Wrath of a Mad God

• CHAPTER FIVE •

Captives

KASPAR LAY DOUBLED OVER IN PAIN.

An elf stood over him ready to strike him again if Kaspar resisted the order to move. Servan reached down to assist the General to his feet and Kaspar’s look showed that he had no intention of forgetting this elf any time soon. He had tried to prolong the first break during the long march and for his trouble had received the butt end of a staff in the stomach.

The elf who had first spoken to them now approached Kaspar. ‘We have no time to waste. You humans are slow. We must hurry: we still have a steep climb to Baranor.’

‘Baranor?’ asked Kaspar.

‘Our home,’ said the elf. ‘We need to be there before sundown and for that reason you cannot tarry.’

Nursing his sore side, Kaspar threw one more dark look at the elf who had struck him and said, ‘Your friend made that abundantly clear.’

The elf who had struck him stood glaring at Kaspar, his blue eyes fixed on the former duke.

Speaking without looking back at Kaspar, the leader of the elves said, ‘Sinda thinks you should all have been killed at the water’s edge. It would make things simpler.’

Jommy muttered, ‘Sorry for the inconvenience,’ as he helped one of the wounded soldiers back to his feet.

‘No inconvenience.’ The leader said. ‘We can still kill you if we must. But I have instructions that you’re to be brought to Baranor to be questioned.’

‘Instructions from whom?’ asked Kaspar, still nursing his side where the staff butt had struck.

‘Our leader.’

Kaspar said nothing, but from his expression, Jommy could tell that the General was maybe thinking of a way to escape, even though Jommy thought that an impossibility, even if they had twice the number of men. Jommy had come to the conclusion that the half-dozen or so elves with the long wooden staves were magicians or sorcerers, or whatever they called elf magic-users.

He looked behind him and saw Jim Dasher glancing around. Jommy didn’t have to read minds to know what was on the thief’s: he was noting hiding places and escape routes. Jommy didn’t think much of the notion of fleeing – though if anyone could elude these elves in their own forest, it might be Jim; Jommy was still wondering how he had apparently arrived out of nowhere to kill that magician on the beach.

Still, if he reached the beach it would be another week before a longboat was sent to re-supply Kaspar’s forces, and if he tried to work his way around to the hidden cove to the north where Kaspar’s ship lay at anchor, it would take more than a week on foot. Then there was the almost impossible swim out to where Kaspar’s ships were at anchor, through rough waters and rocks, not to mention sharks and other predators. Jommy wondered if the enterprising thief was thinking of such a mad plan. And if he got there after the re-supply boat found the camp empty, he might reach the anchorage in time to watch the ships sailing away, for that would be their orders: if anything happens to Kaspar’s forces, leave at once.

The captives trudged up the hillside, those able-bodied helping the wounded. As the shadows lengthened, the elves seemed to be showing hints of a rising sense of urgency. Jommy whispered to Kaspar, ‘General, do the elves look a little edgy to you?’

Kaspar nodded. ‘For the better part of an hour now, I’d say. I don’t know how much farther we have to travel, but it’s a certainty that they want to be there before nightfall.’

Soon Jommy’s observation was borne out. The elves insisted that the prisoners pick up the pace, and were unforgiving to the plight of the wounded. As the sun dipped behind the western mountains pairs of able-bodied men were forced to carry those unable to keep up.

Kaspar shouted, ‘What’s the danger?’ but was ignored as the elves began turning all their attention towards the woods rather than watching the prisoners as closely as they had been.

Suddenly, the leader shouted a warning in their language. Kaspar could see that the elven warriors and magicians were well-drilled as they spread out to counter what appeared to be some sort of attack. Kaspar shouted to his men, ‘Get down!’ and himself fell to the ground.

A thrumming sound filled the air and the shadows between the massive boles of the trees appeared to shift, as if darkness had achieved tangibility and could move.

‘Void-darters!’ the leader of the elves said to Kaspar. ‘Let none touch you.’

‘Then give us our weapons so we may defend ourselves!’

The elf ignored the request, his eyes fixed upon the perimeter of the column. Then a shout from up ahead alerted Kaspar that the attack was underway.

