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dochermes"ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR I: Fragile Shorelines'
3/3/2015
I.
Snow-topped mountains were made blue by distance. High on the wind-scoured hill overlooking the harbor, the King's Grand Hall stood on a foundation of huge stones. The dark wood of the outer walls was elaborately carved with abstract shapes in recurring patterns. On the landing by the main door, two posts rose up sixty feet with green flags snapping in the stiff breezes. The one to the right as one approached bore the rearing outline of Skandor's Standing Bear, while the other showed a front view of a bear's head. This was the emblem of the province Kyldal.
Long before the three KDF members made it up the flag-stoned road to the front approach of the hall, guards in mail coats and wielding long barb-headed spears had lined up at the bottom of the twenty-three stone steps. They seemed to be typical Skandorin, tall brawny men with dark blond hair in braids and thick, close-cropped beards. The pale skin, often freckled, was reddened by exposure to the whistling winds at this altitude.
Past the humbler thatched-roof huts and cottages of the villagers, past three lesser Halls where the noblemen and trades masters resided, up to the Grand Hall itself they strode. Jeremy Bane stopped at the base of the wide steps with Haley and Jocelyn on either side. Against the blue of the morning sky and the white snow, his grey eyes reflected even paler than usual.
One of the guards called down, "Halt and be recognized."
"We are Knights of Tel Shai seeking audience with King Birgun,"answered Bane. "The Dire Wolf stands before you with his teammates."
"Well do we remember you, Dire Wolf, from dark days not long gone," the center guard replied. "You bear no swords, no spears nor axes nor other tools of war, as any eye can tell."
All three were being subjected to intense stares but, as was expected, it was Jocelyn Garimara who was the focus of most scrutiny. A short slender Aboriginal woman from the northwest near Wyndham, her smooth dark skin and distinctive facial features were like nothing these insular Skandorin had ever imagined. Their open curiosity didn't bother her. She had long since gotten used to it during her travels.
"And you, maiden" and here he pointed his weapon at the other young woman, "Beneath that cloak is no weapon?"
Haley Lawson threw back the heavy dark blue cloak to show she was wearing incongruous sneakers, blue shorts and a long-sleeved white pullover. "I'm armed with only my smile," the Windcatcher laughed. She was being less than honest, of course, because fastened on a choker around her neck was the ancient Air Gem crafted by Malberon ages ago. But her policy was never to volunteer that information.
The Dire Wolf held out the seven-inch combat knife strapped to his thigh without comment. None of them had brought the anesthetic dart guns or regular pistols. Skandor was a realm where gunpowder and other technology would not function.
Bane did not mention the matched ensalir daggers he wore under his sleeves. Expensive covers of molded silicone made the knives feel exactly like normal Human muscle even to a trained searcher. He had no intention of revealing any of this. Those daggers were made of silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldanarin themselves and had slain creatures of the night of every description. The Dire Wolf stepped back and waited while a preteen page in rough tunic and hose ran into the hall.
In mere seconds, the boy galloped back outside and bowed his head to the visitors. "Our Lord says he will see you at once," he said and gestured with both hands for the strangers to follow him. While three of the guards remained by the doorway, one accompanied the Tel Shai knights into a cavernous single room supported by flanking rows of massive pillars and well lit by many high narrow windows covered with oiled cloth. Tables for dining had been pushed back against the walls with their benches. In each corner of the the Hall, a fireplace roared and crackled with hunting hounds lying in comfort near the heat.
On a raised dais, upon a wooden throne inscribed with many esoteric runes and images, sat King Birgun son of Evanmir. Past sixty but dstill athletic and imposing of build, he watched with sharp perceptive eyes at the three. Birgun was dark for a son of Skandor, with glossy brown hair that reached his shoulders, but considerable white strands mixed in.
His heavy robe was trimmed at collar and cuffs with brown bear fur, and his crown was of stiff leather set with a white cameo of the bear head. "Come be admitted, Dire Wolf, Jeremy Bane of the outside world, both you and your comrades."
With Jocelyn and Haley, Bane bowed deeply but did not drop to one knee as was customary. Their status as Tel Shai knights set them apart from many courtesies and protocols. "Hail, Birgun, King of Skandor. It's been years since the last time I was in your land and, once again, I regret that I come with grim tidings to bear."
"I would expect no less. Dire Wolf! You are known to race ahead of every breaking storm, and there are those who say you bring said storms with you."
"Your late father, respect to his name, must have related tales of what urgencies brought me here and how we stood together to defend this land."
Standing slightly behind the throne, an old woman with white hair done up under a tiara stared. Her right eye bulged out considerably larger than its mate, red-veined and hot. She whispered, "When has great misfortune come to our land without this Dire Wolf arriving before it? Does he bring warning or does he bring the evils with him?"
Before Birgun could respond, Bane said, "Has your majesty received word on the fall of Thamulkor?"
To his credit, the king kept his face from betraying any reaction and his words were cautious also. "What word do you bring me, Dire Wolf?"
"That realm has been overrun completely," Bane answered. "The cities have stopped burning because there is nothing left to burn. The Almadim were slaughtered. Some of the smaller female children were carried off. You can guess why. Even the cattle and sheep and goats were cut down."
"How is all this known to him?" hissed the old woman from directly behind the king.
Not looking toward her, staring directly at Birgun, Bane asked, "Who sits on the throne of his fathers, ruling Skandor by grace of great Jordyn Himself? And to whom should I speak?"
That stung the king's pride. He sat up straighter and raised his head. "One land, one king. That is the law. Give a name to these invaders and their leader, if you can."
Jeremy Bane had the quiet self-assurance from a lifetime spent in the Midnight War. He did not raise his voice but remained steady. "It's a genuine army, tens of thousands strong. Humans serve as its herders and whip hands but the soldiers are not fully alive. They are Ghulgols, 'the living filth,' And their master is the Melgar conqueror Atrumo."
II.
"What is that abominable stench?" grumbled Askfinir. He rested one hand on the neck of the old chestnut horse that was pulling their wagon of firewood. "It smells as if a cess pit the size of Lake Avondur has opened up."
Walking on the other side of the wagon, his teenage son Lum coughed and hacked up a wad of phlegm. "Truer words have not been spoken, Father. I'm sorry I had that salted pork at midday."
The stout villager pinched his nostrils shut. "Feh. Let us spur poor old Apple as fast as her bow legs will take her, we need not endure this stink any longer than is unavoidable."
"Yes. Yes, come on, Apple! I'll help push the cart from the rear. Wait. Oh Cirkoth! What is that awful yellow fog?"
