By Volk-Oboroten'
Lowenherz rested under a pine tree, glad that the storm had ended just after dawn. His shoulders ached, each pulse of pain reminding him of the black wings he had used during the night. Patches of frostbitten skin peeled off his back, even as he held his cloak tight against the biting wind.
Three nights ago, he left Politzen, scattering a lutin garrison north of the town. It had been mild then, making one think that spring was near, rather than still weeks away. Lulled by the thaw, the lutins had left their hovels to enjoy the brief spell of warmth. Not expecting an attack, they had been entirely unprepared for his arrival.
Politzen's villagers hated lutins, just like most people in Nasoj's empire. When Lowenherz arrived there from Starven, he told them about the rout of the wizard's army on the lake. News of this victory inspired their leaders, who had long hoped for freedom from the wizard's onerous taxes. They were especially pleased to hear of the destruction of dozens of lutins on the ice, killed in Marcomir's attack.
He'd mentioned the Keepers participation in the battle, but downplayed its significance. While people in Politzen seemed to have a more favorable view of Metamor than those he'd met in Starven, he wanted them to think that Starven's success was quite independent of the Keepers' intervention. Even if Metamor decided to aid the revolt, large forces would not arrive from the Midlands until April. Thus, it would be best for the villagers to rely on their own strength, and not hope for rescue from a distant ally.
Of course, Lowenherz didn't tell Politzen about his own secret, as the knowledge that he was a were-manticore might reduce his credibility. Already, the townsfolk reported rumors of dark creatures stirring in the Tauremorna to the south. From his meeting with Valaric, Lowenherz suspected these beasts were servants of Lilith, ready to prowl in search of fresh blood.
Just before sunset, the villagers decided to strike the lutin camp on the road to Caralore. They did not fear Nasoj's once-mighty army, for it was said that his best troops had been pulled back to protect the great cities near the wizard's Citadel. All that were left were the dregs, unwilling conscripts and a few motley lutin bands. The draftees had deserted before Lowenherz arrived, making the lutins the only vestige of Nasoj's authority in Politzen.
Even though three nights had passed, Lowenherz could almost taste the blood spurting from the gashes on the lutins' necks. He had delighted in battle with the evil beings, slashing their arms with his sharp claws. After shooting a poisoned dart from his tail into the lutins' captain, the rest had fled down the road to Politzen, straight into an ambush. He could still hear their screams, as the villagers slaughtered the lutins without mercy.
But what would happen now? Looking to the east, he could see fires burning outside the city of Caralore. While the town barely merited the name of city now, due to years of decline under Nasoj's misrule, it still commanded a vital trade route. Surely the wizard would leave a strong garrison to defend this hub of commerce, a far more important place than Politzen.
What about Lik? At Starven, a dying lutin commander had lost his seeing stone to his foes, a magical device once used to communicate with the wizard. As the battle on the Sea of Souls ended, all learned that Valaric had captured Lik, destroying the portal to Nasoj's Citadel. By now, Valaric's army might be near Caralore's eastern gate. But could Lowenherz trust Valaric to care for more than his own city? Or for the interests of Lilith, his Dark Queen?
Glancing down into a frozen pool of ice, Lowenherz was troubled by his own reflection. Most of his hair had turned gray during the past month and his skin was pocked with black marks. Was this part of his curse? Before heading for Metamor Keep, a mage in the Great Northern Desert had told Lowenherz that he would not live a normal lifespan, for the manticore spell would soon cause rapid aging.
Stumbling forward though the snow, Lowenherz felt weary, fearing that he would be old before his time. If only he could reach Nasoj's Citadel while he had enough strength to fight! He'd rather die in a futile attempt to destroy the wizard than slowly succumb to this curse.
