Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Read online

  The field was covered with dead. Broken weapons and ghastly shapes blackened the plain. The sun turned yellow again, but its light was cruel as it showed the agonized countenance of dead and dying warriors. At the foot of the hill the elves slowly gathered around their fallen lord. Though he lived, they stared in fear at the wrinkles that lined head and hands. Others moved to the Morigu where he lay prone upon the ground, blood dripping from his mouth.

  Margawt breathed shallowly. The Dark Ones' latest desecration of the earth had nearly overcome him. Cucullin pulled Bairbre's head from Dermot's grasp. Dermot sat there sightlessly, her silver elven tears staining the blooded ground.

  Slowly, the survivors came from the city and the wails of anguish filled the air. The battle of Tolan had been won, but many wondered if it was worth the cost.

  C H A P T E R

  Twenty

  The victorious army quickly reorganized itself. The dead were buried and the wounded were treated. There was no victory banquet. Even if there was time, none wished one. For no man or elf had not lost a friend or relative in desperate defense of Tolan.

  Two great mounds were made in sight of the gates of the city. Here, the dead, elf and man, were buried together. A smaller mound was made that lay between the two. Here, Bairbre, sorceress of the elves, was buried, and alongside her lay the young warrior Mathwei. Many were surprised at this, but it was on Lonnlarcan's insistence that it was done

  "He deserves this," was all the Ard Riegh would say. Niall Trollsbane laid his sword by Mathwei's side. "I'll remember," he swore quietly as the tomb was closed.

  Upon the hill where the Dark Ones had made their last stand, all the enemy's bodies were heaped. It was by Mearead's magic they were burned and a dark cloud overhung that place for three days and nights. Forever after nothing grew there and no animal would come near it.

  Two days later a relief force was sent to Madia where they quickly routed the enemy forces there. A garrison of two thousand was left and the rest marched to Tolan, bringing all the noncombatants from that city.

  The army was heavily reinforced by troops from the northern cities of Tinnafar and Althman and the many strongholds of the north and west.

  Anlon rode off with fifteen hundred men and five hundred elves, to reinforce Ruegal. Now that Oidean had been revealed to be the dragon, all felt sure he would return to the halls where Niall had found him. Anlon had fought in the Dark Seign wars; his father had trained him well in the defense against dragons. The unicorn had to leave before Margawt regained consciousness and for that he was sorry, but he knew what part he must play in this war.

  The next day, a thousand elves came from Cather-na-nog to replenish the badly wounded first hosting. Of the original four thousand elves that had ridden to Tolan's defense, less than half had survived. The reinforcements came with stories of a new danger. The raids from Maegul, the haunted lands, had increased. Lonnlarcan must return.

  Mearead, through his magic, contacted his people but there would be no help from that corner. The Crystal Falls was surrounded by the armies of Aes Lugh, led by Bronwen's sorcerous father, Remon. The allies had no troops to spare to help the dwarves. They were on their own, and Mearead could not return. The blood price must be paid.

  The charred splinters of Kianbearac had been recovered but the body of Cainhill and the woman he murdered were utterly destroyed. The city rang with hammers as the people of the city worked to repair the damage done in the battle. The blacksmiths' fires smoked day and night as arms were repaired and new weapons made. And all men and elves wrestled inside themselves with the knowledge that this war was far from over.

  Fin retained the title of Warlord of the East, but by popular agreement Donal Longsword was made the Warlord of all Tolath. The irony of using Arianrood's ex-Warlord as the leader of the Alliance's forces appealed to all.

  So it was that Donal called the council meeting one week after the battle, and it was he who stood to the right of the emperor's empty seat. The surviving thirteen heroes of the Allied army seated themselves around the room. All save Cucullin and the destroyer had been wounded in the battle, but thanks to the elven healers only the maker and Lonnlarcan were still recovering.

  The Ard Riegh took his seat slowly, each breath painful for him as he tasted the decay of the mortal air. His face was deeply lined with wrinkles and his once silver hair was now a pure white. His great shoulders slumped over, bowed by age, the only elf ever to feel its burden.

