***
"My Lord." Regis bowed before Magnus and of The Council of Twelve. "The fugitive is heading directly for the Wailing Cliffs with an accomplice, a tattlejack named Icthus. We missed them only by a short while. I thought it best not to pursue them any further as there was nothing but water between us and the cliffs."
"That is unacceptable." Magnus rose to his feet, pursing his lips. His eyes burning with fire, he raged, "Could you not have made a path of ice across the water? Were you too afraid to give chase?, Dekor will now be able to escape us once and for all. It would seem the Divines are with him, aided by your cowardice in facing such a fearsome foe." Magnus turned toward the council members muttering under his breath. "And of all the creatures... Icthus"
Buurn watched Arrborn from the corner of her eye as he gestured covertly for her to remain silent.
"Gentlemen," Magnus began, having composed himself, "it would seem that Dekor has eluded us once more. He is heading for the Wailing Cliffs, aided by none other than Icthus."
There was a general disquiet about the news.
"I thought Icthus was dead?" Dolomire, the representative of the high elves, rose to his feet. Speaking with a nasal aloofness, he straightened his embroidered silk robes and asked, "Were you also unsuccessful in killing him?" He gave Buurn a sickly smile as he sat back down.
"No, Master Dolomire." Magnus shook his head in dismay. "Icthus is not dead. After his time with Vargor, he was believed to have returned to his homeland in Gamran Mire. His exact whereabouts were unknown, until now."
"Icthus is no threat to us, the toad is nothing," retorted Tralchar, a dwarf of the Dark Iron Hills. He jumped onto his chair, his thick orange beard bristling with every word. "It would take but a single blow of a child's axe to fell him." He dropped back into his seat with a grunt, his deep green eyes glinted with fire.
"May I remind you, gentlemen," Arrborn said, without rising to his feet, "Icthus, in himself, is no threat, but together with a warlock, he will very much become one. Icthus has been a warlock's pet, as it were, before. He knows a lot about the dark arts and how to gain the higher skills. Do not underestimate tattlejacks; they are far more dangerous than they first appear."
"Who let that religious imbecile into the room?" the darkling elf H'rat snorted. "He knows nothing. A simpleton and a hater of the Divines, I'll have nothing to do with his kind."
"Remember you said that next time you lay prostrate and bleeding on the battlefield," Arrborn replied, rising slowly from his seat. Buurn watched him closely as he rounded on H'rat. "You darklings are all alike. All talk and hot air, acting like you're gods. The Divines are a farce." Arrborn thrust his staff toward H'rat. "Have any of you, ever, seen the Divines deliver you from your enemies in battle? Have their voices shaken the heavens? I doubt they could shake my oats! Do they whisper secret truths to your heart? Faith in the One is not a religion. Faith is the knowing." Arrborn's eyes narrowed to slits as he met H'rat's unblinking gaze. Whispering so only H'rat could hear him, he continued, "I know exactly what you are. You don't scare me."
Arrborn passed along in front of the Council of Twelve, staring each one in the face. "Well, have the Divines, even once, come to your aid in your time of darkest need? I thought not!" He turned to leave saying, "From now on, as H'rat has requested, the order of the One will no longer stand alongside you in battle. Neither will we be at your beck and call. In future, I suggest you make sure you want what you pray for before you pray for it."
Arrborn turned and left the council chambers with Buurn striding out behind him.
"Arrborn?" As Buurn spoke her leather wrappings unraveled to reveal her drab servant attire.
"Yakkob!" Arrborn jumped onto the ram's back, took Buurn by the hand and disappeared.
"You fool!" Magnus rounded on H'rat back in the chamber. "What business of yours is any of this? You have been warned countless times to keep your pious religious opinions out of these chambers. As the authority in these lands, I will remind you to have respect for all races when within these walls or you will be expelled from this council."
"I was merely voicing what I am sure we all feel," H'rat shrugged. Swirling his long black cape around his shoulders he cast a knowing smile to Dolomire.
