Never underestimate your enemy.
…or their henchmen.
There’s always one, with their own evil agenda, that you’ll have to deal with.
His eyes remained hungrily fixed on Til-Thorin, tongue rolling over his teeth like a hungry wolf. Thule could smell the fear. It floated down from the walls and across the fields. Even nature trembled through the very trees surrounding them. But there was something else.
Thule sniffed the air once more.
There was magic here. Deep magic.
Eyelids narrowed to slits.
It was an ancient practice of the human mägo, used when building structures. Each stone blessed. Lambs blood in the mortar. It made them feel safe.
His lips curled back into a sardonic grin. Fools.
Thule cursed himself for not utterly destroying the outer defense of Andilain the last time he had invaded. His previous haste allowed the enemy to defeat him…and then rebuild.
The rumble rose from his chest.
This disgusting, weak, yet industrious breed deserved to be destroyed!
It mattered not, he realized. A Tauku mägo was dangerous enough, even against enchanted stone—but he had employed a coven. Thule’s mouth watered at the thought of the carnage to follow. Much blood would be spilt before they discovered the prize.
Behind him, the peasant village blazed. Sparks rose into the air like the rage offerings to his Master. Deserted and useless, the resources had been removed.
They knew the horde was coming…
But would not expect the truth. The dead would provide sustenance of his soldiers. It was the power of his army.
Let them smell the blood of the dying and they will fight like madmen to taste flesh.
The clash and clang of metal resounded form the blacksmith wagons. Swords, axes, pole-arms and hammers were laid out for inspection, while servants ran about, fulfilling the orders of their masters. The entire camp pulsed outward from the center of its power—the great caldron.
The wagon beneath the vat of metal had been burned, collapsing the object into place. Coated with the red liquid of its victims, the crying sculptures at each corner looked as if they wept blood.
Thule pulled the leather strap, securing the vambrace to his wrist and clenched his fist twice. A perfect fit.
His ears twitched at the approach of the slithering form.
“My lord,” it hissed. Small eyes on long stalks peered out from under the black hood.
Thule had learned to use extra caution with Sydänmuus. He rued the fact that such a disgusting creature was paramount to their success. Unlike his brothers, this Tauku had pursued magic more sinister and powerful than even Thule could understand. The black on black symbols, weaved into the fabric of his robe, displayed absolute command over the coven. Flesh, white as the snow he walked across, glowed like a specter from under the hood. The mägo owed fealty to Mahan, but Sydänmuus was not addicted to the taste of pain or fear. He was addicted to the sight—something Thule knew nothing about.
Sydänmuus could not be manipulated or controlled like the coven.
Thus, he could not be trusted.
“Sydänmuus,” Thule replied coldly, keeping his gaze upon the Keep.
Five eyes rotated upward to observe. “All iss prepared and ready for your command.”
“And it is here?” Thule rolled his tongue over his teeth once more. The thought of possessing a fragment of the Demoni Vankil at last was…tantalizing. When he finally looked down upon the hunched mägo, the hood was also focused upon the Keep—only the eyes on the swaying stalks gazed back. “I want it confirmed.”
The heavy robe bowed at the shoulders, “Ass you wissh.”
Clawed hands deftly opened a small pouch at its hip and produced a tiny red stone. It looked like foggy glass, catching glimpses of the moonlight. Slowly collapsing like folding rope, Sydänmuus sat upon the ground. As he did so, the snow rolled away from him.
It moved as if fearful of the mägo’s touch, retreating until dry ground remained. With a thick, pointed nail, he scratched symbols into the soil. Intricate glyph’s of power, encompassing each with a circle. When it was complete, each symbol sat within one of six interlocking rings.
Thule watched closely.
Sydänmuus whispered dark words and the symbols came to life. Red flame, seeping up from the soil. The flame pulsed and flickered—not from the wind above, but from the breath beneath the crust of the world. Holding the stone above the flame, the mägo released it.
The soil trembled and the forest moaned as it touched the ground.
Sydänmuus’s thin lips rolled up over his near transparent gums, exposing yellow teeth. “Ssshe fightsss to keep it a ssecret.”
The mägo threw its head back in open laughter.
The shrill sound scraped at Thule’s nerves.
Sydänmuus rose to his feet effortlessly, like a marionette. “But ssshe cannot deny MY power!” he swore and threw his ghost-like arms to the sky.
The flames seeping from the soil were pulled upward, rising to the height of the mägo’s fingers. Red flames faded to blue as the ground around the symbols split apart—cracks running through the soil in every direction. Snow tumbled down into the crevices.
The flames grew, flaring upward from the symbols scratched into the soil.
Thule stumbled backwards as the ground under him gave way.
“Tell me,” the Tauku commanded, then cried aloud, “SSSHOW ME!”
Without warning, Sydänmuus stepped into the flame. Blue light licked the surface of the mägo’s robe and flesh, but did not consume him. His skin took on the color of the flame. Yellow eyes turned black. The thin, grey tongue flickered, tasting the air.
“Yesss,” he quivered. Fingers reached out for something that wasn’t there. “It isss here, but it isss deep! Deep below I sssee!!”
Thule grinned, “Then Til-Thorin shall be ground to dust to claim the…”
Sydänmuus threw his hood back and shrieked, arms clenched tight to his chest.
“NO!” the mägo screamed, “WE MUSSST NOT BE DENIED!”
