Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Read online

  "Aieee!" a wail escaped the demon's mouth as somehow the pyridin managed to hurt him. He grabbed Dorrenlassarslany in his two hands and with a great Word of magic echoing from his skeletal jaw, he ripped the pyridin in half. Such was the power of that Word, that all that heard it were thrown down.

  "Apkieran," a great voice shouted, and surrounded by a golden light Cucullin beheaded one of the wraiths. The Dark prince raised his arms above his head and moaned like the wind through the mountains. All the humans who had fallen in Conlath's charge rose, dead but not dead, and at the demon's bidding pulled Cucullin down. A great fog shrouded the area and under cover of the Shadow Lord's magic, Apkieran escaped.

  Quickly, he sped to the hill where Arianrood threw enchantments before her. The fighting was barely half a mile away from the foot of the hill and Apkieran could see the humans and elves cutting great holes in his army. Though his dead did not run and fought unyieldingly, Apkieran saw that it was only a matter of time.

  "Arianrood," he shouted above the clash of arms, "we have lost. We must retreat."

  "Retreat?!" she cried. "Never!" She pointed to the foot of the hill where a hundred trolls stood, each facing a great stake pointed at their breast. "I have not lost yet, not yet!" And she walked down toward the trolls. Apkieran turned to follow even as one of the mages on the hill burst into a black flame and died.

  The main strength of the enemy retreated with the Shadow Lord to the north of the hill. There, Donal led most of the men and elves supported by Ceallac, the destroyer, and Lord Brasil. Fin, Sean, Bronwen, and Dermot attacked the remnants of the enemy's right flank, forcing them away from the hill. The other leaders, supported by human horse, a handful of Stalkers, and the rest of the elves, moved toward the hill, one thought in all their minds: Arianrood!

  Apkieran prepared the defense of the hill with what was left of the undead, a handful of goblins, and the still fresh trolls. But there was no magic to counter the leaders, and following the Morigu, Mearead, and Cucullin, the men and elves began to cut their way through.

  At the foot of the hill Arianrood addressed the hundred trolls.

  "Do your duty and meet your destiny. Your great lord waits for you in his halls. Let your lord's retribution defeat this scum that dare to defy us." With a deep-throated, "Feth," the trolls as one impaled themselves on the stakes before them.

  As the enemy's ranks shattered under the power of their antagonist, a foul smelling wind swept from the foot of the hill. The humans who smelled it fell down in a swoon and many of the elves ran away screaming in fear. The sun darkened and turned blood-red, and there, standing at the hill, was the great god Feth, Lord of the Fifth Plane.

  He stood twelve feet high, his body a deep black strewn with grey veins as if he was made of marble. His features were that of a troll but his eyes were large pits of red-black madness promising the tortures of the damned. Such was his mass that he sunk a full foot into the ground. Many who had not run from the deadly wind fell to the ground in terror. The few undead left simply dissolved into the ground while all the others of the Dark army ran shrieking in fear. Only the few hundred trolls remained, ecstatic in the rapture of their worship.

  Facing the dread god stood the Morigu, Lonnlarcan, Bairbre, Cucullin, Mearead, Niall, Mathwei, and the old man Oidean. With them also stood thirty of the bravest elves and two human knights.

  Niall, covered with blood, lifted himself off the ground from where his terrified horse had thrown him. He dared not look at the troll god before him.

  "Trollsbane, trollsbane," he muttered, and staggering like a drunk man, shambled toward the risen god. With almost casual contempt, the god directed his sight toward the man, and a red burst of color flew toward Niall. Bairbre was able to deflect most of it but enough hit Niall to throw him fifteen feet in the air to crash to the ground. He did not move.

  But the others did. It was enough to break the spell of the god's rising. As one they charged ahead, meeting with a crash the attack of the trolls. As the others fought the mass of trolls, Lonnlarcan and Bairbre threw their magic at the god. They barely slowed him down as step by step he moved toward them.

  All fought but Oidean. The old man just stared up the hill at Arianrood, who stood there laughing. Apkieran retreated up the hill. The nine remaining wraiths waited his bidding. They led a force of fifty vampires, all mounted on skeletal horses. Apkieran pointed to the foot of the hill.

