Chapter 5: Akinwrath

Captain Telliam Bindaved's horse stamped and snorted; he at least was impatient to get on. Not so his master. Telliam carefully scanned the dense forest valley. His face was intelligent, handsome and worn by care. And truly, the situation he faced was enough to weigh on any man. He continued to silently sift the surroundings with his eyes.

"I don't like the look of it, Captain," Lieutenant Philomen remarked quietly.

Telliam looked down on his young aide who was kneeling on one knee scanning the undergrowth intently.

"Neither do I, Adoran, but the King says every hill to the north, so every hill it is." Desigarg have a strong odour, and Telliam could certainly smell them although they were currently not visible. He wished that they were the worst of his worries. Always, at the back of his mind, he thought of the vulgraths. Frequently he found himself scanning the skies looking for them. His mouth twisted into a grimace of self-reproach when he found himself doing this. What difference did it make if he saw them coming? Precious little he or anyone could do about it.

But despite the shadow these creatures cast across his mind, Telliam was not defeatist. He was a brave, resourceful and loyal commander. A rare commodity was this Telliam - much rarer since the crushing loss of the Wall and with it the cream of Grenwilde's army. Akinwrath's remaining troops were few in number and beleaguered. Yet Jessef Bindaved's eldest son stood out. He seemed more than able to hold his own against the enemy.

One battle after another, usually inconclusive but tending to victory - this had been the lot of Telliam's battle-weary troops for the last three weeks. Their task was to keep the desigarg from gaining the Western Hills; so far they had been successful. And this more than anything troubled Telliam. He was too able a commander not to know the advantage in numbers and morale possessed by the enemy. After the night on which the Great Wall had fallen, the vulgraths - terrible in their destruction - had unaccountably disappeared. Why had the Hordes - in possession of the Tower of Grenwilde - not pressed on into the heart of Grenwilde? They kept almost within the shadow of the Great Wall, it seemed. Why did they delay?

Telliam sighed, the only reason he could think of was that the desigarg were so confident of victory that they felt they needn't press their advantage. He spat in the general direction of his enemy.

"Come on, Lieutenant Philomen, mount up. Let's move out."

Adoran sprang lightly to his feet and then leapt into his saddle. But just as Adoran gained his mount, the captain put his hand on the lieutenant's arm, pointing with his other hand to the clearing beyond the trees. "Look," he said quietly.

Three desigarg, mounted on troll-beasts, were standing beneath a flag of truce in the open fields. Telliam could not remember ever seeing desigarg using a flag of truce. Perhaps in battles between themselves they talked, but they had never in all their years of raiding the Great Wall ever asked for or expected quarter, much less run up a flag of truce. Telliam and Adoran looked at each other. Normally a desigarg seen at this range was shortly followed by the sight of a desigarg with an arrow through its head.

"What in creation do they want?" Adoran muttered.

"Well, I guess we'll have to find out. Lieutenant, have the archers ready. Call Sergeant Brisky and two of the men. I'll have a parley with the pond scum, but I'll stand far enough back not to be killed by their breath!"

"Telliam - Captain Bindaved - please, I beg you, no. Let me go. You know what they are only too likely to do. The King has expressly said that you are not to take unnecessary risks."

"If there is a risk."

"You know there is, Captain. You can't trust desigarg."

Telliam hesitated. Adoran was right. The King had specifically said he must not expose himself recklessly to danger. The King had very few good commanders left, most having been cooked on the Great Wall in a single night. Telliam relented.

Adoran wheeled around and barked out an order, and half-a-minute later he, Brisky and two soldiers were wending their way slowly down the hill on horse-back, beneath a fluttering white-flag. Telliam found that he was unconsciously praying for them, and began instead to consciously do so.

