The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (6 page)

“Remember our deal,” Gilifan said.

Gulgarin nodded. “Maernok will die upon the battle field,” he promised.

Gilifan smiled. “I will remove these two before the sun sets today. Then you have only to win the hearts of the tribes before you strike Maernok down.” Gilifan sneered. “Then the orcs shall bow to a new high king.”

Gulgarin nodded once. “And we will have our lands back,” he said.

“All the way up to Pinkt’Hu,” Gilifan promised.

The necromancer turned then and hustled to catch up with the other three. They walked along the road. The orc chiefs cast nervous glances to the sky every few moments. Gilifan kept his eyes focused straight ahead, however. He knew the dragon would not dare to fly again today. He led them down the main road south that led beyond the hills. The rocks and prominent weeds showed that the road had not been cared for since Ten Forts was erected and the orcs had been driven far to the south. Once, it had been a major thoroughfare for the orcs as they traveled to their northern cities, but now it was marred with shrubs, broken rocks and blocks, and pitted with holes caused by the weather over the years. Still, it was far faster to walk along the old road than to forge a new trail through the dense forests. They continued on toward the south for several hours until they found a clearing in a field of tall grasses.

Off to the side sat a gathering of she-orcs sitting around several cooking pits. Unlike the male warriors at the front, they were dressed in light leather clothes that allowed them to focus on pushing the mighty ram without being weighed down by armor. A few packs were strewn about the encampment, but certainly the group was traveling light. None of them acknowledged the newcomers. They sat eating from clay plates and talking amongst themselves. About forty yards away from them stood a large, iron contraption. Six massive wheels made of iron were locked in place with large stones to keep them from rolling. Above the chassis stood an impressive array of trusses and struts, all designed perfectly to support the gargantuan ram’s weight. Thick, black chains held the ram in place. The ram itself was fashioned into the head of a dragon, with a snarling snout and bared fangs. There wasn’t a single piece of the ram that wasn’t made of iron.

“By Khullan’s bones,” Gerarn said. “That is a beast of a battering ram.”

“Come,” Gilifan said. “I need your help.”

“Help?” Serndar echoed with a puzzled look. “We don’t have any magic.”

Gilifan nodded and pointed to the front of the ram. “Come and help me. I need you both to hold the ram.” Gilifan turned to Gersimon. “Have the she-orcs step back.” The engineer hopped to and shouted at the team to move back from the ram. Gerarn and Serndar moved into position near the front of the ram and waited for instructions.

Gilifan pointed to the ram itself. “Climb on up and place your hands on either side of the ram. I need you to keep it from swinging. It is vital that you both keep it absolutely still.”

Gersimon approached Gilifan once more and whispered. “Gulgarin sent the she-orcs from his tribe. They are sworn to my service,” he said.

Gilifan nodded. “Then see to it that each of them swears to the story as we agreed.”

Gersimon smiled wide. “They will.”

Gilifan gestured for Gersimon to return to the she-orcs, then he turned back to the two chiefs. “Remember to keep it absolutely still.”

The two orc chiefs nodded and clambered up onto the contraption. They placed their hands on the ram and pressed hard, holding it in place.

Gilifan smiled. He pulled a small piece of Telarian steel out of his pocket and set it on one of the lower support beams. Then he pulled a black, onyx stone from another pocket and held it before his face. He started to mutter a phrase in a low voice.

Wind picked up around them, throwing leaves and bits of grass everywhere. As if pulled by a large magnet, the orcs lurched forward, pulled in tight against the contraption. A dark mist spiraled down from the sky and touched upon the onyx stone. Gilifan continued to recite the incantation over and over as the mist moved into the stone and the onyx began to glow. The wind around them became stronger, nearly ripping Gilifan’s cloak from his body.

The onyx first gave off an orange hue, and then it turned blood red. The stone grew and flattened, waving as if made of shiny cloth. It hovered over the battering ram and grew until all of the contraption was under its shadow.