Both men peered further down the hard-beaten dirt road. Swirling wildly, rushing toward them as if driven by a gale, came thick vapor the color of fresh mustard. Neither had ever seen anything like it. The foul odor was coming from the Yellow Fog. And, emerging from the nearly opaque cloud stampeded a dozen man-sized figures. Wrapped in rags, swinging crude hook blades without hilts, the Ghulgols hurled themselves on the villagers with murderous intensity. Within seconds, both men and the horse were down in the dirt and being dismembered.
No two Ghulgols looked quite alike. Ragged skin hung in strips from their bodies and fell off as they moved, revealing wet red flesh beneath like raw meat. Each face was misshapen in different ways, from lopsided skulls to wide mouths crammed with jagged teeth to lifeless lank hair dangling to their shoulders. As the monsters pulled severed limbs loose from their victims, others of their kind brought canvas sacks to fill. That was when the laughter began.
III.
"Skandor is not easily reached from other realms," the King responded after a pause. "Indeed, we trade with Androval and Signarm as needed, but no where else. No Eldanar or Dartha has set foot here within living memory. The Trolls have been all but exterminated. I do not think this Atrumo you speak of poses any threat to my realm."
"I wish that was the case," said Bane. "But Atrumo is no ordinary warlord. He has shown knowledge of all the Forbidden Arts. My team rescued one of his Human lieutenants in Thamulkor. We eased his pain as best we could. Before he died, he raved in delirium and we understood only one phrase, 'five worlds to conquer.'"
From behind the King, the old woman murmured about how outworlders only cared about the realms when their own safety was at stake. She stopped short when she saw Bane glare directly at her. Even when he was not trying to intimidate, something in those pale grey eyes under dark feral brows was innately frightening. The woman cringed back as if expecting a blow.
But she did not keep silent. "The Sight comes upon me. These intruders are more than they seem. The maiden with green eyes calls the winds of the world at her command. And the woman with black skin carries living lightning in her breast... Grem Tazam, the Red Spectre. But their captain is the most dangerous yet, he was born to chase creatures of the night and slay them. Beware! Beware, I say."
Even the King was visibly taken aback. He raised a hand dismissing the woman. "Report to the council chambers for now, Agonith. I will be seeking all my advisors shortly, if I judge this situation merits such assembly."
As the Crone withdrew, the Dire Wolf lowered his voice so that others in the court could not easily overhear. "She spoke truly, my Lord. My fellow knights of Tel Shai have been bestowed with great gifts. Jocelyn is host to the Red Spectre, the living lightning. My teammate Haley Lawson can indeed summon hurricanes or arctic blasts or air from above a volcano, hot enough to melt steel. I brought my most powerful teammates with me to help in this crisis."
With his aged advisor gone, the King eased his manner and allowed a less stern expression on his face. "Since childhood have I heard fantastic tales of Tel Shai knights and of you in particular, Dire Wolf. Can I assume you have a plan you wish to propose for my approval?"
"Yes, your Majesty," said Bane. "I want to have my partners survey Skandor, using their special abilities. Hopefully we can spot any intrusion while the invaders are still far enough away that your forces can ride out to meet them."
"One blast on the great horn by the front door and I promise every man in this valley will seize his sword and leap upon his horse as if he has been aching for the chance. Our swiftest messengers will spur all the men in every village and town as well."
Haley started to make a remark about how they could double their forces by allowing women to fight as well, but restrained herself. Now didn't seem to be the best time to challenge Skandoran customs. Maybe when things settled down, she thought.
Bane inclined his head in a slight bow. "With your permission, then..."
"Hold but a moment," the King ordered. "I shall send a liaison with you. Page, fetch General Alastar."
As the boy rushed off, King Birgun explained, "Alastar is a seasoned veteran and quick witted in peril. He will be able to answer your questions about the layout of our land, the many lakes and rugged mountains which would take years to explore without a guide."
Shortly, a tall man in a mail corselet with a white tabbard reaching to his knees approached, kneeling before the King and then bowing to the three Tel Shai knights. Alastar appeared to be about thirty but weathered and tough, one hand resting on the long hilt of a two-handed broadsword. The thick blond hair hung in two plaits down either side of his chest and his beard was trimmed short.
Once Birgun introduced the strange visitors and explained the reasons for their coming, Alastar scowled with severity. "My Lord, honored guests, would it not be prudent to search for signs of these outworld invaders? I can assemble squads of my fastest scouts to ride out and report any untoward signs they find."
The King glanced over at the Dire Wolf, who took it upon himself to answer. "Before you do that, Alastar, come outside with us. My partners have unusual abilities which will be useful."
"Yes. Tel Shai knights! Wild tales are told of you. Your Majesty, by your leave, I would accompany our new friends."
"Go then," said the King. "Report fully to me all that you see and hear. You have never failed me, General."
Alastar led the three outworlders at a brisk pace from the main hall, turning when they got outside to trot up a narrow staircase on the side of the building. They stepped onto a walkway which ran around the roof the Great Hall, sixty feet above the ground. To their south stretched brown and green patches of cultivated land with scattered huts and workhouses. To the north, the blue expanse of the Kuvaldam glittered in the afternoon sunlight and beyond that great river, a line of sharp-peaked mountains extended for miles in both direction.
"This is a GORGEOUS country you have," gushed Haley Lawson, turning slowly around to take it all in. "So clean, so.. I don't know, rugged?"
"Your words are meant kindly," Alastar responded with a half smile. "Winter can be harsh and merciless, but Summer is generous. See there, the wide Kuvaldam? She has her source in the highlands and this is her widest point. We could live for generations on her bounty of fish and crabs if we had to."
Jeremy Bane remained unmoved by the landscape. He would always be a city boy, born and raised in Manhattan. "Skandor is worth protecting. I've dealt with Atrumo before, he's a classic warlord who isn't happy unless he's stepping on someone."
"Let him do his worst! We Skandorin fight the brown bears and the grey wolves with a sword in hand. We have battled the Mountain Trolls for generations. This Atrumo will end up licking his wounds and lamenting that he ever heard of Skandor."
The Dire Wolf turned to where Jocelyn Garimara had been standing impatiently with arms folded across her chest. She said, "Finally! My Tazam has been aching to fly free."
As she sank to one knee and propped herself up on stiff arms, a dark red outline of gralic force shot up from within her body and hovered at head height. The same size and shape as its host, the Red Spectre was a weightless silhouette outlined in slightly brighter flickering energy. It flashed up into the perfect cloudless sky and was gone from sight within seconds.
"Never have I seen the like, no, nor even heard of such things in ancient legends, " said Alastar, leaning forward to see if the apparition might still be visible.
