The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) Read online

  "Don't untangle it up here," Baalenruud said with delight. "Take it down. Take it down to the humans of the Snowcloak Mountains who wait for you below."

  Ravensdred felt strange. He felt something from the weird weapon he tenderly held. He felt something almost like affection, as if he nestled his only infant child. A sick feeling almost like love, perhaps carnal. Ravensdred shivered with excitement and disgust. Yes, he calmly thought in an unnatural trance of growing strength, I'll take it down to the humans who wait below.

  Before he left, Ravensdred fished in his pocket and threw the lump of the ruined arrowhead of Yenolah into the cave to be lost forever. There's an Arrow of Yenolah that the Archer won't ever use, Ravensdred thought to himself with nasty pleasure.

  Ravensdred stumbled down the cliff trail in a stupor. Baalenruud bleated on about a great war, hundreds of thousands of years ago, but Ravensdred didn't hear a word she said. Ravensdred wasn't sure if he was going to be sick, but something from the weapon gave him the strength to continue down the trail. Ravensdred was desperate to untangle this weapon, and see its shape, and feel the metal in his paws. He felt a strange glowing feeling in his lower body. Almost like love, Ravensdred darkly thought to himself. It's the weapon.

  He felt as though the tangle of metal was speaking to him in some long forgotten, dead language. It whispered of a lustful desire for blood and violence, and it knew Ravensdred was the one who could feed it. Its foreign murmurings, unheard by natural ears, were like a lover pleading for death and destruction. It was seducing Ravensdred, and he began to become excited, even drooling a little. His body quivered with excitement.

  Ravensdred followed Baalenruud down the trail to the foothills of the Snowcloak Mountain. The trail ended in a shallow meadow bounded by steep rock cliffs on three sides. The small dell was simply a field of grass, closely cropped by mountain grazers that passed through the area periodically. The valley was enclosed on the eastern side by the edge of a dense pine forest that stretched out to the Easternlands. This was where Ravensdred had left his platoon.

  As Ravensdred came around a cropping of blue granite, the trail's end, he saw his platoon all slaughtered, laying in their own blood. Two hundred or more wild humans of the mountains waited for Ravensdred.

  Ravensdred let the Ulokem Swogger play through his hands as he casually walked into the shallow valley. The weapon seemed to untangle itself for Ravensdred as his right paw easily found the hilt of the enormous scimitar. The chain ran through his left hand until he held the strange, heavy ball like object. Ravensdred never looked down at the weapon, but kept his bloodthirsty gaze fixed on the wild human warriors.

  The humans rushed him.

  Ravensdred instinctively dropped the metal ball and let the chains clatter though his paw until his left paw gripped the horn that was fashioned to the end of the chain.

  The first humans came at him with their stone axes and sharpened sticks. They had beaten his warriors only through sheer force of numbers. These humans were no better than animals.

  Ravensdred violently pulled his arms apart and the heavy metal ball in the middle of the chain whipped up and caught the first human in the face. The grooved sides of the ball ripped away flesh as it shattered the human's skull with a splatter of blood.

  Ravensdred felt the satisfaction and thirst of the weapon. He whirled the scimitar and easily beheaded three humans on his right with an underhand, outside cut.

  Then he thrust the monster's horn forward, clean through two charging humans.

  A backhand sweep of the scimitar, severing several heads, made the humans back up.

  The weapon hummed to Ravensdred, directing his every move. He could feel the evil vibrating in the Ulokem Swogger and it made him feel good. It was like meeting an old friend that he had just met. The weapon spoke to Ravensdred of contempt for the weak, the glory of power, and the rightness of destruction. He easily surrendered his mind to the unintelligible whispers of the black weapon.

  Ravensdred let the length of black chain swing out as the ball and the horn gathered up ten men in its tangled grasp. A quick downward cut with the black scimitar sliced through the screaming group of entrapped humans. It was difficult for Ravensdred to not give himself over to a fit of laughter. Ravensdred threw the horn out hard, and it skewered five humans like a lethally thrown spear.

  He grasped the ball, and swung the chain out wide. The horn and sword, lethally twirled, perfectly clattering together in an arc of flashing blade and point, ripping and slashing ten humans in a rain of blood and gore, in a an unstoppable whirl of flesh rending terror.

