Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Read online

  Great waves of rock and soil, bashed against the elves. A huge one reared in front of Lonnlarcan and swallowed him before he could call the spear back to him. 'The Fomarian isn't dead,' he thought. 'It escapes.' And though he struggled against the earth's storm he had no more strength and he thought no more.

  The next morning the elves were encamped about the battlefield. The concealing mist had been dispersed and the camp sparkled with the rising of the sun. Many elves wandered around in seemingly aimless patterns seeking to repair the damage to the earth the Fomarian had caused. A quieter group prepared the mound to bury the two hundred plus that had died in the fighting. Others brought out the litters of wounded so that they might feel the warmth of the morning sun.

  The Ard Riegh's tent sat right in the middle of the encampment. It was an impossible affair of reds, yellows, and greens. Inside, the leaders of the host assembled.

  "We have no choice," said Cainhill. "The king cannot move for a few more days and the people will not leave him here."

  "Aye, there's no other choice. The Fomarian didn't defeat us, but we need time to heal ourselves," said Cucullin, his arm hung in a sling of white silk. "Many of the weaker have fallen into the dreamstate. Only you, my king, will be able to return them to this place."

  Lonnlarcan shifted carefully. He lay in a bier, his Warlords ranged around him sitting on stools or standing. The reddened bandages about his naked torso stood in high relief to the golden pillows that supported him.

  "Ah, the curse of the elves," he sighed. "I dare not split our forces now. If the pyridin had not made us aware of the trap we would have been decimated. Four days, no more, then we ride again."

  "Four days!" Margawt exploded from a darkened corner. "The earth groans with her rape. There is no time for this weakness!" All the elves except Cainhill gave the Morigu a wide berth. Cainhill just stared.

  "Watch you mouth, warrior," the elf lord spat the word out. "For all your vaunted power you did little good against the Fomarian."

  "The Fomarian is an abomination, the greatest betrayal by the enemy! He must be followed and destroyed. Such cannot be allowed to exist!" The Morigu turned to Cainhill. "And you beware, elfling. The wrongness eats around you. I am watching."

  Lonnlarcan headed the confrontation off. "Enough. There is no choice, Margawt. It is all our war now. We must fight together." His silver eyes burned deep into Margawt. "We leave in four days. I suggest you use that time to help our mages in trying to trace the Fomarian down, and find out how he was freed from the Goddess' hold."

  "That, noble king," a voice boomed, "we can ascertain here and now." In walked the unicorn. Even among this assembly his beauty and power were awesome. "Cucullin, Baibre, restrain the Morigunamachamain." Both quickly moved to either side of Margawt. "Now, our answer." The tent flap opened and four figures moved in.

  With a cry, the Morigu lunged at the creatures but was quickly grabbed by the two elves. He turned in confusion. The wrongness of one of the creatures was piercing pain to him yet he could not lift a hand against either elf.

  The creatures moved in front of the unicorn. One was Dorrenlassarslany, looking more nervous than ever. Two more of his people restrained a creature between them. The creature was barely three feet tall. It had the body of a goat with the armless torso of a human, its face looking like an idolized satyr. Around its neck were two grass ropes, each in the hand of one of the pyridin.

  One was a fat hairy creature with an angular face set upon a remarkably flexible neck. The other was a petite female standing a foot and a half, its fragile beauty ruined by an evil, wizened face. Both jittered and hopped even more than their leader, but they never let go of the goat creature's rope.

  "What is it?" asked Cainhill.

  "A sending," answered the enchantress Bairbre. She did not let go of the Morigu. "A sending of great power. It is a creature of another plane, a plane that only the greatest wielders of magic can reach. None of our people have the strength."

  "The sending," said Anlon, "was captured by the pyridin just as the sun rose, when its power was weakest." Two knights moved to hold the creature. The unicorn waved them away with its horn. "No, you could not hold such. It would vanish as a mist. The power of the pyridin alone may bind it."

  Margawt shook in his need. The earth died beneath the hooves of the sending.

