The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (32 page)

The ant charged forward, leaping over three orcs that had been running toward it. As it landed it continued its mad dash for the closest ladder. Peren leaned over to the side and swung the hammer. It was likely more luck than skill, but the weapon connected with the orc’s chest and knocked him backward into the stone wall. The orc wheezed and crumpled to the dirt afterward. Peren smiled.

They closed in on the ladder. As before, the ant bit through the wood. Peren then swung the warhammer and connected with the nearest orc, buying the ant enough time to maneuver around the ladder and pull it down from the wall. Without stopping, they moved on to the next ladder.

They tore it down in similar fashion to the first and made their way toward the third ladder. This time, a pair of orcs fell and landed upon the ant’s abdomen when the ladder collapsed. Peren turned to deal with them as the ant charge on. One of the orcs pierced his sword through the ant’s abdomen. The ant stumbled as its two hind legs partially collapsed.

Peren jumped from the thorax to engage them. He came in with a heavy swing that both orcs easily dodged. One orc lunged forward with his sword. Peren made a clicking sound with his tongue. The mage then turned and leapt toward the thorax. The ant halted immediately. One of the orcs tumbled to the ground. The other managed to stay on the ant as he held onto the sword dug deep into the giant insect’s abdomen. Peren landed back on the thorax and somersaulted forward. When he came to a stop he made a high pitched chirping sound. The ant swung its abdomen to the left, and then to the right. Still the orc held on.

“Just go!” Peren shouted as he noticed a wave of orcs emerging from the dying flames. He knew he had to get the final ladder. As the ant charged on, Peren looked back to the orc. He had pulled his sword free and was now moving toward him. Peren gripped the hammer and took in a deep breath. He rushed the orc and the two met upon the spiny petiole between the thorax and abdomen.

The orc made short, straight thrusts with his sword. Peren used the warhammer somewhat like a staff, gripping high and low on the handle to help him manipulate the heavy weapon fast enough to block the orc’s thrusts. The orc smiled and rushed forward. He planted his shoulder directly into Peren’s chest and knocked him from his feet. Peren bounced down onto the ant and then slid off. The mage looked up and time seemed to slow for him. The orc raised its sword and started to step forward, but Peren was not about to go down by himself.

He stuck the hammer up, hooking the head around the orc’s ankle. He pulled as he slid off the ant and managed to trip the orc as well. A moment later, both of them crashed to the ground below as the ant charged on to collide with the final ladder.

Peren managed to stand, struggling for breath and his back aching terribly. He smiled when he saw the black ant rip the last ladder from the wall. Orcs fell like a macabre rain of armor and flesh. He cast a glance back the other way and was surprised to see that the giant beetle had charged out toward the west, destroying all of the ladders along that side of the gatehouse. Even with half a dozen orcs hacking at its back and head, it turned to charge into an oncoming wave of warriors. Peren smiled wide, admiring the beetle’s courage and strength.

A terrible screech erupted from behind. Peren turned to see a swarm of orcs cutting the black ant down. Arrows fell from above as the archers tried to offered protection, but there were far too many orcs.

The mage then noticed that the orc he had taken from the ant was running toward him with a knife in his hand. Peren only then realized that he had dropped Gorin’s warhammer. He was defenseless, and he had not the strength to call any more spells after controlling the insects for so long.

He turned, ready to accept his fate. He had accomplished his goal. The ladders were down, and the walls were once again free of the orcish horde. He watched as the orc sprinted toward him. Ten yards away, now seven. Five, now three. The knife hand rose up, ready to strike. Peren breathed heavy, his back stinging and aching from the fall, his knees weak and his mind fatigued.

A blue whirl swooped in. Gorin’s hammer rose up by itself and caught the orc in the stomach. The weapon wheeled around and the head crushed the orc’s knife hand. Then it spun again and the bottom of the shaft dug into the orc’s stomach. The warhammer then swung out wide, parallel to the ground and caught the orc in the right knee.
K-snap!
The joint broke inward and then a mighty yell erupted on the wind and the hammer blasted the orc in the chest, sending him whirling end over end several yards back.

Peren looked on confused, and then smiled when Gorin became visible before him. It was hard to make out the features on his face, as he appeared to be as much vapor as form.

