Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Read online

  "Donal," said Mearead in a quiet but firm, very firm, tone, "quit calling me 'my lord.'" Donal looked confused. "I mean it. It aggravates the crap out of me. And, my brainless friend, consider if you would your sources of information." Donal had nothing to say to that. "For your information, the Hunter was once the husband of the earth Goddess herself. Long years ago he fought by her side to bind the Fomarians." He gave Bronwen a searching look. "Lass, the Hunter did not help in the Dark Seign wars. Why would he help in this one?"

  "I do not know, my. . . Mearead," she said. "But you could ask him yourself."

  "Why, how?"

  "I will call him."

  "You will call him," Mearead shook his head, "and he will come just like that?"

  "He always has, my lord... Mearead." She glared at Donal. "I did not call him often, but he has always come."

  "Well, call, lass, call!"

  She smiled at him and turned to the west. "Hunter," was all she said. Then she knelt down by the brook and began to wash herself.

  "Oh really, Mearead," exclaimed Donal. "'Hunter'! And he comes. A god! He comes when you just call his name?"

  Mearead looked at the girl calmly washing her face. "That's it, lass?"

  "Yes. He will come if he wishes to when he wishes to," she stated matter-of-factly.

  Mearead shook his head. "Well," he said, "you're either crazy or you have a humble god, girl." He took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. As he filled it Donal snorted in disgust.

  "By the gods!" he said. 'This is a little too much, don't you think? We have serious things to do, Mearead. We can't sit around waiting for this woman's fantasies to appear."

  "Why not?" said Mearead. "After all, she might be telling the truth."

  "You're just going to sit there and smoke your pipe?" "That I am," Mearead smiled up at him. "If you have a problem here, lad, don't hold it in. Get it off your chest."

  "Gods!" Donal sat down in disgust.

  "We'll see," answered Mearead.

  "I am not a humble God," said a voice. All looked in surprise at the figure that had joined them. With no warning or noise, He had come. He stood seven feet tall, a grey shadow. His outline was human except for the two stag horns that came from His brow. There were two dark patches where His eyes should be. Other than that they could make no features out. He was like a silhouette of a shadow against a wall, except He had substance.

  "And," He added, his voice deep and possessing a threatening and frightening quality to it, "I do not serve the Dark. I serve nothing save myself."

  Bronwen went on her knees and bowed. "My lord," she whispered. Donal bowed in awe, despite his misgivings. Mearead just looked up.

  "Now I'll be damned," he said. "You of all, I am honored." He made a little nod with his head.

  The shadow knelt on one knee in front of the three of men. "Great praise from you, Mearead," He said chuckling. "I always wondered why your kind worshipped the Mother and not I."

  "We worship none," bristled the dwarf. "We just, ah, tend to be on better terms with the Goddess."

  "Indeed," said the God. The three felt a peculiar tingling in their bones and a refreshing clarity of mind. Only in this way did the Hunter manifest His divinity.

  "Well, Bronwen, glad I am that you have been freed at last!" She smiled delicately and sat back on her ankles, water dripping down her chin. "And Warlord," said the God. Donal looked defiant, if a little worried. "Arianrood chose you knowing your loyalty would blind you longer than the others." Donal looked crestfallen at this latest disclosure. "But she made a mistake. You've proved to be a good ally and a fierce enemy."

  "Then, my lord, you are going to actively join us in this war?" asked Mearead.

  "I already have. More than you think. You've gathered by now this war is more dangerous than the Dark Seign wars?"

  "Indeed, I'd begun to think along those lines."

  "Dwarf understatement again." If a shadow could smile, then He did, though it was a feral grin. "There is more here than even I know. Much is hidden from me. There are no prophecies or true knowledge. This war was not supposed to be."

  "Well," said Mearead, "that's life!"

  The shadow chuckled again. "Aye, Mearead, life has surprises even for Gods! Now I cannot remain long or other powers will know." He stood up, looking over the others. "Arianrood is in Tolath. She leads the armies against Tolan. The battle has been going on for days there." Mearead's eyes went bright and he grasped his ax. "I'll get you there quick but you must do me a favor." Mearead nodded once.

