The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2) (39 page)

“We must go.” said the Elf as he spun past Kael and headed toward his stallion.

Kael furrowed his brow in confusion and glanced from Eidyn back to the scene at mid river. Ader just sat on his mount as the Ulrog priest advanced.

“Kael! We must leave. Now!” shouted Eidyn from behind the boy.

Kael took one last look at the Seraph then turned and fled the tree line.

Gnarok savored his victory. Sulgor would be pleased with his creation. The Malveel lord would exalt Gnarok above all other priests. He would be given command of more Hackles and advance the glory of Amird.

The haggard old man sat staring at Gnarok as the Ulrog moved forward. Several of the other Hackles unaffected by the green flame of Ader were gaining courage and moving toward the Seraph once more. Gnarok saw his second, Hnarg, silently stalking forward.

“Gnish, far rolg!” barked Gnarok.

Immediately his underling halted and slunk away from the Seraph. No one would steal the glory of Gnarok. The old man sat expressionless. He had wasted himself. The Seraph even lacked  the strength to raise his weapon in defense.

The diminutive figure dashed down the northern bank. He raced into the shallow water, a blur in the darkness. Sprig raised the sturdy length of hollow rimshar toward his lips.

Hnarg cursed to himself. He should have rushed the Seraph and finished him before Gnarok found the opportunity to recover. The Seraph fire weakened Gnarok, but now was not the time to challenge the high priest. Gnarok was still too powerful. Hnarg hadn’t learned all of the lead priest’s secrets yet.

The subordinate priest stood in the shallow water, brooding with resentment. The Hackles halted, fully aware that Gnarok desired the glory of the kill.

Gnarok stood one full stride from the Seraph. The onyx blade smoldered in his hands. The Voice of Avra sat hunched in the saddle, his eyes bore into Gnarok, filled with defiance.

“You die tonight, Seraph!” grated Gnarok’s rough voice.

Avra’s chosen smiled at the priest! Gnarok filled with rage and raised his blade. Had the Seraph gone mad! Ader DeHartstron sat motionless staring past Gnarok toward the northern bank of the Frizgard.

Hnarg knew he too would share in the glory of Gnarok. As Gnarok’s second, Hnarg would also gain command of many of the Hackles Gnarok gathered to his banner. All of this came as little consolation. Hnarg missed his opportunity and would regret serving under Gnarok.

A gray flash sped past him. The Ulrog was stunned. What...?

Sprig blew hard into the rimshar. The long, thin dart exited the tube with a loud pop.

Alarm registered in the evil mind of Gnarok. What did the Seraph see that amused him so?  This old man concealed one more trick. The Ulrog heard an unusual noise behind him and felt a prick in the pit beneath his raised arm. He glanced down to see a small dart with multicolored fletching protruding from the side of his chest. His rocky brow furrowed in confusion.

Hnarg shouted in warning to the lead priest, but it was to late. The tiny figure attacked. Gnarok clumsily ran his free hand along his side attempting to knock a small, brightly colored dart from beneath his arm . His awkward efforts only succeeded in driving the dart further into his hide.

Sprig deftly reloaded the rimshar reed and charged hard toward Tarader. The Ulrog priest fumbled with the blow dart lodged in its hide, then broke off his attempts as he spied the Sprite charging toward him.

“Dar fu! Almu!” cursed the Ulrog as the poisons flowed through its body.

This Ulrog was strong, thought Sprig. The Sprite used nearly half of the precious Reas poison in his pouch and still the beast stood. Sprig took delight in his prowess with the rimshar. His shot was true, and based on Ader’s advice he waited for and found a spot on the beast’s body not encrusted with stone. Sprig’s jaw clenched as the huge Ulrog spun toward him, leveling the gigantic, black blade across his path.

Hnarg barked orders at the Hackles frozen in confusion. It appeared his superior miscalculated. Hnarg was given a second chance to snatch glory for himself.

“Vlin trok Seraph!” barked the Ulrog priest. “Kill the Seraph!”

Sprig danced across the slippery rocks of the fjord. Tarader slowly turned toward the southern riverbank. The Ulrog priest swayed as it cocked its weapon back. The onyx blade swept forward as the Sprite came within two yards of the Ulrog.

Gnarok roared at the tiny Elf. The Seraph used children against the mighty Gnarok. Rage filled his conceited mind. The lead priest would cleave this Elf in two, then turn and finish the Seraph. Gnarok lunged forward sweeping the blade low across the churning Frizgard.

Sprig drew the rimshar to his lips and closed upon the Ulrog. The beast was heavily poisoned, but its movements were surprisingly quick. The blade hummed across the face of the river. Sprig leapt into the air, nearly slamming into the beast’s upper body.

