The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2) (40 page)

Hnarg stood in the grove of trees and smiled. Now his Hackles were properly motivated. The priest of Amird strode past the heaving form of the servant he burned and walked into the high grasses of the Zodrian plain. His underlings would not catch the Seraph this evening, but the old man was wasted. Horse and rider must rest. Hnarg would see to it that his Hackles did not. Eventually they would run down the old one, and Hnarg would rise in the ranks of the Ulrog priests. Hnarg broke into a run in the direction the Elf had fled.

Vieri danced across the slick, rounded boulders of the Frizgard. She caught Cefiz under the arm just as the Zodrian stumbled on a particularly difficult patch in the crossing. The Zodrian smiled and looked into Vieri’s eyes. The pair paused mid river.

“Thank you.” murmured Cefiz.

Vieri smiled back and nodded.

“We must make haste.” she whispered.

Cefiz set his jaw and returned the nod. The pair picked their way from boulder to boulder over the rushing water. Granu trudged ahead, never turning. The Keltaran had a task and he was determined.

Granu stepped onto the northern bank and forged into the pines ahead. The woods filled a deep narrow gorge cut into the side of the mountain range by a series of small falls cascading from the heights above and feeding the Frizgard. Granu followed the falls until he traveled well within the tree line, then abruptly turned to the Eastern slope and charged straight up. Vieri and Cefiz followed as best they could. The Keltaran was familiar with such hikes, expertly choosing secure footing and sturdy branches to aid him in his climb. Vieri noted the giant’s pathway and tried to match it. At times Granu’s massive stride made it difficult to mimic his path, but the Windrider and her charge managed not to lose too much ground.

Vieri looked to Cefiz as he struggled over a vertical outcropping of granite. The Guardsman  sweated profusely. His face purpled on the areas battered by the Frizgard’s rapids. This climb came too soon. Vieri feared the damage combined with the stress would be too much for the Zodrian. Cefiz lurched forward, gagging. His body racked with a spasm of coughing. When the Zodrian caught his breath, he looked to Vieri. Blood surrounded his mouth and covered the sleeve of his tunic.

“Rest a moment.” said Vieri softly, moving in to help support his weight.

“No rest.” growled Granu from above. “Rest means discovery, and discovery means death.”

The giant spun back toward the steep slope and moved ahead. Cefiz smiled at Vieri and shrugged his shoulders. The Windrider scowled and moved up the slope. She pressed hard to keep up with the Keltaran. Her eyes stayed low concentrating on her footing. Suddenly, she saw an outstretched hand. Vieri looked up to see the Keltaran standing upon a ridge line that extended north toward the summits of the mountain range. She grabbed the giant’s hand and he pulled her to the top.  Vieri turned and held her hand out to Cefiz. The Zodrian appeared pale and his chest heaved from the exertion of the climb, but he smiled at the Windrider and took her hand.

“We will use the ridge line to climb toward the spine of this range.” stated Granu. “The daughter of Sprite was dragged up to this ridge by a pack of Ulrog. The signs are everywhere. This pack and their leader are concerned about speed, otherwise they might have taken an easier, slower route.”

Vieri had been mindful of the signs in the path and agreed. The outline of heavy Ulrog tracks were stamped into the rocky soil of the slope. The tracks were recent and Vieri suspected Granu saw more in the tracks than she.

“Once the Hackles reach solid footing how do you intend to track them, Keltaran?” questioned Vieri.

“As a babe my mother cradled me in harder stone than this.” smiled Granu. “All footsteps leave their mark, even on solid granite. I will see the Ulrog’s path.”

“But what if the pack moves down the Northern face into the Scythtar wastes?” began Cefiz. “How can we possibly follow if they move into throngs of Ulrog?”

“They will not.” replied Granu. “This pack has its orders. They will attempt to carry them out as quickly as possible. Ulrog are not bright, but that is to Izgra’s advantage. It makes the beasts single-minded in purpose. They do not wish to be distracted or hampered by their brethren below, so they will stay on the heights. Here they can travel swiftly and directly to Kel Izgra. This will work to our advantage. We will use the spine to travel undetected through the Ulrog’s land. The Ulrog are lazy and seldom use the heights when traveling their own territory. The air is thin and the travel difficult, but we will endure if our path avoids confrontation.”

