The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (30 page)

Another sound, crunching leaves, came from the direction directly opposite. They were surrounding him.

The Archer's horse began to breathe heavily and nicker in fear, for the mount smelled the vyreeoten in the dark.

From the far end of the yard, the squealing of a vyreeoten pierced the night as the monster crashed through the wooden fence. Behind the rearing vyreeoten, Grisn, the Kaprk-Uusshu, who had been stalking the vyreeoten, bleated in fury and then came down hard on the sea serpent with both his mighty hooves.

The Archer turned to the vyreeoten sneaking up on the opposite side and let loose an arrow into its eye, as it reared up just beyond the gate. The creature cried in pain, but Josr was there, head down, charging, to embed her long, straight horns into the monster. She shook her head and the vile vyreeoten gushed dark purple blood.

Derragen turned to see a third vyreeoten smashing into the western side of the work yard. Grisn was still stomping on the first vyreeoten, and Josr burying her head, goring the second.

The Archer shot, arrow after arrow. Three wooden arrows hit the third vyreeoten directly in the head. But, the beast still charged at the Archer. Just before the third vyreeoten got to the Archer, fangs and mandibles extended, Grisn and Josr bit into the monster on opposite sides. With a toss of their huge Kaprk-Uusshu heads, they tore the vyreeoten asunder in a spray of sticky, dark purple blood.

All was quiet, but for the heavy panting of the Kaprk-Uusshu.

"My friends," the Archer said to Grisn and Josr, "you don't know how happy I am to see you." And the Archer carefully hugged Grisn's mighty head with both arms, avoiding the spikes of his great horns. Then Derragen softly petted Josr's head, and she batted her enormous eyes at him.

Then, the Archer realized his fortune.

"My dear friends," the Archer said to the colossal beasts, "would you please help me move the pieces of this engine?"

"We help," Grisn creaked with his deep, resonating voice.

Arnwylf, with Frea ever by his side, walked with Stralain, Stomikother, and several other leaders of the various human nations. Arnwylf had a natural aptitude for seeing advantages in the terrain.

"If any of the garonds come ashore from the river here," Arnwylf said to Stralain, indicating a soft sandy shoal, "we should position archers with wooden arrows along that ridge.

"Why wooden?" Stomikother wheezed. "Would not bronze arrows pierce better?"

"Do you not expect the vyreeoten to herald their landing?" Arnwylf said moving very close to Stomikother. The Atheling of Man sniffed and looked away, nodding his head in agreement.

"Also, place as many large, wooden spikes as you can along that ridge," Arnwylf said returning to his preparations.

Halldora solemnly approached. She whispered softly to her daughter. Frea then turned to Arnwylf.

"Beloved," Frea said to Arnwylf. "The people are murmuring. You have not grieved your mother."

Arnwylf turned to fix Frea, Halldora and the other human captains with a steady gaze.

"Ravensdred and the full garond army are arriving tomorrow," Arnwylf said with cold eyes. "If there are any humans left alive after their invasion, they may then mourn their departed. Tonight, we prepare to save as many lives as we can, and leave grieving for the day after."

Stomikother huffed in approval. Stralain looked at the Atheling with disgust.

Arnwylf strode on, hiding his pain and grief, placing troops and arraigning battlements.

Ravensdred balanced the cloth bundle on his knees. Within the swaddled cloth were two swords. The garond general sat upright in the stern of his long boat. Five thousand garond long boats led him. Five thousand garond long boats trailed him.

The night was quiet, and the wind, though steady, not too strong. Some garonds had murmured in fear when they got right out into the inky blackness of the New Sea, at night. His captains were instructed to throw any whiners immediately overboard. A few drownings quickly quieted his army.

Now the only sound was the drone of the ocean breeze, and five hundred thousand paddles rhythmically splashing.

An officer hissed in garondish, and pointed out at the southern horizon. Ravensdred turned to peer at the line of black where the sea met the darkness of the night. The mother moon was high in the night sky, making the ocean glow. But he saw nothing.

"Was it not a sail?" The officer whispered.

