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ORDER & CHAOS pt. 5
Posted 06-08-2009 at 12:29 AM by Goth Writer
Updated 06-11-2009 at 08:03 PM by Goth Writer (It's a work in progress...)
Updated 06-11-2009 at 08:03 PM by Goth Writer (It's a work in progress...)
“Taliesin, we cannot hold this shield any longer,” Leif said. “A Summoner is nearby and we must rally our abilities to confront him.”
The violet shield faded. Rodnik intercepted a pair of Lykanthros using his hatchet and a rondache, a small, circular shield. He struck them with short, glancing blows while avoiding their teeth and claws. Bors, the Burgomeister of Wood’s End, joined Rodnik in defeating the last of the attacking Lykanthros.
Themistokles and the Harad Ghul broke through the dense underbrush. The adept Summoner was immersed in bright, green energy that sparkled and trailed behind him and his Lykanthros mount. His subordinate specters, Flotsam, Jetsam and Mayhem wailed with expectation of the coming conflict.
Drawing their scimitars, the Harad Ghul charged Taliesin and his allies. The din of the ensuing clash reverberated through the Arkadian woods. The Goblin Masters battled fiercely. They wielded their blades in a whirling, spinning attack pattern. In a practiced formation the saddled Lykanthros encircled the mercenaries. Rodnik and Bors engaged their opponents eagerly. Using parrying motions to hold the assassins at bay, Taliesin and Gilead swung at the legs of two of the mounted wolf beasts, bringing them down.
Gilead and Alex uttered the same incantation.
“Vectrox!”
They gestured toward the clawed specters as they fired pulses of blue energy at them. Mayhem was struck squarely and dematerialized. Flotsam and Jetsam were also hit and wavered from the energy drain. The weakened entities retreated into the woods.
Rodnik and Bors succeeded in tossing the remaining Harad Ghul from their saddles, flailing accurately at the legs and shoulders of the Lykanthros. The armored assassins engaged the mercenaries in direct, hand-to-hand combat. They fought fiercely, issuing glancing blows to the hardened armor of Taliesin and Sharon as well as Rodnik’s rondache and Bors’ mace. Their strategy was compromised, though, and the goblins fell among the confusion of the energy bolts of Alex and Gilead.
Leif contended with Themistokles.
He unleashed his practiced spell.
“Trentak!”
The Chief Wizard of the Dire Queen was covered in energy bolts. Themistokles issued forth a counter spell.
“Fensores!”
He surrounded himself in an opaque sphere that blocked the attack and spoke another incantation.
“Acentus!”
Sharon and Gilead were captured in cocoons of green energy.
Taliesin and Rodnik thrust their weapons at Themistokles but could not breach his opaque shield. Bjorn Roundtree pelted the barrier with stones from his sling, but his attempts were also in vain.
“Leif, you must do something!” yelled Taliesin.
The cloaked mage of the Sentinel Order pressed his hands together. His eyes flared with inner fire. He incanted a different sorcery.
“Carvex!”
A larger sphere surrounded Themistokles’ barrier. It had protruding spikes that extended inward. Leif’s sphere contracted, forcing the spikes through the Summoner’s shield, impaling him. The Vizier of the Dire Queen was dead. The cocoons surrounding Sharon and Gilead dissolved.
“There is no time to waste,” said Lord Taliesin. “We must push on to the Abyssal Cairn and deal with Ankharet. She is sure to summon more of these Lykanthros if she is able.”
At last the external buttresses of Ankharet’s fortress rose above the canopy of the oak forest. Crows and scavenger birds circled among the towers and immense, looming gargoyles. A generation of goblins had labored to build the massive structure.
Thorny, disheveled rose hedges lined the entrance to the Abyssal Cairn. The plants had grown wild and untended. They simply rooted in the clearing leveled by the goblins during their initial construction of Ankharet’s Abyssal Cairn. As Lord Taliesin and his allies cut their way through the overgrown roses they saw obsidian fountains and elaborate statues of gargoyles and Lykanthros. The structure had also become partially obscured by the spreading flowers.
“These blossoms are quite beautiful,” observed Sharon.
She brushed her gloved hand over a standing bouquet of white and red blooms. As the travelers neared the gateway to the cairn they saw the hobbling shapes of goblins. They stayed away from the group and made no attempt to impede them.
The portcullis was raised and the large, bronze doors were not barred. Bors and Rodnik pushed one of them inward with little difficulty. They tethered their warhorses to a row of brambles and proceeded within.
As the mercenaries scaled several, spiraling flights of stairs they remained cautious and ready for battle. There were indications of goblins everywhere. Pattering echoes of footsteps and whispered grumbling emanated from smaller, torch-lit passageways. The hall before Ankharet’s main audience chamber was carpeted and lined with ornate facades depicting strange creatures and beings alien to Gaea. At last they passed through the final set of arching columns and entered the throne room of the Dire Queen.
Ankharet sat in her tall dais. Her scrying glass radiated red light as it hung from its scaffolding at her side. Before her raised throne stood a gaping, oval rift in the fabric of space. The planar portal revealed an expansive landscape, strewn with resilient bushes and trees. Among the rolling plains lay large, volcanic boulders. The hills of the alien world swarmed with packs of Lykanthros. They prowled among the dark stones in search of any herbivorous prey they could find. On a distant hilltop spindly Arachnoids carried the heavy, volcanic stones in their mandibles. They used the boulders to assemble a great, vented Hive. The Lykanthros packs made sure to stay clear of the Hive Builders as they hunted for food.
“At last you are here, Taliesin,” Ankharet said. “I watched your friends eliminate my Vizier and assassins through my scrying glass. You are valiant fighters and strategists. I commend you.”