  "Down," he growled, "down there. Kill them all." With human-sounding screams the evil ones charged. Apkieran looked at the city and smiled. He, too, had one more card to play.

  Oidean felt a hot breath on his neck and turned to see the mount of Margawt staring at him with red eyes. Slowly, the creature's hide changed from stone to a blue blackness of silk hide.

  "I know who you are." Anlon showed his thick teeth in a mockery of a smile.

  "You!" cried the old man and even as the unicorn's horn pierced his chest, his body melted into a darkness that fled to the sky. A moment later, a great cry of pain was heard, and a black shadow, made more awesome by the lurid glare of the red sun, filled the field. Even Feth looked up.

  There swooping down came Oidean, rejoined with his true body. He came down from a great height, the last of the dragons, Cuir re Duriche, the Fire Shade, son of Sessthon.

  From wingtip to wingtip he stretched sixty feet, and from his great saurion snout to the wicked tip of his tail was forty. He was covered with thick green scales, his nostrils dripped acid, and from between his four-foot-long fangs poured orange flame.

  The dragon's eyes were solid red, slit down the middle by a wicked green stripe. His body was thick and heavily muscled. Only magic could give his batlike wings the strength to lift that great weight. There was an evil power beneath those wings and the air they fanned became dank with fumes.

  He was the last dragon, a being of such power that even a god might take heed. Cuir re Duriche, like all his kind, shared the racial memory of all the dragonkind and was a master of deceit. A great doom lay on him, for if he failed, if he fell, his race would fall with him.

  He screamed out his defiance as he floated above the battlefield, his roar shaking the earth, even as his flames scoured her.

  'Too soon,' he cried to himself, 'too soon.' He wished to flee, to plan, but first he would have his revenge. The dragon swooped down on the battlefield, his rage taking form in his unholy fires. He breathed it on elves and trolls alike, striking Anlon with the full force of his fury. He hovered above the ground, his great wings beating with a monstrous noise, the wind from them throwing friend and foe about like so many twigs.

  The flame covered the unicorn until no sight of him could be seen. With a last shriek, the dragon flew again deep into the air, disappearing within the fumes his own anger had created. The Morigu was the first to recover, just in time to block a great blow by Feth. His shield shattered and the Morigu was driven three feet into the ground.

  Both of the human knights died in the dragon's fire along with four of the elves. Mearead shook with outrage. Between him and Arianrood stood a god, a dragon, and the hundred trolls who had withstood the dragon's random flame. And then he saw the wraiths and vampires charging.

  "No!" he screamed. He turned to Lonnlarcan. "These are your problem. The horse and I will deal with the dragon." With that he raced to the unicorn.

  "I am not a horse," shouted Anlon.

  "Shut up," said Mearead as he jumped on the demigod's back.

  "No one rides without my permission," shouted Anlon again.

  "Shut up and move!" Mearead pointed to a small hill a few hundred yards away. Anlon took off with the dwarf balancing on his back. They rode to the top and the dwarf started shouting insults at the dragon. From Anlon's horn a black streak flew to strike the mammoth beast. It did no apparent harm as Cuir re Duriche hovered for a moment then dived at the two figures and covered them with his magic fire.

  Reorganizing themselves, the elves charged the trolls and drove them back as Cucullin and
the Morigu traded blows with Feth, but both warriors were thrown down and a score of trolls leaped at them. The god continued his march.

  Two score of human knights, mostly Green Branch, with some ten elves came riding toward the fight. Mathwei reared his mount around and met them. Quickly they organized behind him, and Mathwei, white with fear, led them against the wraiths.

  Bairbre cried in a great voice as a lance of power struck Lonnlarcan in the chest, and he went to his knees. She stood over her lord and using every last bit of her power, emulated herself in her own magic. She turned into a creature of pure red power, nearly the size of the troll god, and the two locked in mortal combat. With fists, claws, and teeth the two raged at one another. She forced him away from Lonnlarcan, who pulled himself up.

  He saw his elves being overwhelmed, heard the fires of the dragon. Soon even Cucullin and the Morigu must fall. As these thoughts cleared his mind of the battle fog, he saw the troll god rip the head off of Bairbre, who in her true form again fell at the king's feet.

  Lonnlarcan stared at the headless body for a moment and then looked up at the god. Such was the power in that glance that Feth fell to his knees.

