Prophecy of Swords, page 25
"Who is this Vaurgar, then? Is that the man who did this to you?" Geiolf asked.
"Aye – though he be more of a demon and less a man," Shadowhelm replied. "He is Allarun's son."
Geiolf shuddered. "Allarun and the Eltar– those are dreadful words – the stuff of nightmares. Allarun is on the move again, is he? We hear little of his conquests this far north."
"Caer Sithar – Citadel Heights – is no more," Shadowhelm said. "Dragons leveled the city and we barely fled with our lives."
"Dragons!" Geiolf exclaimed. "How could he control the Dragons?"
"The Dark One still has the Sword, Hagalaz," said Einar. "That draws on the Lachlan’s power."
“We must help Shadowhelm,” Geiolf said. “The Northmen must aid another.”
"But Romarin is not a Northman," said Einar. "And though no one loves Allarun, there are many who believe that we shouldn’t take sides."
"They are fools," said Geiolf. "The council will see our way. They know Shadowhelm. They’d support him."
"I hope you’re right," said Einar.
###
Despite their exhaustion, Romarin and Kelersil broke camp. Their horses were weary too, but Romarin knew Joreid would not have sent the message she did if the situation had not been dire. It was still dark when they rode southward towards the Eleionarmy.
It was early morning when Romarin and Kelersil stopped to rest their horses. Romarin’s bay had begun limping and Kelersil’s sorrel looked on the verge of collapse. They found a small meadow where a stream ran through it and dismounted as their horses gulped water.
Romarin dismounted. “We’ll never make it in time,” he said. “We’re five days away with fresh horses and ours need rest.”
Kelersil frowned as he ran his hands along the bay’s leg. “This isn’t good,” he said, looking up. “Tendon injury.”
“How serious?” Romarin asked.
Kelersil shook his head. “Maybe with a long rest and treatment he’d be able to carry a rider again, but now?”
Romarin frowned and eyed the sorrel. “Do you think your horse can carry us both?”
Kelersil shook his head. “Two Laddel, maybe. A Laddel and a Lochvaur, no.”
“Can you transmute?”
Kelersil shook his head. “My sister, Ladara, could, but I can’t. Not all Laddelhave the ability.”
“I wish Ladsil had stayed. I might have been able to ride him back,” Romarin grumbled. He pulled out some meat and stale bread from the pack. “We might as well eat – we’re not going anywhere except on foot for a while.”
Kelersil shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll find another way. Maybe we’ll find some horses.”
“And maybe we’ll stumble into Eltartroops,” Romarin replied.
A silence ensued as Kelersil tended to the horse.
“If Laddel sent Ladsil for you, the situation must be grave,” Kelersil said at last. “If we don’t show up, they’re likely to send someone to find us.”
“Comforting news, I suppose,” said Romarin, eyeing the little stale bread that was left. “Do you have any more food?”
Kelersil glanced over. “You eat twice what Laddeleat – no wonder you’re so big.”
Romarin chuckled. “Maybe that’s why you Laddelare so small.”
Kelersil laughed too. He paused and considered the Lochvaur with his brass eyes. “So, what will you do when we meet with the Undead?”
“I don’t know,” said Romarin. “Elsonre had stood up against them with Eihwazin the second battle of Darkling Plain.”
“Then it can be done?”
“Elsonre died in that battle,” Romarin replied. "And I don’t even have Eihwaz.”
“Oh,” said Kelersil.
Romarin grinned in spite of himself. “No matter. Even with Eihwaz, Elsonre couldn't destroy the Undead. Maybe it is just as well I don’t have the blade. I’d be tempted to use it.”
“Perhaps Eihwaz's full power will be realized with the Lachlan,” Kelersil said.
“Perhaps,” said Romarin. He was about to speak when he saw a shadow on the southern horizon. It grew bigger with each passing moment. “Dragon,” he said, drawing theHaell blade.
Kelersil stared in the sky. “It's a big one,” he said. "One of the ancient black dragons – maybe even a Fyr-dragon – this one will be tough to kill." He drew his bow and notched an arrow, taking careful aim.
Romarin watched as the dragon circled and drew closer. “Hold your fire – he’s a friend.”
“A friend?” Kelersil lowered his bow as the dragon approached. The dragon circled once and landed, his dark wings beating slowly as his claws touched the ground. All at once, the dragon transmuted into his customary Eleionshape.
“Haegl!” Romarin grinned. “You’re looking better.”
“Thanks to you,” the dragon replied. “And to the lady. I am in your life-debt.” He paused. “Joreid sent me to find you.”
Romarin ignored Kelersil’s sidelong glance. “It’s a good thing. My horse is lame and Kelersil’s horse can’t bear us both.”
“I must bring you back to the army to destroy the Undead. Where is Eihwaz?”
Romarin shook his head. “Shadowhelm still has it. He intends to confront Allarun and take Hagalaz.”
“If we don’t have at least one of the Swords of Destiny…”
“I’m still a son of Rhyn'athel and the Shara'kaihas broken Allarun's hold on the dragons,” Romarin said. “And as you know, Lachlan could destroy the Undead.”