Perhaps others would help. He remembered the Long Scouts at Starven, whom he'd assumed would head back to the Keep after the lutins were destroyed. They had changed their plan when their leader, Misha, heard that Nasoj had seized a runic axe from Lik. Lowenherz wasn't sure what arcane powers might be possessed by a runic axe, but it had been evident that Misha knew. After hearing Misha's vow that he would recover it, all of the Long Scouts in his band had vowed to accompany him, even if it meant journeying to the Death Mountains.
Would they arrive soon? Lowenherz knew that he traveled faster than the Long Scouts, as he was able to fly at night. He suspected the villagers of Politzen would try to detain the Keepers, eager to have experienced warriors guard them against lutin reprisals. But he was sure the Long Scouts would continue their quest, regardless of any offers from Politzen, for Misha was obsessively determined to seek the axe now held in Nasoj's fortress.
As Lowenherz began walking down a forest path toward Caralore, the first rays of sun hit the black walls of Nasoj's Citadel, far to the north. The magic axe lay in a cart deep in the nether regions of the castle, many levels below the wizard's high tower. In a dark pit, just above the axe's chamber, a prisoner heard the first drops of water from melting icicles hit the stones, echoing in the dank pits far below. The sound was painful, for his hearing was now far more acute than human, making each echo resemble a clanging gong. Was this another torture the wizard had devised?
At least the repetitive sound reminded the prisoner that there was still a world beyond his forlorn cell. Even at noon, no light reached this far down into the wizard's grim vaults. But it was just as well. He didn't want to see what new horror had been imposed by Nasoj's spell.
Why had he spoken out against Nasoj's latest draft? Perhaps it was because so many people from Nasojassa had vanished, lost in the wizard's endless wars. Every time it was the same. The new campaign was supposed to be in self-defense, one which would lead to a final battle in which the empire would break out of encirclement by its bestial foes.
The wizard's henchman arrested him at a tavern a week ago, charging him with treason. There, as they bound his arms in chain, they said he had promoted defeatism by denouncing the war effort against Metamor Keep. As a punishment for this crime, he would be cursed with the form of a beast, so he could be like the empire's foes whom his words had aided.
Had it really been a week? Or longer? One day stretched into another, marked only by the gradual changes he sensed in his body. What were they doing to him? He scratched his claws against the bars of the cell, knowing that he was less human with every passing hour.
When he was first dumped in this oubliette, all had been dark, save for the torches of guards who occasionally dropped food and water down to him. These provisions surely contained magical potions, for the changes started soon after he had first eaten some of the wizard's gruel. When he felt fur growing on his feet, he had thought of refusing all food. It would be better to starve to death than succumb to Nasoj's whims. But after a little while, he had decided to accept his fate.
Perhaps he would be transformed into an animal which could claw its way out of this hellish pit. Even if he became a beast in body, he vowed that his mind would still let him fight. Nasoj would never break his spirit!
With a loud crash, echoing like thunder, an icicle plummeted off the roof of the Citadel. The prisoner was overjoyed, relieved to no longer hear the incessant sound of dripping. He rotated his furry ears, hearing a discussion among the guards one level below.
"Get away from that thing! You know what it did to that lutin!"
"I'm not going to touch the axe. Everyone's heard about the curse."
"Be careful! Nasoj wants to study its runic magic."
"Learn? Hah! He just wants to hide it, so the Keepers don't get it back."
"It's not just [drip] the Keepers [drip] a prisoner might [drip] grab the axe . . ."
Why did it have to happen now! Another icicle was starting to melt, sending a new stream of water down the side of the castle. Each time a drop smashed into a stone, the crash rendered all conversation inaudible. If only he could learn more about this axe!
Staring into the corner of his cell, he saw a red glow shining dimly from below. Ever since his nails had contorted into sharp claws, the prisoner had been digging a tunnel. Working only when the guards were asleep, he'd made steady progress.
He'd never thought of actually escaping from the Citadel, but dreamed of fighting a battle with the guards, even if hopeless. But now, he had a new goal. Somehow, he must find a way to get the axe. Perhaps its magic would aid him against the wizard.