“You fought as a hero,” Gorin said.

Peren smiled and opened his mouth to say something.

Gorin glanced over his shoulder and then back to Peren. He offered him the warhammer. “Take this back to my home,” Gorin said. “Do not stay here and throw away your life.”

Peren slowly reached out for the hammer. As he took the weapon, Gorin smiled and turned. The mist spread as he flew toward the enemy. Several orcs fell as if bowled over by a mighty boulder, never to rise again. Gorin’s voice emitted one final yell over the field and then a bolt of lightning struck down, grabbing the warhammer and shaking the ground with thunder.

Then Peren vanished from the field.

*****

Lepkin ran to the walls as soon as he had his armor on. The other dragon slayers were already there, fighting the last of the orcs left upon the battlements after the ladders had collapsed. Lepkin tore through a few enemies and then as he tossed one back between the merlons to the ground below, he saw a massive wave of orcs rushing toward the walls.

“They think to scale it with their bare hands?” Eriem asked.

Lepkin shook his head and pointed through the fading smoke. “Worse than that.”

A flurry of arrows rose up from the orcs sprinting in.

“Everyone down!” Eriem shouted.

Lepkin estimated that there were hundreds of orcish archers. They stopped fifty yards off the walls, and began firing at the humans upon the battlements.

“Archers, ready your arrows and fire back!” a captain yelled from near the gatehouse.

“No,” Lepkin shouted. “Fall back!”

The captain turned on him. “Are you daft man?”

Lepkin and Eriem sprinted for the stairs, pushing and dragging others along with them. The captain ran toward them, his face throbbing with anger.

“You can’t run now, they will assemble new ladders and scale the walls.”

Lepkin pointed out over the field. “Look beyond the smoke,” he said.

The captain turned to squint. His eyes shot open wide and he turned to his men, waving his arm frantically. “Off the walls men, off the walls!”

A moment later a barrage of heavy rocks slammed into the walls and the gatehouse.

Lepkin and the other dragon slayers made it to the courtyard and were met by Mercer. Lepkin pointed to the walls and shook his head. “We have the ram, but it was only a diversion. They used my fire wall to screen themselves as they moved catapults into position.”

Mercer hung his head and beat a fist upon his chest. “How could this happen? We should have pursued them when we beat them from our gates last time.”

A terrible clamor erupted from the eastern side of the battlements. They looked up to see a great band of orcs pressing in from outside the fort. These were followed by yet more orcs flowing in from the passageways down at ground level. Human soldiers sprang into action, battling them back into the passageways and out of the courtyard.

“They have broken through the other forts,” Lepkin noted.

“Ten Forts is lost,” Mercer said. “Sound the retreat.”

“Sir, if we run out into the forest, they will pursue. We are heavily outnumbered,” Eriem pointed out.

Mercer shook his head. “Sound the retreat. There is no other choice. To stay is to die.”

Eriem nodded once and ran off calling for retreat. Lepkin went for the northern gate and ordered the men to open it wide. Soldiers and dwarves funneled into the courtyard and made haste to escape through the gate.

Orcs poured in from all sides now. Those on the ground fought with sword and axe, while those upon the walls fired arrows at the fleeing army.

Lepkin and the dragon slayers stayed near the gate, helping others through and telling them to regroup in the north.

Mercer brought his horse out from the stable and presented it to Lepkin.

“What are you doing?” Lepkin asked.

“I am giving you a direct order. Go north. Warn the nearest cities and either make preparations for defense or get them farther inland to Fort Drake. The orcs are coming.”

Lepkin looked to Mercer and shook his head. “You are no good lame,” he said. “Don’t do this. You take your horse, I will lead the others on foot.”

Mercer handed Lepkin his ring. “Give this to the commander at Fort Drake.”

Eriem marched up along with the other dragon slayers. They grabbed Lepkin and pushed him out through the gatehouse along with a few other soldiers. Mercer slapped his horse on the rump and sent it trotting out as well. Then the commander raised his sword up and gave a mighty chop to the heavy rope that held the portcullis open. The iron came crashing down like the jaws of a great beast, sealing Mercer, and the orcs, inside.