When Adoran emerged from the woods he was daunted by what he saw. The desigarg in the centre, very obviously the commander, must have been at least seven feet tall - to judge by his height in the saddle. For though the troll?beasts were at least four inches shorter than his horse, he found himself looking up at this ugly officer. The creature's face was a grotesque caricature of humanity. Its head was large and circular; drool dripped from the corners of its grinning mouth. Its skin looked like sandpaper that some giant hand had crinkled up and discarded. Its eyes were ponds of liquid evil, peering out of two sockets that seemed, to Adoran, to be pits of despair.

"Dinner has come to us tonight, gargs!" rasped the giant.

Adoran's hand went to his sword, and at the action thirty bows were notched along the crest of the hill. "If you have come to taunt us and practice treachery, you will drop where you sit."

"Hold, human. I come to talk. I only speak of what will happen soon, after all talking is finished. Don't worry, little man, you may return safely to your pathetic comrades, after you have heard from me. You have the word of Nagara Diserac."

Adoran looked at him coldly, "Despite having your word, I'll believe you for the sake of your fear. For you know that an arrow would pierce your rotten flesh before you could clear your scabbard."

"Enough," sneered Diserac, "Pay close heed to my words. For I speak on behalf of General Targa Gamarad." The two other desigarg bowed slightly at the mention of their commander.

"Who? Toad-face Gamarad, you mean?" put in Brisky, eying Diserac like a practice target. His head is roughly the right shape, thought the sergeant.

Diserac's tongue, looking rather more like the tongue of a shoe, ran menacingly along his lower lip. "You will regret that comment, human. I will remember you, and make a special offering of your body to my General's cooking pot,"

Brisky only laughed at his threat.

"Peace, Sergeant. Speak, creature, what does your - leader - say."

"Hear the words of Targa Gamarad, Over-General of the Hordes of Night: surrender to us the True King, and Great Gamarad vows, by the Cloak of Annihilation," here the loathsome creature - and his companions - bowed slightly, "to leave the land of Western Grenwilde, and withdraw the Horde to the Lands of Desolation."

In the brief silence that followed Diserac's announcement everyone, including the desigarg sub-ordinates, looked surprised.

Sergeant Brisky, a salty warrior of many years experience, was first to recover the use of his tongue. "Come and fetch him then, you dung-faced slave-driver!"

"For the sake of my word, I will bear your insults this once, human. But I swear, I will flay your carcass."

"Diserac," interposed Adoran, "what is this about? Why should your commander want the King?"

Brisky snorted but subsided as the lieutenant raised his hand.

"It is not for you, human," grated the giant desigarg, "to question the will or ways of Darkness. You must only carry the word of Great Gamarad."

"If you seriously think that humans would surrender their King to the will of Gamarad, you are badly mistaken. Long live King Akinwrath, Lord of Grenwilde!" Adoran ended in a shout that was immediately echoed by his companions and taken up a few seconds later by the troops concealed along the crest of the hill.

Adoran was not prepared for what followed. Nagara Diserac threw his head back on his shoulders and bellowed in a gargling hideous parody of laughter, which lasted nearly ten seconds, "You foolish, little man-thing. You may keep Akinwrath," the desigarg spat on the ground, "Who speaks of Akinwrath? He is a puppet. I said the True King!"

It will be conceded that Diserac's face, which was ugly to begin with, would have frightened any right-minded person. But now an even more hideous expression rose from within the creature's mind. No face could ever wear such a look and have within its soul a single noble or redeeming thought. It was a look of rage, hunger and agony that ended in a shivering convulsion, shaking the desigarg's whole gruesome frame. "Do you hear, fool? The True King, the King of the Blood-Royal." It seemed as though something was bellowing through the desigarg's mouth, as if he spoke words not his own.

The four horses shied away from this grotesque howling gargoyle, and their human masters had to rein them in.

"I will have your answer before tomorrow at sun-down. Bring answer to this field, or," and here Diserac glanced at Brisky, "die!"

The desigarg wheeled their beasts about and cantered across the field.

