Peridot- War and Peace Page 14

  Even if I sent a querian right this minute, it wouldn’t reach him in time... wherever he is. Besides, this is my battle. I can’t drag him into it. No. Whatever we decide, we have to decide alone.”

  And, though I didn’t voice it, I still couldn’t stop wondering if Master Ulezander had abandoned me. It was a childish thought, but I couldn’t shake it.

  “We?” Aishe’s voice was soft and hesitant.

  I frowned at him. “Yes, we. You live here too, don’t you?”

  A magnificent grin spread across Aishe’s pretty face, and he flung his arms around my neck, hugging me close.

  “By the Mother!” I gasped, holding him back.

  “It might take a while, Morgorth,” Aishe laughed. “But you eventually understand.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tap. Tap. Tap. I grunted and rolled over in the bed, pulling a pillow over my ears. Tap! Tap! Growling, I sat up and looked at the large window that dominated an entire wall of my bedroom. Large, thick curtains blocked out the light, but some incessant little creature was tapping on the glass, currently driving me insane. Aishe didn’t seem to be affected -- he just kept sleeping.

  It wasn’t even full morning yet. I stumbled over to the window, yanking on a robe as I went. Grabbing the curtain, I pulled it slightly open, peeking out of the window.

  Lansa, my faithful fasion messenger, flapped frantically on the other side. I frowned and pushed open the window and the large black bird swooped inside, screeching, his eyes bulging with panic. A burst of cold air came in with the bird. I quickly shut and locked the window once more, shuddering against the blast.

  “Morgorth?” Aishe shot up in bed, blinking blearily around.

  “Easy, Aishe,” I said steadily. “Lansa, calm yourself!” I ordered.

  “Lord Morgorth! Lord Morgorth!” Lansa squawked.

  I held out my arm, and the bird finally landed on it, his claws cutting into my skin. I hid a wince and stared directly into the bird’s jittery eyes.

  “Breathe,” I ordered. The fasion inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Now, report.”

  “Two armies!” Lansa squealed. “Two armies! North and south! Not living armies!”

  Not living? My stomach dropped.

  “Not living armies?” I repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

  The fasion turned his head, and one beady black eye drilled into mine. “Necromant!”

  My stomach proceeded to drop into the filthy stench of the underworld. I stumbled backward and hit the wall.

  Lansa flew off my arm when I dropped it. My limbs were heavy, and I broke out into a cold sweat. Horror was a tangible thing, and it gripped my throat, slowly cutting off my ability to suck in air.

  Who would dare the wrath of the Council by raising a necromantic army? By raising two necromantic armies?

  My eyes found Aishe’s. His own were wide, his pupils pinpricks, and his face was devoid of color. He would know what I did about necromants -- they were the true horror tales told to every young child. Master Ulezander told me what they were a long time ago.

  Necromants are corpses reanimated by spirits of violence that had been dredged up from the underworld by a mage or sorcerer. The corpses can be of any species, it doesn’t matter. They could be flesh and blood corpses or skeletal ones, when all the flesh and muscle had been eaten away by insects. But they have to be complete corpses -- nothing could be missing, not a limb, not a bone. That’s why most species take a piece of their dead loved ones, usually an arm or a leg, and bury it separately from the body. Or they simply set the corpse on fire.

  Zombies have nothing on these monsters. These spirits of violence are quick, cunning, and have an insatiable bloodlust. They’re extremely hard to destroy -- not only does one have to chop off its head and set it on fire, but the rest of the army becomes stronger because the spirit of violence in the destroyed corpse can move to another, doubling its power. They had pure and utter hatred for anything living made flesh and blood.

  Most necromants are created from seela corpses because seelas have something against burning, or what they considered desecrating, the body of a loved one. They claim they need their full body in the afterlife. I never understood that. Dead is dead, and the Mother would only take care of your spirit, your essence -- not your body.

  Necromants are made with dark magick -- as dark as the farthest and coldest reaches of the multi-verse. A hex has to be used to summon the spirits of violence and allow them passage out of the underworld. The Council explicitly forbade the use of them. So who would dare...? It wasn’t hard for me to guess who did it. And why. But how would they explain that to the Council?