  "Kill it, give it to me. Wrong, it is so wrong. . . It kills the ground it walks upon!" In a blinding move he freed himself from the elves and unsheathed his sword before any could act. . . except the unicorn, who leaped into his path.

  "No, Morigu, it has knowledge that we need. Control yourself," said Anlon. "No," he turned to Cainhill. "Say nothing. You do not comprehend the agony this creature is to the Morigu. Forget not, he is the Earth Goddess' chosen."

  "It watched and spied on us, did it not, Dorrenlassarslany?" asked Lonnlarcan.

  "Unmaker," Dorrenlassarslany addressed the Morigu, "understand eating aways. Unhealth is worse to you than lack of choice." It turned to Lonnlarcan. "Witchlord, you fought, defeated less god, but not destroy. Must destroy this Binneckgasdaintehly, this unhealth-blight-disease-thing. Watch, follow elves, guide less god, to elf things. Evil, corrupt, pyridin peoples take, no choices, for unthing. It no master, but mastered. Sickness of creature, others decide, for it, make its choices." The little creature said this as if it was the most horrendous of things. It bobbed and danced its disbelief. "Worm mind, larva soul. Take its choices, Unmaker. First, though, ask it, find its master."

  "Dorrenlassarslany speaks wisely as always," said the king, smiling down at the pyridin. "Bring that thing to me."

  The creature was led to the king. Its apparent passivity was belied by its wildly roving eyes and the drool and excrement it constantly deposited on the ground.

  "Allow me," said Anlon. "No evasions, Dark One. Who sent you? Who freed the Fomarian? Who?" The horn of Anlon burned with black sparks. He brought it closer to the creature and it screamed in fear and pain. The Morigu grasped his hilt two-handed and shook in agony.

  "Cannot speak, bindings too powerful." The sending's voice was rich and disturbingly female.

  The unicorn reared and his two front hooves stamped the ground; his horn vibrated, the waves from it shaking all there. From the horn strands of some black filament flew deep into the breast of the sending. The creature buckled to its knees, its eyes going blank and unseeing. Slowly, the strands still connecting it to the horn, it rose to its feet. It looked unseeing at the unicorn and spoke in a husky whisper.

  "The Ead," it said.

  The tent went quiet in shock as all tried to digest this.

  "No!" cried the Morigu. Moving at blinding speed he reached the creature, his sword severing its head in one swift cut. The head flew into the air, dark gore splattering everyone. Before the head hit ground, the Morigu dug his hand in the sending's breast and withdrew its still beating heart. He ground it deeply into the earth.

  A wave of his hand dispersed the threads from Anlon's horn. His hand continued through the earth into the ground.

  "Blackest betrayer, the Goddess understands now! Earth shall have its blood due! Arianrood, feel the call! I am coming." He stood and faced the shocked group.

  "The creature spoke truth. Its disease is eradicated." He began to walk to the entrance.

  "Hold!" cried Lonnlarcan. He stood up with a quick motion. "The dwarves, their army was to meet with Arianrood's and together march to the empire!"

  Black fire snorted through Anlon's nose. "Blackest betrayal, they walk into a trap unknowing."

  "Even," added Cucullin, "as we nearly did."

  The Morigu looked at the dark gore on his hand. "She will pay and the dwarves will be warned!" He looked at Anlon who shook his head in agreement. Quickly they left.

  "There is more here, my lord," said Bairbre, "than meets the eye."

  "Indeed," he answered. "The Ead turns and the earth will repay her, but what, I wonder, is Fealoth doing?"

  In minutes Anl
on and the Morigu were galloping to the east. Anlon continued to snort black fire in anger. For hours the two rode unspeaking at the incredible pace of the unicom. In midstride he reared and stopped.

  "Damn!" he swore. "Oh damn!"

  "What is it?" asked Margawt.

  "The dwarves, oh Mother, I forgot," he groaned.

  "What?" cried the warrior.

  "Don't you see? The elves know that the dwarves were to meet Arianrood's host, but their time is skewed. Gods, the dwarves were to join the betrayers in two days. We can never reach them in time!" With no other word the Morigu leaped off the unicorn.

  "What are you doing?" asked Anlon.