"Oh, is that so?" Tralchar growled as Magnus and Regis pulled him away from H'rat. "I've half a mind to get a spade and dig you elves out of the ground like the rats you are."
"Well, there's something we can agree upon." H'rat positioned himself behind the newly arrived guard. "Dwarves have only half a mind." H'rat turned around before strutting from the room as proud as a peacock.
"Good riddance too!" Tralchar, shaking off his restraint, straightened his tunic. "The sooner that troubler of Alzear is off this council the better." Turning, he said, "I'm sorry Magnus, but I have to remain in unity with my people. We know we were only tolerated here as neighbors. We'll trouble Mor no further." Tralchar bowed and stepped aside. He gave a shrill whistle, mounted his ram and vanished.
"What have we left?" Magnus sighing resignedly looked at Regis for an answer.
"My lord?" spluttered Regis.
"Dolomire, you can go. I saw the looks you shared with H'rat. I'm sure that you have enough to do in your father's absence." Magnus gestured toward the door and bade them leave.
"Why Magnus, I do not understand?" Dolomire rose majestically to his feet brushing his tunic with a flick of his hand.
Magnus glared at Dolomire. “Leave these chambers and never return."
Dolomire swallowed, "But..."
"Now!" Magnus bellowed, his hands crackling with energy.
The council chambers fell silent as Dolomire leapt from his seat. Standing face to face with Magnus his mouth taut with rage, he sneered, "Do not threaten me with your puerile magic. We elves have magic that your infantile human minds could not conceive."
The floor trembled beneath their feet.
Regis thrust his sword beneath Dolomire's chin. "Are you impervious to my blade?"
"Is this how you rule?" Dolomire hissed vehemently.
Magnus thrust his hand toward the door. "Just get out."
into the thorn
"What are they?"
Dekor pulled himself up the narrow, smooth-sided split in the cliff face, glancing over his shoulder at green wisps wailing around his head, beseeching him to join them. He heaved himself higher, digging his fingers into the tubular ridges where they branched out into smaller veins covering one side of the narrow fissure, giving the rockface the appearance of being cast from a giant wing.
"Dead things, keepers of the Sleeper. Can only harm you if you listen to them." Icthus pushed his head under Dekor's backside, urging him upwards. "Keep climbing."
Dekor was beginning to believe himself blessed of the Divines; his great fortune in meeting Icthus could not have been anything less than a truly divine appointment. Even the climb, though long and challenging, was not without its pleasures. The sun rose with them and passed beyond its apex leaving them in refreshing shade. A soughing wind patrolled the cliffs, adding its melancholy moan to the eerie lament of the dead. Dekor shuddered as the wind tousled his hair, like a young maiden vying for his affection. Even the birds, which had been pecking at them as they passed their nests, had given up trying to dislodge them from the crevice as they ascended beyond the nesting grounds, until at last they clambered out, exhausted into the glowing sunset.
Standing at the top of the cliffs, Dekor looked back along the Great Wall of Meregith, its broad pathway masked by the lengthening shadows of the crenellations. He watched the dark form of the male birds returning from Meregith to their nests, their flight languid and lethargic from a day of gorging on the discarded food the trolls scattered among the thorns.
"Is that your island?" Dekor pointed to a dirty-looking patch of ground on the distant shore of the lagoon to the south, which was now a fiery mirror beneath the setting sun. Beyond the marshes lay Meregith, a darkening stain spread before the black, feature
less wall of the Dragon’s Teeth.
"Home." Icthus sighed, his head slumping into his shoulders. "Gone now." He looked away, staring woefully down at the river, a broad curve of red separating the kingdom of the trolls from the realm of men. "We'll head for the Thorn. My people live beyond it." Icthus waved a hand loosely in the direction of his home in the distant Mire.
"Shall we make camp here for the night?" Dekor wandered over to where the grass was thicker. Icthus ran past him and began to grab handfuls of the long grass, weaving them together forming a nest.