Like something from a bad dream, flashes of darkness sped through the air, shadowy forms that defied the eye. Kaspar prided himself on a hunter’s vision, but he had no concept of what it was he was looking at.

Wedge-shaped, moving more like a sea skate or ray than a bird, the figures sped through the air faster than a swift, darting one way then another with impossible changes in direction. They were so flat that if they turned suddenly, they appeared to vanish for a moment, presenting an impossible target. Kaspar knew these creatures would be hard to hit with a sword, harder still with an arrow.

The elven warriors kept their swords at the ready but Kaspar already knew any contact between a steel blade and the flitting creatures was likely to be purely accidental. The only thing that gave Kaspar hope was that the creatures looked delicate, almost insubstantial, and he couldn’t imagine any of them surviving a sword’s blow. But how to hit them, that was the question.

Yet the flourishing of swords seemed to cause the apparitions to hesitate. Kaspar heard the voice of Jim Dasher, from a short distance away, shouting, ‘Those things don’t want to touch steel! Belt buckles!’

The soldiers quickly pulled loose their belts, rolling on the ground like demented rag dolls, trying to keep low while trying to free their only weapon. Some came to their knees, or into a crouch, their belts folded ready to be swung, while others wrapped the belts around their fist, buckle on top, like a hand weapon.

The swooping flyers veered off rather than be touched, but Kaspar was an experienced enough hunter to understand they were only testing their prey. ‘Keep low!’ he shouted. ‘They’re coming in … now!’

As if they had obeyed his command the flying creatures veered in, diving straight down at those on the trail. The elves were ready, obviously practised in dealing with these creatures, while the humans were trained fighting men, hand-picked by the Conclave for their resolve as well as their other abilities.

Kaspar spared a glance to either side and saw Jommy to his right and Servan to his left with Jim Dasher now standing slightly behind Servan’s left, each man now with at least one flank covered, and then he saw black horror flying straight at him.

At the last instant Kaspar could see that the creatures had tiny eyes that looked like shimmering blue gems flecked with gold. A maw like a dagger cut opened for a second showing tiny razor-sharp teeth of brilliant carmine red.

Kaspar lashed out as hard as he could, his belt-buckle squarely striking the Void-darter under its ‘chin’. He felt the shock of contact run through his hands and arms as if he had just struck an oak with his sword. The creature flew backwards, tumbling, losing its ability to fly. It struck the ground and with a flash of a metallic, grey-blue light vanished, leaving behind only an oily black smoke.

Jommy lashed out as well, striking his attacking creature slightly off-centre, sending it veering away to his right. Servan ducked and Jim Dasher lashed out with a fist wrapped with his belt-buckle on top. He grunted with pain as the shock ran straight up his arm.

In all three cases the response was the same; the creatures fled with a ghostly wail of pain.

Kaspar again stole a glance around and saw that most of his men were unhurt. The two exceptions were on the ground, contorted as if in agony. One had a creature attached to his left leg and evil blue wisps of smoke rose from where it touched him. The other had been struck in the chest. He arched his back so severely Kaspar wondered if he’d break his own spine.

An elf slashed at the first man’s leg, the point of his sword arcing across the creature’s back. A tiny blue flame erupted and Kaspar for the first time saw that the elves’ swords were not made of steel, but something he had never seen before. The creature released its hold on the thrashing man. The second man was not as lucky: the elf who came to stand over him drove his sword point through the attached Void-darter, straight into the prisoner. Both died instantly.

Kaspar ducked as another flyer attempted to wrap itself around his head, and as the creature grazed his scalp he felt a painful, icy tingle as if something was sucking the heat from his skin. Ice burn, he thought, remembering as a child what it was like to be hunting in the mountains with his father, and touching a dagger’s blade that had grown so cold it peeled a layer of skin off as his father pulled it from his hand.

Abruptly, a huge enveloping energy surrounded the column, as the elven spell-casters responded. The Void-darters turned and fled and the leader of the elves shouted, ‘Run! They will come back with their masters!’