“What of passes and breaks in the range?” coughed Cefiz. “How will we navigate such terrain?”

“On occasion we will be forced to descend from the mountaintops.” stated Granu. “Hopefully we pass undetected.”

Vieri looked to the towering granite faces of the Scythtar. Once again she questioned her sanity. Why was she here? The Elven girl was immaterial to the struggle of her people. True, it was Vieri’s manipulation that resulted in the Elf girl’s capture, but that was easily explained as a casualty of circumstances. Cefiz burst into a fit of coughing. Granu’s brow furrowed.

“Strain against those outbursts, Zodrian.” stated Granu. “Sound bounces through these canyons for leagues. We must put distance between ourselves and the crossing. The packs pursuing Ader may soon tire of their chase.”

Granu turned and moved up the ridge toward the mountain’s summit. Cefiz wiped fresh blood from his lips and trudged behind. Vieri looked through the screen of pine trees to the twinkling surface of the Frizgard sliding over the crossing far below. It was difficult from this height to assess which gray lumps dotting the shiny surface were boulders and which were the bodies of Ulrog Hackles.

Vieri turned to face the ridge line and once more felt stunned that she surrendered her will to this Keltaran and his mad quest through the Scythtar. She struggled up the slope drawn forward by her own quest. She would not return to her people until she earned redemption in Cefiz’s eyes by righting the wrongs she committed.  Vieri sighed and obediently followed the giant toward the heights.

Two hours passed from Vieri’s last look upon the Frizgard to the time when Woil the Lamentation crept into the chilly waters at the crossing. The Malveel studied the scene before him. Hackles lay motionless throughout the riverbed. At least a dozen were burnt  or shot by arrow. None remained alive to give the Malveel lord the information he so desperately desired. Useless scum, thought Woil.

The Malveel barked an order. Several of his Hackles loped into the rapids and searched the bodies. Within moments, one of his Hackles called out and rolled over a large Ulrog near mid river. Immediately Woil noted the robes of a priest of Amird. The priest was quite large, thought Woil. It must be Gnarok. The ranking priest had been left in charge of this group of packs.

Woil slowly crept toward the figure lying mid river. The Hackle who discovered the body lowered its head and quickly backed a few feet away. Woil’s leathery wings shifted across his scaly body as he studied the dead priest.

“Gnarok.” hissed Woil, his eyes narrowing. “What did you get yourself into? The burns of Seraph fire .....and something has.... poisoned you. You did find a little trouble along the Frizgard did you not, priest?”

Two of the Malveel lord’s razor tipped claws stretched out and with surprising delicacy, plucked Sprig’s dart from the eye of the dead priest. The Malveel inspected the dart carefully.

“A weapon I have never seen.” stated Woil. “Interesting.”

Lightning quick, the Malveel lord sprang toward the bowing Hackle and rammed the dart into its neck. The Ulrog reared back howling in surprise and pain. It desperately clutched at the dart attempting to remove it with its large, clumsy hands. Woil calmly stepped back to observe the full effect of the poison. The Hackle thrashed about the shallow water of the crossing spraying all around with water. Woil’s lips curled into a snarl as his face was flecked with cold mountain water, but the Malveel continued to stare intently at the Ulrog as black foam spilled from its gaping mouth.

After a few moments the Ulrog’s body tensed and its limbs failed. It collapsed face first into the flowing Frizgard, convulsed once more, then stilled.

“Fascinating.” whispered Woil to himself.

Quickly the Malveel turned to the remaining Hackles and growled orders. It was obvious to Woil that the Seraph had been at the crossing. Woil was in the West supervising the movements of Ulrog toward the Keltaran kingdom when word came concerning the captured Elf. The Malveel hoped to return to the area before the Elf’s departure. If this were the one, Woil would terminate the priest’s that made the capture and take credit himself. Sulgor would find favor with any who captured the new Seraph. Woil intended to garner that favor.

The Malveel called forth his best trackers. Three smallish Ulrog bounded into the river. They moved low to the ground and their big dark eyes searched the surroundings as they ran.

“I must know what happened here!” snapped Woil. “I must know where Ader DeHartstron went!”

The three Ulrog bowed to their lord and spread throughout the riverbed. They first inspected the dead then conferred mid river. The smallest of the three directed his counterparts to the tree lines on both sides of the river. The remainder of Woil’s Hackles stepped aside as the trackers moved past them, inspecting the crossing. Woil stood  waiting for their report.