Meanwhile, as the sun slowly rose, Valaric's column trudged through the snow, marching up the winding path from Bremen to Caralore. They passed hastily abandoned wagons, recently left by Nasoj's fleeing garrison. The wizard's men had sought to block the road just north of Bremen, but fled when they saw Valaric approach with a throng of lutins and moondogs.
A soldier from Lik watched the guild lord riding ahead of the column on his black war-horse, eager to reach Caralore. Foresters from Bremen were busy clearing logs from the path, placed by Nasoj's servants in a futile attempt to stop Valaric's attack. But no obstacle would stop this army, as long as it had the daedra's favor.
"It is good that we received the blessing of Oblineth, Tarkhan" he said to a man from the Bremen regiment, busy loading logs on a sledge. "Her favor to our cause is clear, for her icy breath lifted once we routed Nasoj's men from your town. Now, with fair weather, we may reach Caralore even earlier than Lord Valaric predicted."
"Nasoj's fools didn't know what hit them!" said Tarkhan. "They thought they could block the path north of Bremen by felling a few trees. Then, a great gust of icy wind shattered their barricade at dawn. We saw them flee before the rays of blue light. Weren't you in the front line then, Dagobert?"
"Aye, but they did not fear the ice alone," said Dagobert, looking at the sun glint off the mighty black sword wielded by Valaric, who brandished it before a party of unruly lutins. "They trembled before the approach of our lord, whom they feared was Revonos himself!"
As the wind briefly stirred, Tarkhan heard the gust brush by the wings on Valaric's armor . After leaving Lik, the guild lord added two great wings to his armor, each covered with coal-black feathers. Thus, he honored the fell eagles of Revonos, showing that the daedra would guide his quest to destroy Nasoj's power.
"Where the black eagle circles, the eyes of Death watch," remarked Dagobert, as they caught sight of the distant town. "Surely we will triumph in our battle today. Caralore will be ours before the sun sets!"
As Valaric's army pressed north toward Caralore, Lowenherz walked slowly outside the town's west gate. He saw a few men huddled near a burning log, dimly glowing red as the fire was nearly out. From previous experiences at Starven and Politzen, he guessed they had participated in some sort of religious rite. But what kind? Perhaps he could join them to gain entrance to Caralore.
"Are you celebrating the new day?" Lowenherz said, wondering if they might be Lightbringers. "It is good that the snow has ended."
"We celebrate the long night of winter," said the leader, looking at him skeptically, "By burning our log before dawn, we can watch the darkness between the stars."
They must not be Lightbringers, though Lowenherz. Still, they might provide a way to get inside the town. "I've been on the road all night," he lied, even though he'd actually been flying well above the trees. "I've journeyed far, and hope to find refuge from the snow."
"Fortinbras," said one of the men to the leader. "Perhaps he should join us. One who has traveled far may help our cause in Caralore."
"Which daedra do you follow?" asked Fortinbras, peering closely at Lowenherz.
Lowenherz hesitated, unwilling to tell a second lie. Also, he was stunned by the direct question, as one wouldn't normally expect such blatant interrogation upon meeting a priest. "All of the daedra are part of the darkness which covers the world," he said, looking at the nearly black embers near the dying fire.
"Your answer is true," said Fortinbras, drawing his sword from its sheath. He then plunged the weapon into the heart of the flame, symbolically killing the light. "But the daedra are only a shadow, a pale echo of the Ancient Darkness which once ruled this land, and will some day take shape again."
The others murmured agreement, stomping on the hearth to extinguish the last embers. Soon, all that remained was soot and ash. "Only darkness is worshipful!" they shouted, as the last wisps of smoke drifted away. "Until the Nameless One awakens!"
Lowenherz reluctantly joined the group as they marched toward Caralore's eastern gate. As a Lightbringer, he felt very uneasy about walking near men who were so dedicated to darkness, but how else could he get inside the city? At least they didn't seem inclined to ask him any more questions. He hoped the guards at the gate would be as easy to pass.