  The maker looked in little better shape. He had taken the brunt of Arianrood's magic when she had destroyed the illusion. Even now his breath came in painful gasps. Also seated at the table was the Duke of Tinnafar, the Earl of Althman, the Baron of Mathia, and Cormac, the son of Cainhill, who had led the elven reinforcements to Tolan. The others tended to eye him nervously since he was the image of his father. The elf lord ground his teeth together, his whole attitude showing his private battle of rage and despair at his father's fall.

  "I have called this council, for it is time for us to take the initiative in this war. But, first, it is also my sad duty to inform you that less than an hour ago the Baron Sean of Inlit finally succumbed to his wounds and died." There was silence at this announcement. All had been touched by the man's struggle with his wounds. He had been no great warrior but had acquitted himself well in the battle, attacking the Shadow Lord himself. If was that fomarian's magic that had frozen the lungs of the Baron and the man had died a lingering and painful death.

  "It is one more black deed the enemy must pay for." Donal's voice rung with his anger.

  He went to the middle of the room where the large map of the known lands lay. Such was the size of the Warlord that only the elf lords and Niall were near his height, and none, not even Cucullin, had his breadth of muscles. Donal pointed to the map, his hand still bandaged from the burn of the dragon's blood.

  "As you can see, we have mopped up the forces of the enemy as best we could. The lord Mearead assures me that his people will keep the armies of Aes Lugh from our borders. We now know that the kingdom of Cather-na-nog is facing an invasion from Maegul, but I don't think this is our main concern. The enemy's plan, I'm sure, is to first deal with the other allies, saving the elves for last, since they are the strongest of us. That makes sense. So what does that leave us with?"

  "A mess," mumbled Mearead, and the others laughed.

  "A fine mess," continued Donal. "The whole south of the empire is in enemy hands. I think it is safe to say we have hardly dented their power, while we have taken losses we could barely afford. Our first step is obvious. We must continue to gather what forces we may. We have sent the emperor's couriers throughout the land to gather all the warriors we can. We've sent some to the borderlands in the south and even to Ibhirie, though I doubt there is any help for us in that quarter."

  "Even if there are any of them left, they could never reach us," Brasil ap Fin's bass voice rumbled.

  "Probably true. Still, if the couriers can find them, there is a chance that they could bring other men safely through, albeit a small one."

  "And what has happened in Maihan, I'm wondering?" asked Niall.

  'The free states of Maihan." Donal pointed them out on the southern end of the continent. "Your father has sent emissaries to all nine. So far none have returned. We sent out another squadron of ships. I'm hopeful. Those cities were all prosperous before the war. I'm sure the enemy must have attacked them but some may have survived. Whether they can help or not is another story."

  "Anywhere else we can look to?" asked Kevin, the Duke of Tinnafar. Donal sighed. "Well, we have sent couriers to the northeast, each paired with an elven rider. Maybe there is someone or something out there in the devastation that can help."

  "So," said Mearead, "that leaves Cardoc-nae-corond."

  "Yes," said Donal. "I know that you have tried to contact them before, Mearead."

  "With no success."

  "In the council meeting at Fealoth's celebration," said Fin, "the question
of the dwarves of Cardoc-nae-corond came up. It seemed to me that the emperor put a great stress on the need for their magic."

  "It wasn't so much their magic," Mearead took a sip of wine, "but their ability to create magical weapons."

  For the first time Lonnlarcan spoke. His voice no longer had the power of old, but was a thin whisper that the humans had to strain to hear. "The spear, Kianbearac," he said, his silver eyes heavy and sad, "was made with the help of the dwarves of Cardoc-nae-corond long years ago."

  "Aye, I remember now," said Fin. "The emperor hoped they could make more weapons of magical quality, or at least have some that could be used."

  "Yes," said Donal, "the one nation that still retained its former power in creating magical items. They have something we are so desperately in need of: magic."