“Ankharet, you must stop tapping foreign planes. The creatures that you’ve released have killed many of our beasts of burden and are a nuisance to farmers and ranchers alike. Your position is untenable,” said Lord Taliesin.
“I defy you, Taliesin,” said the Dire Queen scornfully. “I claim Mystic Down and Coermantyr for my own. Soon all of Gaea will fall under my influence. You and Sharon must abdicate your Regions now or suffer.”
“No, Ankharet!”
Taliesin drew his sword and pointed it at the Dire Queen.
“Close this foul portal and stop your invasions of our lands!”
The Dire Queen rose from her throne, gathering her shimmering raiment in one hand while unleashing a spell with the other.
“Drisenta!”
Eerie illusions flew about the throne room. Many of the images bore the likenesses of despotic Kings from the past. They baffled the mercenaries, although only briefly. Rodnik and Taliesin charged Ankharet as Gilead and Alex spoke their attacking spell.
“Vectrox!”
The Dire Queen uttered the incantation of shielding.
“Fensores!”
Ankharet’s opaque shield deflected the pulses of energy emitted by Gilead and Alex. Rodnik and Taliesin swung at the Queen with their weapons but were unable to breach her defensive barrier.
Leif moved closer to issue the same spell he’d used to dispatch Themistokles.
“Carvex!”
A spike-laden sphere of energy surrounded the protected Queen.
As it contracted she called out, “Guardon, come forth! Lend me your aid!”
A clawed fist gripped the edge of the spatial portal. Then emerged a cloven-hoofed leg and shoulder that extended to a bowed wing. The bronze, scaled arm flexed and Guardon pulled himself into the throne room. His bullish head and chest glistened from the exertion of the task. His red eyes focused on Ankharet. Guardon reached through the two energy spheres and lifted Ankharet in his arms. He pulled her free and stepped toward the portal. Leif and the other mages fired bursts of energy at Guardon but he was not affected by their impact.
Taliesin, Bors, Sharon and Rodnik swung their weapons at the hulking daemon. Their blades glanced off Guardon’s bronze, scaled hide. The Ruler of the Gorgon Plane swung a hefty blow at the fighters, knocking them to the floor.
“Do not interfere with us. We will return to claim this plane and its inhabitants,” Guardon said.
It was at this time that Bjorn noticed the sparkling anklet around Guardon’s left leg. He thought it would make an excellent souvenir of his adventure. The halfling reached for it as the large daemon lumbered toward the portal. The copper chain was fused together. Bjorn needed just a few licks with his metal file to break it loose. He had a firm grip on the anklet just as Guardon passed through the portal to the Gorgon Plane.
The spatial rift dissipated and the stunned mercenaries rose to their feet.
“What happened?” Bors asked.
“Ankharet escaped. The portal is closed,” Taliesin said. “I expect that we won’t be bothered by creatures from that place any time soon.”
“Where’s Bjorn?” Bors queried of his friends.
“I’m afraid he stuck his fingers where he shouldn’t. He must have been pulled into the Gorgon Plane along with Guardon and Ankharet,” Leif said. “Our work here is done. We must travel to Coermantyr and meet with the Lore Masters if we wish to see our troublesome halfling friend again.”
Lord Taliesin collected Ankharet’s scrying glass.
“I’ll take this contraption to the Lore Masters. Perhaps they can find a constructive use for it.”
The journey to Mystic Down from the weakened Region of Arkadia was uneventful. The Lykanthros were nowhere to be seen. The hostile specters of the woods also remained out of sight. The band of travelers took time to water and feed their horses. They slept on a rotating shift and hit the road early each morning.
Chapter Three: Scrying Glasses and Regatherings
The State of Coermantyr lay beyond Mystic Down. The friends passed through the cobblestone streets of Wood’s End. They decided to stop and supply their horses at Bors’ establishment.
The villagers cheered upon their entrance. The withdrawal of the packs of Lykanthros was noticed before their arrival. The air had changed upon Ankharet’s passing to the Gorgon Plane. Bors was reluctant to share the news of Bjorn Roundtree’s disappearance. The halfling was a source of laughter and entertainment for the residents of Wood’s End on many cold nights.
The Lore Masters were known throughout Coermantyr and Mystic Down as adept magic users.
They specialized in monitoring and joining with the various energies that evolved throughout the States of Gaea. Certain areas of Gaea hardly fit the definition of States although they are labeled as such on the maps of Lieges such as Taliesin and Sharon.
The Ghastly Fens were untamed and wild. This was also the case for the woods of Coermantyr and the Mountainous Regions east of Arkadia.
The villagers of Wood’s End understood the necessity of the meeting with the Lore Masters in Coermantyr. They hurried the traveler’s warhorses to the livery stable where they were groomed with currycombs and fed mashed grain. Bors briefed his eldest son, Torvald, about the disappearance of the Dire Queen from Arkadia.
The patron’s of Bard’s Inn were varied in their enthusiasm to retrieve Bjorn Roundtree. For absent items many had blamed him. Bors clearly wished to recruit additional forces to assist them on their mission. The members of the band had no choice but to resign themselves to their own resources. Although Bors addressed the patrons of his tavern in a booming speech, they would not be swayed to accompany him.
The warriors set out on the road to Coermantyr in the morning, with Sharon and her mages leading the way. The farmland and woods were serene in comparison with the wild tracts of trees they saw in Arkadia.
As the horses passed the tilled and irrigated fields of squash and wheat, Bors paused to gather an apron-full of ripe strawberries.
“These will make an excellent pie,” he said.