"What if it was?" Ravensdred growled. "Corsairs sail these waters. They are too few to save the humans of Wealdland."

Ravensdred shifted uncomfortably.

"And besides," Ravensdred growled with annoyance, "for someone to track us from that far away, they would have to have the eyes of an elf."

Iounelle balanced on the small platform on the top of the tallest mast of the great, gray, elvish ship. She signaled with previously agreed upon hand gestures to Zik at the helm below. They needed to keep the massive ships close to the edge of the horizon, so that Ravensdred wouldn't suspect that he had a hundred thousand reian warriors flanking him. The elvish ships, for their enormous size, turned out to be, not only very responsive, but also very quick. Any distance between the garond long boats and the gray ships could be swiftly closed with the speed of the elvish sails chasing down the clumsy, brute force of the garond oars.

Iounelle cradled the human baby with one arm, and clutched the top of the mast with her other. She leaned out on the wind. It seemed so natural and right to her, to be out sailing on the ocean. She wondered why her fellow elves had never sailed the Mere of Lanis. 

Then the reminder of the loss of all her race settled blackly on her mind, and she slid down to sit and cradle the human infant. She stared out at the dark dots of the garond long boats and a blood lust welled in her breast.

Deifol Hroth walked briskly along the Westernway Road, loosely clutching the Ar. The night was pleasant, and birds and insects quieted in fear as He strode near.

He would have to pass the Plain of Syrenf, and circle back to avoid the human mob near His citadel. But, He had plenty of time to meet His garond general in the afternoon.

The battle would be bloody and delicious. Deifol Hroth hummed a happy little tune to Himself.

A blue light shimmered before Deifol Hroth barring his way on the road. The light appeared to be an uneven rectangle, like an oddly shaped door, framed with crackling energy.

Within the blue light, a young man with a broken nose, and closely cropped blonde hair gestured for him to come into the light. The young man wore a vest of finely woven blue metal. Strange words of a foreign tongue came from the muscular young man, as he seemed to be beckoning the Lord of Lightning to join him.

"Oh," Deifol Hroth sneered, "you are much too late."

The Dark Lord gestured, and fingers of lightning forked down from the clear sky. The lightning hit the blue doorway of energy and caused an explosion of light and fire that momentarily lit all the surrounding countryside in a brilliant flash.

The doorway was gone.

Deifol Hroth looked down at the Ar in his hand. It vibrated strenuously.

"Were you trying to help him?" The Evil One asked the black stone. "You can stop that now." The Ar was silent. The Lord of Lightning walked on.

Klad led his platoon of garonds quietly through the brush along the Syrenf River. Fifty of the finest garond warriors followed the garond captain along the Wealdland river bank.

Klad held up his paw, then motioned for his warriors to settle into hiding places amongst the shrubs and reeds.

All he had to do now was wait for his general's army to arrive.

Arnwylf signaled for the captains to bring as much of the human army to him, without compromising the watchmen along the river.

"Tonight we ready for war," Arnwylf said to the sea of human faces. "We fight to save the very lives of every human in Wealdland. Make no mistake. If we fail, the earth will be no more. What was, what is, what is to come will be swept away.

"My father told the troops at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands to think on their wives and children to give them courage. I ask you again to think of those you fight for and let that courage be foremost in your heart. Push fear and darkness back until it has no place in the shining power of your wrath.

"I met the Lord of Lightning over three moonths ago. Some of you have heard the tale. He tried to generate confusion and doubt in my heart by making me question whether there was a god or not."

Arnwylf paused. He seemed to be drawing upon a strength at the very core of his being.

"I do not know if there is some Great Parent as the elves name," Arnwylf said with a fire in his soul. "All I know is that we must rely upon ourselves and fight our own battles. I feel and know the greatness of friendship and love, and these things I will not let go of lightly.

"I look at your faces and see the beauty of life there. This is worth fighting for. This gives me strength. When I feel your hands working side by side with mine, it gives me strength. When I think of the beautiful generations to come," Arnwylf looked to Frea, "I know they are worth fighting for.