Adoran sat still for a moment trying to make sense of what he had heard. Then the humans also turned and started back up the hill.

~ ~ ~

Before reaching his line of gargs, Diserac came briefly to a halt, and eyed his companions carefully. "You will not breathe a word of what gracious General Gamarad has offered the humans. On pain of death, do you understand?"

The eyes of his sub-ordinates told all too plainly that they understood; yet they bowed submissively.

~ ~ ~

King Akinwrath was a noble-looking man. He was a head taller than any of his people. But this day as he sat brooding in his tent, his nobility seemed under a cloud. What use was there, he wondered? No way at all to push the giant toad out of Grenwilde, not when he possessed the Wall. Not when the vulgraths flew on his behalf. True, the vulgraths had only struck on the one night and then, quite without explanation, they had vanished. But the king believed Gamarad to be laying a trap. To cross the open fields was unthinkable. Only among the trees, and under cover on the forested-hills, did his greatly reduced army have any chance at all. How many men did I lose? The king wondered. Five, perhaps ten thousand, he thought. Perhaps not so many, but if they weren't dead, they were scattered to the four winds.

Despondently, the king poured himself another cup of wine, and held the red liquid up to the light. Blood, he thought. Drunk or sober, what difference? Somewhere within him Akinwrath knew that he could have stopped this darkness, but not now. Why had he agreed to trade with the Eastern Lands - the Lands of Desolation? He knew it was because he had thought to placate them, pacify them with gifts. He knew the desigarg were starving and he thought to turn them aside from thoughts of conquest by means of food. He did not want their vile amusements within the borders of Grenwilde, but what choice did he have? He could hardly have insulted their ambassador. Had he the chance over again he would, or so he told himself. What use had all his peaceful policies been?

But he hadn't been peaceful; in his heart he knew it. Weak, only weak. Weak and lax. Among the people an appetite had grown up for the engines of the desigarg. Akinwrath knew what their imaging crystals had done to the youth of Grenwilde. Even the adults found them hard to resist. He knew, and it revolted him, that some of the young of Grenwilde had developed relationships with these horrid creatures of the night. How, he wondered - not for the first time, did creatures of such revolting shapes and habits invent such ingenious games? How did they make what was so obviously evil seem attractive? What power inspired them? The king shivered at the only answer he could think of.

He drained the glass and slammed it upon the table beside his makeshift throne. Why had the vulgraths come? It wasn't a question; it was more like a prayer, for he knew the answer. The king knew what their fire meant, for he was well versed in the Runes of Truth:

Your country lies desolate,

your cities are burned with fire;

in your very presence

aliens devour your land;

He had never thought chastisement would come, much less that it would come in literal flames.

Akinwrath was awakened from his reverie by a faint disturbance outside of his tent. Very abruptly, Luna Torba - bobbing like a beached walrus, ducked his way into the tent, his unsavoury moustache flopping as he bowed.

"Your Majesty, begging your pardon, my King, but Captain Bindaved insists on seeing you," as the King did not immediately respond, Torba looked perplexed and continued bobbing, bowing and wringing his hands.

The king sighed wearily, "Send him in, Torba." The king held the young captain in high regard, more so since he had so coolly maintained control of his troops during the terrible debacle of the Wall. Though he wanted to speak to no one, it would be wise to hear the young commander's message.

Hardly had the king's rather decrepit bodyguard left the room, when Captain Bindaved stepped in. The captain bowed deeply then stood stiffly at attention, waiting to be addressed. Obviously, thought the king, he bears important news.

"We are pleased to see, you Captain. Have you secured the Western Hills northward to the Great Mountains?"

"No, Majesty, not yet. I would estimate we are three-quarters of the way to the mountain."

The king looked at his captain thoughtfully. "You are doing quite well, then. Are the hills being fortified as you go?"

