CHAPTER TEN
JOINING
Mercius and his party sat in contemplative silence for a long time. If Griffin was dismayed by this, or wished the silence broken, he showed no sign of it: he sat with his head down, staring into his own thoughts and memories. The wine was forgotten in Mercius' hand. When his thoughts were composed, he looked down and drank the remainder of the contents in a deep gulp. This seemed to break the spell that had overcome the occupants of the tent; there was a collective sigh, as if everyone had been holding their breath.
Mercius spoke: “Your tale is filled with sadness and pain, Griffin. But it is very similar to my own. I would know more of this Mor'denaa, and her domain. But first, turn and turn about, I shall tell you my story, if you wish to here it.”
Griffin finished the wine in his own cup and refilled it, passing the jug to Mercius, before responding: “I do,” he said, his voice rough with memory. The tale was obviously not an easy one for him to tell. “We still have several hours of daylight left, and I am eager to learn as much about you and the Blade as I may.”
With that, Mercius haltingly started to speak. He had no clear idea where to begin, but simply started talking, mixing memories of his earliest childhood with those of his young adolescence. After several minutes, however, he found a rhythm, and his story flowed like a river. Once he had found this rhythm, it was impossible to stem the tide of his words. The catharsis of his own words was like a warm bath on a cold day, seeping into his body with slow pleasure. He told of his childhood and his training; his tortures and lessons. He told of his escape. He even told of the strange power that had overcome him and allowed him to flee Asgoroth’s dungeon, and ignored the warning and clouded looks he received from both Sophia and Jax. He told of the trek through the mountains and the forming of the Merconium Blade. He told of the battle on the hilltop. Here, however, his words faltered. He wanted desperately to tell Griffin of the vision he had during his convalescence, and the sense of purpose with which he had been imbued because of it. But something told him that now was not the time, and here was not the place.
Mercius spoke for over an hour, and he judged by the rapt attention of his listeners that even his old friends heard things they had known nothing of. When finally he had finished his tale, the tent was filled with the same silence that had followed Griffin’s story. Mercius sipped at his wine, somewhat self-consciously. He was aware of the fact that he had told things that he had sworn to himself he would never tell, especially to relative strangers; this strange power that had consumed him, and his upbringing and training in the dungeons of an extremely powerful demon could be potentially dangerous information. However, he felt inexplicably safe with his hosts; that there was no threat here, and he could tell all and fear not the consequences.
At last, Sophia spoke, breaking the silence that was comfortable enough, but nevertheless heavy with tension and contemplation: “Now that we have heard each other’s stories, and know something of each other, we can decide what our next move will be.”
Griffin, however, had other ideas: “Forgive me, Lady Sophia, but I believe discussing that now would be foolish and hasty. I, for one, would like to sleep on this new information, so that we may make more prudent decisions.” Mercius didn’t speak, but nodded in agreement. A look from Jax told him that he, too, agreed with Griffin’s plan.
Sophia sighed and said, “You are right, of course. We will retire to our own camp for the night, and convene again tomorrow. Then we may decide what our path will be.” With that she rose, and the others in the tent followed suit. They made their farewells and set up a meeting for the following day in the camp of the Merconium Blade, so that Griffin and his party may get a clearer concept of the Blade and their arms and mettle.
As Mercius and the others were leaving the tent, Griffin grasped Mercius by the arm gently, holding him back. The bright green eyes blazed in Griffin’s dark face as he looked into Mercius' own. That gaze was powerful and commanding, and Mercius felt a strange fellowship blossom in his heart for the man; his look was intense and conveyed power and warmth. They stood there, in the entrance of the tent, looking into each other’s eyes, and seeing and understanding much without saying anything.
“Mercius,” Griffin said quietly. “I know that there are things that you are not telling me. I’m sure you have your reasons, and that they are good ones. But I would know your mind, and your heart. I cannot say why, but the story that I told here, I have never shared with any but Eliah. I feel some connection with you that I cannot yet explain.” Griffin laughed nervously. “It scares the shit out of me, to be honest, but I can’t deny it either way.” He paused, obviously not knowing how to continue.
Mercius saved him the trouble of finding his next words: “I have felt something of the same, Griffin, although I was wary of voicing it. Tonight, we should talk, just you and me. There are things that I haven’t shared with you, but I feel that I should, although I cannot explain the feeling. I will send the others back, and stay here tonight.”
Jax, Sophia and Keira were not entirely pleased with Mercius' decision to stay in Griffin’s camp, but they saw the look of determination in his eyes, and did not try to sway him. They left, Jax casting him one last warning look, and Mercius turned to see Griffin striding toward him. Mercius marveled at the man’s power and grace. His sleek physique exuded strength and confidence, and it was contagious. Mercius could easily see why the men of his Hammer followed him without question or complaint; he was the type of man that people would fight for. Would die for.