The outskirts of the City of Coermantyr were bustling with activity. The farmers and ranchers who avoided the open roads under the rampage of the Lykanthros now crowded the city gates. Lord Taliesin and his friends guided their mounts gently through flocks of sheep and herds of cattle.
Several of Sharon’s guards struggled to push a disabled wagon to the shoulder of the road. She spoke to the Captain in charge.
“How fare things in the city, Captain?”
“Not well, My Lady. The roads are jammed with merchants and peddlers. Everyone is trying to sell the fruits of their harvest before they spoil. I’d advise you to rest at a tavern until nightfall. Things should quiet down by then and you’ll have clear passage to the castle.”
That night the moons of Gaea shone brightly as parallel crescents. The streets were settled and Taliesin’s band traversed the road to the castle with ease.
The large ramp leading to the drawbridge was lined with marble sculptures of valkyries and heroines of legend. In Coermantyr the office of the Baroness was passed through the generations on a matriarchal basis, from mother to daughter.
Sharon’s parents had both died several years before. She was accustomed to the duties of her role and was in no hurry to provide her state with an heiress.
Gilead met briefly with some mages at the castle entrance. The warriors’ horses were taken to the stable. Lord Taliesin and his friends scaled several spiraling flights of stairs to a great dining hall. Courtesans and gendarmes of the state applauded the travelers upon their entrance.
There was a resplendent banquet prepared for the returning adventurers. Musicians and dancers filled the central hall of Coermantyr Castle with a jovial ambience. At a large table the Baroness dined with her friends.
“My compliments on this excellent feast, Sharon,” Bors said.
He was gustily chewing a leg of turkey. The Burgomeister appeared to be enjoying himself thoroughly.
Gilead spoke to the group at the table.
“My Friends, I have arranged for a meeting with the Lore Masters tomorrow. They will advise us about the plane where Bjorn was taken. Perhaps they will make some use of the scrying glass which Lord Taliesin retrieved.”
“Thank you, Gilead,” Taliesin said. “I look forward to finding a way to rescue our halfling friend. I also hope that the Lore Masters will give us some information as to how we can prevent such an invasion from occurring again.”
The traveling band was given lodging in the castle. Each of them was glad to have a sound night’s sleep after so many days on the roads of Mystic Down.
The next morning castle pages escorted the mercenaries. They were led to the Council Chamber of the Lore Masters. The Lore Masters were a group of a dozen mages who specialized in the storage of documents. Their massive libraries included both folkloric and historical scrolls.
The Chief Archivist of the Lore Masters was Restadicus. He wore a magenta robe tied with a silver belt. His hoary beard and shoulder length hair were braided and intertwined with strands of the same magenta thread.
The Lore Masters sat at a crescent-shaped table. Their Council Chamber was lit with bright candelabras and an iron chandelier that was suspended by a large chain hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The walls were covered with shelves of scrolls and leather-bound journals.
“Baroness Sharon, we are heartened that you and your allies have made a safe return to Coermantyr. The State has been beset by the Lykanthros for some time. Their eradication is a blessing to us all. As you have seen, the farmers and merchants have swamped the city streets in their enthusiasm to regain their lost profits.”
Lord Taliesin opened his travel pack and placed the dark, glass shard he’d taken from the Abyssal Cairn on the Lore Masters’ table.
“Restadicus, tell us what you can about this scrying glass. It belonged to the Dire Queen, Ankharet. She was using it to communicate with Guardon in the Gorgon Plane.”
The Leader of the Lore Masters extended his spindly fingers over the black glass.
“This glass has been used to communicate with more than one plane,” Restadicus said. “I perceive a spatial breach that has been sealed. This must be the portal which Ankharet generated to channel her Lykanthros into this Realm.”
The grizened mage gazed at the scrying glass with an interested expression.
“Your friend, Bjorn, is stuck with magic users of a hazardous, wreckless persuasion. I regret constructing a new breach to rescue him when Guardon and Ankharet are still desirous of usurping our lands. Let us think on the appropriate course of action and meet here again, tomorrow. We have much to learn from this magic shard.
Restadicus pocketed the glass in his robe for later research.
Bors and Rodnik relished their stay in the luxuriant setting of Coermantyr Castle. They enjoyed not having to work all day. They reclined decadently on the pillows in their quarters. Servants of the Region regaled them with cool beverages and sumptuous food.
Leif appreciated the sophistication of the library of the Lore Masters. He and his friends waited for the Council of Mages to reach a consensus as to their course of action.
The ghoul troll perused the vast archives of scrolls and leather tomes. Although an adept spellcrafter and magic user, there were ancient casting and incanting techniques that he had never seen before.
Many volumes spoke of legendary orbs, different in appearance and function from the Orb of Paryphax. Among the lists were the Orbs of Falstaff, which, according to several journal entries, provided greatly needed assistance to their bearers in battle situations. An unwanted side effect of these orbs was that they vanished out of place and time once used.
Leif, the half undead mage, noticed a shelf of tomes that had been written by Restadicus himself. He’d recorded every message received about the Baroness’ progression toward the Abyssal Cairn of the Dire Queen. As Wood’s End and the subsequent forest were cleansed of the marauding Lykanthros, farmers and ranchers raced to Coermantyr to deliver word of the disappearance of the predators.
The Sentinel hoped that Restadicus would find a way to make use of the scrying glass that Lord Taliesin brought. It might enhance the ability of Coermantyr to observe events that threatened the civic harmony of their Region.
That night the Lore Masters reached a decision. They had studied Ankharet’s scrying glass in private and learned what they could from it. A gathering of several hundred citizens dined in the main hall of Coermantyr Castle. Minstrels and jugglers entertained the villagers and children while they ate.