"Yes, my King. Not as securely as I would like, but I have detailed Lieutenants Rante and Ganarth to dig-in the available troops as well as they can. Captain Waller is doing a wonderful job of rounding up the troops that were scattered...earlier." Telliam bowed. The king did not like references being made to the Battle of the Great Wall.

The king stirred and looked out of the tent flap at the setting sun, which had just then slipped low enough to shine into the opening. "Well, then, Captain, you are doing better than I could have hoped," the King glanced down then up again, and spoke - Telliam thought - reluctantly, "Any sign of the vulgraths, Captain?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"Does that strike you as strange, Captain Bindaved?"

"Very much so," said Telliam frankly.

"Any ideas as to why this - creature - doesn't simply run us right into the wilderness?"

"Not until today, my Lord."

"Meaning what, Captain?"

Captain Telliam breathed deeply; he wasn't really anxious to deliver Diserac's ultimatum. For one thing, he didn't understand it. For another, he was sure the king wouldn't like it. He had even toyed with the idea of ignoring what seemed the mad ravings of his enemy. Now there was nothing for it but to speak.

"Majesty, a captain of the enemies' army - one Nagara Diserac, he called himself - required a parley of me, riding beneath a flag of truce."

The king snorted, "There's a first."

"Yes, my Lord. He delivered terms for Gamarad's immediate withdrawal."

"What?" said the king, rising slowly to his feet.

Telliam nodded evenly.

"What...what terms?" the king asked incredulously.

"He said, my Lord, that if we would surrender to him the True King, then Great Gamarad would leave the land of Western Grenwilde, and withdraw the Horde to the Eastern Lands. I believe, Majesty, those were his exact words."

The king's mouth dropped open as he stood in stunned silence. "Meaning personal combat with the great toad, Captain?"

"No, my King, I don't believe so."

"Meaning what, then?"

"Well, my Lord, it seems he was thinking more in terms of a hostage."

"Outrageous! I would wager my body against the toad in fair combat, but stab me if I'll be handed over as a bond slave!"

Captain Bindaved looked very uncomfortable. "It was entirely ridiculous, my King; but I haven't quite communicated his intentions fully."

"What do you mean, Captain?" snapped the king, quivering with rage.

"Naturally, we hurled defiance in his teeth. We cried your name, Majesty, calling down long life upon Your Grace."

The king's face relaxed slightly, but he didn't speak.

Telliam raised his brows and looked dismal, "He then laughed, Majesty, and said he was not referring to you, but rather to the True King."

For a moment Akinwrath said nothing, then the king's knees gave out beneath him and he sat down on his throne - suddenly, as though he had been punched in the chest. "Who?"

Telliam licked his lips and averted his eyes. "I believe those were his words, my King."

"The True King," Akinwrath murmured, shaking his head. "Is he mad? He must be mad."

Telliam, breathed more freely, "That is what I concluded myself, O King."

The king said nothing, but sat tapping his finger on the armrest of his throne. The silence lengthened into minutes while the king sank back into self-absorbed brooding. When at last he looked up, he seemed almost not to see Captain Bindaved. Telliam shifted uncomfortably and waited another thirty seconds before speaking.

"Your Majesty?"

The king woke from his trance-like state. "Oh, yes, Captain. You are doing excellently well. Press on to the north. Secure those hills."

The Captain bowed respectfully but hesitated rather than leaving.

"Captain?" the king said questioningly.

"Your Majesty, have you an answer for Targa Gamarad's emissary?"

The king smiled slowly, "Oh, yes, Captain. Cut him into tiny pieces and spread his carcass over the field."

Captain Bindaved bowed again and turned to leave.

~ ~ ~

"Aaaaahgk?" the cry of terror was broken off, for Nagara Diserac, gripped the unfortunate desigarg by his throat, holding him at arm's length above his head.

"I warned you, worm, not to breath a word of Targa Gamarad's ultimatum."

Diserac released the soldier who fell in a crumpled gasping heap upon the ground. "Mercy, great Captain. I didn't speak of the General's word."