  "Doom and salvation, let it be so," the Ard Riegh cried, and in all parts of the field, even to the city the voice was heard. "By my power and strength, I banish you, Dark One, and know that forever will you be the enemy to the elder until the end of time." He drew the great sword which sparked as it slid from its sheath. Lonnlarcan brought it down on the kneeling god's neck. True was that stroke and thousands of sparks flew when the sword made contact. With his elven sight, Lonnlarcan saw the god leave his mortal form which, freed of the power that imbued it, turned to the marble it resembled. A call of horns was heard and warriors, led by Fin, crashed into the trolls, spilling them across the field, others racing to reinforce Mathwei. Donal and Ceallac raced to attack the dragon.

  On the top of the hill Apkieran watched all this alone. The hill was burnt and scarred with great rifts where the elven and human magic had contended against Arianrood's enchantments. All her mages were dead, charred heaps, just part of the blackened debris. Arianrood was nowhere to be seen.

  The Lord of the Undead lifted his great ax and allowed the constant flow of blood down its blade to cover him. His skeletal frame glowed with a green luminescence.

  "Now," he said quietly, and he spoke a Word. His body quivered, then dissipated in a witch wind that came from nowhere. He, too, made his escape from the shambles of the battlefield.

  But his command was heard. In a dark room in Tolan, Cainhill stared down at the terrified woman who lay at his feet. The stone flags had been torn from the floor as she lay on the earth. She tried to cover her big belly as if she could protect the child within. For a moment he hesitated, and the spear Kianbearac bucked in his hand. His hands were burnt to the bone. He barely had enough fingers left to hold the spear.

  "No," a whimper escaped his lips, but it was too late, and the spear plunged through the woman's belly deep into the ground beneath. In the explosion of power and outrage at the desecration, Cainhill, the woman, and the room were blown to pieces. The tower overhead crashed down as a great earthquake shook the land as far as Ruegal and Cather-na-nog.

  Only Anlon remained on his feet and Mearead stood upon his back, but they were both distracted by the cries of the elven host for their loss. Not so the dragon. He swooped down, his claws ripping through Mearead's mail. It grasped him and turned to fly away.

  Donal, supported by a tree, had risen first of all the host, and seeing the dragon dive, ran toward Mearead and the unicorn. As the dragon turned to fly away with his prize, Donal's sword swept at the claw, and the stroke, backed by all his incredible strength, dug deep, the runes of the Horned God blazing a sharp blue. The dragon dropped the dwarf king and flew high into the sky, screeching in pain and agony. Its black blood splattered and burned Donal, and he fell to lie next to the Lord of the Crystal Falls, his friend.

  All elves everywhere felt the desecration of Kianbearac but none in such a manner as Lonnlarcan, the Ard Riegh. A great ache swept through him. Falling to his knees, he felt the crack of bones within him as he, first of the elves, felt age. And time drove deep in him, and the dark breath of mortality filled his lungs.

  He opened his eyes to see a strange land of grassless plains and leafless trees. There was a bright directionless light that came from the land itself and hurt the elven king's eyes. Before him stood a grey shadow. Lonnlarcan felt the power, but this being he did not know.

  "No, you don't know me. I am not for your kind," said Lord Death. He was silent for a moment, then cocked his head to one side. "I will not take you. Long have I desired one such as you in my halls, Lonnlarcan. But I will not take you."

  "You must," came a sibilant voice, and Lonnlarcan shivered at the evil in it.

  "No!" Death shouted to the empty sky. "I am master here." He turned to look down at the Ard Riegh. "Go back, Witch King, there is still much you must do. Go back." Lonnlarcan blinked his eyes once, and still feeling the burden of time, fell in a swoon.

  Somehow Mathwei pulled himself to his feet. Around him lay the dead. A few forms moved in pain, and he could see some of the knights were recovering. But all the elves lay still.

  "At least," his voice was small on the field of death, "the undead are gone." He felt buoyed by that thought. Mathwei knew he could never again do anything as brave as attack the wraiths and vampires as he had. He still shuddered as he remembered their glowing eyes thirsting for his soul.

  He moved to remove his lance from the breast of a dead vampire.

  "I don't even remember killing that thing," he said aloud.

