Rides a Dread Legion Free with Bonus Material Page 10

  No one knows what that madness was, save it shattered worlds. The old dwarf seemed fatigued from telling his story. Then, as if catching his breath, he raised his voice. If Lost Elves are coming to this world, you must call the Meet and counsel against the possibility of war! Since weve come to this world weve found enemies, Dolgan, King, and while these Lost Elves, if that is who they are, are kin to our friends in Elvandar, they are also kin to the dark elves. Malachi nodded to the boy Toddy to take Malachi back to his quarters.

  As the boy led away the ancient dwarf, several of the dwarves in the room nodded, and Hogni, Dolgans grandson, said, When the Tsurani came, and we first heard of them that night in the cave where you and Father and Uncle Udell found Lord Borric huddled against the raiding goblins, Father told me he felt a cold in the pit of his stomach.

  Dolgan nodded. I, as well, and I feel it again.

  The Ranger said, I can only tell you what I saw. I could put no name to that creature until this very hour. I have never heard of these Lost Elves until this day.

  Dolgan said, It could be some type of coincidence. The creature might have been some other being that merely looks like our own elves. After all, dont the Tsurani look like other humans? Or perhaps it was a human you saw, and he put a magic guise on for whatever need he might have on the other side of the rift through which he traveled. He puffed on his pipe and was silent for a moment. Still, if it is the return of an ancient race of elves

  Caution urges you prepare as if they are coming, said the Ranger. Im for Elvandar and the Queen and Lord Tomas.

  Dolgan fixed the Ranger with a stare for a moment, then said, And Im with you. For if anyone has any memory of those days, it will be Tomas. He often doesnt recall his Dragon Lord past until prodded by events, and if there was a time for prodding, its now.

  Youll ride? asked the Ranger.

  Dolgan grinned. Im old, but Im not dead. Its thick woodlands between here and the River Crydee, and Ive yet to see a horse I couldnt run down. Ill keep up, have no fear.

  Hogni fidgeted and cleared his throat.

  His grandfather fixed him with a barely hidden amused expression and said, What is it, boy?

  You said when next you went to Elvandar, I could come as well, Grandfather.

  Dolgan feigned a scowl, then said, That I did. Get ready. And tell your father he gets to play King for a while until I return. We leave in an hour.

  Hogni grinned, and hurried to gather his travel gear. Dolgan sighed. To Alystan, he said, Hes young. Not quite forty years yet.

  The Ranger, who was only a few years older, suppressed a chuckle. The moment of mirth passed, and the grim aspect of what they were facing returned. Despite the brisk fire nearby, the room seemed colder.

  CHAPTER 5

  EXODUS

  Laromendis began his spell.

  Across the vast courtyard sat a huge iron cage in which his brother rested, as best he could in the blistering afternoon heat. The guard who stood before the cage hadnt glanced at the Conjurer, so that when Laromendis finished his spell and approached, the guard saw two figures: the Conjurer and a guard captain.

  The guard looked quizzically at the pair, unaware that one of them was a figment of his own imagination, and when they stopped before him, he heard the officer instruct him to draw away and give the brothers a moment of privacy. The guard nodded once, then moved away.

  Gulamendis looked up at his brother and smiled, though it obviously pained him to do such, his lips cracked and bleeding from the heat. How fare you, Brother?

  Laromendis shook his head as he thrust a small water skin through the bars of the cage. Drink slowly. He said, Im faring better than you, by all appearances. What happened?

  Our master the Regent Lord became vexed by news we had lost the outpost at Starwell and turned his wrath upon me. As he already had me in the dungeon, and he couldnt rightly kill me and keep your service, he decided a little torment might serve to show his wrath. He glanced at the sun, which was now lowering toward the Keep. In an hour the shadows will cover me and Ill be all right.

  Pointing to the skin, Laromendis said, Hide and nurse that. If you do, it should last for a few days. He glanced over his shoulder at the distant guard. I dont think theyll completely forget to feed you and give you water, but they may decide to let you suffer a bit. Its the mood of the times.