  With no training, the weapon spoke to Ravensdred and skillfully guided his hand, thirsting for the blood it had been denied for millennia.

  Ravensdred reeled in the talon and let the entire length of the chain swirl around his body as he heaved on the weight of the weapon. The heavy metal ball swung out as the scimitar on the other end whipped in short circles, decapitating twenty humans.

  Ravensdred bellowed in pleasure as the remaining humans scattered in fear, wailing to their gods. Ravensdred had not a romantic inclination in his bones, but knew that this must be what it was like to be in love. He held the chains and hilts of the Ulokem Swogger to his chest with excited ecstasy. He tipped his head back and let his eyes roll back with pleasure.

  Fifty humans lay butchered in the time it takes to draw two breaths.

  "Bring me Ronenth!" Ravensdred barked. "Bring me the dark haired human with his elvish toy!"

  Baalenruud leapt and gamboled in the carnage, laughing, gurgling, and bleating.

  "The Ulokem Swogger again walks among us!" Baalenruud happily, breathlessly crowed. "Let fear and despair cover all the earth!"

  Chapter Three

  The Cave of Animal Spirits

  Ronenth threw the canvas pack containing his paricale into the small sailboat, and dragged the vessel into the surf. It was dusk, and night would come soon. It would be best to travel at night. The two moons and the stars would keep him on the right course.

  Yulenth had the boat made for him, based on watching the large ships with the red sails that patrolled the coasts of Wealdland. The dark skinned humans who sailed the ships were clearly visible when the ships cruised near the shore, but they never came on land, at least as far as anybody living along the shore could remember.

  Fishermen who tried to get close to the large ships with the red sails were met with threats and warnings. The sailors weren't invaders, but they weren't friendly either. It seemed that 'suspicion' was the rule most people lived by in this age.

  Ronenth pushed his boat through the pounding surf, until it was clear of the breakers. He untied his single sail and pulled on a rope to raise it. He shook his black hair out of his dark eyes as the wind filled his sky blue sail. Sky blue was the color of the nation of Glafemen. Yulenth and Ronenth were the last of the glafs.

  Yulenth was strange these days, Ronenth thought. Ever since his return from the Far Grasslands, Yulenth was uncharacteristically quiet and morose. It was probably the death of his wife, Alrhett, the Queen of the Weald, Ronenth mused. Alrhett had been murdered with poisonous cakes meant to kill Arnwylf.

  Yulenth had traveled to the Far Grasslands with Wynnfrith, Arnwylf's mother, Garmee Gamee, the poisoner, and Frea, the red haired princess of the Northern Kingdom of Man. Yulenth had returned as a captive of the garonds, telling of their capture by Mudsang, and betrayal by Garmee Gamee. Yulenth had been brought to Byland, just before the battle, and had been able to free himself and swim to Wealdland after the land bridge had been shattered by Stavolebe, so he said.

  Everyone was relieved to see Yulenth alive. But, Yulenth was inconsolable after learning of his wife's death. He would disappear for long periods, and refused to speak much. He gave up his experiments, and instead devoted all his time to listening to odes sung by musicians. He seemed to ever request The Ballad of Sehen, as if he hoped to unlock some secret within its lyrics.

  Yulenth had told of his capt
ure by the garond religious leader Mudsang, and as far as Yulenth knew, Wynnfrith, Frea and Garmee Gamee still lived.

  Ronenth could no longer wait for any planned excursion or plan of rescue. If he had to destroy the entire garond army single handed with his paricale to bring home Frea, alive or dead, then he would go alone and wait no longer.

  Ronenth pulled on the ropes to trim his sail, and point his small boat east, east to the Far Grasslands. Looking over his shoulder, the coast of Wealdland quickly shrunk in size as Ronenth moved further and further out onto the New Sea. The ocean before him was wide and seemingly endless. The blue and green of the deep water stretched away like a vast featureless desert, no landmarks to guide him, easy to get lost as the water turned to black as the evening came.

  He didn't know where or how he would find Frea, but he would try with all his strength, all his mind, and all his heart.