"Mercy is a thing humans speak of. But I will waste no more words on you." In one swift motion, Nagara Diserac drew his sword and slit the helpless desigarg's throat. He did not die at once, but lay kicking and gasping, as his vile life began to spurt out of him.

Diserac kicked the dying form. "Take him quickly to the General. See that he yet lives when you arrive. Tell him, compliments of Captain Diserac." The soldier he addressed bowed and, seizing a leg, dragged the dying creature out of the captain's presence.

"Gargs!" bellowed the giant, and sixty grotesque faces swung to meet his commanding gaze. "There will be no more of this muttering and complaining. General Gamarad has a very large appetite. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain!" the desigarg said obediently.

"But, please, Captain," ventured one desigarg, bolder than the rest, "does the General really mean to hand Grenwilde back to the humans?"

"He has only your best interests at heart, and in his time he will make clear to you his will." Diserac swept the troops with his glance, and turned away.

"Lies." It was only one word, and a true one at that, as Nagara Diserac had personal cause to know. He could have pretended not to hear. Instead he wheeled around and impaled them one-by-one with his eyes. The soldiers stiffened, coming to attention although they had not been commanded to do so.

"Sergeant Samarand," Diserac rasped.

"Yes, great Captain," grunted a squat, solid, heavy-looking desigarg, stepping forward from the group.

"Line the troops up. Any order will do." He paused to sweep them with his eyes, like a man sweeping garbage into the bin, "Then kill every sixth garg."

The sergeant gasped but bowed. Amidst howls and screams, Diserac remained to see his grisly order executed to the last death.

~ ~ ~

King Akinwrath tossed and muttered in his sleep. It was happening again. Knowing he slept, the king struggled to gain consciousness: a swimmer trying to get to the surface. Get out of the water before he comes again, screamed the king's mind.

Through the door of his tent a lordly stranger stepped, his tread woke Akinwrath, who sat up abruptly. For a moment the stranger stood looking at him, seeming to measure him with his eyes.

"Who are you?" Akinwrath managed.

But the armoured stranger in the blue cape simply stared at him.

Akinwrath opened his mouth to call for his guards, but before the words could leave his lips, the stranger opened his hand and held out his palm towards him, and light - dazzling searing brilliant light - washed over him and stabbed through him. Akinwrath sat there with his mouth open but no words came forth. The stranger approached his immobile form. The man's expression was something the king could by no means read, but as the stranger stood gazing down on his frozen form Akinwrath felt himself to have been read like a book. The phantom turned suddenly and without a noise left the tent.

On the instant the king's voice returned and he screamed, sitting up suddenly and waking. He panted wildly looking all about him with uncomprehending eyes.

Two burly guards, pikes in their hands, stepped quickly into the tent, and stared blankly at the king.

"Your Majesty?" one of the guards said tentatively.

The king ran his hand through his hair, and opened his dry mouth to speak, "It...it's alright, men," but he was shaking like a leaf. "You didn't..." the king swallowed and hesitated, looking at the guards, "you didn't see anything, did you?"

"No, Your Majesty."

The king sunk back on his mattress and lay staring at the ceiling. What must his men think of him? He wondered. "Very well, what time is it, men?" The king endeavoured to sound nonchalant.

"Nearing the end of last watch, my King."

"Good, thank you. Please wake Lord Torba." The king swung his feet off the cot and sat up. One phrase echoed in this head. Who had said it? He wondered.

Weighed in the balance and found wanting.

~ ~ ~

The two soldiers exchanged glances as they stepped out of the tent, into the grey light of early dawn.

"Fourth time, you know," whispered the one guard.

"Three, Marion, if you don't count..."

"Sshh," whispered Marion nervously, pulling his companion away from the tent and beginning to walk to Lord Torba's tent, "He thinks that was a dream too."

"I'd a bump on my head for a week-and-a-half said it wasn't," returned his companion sourly.