His fears proved groundless, for Caralore's garrison had been called to an assembly by its commander. All entering the city were quickly summoned to the meeting, where Nasoj's captain prepared to speak about the coming battle. As he passed the unguarded gate, Lowenherz found himself swept up in the tide of villagers rushing to the square, worried about a possible attack.
Far away in the wizard's Citadel, in the chamber with the magic axe, Nasoj's guards watched the crowd gather in Caralore, using a seeing stone to descry the event. "Do you think they'll fight hard, Armas?" said one guard. "Nasoj just wants them to delay the rebels, so we can set up a new defense line by the cities."
"Be quiet, Terho!" exclaimed Armas. "I need to watch these crystals until Nasoj arrives. I must move them every few minutes so the portal will open at the right time."
"The sooner we get rid of Roderic's Bane the better," said Terho, looking at the black axe lying in a cart next to a pit. "I still don't understand why this portal is so special . . . "
Hastily moving a red stone, Armas said, "Nasoj will send the runic weapon to a place where the accursed beasts of Metamor can never reclaim it. Into the Outer Void."
"What sort of place is that?" asked Terho. "Doesn't Oblineth control the Void? How can she be trusted, after she aided Lilith's rebellion?"
Watching a black sphere materialize in front of the cart, Armas said, "She is not there, for it is a dark place where even the daedra fear to tread. Some say that Iluvatar imprisoned some of the daedra there, ages ago, hurling them beyond the Walls of Night."
"So nothing returns from this Outer Void?" asked Terho. Before Armas could answer, a number of bricks tumbled to the ground, crashing down from the ceiling. Both guards turned, briefly catching a glimpse of a dark hole leading above.
"It's coming from up above. Perhaps one of the prisoners is digging . . ."
"Terho, you fool!" shouted Armas, quickly moving a yellow gem across the table. Before his hand finished moving, a dull red light shot out of the orb below, blazing briefly as it flew up toward the ceiling. "Look at what just happened! I've got to follow Nasoj's orders exactly!"
Terho watched a maroon glow hover above him briefly, before dissolving into a thin mist. He then turned away, dismissing it as a minor problem. What did he know about magic?
Next, he heard a blood-curdling cry coming from one of the upper levels of Nasoj's citadel. It sounded like a wolf howling at first, but then changed, becoming more like a woman wailing. Terho shook his head, for he didn't understand the ways of wizards.
"I don't think any harm's been done," observed Armas. "Magery's never been my strong point, but I figure there wasn't enough time for anything to go really awry. That better be the case, for Nasoj will arrive after finishing his latest project."
"What's that?" asked Terho. "Is it some new form of torture? It sounded horrid!"
"After Lilith's treacherous mages escaped from the Citadel, Nasoj decided to revive an old scheme, desiring to create more reliable servants. None of his transformation spells served to create absolute loyalty in former humans, but he now hopes for better results with animals."
"We'd be out of a job if he succeeds," observed Terho, feeling a bit concerned.
"From what I've heard, that won't happen for a long time. He can magically impose a human form on a beast, but it's much more difficult to make an animal intelligent. If they can't speak or understand language, Nasoj's new pets won't be any better than lutins!"
Terho laughed, unaware than only a few feet away, the prisoner was clenching his paws, ready to attack. He only needed to knock away a few more bricks, and the tunnel would be open. But how could he do it with two guards standing nearby? Surely they'd notice.
"Hermann, wait for a few minutes," advised a soft, female voice.
Who had said that? Who could possibly know his name in this evil place? Glancing down, he saw a dim red light glowing on his claws, which seemed to emanate from all around him. Even stranger, he knew there was a presence nearby, although he physically sensed nothing.
"The portal will open soon. Then, you will be able to escape."
Just like the maroon light, the voice seemed to come from thin air. Still, he was glad to hear something, especially as it seemed intent on helping him. Letting his tail lie against the wall of his tunnel, Hermann rested, wondering what his unseen companion would say next.
[End of Part One]