  Wynnfrith gaped in horror. A line of ghostly man spirits marched across the sea of grass. Her head hurt, and the horizon swayed. The armor of the long dead men was strange and oddly formed. Their pauldrons were sharply triangular, as though they had blue, metal wings sprouting from their shoulders. Some carried weapons that were double steel blades that looked like gleaming forks. Others carried pikes with long swooping axes attached. Their helmets were gilt with the grimaces of their angry gods. They had died in a war hundreds of thousands of years ago, and again and again they marched across the empty prairie to their deaths.

  Wynnfrith pulled at Frea.

  "Take it," Wynnfrith pled. "Take the Ar."

  It would be dawn soon, and it was dangerous to travel during daylight. There were only garonds in the flat plains of the Far Grasslands, and most of them followed the Dark One. They would have to find a place to hide for the day.

  Wynnfrith felt nauseous. The Stone of the Earth made her feel intoxicated, her legs weak. Even though she carried it wrapped in a piece of leather, she could feel the vibrations of the Ar, the Yarta. The souls of the dead crowded around her. Animals she didn't recognize, couldn't fathom, moved through the busy hum of their long ago life.

  "You know one of us must be awake and clear headed if we must fight," Frea said, scanning the horizon for garonds as they trekked through the waist high grass.

  Ripples of the constant wind on the prairie of the Far Grasslands played across the sea of grass, creating the illusion of movement with the glow of dawn, swaying, mesmerizing. All about, in every direction, the sea of grass sloped off with low rolling hills to the flat line of the horizon. There were no large trees on the Far Grasslands, and barely a shrub or bush dotted the vast expanse of knee high grass.

  They had traveled the coast of the Far Grasslands as far north as they could after the destruction of Byland, right up to the ice fields of Eann. They thought of trying to cross the ice, but the squirming forms of the sea serpent vyreeoten could be plainly seen moving amongst the spires of the massive glaciers. It would have been suicide.

  "Take it for just a little while," Wynnfrith begged.

  "You were once a heid, a seer," Frea said. "You had the gift of farsight. You can withstand the power of the Ar far better than I."

  "You know Deifol Hroth took my gift from me," Wynnfrith said through silent tears.

  "If I take the Ar," Frea said, "I will be sick and unable to walk for at least a day. And what if garonds discover us? Will you be able to protect me?"

  Wynnfrith quietly shook her head. Frea had a long dagger, nearly a short sword, and was fierce with it. Wynnfrith could use the Ar to shake the earth, when the stone wasn't gripping her mind with turmoil. But, it was Frea that had kept them alive for the past three moonths.

  "All right," Frea said. "I'll take it when we rest, you can watch over me."

  "Thank you," Wynnfrith said, and pressed the stone wrapped in leather into Frea's hands. Frea instantly felt the primordial power of the Ar. She felt the flashing spark in anything living for miles around. One consolation was, she didn't feel any garonds in the immediate vicinity. But, she knew she wouldn't be sleeping well, as the Ar brought terrifying, vivid nightmares.

  "There's a hollow," Wynnfrith said, instantly seeming brighter and stronger. "We can sleep for the day here."

  "Wait," Frea said as something moved in her line of sight. Her perception went beyond the skin of the ground. Some bright and shining thing was just below the surface of the earth in her line of sight, expanded by the Ar.

  "There's something here," Frea said in a trance-like state. Wynnfrith took Frea's long dagger and dug at the sod of the grassland. Wynnfrith got down on her knees and burrowed into the fresh smelling dirt with Frea's slim blade.

  "I've got it," Wynnfrith whispered, setting Frea's long dagger aside. Wynnfrith squatted and pulled, and her dirt caked hands extracted a hilt. Frea got down next to Wynnfrith and helped her scoop more earth away from the hilt. Frea pulled with Wynnfrith, and the two slowly withdrew a muck-encrusted weapon from the sod that suddenly came away with a jerk. They fell back as the large sword came free of its hiding place in the earth.

  "A sword," Wynnfrith exclaimed, turning the large weapon in her hand. The metal of the sword was strangely black, and fashioned with ancient, curious designs, and adorned with writing unseen for ages. The guard was oddly crenellated, and the blade wide and thick, with many parallel blood gutters. Yet, the sword was light enough for Wynnfrith to wave back and forth.

