Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Page 5

  Three weeks to a day after Mearead and his dwarves had entered Tolan they prepared to depart. But considering half were drunk and the other half were nursing terrific hangovers, it was easier said than done. Dammuth and Trell'dem stood before the gates as the dwarves scurried around, falling off their ponies, dropping things, trying to keep each other awake, while Mearead strode among them bellowing out incomprehensible orders. It seemed as if the whole population of Tolan had come to see the dwarves' departure, and considering the laughter, everyone was having a great time. The dwarves happily waved and danced for their audience, to the applause of the crowd.

  Dammuth and Trell'dem tried desperately to look stately and calm, but both were biting their lips trying not to join the crowd and break up. Dammuth compared this scene to the elves' departure the night before. The silent ranks drawn up, witchlight glowing about the king and his people. The thunder of the hoofbeats as their great steeds took off into the night. He wondered what Lonnlarcan's reaction to this mess would have been.

  "I still can't believe it," Trell'dem said for the fifth time.

  "Think of it this way, sire," Dammuth answered, "you've made the lad a folk hero among his people."

  "But right in the middle of the ceremony." Trell'dem watched as Mearead tried to break up a fight between four dwarves who all claimed the same pony. "But his own sister's son." Trell'dem shook his head.

  Dammuth laughed. "It was pretty funny."

  "Sure, they thought so." He pointed to the dwarves, now half hidden by the dust they were kicking up. The emperor faked a shudder as he remembered. A t the last celebration of the Festival of Fealoth, in the middle of his speech, young Colin, who had been steadily getting drunk for the two days preceding, turned white all of a sudden, and then with a mighty heave, threw up all over Trell'dem. The humans as one gasped, the elves seemed to take no notice at all, and the dwarves fell to the ground in hysterics.

  "I thought it was clever of Mearead to claim it was a good omen from the gods," Dammuth added. Trell'dem just smirked.

  "I still can't believe it."

  At that moment Mearead joined them, his face red from exertion, but a happy smile on his face nonetheless.

  "Mearead, if I didn't know better I'd say you planned this." Trell'dem waved at the chaos in front of him.

  "Ah, well, I'd like to claim credit," the dwarf answered, "but you know, this sort of fun just doesn't come from planning." He grinned up at the emperor. "By the way, son, I'll gladly pay to replace the robe Colin messed on." Trell'dem gave him a filthy look.

  "Isn't it time you were leaving?" Dammuth interjected.

  "Soon, soon. The boys are almost all together now." If anything they looked in a worse state than before. "Are you sure you don't want us staying for your fire feasts?" Trell'dem leaned down to stare at the dwarf king.

  "Another week of this?" Trell'dem smiled and put his mouth to the dwarf's ear.

  "Not bloody likely," he whispered. They both laughed, Mearead bowed.

  "We'll be away in a few moments, your lordship. Please accept my sincere apologies for my sister's son. He is in no state, as you can imagine, to give them himself."

  Dammuth clasped the dwarf's arm. "Get out of here, you old liar."

  "And," continued Mearead, "if it helps you any, oh emperor, the boy will be remembered for that golden moment for all time by my people. Which, of course," he added, "means you as the major player in the grand event will also be remembered in song for a thousand years."

  "Go away," was Trell'dem's only answer. With that Mearead wished them all a good day and strode into the middle of his ragged troop. It only took another half hour of shouting and not a few kicks and punches to get the band off, the people of Tolan cheering them the whole way. Trell'dem and the wizard watched until the last of the dwarves disappeared over a ridge.

  "Our allies." Trell'dem shook his head.

  "Well, they do liven things up," Dammuth answered. "Besides, there are no fiercer warriors than those of the Crystal Falls."

  Trell'dem turned to him.

  "Dammuth, how much time do you think we have?" The wizard reached inside his cloak and handed the emperor a flask. "We have time, my lord, we have time." The two turned and walked away, Trell'dem still shaking his head. "I still don't believe it," he mumbled under his breath.

  But there were other eyes that watched that day. Other eyes that laughed, though there was no humor in them. The report they brought back to their masters was received with the same fierce glee. And that day the final plans were made.