The pair started to walk the camp, at first in silence. Mercius saw how Griffin’s men looked up to him with calm adoration. He saw, too, how Griffin respected his men; he shared a few words with each as he passed, and sometimes a laugh. They asked him who the newcomers in the camp across the valley were, but were silenced by a look from him. They would all be told, the look said, but now is not the time. Most took this look with a grin of understanding. Griffin began to tell him of the camp’s layout and configuration, and Mercius listened intently. The camp of Griffin’s Hammer was almost identical to that of the Merconium Blade; the few horses they had, and their supplies, were well protected and in the middle of the ordered camp. The edges were bristling with sharpened stakes pounded into the ground at the bottom of a trench that circled the place.
Mercius and Griffin walked through the camp until they had seen all of it. After, they continued to walk, now aimlessly. They left the borders of the camp, and were soon entirely alone, walking in silence along the floor of the wide valley. The two young men lost themselves in the look of the land that surrounded them. The sky was a boiling dark, as it almost always was out here in the wastelands, and the earth mirrored the firmament: the trees were stunted and gnarled and black, and the ground had a charred look to it that spoke of decay and persistent evil.
They eventually stopped on the crest of a small rise of land, from which they could see the valley stretched out below them, and the two platoons camped on either side, seeming to face each other like shy lovers. The sun was nearing the horizon in its downward descent, turning the blackness of the sky to a dull grey suffused with splashes of bright, noxious greens and pinks.
In silence they gazed at this awesome and horrible tableau. It was beautiful in its wrongness, terrifying in its beauty.
Mercius spoke without knowing what he was about to say: “Did she tell you her name?” That was all he said, and at first Griffin didn’t respond. He simply gazed at the powerful sunset with furrowed brow, deep in thought.
Just as Mercius was about to clarify his question, Griffin spoke. “I didn’t think to ask,” he said with a rueful upturn at the corners of his mouth. It was apparent that he knew exactly who Mercius was talking about. “While I was there; in the vision or dream or hallucination, whatever the hell you wanna call it, I was overwhelmed by her and her power. Names seemed unimportant and trivial. Also
, I think that if it was important, she would have made me understand what her name was. As it stands, I hadn’t even considered the question until you just asked me.” He paused and stared at Mercius, hard and with burning intensity. “You have seen her too, haven’t you?”
Mercius nodded slightly. After several moments of silence, he spoke: “Her name is Nephilia. At least, that is what she told me. I can’t say how I’m sure that we have been visited by the same woman…or being, more accurately, but I am. There isn’t a question in my mind that she is one and the same. I believe that we were meant to find each other, Griffin, as unlikely as that sounds, and that we were meant to share our visions with each other. The road that is ahead of us is unclear to me, but I whole-heartedly believe that we are meant to walk it together, to whatever end.” Mercius felt slightly abashed by this lengthy and unguarded speech, one that he had never imagined giving. Griffin’s look was as neutral as ever. He was deep in consideration of what Mercius had said.
“Nephilia,” Griffin mused under his breath. “I do not doubt what you say, Mercius: that we have seen and heard the same…being…seems right to me as well. Now, however, we must try to figure out why; what it means, and what we are to do next.” The conviction in Griffin’s voice told him that the next question that rose to Mercius' lips was unnecessary: Are you with me? Will we walk this path together? Mercius felt Griffin’s acceptance of the idea without him having to voice it.
Griffin and Mercius sat on the rise and talked. Mercius told Griffin all about his vision of Nephilia, and what he believed it meant. Griffin listened closely, nodding with fervor as some part of what Mercius said matched up perfectly with Griffin’s own experience. They then spoke in detail of where they had been born and raised. Mercius told of the sprawling catacombs of the dungeons that Asgoroth controlled. It was a horrifying journey into his memory, but one that needed telling. When Mercius finished, he realized that darkness had completely fallen, and that he could no longer clearly make out the features of the man seated next to him.
Griffin stood and walked into the darkness without a word. Mercius waited, still lost in his remembrances; still held by the awful weight of his memories.
When Griffin returned after nearly half an hour, he was carrying an armload of wood that was not entirely black, but almost. He dug a small pit with his booted foot, laid the kindling he had cut from the larger pieces of wood, and sparked a fire with fluid, practiced ease. The blaze that rose out of the poisoned wood was much the same as the sunset they had recently witnessed: orange and pink and wrong, but beautiful all the same. The warmth of the fire was welcome, as the night had gained a chill of which Mercius was just becoming aware.
