Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Read online

  "It is as the blackness of the earth. Not darkness, but the total opposite of light," said Margawt. His figure became outlined in a thin pale light. "It is an impressive place," he stated to the others who could not see a thing.

  "You should be honored, Avenger," answered a voice. It was the voice of he who had led them earlier. It came from in front of them. "It is a mark of great favor that the master should allow any of Her servants into His shrine."

  "How 'bout a little light, pal?" said Mearead.

  "The darkness of the womb, the nonlight all living things share," said a new voice. It was quiet and reserved. "It is a rare thing to experience with lack of fear."

  "Right," said the dwarf, "how 'bout some light?" The room lit up as Mearead finished. No noise was made, just light. The chamber was huge, the roof domed. At the very end of it, furthest from the companions, stood the three shadow figures.

  They were upon the dais of a statue that was at least forty feet tall. The statue was made of pure silver that in the light seemed almost black. It was of the Hunter, the Horned God. He stood naked, his body human and flawless. But his face held no features and from his brow two antlers thrust. The room was otherwise empty. The light came from thousands small, darting, flickering lights dancing around the ceiling.

  The tall figure pointed up at the lights. "Will-o'-wisps," he said, "children of the night." He turned to the companions and gestured to the figure on his left, who took a step forward.

  "This is the Hunter," he said. The figure bowed and dropped his cowl. He stood about five-ten, his shoulders broad, tapering to a narrow waist and powerful legs. His face was shadowed, only great black brows and the dark flicker of eyes could be made out. He was covered in leather which at chest, neck, arms, hands, loins, and thigh was covered with a flexible grey material that looked something like plate armor. His black hair was long and held a horse-tail braid at the top. He wore no weapons.

  "The Hunter," continued the other, "can find all living things. Nothing can escape from him. He embodies all the abilities of the animals of prey." He motioned to the other.

  "This is the destroyer," he said. This figure likewise stepped forward, bowed and dropped his cowl. He stood six-feet one, and was made of solid, fluid muscle. His entire body was covered with the grey material the hunter sported. Even his head was covered in a mask. A longsword and shortsword were tied to his back. On his arms were strapped throwing daggers, and in his buckskin boots, the handle of a long knife showed. Both his hands were gauntleted with the grey material which formed cestus. Along the upperside of each arm were five crystals, blood red. That these were some sort of weapon Mearead did not doubt.

  "The destroyer," said the speaker, "can find a way to defeat all living things. Nothing is invulnerable to him. He embodies the abilities to kill in all creatures, especially man.

  "And I," said the speaker, "am the maker." He threw back the hood of the cloak. The companions were surprised by how young he seemed. His features were strong and handsome. His hair was long and yellow-gold. The maker stared at them through bright blue eyes that did not seem so young.

  "The maker," he said, his voice gentle, "can know all living things. Nothing is incomprehensible to him. He embodies the abilities to create. The passion in all living things." He bowed to the companions. "You need not introduce yourselves. We know of all of you and your deeds. You are welcome and we are honored." Four cowled figures appeared at the side of the dais. "These monks will take you to quarters so that you may refresh yourselves. Later tonight, we will meet to discuss our next move." He bowed and the light went out with his gesture. The four, holding candles, led the companions away, politely refusing to answer all questions.

  As they followed through the halls Donal whispered to Mearead. "Can we trust them?"

  "Do we have a choice?" answered Mearead.

  "They are followers of the God," Bronwen added. "They are our friends." The three continued their hushed conversation. But Margawt said nothing.

  They were close, close to the enemy. He could feel it. And he must go. . . He must hunt.

  "Kill," he murmured, and the others went silent at his harsh voice.

  C H A P T E R

  Sixteen

  The host of the Dark powers stood quiet, facing the wrath of the elves at the gate of Tolan. The Fomarian growled once and shifted his feet, waiting for the city's defenders to do something.

  Lonnlarcan looked down at the blood covering him. He could hear no sound, smell no smell, but the anger of the elves at his back was like a physical force, a furnace pushing against him, through him, in him. He raised his eyes to the Fomarian and saw the dark spirit residing in the gigantic body. He could feel it confused, but still gloating, gloating at the death and blood--the destruction.