  Not a lot of joy to be found, said the demon master. Gulamendis moved aside the stale straw that was his bedding and hid the remaining water. Im better than I look. I send Choyal into the kitchen at night to fetch me extra food and drink. He chuckled but it came out a dry, rasping sound. But imps are so stupid. One night it will be a delicacy from the Regent Lords own larder, another night it will be rotten vegetables.

  Ill do what I can to get you out. Laromendis paused, looked his brother in the eye, and said, I found Home.

  His brothers expression was fixed. The resemblance between them was staggering, as they were almost twins, but Gulamendis was slightly shorter, a little thinner, and had hair of a lighter, almost orange, red.

  What? asked Laromendis.

  If you have found Home, what need has the Regent Lord for us?

  There are problems, said Laromendis, standing. I must leave, as the guard is returning and I cant be here if a true officer arrives. Just know that the Regent Lord needs me for a while longer, and because of that, you will be safe, if not comfortable.

  And I have a plan.

  The younger brother smiled. You always do.

  We need to get you to Home, because not only will you be safer there, the People will have need of your knowledge.

  Demons?

  Perhaps; I can say no more. If you are questioned, ignorance is your ally.

  He turned and hurried away from the cage, nodding once at the guard, who returned to watching over Gulamendis. As quickly as he could, he got out of the courtyard and made his way to the small quarters set aside for his use. The Regent Lord had grudgingly admitted to the Conjurers usefulness by providing him with a modest suite of two rooms, one for sleeping and the other for study.

  There was little of value here, save a volume of notes the Conjurer had prepared before departing on his latest exploration, the one that had taken him to Home. He sat for a moment on his bed and thumbed through the journal. When he got to the last page, he reached over to a small table, expecting to find his quill and ink there. He glanced over and recognized instantly they were out of place; someone had been in his quarters, reading his journal.

  He withheld a smile, as he expected no less from the Regent Lord. He wrestled with what he had heard of his distant kin on Midkemia and what his own people had become. There was much to admire about the achievements of the Taredhel, but, in truth, there was much apparently lost.

  A trapper from Yabon had told long stories about the elven forests to the west of his homeland, so long as Laromendis paid for the ale in the tavern in Hawks Hollow. The stories he told painted a picture of a people at one with the forest, content if not happy with their lives, able to come and go effortlessly through the woodland. He spoke of elven magic, but what he said in hints and suggestions told Laromendis volumes.

  The great Spellweavers and the older Eldar endured! That fact had been purposefully left out of his report to the Regent Lord, for two reasons. First, he had no proof that what the trapper had said was remotely accurate, even if he felt in his bones that it was. Second, he needed to discover for himself how many magic-users of the elves of Elvandar there were, and what capabilities they had. A great deal of the ancient lore had been lost with the crossing of the Starbridge, as his people called their route from Midkemia to this world.

  So much of it had been rooted in their spiritual links to the very soil of that world, the energies that rose from the heart and soul of the planet, to be coaxed and finessed into serving the Edhel, the People. This world had different magic, and it had been a difficult blending of that which had been brought with them and that which they found already here. The se
ven great treesthe Seven Stars, as they were calledhad been their anchor to the old magic from Home. But the soil had been alien soil, from a world with its own rules and nature, and from that blending had come the majestic force that the Taredhel had first struggled to control, then come to master.

  The Taredhel Spellmasters were most likely the equals of all but the best the humans and elves had to offer on Midkemia, but there were so few of them left; many had paid for the survival of the People with their blood. They were honored and remembered in the annals, but each loss weakened the People beyond measure.

  More students were sent to fight the Demon Legion every year, less ready, less practiced, and less able to withstand demon magic. If there had been any other way for the Regent Lord to find Home without utilizing rogue magic-users like Laromendis and Gulamendis, he would have put them to death years ago.