  "The Morigunamachamain has fallen wounded along with my servant. You will revive the Morigu with your powers, Mearead. Then the four of you will go there." He touched Mearead's forehead and a flash of a route, a path leading to a sanctuary was placed into his mind like a recalled memory. "There you will find others who are my followers. With them you will go and join the battle of Tolan." He pointed and behind Bronwen a blue oval appeared. "That is your doorway. Step through and you will reach the Morigunamachamain. Mounts wait for you to bring you to my temple. They await your arrival." Mearead and Donal quickly packed up.

  "Mearead, kill her." The Hunter's voice was harsh. "She must die. Beware, though, I fear that they seek to free the Dark One. Stop them. If he rises, no God may contend with him and the last battle will begin. And Mearead, there is no time or power to create another Fealoth." Mearead stepped through and disappeared. "Bronwen, huntress you are and huntress you will be. I am well-pleased, my daughter." And she was gone. Donal made to go through, but the God's hand grabbed his shoulder. Donal spun around. "Fear me not, Longsword."

  "I am sorry for my words, lord," he stammered.

  "Many have been hurt in this war, you not the least." The God's hand reached into Donal's chest. Donal was filled with an ecstasy, a pulsing of his own strength and joy to be alive. "Ah, it is rare, young one, that I may touch the heart of honest loyalty and true honor." The Hunter withdrew his hand and held it out. "Your sword." Donal placed it pommel first in the God's hand.

  "A good blade." His other hand traced the sword. Black runes were left etched in the blade. "Stay with Mearead, protect him with your life. Only he may destroy the witch. See that he has his chance." Donal nodded slowly, his face filled with awe. "The Morigu has been filled with wrongness. The enemy will seek to corrupt him. Befriend him, Donal. Teach him your honest vision of the world."

  "By my sword, my lord, I will do as you ask."

  "I am the God of the Hunt, Donal. God of blood and chase, fear and pain, savagery and quick death. I do not give my blessing often. You have it." Donal bowed long and deep and then with no further words between them he stepped through the hole.

  Even as he disappeared, a great shape stepped through to his side. A third shadow joined them. This one was smaller than the others but it radiated immense power. It said in a gentle voice, "They are well-picked."

  "Are they enough, great one?" said the second shadow.

  "They must be," it answered.

  "Our time is limited," said the Hunter. He turned to the second shadow. "We must move quickly. A dragon has risen."

  As Bronwen woke, the defenders of Tolan prepared for another day of siege. Two forms broke from the enemy encamped at the front gate. One was tall and thick, his sickly third arm moving spastically at his side. The other rode a strange saurian beast some fifteen feet in length. The rider's features could not be seen. His form wavered in size from six to sixteen feet, though it was always vaguely humanoid.

  The two fomarians stopped beneath the gate, staring up at the massive wall. Even as Lonnlarcan and the other leaders were rushing to the scene, the eye of the three-limbed Fomarian opened.

  A beam of colorless power shot from it to encase the whole gate, and as it did the gold plating began to melt and run. The gates buckled as if they, too, were melting, though they were made of stone.

  The young Shee, Geaspar, recklessly threw a spell down at the Fomarian assailing the gate. His power was weak and the spell was a sim
ple one of force meant to knock an opponent to his knees. It did no damage and the giant ignored him, but the Shadow Lord rode out and pointed his finger at the youth.

  Geaspar was immediately taken by a fit of shaking, his whole body twitching convulsively. Bairbre reached him and tried to dispel the magic, but it was too late. The young elf's body shook at an incredible rate, his head banging on the stone till it bled. Then, with a terrible squelching noise, his eyes, eardrums, heart, and veins all popped at once.

  Bairbre rose with a cry and a sheet of red power flew from her outstretched body. It hit the Shadow Lord, knocking him off his mount. He rose to his feet to retaliate when a loud rending was heard and the great gates of Tolan fell to the ground, crumbled and useless. As the dust settled a mounted figure stood at the gate. It was Lonnlarcan, Ard Riegh of the elves. Everything was silent. Only the 'clop clop' of his horse's hooves were heard.

