The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4)
THE SERAPHINIUM
BOOK IV
THE MIRROR AND THE MAELSTROM
BY DANIEL FRANCIS MCHUGH
Copyright @ 2012
Daniel Francis McHugh
http://www.seraphinium.net
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be
used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission from the author.
McHugh, Daniel F. (2012).
The Mirror and the Maelstrom
(The Seraphinium Series, Book 4)
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the person who
supports and motivates my crazy,
Jennifer Jo.
To my business partners in the real world,
Timothy Feeney & Richard Cihak,
who allow this diversion to gobble up so much time.
AND
To all the early readers who offered support and constructive
criticism. Thanks for waiting so patiently for the finale.
Additional thanks to those early readers for their gracious
support and insight: Judy Pryor, Pat Logue, Daniel Quinn, Emily Douville, Sue Elworth, Kurt Steib, Alex Douville, Timothy O’Reilly and Joseph Felicicchia.
SYNOPSIS OF BOOK III
THE TREES AND THE NIGHT
Two groups struggle on a mission to rescue Lilywynn from the hands of the Ulrog. A desperate horde of Ulrog pursues Kael, Ader, Eidyn and Sprig as the foursome races across the Eru plains toward the Mnim Valley. A band of Erutre Riders rescues the group moments before the stone men close in.
Granu, Vieri and Cefiz trek into the Scythtar Mountains unaware of their own dangerous pursuers. Woil the Lamentation follows the Keltaran prince and his companions into the Scythtar. The possibility of killing the Keltaran heir and taking custody of the new Seraph is too great a prize. Woil’s forces overtake their quarry at a crossroads beneath the summit of Tar Hdjmir. Vieri is lost in the ensuing battle. However, the scribe Nostr intervenes and rescues Cefiz and Granu.
Manfir and the Zodrian militia entrench themselves in a range of hills known as the Bear’s Knuckles. Prince Fenrel and the Keltaran Anvil are alerted to their presence and press forward to engage and destroy the Zodrians.
Teeg makes his way back south. Along the way he employs his gift of disguise to make contact with various elements of the underbelly of society. He gleans considerable information concerning the build-up of weapons in the capital of Zodra and the state of anarchy and subterfuge reigning in Rindor.
Cefiz and Granu hike to the heights of Tar Hdjmir. They come upon a sealed cavern in the mountain’s wall. Nostr appears and opens the chamber. The men discover the tomb of Awoi. An epitaph within the tomb compels Granu on a mission to Keltar in order to battle his brother for the hearts and minds of his people. Nostr opens a passageway beneath the tomb and instructs the men to use it as an escape from the mountain.
The Battle of the Bear’s Knuckles begins. The Zodrians use a series of feints and tricks to ensnare the Keltaran in multiple traps. A modest number of Keltaran lose their lives, including Captain Aul. However, the Keltaran numbers remain too large for the Zodrians to overcome. Manfir calls Fenrel into single combat in order to remove the force leading the giants down this terrible road of destruction. Granu suddenly appears and demands to take Manfir’s place in the battle.
The Keltaran brothers face one another and Fenrel shows the depths to which he has sunk. The evil brother calls on the power of Amird and Chaos but in the end it is his undoing. Each infusion of power he receives from Chaos doubles the intensity of the bloodstained fiery axe wielded by Granu. Fenrel dies rather than submit to Granu. The armies of Zodra and Keltar unite under one banner.
Kael and Ader meet with Temujen the chieftain of the Erutre. The woodsmen of Derol and the knights of Astel join them. Portlo, the steward of Astel, is introduced to Kael. The steward attempts to force leadership on the boy, but Kael refuses the role. Temujen suggests an attack on the Valley of Mnim in order to create a diversion that might allow Kael and Ader access to the Scythtar to rescue Lilywynn. Those in attendance agree and the battle begins.
The Battle of the Mnim Valley spills out of the mountain onto the plains and into the Derol Woods. The Malveel in charge of the Mnim forces, Greeb the One Eye, is a formidable foe. However, Greeb’s inability to temper his rage and hatred of the Astelans blinds him from the real purpose of the human plan. The Malveel realizes too late that he has been manipulated. He rushes back to the heights of the Scythtar, but Ader and the new Seraph slip past his mountain stronghold. Greeb rushes in pursuit but is blinded by Sprig and tricked into his own death by Vieri Shan.