Not a child, thought Gnarok. Not even an Elf, but something different, unknown to his masters. Gnarok was shocked to see the creature leap directly at his face. It raised a twig to its lips. The priest heard the odd popping noise once more.

Ader turned his stallion toward the southern bank. It was up to Sprig now. The Seraph was drained

Gnarok’s mind screamed in alarm. The priest’s vision left him and he was overcome with blindness. Searing, burning pain enveloped every fiber of Gnarok’s body. The poison coursed through his system. The Ulrog priest reeled and fell forward into the Frizgard. His last thought was the fascination he felt with his own death. He was brought into this world by the burning, pain filled claws of the Malveel, and his death felt shockingly similar.

Sprig landed a half stride from the rear of Tarader and with his next leap, he sat upon the giant stallion directly behind Ader. The massive horse immediately charged South into the few Ulrog barring its exit from the riverbed. The Hackle’s confusion over the Sprite’s appearance and the death of their leader made them react slowly. Before the Hackles were able to raise their weapons, Tarader bowled through their weak line and charged from the crossing.

Hnarg watched in horror as his prize burst past the Hackles on the southern bank. He looked about. Gnarok lay motionless in the shallow rapids, a second, brightly colored dart jutting from the High Priest’s right eye. Hnarg was certain of his commander’s death. The packs aligned along this stretch of the Scythtar were now Hnarg’s to command.

However, the priest was all too familiar with Malveel logic. If the Seraph were to escape, someone would be blamed. The logical choice was Gnarok, but with the ranking priest’s death also came his absolution in the eyes of the Malveel. The snarling beast’s of Amird only chose the living as targets of blame because the living could be punished. How could you motivate the Hackles if they could not hear the screams of those blamed for failure?

The Seraph must be captured. Hnarg would abandon his position along the Scythtar. His Malveel lords would certainly tear him limb from limb for such disobedience. However, if he presented them the head of the Seraph first....

“Follow the Seraph!” snarled the priest to his Hackles. “Kill him for the glory of Amird!”

The remaining Ulrog roared in acknowledgment of their orders, lumbered across the Frizgard and crashed into the woods.

CHAPTER 23: TRACKERS

Kael’s mare flickered and stomped on the grassy plain. She was restless, and so was her rider.  The plan called for the pair to halt one hundred yards from the nearest tree line. Now Eidyn and Kael sat staring through the darkness toward a stand of swaying river birch. The white trunks appeared illuminated from within as the moonlight caught their papery bark.

Kael heard the faint snapping of branches. He tensed. The moonlight fell on the form of Tarader as the huge gray stallion, glowing like the river birch, burst from the tree line. Kael sighed in relief. Ader was alive. The Seraph sat upon the stallion, laying forward, limp from exhaustion.

Horse and rider trotted through the knee high grass.  The head of Sprig popped over the shoulder of the Seraph. Alarm crisscrossed the Sprite’s face. Kael called out, but was cut off by a crash from the stand of birch.

Several large Ulrog staggered forward. Branches snapped and the sharp noise mixed with the loud growls of the pack. The Ulrog took a moment to register their whereabouts, then immediately tromped forward in pursuit of the white stallion.

“We must ride.” came the weak voice of Ader. “We enjoy an advantage in speed, but even Tarader must eventually rest. These Ulrog can run for days and will be able to track us on any terrain.”

“Will they follow us that long?!” asked Eidyn incredulously.

“Their leader is motivated.” said Ader grimly. “Having followed us this far seals his fate with his masters. He has no alternative.”

Eidyn maneuvered his stallion between the Ulrog and Ader. The Elf unslung his bow and turned to Kael.

“Go with Lord Ader.” demanded Eidyn. “ I will make them think twice about approaching an Elf on the run.”

“Do not tarry too long.” returned Ader.

The gray stallion reared then sped off across the plain. Kael’s mare immediately followed. After twenty long strides the boy looked back. Eidyn sat on the back of his mount, longbow in his hands. The Elf prince methodically drew an arrow back and released it into the midst of the shuffling Ulrog. The creatures stopped and hurled spear and rock at the rider. Eidyn released another arrow into the Ulrog ranks. A Hackle clutched its middle where a long, thin arrow shaft stuck from the beast.

Kael spun the mare East and headed after the fading image of Tarader.

Granu sat, eyes closed, patiently listening to the sound of the rushing Frizgard river. The crash of tree branches and the howls of the Hackles faded long ago. The packs must be a league away by now. Granu, however, had battled the creatures for years. They were completely unpredictable. One moment they pursued attackers at a relentless pace, the other found their superior force turning on its heels and fleeing back into the mountains. The giant took a depth breath then his eyes sprang open.