The lead tracker slowly circled the battle scene at mid river. He intently studied the slime covered rocks beneath the flowing water, carefully picking up several and slowly turning them in his hands. Finally his compatriots returned and they conferred once more. After several minutes of animated discussion Woil broke in.

“Ettreck! What have you discovered!?” roared the Malveel.

The small Ulrog turned to his master and in a surprisingly deep growl replied.

“There has been much activity at this crossing, my lord. The Seraph sat astride the eternal horse here.” said Ettreck pointing to a spot in the rushing Frizgard. “He was set upon by the priest and his Hackles several hours ago.”

“What of the Elves?!” snapped Woil.

The Malveel knew Ettreck was more than competent at his duties, but it was important to hold the Hackles in their place. Woil needed to show he was capable of reading the signs without this Ulrog servant. The Hackles survived to perform the tasks Malveels shunned. Ettreck nodded and bowed.

“As my lord can easily see,” began Ettreck. “Many of Gnarok’s Hackles were felled by arrow shot.”

Ettreck moved slowly toward the southern tree line pointing.

“We believe the Seraph stationed several Elves here, screened by the trees.” continued Ettreck. “The Elves fired on the Hackles when they crowded about the Eternal Horse.”

“Ader DeHarstron grows foolish.” snorted Woil.

The Ulrog trackers looked at their master with puzzled expressions. Woil was pleased to see their confusion. Once again he would demonstrate his mental superiority to this scum. Ettreck proved himself time and time again to his lord since joining the Vrith Pack, but Woil grew tired of the Ulrog trackers displays of intelligence.

“The Seraph has grown desperate in his quest to stop our Lord Amird.” snarled Woil. “He has gone so far as to use himself as bait during a battle.”

A look of recognition passed across Ettreck’s and only Ettreck’s face.

“The damned old man allowed the Vendi packs to focus on him and lured them into a trap.” Woil explained further. “His Elven archers attacked the exposed Hackles huddled in the middle of the crossing. Then he unleashed Seraph fire on those remaining in his presence.”

Ettreck nodded in agreement, taking great pains to appear properly awed by Woil’s assessment of the situation. The Ulrog tracker was debating whether to share his additional information with Woil, when the Malveel broke his thoughts.

“Finally, the Seraph allowed his final surprise to attack. An Elf or very secretive human left the riverbank to the North and set upon Gnarok with these poisoned darts.” stated Woil nodding toward his own dead, frothing Hackle. “Gnarok fell due to his own arrogance. Always leave your retreat covered!”

Ettreck smiled and bowed to his master. The Ulrog tracker successfully avoided another confrontation with Woil. His Malveel lord’s own arrogance would probably get them all killed one day, but Ettreck preferred to die at the hands of the enemy, not his own superiors. Ettreck sighed and decided his lord discovered all he needed here. There was no need to expose himself to reprisals by offering any more information. If Woil could not see the additional signs of activity at the crossing, Ettreck would not expound upon them. Ettreck’s job in the pack was over for the time being and the Ulrog tracker could relax.

“Where did the Seraph go?” questioned Woil abruptly.

Ettreck feigned searching the swirling water for the evidence he already possessed.   

“My lord is correct in his assessment.” said Ettreck pointing to the water. “An Elf sped past the body of Gnarok here and mounted the eternal horse. They fled into the woods to the South. Presumably to unite with the Elven archers.”

Ettreck paused to let his next statement elicit the proper reaction.   

“The remaining Hackles in Gnarok’s packs followed.”

A low, guttural rumble issued from Woil and Ettreck smiled to himself. The packs often competed for the favor of their Malveel masters, and Hnarg and his Vendi packs made a damaging decision.

“Gnarok’s second has left his post.” rumbled Woil. “I will remove his eyes for such disobedience.”

Woil’s mind raced. Had the Seraph rescued the Elf that Gnarok captured the day before? If so, the Malveel had one choice. He must follow Ader DeHartstron and retrieve the prize. If he could destroy the Seraph in the process, all the better. However, this would require a great deal of luck.

The Seraph possessed a sizable head start, and he would soon be in Eru country. Facing a Seraph and several archers was one thing. Facing the Seraph backed by a troop of the horsemen was quite different.