Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Read online

  Colin snorted, "Ha, ha." He sat down across from his uncle, searching the other's eyes. "Mearead, I've thought on it. I'm sure the Duiraglym is a demigod." The older dwarf just waited. "I mean, it will take everything we have to deal with a demigod."

  "That's an understatement," Mearead said. "But as for the Morigu, forget him. He will fight with the elves if he fights with anyone."

  "But he is the Goddess' own , and I feel her presence here. Surely She will call him to us."

  "Maybe, but will he get here?" He bit his upper lip. "Colin, our enemies have outfoxed us time and time again. They are crushing the empire, and have nearly ruined us. Whatever part the Morigu will play, it won't be here. We are on our own." He laughed hoarsely. "No, we're the ones who are supposed to send help to the others."

  "The elves of Cather-na-nog will go to the empire's aid," Colin said.

  "Oh, they already have, and the Ard Riegh leads them."

  'That's hard news,' Colin thought. 'Things are desperate everywhere. The king of the elves never rides with the first hosting.'

  "Listen," Mearead interrupted the young dwarf's musing, "whatever it is that is infecting the mountain, we will cast it out. The war won't be fought in our caves. I will follow you with a great army, lad, in a matter of weeks, I am sure." Colin answered with a tight smile.

  "So, we're on our own." He stood. "Well, I best be getting ready. We must meet the elves of Aes Lugh in two days at the valley of Morhalk."

  "Aye, listen to me well, Colin. I trust not Arianrood's flighty elves. They are not of the ilk of those of Cather-na-nog. Watch them carefully."

  "Surely you do not think they will betray us?" said Colin.

  "I don't know what to expect from them. Arianrood has a fierce pride and I don't comprehend what goes through that weedy little brain of hers."

  "Uncle, you speak of the Ead!" Colin's voice was shocked.

  "Yah, right. Nonetheless, watch your back and trust only dwarves, understood?"

  "Of course, uncle." Colin downed his glass with one swig. Wiping his lips, he smiled at the king. "I will be off to inform the commanders. See you at dinner tonight." He walked to the door, then turned around. "You know, Mearead, you haven't aged well. One could almost say you were getting to be a bit of a pain."

  "And," answered the old dwarf, "you are getting duller by the minute. Now off with you so I can find someone to talk to who won't put me to sleep." Answering grin for grin, Colin left. Mearead dropped into a chair with a grunt, suddenly feeling much older.

  Two days later, Colin and his troops marched into the valley of Morhalk. They were five-thousand strong and presented a fierce sight. All the dwarves wore thick mail coats that reached to their knees. Mailed and plated legs with elbow, back, and breast protectors made them practically invulnerable. On their hands they wore cleverly jointed gauntlets that encased them in metal. They also carried short, round warshields which they generally did not use since their favored weapons were mace, ax, and mattock. Their helms were all individualized and tended to cover their faces completely. Some even had jewels for eye guards. All that could be seen were their long beards hanging down, and even these were often plaited with metal.

  The valley they entered was rich with green life. Flowers, shrubs, and bushes all greeted the solemn sight of the dwarven horde. Remembering his uncle's warnings, Colin stopped the march and sent in scouts ahead. They soon reported that there was no sight of the elvish army. Knowing the elves' disregard for time, this did not worry Colin unduly, but he warned his officers to be on the alert nonetheless.

  The dwarves had for the past two days been full of laughter and jokes. For once they enjoyed getting away from their caves and looked forward to venting their pent-up fears on a foe they could face in an honest fight.

  Colin positioned his men around some low hills he found in the center of the valley. Once there, he ordered all to prepare themselves for battle, just in case. He then ordered scouts to the ridges of the valley. He drew a pipe and a glass of ale, sat, and waited.

  A war horn came from the east ridge and Colin turned to see the army of Aes Lugh approach. The huge army was a bizarre-looking group. Donal Longsword led the host riding a giant black war horse. The leaders were all elven or half-elven lords looking to Colin to be a bit overdressed for the occasion. Following them were a great number of Brown or lesser elves; the little people they were sometimes called, not quite elves and not quite pyridin. They were descendants of the once great nation of Mai Methra, though they were less than their ancestors had been. Following them came a host of men who owed allegiance to the elven queen. They were led by a black-cowled rider that brought an uneasiness to the dwarven lord.