  "The dwarves are creatures of earth magic. We cannot reach them in time in person but I can warn them through the currents of the Mother." With no further word Margawt dug his hands in the earth and went into a trance. For long moments no noise was made as Anlon stamped around impatiently.

  Then Anlon felt a tingling in his hooves, a tickling, burning pain the like he had never in his long life experienced.

  He saw a red shimmering travel up the Morigu's arm. Margawt jumped to his feet slapping his arms as if a thousand flies had just landed there. He cried like a wolf, the red shimmering flashing up and down his arms.

  "Aieee! Foulness tries to infect me, the vermin of Darkness reaches for me!" The Morigu was berserk in rage and disgust. Anlon reared up and knocked the elf to the ground. His hom sparked again and he touched it to Margawt's arms. A silent battle was fought between the red and black energy while the Morigu writhed on the ground.

  Finally the black won out and Margawt calmed himself.

  "Oh Mother," he wailed, "such desecration." Once again he dug his hands into the earth, this time for apparent relief. Anlon waited patiently.

  "The caves of the dwarves are infected. Death and plague run through the mountain veins. I am blocked from them." Margawt's face was lined with the agony of his ineffectualness.

  "The Goddess will defend her children, Margawt. We will not reach them for days yet," Anlon spoke quietly.

  "There is more, unicorn." Margawt looked into the burning red orbs of his companion. "I was attacked by the earth power itself."

  "The Fomarian?" Anlon was stunned.

  "Like him, less powerful but more diseased, more wrong than even that one." The Morigu stood up and looked to the east.

  "Arianrood heard my challenge. Her answer uses the very paths of the earth. It comes, it comes for us."

  Anlon stared at the warrior, his erect figure framed against the midday sun. He looked around, grassland all around and no sign of habitation anywhere. His feet jittered at the memory of the taste of what had attacked the Morigu. He did not like the idea of facing anything that could attack the Morigunamachamain through the earth.

  "Well, great," he snorted. "Not only do you tell the bitch we're coming, you also just happen to mention where we are."

  Margawt looked at him in confusion, not understanding the unicorn's anger.

  "I did what I must, what matter the creature knows we are here? It must die, we must destroy it. This thing is worse than the Fomarian." He turned to the east again and folded his arms saying quietly, "I must kill it."

  "Did you ever consider it might not be so easy to kill?" The Morigu did not deign to answer.

  "Okay, Margawt, hop on." The unicorn nudged him in the shoulder. "We might as well go meet the bloody thing instead of standing around looking brave." Margawt mounted.

  He patted Anlon's muscled neck. "Anlon, this is the way --my way. One on one, no doubt about what is right to do." He gave a war shout, "I hunt! I hunt!"

  "Great," Anlon mumbled. "Great, we go, you madman, right into the embrace of our enemy." With that they rode off into the west.

  C H A P T E R

  Eleven

  Mearead banged his hand into the stone wall in frustration. The fist sunk deep into the wall as if it was clay, not rock. He stood in a large, dimly lit cavern ringed by the stone statues of his fathers. Facing him were the old ones, lore-masters of the earth magic, their faces shadowed by the cowls of their grey cloaks. All that showed were their white dwarven beards.

  "Mearead!" cried the eldest, "you hurt the mountain with your anger. Control yourself lest you earn its wrath."

  "Its wrath," he cried, "its wrath! The mountains of our people have turned on us!"

  Cries of outrage came from the shadowed masters. 'This is not so. Sacrilege!"

  "Silence," said the lord of the Crystal Falls. "Warn me not of sacrilege. The people die from poisoned waters, dark creatures from the mountain's bowels attack us in our halls! Sacrilege, why I'll tear this bloody mountain apart piece by piece. The spirit of this mountain better beware my wrath!"

  "It is not the mountain as you well know, lord," said the eldest. "It's some attacker without that has broken through the earth magic of the Crystal Falls."

  "That Duiraglym," another added.

  Mearead slumped down at the foot of a statue. "Aye, what you say is true, but by the Goddess, how can it be?"