"The Red Spectre is rare indeed," Jocelyn responded in a weakened voice. "She is wild lightning that can leave any eagle far behind wondering what happened. When she strikes, nothing can survive the blast."
"And you have been walking at my side with such power coiled inside you..." Alastar said quietly.
"She is on her way back already." Jocelyn pulled herself up to her feet. "I see what she sees. Across that river is a village where the Yellow Fog is starting to gather." As she spoke, the strange apparition crackled toward them and slid out of sight within the Aboriginal woman's torso.
"We're always ready for trouble!" snapped Haley. She threw back her cloak and gestured for her partners to draw closer. "Come on, time to fly!"
Alastar raised a hand. "We have fine steeds at the ready, I will have the grooms saddle them at once."
"No, no you don't understand," laughed Windcatcher. "When I say time to fly, I really mean it!"
"Hold off a second, Haley," ordered Bane rather sharply. "Alastar, we're going to investigate the Yellow Fog and we'll be traveling in a pretty alarming way. Do you want to come with us?"
The general did not hesitate. He clapped one fist to his chest and drew himself up straighter. "Let no one say that a soldier of Skandor feared to follow where maidens led, Dire Wolf."
"Okay," replied Haley absently. With her head tilted, she seemed to be listening for something. "We're good. You guys have got some serious mountains way to the north. There's a decent blizzard underway I can use. Here we go!" Windcatcher concentrated on the ancient Air Gem she wore. It siphoned winds moving at over one hundred miles per hour under the four on that walkway, flinging them upwards with a roar and a howl. Pressed tightly together, able to breathe only with difficulty, the four travelers were subject to bitter cold as well as buffeting from the winds.
IV.
Haley's control over her strange power had improved with experience. She had learned to also thin out the air ahead of them, creating a partial vacuum that sucked them forward even faster than the blizzard winds were propelling them. Within minutes, the broad expanse of the river had flashed by far beneath them. There, on a rocky promontory, sat a cluster of a dozen wooden huts with thatched roofs. Fishing nets hung out to dry and to be patched, shallow boats were tied up on the gravel shore. Not one hundred yards away, a low dense cloud of noxious yellow vapor swirled and rolled closer to the village.
Pausing in their constant labors, the villagers watched the oncoming cloud with understandable concern. No natural fog formed on such a pleasant afternoon, nor did any natural fog ever show such an unlovely hue. They began gathering the children together, moving toward a clean line of exit from this uncanny sight. The crowd murmured unhappily at such an uncertain possible threat.
Dark figures loomed up dimly within the yellow fog, dozens of them. With a banshee shriek, the foul Ghulgol charged out into view, swinging their crude weapons as they hurtled straight at the villagers.
And the Red Spectre crackled down from above into their midst. Its direct touch seared entirely through Ghulgol bodies, cauterizing the severed limbs and split torsos. Even glancing contact made the creatures convulse and writhe in agony. Wheeling about the apparition blazed through the horde as a burning torch might cut through paper dolls.
Fifty feet away from the carnage, landing between the Ghulgol and the villagers, Haley Lawson reduced the ferocious winds and touched down. She had one arm around Jocelyn to offer support, knowing that sending the Red Spectre out of body weakened her friend. Bane kept next to Alastar, watching to see how the Skandoran would react to such an unexpected experience. Alastar showed remarkable presence of mind. For the moment, he dismissed having been flung across a river by hurricane-force winds. He saw an enemy attacking his people and that was all he cared about.
"Whatever that filth is, they will not harm a single villager so long as I live!" he yelled, drawing his sword and sprinting toward the invaders. Not many of the Ghulgol had survived the onslaught of the Red Spectre. Loose arms and legs, as well as torsos charred deeply across, were piled in a loose mass where they had fallen.
The Red Spectre hovered, crackling like a high-voltage cable, then swung around and plunged back into Jocelyn's body. Haley was gagging, "Oh My God, they smell like that sewage treatment plant in New Jersey! Worst monsters EVER!"
Five of the horrors remained on their feet. Seeing thirty of their kind cut down by that flying apparition evidently did not intimidate them in the least. They growled and spat and thumped toward the oncoming man in mail. Alastar hopped to one side and shoved the farthest Ghulgol into the others, tangling them up. Their reaction times seemed sluggish. Quick-witted Human soldiers would not have been held back that way, but these creatures could not figure out what had happened before the Skandor warrior was lopping off heads with sweeping backhand strikes. The Gulghol fell. When one was left, disarmed but still defiant Alastar visibly restrained himself and lowered his sword. His chest was heaving as much in rage as from exertion.
"One left alive to answer questions," he snapped as Bane reached him. "By the Bear! These are the most vile opponents I ever fouled my blade on."
Bending forward to study the furious glare of the creature, the Dire Wolf said, "I don't think these are Zombies. Not Targhuls, either. I'm not sure exactly what they are, to be honest. You! What do you call yourself?"
The answer came in a liquid tone that suggested gargling. "We are the Ghulgol! We are coming in great numbers, we will cover this land and leave no one alive."
Alastar glanced over at Bane with disgust he didn't try to hide, then turned around to shout to the watching villagers, "All is safe now. The danger is over. You know me, General Alastar of the King's Home Guard. Return to your tasks for now."
Gradually, some of the folk did as he said but most remaining staring at both the gruesome display and the strange visitors. Alastar turned back to find the Ghulgol had decided to stop talking.
"Look, before we interrogate this cutie, let's move away from the rotting bodies, okay?" asked Haley. "Honestly, I'm ready to hurl."
"I think it only fit and proper to question the prisoner with my King present," Alastar said. "This is his realm that is threatened after all."
"Fair enough," Bane agreed. "Haley, you ready?"
The Skandoran general had been scouring his fouled blade with handfuls of the dry earth. Now he glanced up and quickly said, "Hold, I pray you. Allow me a pause that I may instruct these fishermen to burn those bodies in a pyre lest their rotting start a plague. And it is also my thought to take two of their boats, that we may cross the lake in a more seemly way."
After Alastar had marched up to where several villagers still watched, Jocelyn made sure they were out of earshot of the unmoving Ghulgol as well before saying, "Captain, something is bothering you aside from the obvious situation."
"Joss is right," added Haley. "Come on, boss, we know you pretty well by now. Spill it."
The Dire Wolf regarded his teammates for a long silent moment before finally giving in. "You two do deserve to know. Atrumo is not just another would-be conqueror with a few spells up his sleeve. There is no telling what otherwise forgotten magick he's mastered. He may be the biggest threat we've faced since Karl Eldritch." The pale eyes rested on his partners with an uneasiness they had not seen there before. "That's not the worst but I'll explain it all as soon as we get a chance. "
V.
