The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (43 page)

“We have been discovered,” announced Ader. “Lord Greeb makes his way up the valley as we speak.”

Eidyn flashed a look of deep concern at the Seraph then scanned the valley below.

“Do we try to slip past him in the darkness?” asked the Elf.

Ader smiled and shook his head.

“There is no ‘slipping past’ a Malveel, my boy,” said the Seraph. “Besides, he is trailed by the Ulrog host. Even if we could slip by the One Eye, we would still be required to evade the entire contingent of the Mnim as they pour back into the valley.”

“Then what of the Scythtar?” questioned Eidyn. “We can head west along the ridgeline trail and hope to exit near the Frizgard. Perhaps we can even come upon Granu and Cefiz on our way.”

Lilywynn shot a glance of deep concern at the Elf. He frowned and nodded to her unspoken question.

“Possible,” began Ader. “We must avoid any ....”

“Astel,” interrupted the firm steady voice of Kael.

The group turned and faced the Southlander. He stood staring at the charred remains of the Ulrog priest.

“What’s that, my boy?” asked a befuddled Ader.

“To Astel,” replied Kael.

The boy turned to the group. His face looked troubled and his eyes hollow and sunken.

“I must enter Astel,” continued Kael.

He pointed east along the trail to the spot where it disappeared behind the Horn into the eastern spur of the Mnim Valley.

“Something conspires to lead me to the doorway of the kingdom to which I hold title,” said the boy. “I don’t know why, but I’ve been shown where I must go.”

“But the trail to the west is a good choice,” frowned Ader. “The possibility remains that we might reach the Frizgard crossing unmolested.”

“No,” returned Kael firmly. “The way is blocked. A Malveel and the packs he commands are but an hour’s march from us along the Scythtar.”

“How do you....?” began a puzzled Ader.

“When I held the power I sensed much of what was going on in this corner of the world,” replied Kael. “Malveel charge at us from two directions. Something conspires to force me east.”

For the first time Lilywynn spoke.

“Greeb moves rapidly up the valley,” said the girl hoarsely. “Sprig is concerned about our delay.”

The group turned and followed the girl’s line of sight. Sprig stood beside a bundle of boulders, his hands rapidly moving. Ader glanced frantically between the Sprite and Kael. The Southland boy remained expressionless and calm. Finally the Seraph threw his arms in the air and rounded on the group.

“Fine. I reluctantly agree,” complained the Seraph, “but let all here take note. If I can determine an alternative between here and the plateaus of the Amethyst City, I’ll be taking it. Now get moving!”

The Seraph gathered himself up and hurried toward the Eastern Mnim, closely followed by Kael, Eidyn and Lilywynn. The girl moved slowly. Her legs remained cramped and stiff. After a difficult hike of three hundred yards, the quartet slipped behind the first rocky outcrop of the Horn and entered the farthest reaches of the Kingdom of Astel.

Greeb slowed and used caution. The Seraph was dangerous and the new Seraph an unknown. The Malveel lord remained supremely confident in his abilities, but he already proved himself far too foolish this evening.

The familiar scent of Ader De Hartstron lay on the air. Greeb tasted it before, centuries ago, and it lay imprinted in his memory. Elves roamed the valley as well. Their stink hung in the air. Three or more accompanied the Seraph. Certainly a small number to attempt such a bold plan, but the old man counted on stealth not power. The Malveel continued his trek up the slope.

A few moments more and the scent of the battle above reached Greeb’s tongue. An Ulrog priest was dead. The reek of his burnt hide washed over the Malveel. Consumed by his own fire. Interesting, thought Greeb. The sulfurous odor of Ulrog blood also filled the air. Ader’s Elves proved effective against the priest’s guard. Greeb ground his teeth. More failure that would be hung upon his neck. He needed to find the Seraph.

A hundred yards into the Eastern Mnim, Ader halted and pointed down its length in the direction of Astel.

“Behold the Eastern Mnim Valley,” grumbled the old man, “and Kael’s choice for our expedition.”

The group crowded behind the Seraph and stared in disbelief. A hundred yards from their position, the path on which they trod disappeared into a cut in the mountain range so narrow and deep that the moonlight could not reach it. Irregular rock walls full of jutting ledges and teetering boulders reached toward the stars. No true path shown apparent along any of its mass.