  C H A P T E R

  Three

  Tor, son Thane'dule, was bored, which wasn't that uncommon a thing for Tor to be. He had been bored in his home village of Teft. Farming bored him. His two brothers and sister bored him and his father was a son-of-a-bitch. All these factors led him to the army where he found himself stationed at Fort Venture, which was a pretty stupid name for a fort, he had always thought.

  Venture was built right on the border between the human empire of Tolath and the ancient land of the Dark Seign. It was a wood and stone construction that could hold some three hundred warriors, but now housed ninety-four, officers included. Since it was twelve miles from Glen Cam, the nearest village, the most exciting thing to do was to get obnoxiously dunk and pass out, something that the 19-year-old Tor got bored of his first month at Venture.

  He kicked a loose stone knocking it off the catwalk. To make it all worse, he thought, it was April 30th, the night before the fire feast. All through the empire people were preparing for the spring festival. He could picture it so easily, the food and bonfires, the young dancing in their green in the field.

  "Dancing," he murmured, "dancing to the Night of the Stranger." The night when the young and unmarried met between the fires to worship the Goddess. And here he was stuck on guard duty.

  Nothing, but nothing, was worse than guard duty at Fort Venture. And since all the fort guarded was a desolate wasteland, everyone at the fort figured it was all pretty much a wasted venture ("Ha! Ha!") to stay up all night looking at a bunch of bog. Tor slapped lazily at a mosquito and wondered if the other six guards on duty were as miserable as he was. Somehow, his visions of becoming an heroic warrior were fading away, and he found himself wondering if farming really was all that bad.

  But Tor did see some action after all. He heard the beat of drams and a loud mournful wail of some bizarre horn. He saw the hundreds of figures rise from the bog. He didn't see the scaling ladders thrown against the walls or the looks of hate on the goblins' faces as they slaughtered him and his comrades. He didn't see Sergeant Mait's last stand where he killed the goblins' captain in single combat. Tor didn't see his best friend, Reck Tell, disemboweled by one swing of an ax. He didn't even feel the arrows that took his life. They hit him with such force that they killed Tor immediately as they sliced through his young body. The young warrior was dead and so was Fort Venture, and their mutual destruction heralded in the horror of a new war.

  Trell'dem, Emperor of Tolath, sat in an empty room, his chair facing the whitewashed wall where a map of his empire hung. It was covered with tiny colored pins, each pin representing thousands of troops--most of the pins were black.

  They covered the south of his land. They formed an arrow, aiming straight north, straight toward Tolan, straight toward him. Somewhere under that dark mass of markers lay the city of Dulatia and the proud castle of Meath. If either stronghold was still held, he was sure they would fall soon.

  In the southwest a line of blue pins ran from the Dudny River through the Shamblin Woods across to Dun Scaga. But in the southeast, up to the mountains of Tevulic, there were none.

  "An eighth," he groaned, "an eighth of our land taken in two weeks." He did not, would not, think of what it mean for his people, how many lay dead, or worse, in that once prosperous land. His face was lined, the skin stretched over the skull tight and hard. A thin tear raced among the folds of his face. Trell'dem started at the feel of it. In eighty-seven y
ears he had cried only twice.

  'Sean,' he thought, 'Sean, my son.' His eldest, so silent that one. Now lost, lost, for his heir ruled Meath castle. "A least Rhee isn't alive to see this," he said aloud. She had died in bringing Cathbad into the world. Somewhere his youngest was putting on his armor, and would ride with his father into the war to the south, to meet that black arrow.

  "Enough!" he cried, jumping from his seat. "Enough Am I not a man?" he yelled to the ceiling. "Am I not Emperor?! It is my destiny, my duty!" he cried. With one whirling motion he drew his knife and shoved it into the midst o the black pins, scattering them about the room.

  "You came early!" he shouted at the map. "You came early, you scum, but I am ready, more ready than you could ever know!" He paced the room, his hands grasping for the sword that was not there.

  "I knew, you swine. Oh, I knew you would come." He turned to the map, pointing one strong hand at it. "You and your black magic that overwhelms us, if it wasn't for that where would you be? Maggots! You kill my people like cattle. You eat them!" he shouted, his voice trailing into a wail.