Lepkin offered a final salute as Mercer turned to stand before a gang of bloodthirsty orcs.

“Get on the horse,” Eriem shouted.

Lepkin nodded and leapt up to the horse.

“Come at me you dogs of Khullan!” Mercer shouted.

Lepkin didn’t watch the rest. He urged the horse into a gallop and raced northward. Dimwater came to his mind, but he knew that she would be safe with Marlin. The planned route they had decided upon would keep them protected from the orcs. Now he had to focus on getting to Fort Drake, and saving as many towns as he could between here and there.

“Goargs!” came a sharp cry to the east.

Lepkin looked and cursed under his breath. Several goargs were rushing in. The riders were eager to pick off any they could as the human soldiers did their best to flee. He cast a glance to the west and saw another group of goargs charging in. The casualties were going to be high, Lepkin knew. If only he could have maintained his dragon form, the day might have turned out for the better. As it was, he doubted whether even he would be able to outrun the goargs in time to warn anyone.

Ten Forts was no more, and a terrible tide of blood was about to sweep the land, ushered in by orcish swords.

Salarion entered the cave. A trio of large, heavily armed and armored guards glowered at her, but she walked by them. Around the first bend in the cave she was greeted by a solid iron gateway that had obviously been recently constructed in the cave. Seven guards stood here, with halberds and spears.

“Salarion, you have taken a lot longer than expected,” said a slim man with a silver ponytail and matching beard. He pushed off from the sealed doorway and knocked on it three times. Several rectangular sheets of metal slid open, scratching and grinding against the metal walls they were built into. In each opening appeared the shiny tip of a crossbow bolt.

“Smart design,” Salarion noted as she inspected the wall. It was created in a way to present a visitor with a concave barrier, thus affording each crossbow from the other side with a perfect angle on their target. “I have what the master seeks.” Salarion unfastened her weapons and let them fall to the floor. Then she pulled the book up and held it before her.

The slim man folded his arms and smiled wickedly. “Well, then I suppose we had better let you in.” He turned toward the door and then stopped, putting a hand up in the air and wagging a finger toward the ceiling. “One thing, love, where are those lizards you usually roam around with? I will need to have them stay here as well.”

Salarion scowled at him. “They’re dead.” She walked up to the man and leaned in close. “I have nothing else to worry about.”

“Maybe we should check her more thoroughly,” commented one of the other guards. Salarion didn’t fail to notice the lewd stare the man was sending her way, but she ignored it and locked eyes with the gray haired man.

“One finger upon me, and all of you will die,” she promised.

The man smiled wide. “Now that, I believe.” He turned back to the door and gave four knocks. A series of clicks and scrapes echoed through the cave and then the door squeaked open. “Follow the tunnel in. You’ll know you are close when you smell sulfur and the heat makes your skin start to itch and sweat.”

“Don’t touch my things either,” she cautioned as she passed through the doorway. Inside the gate she saw a score of men lined against the wall, as well as the dozen crossbowmen that were sliding the covers back over their openings. They all watched her, but none said a word to her. She walked for roughly half a mile and then stopped as the tunnel opened up to reveal an old orcish ruin that was now buried within the cave. Salarion paused mid-step and looked at the structure. Her eyes scanned over its surface and she stood for a moment admiring it and wondering how such a place could have been built within a cave. The wall was still intact, and offered great protection should any army ever make it through the iron gate at the entrance.

The great blocks of green and black stone stood firmly before her, with arrow slits about twenty feet above the ground level. Another ten feet above that were larger window openings. There were no towers or battlements emerging from the top as one might expect from a large castle. Instead, the green and black stone rose all the way to the cavern’s ceiling, and stretched out both ways to disappear into the stone walls of the cave.

Archers and guards patrolled the ground in front of the ruin. A few more archers were visible from the window openings high up. She saw several doorways leading into the structure, all of which stood open. In one of them stood a gray haired man with wide, thick shoulders. Upon seeing her he exited the structure and gestured for her to approach him. Salarion began walking again, still admiring the structure.

“I am Bergarax,” he said. “I can take you to Gilifan.”

