The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (20 page)

After three revolutions, the circle of painted men stopped and they all turned their backs to Tatev. The man with the bone necklace held his arms out to the sky and shouted. Then he pulled a knife from a sheath concealed under the back of his leather jerkin and turned to face Tatev.

“No!” Erik shouted. “Let him alone! He didn’t cause the fire, it was the book!”

The man with the bone necklace did not heed Erik’s words. He raised his arm up and brought it down swiftly. Tatev’s body jerked, but the man did not cry out in pain. The leader backed away, chanting something that Erik couldn’t understand. The painted men each fell to their knees moaning and wailing. Erik’s eyes fixated on Tatev, a man who had never wanted to venture to find the Immortal Mystic in the first place. Now Erik understood why.

His eyes locked onto the handle of the knife. Even when the man with the bone necklace set fire to the pit, Erik watched the knife. The knife sparkled and gleamed, then blackened under the heat of the fire. Erik dropped his gaze to the ground. He knew he was next.

Aparen walked to the stump and sat down. Njar moved around him, watching him carefully. Aparen didn’t let it get to him. He was beginning to become accustomed to the satyr’s presence. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He held the breath for a count of seven and then exhaled slowly and completely. He repeated this five times, as Njar had instructed him each morning. Then he opened his eyes and looked straight in front of him. He focused his eyes on a single leaf hanging low from a birch tree, and then he let his eyes go out of focus.

He continued breathing slowly.

It took a few moments, but he finally saw it. A field of green energy rolled through the area with blue undertones mingling with it. He smiled wide. He raised his arm to point at it, but once he did he lost sight of the energy. His smile fell away.

“You found it,” Njar noted.

“Only for a moment. Then I lost it,” Aparen said.

“Does it matter how long the arrow flew through the air so long as it hits the mark?” Njar asked.

Aparen sniggered. “If the arrow disappeared like the energy, it would.”

Njar offered a sincere smile and reached up to stroke the beard hanging from his chin. “What did you feel when you saw it?”

Aparen frowned. He shrugged and looked back to the leaf, preparing to restart the exercise. “Pride, I suppose.”

Njar stepped into his field of vision and bent down to lock eyes with the young man. “Focus on what the energy
feels
like,” Njar instructed. “Now you know what it looks like, but that is only the first method of recognizing it. Your other senses are just as capable of discerning the energy of a space also.”

“Next you are going to say I can hear the energy,” Aparen said sarcastically.

Njar narrowed his eyes and emitted a low, stern bleat. “You can hear the energy. You can also smell and taste it, if you are attuned to it.”

Aparen shook his head. “But what is the point to that? If I can see it, isn’t that enough?”

Njar reached out and slapped Aparen upside the head. “How did humans ever get to conquer this world?” He turned away and sighed. “Is it enough to see that I slapped you, or is it a fuller experience to feel it?”

Aparen rubbed his head. “It made me angry,” he said bluntly.

Njar turned and pointed a finger in his face. “Exactly. It brought you more fully into the moment. So to it is with energies around us. If you can smell, hear, and taste them then you can fully immerse yourself in the energy around you. You can meld with it, and use it to energize yourself.”

“I can take strength from it?” Aparen asked, suddenly intrigued.

Njar shook his head. “You can receive energy, but you can not take it.”

Aparen folded his arms. “I have taken power before,” he said.

The satyr grunted. “You stole power, but that is not the same as energy. You took a finite amount of strength from a finite, mortal being. The energy I am showing you will allow you to tap into an infinite amount of energy, powering you far beyond what you ever could have imagined.” He then held up a cautionary hand. “But, you must first learn to attune yourself to the energy. Terramyr will not let you take it by force. Such a thing is a perversion.”

Aparen nodded. He looked back to the leaf as before. He went through the breathing exercise again and then let his focus fall away. As before, he saw the field of green floating above the dirt, flowing through and between the bushes and trees. It was faint at first, but he thought he felt a slight warmth around him. As his skin awakened to the energy field, he found he could move his eyes and not lose sight of the energy. He splayed his fingers and moved his hand into the colors as if scooping his fingers through a mist. The warmth swirled around him and caressed his skin gently.

“Now listen,” Njar said softly.