  The host began to spread out along the valley floor. There were many more than Colin expected, something he was not sure he liked. They outnumbered his force at least four to one. In the very back of the elves there was a hazy flickering cloud where figures moved and gamboled about. And that was something he had definitely not expected.

  As the army of Aes Lugh continued to pour in and form ranks, Colin got up. Turning to his lieutenants he said, "Flann, unfurl the banner and come with me. Noghor and Feohors join us." The dwarves were all nervously handling their weapons. "Math," he spoke to the old dwarf, his armor battle-scarred, "you're in charge. Anything goes wrong, don't stand and fight. Retreat back to the caves." Math nodded once and the four dwarves marched out to meet the elves.

  "Colin," said Flann, "this doesn't strike me as a party sort of crowd."

  "What does that hide, I wonder?" Pointing at the magic cloud in the rear, Flann spat.

  "With our luck, Cronbage." With oaths the others drew their weapons.

  "Hey, look," Colin pointed to their right. The others turned but saw nothing.

  "What is it , lad?" asked Feohors.

  "I don't know. For a minute I thought I saw a chariot, with a figure on it."

  "More black magic?" Flann growled.

  "No, I don't know. Just my eyes playing tricks, I suppose." But his heart knew different. The chariot of Lord Death was not a sight unknown to the dwarven race.

  Donal rode forward to meet them alone, but the dark rider moved up and joined him. There were words between them but the rider continued with the Warlord. They reined the mounts in front of the dwarves, the cowled one giving a savage tug that was not lost on any of the dwarves.

  "Well, friend Longsword," said Colin, "it's an impressive group you bring before us today."

  Donal's face twitched with a quick grimace. "It's not me you need to talk to, friend," he said, "but Lord Remon here." His hand twitched toward the cowled rider.

  "Ah, Colin, I had thought Mearead himself would be here." The cowl covered the man's face entirely; no hint of features showed, his voice cajoling and well modulated. "But I suppose his lordship's busy in his caves, eh?"

  "Look, tough guy," said the dwarf, "I don't know what's in Arianrood's head to give her armies to you and not her Warlord. Nor do I care for your stupid insinuations. So I'll make this meeting brief." He turned to the half-elven. "You're an honorable man, I know, Longsword, though your choice of company has declined since times past. But be that as it may, our armies are supposed to join up and move to Tolath, but I find your people making mine a little uneasy. So move them to the other side or we withdraw."

  "I assure you," said Donal, "there are no ill intentions."

  "Oh, be quiet," said Remon. "Listen, little man, your posturing and insults mean nothing to me, but I am ordered to give you a chance. So, hand me your ax and surrender or I'll wipe you and your people off the face of this planet!"

  "What are you talking about, you maniac? These are our allies!" cried Donal.

  Colin noticed the elves were moving closer and his own men were forming ranks.

  "They were our allies," corrected the rider. "I was to use you to catch them by surprise but I have no time for games. Well, dwarf, yield or die."

  "You know," said Colin, "I'm beginning to think you
have a personality problem." Slowly his face was becoming harder as he began to call up the berserker in him.

  Donal drew his sword and pointed it at the rider's neck.

  "You, friend, are relieved of command," he said through grinding teeth.

  "No, fool, you are." With that the mage raised an arm and his form dissolved to mist. At the same time the host of Aes Lugh took up a cry and charged.

  Colin turned and raced to his men, his dwarves following. He called behind his back, "Looks like you're screwed, half-elven. You better come with us." The huge Warlord sat still, watching the army that was his attack him. With an oath to Lugh, he turned and raced with the dwarves toward their positions.

  The warriors made it just ahead of the onrushing attack. Donal jumped off his mount. "Colin, I swear I know nothing of--"

  The dwarf interrupted him. "Enough. We've no time," he said, placing his war helm on. "Listen, we'll try to retreat but we've little chance. Take that great beast of yours and ride. Mearead must know of this betrayal."

  "No!" cried the half-elven. "Perhaps I can stop this useless attack."