  "We are the loremasters," spoke the eldest, "but you are the lord here. Never in the history of the caves has such an attack taken place. We have no words of comfort for you, Mearead." The old one leaned heavily on his staff made from a rod of brown-green marble.

  "I cannot and will not leave the caves while this cancerous siege takes place. Colin must lead the armies we send to Tolath." Mearead shook his head. "The lad is young but possesses more strength than he knows."

  "It is the wisest course, lord." The old one sat next to the distraught king. "Our power would be halved if you went to Tolath and Colin is a worthy successor."

  "Ah, Trell'dem, can you see us now? I cannot ride to help your kingdom and I send less than a third of the force I had once promised you." Mearead stared up at the dark cavern ceiling. To his dwarven eyes it was as clear as daylight. He traced the runes and magnificent sculptures that covered every inch of rock. "Oh, Dammuth," he said quietly, "what went wrong? What is Fealoth doing?" He stood up.

  "Fealoth is dead," said the old one. "The Dark Lord has returned. It is the only answer, my lord." Mearead studied the ancient master for a moment and then looked at the others, a peculiar expression tugging at his face.

  "Is it?" he said, then bowed and left.

  He walked up the caverns toward the living levels. His people hailed him quietly and with respect, but they could not hide the fear in their hearts. Though a few tried a feeble joke, the emptiness of laughter in the dwarven holds was the clearest proof of the despair they all felt.

  'The lorewardens tell me nothing I do not know,' he said to himself. 'It is not their fault. Have not half their number fallen in the battles of the pit? The earth power leaves me. I can feel it draining from me like a river damming up, but what can stop the earth power?' With these black thoughts as company, the stout dwarf continued.

  Usually when walking through the caverns, the dwarf king would stop to admire a piece of sculpture or one of the beautiful mosaics on walls and floor. Often he would stop to speak to the artisans at work, which could be any dwarf since all were free to embellish the caverns at will. But there was precious little work being done these days and what little was done was not to his liking, the pieces generally being morbid or depressing. Why, twice in the last month Mearead had to cancel work for it was marring the caverns, something most of his predecessors had never had to do in their whole reigns!

  Mearead stopped in front of a door fancifully done up in the shape of a lion's head. It glittered and sparkled with jewels and precious metals. That door alone could ransom a kingdom (not that a dwarf would care; such figuring was more in the minds of men and their ilk). Mearead drew a deep breath and put a smile on his face. The door opened of its own accord as he approached it.

  The room was opulent and dazzling, the light just bright enough to give everything a sheen and hint at the wonders the place possessed. Across the room a dwarf in full battle armor turned at the entranc
e of Mearead.

  Mearead took in Colin's black beard, now streaked with grey, the reddened eyes for want of sleep, and the fierce possessive hold on his war ax. 'The lad grows older, and much faster than a dwarf should,' thought Mearead.

  "Ah uncle, that happy-go-lucky air about you does not fool me. I felt your anger in the Cave of Remembrances," he said.

  'He comes early to his powers,' thought the king. Aloud he said, "Colin, I do believe you are becoming a bit on the dull side." His voice was shocked in outrage.

  "And as an actor, my leader, you stink." They both smiled and embraced warmly.

  Colin stood back and poured wine for both of them. "I take it from your cheery attitude you are to be rid of me for a while?"

  "Your speech has always been stilted, whelp." Mearead took an appreciative sip of the wine. "But it's true, you will lead the armies to Tolath." He collapsed into a chair.

  "I had hoped with the defeat of the enemy's main army I would be able to march to Tolan," he shrugged, "but the Duiraglym still haunts us, and raiders still hide in the mountains." Colin looked down at his wine, jiggling the cup to swirl the dark liquid.

  "Do you think the enemy can attack us from the caverns with such numbers again?" he asked.

  "No, we've found most of the entrance caves they made and sealed them," Mearead answered. "It's not their armies we have to watch out for, it's their magic." Colin dipped a finger in his wine, smiling as he licked the drops off his finger.

  "We could use the Morigu," he said. "He would be able to hunt down what is left of the Dark One's armies easier than us."

  "You've learned some hard lessons, lad," Mearead smiled. "You never were one to think before."