"When I think of the great cities filled with produce and the clever designs we craft to make life interesting and full; the race of humans, sometimes fallible, sometimes wicked, but often times noble, and more often, loving and nourishing, I am filled with a strength that no garond can withstand. Find that strength in yourself. Know what you fight for."

The human army dispersed to their posts brimming with righteous determination.

In the dark, deep caverns under the Plain of Syrenf, the ghaunts began to get restless. They could feel the coming battle like a man who smells his dinner being prepared. Their  dirty, stretched, corpse-like bodies quaked, eager to be out on the field of war, killing, eager to feast.

Chapter Fifteen

The Quiet Morning

Yulenth could hear the abomination, Lah'ugh'gloth squishing about, feeling for him in the darkness of the corridors of the Depths. Yulenth had also been groping his way in lightless dark, staying just barely ahead of the creeping abomination trying to find him.

As Yulenth guessed, the creature had a limitation to its range. Anchored to the vents from which it spewed its vile mist that hid the citadel, Lah'ugh'gloth could extend its gelatinous mass only so far. 

Yulenth blindly felt his way along the stones of the Depths. There were no longer familiar hallways and passages. Deifol Hroth had commanded the stones of his citadel and the carved blocks of granite had reordered themselves into a new design. Yulenth was hoping to find a way out before he had to deal with the creeping horror stalking him in the sightless dark.

Yulenth knew the Lord of Lightning kept the Lhalíi in the topmost level of the tower of his citadel. If he got away from the crawling terror of Lah'ugh'gloth, he still had to get up that tower and get that crystal somehow.

The one thing in Yulenth's favor was the emptiness of the citadel. Every garond had either been magic-twisted by the Evil one and chained out in the mists, or eaten by the gooey mass of the thing tracking his very footsteps.

Yulenth realized he had traced every way out of the Depths, and there was only one way out. There was a large oak door he could hack at, but it was too near the oozing creature. By the time he cut his way through the door, the monster would have him. If he was to get out, he would have to deal with Lah'ugh'gloth first. Yulenth smiled to himself.

He had been training himself to gage the passage of time. He was not only avoiding Lah'ugh'gloth, but also carefully planning the time of his attack. By his reckoning it had to be morning, the day of the invasion, if Deifol Hroth had been honest with Yulenth. But, he had to be certain.

"Today is the day of the invasion," Yulenth called to the inky dark, "is it not?"

"It matters not if I tell you now," Lah'ugh'gloth's voice sweetly dribbled from the blackness. "Yes, today the garond army will arrive in Wealdland. The Dark Lord knows you have been revealing his plans to your human friends, Yulenth. He cares not. You will not be able to stop him from bringing the small moon down on your heads."

"Your head as well," Yulenth said as he felt for his flint and tinder he always kept in a pouch hanging from his belt. "Oh, I apologize. I forgot you don't have a head, monster."

"That was most unkind, Yulenth of Glafemen," Lah'ugh'gloth gurgled, sounding as though his feelings, if he truly had any, were hurt.

Yulenth pulled out the small hand torch he always kept tucked in his belt. Using his flint and sword, he struck sparks onto a piece of tinder. As the sparks flashed, he could see a slimy tendril reaching for him in the blackness.

Yulenth steeled his nerves as he could see the gelatinous shape of Lah'ugh'gloth oozing closer with each burst of sparks. A spark caught, and Yulenth quickly blew on the tinder, and used it to catch his hand torch aflame. Yulenth waved the torch up to drive back the gooey ribbon that had a mouth and a single eye on the end that was nearly touching him. Yulenth held his glowing torch out to protect himself as the flame grew.

The wet appendage, elongating from Lah'ugh'gloth, recoiled from the fire, small though it was.

Yulenth drew his sword and swiped at the gelatinous tendril. Yulenth could hear the bulk of Lah'ugh'gloth squishing down the corridor towards him. Yulenth stepped forward, moving to meet the mass of the monster.

"So it must be morning now?" Yulenth demanded.

"Not that you will ever see the sun again, glaf," Lah'ugh'gloth gurgled, "but, yes, the sun has dawned on the last day for humanity."