  The relationship between magic-users in the Star Guildthe legatees of the original Spellweavers who fled from Homeand those outside that organization had always been strained at best, and outright hostile at worst. Wild magic, or broken magic, or any number of other terms had been used to describe those with the gifts who came into their power without the training of the Star Guild.

  The Star Guild had labored for generations to tend the Seven Stars, to bring the wild magic of Andcardia under control, and to prevent the destruction of the People. Their labors had earned them a place at the tables of power and the most gifted among them, the Chief Magister of the Guild, sat second only to the Regent Lord in prestige and power.

  In times past, those like Laromendis and his brother were hunted down and murdered, or captured and indentured to the Guild as dirt magicians, or some other demeaning epithet. But now dirt magicians like Laromendis, and demon lovers like his brother, were too valuable a commodity to be squandered away by bigotry. This Regent Lord wasnt a great deal more forgiving of deviant practices than his forebears, but he was a great deal more pragmatic about using talent whatever its origins.

  Laromendis put away his journal, certain it would be read as soon as he left the city and making sure nothing he had written would be inconsistent with what he had told the Regent Lord.

  He stood up and looked out the window. He was unable to see that portion of the courtyard where his brother sat imprisoned, but knew that by now the shadows were covering the cage. Silently, he said, Just a while longer, Little Brother. The Regent will be reading my journal within an hour after I depart, and no matter what he may think of us and our arts, he needs us. You will be free soon.

  Putting away his pen and ink, he placed the journal on the small table and sat back on the bed, thinking. He should rest, but his mind was racing.

  So much he hadnt told the Regent Lord, so much he wished to share with Gulamendis. And a handful of others, for this world was Home and, moreover, he sensed down to the fiber of his being that somewhere to the north of that valley he had scouted, there lay all the answers the People sought. If they were but wise enough to recognize those answers.

  He knew that he was working toward his own purposes, though he believed his purpose was as dedicated to saving the People as was the Regent Lords. But he also knew that the Regent Lord suspected him of having a different agenda. So, glancing at the journal once again, he resisted the urge to smile; let the Regent Lord and the Chief Magister and the other members of the Regents Meeting suspect his purposes, even conclude what those purposes were, just as long as they didnt suspect what his real goals were. Let them think his ambitions were personal: power, glory, wealth, freedom for his brother; those were goals they understood. His real purpose and goals would be as alien to them as the nature of their terrible enemies to the north.

  Sighing despite his iron resolve, Laromendis stood up and left his quarters. He must eat something, he knew, then be about his business, for by dawn tomorrow a thousand Taredhel warriors, magicians, and scholars would be moving through the translocation gate to that lovely valley long ago abandoned by the Forgotten, and once more the Clans of the Seven Stars would return to their ancient homeland on the world humans called Midkemia.

  Laromendis stood next to his ruler, as the leader of the Clans of the Seven Stars surveyed the valley below. His face was a fixed mask, but the slight sheen in his eyes and the softening around them told the Conjurer all he needed to know; the trap was sprung. The thought of somehow saving Andcardia was gone, as the ruler of the Taredhel looked upon the ancient homeland of the raceMidkemia.

  The Regent Lord waved his Warleader to his side and softly said, Begin.

  The Warleader, Kumal, stood for a moment beside his ruler, experiencing the emotions that struck every elf like a hammers blow when they stepped through the translocation portal. This was Home!

  He nodded once, turned, and walked back through the portal, and the Regent Lord stepped aside. From behind, a humming sound filled the air, resonant, deep, and sounding like nothing so much as heavy stones being dragged across the ground; a vibration in the soles of his boots reinforced that perception to the Conjurer. He knew his brethren on the other side of the portal were employing their arts to widen it so those waiting on this side might pass through.