  "Of course," said Ceallac, "Trell'dem, Dammuth," the Morigu looked up at that, "all those early assassinations, Arianrood's betrayal--this whole war the enemy has been a step ahead of us. If I had been them I would have attacked the dwarves first, too."

  "Which," said Mearead softly, "is probably exactly what they did."

  "Dammuth dead!" Margawt shouted out.

  "We don't know, lad," said Mearead, "but it's a safe bet." Margawt stared at him for a moment, then leaned back in his seat. Those nearest noticed his hand gripping his sword hilt with white knuckles.

  "But how could they do it without anyone knowing?" said the maker.

  "I don't know," answered Donal, "but I think we had better find out."

  No one said anything. "I have already sent messengers to Cardoc-nae-corond," he continued.

  "Is that enough?" Ceallac asked.

  "I don't know." Donal stared at the map.

  "Don't know, don't know," Mearead mumbled. "There's too much we don't know."

  "Sure, and that's not a problem the enemy has had." Niall's voice shook.

  "Arianrood," Margawt said. The others sat quietly. Mearead's hand tightened on his ax handle.

  Cucullin cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the Warlord.

  "Yes," Donal looked down at the map, "yes, every step, every move we've made, the enemy has countered. They know we will try to gather allies."

  "And the master, Lord Anlon," said the maker, "surely Arianrood at least realized he was fighting with us. The dragon was the perfect way to draw him from us, his power and his council."

  "Why?" asked Kevin, scratching his greying hair.

  "Only Lord Anlon was able to pierce the illusion the dragon cast."

  "An illusion I fell for easy enough," Niall said bitterly. "We all did," said Cucullin.

  "It isn't a magic to pierce," said Mearead. "A dragon of that one's power can leave his body, shape an image by the force of his will, even use his powers to a limited extent."

  "It was him who animated the dragon skulls," Dermot's voice was gruff.

  "It was he who killed Teague," Lonnlarcan added.

  "Yes, the dragon's body stays animated, but his mind is far away. He called his body to him before the battle, in case his disguise was unveiled."

  "As Anlon did," the maker said.

  "As Arianrood expected," Mearead mumbled.

  "We get off the track." Lonnlarcan looked to Donal. "You have an idea?"

  "Offense," Donal's voice rang out. The others looked startled.

  "Offense," Niall shook his head. "Oh, that's grand, and what, by the Martyr, are we going to use to start this great offense, that, I might add, you said they'd be expecting?"

  "Imagination," the maker said. Niall snorted.

  "Exactly," Donal continued, "exactly. We must strike, quick and hard."

  "Aye, lad, that's the right of it," Cucullin's form shimmered golden in his excitement. "Over and over they have hurt us where we could least afford it. Now we must do the same."

  "Killing Arianrood would do that," Mearead spat out.

  "Arianrood is not your enemy, my lord." For the first time, Bronwen spoke up. "You forget I have fought Arianrood for five long years. She is powerful, but full of whims. Many times she could have destroyed me and my people but for some purpose of her own, pulled back."

  "She lost interest!" Donal shouted. "That's it , she lost interest!" The others just stared at him. "Listen, I served her for many years. Many times she would give me some needless task, stop the armies, give us conflicting orders. We have all been thinking of the witch as our enemy, as the leader, but she's not. She can't be."

  "Apkieran," Cucullin's eyes were bright.

  "No, the other demon who was leading the armies at first," said Fin.

  "No, you're all wrong," said Mearead. "I should have known, I should have seen . . . . " He put his hands onto his head. "Ah, Fealoth," he said, "what happened to you, my friend?"

  "Fealoth?" several cried. Mearead just shook his head.

  "All that power," Lonnlarcan smacked his hand on the table, enough strength in him still to shake it , "all that power! The armies from nowhere, the turning of the Ead, the despoiling of the earth powers, the rising of the fomarians and the troll god. . . "

  " . . . demons striding the earth once more," Cucullin continued, "dragons revived, the Hunter, Death himself taking sides."

  Margawt stood up. "Only one has the power, only one could do it . . . . " He stared at the others, his hands gripping the table, his fingers burying into the stone. "My lords, we fight the Dark One himself!"