Ignoring the dead man on the road, Kaspar yelled, ‘Grab the wounded and carry them!’ He picked up the man who had been struck in the leg, found him almost icy to the touch, and hoisted him across his shoulders, carrying him as he would an elk he had killed in the hunt. The man groaned weakly, but Kaspar had no intention of leaving anyone behind if he could help it. Even at the height of his madness, when under the influence of the evil magician Leso Varen, Kaspar had held to certain principles that had inspired personal loyalty of his men, and one was fundamental: on the battlefield every soldier was his brother – no living man was willingly left behind. Kaspar admitted that he might have been a murderous bastard at one time, but he was a loyal murderous bastard.

Kaspar kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, and after running for twenty yards could see a wooden palisade ahead through a gap in the trees. The glimpse was enough to tell him that it was a fairly substantial fortification, with the battlement a good twenty feet above the foundation. The soldier in him quickly calculated the difficulty of taking such a position, uphill, while a punishing rain of arrows fell on you as you moved up to the base of the wall … nothing a skilled company of engineers supported by disciplined soldiers couldn’t quickly deal with, but he suspected there was more to the fortification than met the eye. Even so, a couple of turtles with sappers inside could probably dig up the foundation of two or three pales in the wall within an hour. He glanced at the road as he ran and thought that a good-sized covered ram with supporting archers could probably breach the gate in half the time. Unless magic was involved …

On top of this hill, snug against a cliff face some hundred yards or more behind, stood a series of wooden buildings fashioned in a manner Kaspar had never seen before, and all of them were surrounded by the massive wooden wall.

As they approached, Kaspar appreciated how hundreds of trees must have been cleared to form an open killing ground. An earthen redoubt had been erected in front of the palisade. The road now fell away on both sides in a manner that would funnel attackers in front of the gate into a more confined area or have them falling off to one side or the other so that they’d end up standing below the wall, in peril of murderous bowfire from above.

To his right Kaspar could see that years of fighting had despoiled these grounds. There was something odd about it, he thought as he struggled to get his wounded soldier to safety, but he couldn’t quite put a name to it. There was something different about this battlefield, something sensed more than seen.

A howling erupted behind the fleeing men and Kaspar turned around completely, to see what pursued them.

Void-darters sped in from behind, but in close pursuit came beings that could only be described as demons out of some deep pit of hell. Cloaked in tatters of charcoal, inky black beings sat astride creatures that seemed to be the demented product of a fevered delirium.

The animals looked like elongated wolves, but had an almost feline motion. Like the flying entities, they were things made of shadow and darkness, but these creatures had pale milky white eyes.

The riders were roughly humanoid in shape, but their forms flowed around the edges, and from them a fog or smoke trailed behind them leaving grey wisps that were almost instantly lost in the evening’s gloom. They howled and Kaspar saw weapons in their hands, long blades that shimmered and sparked with angry energies of the darkest red hue.

‘Ban-ath protect me!’ said Jim Dasher as he edged close to Kaspar.

‘Run!’ shouted Kaspar, for some of the men had stopped in muted horror.

Men broke in ragged formation, the elves now ignoring their role as captors, everyone trying for the safety of the walls. Kaspar expected to see archers ready to cover the retreat, but instead was greeted only by the sight of a few faces above the ramparts and none of them apparently in possession of a bow.

Burdened by the man he carried, Kaspar struggled towards the keep, again finding that will which had made him a dangerous foe before becoming a valued ally to the Conclave of Shadows. ‘Where are your archers?’ he shouted.

The elves’ leader turned and said, ‘Arrows are of no use against their masters. We must get through the gates!’ He turned and fled, unconcerned apparently whether Kaspar and the prisoners reached safety before mayhem overtook them.

Kaspar laboured to keep up, for their refuge was only a hundred yards or so ahead. The first of the elves were already there and Kaspar was horrified to see that it was his men who were falling behind. ‘Damn you! Help us!’ he shouted.

‘No one can help you!’ shouted back the leader. ‘You must reach the gates or you will perish.’

‘I’ll be damned if I’m going to be caught like a hare run down by wolves!’ Kaspar turned and yelled at one of his soldiers, ‘Take this man!’ As easily as if tossing a dressed elk to his cook, he threw the man over the soldier’s shoulders. The soldier almost collapsed under the sudden weight, but he hitched himself up and moved on as quickly as possible.