"I'll go hunt, you make a bed and fire." Icthus smiled, his eyes sparkling in the last light of the sun. He dived into the long grass. Dekor stood watching him ripple through it until he remembered he also had things to do.
Closing his eyes he drew a deep breath. Taking in the scent of the long grass, and the fading warmth of the evening sun, he smiled softly. A picture of a ball of fire, glowing between his hands, filled his mind. Dekor could feel the surge of mana from the back of his brain down to his palms. Flames of red and yellow writhed together to form a warm orange glow between his hands. He pushed the ball of fire toward the ground where it sat, radiating its heat. Smiling wider, he rubbed his palms together and then springing them apart he summoned another fireball. He gasped at the pure white flames, tongues of a thousand snakes flickering across its surface. The white ball drifted from his hands to hang over the fire as though it knew its master's will, bathing the camp with a ghostly light.
Icthus returned carrying two large rabbits, one in each hand. He walked around the fires staring up at the white orb, mesmerized by its beauty. He blinked rapidly as he craned his short neck up toward the light, drawn as a moth to a flame. Then he squawked as his belly brushed against the campfire. Jumping back he rubbed a dead rabbit against his sore flesh.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" a haughty voice barked from the edge of the light. A long wooden spear with a wickedly barbed tip poked at Icthus as the centaur clumped into the camp, its hoofed feet dragging through the long grass. Thrusting out its lean, muscular, bare chest, the centaur drew itself up to its full height.
Dekor raised his hand, clutching a brilliant yellow ball of fire, fizzing with anger.
"Speak or die," the centaur snorted.
"Having supper." Icthus, pushing the spear aside, reached behind his back to break off another of his spines which he fashioned into a knife with his nails to gut the rabbits. He kept one eye on the centaur.
"Toad, I have asked you a question, which you will answer truthfully." The centaur leaned forward drawing its mouth into an ugly sneer.
Icthus snapped the rabbit's rear legs and began pulling the skin from it until only the head remained. Stretching his short neck as far as possible in an attempt to meet the centaur's gaze, he tore off the rabbit's head with a sharp twist, tossing it at the feet of the centaur. Then he threw the freshly skinned carcass into the campfire where it began to sizzle, suspended in the center of the magical flames.
"Supper," Icthus said, pointing at the roasting rabbit. "Would you like some?"
Dekor walked across the camp, took the spine knife from Icthus and picked up the remaining rabbit. Then he began to prepare it for cooking.
"Human, do not ignore me. You are trespassing on our land and, being your superior, you will answer me." The centaur stomped its front feet, its haunches twitching.
"We are not bothering you, so do not bother us. The treatise of passage is still in force is it not?"
Dekor slit the rabbit's belly open and with a swift flick of his wrist he cut the entrails from the animal. As Icthus had done with the other rabbit’s head, he tossed them at the centaur’s feet. The centaur ground the entrails beneath his hoof as Icthus was about to reach for them. Glaring down at Icthus he gave a testy snort.
"For this," the centaur said, raking his flowing mane from his face, "you will die."
"He will do nothing of the sort." Leather-wrapped arms swept around the centaur's neck and chest, twisting and pulling him awkwardly to the ground. "Give me a reason." A purple-skinned hand grabbed a handful of mane and yanked the centaur's head back as far as it would go, exposing the pulsing artery on its neck.
The centaur swallowed hard, eyes wide, chest heaving, legs kicking uselessly against the might of the darkling. "I was ..." his eyes searched the heavens for the right words, but his tongue insisted on the truth, "a trophy, for a mate." His resistance faltered.
Icthus waved frantically at Dekor to back down, knowing the dangers the darkling posed to them all.
"You disgust me. Take this as a warning to your people. For every life that you take from men, I will take two from among your own."
The darkling rose to its feet, its long dark hair glistening in the light of the campfire. The elf signaled the centaur to get up. As the centaur righted itself the darkling struck it fiercely, knocking him back to the ground. The centaur's head lolled to one side. Dazed it shook his head, blood running from his sagging jaw. Grabbing hold of the centaur's hide the darkling sank its curved nails into the centaur's flesh, hauling him to his feet.
