Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Page 2

  "Few have seen me as I am, Lord Shee. But you will know me in all my forms. You are mine as no other creature can ever be, though all belong and are a part of me." They were words of promise, and of a darker threat he could not fathom.

  "Lady, mother, I know you well and I shall serve you always and faithfully." The words left his mouth, stirring the translucent stuff about him and made their way to her.

  "You shall try, my child. The power is yours now. You are the Morigunamachamain; you are my avenger. Mightier than all my creatures, faster, stronger, the most dangerous. One who has walked through the earth, will move in the air with speed that no creature can match. One who has turned from Lord Death shall be the most invulnerable, one who is given the curse to feel the world's pain shall be the most vicious of all."

  Her words eddied around his body, caressing it, scratching and holding at the same time.

  "Listen to the call of the earth. Avenge me on those who blaspheme my soul. Great harm, great evil has come, and even I was caught unawares." She moved toward him slowly, her steps a dance of beauty and perfection beyond mortal understanding. She kissed his forehead lightly, then each hand, each foot, his chest and loins.

  "You are the weapon promised, the first morigu in 150 years. You, unlike the others before you, were born of blood and despair, and this is the gift you shall bring my enemies. Go, my assassin, go and kill, hunt and kill!" With that She kissed him full on the lips, holding him tight to Her small body. For a second he felt the great weight of the earth around him, felt it crushing him from all sides. Then She stepped away from him.

  He longed to stay, but the pull of air drew him. He came through the ground as he went in, slowly and with no pain. He stood in a glade far from his home, naked, unscarred, and powerful beyond imagining. His hands clenched, savoring the incredible strength they now held. He sniffed the air, and listened to the earth's constant murmur.

  "Blood!" he cried. "Blood and death!" They were east of him, a few miles away, no less, the murderers of his family, of his life. He would hunt them and kill, slowly. It would be the first of many such hunts. He was the Morigunamachamain and the earth called to him for vengeance. He would answer with joy and hate, he would answer and he would hunt.

  And in a place that only She could be, a goddess cried alone and unheard by all that is. She cried, for where could She go for forgiveness? Such a gentle child, such a sad boy. She could have let him go free, let him escape. But She could not ignore Her need.

  "My Son," She spoke aloud, "my lover, forgive me, forgive as those before you never could...."

  C H A P T E R

  One

  Mearead, Lord of the Crystal Falls, stopped his pony and stared at the city ahead of him. Tolan, the capital of the empire of Tolath, was an impressive sight, even to the dwarf lord. The main wall stood some fifty feet high. Its thick walls were newly whitewashed and pennons flew from every tower. Mearead's sharp eyes picked out the two massive dragon skulls on either side of the gold-plated gate. He dug his hand into his plaited white beard and shuddered.

  "My lord?" questioned his young nephew, Colin.

  "Remembering." The king's hand pointed to the skulls. "The skull on the left, it belonged to the great worm Ruhtivak. My father died fighting that beast and my ax took its life...."

  The young dwarf looked at the skull, visible even though they were still a quarter of a mile away from the city. He whistled aloud.

  "I've heard the story a million times, my lord, but never did I realize the size of the monster."

  Mearead did not answer; he strode the paths of his memory. Once again he saw the great beast rear in front of him, laying low the warriors beneath its bulk with fire and claw; his father, a small defiant figure standing amidst the smouldering bodies of his warriors; the red flame curling around Connal's form, piercing the power of dwarven magic. His armor melting, still the dwarf struggled to fight, his ax thrown into Ruhtivak's scaled chest. With one slash of his mighty claws the dragon tore the dwarf king in half, in front of Mearead's eyes.

  All was a blur from there. Mearead could remember Dammuth appearing by his side, lightning flashing from the wizard's outstretched hands to splash against the dragon's bulk--and Mearead's own battle madness, his heart crying with the need of vengeance for his father's death. One great blow, all the strength of his magic behind it, and he severed the dragon's scaly neck. The black blood covered him and burned through armor and shield, but he knew, he knew as his consciousness left him, he knew that day he had had his vengeance.

  The other dwarves of the king's entourage watched their leader, uncommonly quiet for their kind. Colin held his breath while watching the thick frame of his uncle shake with memories of a battle fought 150 years ago.

