob continued to grow with excitement and anger. Until, someone threw a gnawed pork bone and hit a soldier of the Weald. Then trash began to rain from the crowd down onto Halldora, Stralain and his soldiers.

"Strike no one, unless you are directly attacked," Stralain commanded his men, knowing a full riot would mean martial force and many deaths.

As they entered the city, Halldora could see a line of Athelings of Man barring the way to the door of the shack she called home since the encampment was established.

Stomikother stood in the middle of the heavily armed warriors.

"We will take custody of our queen," Stomikother said with an open mouth.

Halldora desperately looked to Stralain.

"They will kill me the moment you leave," she said to the Captain of the Weald Army.

Stralain was at a loss for words. This was the affair of the Northern Kingdom of Man, and he knew he had no right to interfere, no matter how much he disliked Stomikother, or any of the other treacherous Athelings of Man.

"My Queen-" Stralain stuttered.

"But, she is not your Queen," Stomikother challenged. "Your Queen was poisoned by one of her subjects, and her daughter and grandson are both missing. You have no one to lead you,  wealder. Give us our Queen. Now."

The mob quieted with the impending, violent standoff.

"What is this!?" A deep voice boomed. Summeninquis strode into the crowd and rudely pushed right through the line of Athelings.

"The wealdkin most certainly have a leader in their High Judge, do they not?" Summeninquis snarled at Stomikother. "How dare you frighten your very own Queen. Besides, she is my guest. Stand Aside!"

The Athelings were confused and dumbstruck. Stomikother was too stupid to respond. The wealdish soldiers of Stralain were instantly galvanized into action pushing the crowd aside as Stralain and Summeninquis led Halldora towards the larger house of the High Judge.

Stralain cast sidelong glances at Halldora. The Captain distrusted the High Judge, but was relieved to find a way out of a tight spot that almost certainly would have ended in bloodshed.

"Thank you for your help, Captain," Summeninquis said dismissively. "You may return to your other pressing duties."

"I will be nearby," Stralain said to Halldora as they reached the doorstep of the High Judge. "Though you are the Queen of another nation, I know you to be good and kind, and I will defend you. You may rely on me."

"Yes, yes," Summeninquis said with a shooing flick of his hand. Then, he turned to the milling mob. "Do you not have other tasks to fill your useless lives?" He boomed.

The mob, deprived of their bloodthirsty distraction, murmured. Some departed, but others loitered, hoping still for a chance to vent their frustration at the ineffective inaction and quarreling of their leaders.

"I thank you for your help," Halldora began as she entered Summeninquis' lavishly appointed home. Although small and hastily built, he still had managed to bring many of the fine furnishings from his abandoned mansion back in ruined New Rogar Li.