Griffin spoke after several moments, the colors of the firelight dancing across his strong black face. “What you have told me is frightening and daunting, because I believe that you mean to take this dungeon by force.” Griffin paused, giving Mercius time to respond, but he was silent. “I cannot blame you,” he continued with a wolfish grin, “for I plan to do the same to Mor'denaa’s lair, and it has many similarities with your dungeons. Indeed, Asgoroth and Mor'denaa are very similar, as I suppose is only natural, being both creatures spawned in darkness and evil.” He gazed into the fire, remembering.
“Mor'denaa was as cruel and evil as they come, I’m sure,” Griffin continued at length. “Her demons were nearly as awful. They murdered and raped, as they all do, with relish and terrible relentlessness. Sometimes we were marched into a field where a dozen people were chosen at random, hauled in front of the line, and summarily and brutally devoured.” Griffin shuddered visibly. “Usually they were still screaming as they were ripped apart and swallowed.
“The lair of Mor'denaa is quite the opposite of the dungeons you have described, though. It is an open expanse of land, the size of which I can only guess at: it was enormous; miles and miles square, and I believe that in all my time there I never saw even half of it. There's an enormous compound of stone and steel. I can’t be certain, but I believe that this was inhabited by the Hell-spawn, rather than built. Their kind know only how to destroy and mangle, and cannot conceive of any creation, no matter what the purpose.” Mercius knew this wasn’t entirely true, but chose not to comment. He had seen first-hand the creation of the demons. All were designed for torture, evil, and further destruction. He believed, however, that Griffin was correct in his assumption that the compound wasn’t built by the demons, or by Mor'denaa herself. Griffin continued: “This place was incredible in its vastness; corridors upon corridors, levels that reached high above the ground, and far below it as well. The walls dripped with blood and stringy flesh, and there were steel bars everywhere. The place smelled of rot and decay, and there was always rot and blood and piles of flesh upon the floors. The cells were tiny and cramped, and the sound of misery was always in the air. We were crowded into these cells every night, literally smothering one another. Sometimes people would simply die, and no one would even notice.
“So, each day we were marched out to the fields. There was a wall around the place, but it might as well not have even existed, for all of us; they knew we were too frightened to run. We were beaten, and they smelled it. Sometimes they would tell some poor soul that they were free, and that they could run away. They did this for the cruel sport of it. They would give the people several moments; just enough time for them to hope that they were actually free, before they would give chase. They would catch them and mangle them, then bring them back before the rest of us, still living, screaming remains of humans, then devour them ruthlessly. It was an effective tool: those of us who were holding out hope had it slowly driven from us by these displays of pure evil.
“Our labors were mostly useless and grueling, accomplishing nothing. When they were fruitful, they were put to uses that were appalling and horrific; we were forced to dig mass graves, only to watch our fellows thrown in and buried alive. We were made to build devices that slaughtered and mutilated: torture devices of which the true purpose was only unveiled when our neighbors were screaming their last agonies. To this day, the memories of those screams, those faces dying, keeps me awake nights.”
Griffin went silent, staring into the flames; staring back into his fears.
Mercius put a hand on his shoulder and said, “What of when you left, Griffin? What did you see?”
Griffin shook himself out of his reverie and smiled slightly. “I can tell you exactly where it is, if that’s what you’re asking me. Never fear that I could not get back there, when the time comes. The place seems to call to me at all times, as if I have been infected by it somehow; that it knows that it has lost one of its souls, and wishes to have me back.
“Surrounding the place is land that is similar to this, but much, much worse. The earth is dead there, this place is only dying. There, there are no signs of the life the land once held. All is blackened and blistered. The air reeks of decay, and the sun never breaks through its shroud of darkness.
“Of Mor'denaa, I saw her only the once, and for that I am infinitely grateful. That meeting, although I know in my heart must come again, I am horribly afraid of. And I know also that one of us, either Mor'denaa or me, will not live through that meeting.” He grinned his wolfish grin again. “And I’m pretty sure that I'll be the one who is defeated.” This idea apparently held no fear for Griffin. He was aware that he must die eventually, his grin said, but he would meet it with as much dignity as he could, devoid of fear.
Mercius was solemn: “We will deal with that when the time comes. Until then, we must do what we can. You said that you mean to take Mor'denaa’s lair. Do you have a plan?”
Griffin was silent for a moment, then looked at Mercius with an intensity that he was coming to realize was natural to the man; more the norm than the exception. “Your coming might change that, Mercius,” he said softly. “I don’t have the forces I would need to even make a dent on the com
pound, let alone be victorious there. If your Blade joins with my Hammer, however, our chances of success increase. Although not by as much as I would like. We still need more men…and women…if we are to take anything by force and come out the victors.”
