Shadows of Forever by Bryce V. Giroux	Part 7 and part 8 appear in this issue.
conclusion

* * *

Norin Wynrich paced about the market square, muttering to himself. Their actions were inexcusable and downright treasonous. Those two captains, Tarn and Temmit, he even repeated the names in his head, Tarn and Temmit, should be hanged. To leave their companies alone, leaving their lieutenants to command was outrageous. It was no wonder the humans managed to slaughter them while attempting to take the city up the road.

Then there were those soldiers who Tao sent to deliver the Smith. Tao was right in sending them to the human king; but he wished the Gavin had consulted him beforehand. He was glad one of the soldiers hadn’t had the courage to face slaughter with the others, so that he’d managed to deliver the news to Wynrich. His punishment for his cowardice was swifter than usual. He’d barely screamed when Wynrich gutted him.

“Norin.”

“What?” he snapped. Tao had been standing there for Talin knows how long.

Tao slithered forward. “I have some rather interesting news from one of the new generals who’ve arrived.”

“Well, out with it.”

“Negren Zenria is on his way here with the bulk of the Visharian force.”

Tao’s face beamed while Wynrich’s face fell.

* * *

Temmit woke, chained and sore. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He opened his eyes and dankness greeted him.

He tried to speak, but his throat was dry and he could barely manage to squeak. He searched through the gloom: He was in a dirty cell, which stank of urine and other functions, and feces festered in one corner. These barbarians didn’t even offer the decency of a cesspool. There were no windows, other than a barred slit in the iron door. A pale orange light trickled in. Temmit could only assume it emitted form a torch. He guessed by the cold damp air that they were underground. He didn’t know how deep. He was alone in his cell; he figured Tarn was in another cell.

He heard a rattle of chains at the cell door. Temmit lifted his head. Maybe Tarn had found a way out.

The door swung open, allowing more pale orange light to stream in across his face. Two figures stood at the door — neither was Tarn. One figure looked older than the other did; the second looked to be a man younger than twenty-years old. Both wore crude leather jerkins.

The younger one stepped forward and crouched by Temmit. “My name is Padraig the Tiger.” Foul breath poured from his lips. “You killed my best friend. Remember this face; this is the face that will bring your people to their knees.”

The older one steadied the younger one. He leaned down to Temmit. “How many of you are there?”

Temmit refused to speak their crude language.

* * *

Léod and Colban woke in the first light of dawn; the air had chilled and the fire had died down to embers. Léod shook off the dew, and hugged himself tightly. “We should reach the base of the Red Mountain by nightfall.”

“Maybe it will be warmer there.” The Smith tried desperately to warm his hands over the dying embers.

Léod and Colban headed down the Pilgrim Path. Just over the first hill, they spotted one of their packs lying in the middle of the path; the contents lay haphazardly across the hill. Léod picked up the pack and examined it while Colban gathered the contents. The strap was wet and tacky with blood. The sight of it made him shiver.

“It’s so strange,” Colban said, returning to Léod’s side with an armload of goods. “They left our food, most of it at any rate.”

“I don’t think they left it.” Léod showed the Smith the blood. “Something took it from them, and left it for us.”

Colban cringed. “What sort of animal would do that?”

“I don’t think it was an animal.”

* * *

Padraig paced about the cell, glaring at the captured Visharian. Seeing it bruised brought some relief to his heart. Dead would be better.

Giric knelt by the wounded Visharian and examined its wounds. “How many of you are there?”

The Visharian cursed in some dark language and spat in Giric’s face.

Giric stood and wiped away the spittle. He turned to Padraig and smiled. “My friend would like nothing better than to tear you apart like he did to your companion,” Giric said to the Visharian.

“Tarn? What have you done to him?” Temmit hissed.

Giric turned back to the captive. “I guessed you could speak our language. Tell us what we want to know, and we’ll let you know what happened to your friend.”

The Visharian snickered and turned his head away. “Filthy humans, you can’t kill a Visharian. Destroy his body and the soul will be reborn. Your threats mean nothing.”

“Well, perhaps we could prolong your death long enough to make it all worthwhile.”

Padraig flung himself furiously at the Visharian. He wrapped his fingers around its maw and forced it to face him nose-to-nose. His eyes flared and nostrils billowed forth breath so hot it might melt steel. “Answer the captain!” Padraig’s heart pounded in its cage.

The Visharian stared back at Padraig with icy eyes. “There are six regiments of two hundred and fifty soldiers each; twelve more should have landed by now.”