“But you’re not Lachlan – at least, not yet.” The dragon's eyes narrowed. “The knowledge of how to destroy Undead died with Lachlan on Darkling Plain. We risk everything without a Sword of Destiny.”
“The knowledge didn’t die with Lachlan,” Romarin said. “There’s another who has destroyed the Undead before.”
Kelersil looked at Romarin quizzically but said naught.
“We risk Shadowhelm’s life – if he’s indeed the Lachlan,” Haegl said stubbornly.
"Shadowhelm is stronger than any of us realized," Romarin replied. “I suspect even Allarun has underestimated him.”
“For our sake, I hope you’re right,” Haegl replied. “Allarun has called the Undead, and even now they march on our troops. I hope that we can conquer them without a Sword of Destiny.”
“Let’s go,” Romarin said. “We have no time to waste.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Haegl flew with both Eleionon his back, faster than Romarin had ever seen him fly. The sun crept high into the sky as they flew southwards towards the army. Kelersil had released the horses, explaining that the Laddelhorses were trained to find their way back to Caer Ladren. Romarin was a bit skeptical that the horses were capable of avoiding predators, but knew that they had little choice. They removed the saddles and bridles and took the packs with them.
While flying Romarin could see the lay of the land. In the distance, the small Eleionarmy encamped just along the edge of the great Darkling Plain. He noted that Laddel and Joreid had chosen higher ground along a small ridgeline for their troops. It would give them a slight tactical advantage over any army coming from the north. The miles of dark grasses had given the plain its name, although some legends said the plain had been named so after the battle between Rhyn’athel and Areyn Sehduk, when the gods fought over this world.
“Fireworms!” Kelersil exclaimed, breaking Romarin from his reverie. The Laddel warrior had been mostly silent. Romarin looked and could just make out the dark shapes rising along the horizon.
“They see us,” Haegl remarked. “I don't know if I can find a safe place before they reach us.”
An odd thought entered Romarin’s mind – almost as though a second voice was speaking to him. “Haegl – can only Swordwielders speak wormtongue?”
Haegl's head whipped around, his red eyes glowing. “No, great mages have summoned the fireworms before. What are you thinking?”
“I don't know. Could Lachlan speak to the fireworms before he forged the Three Swords?”
“Of course he could,” Haegl said. “He was the son of Rhyn'athel…” The dragon glanced at the Lochvaurking. "Of course – why didn’t we think of this?"
“I couldn’t speak to them before because Allarun controlled the dragons through Hagalaz. Shadowhelm broke the link.”
The fireworms flew closer. "If you’re going to do something, I suggest you do it now,” said Haegl. The dragon slowed and assumed a defensive position in the air.
“Wait!” Romarin said. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The fireworms stopped in midair, hovering before the dragon.
What does the son of Rhyn'athel wish of us? one of the fireworms hissed.
Kelersil exhaled in relief. “They understand you?”
“Quiet,” Haegl snapped.
Romarin felt giddy. He had never spoken to the fireworms in their language nor had their words made any sense before. Do you remember your oath?
We remember, Son of Rhyn’athel.
Come to me when I call, said Romarin. But for now, you are free.
The fireworms flew off. Haegl eyed Romarin before turning and flying south. You are not the same, the dragon said.
No, my old friend, I’m not,Romarin replied.
###
"A dragon is approaching the Eleionarmy," Kyr reported to Vaurgar.
Vaurgar scanned the skies and saw Haegl's form in the distance. "Our fireworms will take care of it," he said.
"There are none to be found!"
"What?" Vaurgar wheeled around. "What do you mean?"
"It's as if something has broken the spell," said Kyr.
"Impossible!" Vaurgar snapped. "Hagalazcontrols the worms – nothing can break its power."
"Nothing except Eihwazand Uruz," said Kyr.
Vaurgar backhanded the Eltarand sent him sprawling, slicing open the man's face with a gauntleted hand. "You will not say those vile words in my presence! The Prophecy has ended. The Shara'kaiis no more. Eihwaz is at the bottom of River Carnon and Uruzis lost for all eternity!"
"Yes, my lord," said Kyr, wiping the blood from his eyes. If Vaurgar saw the murderous look in his general's eyes, the Eltar lord ignored it.
“We will summon the Undead and attack at once,” Vaurgar said.
###
Haegl landed in the clearing. Joreid, Laddel, and Falar approached the dragon as Romarin and Kelersil dismounted. The dragon transmuted into his Eleionform once more.
"Joreid," said Romarin, taking the Haellqueen in his arms. Joreid was more beautiful – and lethal – to him in adamantine mail with an enchanted Haellsword at her side. He smiled as he ran his hand through her silver-gold hair. “I’ve missed you.”
Joreid's gaze drifted to Romarin's sword-belt. “Where’s Eihwaz?”
Romarin frowned. “I couldn’t take it before I had to turn back.”
Joreid pulled away and shook her head. “Then we are lost.”
“No, we’re not,” said Romarin. “Shadowhelm seeks Hagalaz. I’ll deal with the Undead.”
“How?” Joreid asked.