Mercius pondered this. He was unsure of whether or not he could take his troop into the lair of Mor'denaa in good conscience. This was not his battle. Or was it? Hadn’t he vowed to hunt and kill every demon he could? Hadn’t he vowed to devote his life to exterminating the Hell-spawn? Wouldn’t this qualify? In truth, he felt he would be glad of the campaign against Mor'denaa’s lair: Mercius was terrified of confronting Asgoroth and storming his dungeons, and, furthermore, he felt that he wasn’t nearly ready. His hesitation was not due the amount of men and women he commanded, for he felt that this would have little to no bearing on the outcome of the battle. No, he was afraid that he himself was not ready. That there was some change or revelation that he must first undergo if he had any hope of gaining justice in the dungeons. He of course had no idea what this change might be, or how he knew that it must come, but the knowledge was there nevertheless.
The fire had dwindled and Mercius glanced at Griffin. The man was staring at him with his usual intensity, but there was a question in his eyes. Mercius knew what the man would ask before he spoke, so he raised his hand to forestall him. “The Blade will join you,” Mercius said simply. Griffin’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if he was straining under the weight of his question.
“Well then, my friend,” he said, smiling, “we will do what we must. Together. And hopefully be better for it.”
The smile disappeared instantly from Griffin’s face, and he peered into the darkness beyond Mercius' shoulder. Mercius had heard something, too, and his fears were mirrored in the black man’s eyes. They rose simultaneously, each reaching for the swords strapped to their backs. Mercius whirled as he drew Illuricht, and caught sight of what had broken the their discussion. There were half a dozen of the things, and they were ghastly to behold. They rose slowly out of the blackened ground, as corpses from a grave. They were black themselves, and further darkened by the mud of the ruined earth. The dim glow of embers from the dying fire at Mercius' back flickered on the shapes that emerged from the ground. Their faces could have once been human, but were now distorted and hideous. Their eyes were bulging and had a sickly, pus-yellow hue. Their mouths were gashes filled with mangled teeth that gleamed in the darkness. Their bodies, as they slowly writhed free of their earthen tombs, were revealed to be all sinew and gangly skeletons; they had no flesh to cover their ugliness. There were too many arms and legs protruding from the things’ torsos, and each were tipped with clubs like deformed hands and feet. They were pathetic creatures; demons gone wrong, perhaps; but were still awful and frightening to behold. A low snarl emitted from each of them, making a chorus of ugly tormented noise.
Suddenly, with a quickness and agility that was surprising, they sprang, all at once. Griffin’s speed could not quite match that of Mercius, but it was close. The two men immediately went into rapid action, and two of the things were headless almost as soon as they had sprung. The other four, however, were still attacking, and both men were bitten several times before they could lash out with their merciless tools of death. Griffin’s sword was as bright as Mercius' was dark, gleaming in the light of the embers, and slick with yellow-black blood and entrails. The men were a cyclone of death as they managed first to throw the demons from themselves, then hack them summarily to pieces.
They stood there panting in the aftermath of the attack, gazing around them at the hideous carnage. The things still twitched now and again, one severed club-handed arm even spasming so hard it briefly jumped off blackened earth.
Griffin and Mercius were both splattered with blood and stuff that was even more disgusting. They looked at each other, and, again, Mercius knew what the other would say before he spoke. “You’re so fast,” he said breathily. “I’ve never seen the like of it.” Mercius didn’t respond, but he saw the wheels turning behind Griffin’s eyes. The unspoken was obvious: Griffin was just now understanding that Mercius' portion of his tale explaining that Asgoroth was his sire must be true. The man merely nodded, however, and said, “Come, it is time that we return to the camp. I do not wish to spend another moment in the company of these.” He indicated the corpses littering their makeshift campground.
The two men again walked in silence, heading back the way they had come. The darkness surrounding them was absolute and impenetrable. Griffin at several times had to clutch Mercius' arm to keep his footing; the man instinctively knew that Mercius' night vision was much better than his own. In fact, Mercius had no trouble seeing at all. The demon blood in his veins had its usefulness, to be sure, as much as he hated it.
As they walked, Mercius became aware of Griffin taking hold of his arm more frequently. The man at his side seemed to be nearly falling off his feet from exhaustion. Mercius started to grow concerned, but before he could say anything to Griffin, he felt a flooding wave of nauseous exhaustion pass through him. He shook himself, trying to make the sick dizziness go away, but suddenly wave after wave of it crashed over him, and it was all he could do to keep his feet. Griffin was being wholly supported by Mercius now, and he felt their combined weight bringing him steadily to his knees. He mumbled something to his companion, and Griffin mumbled something equally unintelligible back.