Bors eagerly joined in and sang another of his many songs.
“In ancient times when work was done the clown Woodruffe did sing.
The people loved him for his mirth and his colorful vest.
At the fountain the maid Gwendolyn fed doves with fluttered wings.
Woodruffe tried hard to woo her but the maid would not say yes.
Desperate to find a working means to win Gwendolyn’s heart,
Woodruffe sought far and wide for an enchanted rose to bring her.
Gwendolyn’s Rose he named it so they would never be apart.
She’d be his without dispute once enchanted by the flower.
Magic thickets were abound, the clown was scratched and stung.
Yet faeries led him to the place where the coveted blossom grew.
He plucked the rose without contest although the maid was young.
Still Gwendolyn refused and said, ‘I simply don’t want you.’
In sadness Woodruffe strode through the town, sniffing at the bloom.
Then he spied another maid sweeping with a broom.
Woodruffe asked her, ‘Share my kingdom though it modest be.’
‘I will,’ she replied and the friends were the merriest pair to see.”
Restadicus and his fellow mages addressed Sharon, Gilead and Taliesin’s mercenaries in the spacious Council Chamber of Coermantyr Castle.
“Thank you for your patience, My Friends. My assistants and I have studied the shard you brought us with utmost scrutiny. Ankharet’s scrying glass is much like our own. The wizards of this castle use such objects from time to time to access distant Regions. We take great care, however, to avoid planes and Realms alien to Gaea. Testing such waters has proven risky at best and cataclysmic at worst. All scrying glasses hold shadows, memories of places they’ve seen and entities they’ve contacted. That is why this shard is unique. It veritably hums with energies that have run through it. It is clear that its previous possessor had no regard for whom or what gained knowledge of Gaea.”
The aged Lore Master scratched his beard.
“We wizards fear to leave your friend, Bjorn, in the Gorgon Plane. Apart from the risk to his wellbeing, He may be forced by the Dire Queen and her cohorts to divulge intelligence in regard to the locations of settlements and fortresses in Coermantyr and Mystic Down. It isn’t wise, however, for us to concert our efforts into recreating a spatial rift such as the one that Leif and the rest of you succeeded in closing. At least not in these populated Regions.”
“Your Sentinel lich troll friend has demonstrated an uncanny expertise in untested spell casting. This is due to his training at the Martial Academy in the Ghastly Fens.”
“The Academy is run by an acquaintance of this Council of Mages. An alumnus of the Lore Masters, Siegemunde, has functioned as the Chief Administrator of the Martial Academy there for the last few years. He moved there from our offices during the past conflict with the stone trolls and goblin hordes.”
“In answer to my urgent request, Siegemunde has agreed to see you. You must hasten to the Ghastly Fens. There you will be positioned farther away from the settled Regions of Gaea. The lich folk are a resilient and courageous race. Their own spawning was based on an unexpected binding of opposing magics. They will be willing to open a temporary rift upon the guidance of their Leader.”
“Seek your halfling friend, Bjorn Roundtree, in the Gorgon Plane. Do not hasten to disrupt the Mandala of the Planes.”
Restadicus’ brow furrowed with concern.
“If you are confronted by Ankharet and Guardon deal with them, as you must. Be aware, however, that you will be fighting them in their Home Region and their powers will be functioning at full capacity.”
“Make haste to the Martial Academy in the Ghastly Fens. Siegemunde has my authorization to tap the scrying glass of the Abyssal Cairn once more. He will be cautious and wise to the risks involved.”
Lord Taliesin and the Baroness assembled their friends in the courtyard of Coermantyr Castle. Among the bartering merchants and bleating livestock the two Lieges addressed their companions.
“My Friends, I am grateful for your support and loyalty to this point. You have proven an invaluable assistance to us in our quest to bring peace and civility to the Regions of Gaea.”
“Lady Redthorne and I still need your help. We ask that you accompany us to the Martial Academy in the Ghastly Fens. There we shall meet with Leif’s Mentor, Siegemunde.”
“The lich trolls have experimented with magic more keenly than we have in Mystic Down and Coermantyr. It has been our approach to treat magic use in a traditional manner. Don’t you agree, Gilead?”
“Verily, Lord Taliesin. We care not for risky and daring sorceries. There are too many villages that must remain safe,” the Key Mage said.
“Let’s gather our horses and prepare to travel to the Ghastly Fens. I am sure Leif can navigate us,” said Sharon.
“I can take you to my Home Region, My Friends. You must understand that my kin are cautious and not readily accepting of visitors. Most of our trade is done at the Crossroads. It will be best if you allow me to speak for us when we encounter others of my race. The Ghastly Fens are a mysterious place, even to those who call them their home,” the Sentinel said.
The mercenaries set forth on the road to the Martial Academy in the morning. Leif took the lead on his dappled mare. The villagers of Coermantyr cheered their passage.
***
Bjorn Roundtree awoke in a strange place. He’d lost consciousness upon his passage through the portal. The halfling lay among a cluster of large boulders. His first instinct was to look for Ankharet and Guardon. He climbed cautiously to the top of the nearest rock. The hordes of Lykanthros still swarmed over the hills of the Gorgon Plane. Bjorn observed the movements of the wolf creatures had taken a circling pattern.
They must detect the presence of their Daemon King, he thought.
The sky was an eerie red yet there was no sun. The Lykanthros spiraled around a distant mountain. Guardon’s Spires, the daemon’s enchanted fortress, stood at its peak. Its sharply angled towers and flying buttresses crackled with blue, electric bolts that extended miles outward, forming a canopy within the crimson sky.