The Ghulgol was not taken into the Great Hall but cast down to the cobblestones in a courtyard that faced a wall without windows. Buckets of hot soapy water were poured over him without noticeably lessening his noxious odor but at least making his appearance more distinct. The Ghulgol seemed to be a Human no more than five feet eight inches tall but broad and sturdily built. His clothing was nothing more than random strips of unmatched cloth tied around him, including thick wrapping which served as boots. The pale skin on his hands and face seemed unhealthy and diseased, with patches hanging loose and multiple sores. Lank black hair hung loose, evidently hacked at shoulder length with a knife. His face had the semblance of having been badly battered more than once, leaving a shapeless nose and only a few teeth.
General Alastar had ordered six Skandor soldiers to surround the prisoner with their long spears at the ready. Also present were the three knights of Tel Shai and King Birgun himself, who glared with open hatred at the Ghulgol.
The King had thrown a heavy fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders and wore a short straight sword at his side. "Reports are coming to us of the Yellow Fog being seen in other parts of this land," he announced. "Villages have been plundered and left unpopulated. Dozens of Skandorin missing without trace. Where are my people? What have you done to them?"
The Ghulgol had been coughing and sputtering from the soapy water, slapping at himself to get it off. At the King's question, he stared up but said only, "They will be put to good use."
The King gestured to Alastar, who drew his sword and pressed its tip to the creature's throat, hard enough to draw blood. "We are not above torture if need be," Birgun said. "Speak freely and you will be treated better than you deserve."
"You will not understand what I say," came the gurgling reply. "Everything is thrown into the Boiling Pit from which Ghulgol climb out. Strange memories rise to the surface of our minds of lives we did not live."
Alastar gave a snort of derision. "He wishes us to think him mad, my Lord. But not so easily deceived are we. I say, a few broken bones and a touch of white iron will suddenly find him speaking sense."
Off to one side, Jeremy Bane had been watching with arms folded across his chest. Without moving closer, he suddenly snapped, "Has Atrumo come here with you?"
"No. No, he has not," the Ghulgol answered reflexively.
"Where is he going to attack next?"
"Evaho." As soon as the name escaped him, the creature clapped both hands over his mouth. Bane's decisive voice and air of complete authority often had that effect on the unprepared.
The Dire Wolf fixed his grey eyes on the monster, who cringed back as if fearing to be physically struck. "Where is Atrumo NOW?" he demanded in the same tone.
But the effect had been broken. The Ghulgol hunched over and stared down at the ground.
As vile a marauder as he was, in his rags and in his terror, he seemed suddenly pathetic to the three Tel Shai knights. Deep scars across his exposed back showed where he had survived savage wounds.
Alastar sheathed his sword in sudden pity. "Whatever it takes to draw answers from this wretch, we must perform. I will see him put in the dungeon and begin the questioning myself."
"How can we foretell where this Yellow Fog will appear next?" asked King Birgun to his visitors.
"No way to tell. All I can suggest is that you send messengers everywhere warning your people to be on guard. As soon as they see the Fog, they should be ready for an attack of these creatures."
The King stood straight as a youth, raising a clenched fist to chest level. "Hah! We are no strangers to the sword and the lance, Dire Wolf. These Ghulgol will regret ever attacking Skandorin before they are cut down as soon as they dare enter our realm."
"You guys kinda remind me of Vikings," Haley said. Seeing the puzzled reactions from the King and his general, she added, "That's a compliment. They were tough fighters in the outside world."
Not for the first time, Jocelyn Garimara wondered what connection there was between the inhabitants of the adjacent realms and some historical peoples in the outside world. These Skandorin seemed more like early Ango-Saxons than Vikings to her. But how could they be related. The Darthan Age had ended thousands of years before people settled in Northern Europe. And why were the inhabitants of Chujir identical to the Han of China? It puzzled her. Jocelyn sometimes wondered if there was an adjacent realm where people like her own Aboriginal folk lived... a mystic version of Australia where Europeans had never landed.
But, as was so often the case, the urgency of the moment made her shelf these thoughts for the moment.
"Your Majesty," said Bane, "If you approve, I would like one of my team to return here in a day or two to see what you have learned from the prisoner. But right now, it's critical that we go warn Evaho. Atrumo's mastery of the Yellow Fog means he can strike at realms that are almost inaccessible."
King Birgun held up an open hand in approval. "For the service you have performed this day, Dire Wolf, I declare that you and any of your Knights of Tel Shai will always be honored and welcome guest in Skandor. It is a grim development that such an enemy can now break through boundaries long thought impregnable. I see our realms have fragile shorelines and open gates, and I fear no realm can regard itself as safe."
"Not while Atrumo is alive," Bane agreed.
V.
In a circular clearing far from even any isolated shack, Windcatcher lowered herself and her two partners to a reasonably gentle landing. "Nothing but trees for miles, captain. We can wait here for the gralic charge to wear off so we return to the real world."
"I'd estimate an hour or so before we go back," Bane said. "It's hard to get into Skandor even with an Eldanar travel crystal, so ten hours here was the best I could manage."
Walking over to take a seat on a fallen tree which stretched horizontally at just the right height, Jocelyn said, "Now you can fill us in on what you don't want the Skandorin to know."
"Yes. It hurts to admit it. Years ago, I first met Atrumo in Khebir. He claimed an artifact called the Crown of Boundless Knowledge which was exactly what it sounded like. It poured a nearly infinite amount of facts about spells, sigils, Midnight War history... all of which weren't available anywhere else. Atrumo's brain couldn't handle it. He burned out and fell down with his mind apparently burned out."
"When did this happen?" Haley interrupted.
"August 1981. The first KDF team had only been in action for less than two years at the time. I confiscated the Crown, and left Atrumo's men stranded in Khebir. The Crown is still locked away in our Vault, I never saw any safe way for anyone to use it. But I was wrong about Atrumo. Obviously he recovered. Maybe he only retained some forbidden knowledge about the Yellow Fog and how he makes those Ghulgol things. He remembered enough to make him a terrible threat."
Again, Haley spoke up, "Wait, he's been laying low and getting ready for thirty years?! That's crazy."
"Melgarin like Atrumo live longer than Humans. Two hundred years isn't rare. But what is killing me is that I never considered he might recover. I tell myself that I was very young, not much over twenty, and didn't know enough about the Midnight War. But that's no excuse." The Dire Wolf looked away from his partners, humbled in a way they had never seen him before. "Now we're dealing with a Melgar sorcerer who has built a huge army of Undead soldiers and who knows gralic arts no one has ever heard of. And it's my fault."