Then, as Mercius had begun to realize was inevitable, the two crashed to the ground. Mercius had just enough strength in him to realize that the bites the corpse-demons had given him were burning with intensity; he could feel the sickness flowing from them.
Then there was blackness.
Mercius opened his eyes in the darkness. He was on his feet, and Griffin was by his side. They couldn’t see each other, or anything else, but he felt the solid form of his companion.
With a suddenness that was physically painful, there was light. It was brighter than the brightest day, and was all around them; it was in front and behind and below and to either side, it was in them and through them. It was blinding, but they knew that it was not malevolent. This light was unexpected and unexplainable, yes, but not evil.
As the light faded slowly, Mercius could see the man at his side, and they looked at each other. Suddenly, comprehension dawned in both of them at once: this was some strange ethereal place that was and was not, simultaneously. They knew that their bodies were somewhere out there, in the darkness. That their cores; who they were; had been brought here, and this place was far beyond the physical world that they had always known.
They glanced around them in the white light; it maintained its brilliance, but its intensity had faded just enough for them to open their eyes and see by its glow. There were pillars, ghostly in the magnificence of the light, and a ring of chairs that were plain and ordinary, but somehow grand and glorious. They didn’t ask what this place was, for they already knew: it was her place.
Nephilia. They both spoke the name together, not knowing that they would. And, as if they had somehow summoned her, Nephilia herself appeared. She seemed to float into existence, coalescing from the light, as if the light was taking on form. She was as beautiful and glorious as Mercius remembered her. The golden glow of her eyes encompassed him and warmed him to his soul. There was a part of him, however, that howled in fear and terror and agony. Slow realization dawned on him that it was the demon blood coursing through his veins that revolted against this awesome apparition. The demon in him was afraid, as it should be; Nephilia encompassed all that was good and beautiful, while the demon-blood was all that was heinous and terrible and disgusting.
When she spoke, there was no voice. There was simply a pervading sense of her and her purpose. It took only an instant to convey what she wanted to tell, but it was also an eternity. It seemed to last less than a heartbeat, more than a lifetime.
“Me
rcius. Griffin,” she said without saying. “Your purposes must now be united. There is little time to waste. If you would be victorious, you cannot wait. The forces of darkness are gathering. Your task is not an easy one, but you must stand true, or all will fail. You must bring as many people to you as you can, and take them into battle, for your forces are small. Yours is an important task, and you must not fail.”
Griffin asked without speaking, “What would you have us do? We have no true course set before us. Where must we go?”
A glistening sound entered the place that was like chimes on a cool morning: the angel's laughter. Nephilia continued: “You must destroy those who have been as your father and mother. You, Mercius, must defeat Asgoroth, and you, Griffin, must destroy Mor'denaa. You know, both of you, that you cannot draw these fiends into the open; they are too cunning for such tricks to work. You must confront them in the depths of their strongholds, first one, then the other. Asgoroth is closest to your position, so there is where you should start.”
A pervading sense of nervousness clutched at Mercius' consciousness. Tentatively, like a child, he put forth his fear. “I am not ready to face my former master, Lady Nephilia.” This address was as close as language could come to conveying what he actually thought towards her: she was more than a Lady, more than a woman, more than an angel. His mind held the deepest reverence when he addressed her. “I cannot say why, but I know. I feel in my heart that if I should go to him now and do battle with him, it would be for naught. He is stronger than me, and the only reason I bested him before was because I was lucky and he was caught off guard. If we take his dungeons by force, he will be ready for me, and not nearly so lenient.”
The whiteness surrounding the two men seemed to quiver: Nephilia was thinking, possibly even communing with some other force that the mortals could not see or sense. After a heartbeat--an eternity--she spoke again: “I’m afraid that you are right, young Mercius. To go against the demon in the dungeon now would be folly. Therefore, you must take your troops to Mor'denaa, and do battle with her. Put aside your questions of whose battle it is, because it is no one’s and everyone’s. Griffin, you must learn from Mercius. He has much to teach you, although he doesn’t know it yet. This power that he speaks of he believes he inherited through the blood of his demonic father. That is not the whole reason for his power; only partly. The demon blood helps him, yes, but it is the light that is in him; that helped him reach out through the darkness and free himself; that has given him this ability. The same light is in you, Griffin. You must harness it, both of you, for it is crucial. And remember, be wary of it, because it is beyond powerful. It is the essence of this world, and all others, and your control over it will always be tenuous at best. Do not let it control you!