Giric glanced at the ceiling. “That makes forty-five hundred; less the ones we’ve dealt with already. There are possibly about four thousand able-bodied soldiers.”

Padraig stood and took a deep breath. “We should have enough men to stop them. Right, Captain?”

“There are two thousand men in Éuarægh ready to take arms. There are another four thousand troops waiting in Drustanrægh. We will be able to take them.”

Padraig turned back to the Visharian and drew his sword. Temmit pressed his back against the wall. “I hope you aren’t a soldier in your next life,” the Tiger said. He coldly thrust his sword into the captive’s neck, extinguishing its life. Ghostly flames ran up and down the blade. The flames diminished when Padraig withdrew his weapon.

Now was the time for war.

* * *

Padraig was glad that Giric was his captain, and that Morgan was part of the company. Though Giric still looked bruised, he stood tall and strong. The healers did excellent work.

Padraig’s company of a hundred archers, a hundred and fifty pikemen, and another hundred and fifty swordsmen all outfitted in leather jerkins, was the second army deployed. The thunderous marching of the army resounded across the market square.

The company in front of Padraig was similarly armed but had fifty more archers and fifty less pikemen. The company behind was a heavy infantry consisting of two hundred shieldmen, and two hundred halberdiers. Padraig could not tell how well armed were the other five companies behind that one, though he could tell by the whinnying of horses, and spears and lances waving in the air that there were cavaliers and spearmen included in their ranks.

The army marched beyond the gates of Éuarægh, leaving the city to the defenses of the town constabulary. It would take two days to march to Tannersrægh, and then Glærn was only two days beyond that.

The king’s army would meet the Lady’s army on the outskirts of the village and the Visharians would feel their wrath.

* * *

Colban and Léod stood at the base of the Red Mountain; the path had ended at its rocky face.

Léod sized up the cliff. The rock wall stretched at least fifty feet straight up before reaching a ledge. This first stage would be the most difficult — beyond the ledge was a cave, which Léod had heard inclined through darkness up the next five hundred feet... mystery and rumors shrouded everything else.

“What now?” Colban asked.

“Now we climb.”

They heard a flapping like gigantic wings beating on air just as Léod put his foot on the first outcropping,

Léod stepped down and turned. A massive man-beast stood on the path. Leathery red wings stretched out at least twenty feet. The beast itself stood roughly nine feet tall. It looked human. Its skin was red and black, resembling molten lava. It had six arms and powerful legs that ended in talons. Atop its hairless head were two curled horns, like those of a ram. Both Léod and Colban froze in fear in the presence of the demon.

“I am X’nine.” the beast said in a rumbling voice.

“What are you?” Colban stammered.

“I am Solari, sent by Kalzrok as your guide up the mountain.”

The Solari swept Léod and Colban up in its immense arms. It stretched out its wings and beat on the air. Gusts of hot wind fluttered against Léod’s face as the beast carried them up and up the mountain.

“Where are you taking us?”

The beast did not reply.

They flew higher into the air. Léod looked down at the ground that was quickly retreating beneath his dangling feet. Looking up, he saw the jagged summit of the mountain; they were approaching at a terrifying speed... in an instant, they reached the top. Colban and Léod were set down on the edge. Lava boiled within the immense crater below them. The stench was overpowering; Léod’s eyes watered and his throat burned.

X’nine swept back up into the air, and then dove into the molten rock. Léod and Colban stared deep into the fires of the earth.

Suddenly, a column of fire erupted from the pit. Ash and flame climbed high into the air. The turmoil bubbled and spat as it slowly turned. Flames lashed out at the Elder and the Smith, yet it didn’t burn them.

Within the flames, the vague shape of a face took form. “State your name,” the resonating voice demanded.

Léod cautiously stepped forward. “I am Léod of Glærn. I was sent by-”

“You are the one to bring the Lord of Flame to the people. Rejoice for the Lord’s time is at hand.”

“Are you Kalzrok?” Colban asked.

“I am Inferno, Kalzrok’s presence in the Fiery Boands. I am the leader of his army. I bring the word of Kalzrok to you.”

“What, exactly, is Kalzrok?” Colban’s voice quivered.

The column of flame turned, and boiled for a moment in silence. “Kalzrok is the god of fire. He came upon your godless world to provide guidance to your people. He is the foe of the one called Talin.”

“And where is he?” Léod asked.

“He exists beyond your world, yet he watches you closely. You may find him in the skies in the day, and at night. You may find him in your fires and in your embers. He exists everywhere flames exist.”

“And what do you ask of me?” Léod asked. “Why have you chosen me?”