The halfling was surprised to find he was holding Guardon’s copper anklet. The hefty chain sparkled with encrusted jewels. They were of a type
(CONTINUED IN ORDER & CHAOS pt. 6)
The violet shield faded. Rodnik intercepted a pair of Lykanthros using his hatchet and a rondache, a small, circular shield. He struck them with short, glancing blows while avoiding their teeth and claws. Bors, the Burgomeister of Wood’s End, joined Rodnik in defeating the last of the attacking Lykanthros.
Themistokles and the Harad Ghul broke through the dense underbrush. The adept Summoner was immersed in bright, green energy that sparkled and trailed behind him and his Lykanthros mount. His subordinate specters, Flotsam, Jetsam and Mayhem wailed with expectation of the coming conflict.
Drawing their scimitars, the Harad Ghul charged Taliesin and his allies. The din of the ensuing clash reverberated through the Arkadian woods. The Goblin Masters battled fiercely. They wielded their blades in a whirling, spinning attack pattern. In a practiced formation the saddled Lykanthros encircled the mercenaries. Rodnik and Bors engaged their opponents eagerly. Using parrying motions to hold the assassins at bay, Taliesin and Gilead swung at the legs of two of the mounted wolf beasts, bringing them down.
Gilead and Alex uttered the same incantation.
“Vectrox!”
They gestured toward the clawed specters as they fired pulses of blue energy at them. Mayhem was struck squarely and dematerialized. Flotsam and Jetsam were also hit and wavered from the energy drain. The weakened entities retreated into the woods.
Rodnik and Bors succeeded in tossing the remaining Harad Ghul from their saddles, flailing accurately at the legs and shoulders of the Lykanthros. The armored assassins engaged the mercenaries in direct, hand-to-hand combat. They fought fiercely, issuing glancing blows to the hardened armor of Taliesin and Sharon as well as Rodnik’s rondache and Bors’ mace. Their strategy was compromised, though, and the goblins fell among the confusion of the energy bolts of Alex and Gilead.
Leif contended with Themistokles.
He unleashed his practiced spell.
“Trentak!”
The Chief Wizard of the Dire Queen was covered in energy bolts. Themistokles issued forth a counter spell.
“Fensores!”
He surrounded himself in an opaque sphere that blocked the attack and spoke another incantation.
“Acentus!”
Sharon and Gilead were captured in cocoons of green energy.
Taliesin and Rodnik thrust their weapons at Themistokles but could not breach his opaque shield. Bjorn Roundtree pelted the barrier with stones from his sling, but his attempts were also in vain.
“Leif, you must do something!” yelled Taliesin.
The cloaked mage of the Sentinel Order pressed his hands together. His eyes flared with inner fire. He incanted a different sorcery.
“Carvex!”
A larger sphere surrounded Themistokles’ barrier. It had protruding spikes that extended inward. Leif’s sphere contracted, forcing the spikes through the Summoner’s shield, impaling him. The Vizier of the Dire Queen was dead. The cocoons surrounding Sharon and Gilead dissolved.
“There is no time to waste,” said Lord Taliesin. “We must push on to the Abyssal Cairn and deal with Ankharet. She is sure to summon more of these Lykanthros if she is able.”
At last the external buttresses of Ankharet’s fortress rose above the canopy of the oak forest. Crows and scavenger birds circled among the towers and immense, looming gargoyles. A generation of goblins had labored to build the massive structure.
Thorny, disheveled rose hedges lined the entrance to the Abyssal Cairn. The plants had grown wild and untended. They simply rooted in the clearing leveled by the goblins during their initial construction of Ankharet’s Abyssal Cairn. As Lord Taliesin and his allies cut their way through the overgrown roses they saw obsidian fountains and elaborate statues of gargoyles and Lykanthros. The structure had also become partially obscured by the spreading flowers.
“These blossoms are quite beautiful,” observed Sharon.
She brushed her gloved hand over a standing bouquet of white and red blooms. As the travelers neared the gateway to the cairn they saw the hobbling shapes of goblins. They stayed away from the group and made no attempt to impede them.
The portcullis was raised and the large, bronze doors were not barred. Bors and Rodnik pushed one of them inward with little difficulty. They tethered their warhorses to a row of brambles and proceeded within.
As the mercenaries scaled several, spiraling flights of stairs they remained cautious and ready for battle. There were indications of goblins everywhere. Pattering echoes of footsteps and whispered grumbling emanated from smaller, torch-lit passageways. The hall before Ankharet’s main audience chamber was carpeted and lined with ornate facades depicting strange creatures and beings alien to Gaea. At last they passed through the final set of arching columns and entered the throne room of the Dire Queen.
Ankharet sat in her tall dais. Her scrying glass radiated red light as it hung from its scaffolding at her side. Before her raised throne stood a gaping, oval rift in the fabric of space. The planar portal revealed an expansive landscape, strewn with resilient bushes and trees. Among the rolling plains lay large, volcanic boulders. The hills of the alien world swarmed with packs of Lykanthros. They prowled among the dark stones in search of any herbivorous prey they could find. On a distant hilltop spindly Arachnoids carried the heavy, volcanic stones in their mandibles. They used the boulders to assemble a great, vented Hive. The Lykanthros packs made sure to stay clear of the Hive Builders as they hunted for food.
“At last you are here, Taliesin,” Ankharet said. “I watched your friends eliminate my Vizier and assassins through my scrying glass. You are valiant fighters and strategists. I commend you.”
“Ankharet, you must stop tapping foreign planes. The creatures that you’ve released have killed many of our beasts of burden and are a nuisance to farmers and ranchers alike. Your position is untenable,” said Lord Taliesin.