"Be gone."
The centaur cast one last bleary look at the white light over the campfire then staggered off into the darkness.
"Buurn." Icthus pointed at the darkling straightening her hair back between her long, slender ears. Icthus ran across the camp and hugged Buurn's legs.
"Hello, old friend." Buurn stroked the space between Icthus' eyes. She reached behind her back retrieving a small bow which she gave to Icthus. "You must be Dekor."
She looked at the young man taking the rabbit from the fire with his dagger.
"How do you know me?" Dekor offered the rabbit to his new guest.
Buurn pointed to the raw one. "May I?" Dekor stepped closer and passed the skinned animal to Buurn who took it, biting into its plump rear. Dekor watched the color drain from the dead rabbit, from purple-red to dusty gray. Buurn tossed the remains aside, shattering them to dust.
"I assume that you have been following us." Dekor broke the cooked rabbit in half. He gave one part to Icthus who tore into it feverishly.
"I was asked to track you for the Mage Guild." Buurn sat herself by the fire, her eyes drawn to the glowing white orb hanging over it. "We got as far as your hut, Icthus, and could go no further."
"Would go no further," Icthus corrected, squatting beside Buurn.
"You did very well to escape."
"Thank you, but that was all down to Icthus." Dekor leaned back stretching his arms out behind him for support. He looked at Buurn.
"He is very adept at escaping." Buurn patted Icthus' head, bringing a sudden red flush to his skin.
"Am I to understand that you are no longer hunting us? So what now?" Dekor gazed up at the stars peppering the clear night sky.
"Arrborn has asked me to accompany you to Gamran Thorn. You will be safe once you are there. I doubt the centaurs will give you any further problems, but it is possible you may wander into a young anghoos on his rite of passage.
We will cross the river at the main ford; the harpies should not bother you while I am with you." Buurn reached out her hand testing the heat of the fire. "You have excellent control of the flame. I doubt very much Magnus could conjure anything like that," she said pointing to the white orb. "I have not seen this before."
"I have no idea how I did it. As for the fire, well, I got plenty of practice in Learmont Forest." Dekor laid back with his hands behind his head, savoring the sweet smell of the trodden grass. "Did you say that Arrborn sent you?"
"Yes." Buurn folded her hands in her lap. "Arrborn has been watching you since you first came to the University. He holds a different view on the use of magic from those on the council." Buurn laughed quietly to herself.
"So will he inform the council of my whereabouts?"
"No, he is no longer attending the council. He has begun to put plans in action for the future of Mor and Meregith. He is of a strong conviction that a g
reat tribulation, as he puts it, is about to befall the two lands."
"He is not usually wrong." Icthus said, searching around for any leftovers. "Unlike the Council of Twelve." He stared mesmerized at the white orb, inclining his head from one side to the other and back again.
"How did you get here so quickly?" Dekor rolled onto his side facing Buurn, who turned her face toward him.
"Doors," Icthus chirped, "magic doors."
"Magic doors? Surely if there were such a thing then the Mage Guild would have them under their control. I would have been taught about..." Dekor caught the look in Buurn's eye, "them."
"The mages possess scant knowledge of the magic that is ..." Buurn paused, searching for the right word.
"Buried," Icthus injected.
"Indeed." Buurn drew a short breath. "Men have learned some of the magic that is to be found, but they lack the self-discipline to draw deeper unto themselves and tap the real power. Though you seem to be doing quite well," she smiled at Dekor.
"I'm tired," Icthus yawned. Stretching out his arms he shuffled over to his makeshift nest.
"Go ahead and sleep, Dekor. I will keep watch."
Rising to her feet Buurn stepped into the shadows, disappearing without a sound. Dekor lay watching the moths flutter around the white orb until his eyelids became heavy and he drifted into a peaceful sleep beneath the starry blanket of Oumtuk.