  Pointing down the game trail that marked the edge of this clearing in the hills, the Conjurer said, My Lord, in the vale below stands a vacant stockade, of familiar design. I judge the Forgotten once lived within, and with little effort it can be made to serve. Throughout this area are campsites, for the stockade will serve temporarily as your court, but no more than a thousand can occupy the vale until more housing is built. I have marked trails so the trackers can lead bands to those campsites. They will serve as a defensive perimeter until the city walls can be erected.

  To the Warleader, Undalyn said, Let them begin. I want lookouts in the hills above us, sentries in the passes below. Let the workers build signal towers so the outer villages can be summoned when needed. Send out hunting parties and let it be known: should any member of the Clans be spied by human, elf, or dwarf, I will have his head on a pike before my throne. Any who espy us must die before word can reach others that we have returned. We shall decide when our cousins to the north and the rest who live here discover the true masters of this world have returned.

  The day will come when we will rid this land of our enemies, he said, looking back at the portal as it ceased its expansion. The first soldiers came through, each wearing the Clans armor: a heavy metal breastplate, pale yellow in hue, with peaked shoulders. The pale golden color came from the metals used to forge them, a mystery of the smiths closely held, giving the Taredhel stronger, lighter shielding than steel. Each was trimmed in the Clan colors, one for each of the Seven Stars, one for each color in the rainbow. Upon the heads of the standard-bearers rested the crested helms, more ornate than functional; each topped with a plume dyed the color of their Clan. The infantry carried their more functional helms tied to their belts.

  The first hundred soldiers hurried away from the portal, splitting into squads, each led by a tracker who would lead them to various positions around the valley. Within hours, camps and watch stations would be in position and a secure perimeter would be thrown up around the valley. The Taredhel bridgehead would be established.

  Laromendis watched patiently as heavy-bodied horses pulled massive wagons atop which rode females and the young. These were refugees from the outer villages and strongholds that had fallen before the demon horde.

  The children were silent, but their eyes were wide with wonder. There was something in the very air of this world that called to each elf as they returned to their ancestral soil; the Conjurer could only liken it to a reawakening of something deep within that had been dormant for generations.

  The Regent Lord knelt, removed his gauntlets, and picked up a handful of the soil of this world. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed, and said, This land is rich with life. We shall reclaim this home, no matter what. He fell silent in reflection for a moment, his eyes distant as he drank in the sense of this place. Then he tur
ned to Laromendis. This is our world, whispered the Regent Lord. Our world. He looked at the ragged elves who were the first to come to this land, and shook his head. Those in the city would be the last, with the defenders who held the demons at bay giving their lives to save their kin. A play of emotions crossed over the rulers face, then he again showed only a mask. He said, We must rest, recover, and grow, for we have lost too much in recent years.

  Removing his fur mantle, as the days heat grew, he took a deep breath. The air here is sweet, despite the dwarves and others using it. He chuckled at his own joke.

  Coming to his rulers side, the Conjurer lowered his voice so that those coming through the portal would not hear him over the wagons rumble, Sire, there is but one other troubling thing.

  Tell me, said the Regent Lord.

  As I said before, there have been rumors of demons

  The Regent Lords eyes closed as if he was in pain. Softly, almost as if he could hardly bear to say the words, he uttered, I put that out of my mind. He regarded Laromendis and asked, Here, as well?

  Rumors only, and I have seen no demon sign personally. And as you know, I have diligently searched for any hint they are here. Still, I lack certain arts others have, which would ensure the demons absence.

  The Regent Lord looked at the wagons as they continued to rumble through the portal, more warriors now appearing as well, flanking the caravan of Taredhel females and young. There was hardly one fighter without a wound or damage to his armor. At one time the Taredhel ruled across the stars, traveling by magic gates from world to world. But for almost a hundred years the People had been battling the Demon Legion, from world to world, as millions of the People perished.

  The demons had reduced millions to thousands, and now the last of their kind sought refuge on a world known only through ancient lore, a world where the People had abided in hallowed antiquity, before the time the gods warred and all was in chaos.