“The floor of the pass is an impenetrable jumble of jagged stone and smashed boulders. No path can be found through it and every footfall carries the danger of dislodging the rock you stand upon,” stated Ader. “Eons of rock slides have created a treacherous situation. Hollows beneath the stone have opened up and consumed many a Hackle.

“The walls of the pass are not much better. The footing is difficult and the stone there cannot be trusted.”

As if on cue, a crash from a distant spot in the valley echoed north toward their position.

“That brings us to the possibility of rock from above,” frowned Ader. “The Eastern Mnim kept the Ulrog at bay from Astel for centuries all by itself. The Malveel were unable to mass a great army in challenge to the kingdom because they could not sweep through the Eastern Mnim. To traverse it requires meticulous attention and careful plodding.”

Kael nodded. The boy confidently moved to the western wall of the valley and picked his way over boulders.

“Any sunlight in the morn will reach the western edge first,” called the boy over his shoulder. “It sounds as if we require all the help we can get.”

Temujen called a halt. The Eru riders wheeled from their pursuit of the Ulrog and formed up beside their chieftain. To the north, the wildfire continued to sweep toward the Mnim. Many Hackles already plunged through it choosing to face the flames instead of an Eru saber. Those who hesitated were run down by the riders and their bodies littered the charred landscape.

Temujen frowned. Eru riders and their mounts covered the smoldering black earth as well. The cost of Ader’s plan was great and the rewards unknown. The Ulrog still held the Mnim. The Hackles numbers were severely reduced, but Temujen felt certain there were thousands more beyond the Scythtar and Mirozert to take their place.

Hai rode over and nodded to his father. Temujen returned the salute with a weak smile. His work here was done. He needed to get his injured to the main camp and send out search parties for possible survivors. The chieftain took one last look at the blaze rolling up the hill toward the Mnim opening, then called his riders home.

Greeb stalked up the last one hundred yards to the top of the Mnim Valley. The orb darted from boulder to boulder searching for any threat. The stench of the Seraph and his Elves lay heavy in the air here and the signs of battle were all about. Greeb crept cautiously toward the edge of the cliff that abruptly ended the Mnim with a five hundred yard drop into the Northern Wastes.

The Malveel’s single eye scanned the scene. Several Ulrog lay in a heap on the left side of the trail. Belly wounds and saber slashes told the tale of their demise. Across the trail the Malveel discovered a single unused arrow at the base of a cluster of boulders. Proof that the Seraph had lay in ambush along the trail.

Greeb’s tongue flicked at the air and his eye poured across all. Slowly the Malveel searched up the trail to the west. A few dozen yards past the boulders he came upon the blackened remains of the priest of Amird. A few steps more and the Malveel discovered Lilywynn’s severed bindings.

“So the prisoner was released,” mused Greeb to himself.

The Malveel’s keen eye discerned furrows in the broken shale to his right, as if something were dragged or pushed to the edge of the cliff. Certainly the Ulrog party contained more members than those Greeb had seen both alive and dead. The Seraph spent a great deal of power during this battle. Perhaps the cliff worked to Ader De Hartstron’s advantage. Greeb moved to the cliff’s edge and peered into the darkness below. Nothing could survive such a fall. Greeb surmised that at least two of the pack were sent to their deaths over the cliff’s edge.

The Malveel turned away and approached the corpse of the priest. The stone man lay on his back, palms outward, shielding his face. The delicious scent of Chaos fire lay about the priest.

“Interesting,” thought Greeb once more. “The Seraph wielded the power in an unusual way here, but nothing a Malveel Lord could not duplicate.”

Greeb’s head rose and he eyed the Scythtar path to the west. It meandered upward toward the Knife’s edge, flattened and traveled west. This was Greeb’s domain. There was nothing he did not know about the Scythtar. Would the Seraph be so bold as to attempt an escape along the ridgeline path? De Hartstron certainly did not slip past Greeb as the Malveel raced up the Mnim. Greeb was too careful for that. The Seraph must have fled west.

