The tide of unmaking, p.14
The Tide of Unmaking, page 14
part #3 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
“As I was saying, Mumthers has prepared a small meal for us. Then you will receive your new gear.”
Grimwarden said, “Eat well, and don’t be shy about taking more than your fill. After this meal…we march to Taladair. And we will march hard.”
“Small meal?” Tommy exclaimed, staring at the spread on the mess hall tables.
“Me and Autumn are no strangers to family cooking,” Johnny said. “But not even Aunt Paula could put out a feast like this!”
“Not even close,” Autumn confirmed.
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” Mumthers said. She was as portly an Elf as one might find in Allyra, but she was still a cyclone in the kitchen. She beamed at the Six, her warm, coffee eyes sparkling. She smiled with such infectious kindness that even Drefids might use proper table manners with Mumthers around.
“It is a banquet!” Kiri Lee said, her eyes locking onto the desserts.
“Now, aren’t you kind, dearie,” Mumthers said. “But you shouldn’t go on so. This is just a few things really: roasted gessette haunches, herb-rubbed boar off the spits, racks of kurgan stag ribs, sweet Amberwood corn on the cob, rushes of red potato shingles deep fried in goose fat, crushed gickers in scallion and garlic gravy—rosco sauce too—sage bread with chive butter, steamed spiral beans, spreadatch fresh from the garden with ripe bloomatoes, oh…and muffle cakes, mallow-brownies, cinnamon-nutmeg twisty loafs, chocolate-chip, scarlet berry cookies, ketelo fruit, and splendine punch. Like I said, nothing to go on about.”
The Six practically tackled Mumthers, showering her with love, appreciation and gratitude. Then, they dove for the tables.
Johnny had a steaming spiral bean half way to his mouth, but when Mumthers shouted, “WAIT THIS MINUTE!” it threw off his bean accuracy. The curling, green legume went an inch up his nose.
“Don’t even think about eating,” Mumthers commanded, “lest you give Ellos thanks first.”
With his cheeks burning, Tommy led the assembly in a prayer of thanks for all the provisions. At the end of the thanksgiving, the Six tore into the food, each of them only too happy to heed Grimwarden’s advice. They knew it might be their last good meal for some time, and they’d learned long ago to savor food and company when presented.
After saying their goodbyes to Mumthers, the Six descended into the arsenal where their battledress awaited. Each of them were fitted with new, black, hardened-leather helmets and articulated breastplates, each piece reflecting Goldarrow’s design. They donned thick war cloaks of a purple so deep it was nearly black, and laced up soft leather boots with metal nose caps. Wide belts wrapped their waists and held protective plating over their upper thighs.
The armor and fabrics were surprising light and unrestrictive, yet unquestionably resilient, something Grimwarden insisted the new designs have in order to pair well with the Mandiera fighting style. When clothed, each of the Six felt like an armored, black shadow, able to step in and out of view, and amply protected from even the heaviest of blows.
“Very nice,” said Johnny, flexing his larger biceps and admiring the craftsmanship. “But will it burn?” He looked to Grimwarden, then Goldarrow.
“Try it,” Grimwarden suggested.
Johnny summoned a small flame in his right hand and picked up the corner of his cloak in his left. Like spouting napalm from a blowtorch, Johnny poured a sticky blast onto the garment fully expecting to see it consumed. To his disbelief the fire not only didn’t take, but was completely extinguished.
He looked back to Grimwarden. “I don’t understand. I mean, I’ve never—”
“A recent discovery,” Grimwarden said, cocking an eyebrow. “On the western edge of the Thousand League Forest, there was a substantial fire. The Elves there managed to quench it. But in the charred ruin, I found a peculiar moss growing on the verdigen stone there. It hadn’t been so much as singed by the blaze. Goldarrow ground up the moss and made a resin from it. We treated all of your gear with the stuff. Thought you’d like it.”
“LOVE it,” replied Johnny. “Just so long as my enemies don’t figure it out.”
“Oh, they won’t. This one lives and dies with us Elves. Your whole battledress acts the same way, as do all of yours,” Grimwarden indicated the others with his hand. “Just in case there are any accidents.” Johnny was about to protest. “Not that Johnny would accidentally roast anyone.” Grimwarden raised his hands in mock defense.