  Or -- was it sanctioned by the Council? Was this the extreme measure they were willing to take to provoke me to declare war with them?

  Fury rose to a fevered pitch inside me and successfully shoved aside the horror that had a grip on my throat. I sucked in a breath and let the fury clear my mind. I focused my thoughts on images of destruction. My skin was cold, but my insides were on fire. Magick bubbled, and I pushed away from the wall, meeting Aishe’s eyes once more. He still looked scared.

  “Morgorth?” he whispered.

  “Get dressed,” I ordered. With a word, I summoned my clothes. Within seconds, I was dressed, and I waited as Aishe pulled on his own clothes. I looked at Lansa.

  “North and south, you said? Locations,” I ordered.

  Lansa gave me the coordinates of the armies, and they were way too close for my comfort.

  “Aishe?”

  “Ready.” Aishe sheathed his short sword at his side and snapped on his armguard before grabbing his quiver and bow. I took one look at him and shook my head. He couldn’t go into battle looking like that -- with no armor.

  With a word, I summoned something I’d been working on secretly for several days -- days before the mages had come to shatter our peace. Out of one of the heavy ornate trunks in our bedroom came flying a sturdy leather vest with ties in the front. It also happened to be enchanted. I grabbed it and tossed it to Aishe. He caught it with one hand.

  “Put it on, and tie it tight,” I ordered.

  Aishe blinked in surprise but did as I said. He tested it by lifting his bow and pretending to draw back an arrow.

  Despite current events, I managed to feel pride in my creation. The protective spells were woven into the fabric the same way they were in my own clothing. I’d made the vest myself, by hand, instead of letting the boygles do it.

  I had learned many things at Master Ulezander’s knee, and not all of them were magick-centered.

  “It’s armor,” I explained. “No magick, claw, tooth, or any other ordinary weapon can penetrate it.”

  Aishe smiled at me and nodded.

  “Let’s go then,” I said and walked out of the room, Aishe following on my heels. We pulled on our heavy coats and raced through Geheimnis. My front doors burst open at my word, and I charged out onto my landing. The wind buffeted us, but I ignored it, looking toward the north.

  The skies were gray but lighter than they had been the last couple of days. I tapped my temple and said a word, giving myself binocular vision. When I opened my eyes again, I could see far into the distance.

  The necromants were moving fast. Way too fast. They raced across the plain that separated the northern kingdom from the borders of my territory. Being decaying corpses didn’t seem to slow them down any. My jaw clenched, and I closed my eyes, turning my head to the south. I opened my eyes again and saw a similar horde coming closer. Both armies were large and swift -- perhaps ten thousand strong each.

  Mother have mercy. I tapped my temple, and my normal vision returned.

  “What did you see?” Aishe’s voice was steady, but I heard the slight tremor in it.

  “Too much,” I murmured. I turned to look at him. “If I said that you are to stay in the fortress and wait for my return?”

  Aishe’s eyes narrowed. “You’d cause me to break my promise to you. I never break a promise.”


  Despite the situation, I smiled. I had told Aishe that this was his home, our home. He had just as much right to defend it as I did. And he wasn’t helpless; I knew that. He was strong, skilled. He could hold his own.

  I held out my arm. “Then hang on.”

  Aishe swiftly braided his long white hair and knotted the ends. Then he slung the bow over his shoulder and grabbed my arm with both hands. I murmured a word and we sped through the air and into Vorgoroth. The wind whistled in my ears, and the cold air bit and clawed at my face. Our surroundings shot past us in a blur, but a bubble of force protected us from the breakneck speed we were moving at.

  Aishe was a quick learner and had no problem staying on his feet when I slowed our speed and halted.

  Stepping forward, black hatred and cold determination fueling my magick, I raised my hands and called to the creatures in my forest. My magick flowed out of me and traveled swiftly through Vorgoroth, invisible but palatable.

  It alerted my minions of the attack, ordered them to the southern borders.