“I defy you, Taliesin,” said the Dire Queen scornfully. “I claim Mystic Down and Coermantyr for my own. Soon all of Gaea will fall under my influence. You and Sharon must abdicate your Regions now or suffer.”
“No, Ankharet!”
Taliesin drew his sword and pointed it at the Dire Queen.
“Close this foul portal and stop your invasions of our lands!”
The Dire Queen rose from her throne, gathering her shimmering raiment in one hand while unleashing a spell with the other.
“Drisenta!”
Eerie illusions flew about the throne room. Many of the images bore the likenesses of despotic Kings from the past. They baffled the mercenaries, although only briefly. Rodnik and Taliesin charged Ankharet as Gilead and Alex spoke their attacking spell.
“Vectrox!”
The Dire Queen uttered the incantation of shielding.
“Fensores!”
Ankharet’s opaque shield deflected the pulses of energy emitted by Gilead and Alex. Rodnik and Taliesin swung at the Queen with their weapons but were unable to breach her defensive barrier.
Leif moved closer to issue the same spell he’d used to dispatch Themistokles.
“Carvex!”
A spike-laden sphere of energy surrounded the protected Queen.
As it contracted she called out, “Guardon, come forth! Lend me your aid!”
A clawed fist gripped the edge of the spatial portal. Then emerged a cloven-hoofed leg and shoulder that extended to a bowed wing. The bronze, scaled arm flexed and Guardon pulled himself into the throne room. His bullish head and chest glistened from the exertion of the task. His red eyes focused on Ankharet. Guardon reached through the two energy spheres and lifted Ankharet in his arms. He pulled her free and stepped toward the portal. Leif and the other mages fired bursts of energy at Guardon but he was not affected by their impact.
Taliesin, Bors, Sharon and Rodnik swung their weapons at the hulking daemon. Their blades glanced off Guardon’s bronze, scaled hide. The Ruler of the Gorgon Plane swung a hefty blow at the fighters, knocking them to the floor.
“Do not interfere with us. We will return to claim this plane and its inhabitants,” Guardon said.
It was at this time that Bjorn noticed the sparkling anklet around Guardon’s left leg. He thought it would make an excellent souvenir of his adventure. The halfling reached for it as the large daemon lumbered toward the portal. The copper chain was fused together. Bjorn needed just a few licks with his metal file to break it loose. He had a firm grip on the anklet just as Guardon passed through the portal to the Gorgon Plane.
The spatial rift dissipated and the stunned mercenaries rose to their feet.
“What happened?” Bors asked.
“Ankharet escaped. The portal is closed,” Taliesin said. “I expect that we won’t be bothered by creatures from that place any time soon.”
“Where’s Bjorn?” Bors queried of his friends.
“I’m afraid he stuck his fingers where he shouldn’t. He must have been pulled into the Gorgon Plane along with Guardon and Ankharet,” Leif said. “Our work here is done. We must travel to Coermantyr and meet with the Lore Masters if we wish to see our troublesome halfling friend again.”
Lord Taliesin collected Ankharet’s scrying glass.
“I’ll take this contraption to the Lore Masters. Perhaps they can find a constructive use for it.”
The journey to Mystic Down from the weakened Region of Arkadia was uneventful. The Lykanthros were nowhere to be seen. The hostile specters of the woods also remained out of sight. The band of travelers took time to water and feed their horses. They slept on a rotating shift and hit the road early each morning.
Chapter Three: Scrying Glasses and Regatherings
The State of Coermantyr lay beyond Mystic Down. The friends passed through the cobblestone streets of Wood’s End. They decided to stop and supply their horses at Bors’ establishment.
The villagers cheered upon their entrance. The withdrawal of the packs of Lykanthros was noticed before their arrival. The air had changed upon Ankharet’s passing to the Gorgon Plane. Bors was reluctant to share the news of Bjorn Roundtree’s disappearance. The halfling was a source of laughter and entertainment for the residents of Wood’s End on many cold nights.
The Lore Masters were known throughout Coermantyr and Mystic Down as adept magic users.
They specialized in monitoring and joining with the various energies that evolved throughout the States of Gaea. Certain areas of Gaea hardly fit the definition of States although they are labeled as such on the maps of Lieges such as Taliesin and Sharon.
The Ghastly Fens were untamed and wild. This was also the case for the woods of Coermantyr and the Mountainous Regions east of Arkadia.
The villagers of Wood’s End understood the necessity of the meeting with the Lore Masters in Coermantyr. They hurried the traveler’s warhorses to the livery stable where they were groomed with currycombs and fed mashed grain. Bors briefed his eldest son, Torvald, about the disappearance of the Dire Queen from Arkadia.
The patron’s of Bard’s Inn were varied in their enthusiasm to retrieve Bjorn Roundtree. For absent items many had blamed him. Bors clearly wished to recruit additional forces to assist them on their mission. The members of the band had no choice but to resign themselves to their own resources. Although Bors addressed the patrons of his tavern in a booming speech, they would not be swayed to accompany him.
The warriors set out on the road to Coermantyr in the morning, with Sharon and her mages leading the way. The farmland and woods were serene in comparison with the wild tracts of trees they saw in Arkadia.
As the horses passed the tilled and irrigated fields of squash and wheat, Bors paused to gather an apron-full of ripe strawberries.
“These will make an excellent pie,” he said.
The outskirts of the City of Coermantyr were bustling with activity. The farmers and ranchers who avoided the open roads under the rampage of the Lykanthros now crowded the city gates. Lord Taliesin and his friends guided their mounts gently through flocks of sheep and herds of cattle.