“You will go now, back to your world. Take your battle to Mor'denaa, and bring as many with you as you may, for the balance of power hinges on it. The darkness is closing in, and time is short. Fare well, Arkarum, and do well.”
Mercius and Griffin awoke in the darkness. Their bodies were sore, and the bites on their flesh from the corpse-demons were stinging and throbbing. They gazed at each other for a long time, not speaking, but passing many thoughts between them. Silently they rose and walked back to Griffin’s camp, having absolutely no trouble finding it in the blackness of the night.
When the two men rode back into the camp of the Merconium Blade the following morning, accompanied by Eliah, the sun had just risen. Here, in the wastes of forgotten death, the sun didn’t break through the gloom that constantly shrouded the land. It merely turned it a forlorn grey that was enough to see by, but not much more than that.
Mercius showed Griffin and Eliah around the camp quickly and without much enthusiasm. The two newcomers were not excited either, but felt that the formality was necessary. After their tour, Mercius bade the pair wait outside his tent.
As he knew they would be, the people he wanted to speak to were already gathered in the small tent that had been dubbed the headquarters of the Merconium Blade. Sophia and Keira were seated on the low bench that was the tent’s only furniture beside a three-legged stool. Jax, Darius and Peter were standing around in the remaining space of the tent. It felt crowded. They all gazed at him silently, looking at the bandages on his arms from his demon bites with curiosity. He began immediately, not caring to or knowing how to skirt the point at hand:
“I am going to join forces with Griffin’s Hammer,” he said. His tone was polite and gentle, but had an underlying core of steel. He would not be swayed in his decision to join the man, no matter if no one decided to follow him. “I would like for the rest of the Blade to join me, including all of you, of course. But I will not force anyone, nor will I hold it against those that decide to go another route.” Peter and Darius exchanged a glance, Darius grinning like a fox. Jax merely shook his head ever so slightly, as if he was confused by something that would always confuse him. Mercius was about to continue; to outline his and Griffin’s plan to recruit on their way to Mor'denaa’s compound, then give battle and destroy her and as many of her demons as they could; when Sophia spoke up, a strange blend of kindness and scorn thick in her voice:
“Don’t be foolish, boy. You should know by now that where you lead we follow. Who knows why you’re too thick to figure that out.” She gave a ‘hmpf!’, apparently through discussing such obvious matters with one so terribly dim.
Jax took up the thread. “We are with you, Mercius, as we have always been. That is not the question that we have been asking ourselves all night. That’s not the reason that none of us got a wink of sleep.”
“We’re simply curious,” Darius said in a casual tone, “whether we will be fighting above ground or below.” Mercius looked at him, obviously confused.
Peter, this time: “We know what must happen now. We have known since the battle on the hilltop. If you truly mean to follow your course and keep your vow; to slay all demons, or as many as you can; then you won’t accomplish much by wandering around and waiting for them to attack us. So, the question: above or below? Will we take on Mor'denaa’s compound, or Asgoroth’s dungeon? And how soon? Will we have time to bring in more men…and women…” he gave Keira and Sophia an apologetic glance, “or will we go as we are, with Griffin’s three hundred added to our one? These are the things that we have been wondering about.”
Mercius laughed in spite of himself. It was a solemn discussion that they all must have, to be sure, but he was constantly surprised and reminded how intuitive and competent his friends were; how much they knew his mind without his ever uttering a word.
Still laughing, Mercius walked out of the tent and summoned Griffin and Eliah. They looked at him curiously, wondering what the joke could be, but didn’t ask, which was to the better, because Mercius didn’t feel he could explain.
They all nodded their salutations to each other, and Mercius began immediately. “My friends here have decided that challenging Mor'denaa and Asgoroth is what we must do,” he told Griffin and Eliah. “I still have to speak about this to the troops, but these five assure me that they will follow where I lead, and they are right, of course. He turned to the friends and continued: “Griffin and I have…discussed…these matters, and believe that although Asgoroth’s dungeons are closer to here, it is Mor'denaa we must confront first.” Jax gave him a questioning look, but Mercius just shook his head the tiniest bit: Not now, friend. I’ll explain later. “Griffin, you know where Mor'denaa’s compound lies. How far?”
The black man furrowed his brow in thought for just a moment before replying: “The Hammer could make the journey in two months. I’m not sure how many miles your boys can cover in a day, but mine can do fifteen on most days.”