  Mearead turned to Colin, smiling at the hero worship in the young dwarf's eye.

  "He was a big bastard all right," he laughed, "and smell-- eeeee, what a stench." The dwarves all laughed aloud. "By the way," Mearead continued, "do me a favor, will you, boyo?"

  "Yes, my lord?" Colin's face filled with expectation.

  "'Yes, my lord?'" Mearead mimicked. "Gods below, boy, cut out that 'my lord' crap. Don't you know that's for humans and those bloody elves? No self-respecting dwarf calls anybody 'my lord,' especially another dwarf."

  He smiled as the youth's face fell. Mearead looked Colin up and down. He compared his nephew's gold-washed armor, purple cloak, sparkling boots and spurs to his own rusted chain mail; the simple, battered silver corset which he used for a crown, set on unkempt hair; and a sort of brown (once green) traveling cloak. The Lord of the Crystal Falls, Warrior of the Star, shook his head. "You can dress them up, but you can't take them out," he said aloud.

  The dwarves broke out in loud laughter. Flann, the standard-bearer, twirled the king's standard in the air. Since Flann had been using the standard to stab the mud periodically, he splattered those around him with wet clods. "Three cheers for the fair, the noble, nay, the shining gem of the Crystal Falls, Lord Colin, master warrior, the greatest dwarf I personally have ever met." Removing a bit of mud from his face, Colin gave the standard-bearer an evil look.

  "Leave me alone, you rat," he retorted.

  "I guess he told you," a deep voice from the back said.

  "Eloquence is the key word here," another shouted.

  "Don't mess with Colin. Why, he could have killed a dragon with just one of his beautiful smiles."

  "Or one of his incredibly scalding comebacks."

  As the troop of two hundred dwarves continued their trek, their laughter rang across the plain. The subject of their humor huddled in his cloak trying to look noble (which his uncle would have told him is impossible for a dwarf with a mud-splattered purple cloak riding a fat little pony). The furiously blushing face didn't help matters much, either.

  The dwarves rode up to the gate of Tolan. There, an honor guard of the empire's finest awaited them, fifty knights dressed in silver and gold. Flann muttered to Mearead, "Pretentious little peacocks, aren't they?"

  "Give them a break, Flann. They like this sort of thing. It inspires them."

  The emperor came riding up with his nobles. Trell'dem, emperor of Tolath, was an impressive-looking man. He wore a full suit of chain mail, a white cassock over the mail, and his greying locks hung well past his shoulders. His strong face broke into a smile.

  "My lord," he nodded his head, recognizing Mearead as an equal.

  Colin's face lit up.

  "I am honored to greet the illustrious Lord of the Crystal Falls here under the skull of the dark dragon he overthrew in the great wars. I greet you in peace. My house is open to you and yours, now and forever."

  Mearead smiled, and staring right into the grey eyes of the emperor, grandly gestured and boomed so all could hear. "You do me the honor of meeting me with these noble knights on their great horses, making me and mine look even shorter than we are. But that's okay, kid. It's nice to see you anyways."

  The knights and aristocrats were shocke
d by this unseemly behavior, at least those who had never seen a dwarf before were. Could this possibly be the same dwarf who was commemorated with a statue in the great palace hall itself?

  Trell'dem laughed. "Well, age hasn't improved your manners any."

  "Nope, but then the years will do that to you. And I might add, son, it's a hot day and age has improved my drinking skills."

  Trell'dem grabbed a flask from the saddle's pommel and threw it to the grinning dwarf. "You're all right in my book, kid," said the dwarf, taking a huge swig and throwing the flask behind him, knowing that one of the dwarves would catch it.

  "Shall we go in?" asked the emperor.

  "I think we shall," answered Mearead, and the two rode through the gates.

  The next afternoon the emperor called a grand council; all the leaders of the Alliance were expected to appear.

  The meeting was held in a large round chamber. It had five rows of seats ringing the wall, and looked like a miniature amphitheater. The two large windows at either end of the room let in the sun's light, bringing out the luster in the golden marble walls. The seats were covered with velvet cushions.