Aparen closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensations in his hands. Just as Njar said, he could hear the energy flowing. It hummed, like the wings of a humming bird, soft and low, yet vibrant and full of life. The young man opened his mouth and took in a deep breath. To his surprise, he sensed the sweet flavor of honey, ever so delicately, in his mouth as the air moved through him. An invigorating rush coursed through him then and all of his senses heightened and his body felt stronger.

“There it is,” Njar said. “That is the energy Terramyr gives to those who seek her out.”

Aparen opened his eyes and moved through the grove. He searched for several minutes before he finally found a flower with withered petals. He stretched out his hand and tried to focus this new energy out to the flower. As he did so, the petals strengthened and became full and strong.

“I healed it,” Aparen remarked.

Njar stepped up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Now, tell me how
that
felt.”

Aparen said nothing. All he could do was smile.

The satyr pulled out a set of wooden pipes and rubbed them with a soft cloth. “Anyone can destroy, but it takes true power to restore.” He brought the pipes up to his mouth and played a melody so sweet that the flowers and trees in the grove actually swayed and danced to the tune. Ivy grew before their eyes. New flowers sprouted and bloomed. A patch of dirt darkened and bubble up until a small spring rushed out to circle the entire grove. Deer and squirrels approached, fearless of Aparen and Njar as they drank from the small spring.

“You can do this with pipes?” Aparen asked.

“I am tapping Terramyr’s energy,” Njar replied. He ceased playing the instrument and gestured out to the large buck nearby drinking from the clear water. “There is a part of you that wants to hunt the deer, am I right?”

Aparen looked to Njar curiously. He nodded. “I promised not to, but yes, I would slay it if I found him in my wood.”

Njar smiled. “Such is the way of other races. Outside of Viverandon there is strife and struggle. Instead of grazing upon the fruits of the land, animals eat each other. I will not ask you to abandon this part of you, but I do hope you will begin to seek balance more than power.”

Aparen looked back to the flower he had healed and then spun around slowly in place to look at the grove. “There is a kind of power from balance,” he said.

Njar smiled. “Come, let us go and eat. I have some books for you to read.”

*****

Silvi stood near a large birch tree. She watched Aparen and Njar, as she had every day since they had come to Viverandon. At first, she had come to ensure Aparen’s safety. As much as she had controlled him with her charm spells, she had grown fond of him and took it upon herself to guard him now. Whether it was her guilt for having manipulated him, or seeing his selflessness when he fought to free her from Dremathor that ignited this concern within her, she wasn’t sure. She bit her lip when Aparen rose up from the stump. She moved to hide more of herself behind the tree.

Aparen was too focused on his training to notice her.

Njar, on the other hand, simply glanced and offered her a stern look. When he made no move to chase her away, she stayed to witness as Aparen learned to manipulate the energies and heal a plant. From her position, she couldn’t quite see the effects on the plant, but when she saw Aparen’s reaction, she knew he had broken through a plateau in terms of his abilities. She fidgeted with the side of her dress between her fingers when Njar put a set of pipes to his lips. Within mere seconds the foliage around the grove grew so thick that she could no longer see them. She turned and started her way back to the village.

*****

Gulgarin growled as he dragged his finger along the wooden model of Ten Forts erected upon the table in the stone chamber. “We can push in from the keep in the east,” he suggested.

Maernok shook his head. “The humans will expect that,” Maernok said. “Instead, I will send more reinforcements to your keep. You will make it appear as though we are going to make the push from that direction, but in truth you will be digging in and making the area more defensible. I will move the ram back from the main keep.” Maernok reached forward and moved a crude, wooden model back from the gate. “We will make it appear as though we are going to move to the east, and attack the next fort. I will lead the majority of the force out to the west and we will slam the westernmost fort.”

“Draw the humans east and then hit them in the rear,” Gulgarin commented with an approving nod. “What of the main keep?”

“The ram, and the orcs with it, will double back through the forest in the south. After we have the westernmost fort captured, I will return and lead a charge on the central gate.”

“And I will press in from the east at that time?” Gulgarin asked.

Maernok nodded. “And those in the west will press in from their position. We will squeeze the humans out of the forts.”

“We should hit them again tonight,” Gulgarin said suddenly.

Maernok shook his head. “We should preserve our strength.”