From there, the team moved into the armory. Tommy was handed a brilliant new bow of black yew, and three quivers of ironwood arrows. “Tipped with dremask,” said Grimwarden. “Just to make sure whatever you shoot down stays down.”
Each member was given a sleeker version of the rychesword; lighter, faster, and sharper. It reminded the Six of a Samurai blade. Only this sword was completely black, without the faintest hint of metallic reflection. “So it won’t give away your location if shown in the light,” Grimwarden said as he angled a blade beside a dremask brazier.
Their belts were fitted with a small medical kit - something they never had to worry about when Jett was around - as well as a black dagger that looked like a miniature version of their Mandieran rycheswords.
Lastly they were each given a backpack to fit underneath their cloaks. The packs were stuffed with food rations, water, bedding and a waterproof, tear-proof map of the known lands of Allyra.
“What’s this?” asked Kat. She held up a second map and unfolded it.
“Ah,” said Goldarrow, “I think you’ll recognize it.”
Kat’s eyes went wide as the familiar lines of North America unfolded before her. The Six each unfolded their own maps with equal awe. It had been so long since they’d seen a map of Earth. Kat’s memories of public school came rushing back: the smells of the locker room, the sounds of the cafeteria and the dry, grating voice of her Earth Science teacher as he droned on about sedimentary rock and tectonic plates.
“I don’t understand,” said Kat.
“To be honest, we’re not sure where this adventure will take us,” said Grimwarden. “Nor how long we’ll be gone. So we’ve tried to prepare for the unexpected, even if that means returning to Earth.”
Even hearing Grimwarden mention such a possibility was startling.
Go back to Earth? Tommy could scarcely consider the thought. After all, he’d spent the better part of seven years convincing himself that he’d never be able to go back.
The Six had each toyed with the idea in their own way, but with the portals closed, and their memories slowly fading, it had turned more into fleeting fiction than pending probability.
Grimwarden and Goldarrow led the Six back up to city’s center, and stood on the same dais nearest the river that they had arrived on so many years ago. The entire city spread out around them, and then grew up along the walls. Taeva and Overlord Bengfist waited there on the open terrace with Mr. Charlie and Regis.
Taeva’s dark complexion, mingled with the shadowy effects of the Mandieran battledress made her even more striking…even more mysterious.
“Looking good!” Johnny said.
“Why, thank you, Lord Albriand,” Taeva said, running her hands down her leather plate armor, “though it feels a bit cumbersome on me.”
“Not a bit,” said Jimmy. “Looks smart on yu. On both of you,” he glanced over to Regis. She seemed a bit surprised, and Jimmy had to look away, then forgot about Mr. Charlie. “Beggin’ yur pardon, Mr. Charlie; I should have included yu too. You look—”
“Here now!” interrupted Mr. Charlie. “A man knows when he’s surrounded by beauty: he’s always the last to get complimented. And I’m right fine with that, son; don’t ya’ dare go there.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Right yu are,” said Jimmy. “Not a word more on that.”
“And no compliments for me?” Bengfist feigned grumbling.
“Why, your Overlordship,” said Autumn with her best Gone-With-The-Wind, southern drawl, “I do declare, the armor makes you look like you have muscles on top of muscles.”
Bengfist, half bemused, laughed and blushed—and even took a brief bow. Everyone laughed even harder now as Bengfist admitted he’d rather stay in his own battledress than adopt some “Elven tree garb.”
Finally Grimwarden stepped forward. “It’s time,” he said. “Goldarrow?”
“Right away sir,” she said, then signaled to a set of guards to the far side of the open terrace where they stood.
A moment later, blasts sounded from the battle horns high above. The Six waited, listening, until they heard the sounds of marching. Footfalls echoed from deep within the Caverns, rising up like the chorus of a thousand drums beating in quarter-note rhythm. Soon the passage started filling with soldiers, Elves dressed from head to foot in the same Mandieran uniforms that the Six wore. They flowed into the city center, and then spilled out into the tunnels and byways.