  In the middle of the floor lay a relief map of the empire covered with troop markers, and by it stood the emperor still dressed in chain mail. He bowed as each of his guests entered the room and found seats. True to form, the dwarves were the last to arrive.

  Mearead grimaced as he entered the chamber followed by Flann and Colin. 'This is not going to be a lot of fun," he stage-whispered to his nephew, even as he silently replayed the plan for the council that he, Trell'dem, and Dammuth had decided on the night before.

  Mearead and the dwarves clumped up the stairs to sit next to the humans. He eyed the wine decanters set around the room. He nudged Dammuth with an elbow. "Do you perchance have anything stronger than that limpid wine your emperor is so justly renowned for serving?" The wizard arched one greying eyebrow and reached into his green robe. He deftly withdrew a flask and handed it to Mearead with a smile. "You, sir, are a prince," the dwarf mumbled as he took a long pull.

  "Now that we're all here," the emperor looked pointedly at the dwarf king, who favored him with a big smile in return, "let us start with introductions."

  He began with his own men: Lord Crane, warlord of the empire's armies; Fin, Laird of Dun Scaga; Mannon, Archduke of Ruegal; Baron Teague of Dulatia; and last of all, the Arch Mage Dammuth, whose unlined face belied his over two hundred years.

  From the elven nation of Cather-na-nog was their Ard Riegh, Lonnlarcan; his sister's son Ceallac; Baibre, the sorceress; Lord Cainhill, his purple eyes troubled; and Lord Cucullin the Bright.

  The people of Aes Lugh were led by their dark queen, Arianrood, the Ead, eldest of all the world's children, her beauty and nobility outshining all there. With her were her Warlord, Donal Longsword, the half elven; Lord Cartach, an elven mage; and Remon, king of the human land of Fiodha, which owed her allegiance. These with the three dwarves made up the council, and few times in the world has such an assembly of heroes been convened.

  "Before we begin formally," stated the emperor, "I'd like to ask Mearead if he has heard from his cousins, the dwarves of Cardoc-nae-corond?"

  The dwarf put his flask down at his feet with a dramatic gesture. Then he leaned back in the seat and looked the others over one by one. Finally, he broke the silence, his glance eyeing the sorceress.

  "Indeed, I had hoped not to start this meeting with talk of my morbid cousins, and frankly, I have little to tell. I've sent three messengers and only one has returned, with the news that he made no contact. The old entrances to their caverns were closed tight. What happened to the other messengers is anyone's guess. I had hoped perhaps the lady's magic could shed some light on this matter."

  Arianrood's melodious voice answered. "You overestimate my powers, lord, and understate the importance of your news. Cardoc-nae-corond lies adjacent to the haunted lands of Maigull. Even in Fealoth's time my power could not pierce the veils that ring both lands."

  "The fact that none from that mountain kingdom are here today is not a good sign, for, as you know, the 150th celebration of Fealoth's victories was to coincide with this meeting of all the kingdoms of the Alliance." Here, Trell'dem looked straight at Mearead.

  "What can I say? My cousins have always been a depressing lot. For all I know, they could have closed the caves simply to aggravate the rest of us."

  "Something must be done," added Dammuth. "The dwarves of Cardoc-nae-corond may be no fun, but they are one of the few peoples that possess any magic to speak of."

  "Are you suggesting, my lord Dammuth, that we have need of magic?" asked the Archduke.

  "There is always a need for magic, Mannon," answered the wizard.

  "But," he persisted, "surely there is no need anymore. We celebrate Fealoth's victories, his defeat of the Worm Lords, and his ascension to godhood. The prophecies were complete. This is the Golden Age. There is no need for magic anymore."

  "Yet your master seems to feel there is a need for armies," said Arianrood.

  "A very great need," answered the emperor, "for, you see, the prophecies are wrong." There was hushed silence at Trell'dem's words, for they came close to blasphemy.

  "Yes," he continued, "the prophecies are lies." Arianrood's eyes flashed. "I did not fight in the Dark Siegn wars as some of you here today did. As you know, both Arianrood and Dammuth were partially responsible for my great-uncle Fealoth's victory. And I think perhaps the fact that I was not there, indeed, not even born yet, gives me an insight that some of you have missed."