  He reached and withdrew the dagger. "But," he murmured, running the edge across his palm, "but we have cold steel for you black hearts, and spirit, strength, defiance that you could never know! Never understand. . . " He threw the knife into the map where it hung quivering.

  "Fealoth!" he cried. "Fealoth," his voice echoed past the room, into the hills. "Fealoth," yet a third time and his people shuddered at the rage in that voice. "What are you, great-uncle? Where are you now?! How can you let them do this!!!!!!!"

  He stopped and took a breath. "You came early," he whispered, "you came early. But I have planned. I have surprises for you yet. I WILL NOT FAIL MY PEOPLE!!!!!!" He dropped into his chair, his hand tugging at the back of his hair.

  "Ah, Sean, Sean, my darling son." He gritted his teeth. "I will not fail." His voice was hard and sure. But his eyes were soft.

  A timid knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. A young page, new to the court, stuck his blond head in.

  "Your imperial majesty," the voice quivered, "the council, the council waits." Trell'dem stared at the round blue eyes, the soft-cheeked face. He did not recognize the page, but they were all new now, the older ones having already joined the armies. He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand, the power in his muscles.

  "Fine, son, be with you in a moment." He wondered if the boy had heard his emperor's rages. No matter. He turned his back to the page and picked up the silver crown of Tolath.

  As he felt the smooth, cool metal, he smiled, his teeth flashing white. He knew, he knew he could do it, knew he could win this war. It was what he was born for.

  But he wasn't the only one to think that.

  The page withdrew a stiletto from his sleeve and drove it through the emperor's back. Trell'dem grunted, his mind incapable of deciphering what had happened.

  He turned and looked at his murderer, only surprise showing in the emperor's face. The gloating eyes of his assassin, so innocent a moment before, clouded with fear as Trell'dem reached out and snapped the boy's neck with one convulsive jerk.

  Trell'dem's legs numbed and he fell to his knees, unable to cry out. The emperor was an incredibly strong man; he could have survived the wound, if it had come from a clean blade. But the enemy was thorough and the poison was fast acting and lethal. He felt his veins thicken, his muscles bloat. He turned his fury on himself. Of all he had prepared for, this, the most obvious move, is the one he missed.

  "Gods," he whispered through already cold lips, "I could have. . . " His tongue turned hard and he fell to the ground, the silver crown falling from his dead fingers. It made a ringing noise as it rolled across the floor, the quiet, unheard death knell of an emperor and king.

  The great audience hall of Tolan was empty except for one lone figure. The massive room seemed to weigh the man down. He sat bent and grey on the steps that led to the golden throne of the empire. The marble floors and solid gold pillars reverberated with his slow breath. His frame shook as Dammuth tried to hold back the sobs. His enemy's blows had come fast and sure. And the wizard had felt every one.

  He picked up the scroll at his feet, his mind trying to absorb the death the black lines dancing on the paper represented.

  Twelve thousand warriors of the empire, all presumed dead. Civilian casualties: incalculable. Assassinated: Trell'dem; three imperial generals; two barons; one count; four captains of exceptional quality; eight mages, the most powerful, next to Dammuth, the humans possessed.

  'Had possessed,' he reminded himself.

  The week since Trell'dem's death had been worse than the weeks before. Trell'dem's eldest son had never been found, but reliable reports from the front claimed the Dark Ones used a young boy's head as a standard that looked remarkably like the prince. The youngest. 'Ah,' he thought, 'Cathbad.' He could still hear the boy's mad screams. Some spell bound the boy and wracked him with madness. A spell Dammuth could not break.

  "It should not be," he told the empty room. "Who can bind a spell, immune to my strength?" He threw the scroll away from him. "It should not be . . . . "

  To make it worse, with Trell'dem's death and the fall of his sons, the reins of the empire were left in the old wizard's hand. In the south, Warlord Crane tried desperately to slow the enemy's advance.

  Dammuth knew it was only a matter of weeks until the Dark Ones were howling outside the gates of the capital itself. He lifted his white maned head to face the mosaic ceiling, his dark eyes glittering with unshed tears.