  After that pronouncement, the council was quick to break up. One by one the leaders left to confer with their advisors and themselves. Soon, only Donal, Lonnlarcan, the Morigu were left.

  "You wished to speak to me?" Margawt said to Donal.

  "How did you know?" Donal asked. The Morigu just shrugged. The Warlord looked over at Lonnlarcan, who nodded slightly. Donal sat directly across from Margawt, his eyes holding the Morigu's.

  "The Ard Riegh and I have been planning these last few days," Donal started, "trying to devise a way to strike back, to take the initiative."

  "You knew all along," Margawt smiled slightly, "you knew it was the Beast we fight."

  "Donal supplied me with the missing pieces," Lonnlarcan's voice rasped. "It was a matter of putting them together in the proper order."

  "You wish something of me," Margawt stated. Donal studied him for a moment. The black eyes seemed feverishly bright. The Morigu unnerved him. He watched Margawt's chest rise as he breathed, but the elf made no sound. The silence spell Margawt shrouded himself with made him even more uncanny, more unreal.

  "Margawt," Donal said, "you are the Morigu, perhaps the most powerful that has ever existed. You have abilities no other creature possesses." Donal licked his lips. "You can see, feel wrongness in things, living or dead, right?"

  Margawt nodded once.

  "Can you see the soul of everything?" Again, Margawt nodded.

  "Even a god?" Donal's voice was hushed. Margawt stared at them for a moment.

  "If the god has contact with the world, if enough of his essence is here, I can know his heart." The other two leaned back, a smile of satisfaction touching Donal's lips. Lonnlarcan lifted his hand in an arcane gesture. Outside the council chamber chanting was heard. Margawt felt a great barrier of power surround the room and those inside. He said nothing, waiting for Donal to continue.

  "Margawt, we are brethren here," Donal said quietly. "I am half-elven but enough of the elven blood runs through my veins that I, like you two, can shield my heart and thoughts from any being, including a god."

  "You wish to trick a being from the outer planes." For the first time Margawt's voice showed interest.

  "Not so much trick," said Lonnlarcan, "as reveal." Margawt looked confused.

  "You know that three days ago," Donal continued, "the people of this city attacked and desecrated Fealoth's temple." Margawt nodded. "The humans have turned to Lugh of the Long Arm, or to the Horned One for solace and guidance. Fealoth has been no help in the war, his priests are completely ineffective."

  "In the last weeks," Lonn
larcan said, "at least three fomarians have been freed of their eons-old binding. Arianrood called up the spirit of Feth, a lesser god, to be sure, but a god nonetheless."

  "I have spoken with the Hunter," Donal said. "Lonnlarcan has seen Death himself, and you are the Earth Goddess' own messenger."

  "The barriers have been weakened between this world and the domain of the gods," Lonnlarcan added.

  "The enemy does this for a purpose," said Margawt. Both elves nodded. Donal licked his lips and took a sip of wine. He turned back to Margawt.

  "We think the enemy is not just led by the Dark One." He took a deep breath. "We think they hope to free him and bring him to the earth once more." Margawt said nothing as he took in this pronouncement. He played with the goblin teeth that adorned his chest.

  "You don't need me to tell you of the wrongness of the Beast."

  "No," said Donal, "not the Dark One." He stared straight at the Morigu. "If the enemy seeks to bring a god to this world, cannot we do the same?"

  "But the gods dare not directly intervene." Margawt paced back and forth. "That would bring the intervention of other deities, leading to a confrontation that would destroy the world."

  "It was just to avoid that," said Lonnlarcan, "that Fealoth was raised to Godhood, so that he could intervene before accepting his place in the Bright World."

  "Something we can't hope to do again," Donal added.

  "Fealoth," Margawt nodded, "you wish to raise Fealoth."

  "Yes," Donal became animated, "yes, he is the missing piece, the key to all this."

  "So," Margawt smiled, "this is your offense."

  "The first part," Donal added.