Kael, Ader, Eidyn and Lilywynn flee through the Eastern Mnim pass into the ancient Kingdom of Astel, the heart of Izgra’s power.
“The Trees and the Night” concludes as General Olith Stormbreaker is released from the cellars of the mountain city of Keltar to discover his homeland under siege and the valley of Hrafnu awash in a sea of Ulrog.
BOOK IV OF THE SERAPHINIUM
THE MIRROR AND THE MAELSTROM
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1: POWER AT PLAY 11
CHAPTER 2: THE RHYTHM OF DESTRUCTION 17
CHAPTER 3: FEAR IN THE AIR 30
CHAPTER 4: MEN OF DARKNESS 38
CHAPTER 5: LAMENTATIONS 51
CHAPTER 6: FAMILIAR VOICES 63
CHAPTER 7: TURBULENCE 76
CHAPTER 8: THE REAPER 83
CHAPTER 9: THE SHADOWS OF OTHERS 95
CHAPTER 10: BRANCH AND BOUGH, THROUGH THE ETHER 104
CHAPTER 11: THE CLEARING 118
CHAPTER 12: GHOSTS OF THE SWAMP 126
CHAPTER 13: FOREND 133
CHAPTER 14: INSTRUCTION IN TRUTH 141
CHAPTER 15: THE DROWNING SEE 151
CHAPTER 16: GLORIOUS AND TERRIBLE 160
CHAPTER 17: FIRE FIGHT 166
CHAPTER 18: RAKH THE SECOND 184
CHAPTER 19: THE BOOK OF NOSTR 192
CHAPTER 20: THE CHOSEN 205
CHAPTER 21: COUNTER STRIKE 216
CHAPTER 22: FROM COVER 222
CHAPTER 23: BRIMSTONE 234
CHAPTER 24: ACTOR EXTRAORDINAIRE 239
CHAPTER 25: WHIRLWIND 244
EPILOGUE 267
GLOSSARY OF CHARACTERS AND LOCATIONS 278
GLOSSARY BY LAND OR RACE 284
GLOSSARY OF MAPS
CHAPTER 1: POWER AT PLAY
THE COUNSELOR THOUGHT it strange that he should be so chilled. After all, he sat upon a vast expanse of sand known for its burning hot winds. However, nighttime lie upon the Great Borz Desert and its stifling heat already dissipated into the sky. The dunes sat cold and still. The Counselor stared into the blue flames of the camel dung fire and feigned interest in the debate surrounding him.
The more powerful chieftains of the Borz tribes reclined on ornate rugs. They haggled and argued over where their own warriors would be placed within the great battle plan the Counselor devised. He cared not where or how these men did their killing and dying. He only cared whether they followed orders. The tent silenced. Rada Shan sat up and stroked the stubble on his chin.
“It matters not where you serve,” stated Rada to those arguing. “Only that you serve.”
The Counselor was pleased. This fool assumed the leadership of his folk for a reason. Occasionally, he produced a salient point.
“Both tasks put before us by the Counselor are of great import,” continued Rada. “The raid on the white towers of Luxlor ought to be made with as small a number as possible. We do not want to unnecessarily draw blades from our main force. Those in the main force will need
all the numbers they can muster. Pursuit of the Elven army is a dangerous task.”
“Agreed,” interrupted a dark skinned man across the circle from the Counselor. “That is why the Dubad Borzmust lead the attack on the Elven palace. My Windriders are the best combatants on the sands. Limited numbers will not be a detriment.”
Rada raised an eye at the boast then smiled.
“Yazir Dubad is correct. His tribesmen fight like demons when the battle reaches hand-to-hand combat, but the dangers of infiltrating Luxlor are equally great. The Elves are masters of the secret wood.”
Many in the circle agreed and nodded in approval.
“The job will require stealth and cunning ... ”
More nods of approval circled the room.
“ ... And the nerves that only the Shan assassins truly master,” concluded Rada.