The huge mass of Lah'ugh'gloth filled the end of the corridor, it's jelly-like body glistening in the sheer blackness of the lower depths, various digesting body parts floated in the hideous mound.

"It's too bad," Lah'ugh'gloth drooled, "I rather liked you, glaf." Lah'ugh'gloth's mass oozed halfway up the stone wall of the corridor. "I argued and begged for you to be spared, so that we could have conversation for all eternity here in the dark. But He wouldn't have it. 'You'll just have to eat him,' He said. How rude. 'Just have to eat him,' indeed. How vulgar. What does he think I am?"

"Or, I could slay you," Yulenth said inching closer to the monstrosity.

It was a frightening and ugly thing to see the mass of the creature shake and convulse with laughter.

"Tell me, Lah'ugh'gloth of the Depths," Yulenth asked looking for an opening, "how did you come to be?"

"I am a demon from hell!" The quivering mass exclaimed.

"You are not telling me the truth," Yulenth returned.

"And that is why you humans will lose," Lah'ugh'gloth lectured, "you have no faith. You don't accept the things that are right in front of you."

"So you have always been this way?"

"No," Lah'ugh'gloth said with laughter that sounded like a man drowning. "I was once like the Children of Light. I was given great power many thousands of years ago in the Throat of the Fire."

Yulenth was almost in striking range. He scanned the creature's shifting mass.

"The Throat of the Fire?" Yulenth said. "Is that what you call hell?"

No!" Lah'ugh'gloth shuddered again with that unnerving laughter. "It is a place of great magic."

"I don't believe in magic," Yulenth carefully said, his eyes sparkling in the dimness.

"No?" Lah'ugh'gloth started to raise its mass to strike.

"And do you know what else I don't believe in?"

"Tell me."

"I don't believe in you!" Yulenth viciously stabbed at the only brain floating in the gooey, gelatinous body. His sword went right through the suspended brain.

Lah'ugh'gloth's body rose up like a hungry wave, about to engulf Yulenth. Then, the monster shuddered. Its gelatinous bulk splashed to the stones of the citadel, a ruined, wet corpse.

Yulenth pawed the goo off his arms, but it didn't matter, Lah'ugh'gloth would never again eat another being. It was dead.

Yulenth stood staring at the puddles of goo sliming down the corridor. Breathing heavily, he tried to let his victory sink in.

Then, the glaf sat down and cried in his hands, relieved to be rid of the horror of the creature hidden in the Depths.

The gray dawn was cloudless and silent, cold and dry on the Plain of Syrenf. The trees far away to the north of the plain looked like a black smudge on the horizon.

A howling went up among the many wolves waiting on the edge of the human army when they spotted the Archer, with his horse, and the two Kaprk-Uusshu dragging huge wooden beams lashed together.

"The Archer is back!" The cry went up.

Grisn and Josr nervously eyed the growling wolves that started to encircle them.

"Hey, hey!" Derragen called. "Someone call the wolves back! These creatures are my friends and they are here to help us fight."

Husvet and Geleiden, side by side with their bonded wolves, ran up to the wolf sentries, calling, "Leave them alone! They are with us!"

The wolf sentries slunk back, sniffing the scent of the Kaprk-Uusshu.

Three wealdkin ran forward and tore at the lashes, as though they had long anticipated Derragen's arrival.

"We are Yulenth's assistants," one of the wealdkin said to Derragen. "He has instructed us in setting this up. Come help!" The wealdkin called to several other men, who helped unpack the curious device.

"We need to set it up as close as we dare to the mists," the lead assistant told his helpers. "You know what this is for, yes?" He asked Derragen.

"Yulenth told me," the Archer said. "We will see if it works. Bring an arrow steward and a kindler with a brazier!" Derragen called to the men standing and watching the spectacle of the engine being pieced together.

More men wandered over to watch the beams being set with wooden pegs and lashed ropes. A large piece of canvas was spread out on the turf of the Syrenf Plain.

Two huge wooden wheels were set on either side of the large, box-like structure.

A wide basket that had been waiting in preparation was brought from the encampment and lashed to the large piece of canvas.