Salarion nodded and went to the man. He waited for her to be within a few steps of him and then turned to lead her through a winding hallway. They passed a few small antechambers and then Bergarax turned to her.

“What do you think of the place?” he asked.

“It’s incredible,” Salarion said. “Do you know much about it?” she asked. “I was unaware that there were any orcish forts or ruins near Pinkt’Hu.”

Bergarax nodded. “We too thought that Pinkt’Hu was the heart of the orcish settlement in this area. However, it appears that this structure is many centuries older than even the old fort in Pinkt’Hu.”

“How did they build it in here?” Salarion mused aloud.

Bergarax shrugged. “All I know is we were looking for some new ore mines. We started digging here and stumbled into this place completely by accident about ten years ago. We have been working ever since. Lord Finorel ordered that the miners who found it be imprisoned here. So they continue to work the cave while my men provide protection.” The man turned and smiled as he put a finger to his forehead. “My half-brother was always looking for ways to serve the master,” he said with a big toothy grin.

“So no one in Pinkt’Hu knows about it?” Salarion pressed.

“Not a soul,” Bergarax confirmed. “We told the miners’ families that there had been an accident and no one survived. Those kind of things happen frequently around here.” Bergarax led her by many stairways, side rooms, and a few more passageways before they reached the rear exit. He grabbed a heavy ring of iron and pulled the old door back. A blast of tepid, sulfuric air rushed in. The exit opened up directly into a large cavern. Swirling yellow clouds of sulfur rose up from vent mounds and steam ascended from bubbling hot springs. White stalactites hung from the arched ceiling and dripped with water from the accumulated steam and vapors collecting at the top of the chamber.

“Admire them if you will,” Bergarax said as he swept his arm out to the side. “But stick with me along the path. The ground can be deceptively weak in places and you can fall into a boiling chasm. Also, beware the still geysers. The ones that are visibly boiling are obvious, but the ones with still waters are more deadly. They will peel the flesh from your bones within seconds, and no one will be able to save you.”

Salarion nodded. “Sounds lovely,” she said.

“One of the miners here thinks that the orcs originally built this structure near a warm spring, or possibly even a cool mountain pool. He says that perhaps there was an earthquake that disrupted the cavern, letting hotter air into this chamber while bringing lave closer to the surface. I don’t really know much about it, but it sounds as good a theory as any as to why the orcs would have lost a place like this.”

“So he thinks they were buried alive by an earthquake that brought up boiling water from below and dirt from above?” Salarion paused to look into a deep blue pool that went straight down into the ground for several yards. There were a few bones there in the bottom, white and clean. “Not a pleasant way to die.”

The two walked over a curving path of wooden planks and then onto a smooth walkway of stone before rounding a corner to the left. Salarion noted this chamber was much smaller, and yet even hotter than the large cavern with the active geysers. A large, spotted egg sat upon a nest of glowing stones. To the left of the egg she saw Gilifan standing over an altar of stone. A pair of bodies lay upon the altar, both lifeless and still.

The wizard turned and looked to her with a great smile. “Ah, Salarion, my dear. You just missed the sacrifice.” He indicated to the bodies behind him. “The governor has been most cooperative in supplying me the souls I need to accelerate the egg’s hatching.”

Salarion frowned and looked from the egg to the necromancer, and then back to the altar. “You seek to fuse Tu’luh’s spirit with the hatchling?”

Gilifan sneered wickedly and offered a slight nod of his head. “That is why I like you. You don’t need things explained. You always understand what is happening.” It was then that Gilifan’s eyes found the book she held in her hands. His sneer turned to a wide smile of joy and surprise, as if he was a young boy getting a gift on his birthday. He held his hands out and nearly ran to her. “Give it to me!” he exclaimed.

Salarion hesitated. She almost moved to hold the book back from him, but at the last moment she forced her hands up and delivered the book to him. The necromancer snatched it from her grasp and pressed it to his forehead before opening the front cover. Delicately he ran a hand over the first page, smiling and nearly giggling with elation.

“Where did you find it?” he asked. His eyes swung up to her. “Where was it?”

“In Tualdern,” she said.

“Ha!” he shouted. “All this time the book was right there where it all began! Remarkable. Your father would have appreciated the irony, I am sure.”