Romarin turned and met Laddel’s gaze. “Eihwaznever had enough power to destroy the Undead by itself, but Lachlan never relied on it. Did he?”
Laddel shook his head. “No, he didn’t.”
Joreid stared at Laddel. “Then his power?”
“Lachlan commanded his own power when dealing with the Undead,” Laddel said.
“You’ve destroyed the Undead?”
Laddel shook his head. “I was younger and much more powerful. We relied on the powers of the Lochvaurchampions: Lochvaur, Fialan, Lachlei, and others. And yes, of course, Lachlan.”
“And now you have another son of Rhyn’athel,” Romarin said. “Teach me what I must do.”
“Can he do it?” Joreid asked. “We’re only eight thousand – including what is left of the Chi'lan. Our spies estimate that Vaurgar has well over twenty thousand living troops at his disposal.” She paused. “And of the Undead? We have seen twice again that many summoned in the Wyrd.”
“Those are frightening odds,” said Kelersil.
“They’re worse than you can imagine. We can’t kill that which will not be killed.” Joreid shook her head. “We’re outmatched.”
“They can be destroyed,” Romarin said. “Adamantine slays their bodies, if for a short time.”
“But sixty thousand against eight thousand?”
“Allarun no longer has the dragons.”
They all turned to Haegl who had spoken.
“This isn’t just your war,” Haegl said. “The dragons have suffered under Allarun’s control. We will fight for the sons of Rhyn’athel.”
“Dragon fire can destroy Undead,” Romarin said, meeting Joreid's gaze.
“If they will heed your call,” Joreid said.
"The Fyr-dragons do not forget our life-debts," the dragon said. “We will fight for the sons of Rhyn’athel.”
###
Shadowhelm stood in the Great Hall of the Northmen. It was much as he remembered it in his youth – a huge hall hewn from oak timbers. Carved pillars in the shape of dragons held the Great Hall's rafters in place. In the center was the fire pit and an opening in the rafters where the smoke escaped. Rows of benches lined the pit's rim, where the nobles sat. A rough-hewn throne sat on the far wall opposite of the heavy, ironbound oak doors. There sat Thorolf, King of the Northmen.
Thorolf was Ansgar, though Shadowhelm could see Shara'kaitraces in his features. He was a large, sturdy man with red hair and beard, braided Northman-style. He wore the heavy cloak made from a bearskin and a necklace of bear and wolf teeth. A gold crown rested on his brow, but that was the extent of his royal finery. He wore the customary tunic and breeches of a warrior with fur-lined boots laced to the knees.
The Northmen had chained the Eltarto one of the pillars. Taryn's expression remained constant when he saw Shadowhelm. Geiolf stood beside the Eltar. “My step-brother says that you’re an ally – he’ll bargain for your release,” Geiolf whispered.
Taryn inclined his head in acknowledgement, glancing down at the bandages on his hands. The Northmen had treated him well, forasmuch that he was considered an enemy.
Shadowhelm strode forward, heedless of the royal protocol. “Thorolf!” he said in greeting, his gaze level on the king. “I come from Caer Sithar, bearing news from Romarin.”
“We care naught of the affairs of the Eleion, Sceaduhelm,” said Thorolf coldly. “The war you are in – this war of the Lachlan – is not the Northmen's war. Eleionbegan this war – it is their affair to settle.”
“What affects the Eleionwill affect our people as well,” Shadowhelm said. “Allarun will turn his gaze to the north next.”
“You bring your Eltarfilth among us, Sceaduhelm,” Thorolf said, waving his hand towards Taryn. “You claim this to be an ally. How can the Northmen trust your words?”
Einar stood up from the benches, his hand straying to his sword hilt. “This is Sceaduhelm, son of Elina! How dare you question his motives or his allegiance!”
“Einar, son of Ulf, do not question your liege-lord!” Thorolf snarled.
“Peace, Einar,” Shadowhelm said, glancing at his foster-father. “Thorolf, I am a Northman, through and through. The blood of the Northmen runs in my veins as surely as the Eleionblood. I come to you, in the name of the Lachlan, to fight with us. For if we lose this war, Allarun will come and destroy the Northmen.” He paused. “I have seen it.”
A silence ensued and Thorolf considered the Shara'kaithoughtfully. “You have the Sight then. You know this to be true? Elina was said to have the Sight.”
“I can see your own death at the hands of the Eltarif you fail to join us now.”
Thorolf frowned. “Take your Eltarand go, Shara'kai. The Northmen will not aid you.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Allarun stood before the altar at the Temple of Death. Along either side on the chamber stood his loyal warriors, waiting for him to use the power of Hagalazonce more. The light was ruddy from the many candles and torches and smoke filled the room. The heady incense filled his nostrils and he drank in the emotions as they permeated the room.
Terror.
Allarun smiled coldly as he gazed at his first victim. She was an Eltar serf, dragged from her hut, no doubt, to feed his power. She was dirty and thin – wearing not much more than rags, really. Her dark eyes were wide in terror and the guards had bound and gagged her. Beneath the dirt and the bruises, she was probably pretty in her own way. But she was no one and she had no use except her life force.