  I know your name, Flannlorc ap Laiche." Lonnlarcan's voice was low and dangerous. "Oh, it was a powerful spell that blinded your name to me, but not powerful enough." The giant waved his mattock threateningly and advanced a step.

  "This way is barred. I am now the gate you must pass through!" The Elven King's form seemed to grow until he overshadowed the Fomarian. The Shadow Lord mounted and retreated into the mass of goblin soldiers.

  The second Fomarian, Flannlorc ap Laiche--which means cruelty, son of spite--moved no closer to the Ard Riegh. No threatening gestures were made; the two antagonists just stared at one another. Slowly, sullenly, the demigod turned and walked away. The walls burst out in cheering as the giant disappeared in the quiet horde of the enemy army.

  The defenders of Tolan surrounded Lonnlarcan, congratulating him. The elven king just shook his head. He knew the siege would start again and soon. How could they hold with no gate?

  Later, as he was discussing his worries with Fin, Teague, the Lord Mage, entered. He bowed his old white head to the king.

  "My lord," his eyes were gold to Lonnlarcan's silver, "I can bar the gate."

  "What?" exclaimed Fin.

  "It is a magic, a powerful magic I learned long ago," he explained. "I cover the gateway with a magic barrier and infuse myself with it. It will be impassable."

  "But Teague," said Lonnlarcan, "if you do that we shall be that much weaker in our defensive magics."

  "Aye, that's true, lord," the mage shrugged, "but if I don't do it, the city will surely fall. No barricade will stop the fomarians and the others."

  Fin said nothing, leaving it to the elf king to decide.

  "It will be done," sighed Lonnlarcan.

  Many of the soldiers of both armies gathered at the gate to watch the elven magic. Teague approached the gate slowly. Across the entrance, wagons, beams, and loose rock had been piled to form a flimsy barricade. Ten paces from it the elf stopped.

  He raised both his hands and spread them wide. From each finger a red line of thin filament flew out, like the web of a spider. The lines reached the sides of the gate, then raced across the entrance to meet. Teague's hands and fingers, starting at the tips, began to glow red.

  "He says no words," said Fin to Lonnlarcan.

  "Aye, this is a magic of the will," answered Lonnlarcan. "It is his very essence that creates and binds this magic. A lesser mage might need to accompany such a feat with gestures and words of power, but in this Teague needs no ritual."

  The lines continued to thicken and now the onlookers could see that Teague's body began to blend into the lines. Already his hands were gone, just thick strands shot from his wrist to the gate. The process sped up.

  First the elf's arms then shoulders melded into the gate, his body glowed and transformed into a coruscating shimmer of bright red power. In minutes that, too, was gone, and all that there was to see of Teague was a thick shield of red covering the gate from top to bottom.

  Lonnlarcan walked over and picked up the elf lord's tunic and cloak that had not transformed with him. He held the clothes in his hands a minute, then not looking at the gate walked back toward the palace. Slowly the crowd broke up until only one figure remained.

  It was Dermot, the last of the three Shee that had joined the elf hosting. Her brown hair was a fierce tangle that matched well her proud dark eyes. She was wearing a tattered piece of mail and had a single sword. She stared long at the barrier that was Teague.

  It bothered her that anyone could do such an act, giving up all movement, thought, and feeling to protect others. She wondered if she were capable of such a gift. She thought not.

  While the weary defenders prepared for the next assault, Donal, Mearead, and the huntress Bronwen all stepped from the grey doorway the Hunter had created. At their feet lay the battered Morigu, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Mearead bent down on one knee and began to tend him.

  While Donal fetched water, Bronwen wandered around. She saw a great pool of dried blood right near where they had come through the portal. Investigating, she looked to find any sign of where the Morigu and unicorn had fought the Fomarian. But there was nothing but the blood stain.

  It took Mearead half the day to revive Margawt. As far as Bronwen could tell, all the dwarf did was sit there and stare at the fallen warrior. Donal, more sensitive than she, could feel the earth strength rush through the land into the Morigu's body. The ground began to shake a little and both watched incredulously as the tissue of Margawt's breast was rebuilt, muscle by muscle, the old flesh falling away like so much dead meat.