1/19/2022
3/3/2015
I.
Snow-topped mountains were made blue by distance. High on the wind-scoured hill overlooking the harbor, the King's Grand Hall stood on a foundation of huge stones. The dark wood of the outer walls was elaborately carved with abstract shapes in recurring patterns. On the landing by the main door, two posts rose up sixty feet with green flags snapping in the stiff breezes. The one to the right as one approached bore the rearing outline of Skandor's Standing Bear, while the other showed a front view of a bear's head. This was the emblem of the province Kyldal.
Long before the three KDF members made it up the flag-stoned road to the front approach of the hall, guards in mail coats and wielding long barb-headed spears had lined up at the bottom of the twenty-three stone steps. They seemed to be typical Skandorin, tall brawny men with dark blond hair in braids and thick, close-cropped beards. The pale skin, often freckled, was reddened by exposure to the whistling winds at this altitude.
Past the humbler thatched-roof huts and cottages of the villagers, past three lesser Halls where the noblemen and trades masters resided, up to the Grand Hall itself they strode. Jeremy Bane stopped at the base of the wide steps with Haley and Jocelyn on either side. Against the blue of the morning sky and the white snow, his grey eyes reflected even paler than usual.
One of the guards called down, "Halt and be recognized."
"We are Knights of Tel Shai seeking audience with King Birgun,"answered Bane. "The Dire Wolf stands before you with his teammates."
"Well do we remember you, Dire Wolf, from dark days not long gone," the center guard replied. "You bear no swords, no spears nor axes nor other tools of war, as any eye can tell."
All three were being subjected to intense stares but, as was expected, it was Jocelyn Garimara who was the focus of most scrutiny. A short slender Aboriginal woman from the northwest near Wyndham, her smooth dark skin and distinctive facial features were like nothing these insular Skandorin had ever imagined. Their open curiosity didn't bother her. She had long since gotten used to it during her travels.
"And you, maiden" and here he pointed his weapon at the other young woman, "Beneath that cloak is no weapon?"
Haley Lawson threw back the heavy dark blue cloak to show she was wearing incongruous sneakers, blue shorts and a long-sleeved white pullover. "I'm armed with only my smile," the Windcatcher laughed. She was being less than honest, of course, because fastened on a choker around her neck was the ancient Air Gem crafted by Malberon ages ago. But her policy was never to volunteer that information.
The Dire Wolf held out the seven-inch combat knife strapped to his thigh without comment. None of them had brought the anesthetic dart guns or regular pistols. Skandor was a realm where gunpowder and other technology would not function.
Bane did not mention the matched ensalir daggers he wore under his sleeves. Expensive covers of molded silicone made the knives feel exactly like normal Human muscle even to a trained searcher. He had no intention of revealing any of this. Those daggers were made of silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldanarin themselves and had slain creatures of the night of every description. The Dire Wolf stepped back and waited while a preteen page in rough tunic and hose ran into the hall.
In mere seconds, the boy galloped back outside and bowed his head to the visitors. "Our Lord says he will see you at once," he said and gestured with both hands for the strangers to follow him. While three of the guards remained by the doorway, one accompanied the Tel Shai knights into a cavernous single room supported by flanking rows of massive pillars and well lit by many high narrow windows covered with oiled cloth. Tables for dining had been pushed back against the walls with their benches. In each corner of the the Hall, a fireplace roared and crackled with hunting hounds lying in comfort near the heat.
On a raised dais, upon a wooden throne inscribed with many esoteric runes and images, sat King Birgun son of Evanmir. Past sixty but dstill athletic and imposing of build, he watched with sharp perceptive eyes at the three. Birgun was dark for a son of Skandor, with glossy brown hair that reached his shoulders, but considerable white strands mixed in.
His heavy robe was trimmed at collar and cuffs with brown bear fur, and his crown was of stiff leather set with a white cameo of the bear head. "Come be admitted, Dire Wolf, Jeremy Bane of the outside world, both you and your comrades."
With Jocelyn and Haley, Bane bowed deeply but did not drop to one knee as was customary. Their status as Tel Shai knights set them apart from many courtesies and protocols. "Hail, Birgun, King of Skandor. It's been years since the last time I was in your land and, once again, I regret that I come with grim tidings to bear."
"I would expect no less. Dire Wolf! You are known to race ahead of every breaking storm, and there are those who say you bring said storms with you."
"Your late father, respect to his name, must have related tales of what urgencies brought me here and how we stood together to defend this land."
Standing slightly behind the throne, an old woman with white hair done up under a tiara stared. Her right eye bulged out considerably larger than its mate, red-veined and hot. She whispered, "When has great misfortune come to our land without this Dire Wolf arriving before it? Does he bring warning or does he bring the evils with him?"
Before Birgun could respond, Bane said, "Has your majesty received word on the fall of Thamulkor?"
To his credit, the king kept his face from betraying any reaction and his words were cautious also. "What word do you bring me, Dire Wolf?"
"That realm has been overrun completely," Bane answered. "The cities have stopped burning because there is nothing left to burn. The Almadim were slaughtered. Some of the smaller female children were carried off. You can guess why. Even the cattle and sheep and goats were cut down."
"How is all this known to him?" hissed the old woman from directly behind the king.
Not looking toward her, staring directly at Birgun, Bane asked, "Who sits on the throne of his fathers, ruling Skandor by grace of great Jordyn Himself? And to whom should I speak?"
That stung the king's pride. He sat up straighter and raised his head. "One land, one king. That is the law. Give a name to these invaders and their leader, if you can."
Jeremy Bane had the quiet self-assurance from a lifetime spent in the Midnight War. He did not raise his voice but remained steady. "It's a genuine army, tens of thousands strong. Humans serve as its herders and whip hands but the soldiers are not fully alive. They are Ghulgols, 'the living filth,' And their master is the Melgar conqueror Atrumo."
II.
"What is that abominable stench?" grumbled Askfinir. He rested one hand on the neck of the old chestnut horse that was pulling their wagon of firewood. "It smells as if a cess pit the size of Lake Avondur has opened up."
Walking on the other side of the wagon, his teenage son Lum coughed and hacked up a wad of phlegm. "Truer words have not been spoken, Father. I'm sorry I had that salted pork at midday."
The stout villager pinched his nostrils shut. "Feh. Let us spur poor old Apple as fast as her bow legs will take her, we need not endure this stink any longer than is unavoidable."
"Yes. Yes, come on, Apple! I'll help push the cart from the rear. Wait. Oh Cirkoth! What is that awful yellow fog?"