Mercius grinned and said, “The Blade can do fifteen as well, on most days, but we have pushed ourselves and found that we can do twenty and still have some strength at the end of the march. We need to be quick with ou
rselves, I think, but not too quick that we reach our destination with nothing left of energy and will. Not to mention that I think we all agree that we need to pick up as many more fighting bodies as we can if we stand a snowball‘s chance in Hell of not walking into absolute slaughter.” He paused, trying to picture in his mind the way the battle would be, and the march before it. It was difficult; his mind kept returning to visions of Asgoroth’s dungeons, and the fighting that would have to be waged in that environment. From what Griffin had told him, the battle at Mor'denaa’s compound would be much, much different, involving entirely different techniques.
During his reverie, Jax asked, “Is there a place not far from the demon’s lair that we could camp for several days and not be found out? It would be nice to be able to rest and regain our strength before battle is waged, but not at the cost of forfeiting our advantage of surprise.” He looked at Griffin as he spoke, but Mercius got the feeling that he was talking to Eliah, who only nodded slightly, as if the question was a good one; one that had occurred to him as well.
“There is a wood, not far from the compound,” Griffin responded. “Some say that evil cannot tread there because of some long forgotten reason, but that is more than likely just talk and rumor. It is, however, far enough away from the compound to be clear of demons, and will provide us with enough cover to hide ourselves if that proves incorrect.”
“That works for me,” Darius said with a grin. Again, Mercius got the impression that the man was actually looking forward to the battle, and possibly death.
“Very well,” Mercius said. “When do we begin?” There was a pause in which Mercius and Griffin shared a knowing look.
“The sooner the better,” Griffin said. “Tomorrow at dawn?”
They all agreed, and went their separate ways: Griffin and Eliah back to their camp, Jax, Sophia, Darius and Peter out into the morning air. Mercius stood with his back to the interior of the tent, looking absently at the happenings in his camp. He was thinking deeply of how this whole business would play out, and whether it was worth all the lives that it would cost.
A rustling behind him caused him to whirl about. There stood Keira, straightening the leather pleats of her riding dress. She had been totally silent during the meeting, simply watching the men talk, and Mercius had not even noticed her standing there. It was the first time that Mercius could recall that she was in the room and he wasn’t totally floored by her beauty. He was entirely infatuated with the woman, but when duty called, he could put thoughts of her temporarily aside and do what needed doing, which was to the good.
She walked up to him and he noticed that even in the dim grey morning light, her eyes sparkled and seemed to stare directly into his soul. His heart.
Keira stared at Mercius for several moments. The tent was filled with silence. Mercius wanted to say something; to ask her what she had on her mind; but his words kept getting caught in his throat. None of the words really mattered to him anyhow: words were nothing compared to the deep sense of satisfaction and comfort he got from simply looking at the woman.
Finally, she spoke, startling Mercius out of his admiration for her. “What happened to your arm?” she asked. At first, Mercius was confused, having no idea what she was talking about. Then he remembered the corpse-demons from the night before; so much had happened since then, it seemed. He glanced down and saw the bandages around his arms. The dressing was done poorly by his own hand, and now that she had reminded him of it, the wound flared up with stinging pain. It wasn’t fatal, he knew, or even much more than a mild superficial annoyance now, but he also knew that Keira would hear none of such protestations, so he told her quickly of the demons that had risen from the blackened earth, and how he and Griffin had defended themselves, slaughtering the creatures swiftly.
Keira gently unwrapped one of the bandages and looked closely at the wound. It was ragged around the edges, where the thing had had nearly a full second to chew and tear, but it wasn’t very deep. The skin was red and puffy surrounding it, but there were no signs of poison in or around the wound.
After a short examination, Keira grasped Mercius by the hand. Her hands were soft and warm, and later Mercius would swear that there was an actual electric current that passed between their skin when she touched him. “I have bandages with my gear,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Come with me and I will see that it is done properly.” Mercius was about to say that it was entirely unnecessary, but stopped before the words even came into his mouth: it was pointless. Not to mention the fact that he was enjoying her touch and her smell so much that he wouldn’t have said anything anyway.
She led him through the camp, smiling sweetly at those who hailed them. Mercius nodded to each man and woman in turn as he passed, exchanging a few words here and there. As they reached a section of the camp that was not so densely occupied, Keira moved closer to Mercius and said, “Something happened to you last night. Other than the demons, I mean. Something that changes things, I think.”
Mercius didn’t respond. He simply stared ahead of him as they walked. She squeezed his hand when he didn’t say anything, and he felt obliged to respond. He grabbed Keira gently by the upper arm and led her farther from listening ears. Staring down into her eyes, Mercius understood, suddenly, that he could tell her anything. He was nearly overwhelmed by the sense that he could put his trust in her entirely, and it filled him with warmth.