  “Come.” Aishe and I jogged down the trail. It wasn’t long before I heard the footsteps and shuffling of other beings. The trees were also swaying alarmingly, their branches shaking and creaking. They were ready for a fight.

  My heart was in my throat by the time we burst forth from the forest. I looked at the large plain, where, in the distance, we could see the rotting bodies of the necromants.

  They were nearly at my doorstep. At our doorstep.

  “Master.” Grekel stood at my side, his body tense, eyes flashing. His fur stood on end, and his jagged teeth were bared.

  “Grekel.” I touched his shoulder. “Aishe is in charge during my absence. Follow his orders as if I were giving them.”

  “Understood,” Grekel growled. His pack was silent and deadly behind him, all thirsting for blood and battle. Their yellow eyes gleamed with the desire for carnage, and their muscles bunched under thick fur. Growls bubbled out of each, not one fearing death. They were predators; they relished violence. Mere seela soldiers weren’t enough to satisfy a wichtln’s thirst for battle. But a necromantic army might be.

  “Absence?” Aishe gripped my arm.

  I met his eyes. “I need to go north, Aishe. The armies will hit us at about the same time. I can’t fight both at once.” I took a breath. “I will crush the north army and come back. Just hold them off Aishe, that’s all my asking.”

  I stared into his eyes, pressing his obedience. “No heroics, understand? Just hold them off.”

  Aishe nodded. “I understand.”

  I leaned forward, so only he could hear my next words.

  “If it’s a choice between saving your own life, or saving one of theirs...” I gestured to the creatures around us. “Save your own. That’s an order.”

  Aishe smiled slightly. “I don’t plan on leaving you alone, Morgorth. I promise to guard myself.”

  I nodded but didn’t feel much reassured. I grabbed Aishe’s quiver, and before he could protest, I gave him a look. He subsided. I held the quiver with one hand, and the other I lay flat above the arrows. I said a word, and magick floated like mist down on the arrows, enchanting them.

  I handed the arrows back, and Aishe frowned in confusion.

  “As soon as you nock one,” I explained. “The tip will be set aflame. I suggest shooting for the neck or the eyes -- the flame will distract them, and then you can chop off their heads.”

  Aishe smiled at me, but it was sharp, his eyes flashing with the desire for battle. “Have I told you how much I enjoy having a mage as a mate?”

  I snorted. “You could say it more often.” I glanced at the truls, morags, wichtln, fasion, and various other creatures that called Vorgoroth home. I even saw the new creatures in my forest, the burrowers, with their antennae quivering in anticipation. Then I heard small feet shuffle behind me and smiled when the boygles came out of the forest.

  Grendela led them, her eyes fierce. “Master.”

  “Grendela.” I walked to her and stared down into her bulging eyes. “Aishe is your commander until I get back.”

  Her eyes flashed with annoyance. But she nodded. I knew her and the other boygles didn’t like Aishe. I wasn’t certain why, but as long as I was their master, I didn’t fear for his safety. They feared me, which meant they would follow me.

  I turned to Aishe and met his eyes once more. “I’ll be back. Soon.”

  With a heavy heart and a burning gut I turned. With a murmured word, the magick flashed inside me, and I sped into the air, rising above my trees. Then I sped to the north, the wind whistling shrilly past my ears. Despite the protective bubble around me, I still felt the pressure, the uncomfortable tingling of my body that coincided with great speed.

  My magick continued to build as I headed north. I mentally created and rejected plans as the army came into sight. They weren’t far from Blue River, which was just north of Happy Valley. The dome should hold against a necromantic attack, but not for long. Those festering corpses had no concept of retreat.

  I flew over them once, trying to judge more accurately how many I had to contend with. My initial estimates weren’t off by much. There were around ten thousand, in various stages of decay, and some were just bones held together by the spirit of violence that possessed them. It seemed that wherever their feet touched, life withered and died. While winter had sent vegetation into hibernation, the plains had never looked as dead as they did now. The snow had melted under the stampeding army’s feet, and now the ground was black, dead. Necromants were a pestilence, a plague. I had to destroy them as quickly as possible. So much good and fertile land had already been despoiled. So much beauty turned ugly.