Gulgarin pointed a greenish-gray finger at Maernok. “We can press now, hit them with everything we have, and then pull back. It will give more credibility to the ruse you plan. They will think we run with our tails between our legs.”

Maernok sighed. The others lining the walls nearby were whispering in hushed tones, but he knew they agreed with Gulgarin. If Maernok hoped to keep the threads of this delicate alliance in place, he had to pander to the others enough to maintain their trust.

“Glory will be to you, of course,” Gulgarin added with a bowed head and clenched fist over his heart. That sealed it. To deny the maneuver now would be to insult a fellow tribal chief, which would spread discord through the ranks.

Maernok smiled wide. “You will be at my side, Gulgarin, and the glory will be to all who fight valiantly.”

Gulgarin hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding and backing away. “I will prepare the soldiers I brought with me. It will be my honor to fight alongside you.”

Maernok clapped his hands and the officers all departed from the chamber. He watched until the last had departed and then he turned to sit upon the table, careful not to wreck any part of the wooden model. In his mind, he wrestled with himself. Gulgarin was scheming for something, it seemed. Yet, if he was, why would Gulgarin consistently give all the honor to him? If he wanted to win the hearts of the other tribes, he could easily press on fighting in his own way and winning glory.

Surely there must be something more to it.

Did he wish to unite the clans? If he did, why would he seemingly give up his position of authority? No orc would willingly place themselves as number two if he could advance to the top. If he were human, Maernok would worry about Gulgarin stabbing him in the back, but that was not the orc way. Assassinations and betrayals were not part of the code. Maernok cracked the knuckles on his hand and rolled his shoulders to loosen them. He knew that one day, probably not far from now, Gulgarin would make a move to seize power. The large orc grunted and accepted the fact. If Gulgarin wanted to cross swords with him, then he was more than ready for it. For now he would let the fellow tribal chief scheme, so long as the soldiers won the siege and Ten Forts fell, Maernok didn’t care what happened after that. Let Gulgarin claim a seat as ruler of the united tribes if he wanted, for Maernok had other designs.

No sooner would Ten Forts fall into orcish hands than he was going north. He need only allow two days for Gilifan’s request, and then he was free to hunt the meddling wizard down like the conniving wretch he was. That thought brought a smile to his lips. Even now he could picture the wizard’s paled face and gaping mouth as he fell by Maernok’s blade. It would be a sweet day.

Maernok left the caves to see the soldiers formed into ranks and ready for orders. A pair of officers jogged up to him and saluted quickly.

“The plan has been disseminated throughout the ranks?” Maernok asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“I will require a goarg,” Maernok said. “And be sure to place auxiliary quivers along the saddle.”

The officers glanced to each other and then bowed as they ran off and disappeared into the sea of soldiers.

“A goarg?” Gulgarin called out. The orc walked with a determined gait, though somewhat stilted by his thick plate armor. “I thought you were going to run alongside me at the front.”

“I will be at the front,” Maernok promised.

“I don’t see how,” Gulgarin said in a slightly quieter tone. “You planning on jumping the walls?”

Maernok revealed his recurve bow and held it out for Gulgarin to see. “This is Szelevo. The bow has been in my family, passed from father to son, for six generations. It has seen many battles, and taken many lives.” Maernok turned the bow over in the light and stared down at the green wood. The limbs shone brightly, undimmed by age or use. The leather wrapping for the grip was worn smooth and stained with the sweat of many warriors. The black string held firm and the limbs begged to be drawn back to rain death upon the enemy.

“This is a ride I cannot make with you,” Gulgarin admitted. “I was never much use with a bow.” He pulled a great warhammer from a harness on his back and held it out for Maernok to see. The metal appeared silver, yet held a greenish-black quality to it as well, as if some kind of oil had been permanently infused with the metal while forging it. The head of the hammer formed into a pyramid that looked as though it could punch through the heaviest of armor plating. The back side of the hammer was fitted with a devilish hook, and the base of the shaft ended in a wicked spike. “I too hold a family heirloom. This is Rombolo, a warhammer that has no equal in the Middle Kingdom. It was forged in the mines of Termalyn from a combination of feather-steel and Telarian steel.” He turned the weapon over and let the light reflect off the multi-colored surface. “It was the union of the two metals that gave Rombolo its color.”