The fire died out and the he collapsed to the ground, trembling violently.
“What did you see Sydänmuus?” Thule demanded, though he stood his ground. He knew the cost of magic and was unwilling to touch the mägo after such an unholy rite.
The Tauku sat atop the smeared symbols like a discarded corpse. Fingers dug deep into the dry, spent soil, gripping and releasing. But it was the eyes that Thule watched. The eyes that saw what he could only imagine. The eyes were focused, not on him, but on the forest behind him. Pushing from under the black hood…quivering and focused.
“The enemy hasss come,” muttered Sydänmuus, barely above a whisper. With great strain, he pushed his deformed body up from the ground, swaying.
“Then he shall fall,” growled Thule. “Til-Thorin shall fall. The seal will be ours at all costs!”
Sydänmuus stared up with eyes still black as midnight. “Not he,” the mägo warned, “They.”
Thule glared at his most powerful pawn. This was not expected. There was no contingency plan to deal with anyone other than the prophesied one. This was unexpected…and unacceptable. He reached down and gripped the black robe in a powerful fist. Thule could feel the runes on his skin working to protect him from the residue of magic seeping from Sydänmuus.
“Can they undo my plans?” he snapped.
The grey tongue flicked out and lingered in the wind. It vanished moments later with the sound of forced air down the mägo’s throat.
“Yess.”
Thule gripped the robe until his knuckles lightened under the strain, his face stoic. Masterful eyes studied Sydänmuus, but the lines of the mägo’s face were impossible to read. He knew what had to happen. “Then be in the shadow,” he decided, “and find me a weakness.”
Sydänmuus grinned so wide, the corners of his mouth disappeared under the shadows of his hood. He turned to leave.
Thule’s iron grip stopped him, though he did not bother turning the mägo around. Instead, he leaned towards the back of the Tauku’s hood.
“Betray me Sydänmuus,” he breathed, “and your coven will have a feast of pain and fear unequalled.” His grip intensified on the Tauku’s shoulder, causing the mägo’s legs to waver, “And I will not allow you to die, until they have had their fill.”
The Tauku yanked his arm free and hobbled away quickly.
Thule watched the robe vanish from sight and scowled.
****
Moments later, the shadows opened and Sydänmuus stepped through. The trees were dense, the ground uneven with roots poking up from under the soil. He fell back against one of the trunks, chest heaving.
It took too much life force from him to manipulate the shadows—to bend them to his will.
His face shriveled and cracked, his tongue rolling heavy in a pasty mouth. The beat of his heart pounded through his veins and his eye-stalks fell about his neck. The pain was excruciating.
Sydänmuus tore at the bark of a tree, ripping with his claws until he uncovered the tender vascular cambium. Placing his ghostly palm upon the plant, he whispered the ancient spell that allowed him to siphon from nature itself. The trunk cracked as the collected nourishment transferred through his hand, up his arm and into his chest.
His pulse slowed.
The eye-stalks raised themselves up and the skin of Sydänmuus’s face smoothed out without blemish.
He continued to whisper.
Sydänmuus knew he would have to move unseen and unhindered to accomplish his task. He would require extra strength to work such magic that would grant him his hearts desires.
To lay hold upon a Lanthya shard for himself.
Thin lips curled back in a grin of utter satisfaction. He was free of Thule’s accusing gaze and out from under the whips of the taskmasters. Even the coven was weak. Fools who didn’t see the shifting balance of power right before their faces. His grin turned to a snarl.
Sydänmuus was disgusted with his brothers. Addicted to the petty cries of others, instead of drinking in the depths of true, sustainable power.
Moaning, the trunk of the tree cracked under the Tauku’s hand—the last moments of life syphoned away. Life that now pulsed through the mägo’s body.
Sydänmuus stood erect.
Tongue tasting the air, the eye-stalks looked about him simultaneously. He dashed through the forest, pushing off trunks, propelling himself forward, like a mighty animal possessed. It only took moments to find the hidden trail.
He knelt down and waved his hand—wiping away the effects of the wood lore used. The prey was skilled, but not skilled enough.
Sydänmuus pulled a silver ring from a side pouch and slipped it over his smallest finger. Turning the ring counter clockwise around his finger, his body faded from view. Not invisible, but close enough to use the shadows as cover.
He quickly followed the trail.
The forest grew up over a ridge and ran along the eastern edge of the mountains. The further Sydänmuus traveled, the thinner the trees became.
They must be close, he thought to himself. The scent is thick. He could taste them.
And there they were.
Gathered against the base of the mountain.
Sydänmuus quivered in excitement. For a moment, he fought the urge to bring death upon them all. To bind their limbs or stop their hearts altogether.
No, he corrected himself, not yet. They must lead us. His eye-stalks quivered with anticipation. Reveal where the shard is that we might have it! Yes. That is the right answer, he reassured himself. We must be patient.
Through the moonlight, Sydänmuus could make out many shapes—though he could not discern them clearly by sight. His long tongue tasted the wind.
There was blood in the air. Vallen blood.
These had been in a fight.
He tasted again.
Human blood.
Murderer’s? No…wounded.
His tongue lingered in the air once more.
Females.
A sharp popping noise caught the Tauku by surprise and he cowered behind the protection of a tree. One by one, the figures vanished from sight.
Sydänmuus licked his paper thin lips in delight.
A tunnel.