Both men peered further down the hard-beaten dirt road. Swirling wildly, rushing toward them as if driven by a gale, came thick vapor the color of fresh mustard. Neither had ever seen anything like it. The foul odor was coming from the Yellow Fog. And, emerging from the nearly opaque cloud stampeded a dozen man-sized figures. Wrapped in rags, swinging crude hook blades without hilts, the Ghulgols hurled themselves on the villagers with murderous intensity. Within seconds, both men and the horse were down in the dirt and being dismembered.
No two Ghulgols looked quite alike. Ragged skin hung in strips from their bodies and fell off as they moved, revealing wet red flesh beneath like raw meat. Each face was misshapen in different ways, from lopsided skulls to wide mouths crammed with jagged teeth to lifeless lank hair dangling to their shoulders. As the monsters pulled severed limbs loose from their victims, others of their kind brought canvas sacks to fill. That was when the laughter began.
III.
"Skandor is not easily reached from other realms," the King responded after a pause. "Indeed, we trade with Androval and Signarm as needed, but no where else. No Eldanar or Dartha has set foot here within living memory. The Trolls have been all but exterminated. I do not think this Atrumo you speak of poses any threat to my realm."
"I wish that was the case," said Bane. "But Atrumo is no ordinary warlord. He has shown knowledge of all the Forbidden Arts. My team rescued one of his Human lieutenants in Thamulkor. We eased his pain as best we could. Before he died, he raved in delirium and we understood only one phrase, 'five worlds to conquer.'"
From behind the King, the old woman murmured about how outworlders only cared about the realms when their own safety was at stake. She stopped short when she saw Bane glare directly at her. Even when he was not trying to intimidate, something in those pale grey eyes under dark feral brows was innately frightening. The woman cringed back as if expecting a blow.
But she did not keep silent. "The Sight comes upon me. These intruders are more than they seem. The maiden with green eyes calls the winds of the world at her command. And the woman with black skin carries living lightning in her breast... Grem Tazam, the Red Spectre. But their captain is the most dangerous yet, he was born to chase creatures of the night and slay them. Beware! Beware, I say."
Even the King was visibly taken aback. He raised a hand dismissing the woman. "Report to the council chambers for now, Agonith. I will be seeking all my advisors shortly, if I judge this situation merits such assembly."
As the Crone withdrew, the Dire Wolf lowered his voice so that others in the court could not easily overhear. "She spoke truly, my Lord. My fellow knights of Tel Shai have been bestowed with great gifts. Jocelyn is host to the Red Spectre, the living lightning. My teammate Haley Lawson can indeed summon hurricanes or arctic blasts or air from above a volcano, hot enough to melt steel. I brought my most powerful teammates with me to help in this crisis."
With his aged advisor gone, the King eased his manner and allowed a less stern expression on his face. "Since childhood have I heard fantastic tales of Tel Shai knights and of you in particular, Dire Wolf. Can I assume you have a plan you wish to propose for my approval?"
"Yes, your Majesty," said Bane. "I want to have my partners survey Skandor, using their special abilities. Hopefully we can spot any intrusion while the invaders are still far enough away that your forces can ride out to meet them."
"One blast on the great horn by the front door and I promise every man in this valley will seize his sword and leap upon his horse as if he has been aching for the chance. Our swiftest messengers will spur all the men in every village and town as well."
Haley started to make a remark about how they could double their forces by allowing women to fight as well, but restrained herself. Now didn't seem to be the best time to challenge Skandoran customs. Maybe when things settled down, she thought.
Bane inclined his head in a slight bow. "With your permission, then..."
"Hold but a moment," the King ordered. "I shall send a liaison with you. Page, fetch General Alastar."
As the boy rushed off, King Birgun explained, "Alastar is a seasoned veteran and quick witted in peril. He will be able to answer your questions about the layout of our land, the many lakes and rugged mountains which would take years to explore without a guide."
Shortly, a tall man in a mail corselet with a white tabbard reaching to his knees approached, kneeling before the King and then bowing to the three Tel Shai knights. Alastar appeared to be about thirty but weathered and tough, one hand resting on the long hilt of a two-handed broadsword. The thick blond hair hung in two plaits down either side of his chest and his beard was trimmed short.
Once Birgun introduced the strange visitors and explained the reasons for their coming, Alastar scowled with severity. "My Lord, honored guests, would it not be prudent to search for signs of these outworld invaders? I can assemble squads of my fastest scouts to ride out and report any untoward signs they find."
The King glanced over at the Dire Wolf, who took it upon himself to answer. "Before you do that, Alastar, come outside with us. My partners have unusual abilities which will be useful."
"Yes. Tel Shai knights! Wild tales are told of you. Your Majesty, by your leave, I would accompany our new friends."
"Go then," said the King. "Report fully to me all that you see and hear. You have never failed me, General."
Alastar led the three outworlders at a brisk pace from the main hall, turning when they got outside to trot up a narrow staircase on the side of the building. They stepped onto a walkway which ran around the roof the Great Hall, sixty feet above the ground. To their south stretched brown and green patches of cultivated land with scattered huts and workhouses. To the north, the blue expanse of the Kuvaldam glittered in the afternoon sunlight and beyond that great river, a line of sharp-peaked mountains extended for miles in both direction.
"This is a GORGEOUS country you have," gushed Haley Lawson, turning slowly around to take it all in. "So clean, so.. I don't know, rugged?"
"Your words are meant kindly," Alastar responded with a half smile. "Winter can be harsh and merciless, but Summer is generous. See there, the wide Kuvaldam? She has her source in the highlands and this is her widest point. We could live for generations on her bounty of fish and crabs if we had to."
Jeremy Bane remained unmoved by the landscape. He would always be a city boy, born and raised in Manhattan. "Skandor is worth protecting. I've dealt with Atrumo before, he's a classic warlord who isn't happy unless he's stepping on someone."
"Let him do his worst! We Skandorin fight the brown bears and the grey wolves with a sword in hand. We have battled the Mountain Trolls for generations. This Atrumo will end up licking his wounds and lamenting that he ever heard of Skandor."
The Dire Wolf turned to where Jocelyn Garimara had been standing impatiently with arms folded across her chest. She said, "Finally! My Tazam has been aching to fly free."
As she sank to one knee and propped herself up on stiff arms, a dark red outline of gralic force shot up from within her body and hovered at head height. The same size and shape as its host, the Red Spectre was a weightless silhouette outlined in slightly brighter flickering energy. It flashed up into the perfect cloudless sky and was gone from sight within seconds.
"Never have I seen the like, no, nor even heard of such things in ancient legends, " said Alastar, leaning forward to see if the apparition might still be visible.