"Help me," the lead assistant called to several men, who walked over and helped him hold an opening of the canvas over the fire the kindler had started. The canvas began to billow and puff up. The men exclaimed to each other as the balloon with the basket beneath began to billow up like an enormous mushroom.

The arrow steward arrived. "Do you remember me?" The steward asked the Archer.

"You were my steward at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands," Derragen said with a smile. "It is an honor to have you be my arrow steward once again."

The canvas balloon strained at the ropes tied to the axle and wheel mechanism. It was a staggering spectacle never before seen in all of Wealdland. The basket underneath swayed back and forth with unnerving vigor.

"We'd best hurry," the lead assistant said, "before they start taking target practice at this thing."

"If it is punctured by an arrow, will it fall?" The Archer asked with chagrin.

"Most probably," The lead assistant answered with a frown.

"You do not have to go up with me," Derragen said to the arrow steward.

"Try to stop me," the arrow steward said with a brave smile.

The two men climbed into the large reed basket. The kindler handed the arrow steward a brazier hot with red coals. The ballooning canvas creaked with the hot air inside trying to escape. The reed basket crackled with every jarring motion.

Several men held a rope, wound around the axle, connecting the two wooden wheels. Six men let the rope out and the basket, with the balloon slowly rose.

The Archer looked about in amazement. The ground was slowly receding. Before them, the wall of mist hid Deifol Hroth's citadel.

A sudden snap below jerked the basket. The Archer heard men yelling below, and looked over the edge to see the men who had been holding the rope sitting on the ground as though they had fallen, a broken rope in their hands.

But, Grisn had leapt forward and jammed his massive curling horns under the wooden wheel, keeping the rope from playing out and sending the Archer and his arrow steward out into the heavens. The Kaprk-Uusshu bleated in pain, forcing its huge rack against the wooden wheel. Grisn pawed at the turf of Syrenf to keep his horns tight against the only thing keeping the Archer and his arrow steward anchored.

Then, the Archer saw Josr leap forward and take the broken rope in her mouth. She dug in her heels and held the rope.

"We almost just floated free," the Archer said with restrained horror to the arrow steward.

"Don't tell me anything," the steward said without emotion. The poor man was frozen with fear and looking only at the floor of the basket.

The basket and balloon began to slowly rise again.

"Get my arrows ready," the Archer said to the steward. "It will take your mind off the height."

The steward set about preparing several arrows to be set alight. He checked the brazier. And as the Archer had said, his fear began to leave him. His hands were steady and his face calm as he made his preparations.

The Archer peered out at the wall of white mist. He thought that he saw the top of the citadel. Yulenth had told him that the uppermost level had no roof, so the Lord of Lightning could leave and arrive by flying. The Archer thought of the Evil One flying out of the top of the citadel as they ascended, and had to still a little shiver.

The morning sun, behind them, just cleared the low horizon in the east. The tops of the trees far way shone with gold. The day was clear and warm. It felt almost like a summer day. The bright morning sun reflected on the unnatural mist with a blinding glare and made sighting the tower of the citadel difficult. The Archer shaded his eyes with his hand.

"There! I see it!" The Archer cried. "Arrow!"

The arrow steward handed the Archer an arrow already aflame. The Archer carefully set the arrow on his bow string. The vile mists swirled. The edge of the top of the citadel came into view through a clearing.

The wind began to pick up and the balloon shifted to the north. Without hesitation, the Archer hooked a leg around a rope and leaned out of the basket. The Archer hung suspended out in the open air.

This must be what it feels like to fly, he thought to himself.

The Archer let the burning arrow sing from his bow. It arced slowly, a burning, falling star, and landed perfectly in the circle of the top of the tower of the citadel.

For a moment the Archer remembered with astonishment the farsight vision Wynnfrith had spoken of, the vision she had in Rion Ta, just after Frea was captured. She told the Archer that she had seen him flying and raining arrows down like stars. The Archer allowed the astonishment of the thought to leave his consciousness, and he focused on the task at hand.

"Another!" The Archer commanded. The arrow steward expertly handed Derragen another burning arrow.