Gilifan then looked to the two orcs stuck to the battering ram. They were struggling against the spell, but there was no sense in fighting, Gilifan knew.

“Your brothers will thank you,” Gilifan shouted into the horrendous wind. “A sacrifice must be made for the transmutation. Your willing offering will ensure our victory.” The necromancer raised his left hand and pointed to Gerarn and Serndar. A sickly green light issued out from his index finger like a great snake, extending and slithering toward the orcs. The green light split in twain, one tendril slipping into Serndar’s mouth and the other penetrating through Gerarn’s nostrils. The orcs twitched and their muscles tensed. All went still for a moment. The onyx blanket above floated still, the wind ceased, and there was no sound. Then the orcs threw their heads back and cried out in a desperate howl. The green light erupted from their throats and struck the onyx above. The black, shiny covering fell over the whole of the battering ram, swallowing it and the orcs in its darkness.

A series of green lightning bolts erupted from under the covering while a pair of large, gray bolts struck from the sky. The onyx hummed and morphed, wrapping itself over every curve and angle on the ram. A white glow from underneath intensified. Gilifan knew that was the Telarian steel. It would meld with the onyx and transform the battering ram. The white glow spread in a matter of seconds. Lightning continued to strike the onyx furiously under the clash of a continuous thunder that threatened to rip Gilifan’s ears apart from within. The wind swirled again, this time so forcefully that Gilifan stumbled a bit to his right.

The very atmosphere around the battering ram grew heavy. Gilifan had to fight through a horrendous pressure on his body in order to complete the spell. Blood trailed out from his right nostril and over his upper lip. Droplets were whisked away into the wind. The necromancer paid it no mind. He narrowed his eyes on the morphing material in front of him and held his concentration until at last there was a series of seven lightning bolts, each as thick as a tree’s trunk, that blasted the battering ram from above.

A great clap of thunder shook the ground and all went silent once more.

Gilifan dropped to his knees and put a hand to his nose to stop the bleeding. When he looked up, he saw not the battering ram of wood and metal he had seen before, but a great machine entirely made of Telarian steel.

“No dragon’s breath can break you,” Gilifan said with a wicked smile. “It may take a thousand orcs or more to crush the doors, but bodies we have.” Gilifan pushed up to his feet and looked to the orcs standing near the road. “Come, we have a fortress to conquer.”

Gersimon was the first to approach. “Your magic is indeed a work of dark art,” he said.

The necromancer paused, as if frozen where he stood. A voice entered his head. No, not a voice, just a thought. Something had happened at Demaverung. Takala needed his help. Gilifan regained his focus and then noticed Gersimon staring at him curiously. Gilifan nodded and pointed to the battering ram. “I trust you can get this to Maernok on your own? I have some things I need to check on.”

Gersimon nodded. “When it was only made of iron I thought it was a beast, but now…” Gersimon’s words trailed off and he stared in wonder. “We shall crush the gates with this.”

“You said before it could withstand dragon’s fire,” Gilifan said. “Now, it actually will.”

*****

The moment the necromancer entered Demaverung he could feel that something was horribly wrong. None of the acolytes would return his stare, and others simply ran away or bolted their doors at his approach. Had Tu’luh been angered? There was no way for him to know. So he began his way up the tunnel. The air inside the volcano was as hot as it ever was, stinging his lungs with each breath. He looked up to the rubies and diamonds glittering in the wall like brilliant stars above the stark granite floor. The fact that none of the gems seemed to be humming gave him pause. Gilifan stopped and strained his ears while staring up the tunnel.

Silence was all that greeted his ears. He looked to his left and saw a middle-aged woman approaching him. “Takala is in the master’s chamber. He expects you there. Others have been assembled.”

He turned and increased his speed up the tunnel without responding to the woman. At last he came to the end of the tunnel. It opened into a large chamber. A great hole was situated almost dead center, with hot steam and smoke rising up out of it. To the far side on the right was a pile of gold coins and gems that made the hallways seem like costume jewelry by comparison.