Risky, thought Greeb, but the Seraph already proved bold by attempting this rescue. Ulrog packs frequented the ridgeline trail. There was little room to roam from it once you reached its higher elevations. Ader De Hartstron would be required to travel hundreds of leagues in its frigid climes then hope to slip past any Ulrog stationed by the Frizgard crossing. Woil would certainly maintain vigilance at the crossing since the capture of the Elven girl.

However, a more likely scenario for Ader’s escape revolved around the Mnim. Perhaps the Eru planned a second attack. De Hartstron would hide out in the mountains and attempt to exit through the Mnim at a predetermined time. Temujen would regroup for several days and resupply his forces. Then the Eru would bait the Army of Mnim once more. A timed diversion seemed more likely as opposed to a forced march west across the Scythtar.

A growl of pleasure issued from Greeb’s belly. If the Eru horsemen come thinking they will help the Seraph escape, they will find the bodies of Ader and his Elves displayed on the Mnim’s walls. Greeb would see to that. The red orb narrowed and scanned the landscape about him. There were not many places of concealment on the wind swept cliffs. Certainly De Hartstron and his Elves would move from the Mnim and wait higher up the ridgeline.

Greeb stalked west along the trail, tasting the air and eyeing the shale before him for signs of the group’s passage. He passed the body of a Hackle skewered through the neck with an Elven arrow. The first to fall, thought Greeb.

The scent of Seraph and Elf faded and signs of their passage vanished from the trail. Greeb struggled with confusion. Where did they hide? He was confident they failed to pass him in the Mnim. They appeared not to have headed west. There were no reasonable alternatives for flight unless ....

The Malveel spun and stared at the Horn. The rocky slope stood like a sentinel hiding the entrance to the Eastern Mnim. Bold! He used the word describing Ader’s actions before, but now considered it too weak. Desperate was a much more appropriate description of the Seraph’s actions. Did the old man dare enter the passage to Astel?

Greeb moved rapidly down the slope past the corpse of the priest. Did Ader consider an attack on Kel Izgra with a handful of Elves by his side? Greeb confidently charged past the boulders Ader used for his ambush. The scent grew stronger. Perhaps the Seraph intended to attempt escape over the Mirozert into the Derol. Madness! The eastern half of the Mirozert teamed with more Hackles than the Mnim.

Greeb sped along the cliff’s edge toward the Eastern Mnim. He no longer cared for caution. The scent of De Hartstron grew with each step. The Seraph came this way and there was but one conclusion to make. Greeb covered half the distance to the passage then broke into a run. The Seraph would be hampered by the Eastern Mnim. It was nearly impassable for many Ulrog, creatures built of rock and stone, intimately familiar with the ways of the mountain. Creatures tricked and killed by the treacherous valley for centuries.

Greeb licked his lips and panted heavily as he coursed toward the opening. He was close now. He tasted them. The Seraph passed this way recently. The old fool believed in his escape. Believed that none would discern the puzzle he presented. Greeb was more than a match for the witless Seraph and his Elves. The growl of pleasure returned to the beast’s belly. De Hartstron would be defenseless, balanced on the valley’s unstable ledges. Greeb would pull the rocks down upon him and watch him die beneath their weight.

A flash appeared to Greeb’s right as something dashed from behind a jumble of boulders and crossed the ridge in front of him. Fire erupted from the eye and pulsed toward the blur. The tiny creature swept across the path toward the edge of the cliff. The fire of Chaos pursued it. The figure moved too quickly and the fire danced just inches behind.

Recognition shot into Greeb’s mind as his eye finally transmitted what it beheld. A tiny Elf lifted a small device to its lips as it passed before Greeb, just inches ahead of the broiling flame. The Malveel roared and lunged forward at the same instant he heard a high-pitched pop.

A prick and discomfort in his eye. The molten fire there extinguished. Blackness! Panic seized Greeb. Searing pain! SURVIVAL!

The razor sharp claws of the Malveel slashed at the red orb. Greeb howled in anguish as he tore his own eye from beneath his scaly brow and dropped its poison filled mass to the stones beneath him.

Slowly, black fluid oozed out of the orb from the small dart embedded there. The fluid burnt the rock beneath it and the stench of sulfur mixed into the air. The beast lifted its head on high and released a deafening roar of unimaginable pain and suffering.