“We move!” barked the Keltaran.

He rose in a rapid, fluid motion and stepped from his hiding place along the southern bank of the Frizgard.

“Straight across the fjord, then onto the Eastern slope of the gorge that runs North.” stated the giant looking back to Cefiz and Vieri. “Stop for nothing. Climb directly up the slope into the stunted growth along its rim. The Ulrog are notoriously lazy. They stick to their well established paths in the mountains. There will be no Ulrog atop that strenuous climb.”

With that, the Keltaran began a purposeful, confident stride into the middle of the Frizgard’s crossing. The moon spilled light across the glistening face of the churning mountain river. Cefiz drew in a deep breath and obediently followed. Vieri bit her lip and quickly looked about the fjord. Dead Ulrog lay everywhere. The Windrider splashed into the river behind the men. The giant moved quickly, ignoring the remains of the battle and charging toward the northern bank.

Vieri wished a cloud or two would pass across the face of the gleaming moon to cover the trio’s movements. If she were in charge, she would wait for such an instance. However, she was not, and she made a vow to accompany in the rescue of the girl.  

Vieri felt doubt. Should she have made such a promise? Her duty lie with her people. Rada needed to be warned about the Counselor’s deception. But as she looked forward and spied Cefiz struggling across the slippery rocks of the shallow Frizgard, Vieri’s momentary uncertainty melted. She sprang forward and ran to the aid of the wounded Zodrian.

“The trees will hide us.” hissed Granu over his shoulder. “Quickly.”

Gray skin and flowing black hair. The Seraph must have Elven archers with him. The cursed Elves had come to the aid of the North before. Always when the times were most desperate for the Zodrians did the Elves creep from their sacred wood in the South. Hnarg jumped behind the trunk of the white tree as a black fletched arrow slammed into the wood with a loud thunk.

Hnarg was no fool. He didn’t see the enemy as Gnarok had. Gnarok believed his power need be displayed at all times. Overpower Ulrog and enemy alike. Stand front and center and whip the Hackles into a frenzy. Hnarg laughed to himself. Standing front and center only made you a better target for the stray crossbow bolt. Hnarg learned one important lesson from his Malveel masters that Gnarok did not. Force the Hackles into action and save yourself for the important tasks.

The priest of Amird scanned the tree line. Many of his Hackles hesitated within the wood, shielding themselves from the Elven archer. Hnarg’s lips curled into a wicked snarl. Red flame sprang about his fingertips. He turned to the nearest Hackle and unleashed a torrent of flame onto its exposed back. The Hackle howled in agony and all eyes turned in the direction of the cry. Hnarg raised his flaming hands and glared at his servants.

“Vin trok Almu!” bellowed the priest. “VIN TROK Seraph!”

Hnarg’s victim fell to the ground squirming in pain as the flames engulfed its body. The remaining Hackles turned and charged onto the grassy plain to obey their superior’s orders. Kill the Elves. Kill the Seraph.

Eidyn began to run out of arrows. The Ulrog that burst onto the plain hesitated in confusion. Many dropped into the grasses. Their brethren hung within the tree line, unwilling to face the Elven prince’s deadly assault. Eidyn’s plan worked. If the Ulrog chose to follow Ader, Eidyn bought the Seraph valuable time in the race ahead. If the Ulrog chose to break off their pursuit and return to their post, the Elf kept them engaged long enough to allow Granu, Cefiz and the Windrider time to cross the Frizgard.

Flame erupted within the stand of river birch. Shouts arose from the Ulrog. Immediately, several dozen Hackles crashed through the trees and shambled toward Eidyn and his stallion. The Elven prince drew the last arrow back and confidently focused on the lead runner. Always remove the most motivated enemy, thought Eidyn, for he unwittingly drives the passions of his brethren. The arrow snapped forward puncturing the night air. The lead runner caught the powerful force of the speeding arrow in mid stride. The Ulrog was thrown to the ground and let out a roar of pain. Eidyn nodded in self approval as he slung the longbow across his back and turned his mount in the direction Ader fled. A hate filled cry caused the Elf to spin back to the tree line. The lead Ulrog runner appeared from beneath the grasses. Eidyn spied the arrow shaft protruding from a rock encrusted spot on the beast’s chest. The Ulrog bellowed the name of Amird and tore the arrow from its body. The Hackles close by growled their approval and the pack sprinted forward. Eidyn clenched his teeth and lay his heels into the flanks of his stallion.