“Your heart is pure, Léod. Your rage against the intruders is true. Kalzrok sees that, and he wants you to know that he knows your hatred for Talin. You will let it be known that the Great War between Kalzrok and Talin shall be waged in this world, as it has in others. Your side has been chosen, and you will be blessed for your choice.

“For your courage, and your strength of heart, Kalzrok will see that you are raised in a special place in the Realm Beyond. All Kalzrok asks is that you take the Word to the people that Kalzrok has come to free your people. He has built for you an army made of rock and flame, which he calls the Solari, to watch over you, to protect you, to guide you.

“You will build a church for Kalzrok in Port Moor, in the northern lands. This will be the central place of worship, and the heart of the faith in your world. When you are ready, Kalzrok will call priests from your people who will spread his message.

“You must follow the tenants that come from Kalzrok’s essence to my voice. Kalzrok asks, in return for his protection, that you follow his laws.”

“And what laws are those?”

“All new children born into the arms of Kalzrok shall be branded, marking their alliance to the Lord of Fire for life. This brand shall be of a circle, representing the cycle of life, and shall be placed upon forearm of the right arm. The right arm represents strength, and through strength, Kalzrok shall deliver you.

“Those who were not born into the arms of Kalzrok shall be branded with the same symbol on the left arm. The left arm represents defense, and through the defense of your people, you shall be saved.

“A follower of Kalzrok shall not harm another member of Kalzrok, through indifference or fault of his own. All of Kalzrok’s children are sacred to him, and it is in loyalty to your brethren that deliverance may come.

“The followers of Talin deserve no life in the face of Kalzrok. The children of Kalzrok may not harbor them, provide them safe passage, or grant them mercy. It is through wrath that the tides of war shall shift in favor of Kalzrok.

“Those who follow neither Kalzrok nor Talin shall be swayed, by any means necessary, to the Way of the Flame. It is through the strength of numbers that the battlefield is won.”

Then Inferno told them the most sacred commandment of all: “The Solari are the most holy of beings. Their presence must be revered; their actions must be unquestioned. They are the soldiers of Kalzrok, and the enforcers of his law. If their path is interfered by manner of man, the Solari are granted to strike down their offender, enemy of Kalzrok or not.

“There are three Solari breeds: The red, such as you have seen with X’nine. They are the strength of Kalzrok within the Fiery Boands. They carry the weight of war upon their shoulders. Respect their strength, and you shall be respected.

“The black serve as Kalzrok’s eyes; it is their duty to penetrate the shadows of Talin’s ranks and from their information gain a quick resolution to the war. Respect their grace, and you shall be respected. The ash you shall fear the most: They are the bond between the Fiery Boands, and the Realm Beyond — they hold the divinity of Kalzrok. Respect their power, and you shall be respected.

“Failing to follow these rules, any of these rules, shall bring the fury of Kalzrok upon you, both in this world and beyond. You shall feel the lash of the flame, and shall be cursed for eternity. Obey the flame, and you shall be rewarded by grace in this world, and mercy in the next.”

A creature, looking mostly human, but with skin of such black ebony that it glistened, approached. It held a large tome in its muscular arms. “This is the Kalzrokian ritual book,” the pillar of fire said. “It describes all that I have told you. Now you must go to Port Moor.”

“We don’t know how to get there. I’ve never heard of the place,” Colban said.

“I will take you,” X’nine said.

X’nine swept Léod and Colban up in its arms. They flew through the air at blinding speed. The ground far below whisked by. From the direction of the sun, Léod guessed they were traveling north deep into the barbarian lands. These lands were foreign to him; he only knew a bit about them from what he’d heard from traveling merchants. Léod spotted many unfamiliar features, forests, lakes, plains. They flew over settlements he never knew existed, and over a grand lake so large it boggled Léod’s mind.

Once past the lake, X’nine slowed and began to descend.

“What is this land?” Léod asked.

“The people call it Sunga of Pomjar; your people call it the Northern Province. These Pomjarmi people shall be the first to regard Kalzrok as a god.”

They descended into an encampment of about twenty or more savages. The people gasped and pointed as Léod, Colban and X’nine landed in the center of the village. The smell was appalling to Léod, and the people were frightening to behold. They wore crude animal skins and their thick red hair was matted and filthy. Their dwellings were little more than animal skins draped over branch-and-bone frames.