  Soon all bruises and cuts were gone. Margawt's eyes fluttered and opened. He stared impassively at the trio.

  "Thank you, old one," he said to Mearead. Bronwen gasped as he rose to his feet; except for his tattered mail, none the worse for his ordeal. He walked over to the battlefield but not onto it. For a moment he studied it then he turned back to the others, his face handsome and hard.

  "The unicorn?" he asked.

  "You were the only one here, lad," answered Mearead. He stood up slowly, his body one ache. "We were sent to help you, Margawt, and all four of us were given another task." Quickly he made introductions and shared his story. The Morigu told of the fight and how he came to be here. As soon as he learned Arianrood was in Tolan, he made to go off but the dwarf restrained him.

  "Mounts will be provided. You could learn some patience, warrior." The Morigu glared at him, but he did wait.

  In minutes their mounts came. They were four great wolves, but not like wolves any of the companionshad seen. The animals were pure white, a sickly anemic white. The only thing about them that wasn't white were their red eyes and tongues. They trotted up, five feet at the shoulder. They just stood there. The companions approached them warily.

  'The hounds of the hunt," said Mearead. "Never have I heard they bore riders."

  "They are not evil or wrong," said the Morigu, "but there is a taint about them I do not understand." Bronwen looked at the strange elf trying to decipher his words. She placed a hand on one of the wolves. The fur was soft, softer than any fabric or fur she had ever touched. She mounted the wolf.

  "Come, my lords," she said. "The war awaits us." With that she and her mount turned and took off at a fantastic pace.

  "Almost as fast as fallen Anlon," said the Morigu. He mounted and waved once to the battleground. "I will remember, great one," and he was gone.

  Donal and Mearead looked at each other. "Well, you better help me up on this nasty beast, lad. No other choice for it." Donal helped him and then mounted the last wolf. They tore after the others, with the wolves making no noise.

  Donal cried over the rush of the wind. "Quit calling me 'lad,'" he said. "I am a hundred and seventeen years old."

  "Right you are, boy," came the answer. They both laughed as their mounts sped them into the east.

  C H A P T E R

  Fifteen

  At Tolan the siege began again as soon as night came, the enemy assailing walls with soldiers, wills with magic. Nothing they brought to bear could break Teague's barrier at the main gate and t
he fomarians assailed no other doors.

  Late that night as the attacks were intensifying, Donal, Mearead, Margawt and Bronwen rode their bizarre mounts through a strange land. It was not dark, but there was no sun where they traveled. They rode upon one vast empty plain.

  "Mearead," Donal shouted through the rush of the wind, "this is not Tolan."

  "No," Mearead clutched the fur of his mount tighter, "this is no land that I know."

  "It is a door," Margawt offered. "We ride the pathways of the gods."

  Bronwen moved her mount even with the other three.

  "Can't we stop?" Her face was white with fatigue.

  "No," Margawt answered. "This land is not meant for the touch of mortal flesh. You would die if you dismounted." He urged his mount on, and the giant wolf leapt ahead of the others.

  "Cheerful guy, huh," Mearead shouted over to Donal, but the Warlord said nothing as he desperately strove to keep his long legs from touching the ground.

  They continued for hours, though time has little meaning in the nameless land. Finally, they saw a thick wood ahead. The wolves did not slow their reckless pace and all four concentrated on staying on the mounts. The woods became a little hillier and the wolves slowed down.

  "Smell that!" Mearead yelled, taking a deep breath in his lungs. "This air, real air. Wherever we are, we're back in the land." They all shouted to feel the sun on their faces.

  The travelers cleared the woods, and straight ahead, not a hundred paces, was a sheer face of a small cliff. Their mounts ran straight for it. All four riders tried to stop them but before even Margawt could leap off, the wolves plowed straight into the wall which wasn't a wall. The four found themselves riding through a pitch-black cave which even dwarven eyes would be hard-pressed to see in. Margawt and Donal felt the presence of watchers that were quickly left behind in the mad rush of speed. Then, just as quickly, the four found themselves out of the cave and in a small valley.