  "Now you have something to protect me with," Frea wearily said as she heavily sat.

  "You're the one who should wield this sword," Wynnfrith said offering the unearthed blade.

  "I'll look at it when night falls," Frea said with the strain that the Ar put upon her. Her head was nodding and she could barely keep her eyes open

  The hollow would protect them from a direct line of sight from any distant garond patrol, but not if the patrol were directly searching the area.

  "Try to sleep," Wynnfrith said, stroking Frea's hair.

  Frea wearily nodded, and reached up to lightly touch the few fine lines that scarred her face. She had done most of the fighting the past three moonths. It was always some light patrol as most of the garond army was busy building the long boats for the invasion. If a real platoon had ever discovered them, it would have been up to Wynnfrith and the Ar to protect them.

  Thank Oann it has never come to that, Frea thought, not with Wynnfrith's tenuous grasp on her sanity. Wynnfrith had been the one most affected by having to carry the Heart of the Earth most of the time. It was clear that when Wynnfrith carried the Ar, she saw more than Frea ever did, more ghosts, more specters, and more spectacles of unseen elemental powers. If indeed Wynnfrith saw the things she described. Frea worried that if Wynnfrith was hallucinating, could she still discern who Frea was? Was Frea safe when Wynnfrith held the Heart of the Earth? Or would Wynnfrith see Frea as a garond and crack open the earth to swallow her?

  Frea felt the strain of the Ar, and was very, very tired. They walked all night, every night, looking for some way to return to Wealdland. Frea wondered if Arnwylf would still be attracted to her now that she had these scars on her face, scars from the constant fighting here in the Far Grasslands. They weren't hideous, like the scratches from a small animal, but marks of their struggle to survive, nonetheless.

  "I'll tell you a story," Wynnfrith said. She could see Frea already breaking out in a sweat, and knew she would have to take the Ar back before the day was over. "It was my sixteenth birthday, and I was very happy because my father was home from the war for good."

  Wynnfrith looked in the mirror and adjusted the blue ribbon tying back her long black hair. The blue of the ribbon matched her sky blue eyes. Her hair was the color of her father's hair, night black, like all the line of the Lamondays, those who inherited the throne of the Weald.

  Wynnfrith had no brothers or sisters, and so would ascend to the throne of the Weald. She would be queen some day. But, the intrigue of the court bored her, and the distance the other girls kept themselves was difficult, filling W
ynnfrith with a sadness that she could not articulate to her mother.

  All of the worries of the court were no matter for Wynnfrith today, for here on her sixteenth day of birth, her father, King Bosruss Lamonday of the Weald would return home for good, as the Lords of the Eaststand had capitulated. The civil war in the Weald was ended, and there was a joyfulness in every person she passed as she slowly walked through the great mansion that was her home in the trees of the Weald.

  A gentle breeze made her royal home softly creak and sway. The magnificent city of Rogar Li was a collection of noble homes and great halls that had been lifted high up into the old growth forest over which it had been built. Wooden walkways connected the houses and halls of the city, a beautiful wooden labyrinth that stretched throughout all the massive branches of the towering oaks, pines, redwoods, and elms of the Weald.

  Through a window, Wynnfrith could see the gorgeous, spreading branches of huge, ancient trees, and beyond that, the tops of the hundreds of thousands of trees of the Weald to the north. The Weald was an endless horizon of verdant green in these summer days. From the highest halls, the Weald resembled a storm of green, billowing clouds. Birds flitted around the towering apexes of trees that seemed as big as mountains.

  There could be no more wonderful and joyful day for Wynnfrith.

  Wynnfrith came upon her mother, Queen Alrhett, in hot debate with several Lords. Her mother was strong and intelligent, and her father entrusted her with court business whenever duty called him away from Rogar Li.

  Wynnfrith noticed that her mother's chestnut brown hair was streaked with white. The worry of the war that lasted nearly a decade had put a strain on all of the wealdkin, especially those who had to lead, nobles, judges, and the royal house.

  Alrhett fiercely debated a judge that Wynnfrith did not like. His name was Summeninquis, and although he came from a land beyond the Far Grasslands, he and his family had been welcomed in the Weald.