“Speaking of my father,” Salarion said. She held out her left hand.

“Ah, yes,” Gilifan said with a nod. “Your payment.” He bent down and lifted the hem of his robes to reveal a small box fastened to his right ankle. The box was made of onyx, and glowed with a faint violet hue. “You sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked. “He could be a great ally.”

Salarion took the onyx box and shook her head. “It is time to let my father’s spirit free.”

“He would be free if I raised him from the dead,” Gilifan said with a slight grin.

Salarion stuffed the small box, no bigger than a ring box, into her left pocket. “No,” she said.

Gilifan wagged a finger at her. “You just don’t want to share the glory with him when the master rises again, is that it?” He then turned to the book in his hands and shook his head as he turned another page and smiled wide. “I suppose I would do the same in your place. Let the Sierri’Tai look to you as their new master, and let Nagar’s soul fade to the annals of history.” He then leaned in and kissed her upon the cheek. His foul breath lingering in the air longer than the moistness from his lips upon her skin. The gesture took Salarion by surprise and she stiffened considerably until Gilifan started walking back toward the altar.

“Our deal is complete then?” she asked.

Gilifan waved her off. “Yes, yes, we are quite finished. Come back in a while, and you shall witness the rebirth of our master.” He stopped then and turned around to regard her once more. He held the book up, still grinning ear to ear. “You shall be a legend all of your own. You are the heroine who found the book, when no one else could.”

Salarion offered a slight bow of her head and then turned to leave. Bergarax followed her out to the iron gate.

*****

Gilifan flipped through the pages of the book after the dark elf left. He could feel the power of the book reaching out to him, calling to him, beckoning him to unleash it. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes as if caught in the deep kiss of a lover.

“It seems you have what you wanted,” a voice called out.

Gilifan startled. His eyes popped open and he defensively clutched the book closer to his chest. Between him and the egg stood a dark skinned man dressed in simple twill pants and a white tunic with red embroidery around the collar. Even before Gilifan locked with Dremathor’s deep, brown eyes he recognized the shadowfiend at the sight of his green velvet shoes with long, up curled toes.

“Dremathor, you dare show your face now, after such a long absence?” Gilifan raised his hand and collected a ball of dark matter. Instead of glowing, it sucked light from the cavern and grew wisps of tendril-like smoke from all sides.

Dremathor held up his left hand and pulled a small, wooden box from behind his back. “I have not come to fight you, Gilifan. I have come to make a trade.”

“I don’t want to trade, I want your soul.” Gilifan moved in a step, careful to place Nagar’s book upon the altar next to one of the dead bodies.

“I have your amulet, here in this box,” Dremathor said. He opened the lid and tilted the box for Gilifan to see.

Gilifan’s eyes widened and he narrowed his eyes on Dremathor. “How did you come by this?”

“I put a spell upon the box,” Dremathor said, ignoring Gilifan’s inquiry. “If you kill me, or even attack me, before I exit this cave and return to my domain, the box will explode and the amulet will shatter. The only way you get it back is by granting my freedom.”

“You dog!” Gilifan snarled. “First, you turn your back upon the Black Fang Council, and now you wish to be released from your pact. Who was it who gave you your first taste of power? Who was it that made you who you are today?” Gilifan moved his arm as if to release his spell but Dremathor closed the box and let it hover in the air. An orange glow encircled the wooden box and the lid sealed shut.

“It will open only once I am safely back in my tower,” Dremathor said.

“Why should I allow this?” Gilifan asked. “I would profit much by invoking the curse.” He glanced to the dark orb in his hand. “When you joined the council, you gave me control over you by giving me your true name. I have only to speak it and send this orb to touch you, and you will die.”

“You will lose the amulet,” Dremathor pointed out.

“But the master is close to being resurrected,” Gilifan countered. “I also have the book. I don’t need to raise an army of the undead to find it. Now I can bend the living to my will, including you!”

Dremathor shook his head. “I want out.” He backed away from the floating box and held his hands out to the side. “The choice is yours, Gilifan. Do what you will.”

Gilifan stood silently for a moment. He glanced to the floating box and then back to Dremathor. “So, I trade your freedom for the amulet, and that is it?” he asked.