  "What," asked Arianrood, her voice quiet, "do you mean by that?"

  "I mean, my lady, that you have all missed something very important." Trell'dem gestured at the ceiling. "The prophecies are lies!" he shouted the word. "For twenty-seven years the Dark Lords fought the Alliance of Light in the Dark Siegn wars and they began to win. Then, in the greatest act of magic this world has ever seen, the Dark Lord himself was brought forth in corporeal form." He began pacing around the map, all eyes on him. "Then the prophecies came about. For if the Dark One should walk the earth, he who was pure of heart would be able to defeat the Evil One in mortal combat. The one so chosen was my great-uncle Fealoth."

  "We know all this. We were there." Arianrood's voice was becoming cooler by the minute.

  "Indulge me," snapped the emperor. 'To give Fealoth the powers he needed, almost all the great artifacts of power were drained, and fourteen wizards and sorceresses transferred this power to Fealoth. Arianrood and Dammuth were two of these. Fealoth received and contained the power, becoming a god, a god with the power to destroy the Dark One, which he did, and before he ascended to his new place as godling, promised all creatures that peace had come and all evil had been wiped out of the world. Never would there be such a war again."

  "I see what you are getting at. There is still evil in the world," said Mearead, watching the Ead with his dark eyes.

  "But not such that could overwhelm us!" retorted Arianrood. Her hair floated in the air now, sparks of green flying from it.

  "Dammit, Arianrood, quit interrupting me!" Even the elf king raised his eyes at this. 'Are they trying to bait her?' he wondered.

  "It was a lie. I was born eighty-seven years ago, in this Golden Age, and I have seen combat steadily since the age of fifteen."

  "All the goblins are not dead, my lord, even we in Cather-na-nog have been raided," said Ceallac, brushing the black hair from his forehead.

  "Raided! Raided! A few tribes!" the emperor said. "My people have been steadily involved in larger and larger raids. But not just goblins; cave trolls, grey wolves, even the un-dead have assaulted us. And every year the evil of this world increases."

  "A few skirmishes do not make a war," said Arianrood, her hair flying even wilder. Beside her, Remon, his face covered by his grey robe, shifted nervously.

  "You are wrong, lady. This is a war whether you wish to see it or not. We shake off the fact that we hear nothing of t
he dwarves of Cardoc-nae-corond because this is the Golden Age. Well, tell me how I pass it off when I lose an entire fleet to a sea dragon?"

  "What?!" shouted Donal. Remon put a restraining hand on the Warlord, but he shook it off, none missing his look of distaste.

  "That is only part of it," Trell'dem turned to Donal. "I have had four villages burned to the ground, one small town sacked, and two hundred of my warriors fell in battle not a hundred miles from here--and that just one short month ago." Trell'dem signaled to Crane, who began handing out thick scrolls to each of the leaders. As they leafed through them he continued, "In there you will find a year by year tally of encounters with the followers of Darkness. That scroll documents the last thirty-five years, ever since I took the sceptre. Each year of my reign, the encounters increase. My great-uncle, whom you all love and revere so much, lied."

  "NO!" shouted Arianrood. "You profane he who was and is your better. You know not what you speak of, boy."

  "Oh, does he not, Arianrood?" Lonnlarcan stood up and faced her. His eyes burned silver to match his hair. "I am no mage of your or Dammuth's power yet I have power, too. Can you honestly say nothing is amiss in this world of ours?" Arianrood pointedly ignored the question. "The truth is the portents are mixed and confusing. There are no prophecies as there were in Fealoth's time. The peoples of Pyridin retreat further into their lairs and refuse even my summons."

  "So, even you who were there turn your face from Fealoth's light?" Arianrood's hair no longer sparked her anger, but her voice was soft and lethal. Ceallac's hand grabbed for his sword, but Cucullin shook his head quickly. Ceallac hissed between his teeth.

  "Turn away from Fealoth? Be careful what you say to me, my lady."

  "You agree then with this, this mortal, that Fealoth lied?! Such accusations will not, cannot, go unchallenged! Tell me, my lord, do you agree with this," her hand pointed to Trell'dem, "blasphemer?"