  Lonnlarcan focused on the anger of his people, soaked it into his body, flaming his spirit. He concentrated, forcing the emotion into a ball, pressing for release. He held it until it became a razor pain, then opened his eyes, allowing the ball of power to spread through his arms into Kianbearac, holding it again for a moment, focusing it into an even greater power, combining it with the magic of the spear. He then let it out.

  "Die," he sighed to the giant and a great silver light poured from the spear, hitting the giant full in its chest. The Fomarian stood firm, though his rock armor shattered like glass. His third arm stretched out to meet the power. The eye absorbed it for a moment, but then the hand blew apart and the arm shriveled. The silver light continued on through the demigod. His spirit tried to flee, but could not escape. In seconds, the flesh was stripped from the bones, and for a moment the skeleton stood, ragged streaks of flesh floating in the power of the elves' desire, but it, too, was blown apart. And the demigod's spirit was shredded to nothingness.

  The ground buckled and the whole host behind the demigod fell to its knees, but the elves stood and their magic ripped through the Dark One's ranks, destroying anything in its way.

  "Arianrood," the elves chanted, their eyes bright with silver vengeance. "Arianrood," and the power searched, a thick light of power. She heard their call, and atop the blasted hill she waited. The light reached the foot of the hill and two of her bodyguards were turned to ash. It reached up the hill but met her defense. A green fog dimmed and blurred the figure upon the hill as the silver light strove for her life. . . but it was not enough.

  Kianbearac danced in Lonnlarcan's hands, scarring them with heat. He had to let go; the spear could hold no more. As quick as that the light was gone.

  The elves stared across the plain, the dark path of destruction leading to the hill that was bright with the power of Arianrood. And though they could not see her or hear her, they knew she laughed.

  In the fortress of the Stalkers, the companions rested in a large stone chamber sparsely furnished. Here they were served food and water--no wine, much to Mearead's disgust--and then led to separate rooms where they relaxed in hot, soothing baths. At no time were they left alone to discuss what had transpired.

  They were all refitted with hunting leathers. Mearead's and Donal's armor had been taken away to be cleaned. Margawt's was ruined and the monks promised to replace it. Their weapons were left intact.

  The four sat around the round wooden table that dominated the room. The four monks bowed and left.

  As the door closed behind the retreating figures, Margawt leapt to his feet screaming in a high voice.

  "Aiiee!" he cried. "The ravisher! The elves seek their betrayer! Aiiee, how the cleansing flame burns!!" He leapt about the room, biting through his lip as he convulsed.

  Mearead and Donal grabbed him at the same time and tried to restrain him. The Morigu said no more, but his cries continued. They were animal sounds of pain and of pleasure. Bronwen backed into a corner and stared horrified at the three rolling on the floor.

  "Hold him still!" Mearead yelled.

  "I'm trying." Donal grabbed the Morigu in a choke hold. "He's too strong. I can't hold him!"

  "Goddess
, help me!" Mearead cried. His back and arms arched back as he felt a power flood into him. He smashed his fist into the Morigu's breast with a great blow. Margawt went limp.

  "What was that all about?" Donal pulled himself up.

  "Don't ask me." Mearead shook with the waning of the Goddess' magic. "He was in pain, I think, but hell, with this one who knows?"

  Margawt sat up, the other two turned to charge him again, but he held one hand up. "Learn," he whispered. Then he reached into each of their minds, sharing his knowledge as the elven kind can. They saw the fall of the Fomarian, and felt the hatred of the elves.

  For Bronwen it was a process beyond understanding. She tried to escape from it, but the Morigu held her. He did not show his pain, or joy--he did not explain his reaction. Donal reached over and helped him back to the table. All sat around it again. Bronwen turned away, Mearead watching Margawt wipe the blood from his lip.

  'I understand the joy, lad,' he thought, 'but since when does elvish magic hurt a Morigu?'

  "Well," he said aloud, "the death of the Fomarian is good news, and no mistake about that."