The room silenced. Many averted their eyes to the floor or nervously sipped their wine. Rada’s eyes swept the room. He knew full well the thoughts behind those averted eyes.
Before the uniting of the tribes, many here lost a leader or loved one to his assassins. Generations from now the descendants of these men would see the logic behind Rada’s actions, but on this evening the wounds were still too new, still too deep. The Borz chieftain used these wounds to assert his dominance over the other men.
“I will lead the assault on the White Palace,“ stated Rada. “And Yazir will lead his Dubad and all other tribes against the Elven army.”
The former speaker beamed at Rada and nodded.
“You do me great honor, chieftain.”
“You deserve great honor,” smiled Rada in return.
The Counselor rose. It was time to feed the delusions of these simple nomads. He stood over them and spread his arms wide.
“Chieftains of the Borz, your courage and faith astound me,” began the Counselor. “These are the attributes my Elven brothers discard. You restore my faith.”
Smiles and nods of approval broke out amongst the leaders of the Borz.
“The final battle between good and evil creeps ever closer,” continued the Counselor. “And the words of the scribes show us the direction of your people. ‘The Army of Avra shall be spread like grains of sand after a great storm. Yet they will be called together before the white towers and do battle. Shame to those who ignore the call.’”
The Counselor swept his hand over the assembly. Faces beamed with pride.
“You are what the scribes foretold,” stated the Counselor sternly. “YOU are the Army of Avra, the key to the future of this world. You lay hidden, scattered in this vast ocean of sand. You are an unknown to the outside world. However, it is time you made your mark!”
Roars of approval erupted amongst the Borz.
“Now I must return to Luxlor,” announced the Elf eyeing the assembly critically. “I bestowed upon you both great honor and trust. I allowed this select group to look upon me. It is a sign of good faith for the future. When next we meet, it will be as we stand over the ruins of the treasonous armies who conspire to hand this world over to Amird the Deceiver. May Avra bless your endeavors.”
The entire Borz contingent bowed low. The Counselor lightly nodded his head in reply then swept from the tent.
Kael struggled over boulder and break. The trail through the Eastern Mnim proved more difficult than Ader described. Both Kael and Eidyn narrowly escaped death on separate occasions.
After three days of travel they finally reached a place where the sheer walls of the valley lessened and its basin widened and flattened out.
“The valley nears an end,” called Ader to the group trailing him. “I see no reason for Hackles to be stationed here, but be wary. We did not traverse such a treacherous path only to announce our presence to the enemy.”
Kael’s attention remained fixed on the boulder he stood upon. It teetered and swayed beneath his feet. The boy sprang forward to another perch as the boulder tumbled a dozen feet into an open crevasse. Ader frowned at Kael. The boy shrugged in reply.
After another hour of picking their way through the Mnim, the group exited the valley into the rolling foothills of Astel. Ader led them south, away from a crude path stabbing southeast into the heartland.
“Ulrog trackers use the path to transport messages between Kel Izgra and the Scythtar,” explained the Seraph. “We must skirt the edge of the forest and use its cover to conceal our movements. Hopefully, we will find a means to cross back over the Mirozert and enter the Derol. These mountains are much lower than their relatives to the north. There are many passes and trails. Possibly too many for the Ulrog to properly guard.”
Eidyn and Lilywynn nodded in compliance, but Kael turned to the southeast and stared at the horizon. Ader noted the boy’s distraction and sighed.
The Ulrog tracker stared down at the stone floor of the tower, certain not to make eye contact with the priests before him. They acted as Sulgor’s chosen priests, powerful in the ways of Chaos. He was only one of Greeb’s many trackers, a Hackle of low station in the hierarchy of Amird’s forces.
Typically, he would be sent away after he delivered his message to Sulgor’s outer circle, but in this instance the priests ordered him to stay. The departure from protocol worried the tracker. The heavy oak door of the chamber opened and another priest beckoned him into the room. The tracker complied and tried to keep his gaze from meeting that of the priest. With head hung low he shuffled forward.
“You are the messenger sent from the One Eye?” snarled Sulgor the Magnificent.