  Again Colin broke through. "Listen, we've been betrayed! Arianrood's betrayed us!"

  "NO!" Donal shouted.

  "Yes!" Colin said. "Yes. Mearead suspected it and now this is proof. Take your horse, man, and run. Get to Mearead or he may never learn what has happened." Just then with a crash the first ranks fell upon the dwarves. Colin grabbed the warrior's arm and shook.

  "Look, you great hunk of meat," he said, "we're doomed. They're too many. Mearead must know before more are betrayed."

  Donal took a breath and nodded his head once. "The ones in the rear," he said, "in that mist, I know not what they are, that's your great danger. No elvish lords of great power have ridden with us." He had to shout now over the fighting. "The little ones," he continued, "are vicious but lousy fighters. Concentrate on the men and elves." He turned to the dwarf, tears streaming down his face. "The black one's a sorcerer. Kill the son-of-a-bitch." Colin's face was covered by his helmet which was made to look like a wolf. The eyes behind the faceplate matched the fierce visage.

  He held the half-elf with an imploring look. "It's not your fault," he said. "Don't fail me, warrior. I'll die better knowing I will be revenged." His voice was husky with the battle fever that comes to all his kind.

  "Die well, warrior," said the half-elf. He leaped upon his horse's back. Yelling over the sounds of the battle, he cried, "Listen well to the oath of the Longsword." He brandished his namesake. "Arianrood will pay." He kicked his horse, his voice hoarse for betrayal and tears. "Gods, she shall pay!" And with the sounds of battle ringing in his torn heart, Donal rode away.

  As he turned away from the retreating figure of the half-elven, Colin saw a bright golden flash to his right. He turned to see the figure in the chariot raise one shadowy hand in salute. Colin just stared.

  'So,' he thought, 'this is what I felt at the battle in the caverns. It is my time to die, and Lord Death waits for me.' He thought briefly of his mother's and uncle's pain when they heard the news, but he had no fear. A savage thrill came to him as he thought what Mearead's reaction would be. He ground his teeth together, the only sign of his inner turmoil as the Dwarf Lord moved to the front ranks to join his warriors in killing and in dying.

  And unheard by all, Death howled his anguish. For in this fight he dare not take part--too many powers had turned their attention that way and he was not ready to reveal himself. The most he could do was hesitate a bit to take the dead so they might strike once more with ax , mace, and mattock. It was not the first nor the last time that Lord Death cried for the fallen.

  Meanwhile, Donal Longsword raced his great steed toward the mountains, his thoughts bitter and cold.

  It took him a day and a night to reach the caves of the Crystal Falls. He stumbled up to the main gate battered and bleeding. His horse had died during the night in the talons of one of the sorcerous creatures that continually attacked him. Donal had run and fought for thirty miles on foot, and as he saw the guardians of the gate running toward him he collapsed in a haze of weariness and pain.

  Donal awoke stretched out on four dwarven beds that had been placed together to hold his giant frame. Tending him were several young dwarven women. Donal smiled to see the small yet attractive women tending him. Then the reality of the past days crashed on him and he groaned in anguish.

  "Ah," said one of the little women, "you just lay there, lad. You've been through a lot you have." She smoothed his hair gently.

  "I am in the caves of the Crystal Falls?" he asked.

  "That you are."

  "Then get Lord Mearead. I must speak with him." He sat up. Before she could press him back down, a deep voice boomed.

  "I am here, Warlord." Mearead walked in, his face one grim line of anguish. "And I've guessed much of your news already."

  "Arianrood," Donal spat out, "she has betrayed us all."

  "She'll pay in rich, red blood," said the king. 'Tell me the story from the start."

  Donal told the king everything, from the mage-king Remon being given the army, to the addition of the sorcerous army in the veil. Mearead said nothing the whole time, his eyes blank and devoid of emotion. When Donal told of Colin's last words, the old dwarf simply sighed and waited to hear the rest of the warrior's tale. When he was finished, the king shooed the women away, telling them to bear the tale to all the dwarves. He then poured a goblet of wine and handed it to Donal.

  "Well," he said, "this is a black tale and never have my ears heard worse." He stared at the Warlord for a moment and then said, "She's been in this all along, damn her black soul."