  "Add that to Margawt's defeat of the Hag of the Elder Night," Donal said, "and the odds turn a bit in our favor."

  "A bit," the dwarf said.

  "If I understood Margawt's sending right," Donal looked over at the brooding elf, "then Tolan is in danger of being taken soon."

  "What about these monks?" Mearead turned to Bronwen. "What do they want of us?"

  "We," said the maker as he entered the room, "want nothing more than to assist you." They all turned to the maker. He smiled and handed a jug to Mearead.

  "Trell'dem had mentioned to me your renowned thirst on more than one occasion." He smiled as the dwarf sniffed the wine appreciatively.

  "You knew Trell'dem?" he asked, pouring himself a cup.

  "Trell'dem was well known here. Did you not know he was a follower of the Hunter?"

  "I find it strange," said Donal, "that the descendent of Fealoth should follow another god."

  "Oh, he had his reasons," came the reply. "Trell'dem was very conscious of his duties. He did nothing without a purpose." He sat down. "In the third year of his reign, the Emperor was approached by the Hunter. Though young and new to the throne, Trell'dem was aware that things were not as they should be. It was with his help that this sanctuary was built." He smiled at Donal. "The Hunter had long had His suspicions that things were not as the prophecies had foretold. Much of the old magic had been used up in the Dark Seign wars. Thus it was that the God decided to build a new magic, a new power to help if things should go wrong. Thus were the Stalkers born."

  "Stalkers?" asked Bronwen.

  "Yes, we are all the Stalkers here, trained in the ways of the hunt, of war, and of magic."

  "Magic ..." said Mearead. "What powers have you?"

  "Our powers are still fledgling, even the God was caught by the rapidity of the enemy's return. But we have many who are near the mage level."

  "You mentioned new magic," asked the dwarf. "What new magic?"

  "The Hunter's way. Our forms are similar to elven magic in that it depends little on the help of gods or other powers. However, it is similar to the magic of the dwarves and men in that much is really just a twisting and bending of the laws of nature."

  "Illusion," stated the Morigu.

  "Yes, precisely. By the masters' powers--that is, myself, the hunter, and the destroyer--you could deduce that we depend not on pure power as on imagining, the power of thought."

  "I don't see how I'm supposed to deduce that," mumbled Mearead.

  "Simple," the maker answered. "The hunter uses the cunning of the animals to find his prey. The destroyer empathy and reason to find his enemy's weakness. And I, well, I just depend on intuition you might say, sort of spur of the moment things."

  "Well great," said Mearead, "but let's get back to Trell'dem. How come he didn't tell any of the allies about you?"

  "He couldn't. By the time we were established and coming to our power, the enemy had already approached and corrupted many, whom we did not know. Even the great wizard was under a powerful spell. He was not aware of the influence so his caution and curiosity were blunted."

  Margawt looked up. "Great Wizard?"

  "Yes. Dammuth."

  "You knew Dammuth?"

  "No, I never met him." His blue eyes gave Margawt an annoyed look. "Listen to what I say. We could not tell Dammuth because of the spell he was under. Besides, he was closer to the younger gods, especially Lugh." Margawt looked away. Still he could find no news of his friend and mentor.

  Mearead looked at the youth. He knew how the Morigu had come to his power and he knew that the only creature Margawt cared for was the old wizard. But what was going on inside the Morigu? He was obviously not inclined to talk about the Fomarian's death. What did all that pain really mean?

  "Margawt," he said, "we don't know if Dammuth is dead. He was very, very powerful. He could still be alive." Margawt said nothing. Mearead sighed and turned back toward the maker. "Okay, at least we have a partial understanding of who you are, and you say you know who we are. But you still haven't told us how you plan to help us."

  "That should be obvious," said the maker. "You want Arianrood." At her name Mearead's eyes went blank and the others, even Margawt, leaned a little closer. "So do we." He stood up and walked to the far wall. From a chest he brought out a map and laid it at the table. It was map of the empire.