Tommy and the others expected the procession to end any second. But it didn’t. The Elves kept coming and coming and coming. There seemed to be even more than those present at their arrival the night before.
“So many,” Kat whispered aloud.
“Aye,” said Jimmy, shaking his head.
“Just shy of five-thousand to be precise,” said Grimwarden.
“A legion?” asked Tommy.
“Indeed,” Grimwarden smiled.
The footfalls stopped, and soon there was the pregnant pause of a legion of Elven warriors waiting with anticipation for instructions from their leader. From their Guardmaster.
Grimwarden felt keenly that this would be the last time they would ever see Nightwish. Abandoning the underground was evidence of success; that was not what concerned him. Rather, he feared that there were many Elves standing before him who—when this was all over—would never see Berinfell or even Allyra again.
“They are yours to address,” Grimwarden said to Tommy with a bow.
“On the contrary,” Tommy smiled, “I believe it’s you they need to hear from. I insist, Grimwarden.” Tommy glanced at the other Five who all nodded. “We all insist.”
“Very well,” said Grimwarden, pulling himself upright. He turned to the waiting throng and swallowed. As everyone knew, public speaking wasn’t his specialty—public yelling, perhaps—but not public speaking.
“So here we are,” Grimwarden began, his commanding voice echoing throughout the main cavern. “Each of you trained, each of you tested. Berinfell’s elite. I say without hesitation, Allyra’s elite. And I of all people am the most honored, knowing I have the privilege of beholding your greatness. Your bravery. Your fortitude.
“For these last seven years you have paid a dear price. Stolen away from your families with no other reason than your country had need of you. Your world had need of you. No promise of ever returning. You’ve lived in secret, and given yourselves to the ways of Ellos. You’ve invested in Mandiera as if your lives depended on it. For indeed they do; but more so, the lives of those we will never live to meet. The generations beyond.
“And so I say again: here we are. Committed to pursuing the plague of evil to the furthest realms, and even into realms beyond if we must. We will pursue the darkness, we will pursue the night until it has nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. We are the Nightstalkers!”
The army raised their Mandieran rycheswords and shouted as one. Their deafening cheer seemed to shake the walls of Nightwish like a seismic ground tremor. Then, without provocation, and in perfect unison, they dropped their sword arms such that they crossed wrists over their chests. And together they shouted, “ENDURANCE AND VICTORY!”
Tommy felt as if an electrical current raced through the cavern, touching each with power beyond measure. He looked to Grimwarden, saw him blinking in astonished pride. The Guardmaster looked to Tommy and shook his head.
Tommy said, “I know.”
Johnny leaned over and whispered something to Tommy. When they parted, Johnny said, “Well, can I?”
Tommy felt like a massive bubble ready to burst. There was a thrill racing through him that he could not explain…something far beyond chills and goosebumps…something supernatural.
“May Ellos guide your hands, Johnny,” Tommy said. “Give them all something to remember.”
Johnny stepped forward. He held up his hands, and the caverns fell silent. Johnny glanced back at the Lords and the others. “You might want to step back a bit,” he said.
They did. Only Taeva remained where she was, but Autumn grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
Just then, Johnny made fists and slammed his elbows down hard to his sides. With a primal yell, he threw his hands up in the air once more. When he opened his fingers, there came a white-orange flash that left everyone blinking. Heat washed over the balcony, and the air around Johnny’s hand shimmered like a heat mirage.
Ten inches from his outstretched fingers, a pulsing golden flame surged toward the cavern ceiling. Johnny grunted and clenched his teeth with the effort. Soon, waves of fire seemed to be gushing upward, and the darkness of Nightwish Caverns fled into the farthest corners and crevices. An undulating sea of golden flame coursed on the ceiling, and every being who witnessed it gasped in awe. It swirled around the base of every stalactite and even consumed each point.
“FOR ELLOS!” Johnny bellowed, and he cut off the flow of fire.
The roaring ocean of flame ebbed, receded, and disappeared in moments. The Elves gasped once more, perhaps even more deeply, for the flames had found the veins of a dozen different metals hidden in the ceiling’s stone. The metal ore glowed white hot or blue or green or even a florescent purple—and it streaked across the cavern ceiling like multicolored lightning.