"The Red Spectre is rare indeed," Jocelyn responded in a weakened voice. "She is wild lightning that can leave any eagle far behind wondering what happened. When she strikes, nothing can survive the blast."
"And you have been walking at my side with such power coiled inside you..." Alastar said quietly.
"She is on her way back already." Jocelyn pulled herself up to her feet. "I see what she sees. Across that river is a village where the Yellow Fog is starting to gather." As she spoke, the strange apparition crackled toward them and slid out of sight within the Aboriginal woman's torso.
"We're always ready for trouble!" snapped Haley. She threw back her cloak and gestured for her partners to draw closer. "Come on, time to fly!"
Alastar raised a hand. "We have fine steeds at the ready, I will have the grooms saddle them at once."
"No, no you don't understand," laughed Windcatcher. "When I say time to fly, I really mean it!"
"Hold off a second, Haley," ordered Bane rather sharply. "Alastar, we're going to investigate the Yellow Fog and we'll be traveling in a pretty alarming way. Do you want to come with us?"
The general did not hesitate. He clapped one fist to his chest and drew himself up straighter. "Let no one say that a soldier of Skandor feared to follow where maidens led, Dire Wolf."
"Okay," replied Haley absently. With her head tilted, she seemed to be listening for something. "We're good. You guys have got some serious mountains way to the north. There's a decent blizzard underway I can use. Here we go!" Windcatcher concentrated on the ancient Air Gem she wore. It siphoned winds moving at over one hundred miles per hour under the four on that walkway, flinging them upwards with a roar and a howl. Pressed tightly together, able to breathe only with difficulty, the four travelers were subject to bitter cold as well as buffeting from the winds.
IV.
Haley's control over her strange power had improved with experience. She had learned to also thin out the air ahead of them, creating a partial vacuum that sucked them forward even faster than the blizzard winds were propelling them. Within minutes, the broad expanse of the river had flashed by far beneath them. There, on a rocky promontory, sat a cluster of a dozen wooden huts with thatched roofs. Fishing nets hung out to dry and to be patched, shallow boats were tied up on the gravel shore. Not one hundred yards away, a low dense cloud of noxious yellow vapor swirled and rolled closer to the village.
Pausing in their constant labors, the villagers watched the oncoming cloud with understandable concern. No natural fog formed on such a pleasant afternoon, nor did any natural fog ever show such an unlovely hue. They began gathering the children together, moving toward a clean line of exit from this uncanny sight. The crowd murmured unhappily at such an uncertain possible threat.
Dark figures loomed up dimly within the yellow fog, dozens of them. With a banshee shriek, the foul Ghulgol charged out into view, swinging their crude weapons as they hurtled straight at the villagers.
And the Red Spectre crackled down from above into their midst. Its direct touch seared entirely through Ghulgol bodies, cauterizing the severed limbs and split torsos. Even glancing contact made the creatures convulse and writhe in agony. Wheeling about the apparition blazed through the horde as a burning torch might cut through paper dolls.
Fifty feet away from the carnage, landing between the Ghulgol and the villagers, Haley Lawson reduced the ferocious winds and touched down. She had one arm around Jocelyn to offer support, knowing that sending the Red Spectre out of body weakened her friend. Bane kept next to Alastar, watching to see how the Skandoran would react to such an unexpected experience. Alastar showed remarkable presence of mind. For the moment, he dismissed having been flung across a river by hurricane-force winds. He saw an enemy attacking his people and that was all he cared about.
"Whatever that filth is, they will not harm a single villager so long as I live!" he yelled, drawing his sword and sprinting toward the invaders. Not many of the Ghulgol had survived the onslaught of the Red Spectre. Loose arms and legs, as well as torsos charred deeply across, were piled in a loose mass where they had fallen.
The Red Spectre hovered, crackling like a high-voltage cable, then swung around and plunged back into Jocelyn's body. Haley was gagging, "Oh My God, they smell like that sewage treatment plant in New Jersey! Worst monsters EVER!"
Five of the horrors remained on their feet. Seeing thirty of their kind cut down by that flying apparition evidently did not intimidate them in the least. They growled and spat and thumped toward the oncoming man in mail. Alastar hopped to one side and shoved the farthest Ghulgol into the others, tangling them up. Their reaction times seemed sluggish. Quick-witted Human soldiers would not have been held back that way, but these creatures could not figure out what had happened before the Skandor warrior was lopping off heads with sweeping backhand strikes. The Gulghol fell. When one was left, disarmed but still defiant Alastar visibly restrained himself and lowered his sword. His chest was heaving as much in rage as from exertion.
"One left alive to answer questions," he snapped as Bane reached him. "By the Bear! These are the most vile opponents I ever fouled my blade on."
Bending forward to study the furious glare of the creature, the Dire Wolf said, "I don't think these are Zombies. Not Targhuls, either. I'm not sure exactly what they are, to be honest. You! What do you call yourself?"
The answer came in a liquid tone that suggested gargling. "We are the Ghulgol! We are coming in great numbers, we will cover this land and leave no one alive."
Alastar glanced over at Bane with disgust he didn't try to hide, then turned around to shout to the watching villagers, "All is safe now. The danger is over. You know me, General Alastar of the King's Home Guard. Return to your tasks for now."
Gradually, some of the folk did as he said but most remaining staring at both the gruesome display and the strange visitors. Alastar turned back to find the Ghulgol had decided to stop talking.
"Look, before we interrogate this cutie, let's move away from the rotting bodies, okay?" asked Haley. "Honestly, I'm ready to hurl."
"I think it only fit and proper to question the prisoner with my King present," Alastar said. "This is his realm that is threatened after all."
"Fair enough," Bane agreed. "Haley, you ready?"
The Skandoran general had been scouring his fouled blade with handfuls of the dry earth. Now he glanced up and quickly said, "Hold, I pray you. Allow me a pause that I may instruct these fishermen to burn those bodies in a pyre lest their rotting start a plague. And it is also my thought to take two of their boats, that we may cross the lake in a more seemly way."
After Alastar had marched up to where several villagers still watched, Jocelyn made sure they were out of earshot of the unmoving Ghulgol as well before saying, "Captain, something is bothering you aside from the obvious situation."
"Joss is right," added Haley. "Come on, boss, we know you pretty well by now. Spill it."
The Dire Wolf regarded his teammates for a long silent moment before finally giving in. "You two do deserve to know. Atrumo is not just another would-be conqueror with a few spells up his sleeve. There is no telling what otherwise forgotten magick he's mastered. He may be the biggest threat we've faced since Karl Eldritch." The pale eyes rested on his partners with an uneasiness they had not seen there before. "That's not the worst but I'll explain it all as soon as we get a chance. "
V.
