The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (6 page)

He would allow Izgra and the Ulrog to move south from their mountains, but only for a time. Then Fenrel would lash out with all of his power and destroy them. He would hammer the Ulrog. As they fled to their mountains he would follow. The giant smirked. The Zodrians, for all their conquest and power, were also a weak people. Even when they commanded considerable might years ago, they refused to follow the stone men into the mountains and finish the job. They allowed the Ulrog to recover and build their numbers. Fenrel and his Keltaran would allow no such thing. Every Ulrog would be hunted down and destroyed. Every Malveel, no matter how strong, would be torn asunder.

Once accomplished, the giant would turn east and remove Izgra from his seat of power. Then the people would see. Fenrel would unite the world under his grip. He would turn from conquerer to ruler and worries of Amird and his servants would disappear. The myth of Avra would no longer be needed. Fenrel and the power he harnessed would be the only god his servants desired.

The angry giant turned on his retinue.

“We march to the city which held the Mother of our people in a dungeon for sixteen long years. We march to avenge years of oppression. We march to begin our reign,” snapped the captain.

“We ... we will be vulnerable on the plains, my lord,” stammered Aul.

Fenrel narrowed his eyes at the commander serving as his right hand.

“There is barely a force left in this decimated kingdom to oppose us,” snarled Fenrel. “They cower in their city awaiting death, and that is exactly what I intend to give them. Every last one of them.”

CHAPTER 4: THE SHABBY MAN

The disheveled dockworker slid along the rotting wharves in the darkness of the night, hoping to keep his movements to himself.  He moved with ease and confidence. The hour grew late. Many of the city’s inhabitants lay their heads upon pillows long ago.

If the night watch spotted the shabby man, the watchman would behold a fellow of slight, wiry build, hunched over from another backbreaking day loading the king’s goods for transport to his army in the North. Although a curfew remained in effect for the entire city, the watchman would probably take pity on the wretch and assume the poor soul headed home for a deserved rest. Many put in long hours as contraband discovered by Colonel Ipson of Kelky hurried north and west to be distributed to the Guard and Prince Manfir’s militia.

Young recruits gathered up newly discovered swords and shields, piled them upon any form of transport and rushed them to the front. Ipson’s men uncovered sacks of cornmeal and jerked beef and quickly sent them from the city. Any surplus remained in storage as the new officers of the supply staff desperately searched for a means of delivery.

The shabby man dodged into the darkness of a narrow alley and halted before an oversized doorway. With what little ambient light he could utilize, he inspected the dirt surface of the trash filled alley. He stooped and ran his hand through the parallel ruts running beneath the closed and padlocked door. Certainly many a wagon passed through this opening in the last several months.

He rose and glanced up and down the alley. One could never be certain how diligently the goods were guarded. Deftly he removed a slender, steel pick from beneath his tunic and his dirty hands inserted it within the lock. His hands twitched rapidly and within moments the heavy catch on the lock popped open.

The man quickly removed the padlock and slipped inside the door, taking care to close it behind him. After a moments work with tinder and a nearby torch, the dark storage area glowed in flickering light. He moved forward and inspected the room’s contents. Dusty burlap covered much of what lay within the room. He ripped the burlap from the nearest bulk, shielding his face from the dust and debris swirling into the air.

A large crate, embossed with the crest of Macin of Zodra lay beneath the burlap. The man moved about the room pulling more burlap free. Crates similar to the first lay strewn about the room.

The man drew a long blade from under his cloak and worked its edge beneath the lid of the nearest crate until it popped open. He allowed a slight smile of satisfaction and tossed the lid aside. Dirty fingernails dove into the straw packing that surrounded the contents of the crate and slowly withdrew a gleaming cutlass.

He held the blade up to the light of the flickering torch. Its metal danced with the red and orange of the flame. This was no scavenged blade from a forgotten battle of long ago. This was a recently forged weapon, a carefully packed and preserved weapon. It was a weapon that, if in the proper hands, could deliver death and destruction.

The man quickly replaced the blade and moved throughout the room inspecting other crates. More blades, shields and pikes were discovered. He found sacks of cornmeal stored within wooden crates. Earthenware jars of oil for cooking and lamp lighting lay stacked in a corner of the room.

The man shook his head. An army was only as formidable as the weapons, food and supplies that kept it alive. Power emanated from the storehouses and armories of a nation. Training remained essential, but many battles were lost by a better trained, lesser equipped force.

The weapons and stores he discovered, along with those he came upon in other hidden caches throughout the night, could significantly change the fortunes of the war to come. Kel Izgra was mistaken. The Guard was no longer the weak remnant of an elite force. Granted, the improvements were not extraordinary, but those he worked for would desire the news of these stores immediately.

He removed a small parchment from a pocket in his tunic and quickly scribbled down the location of this storage facility below the locations of others he visited this night. He carefully folded the parchment and replaced it. Quickly he snatched the cutlass from on top of the bundle where it lay. He tossed the gleaming weapon back into the crate and secured the wooden lid. Lastly, he threw the burlap sack back over the crate and stabbed the lone torch out upon the dirt floor of the storage facility.

The man needed to make haste. There was so much more for him to do in the coming weeks. So much more information to gather and take to his superiors. The true armaments of Zodra were just one piece in the puzzle he labored to assemble. The allegiances of the powerful houses of the land needed to be determined as well as the preparedness of the Elven host.

The shabby man slipped from the storage room and dashed down the alley through the darkness. Soon he left the wharf district of the great city and passed through the marketplace. The stalls and booths sat shuttered tightly for the night and not a soul moved on the streets. He laughed to himself. This was his favorite time. He thrived in the darkness. So much to learn and discover in the night.