Mercius recounted to Keira the vision he had shared with Griffin; the vision of Nephilia. He told the story quickly, and kept his voice as devoid of emotion as he could. She, however, saw through his façade to the truth: the fact that his vision had moved him greatly; that he had been nearly overcome by awe and terror and glory. She saw the fear in his eyes, as well as the love, as he recounted his tale of the whiteness and the pillars.
“One thing that Nephilia said,” Mercius concluded. “She called us Arkarum. I haven’t the slightest idea what that means. Does it mean anything to you?” Keira simply shook her head. “It had great importance behind it, I think,” Mercius continued, “but I cannot make sense of it.
“At any rate, the thing--angel, goddess, whatever she is--agrees that I cannot confront Asgoroth yet. It would be foolish. I don’t know what the outcome will be when we do battle with the demons that this Mor'denaa controls, but I know in my heart that it must come first. Come what may.”
Keira considered this for a moment, then said, “I believe that you are right. I cannot know what you saw, or what it really meant to you, but I see the conviction in your eyes. I believe that if you feel like you’re ready to defeat Asgoroth, then you will. But if you’re not, and don’t ask me how I know this, then we all will die, and probably everyone else in this forsaken world.” She paused, looking deep into his eyes. Then she said, “There is something else you’re not telling me. Something that troubles you.”
Mercius chuckled mirthlessly at the ease with which the woman caught him out in his omission. “Indeed there is,” he said. “Nephilia told me that this power I have; the one that allowed me to escape Asgoroth in the first place, and later allowed me to survive the battle on the hilltop; that it is in Griffin, too. I’m not sure if he believes, but I think that he must somehow come to understand it, or we will both fail.”
“Then,” she said earnestly, “you must show him the way; you must teach him.”
Mercius shook his head and his voice became heavy with frustration. “That is the problem, Keira. How can I show him something that I have no control of? How can I teach something that I cannot understand myself? Nephilia and her visitations are amazing and somehow glorious, but they are cryptic, and she only tells what she wants, never what I need to know.”
Keira stepped closer to him, so that their bodies were almost touching. He was overwhelmed by the scent of her; by her sheer proximity and the faint promise of her touch. She took his hands in hers and said in a whisper that melt
ed his heart, “You will find a way, Mercius. I believe in you.” She gave him a small, mysterious smile, then led him away, leaving him with no choice but to follow obediently, and feeling helpless and amazed.
The next morning found Griffin and Mercius riding at the head of the column of men and women. Griffin’s Hammer and the Merconium Blade marched at their backs in silence. Whatever misgivings the two men had had about mingling the troops were put to rest that morning at dawn. Both men had spoken briefly to their forces, both being present and mounted for each speech. The troops had listened with quiet solemnity, and agreed to the plan with fervor and spirit.
When the two troops converged in the center of the shallow valley that morning as the sun was just breaking the horizon with its feeble grey light, they had saluted each other as one, and immediately fallen into a marching formation that looked practiced, if not entirely perfect. They fell into formation naturally and with surprisingly little confusion. Scouts on ponies were sent out in all directions from both the Hammer and the Blade, and the march began with the rising sun.
Now, several hours later, Griffin and Mercius rode in silence. Neither spoke, because both knew what was on the forefront of the other’s mind. Both men were thinking how to broach the subject of Nephilia, and what she had told them. At last, Griffin spoke, hesitantly: “This…power…that you claim to have, what is it?” He seemed as if he had more to say, but couldn’t find the words.
Mercius thought for several moments before responding. “I honestly don’t know, Griffin. It’s come upon me twice, and neither time did I seem to have any control over it. It flooded me without my even trying to summon it. It seems that I either have to be in extreme danger or extreme rage. Either way, I have no idea how to control it, or even what it is. It just seems to fill me up and control my movements. It makes me faster, stronger. I can see and hear everything with a clarity that is almost too vivid. To be honest with you, my friend, it’s nothing short of horrifying.”
Griffin didn’t respond, just rode on in silence. He was quiet for so long that Mercius thought the conversation was over. Finally, when he did speak, he was stern and as intense as ever. “That doesn’t give us much to go on, does it.” It wasn’t a question. “I feel, though, as I’m sure you do, that Nephilia was right. We have to find some way to figure out what this thing is, and how to control it. And, since you’re the only one with any experience in this matter, you have to be my teacher.” Griffin’s mouth stretched into a small sardonic smile. Mercius' expression mirrored Griffin’s for a moment. They were both playing with something that neither of them understood in the slightest. Mercius had no idea how to begin with this enormous and seemingly extraordinarily important challenge. But, of course, they must.
That was the first conversation of many regarding the extraordinary power that lay in both of them. It was a simple conversation, but it was the beginning of something powerful and unknown; something that would change the lives of a countless multitude of people. Something that would change the world.