  I circled the army fully before coming back in front of them and landing hard. The cold no longer bothered me as the fire of my magick burned and broiled inside me. Flames erupted from my fists and traveled up my arms.

  For a split second, I desperately wished Enfernlo, my payshtha friend, was here. His fire breath could burn hot enough to melt stone, and it would eat through these monsters with little effort on his part. But Enfernlo was in the southern continent, and it was far too late to send a querian. I was on my own.

  The army slowed their charge and soon stopped moving altogether only a short distance from where I stood. The Blue River wasn’t far behind me. The necromants spread out in a long line, and the cold resolve inside me wavered slightly, making room for fear once more. It tried to choke me again and I pushed it away, yet it lingered in the back of my mind. I could feel it like a slight pressure at the base of my skull.

  There was nothing pleasant when looking upon the walking dead. All their dead eyes glowed red and were focused upon me. Some moved jerkily, the cracking of bone and muscle audible. Others, such as the skeletons, clanked and groaned, their forever-grinning skulls leering at me. But it didn’t matter what sort of corpse they were; they were all still deadly, their strength given to them by the spirits.

  There didn’t seem to be any leader. They didn’t need one. They all had the same desire -- to destroy and devour.

  A particularly fresh-looking seela corpse approached me.

  Her eyes were white and filmy, her movements slightly jerky. Body fluid leaked from her mouth as she stared hungrily at me. Her clothes were those of a peasant. Her bodice was ripped, and her breasts were nearly spilling over the edge. Her skirt was in tatters, and her hair, which was a sunny blonde, was stringy and covered with dirt.

  “Who are you to stand in our way?” she hissed. Her voice was unnatural, hollow and squishy. The spirit must be having quite a time making her move with any efficiency.

  Every movement was accompanied with snaps and crackles, and her long nails were like claws as she flexed her fingers.

  I stood straighter, my chin raised, my feet firmly planted.

  “I am Lord Morgorth, resident Dark Mage of this land. You have no business here. Leave now.”

  The necromant grinned at me. Her teeth, the ones she had left, we
re yellow and jagged. “We do not leave. We consume.”

  “And I do not leave.” I lifted my hands. “I annihilate.”

  The necromant let out a cry that threatened to shatter my eardrums. It echoed through the distance, bouncing off mountain and tree alike. The army of necromants screamed in answer, then surged toward me like a festering swarm, a red-eyed horde of carnage and death.

  I took a deep breath, and fire burst from my hands. It was white with ferocious heat, and it clung to the dead bodies like they were dried wood. But the necromants kept coming. I flung pure force at those closest to me.

  Jaws snapping and hands grabbing, they jumped on me.

  I screamed when one bit into my shoulder and another latched its jaw around my leg. Their bites burned and tore; the pain added fuel to my magick.

  Their stench attacked my nose, and I coughed with abhorrence. It wasn’t just the smell of death and decay from the bodies. It was the scent of the spirits. They smelled like sulfur and toxic waste, which coated the underworld. I could feel their stench begin to cling to me like sticky sap.

  Desire for annihilation rose up, and I clung to it. I allowed my anger -- my wrath against Nanna, Dyrc, the fucking Council -- to fuel my power. Magick only works if you have the desire to see the outcome of using it. There can be no hesitation, no doubt when using magick. Your will has to be like stone. There had always been a dark part of me that I tried to push down, that I tried to ignore.

  I had desire to destroy, to annihilate. There was a wrath I carried inside me, born and bred from childhood, a wrath that wanted vengeance on the entire world. A wrath that tempted me to take the stones, to use them. A vengeance against ever being born. Just like Kierthak.

  That wrath, that darkness, broke free as the necromants bit into my flesh, as they tried with overwhelming numbers to kill me. I did not feel despair, which saved me from falling into the Mage’s Wrath. I was only supremely pissed.

  The darkness wrapped around me like an electric cloud -- one I controlled. I felt invincible.