A crowd gathered around the trio, pointing and chattering among themselves. A man, Léod presumed it was their chief, pushed through the crowd. He was larger than the others and wore a crown of sharp teeth. He shook a feather-covered staff at the three visitors, rattling the bones and teeth with which adorned it. “You are the ones who come from above,” he said in a thick, brutish accent. “We have been waiting your return. Our shamans have taught us for many generations that the visitors of the south shall come from the skies. They spoke of you. It is you who shall tell us what has happened to our gods, and it is you that shall guide us into the new age of light, as it was told.”

Léod and Colban were ushered to the chief’s tent, where they began to teach the Way of Kalzrok.

* * *

A week after Mairghraed’s death, an Ægrinian army of over six thousand soldiers bivouacked just beyond Glærn.

Giric approached Padraig, who was pacing across the field. “It’ll be over soon,” he said.

“I hope you’re right, Captain.”

A trumpet sounded, calling the troops to attention. Each group formed up in its proper place; the sea of bodies was astounding.

“It’ll be a celebrated battle today,” Giric prophesized.

Padraig nodded, yet his gut felt full of knots. He drew Elfbane and steadied it against his wooden shield. His leather jerkin felt so tight and so thin, he wondered how well it would hold up against the Visharians weapons.

He swallowed hard when he heard the order to march.

The army of men began to advance on Glærn, coming soon upon the outer perimeter wall, a shaky fence, which the Visharians, by means of their dwarven slaves, had created.

An archer atop a parapet spotted them. He called out to his troops.

Arrows fired.

A soldier beside Padraig fell to a Visharian’s arrow.

The king’s archer launched a volley of arrows in return.

Visharians fell wounded or dead.

Padraig’s unit charged the gates.

They forced their way through quickly. The unprepared enemy fell with ease. Battle cries and screams rose through the streets.

Padraig was startled to see there were no villagers among the Visharians. There were only soldiers. Padraig pushed his way through the mob, swinging Elfbane at anything with long ears. He ignored the blood that washed his face and the pain in his shoulders and arms from swinging the sword.

Padraig, over there, Mairghraed’s voice called in his head. He ducked as a Visharians spear lunged at his head. His blade dug deep into the attacker’s belly. Padraig, there are three leaders here; if you kill them, it may end this.

“Where are they, Mairgie?”

Two in the tent to your left.

Padraig spun and charged at the tent that had been set in the market square. He heaved the sword high in the air and swung down, tearing a large hole in the side. Stepping inside, he saw an elderly Visharian cowering in a corner, and a larger, armed Visharian awaiting him.

“So, you are the Smith’s apprentice?” hissed the one with the sword.

“Yes and Mairghraed’s avenger.”

“Who is Mairghraed?”

“You’ll soon find out.” Padraig lunged at the younger Visharian. Their swords met with a clang.

Padraig’s opponent blocked each blow. The Tiger did not let up.

Then he felt a cold blow to his gut. Looking down, he saw a dagger protruding from his belly. Somehow, the old man had sneaked in to stab him.

Padraig gasped and dropped to his knees.

Padraig! Mairghraed’s voice screamed in his head. Get up before they kill you.

Padraig gasped, “I can’t, Mairgie. I can’t.”

You must — for me.

A tear ran down Padraig’s cheek. Looking up, he struggled to focus on the two Visharians looming over him.

“Norin Wynrich will be proud of my victory,” said the younger of the two.

“What do you mean your victory, Tao? It was I who killed him.”

A force welled up within the Tiger. Red flames burst from Elfbane. In a fluid move, Padraig rose and swung the sword at his opponents. A clean chop cleaved the younger Visharian’s head from his shoulders. With a roar, Padraig swung again, this time chopping the elder Visharian from the shoulder to the hip. Both fell dead.

Padraig grabbed his wound and huffed. “For you, Mairgie,” he mumbled, and then stumbled back into the streets.

The scene was vicious. Bodies of Visharians and humans lay strewn everywhere, and nearly all the buildings were ablaze, including the chapel. Glærn was in ruins.

Padraig stumbled farther along. Giric spotted him and rushed to his aid. “We did it! The Visharians are vanquished. Only a few remain.” He looked at Padraig’s side. “You’re wounded. Is it bad?”

“Bad enough, I’m afraid.” Talking was difficult. “There’s something I want to see.”

“What’s that, lad?”

“I want to see the ocean.”

Giric helped Padraig down the path to the beach, where he collapsed to his knees, then to his backside in the breaking waves. Wincing in pain, he gazed out at the horizon, hopeful for the return of Nin Colaim and the other gods.

Great ships of wood and iron appeared on the eastern edge of the world.

Too many to count.

Giric helped Padraig to his feet. Together, they raised their swords in defiance.

Copyright © 2006 by Bryce V. Giroux