Several of Sharon’s guards struggled to push a disabled wagon to the shoulder of the road. She spoke to the Captain in charge.
“How fare things in the city, Captain?”
“Not well, My Lady. The roads are jammed with merchants and peddlers. Everyone is trying to sell the fruits of their harvest before they spoil. I’d advise you to rest at a tavern until nightfall. Things should quiet down by then and you’ll have clear passage to the castle.”
That night the moons of Gaea shone brightly as parallel crescents. The streets were settled and Taliesin’s band traversed the road to the castle with ease.
The large ramp leading to the drawbridge was lined with marble sculptures of valkyries and heroines of legend. In Coermantyr the office of the Baroness was passed through the generations on a matriarchal basis, from mother to daughter.
Sharon’s parents had both died several years before. She was accustomed to the duties of her role and was in no hurry to provide her state with an heiress.
Gilead met briefly with some mages at the castle entrance. The warriors’ horses were taken to the stable. Lord Taliesin and his friends scaled several spiraling flights of stairs to a great dining hall. Courtesans and gendarmes of the state applauded the travelers upon their entrance.
There was a resplendent banquet prepared for the returning adventurers. Musicians and dancers filled the central hall of Coermantyr Castle with a jovial ambience. At a large table the Baroness dined with her friends.
“My compliments on this excellent feast, Sharon,” Bors said.
He was gustily chewing a leg of turkey. The Burgomeister appeared to be enjoying himself thoroughly.
Gilead spoke to the group at the table.
“My Friends, I have arranged for a meeting with the Lore Masters tomorrow. They will advise us about the plane where Bjorn was taken. Perhaps they will make some use of the scrying glass which Lord Taliesin retrieved.”
“Thank you, Gilead,” Taliesin said. “I look forward to finding a way to rescue our halfling friend. I also hope that the Lore Masters will give us some information as to how we can prevent such an invasion from occurring again.”
The traveling band was given lodging in the castle. Each of them was glad to have a sound night’s sleep after so many days on the roads of Mystic Down.
The next morning castle pages escorted the mercenaries. They were led to the Council Chamber of the Lore Masters. The Lore Masters were a group of a dozen mages who specialized in the storage of documents. Their massive libraries included both folkloric and historical scrolls.
The Chief Archivist of the Lore Masters was Restadicus. He wore a magenta robe tied with a silver belt. His hoary beard and shoulder length hair were braided and intertwined with strands of the same magenta thread.
The Lore Masters sat at a crescent-shaped table. Their Council Chamber was lit with bright candelabras and an iron chandelier that was suspended by a large chain hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The walls were covered with shelves of scrolls and leather-bound journals.
“Baroness Sharon, we are heartened that you and your allies have made a safe return to Coermantyr. The State has been beset by the Lykanthros for some time. Their eradication is a blessing to us all. As you have seen, the farmers and merchants have swamped the city streets in their enthusiasm to regain their lost profits.”
Lord Taliesin opened his travel pack and placed the dark, glass shard he’d taken from the Abyssal Cairn on the Lore Masters’ table.
“Restadicus, tell us what you can about this scrying glass. It belonged to the Dire Queen, Ankharet. She was using it to communicate with Guardon in the Gorgon Plane.”
The Leader of the Lore Masters extended his spindly fingers over the black glass.
“This glass has been used to communicate with more than one plane,” Restadicus said. “I perceive a spatial breach that has been sealed. This must be the portal which Ankharet generated to channel her Lykanthros into this Realm.”
The grizened mage gazed at the scrying glass with an interested expression.
“Your friend, Bjorn, is stuck with magic users of a hazardous, wreckless persuasion. I regret constructing a new breach to rescue him when Guardon and Ankharet are still desirous of usurping our lands. Let us think on the appropriate course of action and meet here again, tomorrow. We have much to learn from this magic shard.
Restadicus pocketed the glass in his robe for later research.
Bors and Rodnik relished their stay in the luxuriant setting of Coermantyr Castle. They enjoyed not having to work all day. They reclined decadently on the pillows in their quarters. Servants of the Region regaled them with cool beverages and sumptuous food.
Leif appreciated the sophistication of the library of the Lore Masters. He and his friends waited for the Council of Mages to reach a consensus as to their course of action.
The ghoul troll perused the vast archives of scrolls and leather tomes. Although an adept spellcrafter and magic user, there were ancient casting and incanting techniques that he had never seen before.
Many volumes spoke of legendary orbs, different in appearance and function from the Orb of Paryphax. Among the lists were the Orbs of Falstaff, which, according to several journal entries, provided greatly needed assistance to their bearers in battle situations. An unwanted side effect of these orbs was that they vanished out of place and time once used.
Leif, the half undead mage, noticed a shelf of tomes that had been written by Restadicus himself. He’d recorded every message received about the Baroness’ progression toward the Abyssal Cairn of the Dire Queen. As Wood’s End and the subsequent forest were cleansed of the marauding Lykanthros, farmers and ranchers raced to Coermantyr to deliver word of the disappearance of the predators.
The Sentinel hoped that Restadicus would find a way to make use of the scrying glass that Lord Taliesin brought. It might enhance the ability of Coermantyr to observe events that threatened the civic harmony of their Region.
That night the Lore Masters reached a decision. They had studied Ankharet’s scrying glass in private and learned what they could from it. A gathering of several hundred citizens dined in the main hall of Coermantyr Castle. Minstrels and jugglers entertained the villagers and children while they ate.
Bors eagerly joined in and sang another of his many songs.
“In ancient times when work was done the clown Woodruffe did sing.
The people loved him for his mirth and his colorful vest.