  A loud boom shook the walls as a young warrior, armor clinking, opened the door and approached the archmage. Dammuth did not bother to try and hide his anguish. The warrior's steady march slowed and faltered as he approached the mage.

  "My--my lord," he stuttered, "the procession awaits you." Dammuth looked the other over carefully. Young, not quite twenty-five. His black hair was long, tied into a horsetail braid. He was short with the partially bowed legs of a born horseman, but his eyes were grey stone.

  "Yes," Dammuth answered, "time to bury the emperor. . . . " He looked back at the ceiling. The other just waited. After a few moments the wizard's sad eyes focused again on the warrior.

  "What's your name, boy?"

  "Mathwei ap Niall, my lord."

  "You've already been to the front?"

  "I was stationed at the village of Glen Cam, ten miles from the Dark Seign border, when--when it all began, my lord."

  "And you survived?" Dammuth's voice was gentle, but the warrior shifted his eyes from Dammuth to the floor.

  "I was lucky, my lord." His voice was a whisper.

  "You're a captain, I see."

  "Yes," a smile--quickly lost. "I was a sergeant two weeks ago."

  "And so. . . " Dammuth slowly stood up. He pointed to the ceiling. "Captain Mathwei, do you know who that is?" The young man looked up to the mosaic the wizard pointed at. It was of a tall dark man, holding a sceptre in one hand and a sword in the other.

  A surcoat of pure white covered his mail-clad chest. In the background lay the map of the empire.

  "That's Lir, the Liberator." He turned back to the wizard, quickly adding, "my lord."

  "Yes, the first emperor of Tolath. Father of Fealoth." The wizard shook his head. "He was hated in his day, you know --despised. He wasn't the Liberator then. No," he laughed, "they had other names for him then." His laughter stopped abruptly. "I was about your age when I joined his army. I didn't know magic then, just the sword."

  Mathwei knew he should remind Dammuth of the waiting funeral procession--but he was Dammuth, the greatest wizard to ever live. And he was talking to him, only him . . . . The wizard walked down the steps, weaving one arm in a slow gesture in front of him.

  "The land, the land was broken then, little kingdoms as big as the castle that ruled them, fiercely independent city-states, roaming bands of nomads." He smiled. "Lir always claimed he was divinely guided, that Lugh told him it was his destiny to rule all t
he human lands." He stopped to stare down at Mathwei. "They really hated the poor bastard." He turned away again. "But he was magnificent! I didn't care if a god told him what to do. I didn't even care if we did the right thing. I just loved that man...."He walked back up the stairs.

  "And his wife, the empress Ellawyn," he whipped around, "let me tell you, boy, she was his match. A warrior, too!!! I would never have wanted to trade sword blows with that one." He smiled down at Mathwei, his eyes lost in memories. "I loved her, too. Not just admired her. I loved her! Between the two of them they made me what I am." He sat down again. "I loved them so...." For a moment he sat quietly, the warrior struggling to meet his eyes. Dammuth cleared his throat.

  "What do you think, boy? Were they doing the god's bidding?"

  "I'm not sure, my lord, I guess so." Mathwei shifted the weight of his mail coat. "I mean, he did build the empire, and if he hadn't. . . "

  "Exactly! If he hadn't," Dammuth said, "then we would never have been able to face the Dragon Lords during the Dark Seign wars. They would have eaten us one by one."

  "And there's Fealoth, my lord."

  "Oh yes, Fealoth. One can't forget him." He put his head in his hands. "Do you follow Fealoth, Mathwei ap Niall?"

  "Well," Mathwei wiped sweat from his brow, "I did, I mean I do, I mean, we all thought--"

  "--that Fealoth had defeated the enemy for all time," Dammuth interrupted. "The Golden Age. Yes, the Golden Age. Do you think we were foolish to believe in the Golden Age, Mathwei?"

  "It was promised, my lord."

  "Yes, I know. But where is he, our mighty Fealoth?" Dammuth shook his head. "God or no, he was never the man his father was." Mathwei took a deep breath, his only reaction to the wizard's blasphemy. Dammuth looked up. He patted the stair next to him.

  "Sit, boy. Come sit down." Mathwei sat reluctantly, keeping his distance. The mage Dammuth looked him in the eyes.