  "But she is the Ead," whispered Donal.

  "Aye, it was the perfect shield from our doubts. Whatever changed her, she has joined our enemy." He sighed. "I suspect it is she who has reawakened the Darkness that attacks the earth power. She is the most powerful of all." He shook his head and stood. Turning his back he whispered one word to the dwarven shadows: "Colin."

  "What will we do?" asked Donal.

  "Do, do!" The old one's voice shook with his anger. "We will give Colin his vengeance. That, Warlord, is what we will do!"

  "How?"

  Once again Mearead turned his back. As he spoke, his size seemed to grow until his presence filled the room. "My armies have their hands full with the creatures that attack the caves. I can spare no more warriors to help Tolan. But I can have the blood of that witch." On the last word, Mearead's voice boomed and it seemed to Donal the room shook with the king's anger.

  "You have been abed a day, Longsword," he spoke quietly. "Colin's and the others' death rites have been done. We cannot retrieve their bones now." His face still void of any emotion, he said, "I am told you are healed. Dwarven women are well skilled in such arts. I go to the namesake of this place to start my quest."

  "Quest?"

  "Aye, lad. My armies cannot strike back now, but I can." He started to leave the room. "If you wish, someone will bring you to the Crystal Falls and you may join me."

  "In what?" said Donal. "I still don't understand."

  "It's simple enough." Mearead spoke carefully and slowly. "I am going to kill Arianrood!" With that he left the room.

  C H A P T E R

  Twelve

  As Donal and Mearead spoke three hundred miles away, Anlon reared to a halt at a small stream. He and Margawt were deep in the borderlands. For miles around all they could see was rolling grassland dotted with an occasional tree.

  "How far away?" he asked.

  "Not far now," answered the Morigu. "Whatever it is it will appear anytime," Anlon sighed. Margawt's sense of distance was as accurate as the elves' sense of time. They had been moving west for five days with no sign of their unseen enemy, and Margawt was still blocked from communicating with the dwarves.

  That, Anlon knew, was the worst threat. The enemy knew about the Morigu now and they were preparing something for both of them. Margawt's daily attempts to co
ntact the dwarves only told the enemy where they were, and trying to explain this to the Morigu was useless, whose sense of tactics was only rivaled in its ridiculousness by his sense of distance.

  To make it all even more annoying, Margawt announced at least three times a day that their enemy would appear anytime. Nor did he have the grace to be upset when his predictions proved wrong.

  "We'll wait for it here," Anlon said aloud. "The running water of the stream may help us." 'Actually,' he thought to himself, 'I'm just thirsty.'

  "Not against this one," Margawt stated. But Anlon raised his head at that. There was something different this time, in Margawt, or himself, some warning of danger.

  "Can you feel the creature's presence?" asked Anlon, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the enemy.

  "No, it masks itself now." Margawt bent down to take a sip of the water. Still on one knee, he turned to the unicorn. "You have never told me of your dealings with Dammuth," he said.

  Before the unicorn could answer, two large and skinny arms rose from the water and wrapped themselves about the Morigu. The arms were followed by a head. It was twice the size of Margawt's.

  It was the face of an old woman marked and ravaged by time and evil. The grey straggly hair tangled itself around Margawt, and with powerful arms sought to draw him under.

  Margawt's reaction was instantaneous. He drew his dagger and drove it into the withered breast. At the same time he shifted away from the blow and freed himself. He rolled to his feet with his sword out. Even as he turned, the hag disappeared into the water just as Anlon dove at her.

  The unicorn stamped the stream bed in anger.

  '"Ware!" he cried. "It is the Hag of the Elder Night, a Fomarian and perhaps the most dangerous." Margawt went on bended knee, staring at the ground as if searching a lake for fish.

  "She is beneath us," he said. "She defiles the earth and blocks its power from me." There was a whooshing noise and the Hag appeared on Anlon's right flank. She came halfway up and raked five talons across the unicorn. Margawt dove toward her but her other hand unleashed a dazzling red beam that hit him full in the chest and threw him to the ground. Even as she sank into the ground again, Anlon's horn tore her right arm,. and as quick as that she was gone.