  "We are here." He traced a circle around a small spot of hills with his finger. "Tolan is there." Again he pointed. "A good eight hours of hard riding away. The capital is completely encircled by an army of about thirty-five thousand. Its leaders include the Ead, the Shadow Lord, a Fomarian of unknown origin, and the Undead Lord, Apkieran."

  "The unknown Fomarian," Mearead interrupted, "was Flannlorc ap Laiche, the Ravisher, and," he paused to take a sip of wine, "he's dead."

  "Dead?" the maker looked around at the others. "How do you know?" Mearead just pointed to Margawt.

  "You felt his death?" Margawt just nodded. "Well," the maker took a deep breath, "that makes things a little easier."

  "What things?" Donal asked.

  "Well," the monk straightened the map, "let me go on. Inside the city is Lonnlarcan with a host of some three thousand elves and about ten thousand human warriors. The enemy already controls the whole south of the empire up to Comar and the Mountains of Tevulic. Now in Madia," he pointed to a city west of them, "is about another four thousand men, but they are blocked off by a small army, though large enough to defeat them." He paused and took a sip of water.

  "Originally," he continued, "we planned to free Madia and, with its troops and what we could gather from the northwest of the empire, free the city from the siege. However, things are bad in Tolan. I don't think the defenders can hold out more than a day or two."

  "The main gate is breached," Mearead said, nodding toward Margawt.

  "If Tolan falls," added Donal, "the empire will break."

  The maker turned from one to another, twisting his lips.

  "Exactly," he finally said. "So we must take what troops we have and make a bold bid to free the city. There is no other choice."

  "What forces do we have?" asked Mearead.

  "Three hundred and fifty of the monks, each of which is worth four warriors. Not far from here we have been able to gather another two thousand. Tomorrow we will be joined by Brasil ap Fin. He has gathered the forces of Dun Scaga and what defenders he could find and made an orderly retreat out of the woods of Ettoro. They are about eighteen hundred strong."

  "So," Mearead filled his cup again, "Dun Scaga has fallen." The monk frowned.

  "The whole south is theirs now, my lord," he added.

  "This, then, is your whole force?" Donal interrupted. The maker nodded.

  "With that you plan to break the siege?" Donal's disappointment was obvious.

  "Exactly."

  "You will die in a futile attack," said Mar
gawt, his voice flat and monotone.

  "Obviously we don't plan to just ride up and expect the enemy to surrender." 'Ah, protect me from unbelievers.' "Look, think for a moment. What would break the siege?"

  "A sizable army," answered Donal, "preferably mobile. They would need surprise so the enemy could not erect a defense, and a concerted attack from the city at the same time would dismantle the besieging troops."

  "Precisely." The maker was obviously pleased with Donal. He put his arm around the Warlord and whispered conspiratorially, 'That is exactly what we intend to do."

  "All right, smart guy," Mearead stood up. "You got an army at your back," he pointed at Madia, "another army which even with your forces outnumbers us two to one and, I might add, led by some very powerful beings. No one can get in or out of that bloody place to let the defenders know of our plan. Magic cannot get a message through either. For all your illusions, I doubt it comes near to equal that bitch's and her band of cutthroats' power."

  "I could get through," said Margawt.

  "No, you couldn't," answered the maker. "Arianrood has subverted the earth's power and uses it in corruption. She would know if you made the attempt. However, the Hunter can get through. He will be in and over the wall before the enemy is aware of his presence." He raised his hand and the others all strove to talk at once. "No more objections, just listen." They quieted down. "As far as their power is concerned, we do balance it. Inside the city is Lonnlarcan, the elf lords Cucullin, Ceallac, Teague, and Bairbre. They have taken casualties. The lord Cainhill has fallen, but Cucullin has killed the Fire Lord." Donal and Mearead both were surprised to hear this. It was a victory of sorts in and of itself. "We have the Stalkers and the masters, and you four --all warriors. And Mearead and the Avenger are powers in their own right."

  "The plan," said Mearead.

  "Is simple," came the quick answer. "The Hunter will bring our message to the defenders. We do not have the means to bring a large force against the enemy but we can make them think we do."