  "Yes," answered a voice, "it's like that sometimes. I forget who I've killed quite often." The voice came from behind Mathwei. It moved closer. Silky, soft, and murderous, the voice continued. "But you know, Mathwei ap Niall, I never forget those I miss."

  Mathwei's body froze in fear. Some part of his mind registered the fact that his bladder had just evacuated itself.

  "You're dead. The arrow killed you." His voice was hoarse and tears streamed down the young warrior's face. He did not turn around.

  "Shame on you, Mathwei. You know that it takes more than a toothpick to kill such as I. You do remember me, though. That's good, very good. Makes our acquaintance that much more sweet, don't you think?" Mathwei still did not turn. He knew this was the monster he had crossed swords with and nearly died fighting at the battle of Greenway. The vampire had marked him for death and would never accept anything else.

  "Now, now, my brave young knight, no need to fear me so. Soon you will realize I'm not such a terrible monster after all." It laughed, a bark like a hyena. "After all, you'll have all eternity to get to know me." A hand, cold, dead, flashed out and wiped blood from Mathwei's wounds. Behind him he heard it lick the fluid from its hand.

  Mathwei knew if he turned and looked at the vampire it would control him. Worse, he realized the beast would bring no easy death. It didn't wish to kill him. It wished to make him a vampire, enslaved to its will. That thought was enough to cut through his fear. His body tensed and he gripped his sword tighter.

  "Now, now, Mathwei, your sword cannot harm me. Why don't you just turn around so we can talk this out man to man, as it were?"

  The compulsion was strong and the warrior found that he was turning slowly around. He strove against himself.

  His body jerked like a demented puppet. In despair, he tried to shout his defiance but nothing came out. The vampire's words rang in his head. "Your sword cannot harm me." 'I have no weapons,' he cried inside himself, 'no way to fight.'

  The vampire re-exerted its will, its dark hunger taking over its game of cruelty. Mathwei let his knees buckle, but his body continued to try and twist around. 'Sword cannot harm. No weapons. All eternity. Death. Death.' The word caught hold and then Mathwei knew a way out, a way to win. His hand ripped the vial of poison from his neck, and his teeth crunched down on the splintering gl
ass, cutting his mouth, causing him to cry in agony.

  "Enough, mortal, you are mine. Your blood is mine." The voice controlled him and he turned, but instead of facing the vampire, Mathwei saw a grey shadow between him and the monster. The shadow was manlike in form. It spoke to the vampire.

  "This one belongs to me, leech. Leave him be." The poison began to work and Mathwei felt his limbs grow thick and heavy.

  The vampire, a pale shadow to Mathwei's eyes, hissed at the grey shadow. "Away, Grey Man. You have no power over me. My master is greater than you. This one is mine." The pale shadow leaped at Mathwei, and one taloned hand tore his throat wide open. It dug its face into the spraying blood. The grey shadow watched as the monster filled itself with Mathwei's blood, and laughed.

  The vampire tore away from the dead warrior and faced the shadow. "You are defeated by me, by my master." The vampire shrieked. Then it grabbed its throat and gasped, drawing air into its withered lungs. But it didn't help and the vampire fell to its knees, drowning in the poisoned blood coursing through its veins.

  "Poison?" it questioned the shadow. "Poison cannot kill me." Its voice was a whimper.

  "Death claims His own. That noble warrior is mine and you go back to your master." The shadow looked down on the gasping creature. 'None escaped death; your master has forgotten the law. Return to him and tell him this. He overreaches himself. I am aware. I am watching. I am waiting. I will come. Return to him and give my message." The grey shadow's hand reached out and extended, touching the vampire on the chest. It shrieked one last time, and from its chest a twisting, turning shape, brown and black, flew into the air.

  "I am sorry." The shadow turned to Mathwei's body. "Third time, and I must take my payment." Mathwei's soul spun from its body and dashed straight into the heart of the shadow. "My halls wait for you." Death's voice was soft. "Your place is ready. You have done well." A wind came across the field and the grey shadow drifted apart as if made of dust. It was Fin who found Mathwei ap Niall's body spread eagle amongst the corpses of war. Though he mourned the dead warrior, he was puzzled that despite the gaping throat, the features of the body were peaceful, and the young hero's face held a beautific smile.