The Ghulgol was not taken into the Great Hall but cast down to the cobblestones in a courtyard that faced a wall without windows. Buckets of hot soapy water were poured over him without noticeably lessening his noxious odor but at least making his appearance more distinct. The Ghulgol seemed to be a Human no more than five feet eight inches tall but broad and sturdily built. His clothing was nothing more than random strips of unmatched cloth tied around him, including thick wrapping which served as boots. The pale skin on his hands and face seemed unhealthy and diseased, with patches hanging loose and multiple sores. Lank black hair hung loose, evidently hacked at shoulder length with a knife. His face had the semblance of having been badly battered more than once, leaving a shapeless nose and only a few teeth.
General Alastar had ordered six Skandor soldiers to surround the prisoner with their long spears at the ready. Also present were the three knights of Tel Shai and King Birgun himself, who glared with open hatred at the Ghulgol.
The King had thrown a heavy fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders and wore a short straight sword at his side. "Reports are coming to us of the Yellow Fog being seen in other parts of this land," he announced. "Villages have been plundered and left unpopulated. Dozens of Skandorin missing without trace. Where are my people? What have you done to them?"
The Ghulgol had been coughing and sputtering from the soapy water, slapping at himself to get it off. At the King's question, he stared up but said only, "They will be put to good use."
The King gestured to Alastar, who drew his sword and pressed its tip to the creature's throat, hard enough to draw blood. "We are not above torture if need be," Birgun said. "Speak freely and you will be treated better than you deserve."
"You will not understand what I say," came the gurgling reply. "Everything is thrown into the Boiling Pit from which Ghulgol climb out. Strange memories rise to the surface of our minds of lives we did not live."
Alastar gave a snort of derision. "He wishes us to think him mad, my Lord. But not so easily deceived are we. I say, a few broken bones and a touch of white iron will suddenly find him speaking sense."
Off to one side, Jeremy Bane had been watching with arms folded across his chest. Without moving closer, he suddenly snapped, "Has Atrumo come here with you?"
"No. No, he has not," the Ghulgol answered reflexively.
"Where is he going to attack next?"
"Evaho." As soon as the name escaped him, the creature clapped both hands over his mouth. Bane's decisive voice and air of complete authority often had that effect on the unprepared.
The Dire Wolf fixed his grey eyes on the monster, who cringed back as if fearing to be physically struck. "Where is Atrumo NOW?" he demanded in the same tone.
But the effect had been broken. The Ghulgol hunched over and stared down at the ground.
As vile a marauder as he was, in his rags and in his terror, he seemed suddenly pathetic to the three Tel Shai knights. Deep scars across his exposed back showed where he had survived savage wounds.
Alastar sheathed his sword in sudden pity. "Whatever it takes to draw answers from this wretch, we must perform. I will see him put in the dungeon and begin the questioning myself."
"How can we foretell where this Yellow Fog will appear next?" asked King Birgun to his visitors.
"No way to tell. All I can suggest is that you send messengers everywhere warning your people to be on guard. As soon as they see the Fog, they should be ready for an attack of these creatures."
The King stood straight as a youth, raising a clenched fist to chest level. "Hah! We are no strangers to the sword and the lance, Dire Wolf. These Ghulgol will regret ever attacking Skandorin before they are cut down as soon as they dare enter our realm."
"You guys kinda remind me of Vikings," Haley said. Seeing the puzzled reactions from the King and his general, she added, "That's a compliment. They were tough fighters in the outside world."
Not for the first time, Jocelyn Garimara wondered what connection there was between the inhabitants of the adjacent realms and some historical peoples in the outside world. These Skandorin seemed more like early Ango-Saxons than Vikings to her. But how could they be related. The Darthan Age had ended thousands of years before people settled in Northern Europe. And why were the inhabitants of Chujir identical to the Han of China? It puzzled her. Jocelyn sometimes wondered if there was an adjacent realm where people like her own Aboriginal folk lived... a mystic version of Australia where Europeans had never landed.
But, as was so often the case, the urgency of the moment made her shelf these thoughts for the moment.
"Your Majesty," said Bane, "If you approve, I would like one of my team to return here in a day or two to see what you have learned from the prisoner. But right now, it's critical that we go warn Evaho. Atrumo's mastery of the Yellow Fog means he can strike at realms that are almost inaccessible."
King Birgun held up an open hand in approval. "For the service you have performed this day, Dire Wolf, I declare that you and any of your Knights of Tel Shai will always be honored and welcome guest in Skandor. It is a grim development that such an enemy can now break through boundaries long thought impregnable. I see our realms have fragile shorelines and open gates, and I fear no realm can regard itself as safe."
"Not while Atrumo is alive," Bane agreed.
V.
In a circular clearing far from even any isolated shack, Windcatcher lowered herself and her two partners to a reasonably gentle landing. "Nothing but trees for miles, captain. We can wait here for the gralic charge to wear off so we return to the real world."
"I'd estimate an hour or so before we go back," Bane said. "It's hard to get into Skandor even with an Eldanar travel crystal, so ten hours here was the best I could manage."
Walking over to take a seat on a fallen tree which stretched horizontally at just the right height, Jocelyn said, "Now you can fill us in on what you don't want the Skandorin to know."
"Yes. It hurts to admit it. Years ago, I first met Atrumo in Khebir. He claimed an artifact called the Crown of Boundless Knowledge which was exactly what it sounded like. It poured a nearly infinite amount of facts about spells, sigils, Midnight War history... all of which weren't available anywhere else. Atrumo's brain couldn't handle it. He burned out and fell down with his mind apparently burned out."
"When did this happen?" Haley interrupted.
"August 1981. The first KDF team had only been in action for less than two years at the time. I confiscated the Crown, and left Atrumo's men stranded in Khebir. The Crown is still locked away in our Vault, I never saw any safe way for anyone to use it. But I was wrong about Atrumo. Obviously he recovered. Maybe he only retained some forbidden knowledge about the Yellow Fog and how he makes those Ghulgol things. He remembered enough to make him a terrible threat."
Again, Haley spoke up, "Wait, he's been laying low and getting ready for thirty years?! That's crazy."
"Melgarin like Atrumo live longer than Humans. Two hundred years isn't rare. But what is killing me is that I never considered he might recover. I tell myself that I was very young, not much over twenty, and didn't know enough about the Midnight War. But that's no excuse." The Dire Wolf looked away from his partners, humbled in a way they had never seen him before. "Now we're dealing with a Melgar sorcerer who has built a huge army of Undead soldiers and who knows gralic arts no one has ever heard of. And it's my fault."
1/19/2022