Takala and a group of others stood around the edge of the pit, looking down. Gilifan moved forward, walking to the edge of the pit and looked down. Down below he saw the twisted, rigid body of his master. His face soured and he turned away from the sight at the bottom. “When did this happen?” he asked.

Takala looked up with a sober expression and answered for the group. “I called for you just as soon as I found out. The acolytes summoned the other elders, who had been out gathering firedrakes for an assault on Ten Forts.”

“Where were you?” Gilifan asked.

“I was also out in the valley,” Takala replied. “I was gathering some of the mercenaries we had hired. Our reinforcements are on their way to the westernmost walls of Ten Forts and should add significant strength to the orcs.”

“What difference does that make now?” one of the elders asked.

Gilifan nodded. He turned away from the pit and looked at the other elders of the order that stood nearby.

“What do we do now?” one of them asked.

Gilifan stood silently. He knew of the egg, but none of the others did. He turned to Takala and looked at the man for a moment. “Where do your loyalties lie, Takala?” he asked.

“You have the power to raise men from the dead,” Takala said quickly. “Couldn’t you raise the master back?”

Gilifan sighed. Even if he still had the amulet, raising a dragon was beyond his power. He would need the book for that. The only problem was, he needed a dragon to use the book.

“I knew this was a waste of time,” one of the elders spat. “I have been sitting here waiting for the master’s return for all of my life, only to have him come back just in time to die at the hands of one man! This is ridiculous.”

Gilifan reached up with his hand and a magical vice wrapped around the elder’s throat. “It was your job to secure the lair.”

“No,” the man sputtered as he wiggled against the unseen choke-hold. “We were out on the master’s errand. We weren’t here!”

Gilifan released his spell and the man fell back a couple of steps. “We go after the book,” he said definitively. “Our order still serves the same purpose.”

“How will we use the book without Tu’luh?” the same elder asked.

“You let me worry about that,” Gilifan replied. He then turned back to Takala. “We will need strong warriors to accomplish our goal now. The orcs at Ten Forts will need our help.”

“Orcs won’t fight with us,” one of the other elders said. “Their witch hunters will come after us. That is why we hide here in the wastelands of Verishtahng. It is too dangerous even for the orcs to come at us here.”

Gilifan placed a hand on Takala’s shoulder. “I asked you before, but now I need a direct answer. Where do your loyalties lie?”

Takala met Gilifan’s eyes evenly and set his jaw. “Command me, Master Gilifan, and I will obey. I, and all other members of the Black Fang Council, will serve you as we did our master. I have lived long enough to know that there is still a chance for victory as long as we are strong.”

Gilifan nodded. “I was hoping you would say that.” The necromancer then turned and walked to the five elders. “Come here,” he instructed them. “Join hands with me, and I will show you the visions that Tu’luh showed me.”

The elders looked to each other nervously and then formed a circle, holding hands and then closed their eyes. Gilifan looked at each of them and then mentally called forth a spell to paralyze them. He sent it out in a wave through his hands. It coursed through each of the elders faster than the blink of an eye. Then he pulled himself free of the circle and turned back to Takala.

“To win this war, we will need to rebuild our order. I need men who are strong, and unwavering in their determination.” Gilifan held out his hand, indicating the five elders behind him, still frozen in place. “If you wish, you may consume their power, take it as a token of my appreciation for your loyalty, and a promise to reward you for future endeavors.”

Takala grinned evilly. “I think this new arrangement will work well.”

Gilifan started toward the exit. “I will cull the rest of the weak from my order, and then you and I will begin rebuilding. It will take some time, but we will come back stronger than before. Tu’luh may have died, but his legacy lives on.”

“Glory to the strong,” Takala said.

Gilifan stopped in his tracks and turned back. “Tomorrow, I will have a special errand for you, Takala. Do you know Salarion?”