Kaspar saw that the nearest rider would be on top of him in only a few moments. He readied his belt as a weapon again, remembering with evil irony how he had stood just so a few years ago with a captive’s chains as his only weapon while nomads from the hills of Novindus had ridden down on him.

From his right came a voice. ‘I have an idea.’

Jim Dasher was standing at his side, holding two large rocks. Kaspar nodded, and took one.

Jim waited until the rider was almost on top of them, then pulled back his arm and threw.

His rock sped through the air and struck the rider full in the face. It passed through as if piercing smoke, but the rider flinched, pulling up with a startled cry.

‘The wolf!’ shouted Dasher. He picked up another rock and hurled it just as Kaspar unloaded his rock with as much strength as he could right at the creature’s muzzle. The wolf-like mount snarled, a distant hollow sound, and the rock bounced off, causing it to falter.

Dasher hurled a rock at the creature’s foot, causing it to stumble and collapse on the trail. The rider might have been immune to Kaspar’s rock, but he seemed to abide by the same rules as any mortal rider when his mount stumbled for he flew over the creature’s haunches.

Kaspar shouted, ‘Run!’

He had bought those ahead of him mere seconds, but those seconds were the difference between safety and destruction. He saw Dasher scoop up one last rock, turn, throw, and then run. Realizing that the young thief was faster and not wanting to be the only one who failed to reach the gate, the former Duke of Olasko dug deep inside himself and found just enough strength to reach the threshold stride for stride with the younger man.

They leaped into the courtyard of the fortification and heard a howl of outrage from their pursuers, but while the gate was still open, the demonic creatures did not follow. The elf magicians hurried up ramps to the battlements above and when they were in place, raised their staves as one.

A thrumming sound filled the air, much as it had down on the beach when they destroyed the elemental creature, and a wave of white light pulsed from the walls. Instantly the creatures on the road retreated, their angry shouts and cries reduced to hollow echoes on the evening wind.

Kaspar’s men sat on the ground, many near exhaustion. Several were now unconscious, wounded men who had succumbed to the demands of the retreat. Kaspar forced himself to remain on his feet, but even the resourceful Jim Dasher gave in to the need to sit down. Jommy and Servan looked at Kaspar expectantly, waiting for their general to tell them what was next.

As the elf leader came towards them, Kaspar said, ‘Well, then, we are here. We are your prisoners. What is to be done with us?’

‘You will see our leader.’

‘When?’

‘Now,’ he said, motioning for Kaspar to follow. ‘The others wait here.’

As Kaspar fell in behind the elf, ‘What am I to call you?’

The elf glanced over his shoulder. ‘Is that important?’

‘Only if I live and have reason to address you.’

The elf smiled slightly. ‘I am called Hengail.’

‘Why were there no archers on the wall to cover our retreat?’

Hengail hesitated, then said, ‘All our archers were with us. Only children and women were within the compound.’

As they climbed a path to a large building which dominated the community, Kaspar quickly took in his surroundings. The buildings were astonishing. There were swooping lines of wood beams supporting arching roofs, rather than the straight timbers he would have expected. Wood faces to buildings had been glazed and polished until the evening’s torchlight was reflected from every flat surface as if they were mirrors. Under the glimmering reflections, Kaspar could see that the wood had been allowed to age to deep hues of many colours, mostly deep reds and browns, but with unexpected shades of grey and even a hint of blue here and there. There were more than a dozen buildings scattered around this very large plateau, but most of them appeared empty. The doorways were all open. He glanced upwards at one arching high above his head as he passed into the largest building.

The floors were also of highly polished wood, lovingly cared for from their appearance. The walls were as they were outside, magnificent in their simplicity, yet elegant as well. The building appeared to be laid out in a large cross, with a huge fire-pit of stone dominating the centre. High above, a large hole in the roof permitted smoke to exit, while a sheltering roof above it, supported by large beams at the corner, protected the hole from all but the most violent rainstorms.