“Yes, my lord,” replied the grating voice of the tracker. His oily, black eyes fixed upon the floor and his stony lips trembled in fright at the sound of claws raking the slate floor of the room.
“A battle rages to the west? Greeb led the Mnim against the men of the woods and their allies?”
The tracker tensed. Sulgor’s hot breath streamed upon his downcast head. The Malveel’s presence hung over the Ulrog like a dark cloud.
“Th ... The horsemen and the woodsmen attacked the Mnim,” returned the tracker. “Lord Greeb believes the Eastern Derol to be poorly defended.”
“HE BELIEVES NOTHING!” came a shriek from somewhere behind the Malveel king. “HE IS DEAD!”
The tracker visibly jumped and his eyes darted up. Standing past the seething fire filled eyes of the Malveel king stood a black robe waving a skeletal hand at the tracker.
“REMOVE IT FROM MY SIGHT!” demanded Izgra. “IT KNOWS NOTHING I HAVE NOT ALREADY DISCOVERED.”
Sulgor grimaced. The declaration of the death of one of his brothers alarmed him. The tracker bowed low and quickly backed from the room. Sulgor gathered himself and turned to face Izgra.
“They weaken themselves, my lord,” stated the Malveel. “The Mnim is a fortress unto itself. Any attempt to penetrate it must surely result in the loss of many human lives.”
“Yes,” hissed Izgra. “But for what purpose? They accomplish nothing!”
The black robe slid from the dais and approached the western window of the tower. Izgra gazed toward the peaks of the Mirozert in the distance.
“They weaken their position and open the way,” stated the warlock. “HE will return, but not here. It is not what the scribes foresaw.”
Sulgor emitted a low rumble. Izgra remained staring to the west.
“You chafe at your ignorance Sulgor, but you are not privy to all,” snapped Izgra. “It does not harm us to retain knowledge of the scribes. The prophecies prove true so far. Why fight what may be inevitable?”
“Because the scribes call for our doom,” returned the Malveel king.
“Do they?” cackled Izgra. “Or do the fools who take them at face value see what they wish to see? Perhaps the scribes receive their visions from a place outside of Avra’s control. Perhaps the scribes call for our victory!”
Izgra spun and marched toward his inner chamber.
“We receive the opening we desire,” declared the Half-Dead over his shoulder. “Move your forces over the Mi
rozert and take the Derol. It will be our staging point for the final assault.
I warn you Sulgor. He is coming. Continue to do his bidding and you will be exalted. Fail, and you will burn in the fires of Chaos with the others.”
Sulgor’s fangs flashed but he bowed to the retreating figure. When Izgra disappeared behind the black curtain, the Malveel king turned and approached the west window. He stared to the horizon, but not the mountains across which he would send his full force. Instead, his red eyes scanned the northern mountains. The knife-edged tips of the Scythtar loomed above their smaller counterparts.
Sulgor snorted. Greeb played the fool, too caught up in his shame to be effective to his master. What did Sulgor care of the One Eye’s single defeat those many years ago? The Malveel king cared only about results. Greeb acted as his most effective commander until defeated by Astel. His constant second-guessing caused the One Eye’s fall from power. Now there would be no more second-guessing. Greeb became the latest of his brothers to fall.
Sulgor growled. How? How could such a creature, surrounded by a host of slaves, fall? Izgra missed something in this equation. The return of Amird consumed the Half-Dead so much he overlooked the power at play within the world. It was not a simple thing to kill a Malveel. They survived for centuries, powered by Chaos. Now Greeb was no more. Sulgor swore not to be caught unaware.
CHAPTER 2: THE RHYTHM OF DESTRUCTION
BOOM!
“Dirg!” called the High Priest Krin as he strode down the line of Hackles manning the massive battering ram.
Four hundred stony black claws drew the huge pine away from the gates of Hrafnu’s city. A near perfect circle of rust and splinters covered the area of the gate receiving the brunt of the ram’s punishment.
“Grall,” bellowed the priest.
The iron-capped ram rushed forward. Stony backs and shoulders lay their weight into its force.
BOOM!
Krin ranged up and down the line, calling out the rhythm of the gate’s destruction.