After fifteen minutes at a hurried pace, the man closed on the outer walls of the city. He slowed. The walls were often guarded and he feared stumbling upon a patrol. The curfew allowed only those on or returning from the king’s business out of doors at this late hour. The light whinny of a horse froze the man against the wall of a silver smith’s shop. He crept forward and his hand slowly drew his blade from within his cloak. Horses on the streets were unusual at this time. Most of the draft animals of the city bedded down long ago.

The man moved forward cautiously. He peered around the corner of the shop. A hundred yards ahead sat the gate of Zodra. Atop its causeway a pair of Guardsmen patrolled, their pace slow and methodical. The man knew the gatehouse beneath the causeway likely contained a dozen more soldiers on high alert.

He crept forward in the darkness clutching his blade. One could never be too careful. Betrayal or compromise hung at every turn and it was difficult these days to determine who shared your allegiances.

After a dozen steps the horse whinnied again and this time the man determined its whereabouts. Through the darkness of a nearby alley the harness buckles of a black roan gleamed in the moonlight as the animal shook a cloud of gnats from its flesh. Standing beside the beast stood a stocky man covered in a heavy brown cloak and hood. The figure slightly swayed as it fought off sleep.

The shabby man smiled to himself and flitted across the street like a shadow passing beneath the moon. In a moment he stood beside the stocky man tending the reins of the horse.

“Is the animal well rested?” he whispered.

“Humph ...” gasped the horse tender, disturbed from his standing slumber.

“My apologies,” stated the man sarcastically. “I didn’t wish to wake you from your dreams.”

“I ... I wasn’t .....sleeping,” huffed the horse tender trying to get his bearings. “I was simply .... resting my eyes.”

The shabby man’s teeth sparkled in the darkness.

“Call it what you will,” he smiled, “but I must be about my business. Have you arranged things at the gate?”

“Yes,” came the quick reply. “You will have no trouble from the men stationed there.”

“Good. I have much work to do.”

“What of your work here in Zodra?” asked the horse tender. “Did you gather the information?”

The man’s smile grew even broader as he plucked the parchment from within his cloak and held it toward the horse tender.

“Six locations,” he began, “all filled to the brim with armaments and supplies. The names of the building’s owners are written beside their locations.”

“You believe the owners are aware of the contents of their storage facilities?”

“Some may. Others might be unaware they even own those buildings let alone their content. The nobles of Zodra do not pay much attention to their properties. They only care that their rents are paid on time,” replied the shabby man. “Will you take them this evening?”

“As the plan stated?” answered horse tender. “The discovery of the supplies this evening will not remain a secret very long. We must act now to gather in what we can.”

The horse tender moved from the man’s way and allowed him to leap upon the horse’s back. In a moment the tender led the horse and rider onto the street and whistled to the sentries upon the causeway. The soldiers above softly called to the gatepost below and slowly the heavy gate creaked open.

“How will it be done?” asked the man on the horse.

A retinue of Guardsmen silently poured from the gatehouse and lined up on the street. The men wore black garb and held their weaponry tightly within leather sheath and binding. They made no sound. The tender pulled the cowl free from his head.

“None of the locations are too remote,” laughed the tender.  “We possess ample time before sunup to perform our work in secret and unmolested by outside forces. We will kick down the door on every location and gather them up. Before anyone is aware of it, they will be under our control.”

The man paused and stared out the gate toward the southern plains of Zodra.

“Once they are gathered, lock them away. A few days of imprisonment should get those nobles’ tongues wagging,” he stated. “Get any information you obtain to me in the usual manner Sergeant. Also, make our mutual friends aware of the contraband immediately.”

“I will have wagons in the warehouse district within the hour. The discoveries will bolster the spirits of our compatriots,” replied the sergeant as he released the reins of the horse. “All will be handled as you request, Lord Teeg.”

The shabby man nodded then lay his heels into the roan’s flanks.  The beast lunged forward and darted into the night.

CHAPTER 5: THE FRENZY OF THE KILL

Nearly two days since their stop at the pond and Ader and his small group rested intermittently. As with all of their breaks, Sprig disappeared into the ravines only to return within the half hour to alert the group of the approaching Ulrog pack.

The stress of the journey took its toll on animal and man alike. Even Tarader’s normally regal gait became a heavy headed trudge through the grasslands. Ader turned in Kael’s direction and knew the situation called for a hard decision. The boy’s chestnut became more of a burden than help. The little horse’s step grew tentative and obviously painful. Ader whispered to his giant gray mount and the horse halted.

“Kael,” said the old man. “We would make faster time with you on foot. The chestnut can go no further.”

The boy frowned and nodded in agreement. He quickly dropped from the horse and removed his belongings, slinging a pack across his back.

“Send him south,” said Ader to the boy. “The Ulrog can eat mud if required, but horse flesh would be preferable.”

Kael nodded somberly to his teacher and turned the chestnut south. The boy loosened a strap from his pack and used it to give the haggard horse a sharp crack across the rear. With a jolt the chestnut lurched from the strap and trotted into the grasslands.

Kael turned back to his group and frowned. The situation looked bleak. Eidyn held out his hand.

“Come up, Kael,” said the Elf. “My stallion can carry us both.”

Kael moved toward the Elf but Ader’s hand rose in protest.

“No,” said the Seraph. “We cannot waste the animal’s strength. Kael can run beside us for a while. We may need your stallion’s speed in the end.”

“Ader is correct,” nodded Kael. “I have been on horseback for too long. I will walk.”

“Then we shall each spend a time on the stallion,” returned Eidyn. “When you tire I will take your place and you shall ride.”

“Agreed,” replied Kael.

Both young men turned to Ader and he nodded his approval. Sprig smiled and slid from the back of Tarader to stand beside Kael. The Southland boy grinned at his diminutive counterpart and laid a hand upon his shoulder.