Before the fire-pit sat three elves, one obviously of great age, for among the ever-seeming youth of the others, this one bore the ravages of many years: deep lines etching his face, hair white as snow, and a stoop-shouldered posture. Yet his eyes were bright and regarded Kaspar with suspicion.

Slowly he stood up. ‘Who are you to come to the land of the Quor?’

‘Kaspar, formerly Duke of Olasko, now in the service of the kings of Roldem and the Isles, and the Emperor of Great Kesh.’

The old elf was silent for a long moment, then he chuckled. ‘Something dire must be afoot for those three vain princes to be in harmony.’ He studied Kaspar, then said, ‘Tell me why three mighty rulers of the human lands send soldiers to the Peaks of the Quor, and tell me true, for your lives depend on what you say.’

Kaspar looked around the room. Two other elderly elves sat nearby, watching intently, and the elf named Hengail stood silently at their right hand. Two other guards stood by the door, but otherwise the large cross-shaped hall was empty. ‘What do I call you?’

‘I am called Castdanur. In your tongue it means ‘caretaker against the darkness’. I had a young name, once, but that was so long ago I fear I do not remember it.’

Kaspar took a moment to reply, ‘Perhaps we may be of some help to you. It wouldn’t do to kill out of hand those who would be your friends.’ He looked the old elf directly in the eyes. ‘You do appear to need friends.’

Castdanur smiled. ‘Now, why do you suggest we are in need of friends?’

Kaspar said, ‘Only a blind man or a fool can’t see that this once was home to hundreds, and now there is only a handful. You need help. You are a dying people.’

• CHAPTER SIX •

Slaughter

MAGNUS DIVED BEHIND THE WALL.

Three humans and three Lessers all crouched down behind a low wall, more of a boundary than a barrier. One of the Deathknights turned his varnin – a cross between a big lizard and a horse – and started towards their place of concealment. Pug threw himself behind the wall too, landing next to Magnus.

He risked discovery by rising just high enough to gain a clear line-of-sight to a point behind the approaching riders and cast a spell, hoping it would function here on Omadrabar as it had in his own native realm. He had spent so much time learning how to adapt magic that it was almost as much second nature to him in these alien conditions as it was at home. Most of the time he judged correctly, but occasionally he had had unexpected results.

This time things went as desired, and a sudden commotion behind the riders caused them to look around. A particularly fine illusion appeared some distance away: that of women and children fleeing in the opposite direction from where Pug and his companions hid. The Deathknights reacted in true Dasati fashion, howling their war chants and giving chase.

Pug signalled for everyone to wait until the Deathknights were safely gone. In most confrontations with a small band of armed men – or Dasati in this case – Pug had little concern for his own safety. He could easily dispose of the dozen or so riders who were now chasing the mirage. But he had no desire to take Dasati lives unnecessarily, even those bent on killing every member of his race – they were a people bent by dark forces which were beyond their power to control. And he knew that tonight was not just a circus of random slaughter, but a planet-wide ceremony, a massive ritual of blood and that death and each killing gave more power to His Darkness. Even if he could deny only half a dozen lives to the Dark God, Pug would do it.

Pug considered this deity, this supreme god of evil. From what he had studied about the nature of the gods on Midkemia over the years, he knew this was the fate that awaited his home world if the Nameless One gained ascendancy. Still, that possibility was far less immediate a worry than keeping His Darkness out of Pug’s native realm. If he could aid in the destruction of this Dasati Dark God, he would be saving the Dasati as well as every human on Midkemia and Kelewan.

Pug knew they had gained only a few moments and that the Deathknights would quickly realize the ruse and return. He wanted to avoid a confrontation if at all possible. Moreover, he desperately wished to avoid any chance that their true nature might be discovered. If he employed magic to destroy the Deathknights he would have to ensure that no one, including any hidden Lessers nearby, could reveal their presence. He, Macros, Magnus, and Nakor combined could hold off a veritable army of Deathknights, killing thousands if need be, but while each of them might be a match for two or three Deathpriests or Hierophants, even they couldn’t withstand an assault by a score or more determined to obliterate them and unconcerned about their own lives. His years with the Tsurani had taught Pug all he wanted to know about the danger of foes willing to die for their cause.