At the fountain the maid Gwendolyn fed doves with fluttered wings.
Woodruffe tried hard to woo her but the maid would not say yes.
Desperate to find a working means to win Gwendolyn’s heart,
Woodruffe sought far and wide for an enchanted rose to bring her.
Gwendolyn’s Rose he named it so they would never be apart.
She’d be his without dispute once enchanted by the flower.
Magic thickets were abound, the clown was scratched and stung.
Yet faeries led him to the place where the coveted blossom grew.
He plucked the rose without contest although the maid was young.
Still Gwendolyn refused and said, ‘I simply don’t want you.’
In sadness Woodruffe strode through the town, sniffing at the bloom.
Then he spied another maid sweeping with a broom.
Woodruffe asked her, ‘Share my kingdom though it modest be.’
‘I will,’ she replied and the friends were the merriest pair to see.”
Restadicus and his fellow mages addressed Sharon, Gilead and Taliesin’s mercenaries in the spacious Council Chamber of Coermantyr Castle.
“Thank you for your patience, My Friends. My assistants and I have studied the shard you brought us with utmost scrutiny. Ankharet’s scrying glass is much like our own. The wizards of this castle use such objects from time to time to access distant Regions. We take great care, however, to avoid planes and Realms alien to Gaea. Testing such waters has proven risky at best and cataclysmic at worst. All scrying glasses hold shadows, memories of places they’ve seen and entities they’ve contacted. That is why this shard is unique. It veritably hums with energies that have run through it. It is clear that its previous possessor had no regard for whom or what gained knowledge of Gaea.”
The aged Lore Master scratched his beard.
“We wizards fear to leave your friend, Bjorn, in the Gorgon Plane. Apart from the risk to his wellbeing, He may be forced by the Dire Queen and her cohorts to divulge intelligence in regard to the locations of settlements and fortresses in Coermantyr and Mystic Down. It isn’t wise, however, for us to concert our efforts into recreating a spatial rift such as the one that Leif and the rest of you succeeded in closing. At least not in these populated Regions.”
“Your Sentinel lich troll friend has demonstrated an uncanny expertise in untested spell casting. This is due to his training at the Martial Academy in the Ghastly Fens.”
“The Academy is run by an acquaintance of this Council of Mages. An alumnus of the Lore Masters, Siegemunde, has functioned as the Chief Administrator of the Martial Academy there for the last few years. He moved there from our offices during the past conflict with the stone trolls and goblin hordes.”
“In answer to my urgent request, Siegemunde has agreed to see you. You must hasten to the Ghastly Fens. There you will be positioned farther away from the settled Regions of Gaea. The lich folk are a resilient and courageous race. Their own spawning was based on an unexpected binding of opposing magics. They will be willing to open a temporary rift upon the guidance of their Leader.”
“Seek your halfling friend, Bjorn Roundtree, in the Gorgon Plane. Do not hasten to disrupt the Mandala of the Planes.”
Restadicus’ brow furrowed with concern.
“If you are confronted by Ankharet and Guardon deal with them, as you must. Be aware, however, that you will be fighting them in their Home Region and their powers will be functioning at full capacity.”
“Make haste to the Martial Academy in the Ghastly Fens. Siegemunde has my authorization to tap the scrying glass of the Abyssal Cairn once more. He will be cautious and wise to the risks involved.”
Lord Taliesin and the Baroness assembled their friends in the courtyard of Coermantyr Castle. Among the bartering merchants and bleating livestock the two Lieges addressed their companions.
“My Friends, I am grateful for your support and loyalty to this point. You have proven an invaluable assistance to us in our quest to bring peace and civility to the Regions of Gaea.”
“Lady Redthorne and I still need your help. We ask that you accompany us to the Martial Academy in the Ghastly Fens. There we shall meet with Leif’s Mentor, Siegemunde.”
“The lich trolls have experimented with magic more keenly than we have in Mystic Down and Coermantyr. It has been our approach to treat magic use in a traditional manner. Don’t you agree, Gilead?”
“Verily, Lord Taliesin. We care not for risky and daring sorceries. There are too many villages that must remain safe,” the Key Mage said.
“Let’s gather our horses and prepare to travel to the Ghastly Fens. I am sure Leif can navigate us,” said Sharon.
“I can take you to my Home Region, My Friends. You must understand that my kin are cautious and not readily accepting of visitors. Most of our trade is done at the Crossroads. It will be best if you allow me to speak for us when we encounter others of my race. The Ghastly Fens are a mysterious place, even to those who call them their home,” the Sentinel said.
The mercenaries set forth on the road to the Martial Academy in the morning. Leif took the lead on his dappled mare. The villagers of Coermantyr cheered their passage.
***
Bjorn Roundtree awoke in a strange place. He’d lost consciousness upon his passage through the portal. The halfling lay among a cluster of large boulders. His first instinct was to look for Ankharet and Guardon. He climbed cautiously to the top of the nearest rock. The hordes of Lykanthros still swarmed over the hills of the Gorgon Plane. Bjorn observed the movements of the wolf creatures had taken a circling pattern.
They must detect the presence of their Daemon King, he thought.
The sky was an eerie red yet there was no sun. The Lykanthros spiraled around a distant mountain. Guardon’s Spires, the daemon’s enchanted fortress, stood at its peak. Its sharply angled towers and flying buttresses crackled with blue, electric bolts that extended miles outward, forming a canopy within the crimson sky.
The halfling was surprised to find he was holding Guardon’s copper anklet. The hefty chain sparkled with encrusted jewels. They were of a type
(CONTINUED IN ORDER & CHAOS pt. 6)
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