“To Taladair!” Tommy yelled, drawing his rychesword. “May our enemies tremble at the coming of Ellos’ army! To Taladair!”
The Nightstalkers answered, and the march began.
The Elven army made good time, traveling by foot through the upper reaches of the Thousand League Forest. They surged east of the Spine, and arrived by nightfall of the third day at the northern coast of Berinfell. Even Bengfist managed to keep pace with the fleet-footed Elves. They slept for only three hours in the port city of Kileverand before conscripting the city’s entire fleet of war ships and setting off in the middle of the night.
“Due north,” Tommy told the Admiral of the Elven fleet.
“As you wish, my lord,” replied Admiral Cuth, never one to argue with the Lords of Berinfell…or any paying customers for that matter, though he did give them a deal on account of seeing Grimwarden once again. “The skies are calling for fair winds by morning, holding steady for the week. The fleet should arrive in two days.”
“Thank you, Admiral. Your services are greatly appreciated,” said Tommy.
“As is your presence among us, Lord Felheart.”
The Six and Princess Taeva made themselves comfortable in the bow of the lead ship, admiring the endless views of the ocean and the dolphins that accompanied their advance in the heat of day. The afternoon winds were strong and steady, allowing them a broad reach due north toward Taladair.
For her part, Taeva was pleased to have found a number of Taladrim sailors in Kileverand who’d been at sea when Asp struck. Having no port to come home to, and being too late to find anything worth rescuing, they took their leave in Admiral Cuth’s service, their own ships all but destroyed from Asp’s far-reaching storm. Thus, upon seeing the Princess and her company arrive at the port city, they were only too happy to pledge themselves to her service and join the rescue mission.
The first night aboard was rough, as the winds from the afternoon heat had stirred up the seas to an unsettling height. More than one forest Elf spent the evening heaving into the salt water and wishing that the planks they slept upon were those of a tree-ensconced house. And it soon became a running joke that Overlord Bengfist said and repeated, “Even if the alternative is to burn, I will never step aboard another ship for as long as I live.”
Jimmy, in fact, developed a rather convincing impersonation of Bengfist. Stomping unsteadily around the deck, Jimmy crowed nervously, “When can I get off this sea-going demon?”
Even Bengfist himself had a laugh at that.
Precious few Nightstalkers, only those who had grown up near the coast, seemed to enjoy the night hours, rocked to sleep by the methodical shifting of the waves.
Even through the midnight hours, the fleet edged further north under light winds. By morning, their pace improved considerably, and the ships were carving their course more swiftly than even Admiral Cuth had anticipated.
“At this rate we should make Taladair by evening next,” he said to the group gathered at the bow. “Clear skies and the sun on our faces, now you see why we live for these conditions.”
“Aye,” said Jimmy, thinking back to his fond days sailing in Ardfern. “As soon as we’re doon with this Asp fellow, I’ll be back for a wee sail if that’s all right with yu, Admiral Cuth.”
“My ship is ever at your disposal, Lord Thorwin,” the Admiral said with a slight bow. To the group he said, “If you’ll excuse me,” and then left the foredeck and made his way aft.
“They’ll be no diving on Taladair tonight,” said Goldarrow.
“She’s right,” said Taeva. “We’ll need as much light as we can. Wait until morning tomorrow.”
But Grimwarden was shaking his head. “We can’t afford to wait that long.”
“Guardmaster,” said Tommy, “you know I’m not one to question your wisdom, but do you think pushing the army this hard is prudent? Diving at night?”
“I don’t think we have much of a choice, Tommy. Every minute that we delay, a civilian below may meet death in the catacombs. And every minute that we delay, Asp is advancing his plans, perhaps swallowing other cities in his misplaced wrath. While these facts might not move the Conclave, they certainly move me. We have a foe more dangerous than the Spider King, and unlike him, Asp does not seem tied to any one location. There seems no Vesper Crag upon which to focus our might. He’s on the move and leaving a swath of decimated, innocent lives in his wake.”
