Chapter 19
The tired black raven was driven by the power of Essaa, the dark, evil magic of the land of Morrah, controlled by the dictatorship ruling of his queen, Eringaff the Dark Sorceress. He flapped his way toward the castle, finally in sight after many hours of flight. In the distance he could see the motionless silhouette of his mistress holding Maraska pon Durk. She awaited his tidings poised tall in the window of the highest of the castle towers, the place where he was required to report to her. He glided the last of the distance and perched upon the windowsill. He relayed what the Captain of her detachment to the Plains of Rhammahadra had told him to his mistress, that those envisioned by the Stracombe were two women, neither of which had the Book of Life, that they were not who she sought. Eringaff flew into an instant rage and backhanded the bird. Feathers flew as he was flung from the windowsill. The raven fell and tumbled half the hundreds of feet from the spire before he could regain flight. He glided to the branches of an ages dead half-uprooted tree that tilted precariously on the rocky slope that formed the base of the castle. He hated his job. Not that he had a choice. He felt fortunate, as fortunate as any scavenger positioned so low on the food chain could feel, that in the future he had many brothers and sisters who the dark sorceress might call upon in his stead for her selfish needs.
Eringaff crossed the room in three steps to the Stracombe, the bowl of seers, now filled with pure, clean water. She stood before it and trembled with rage. Her eyes shone red; she spit as she talked. “Corroth du su solomora Saatalle! Fross amande du!” (Show me the carriers of the Book of Life! Do not fail me!)
The swirling, creamy colors of the Stracombe began to unfold a picture: an old wizard; a young girl, also a wizard; an elf and a Mumbwe. A lesser fairy accompanied them. Belemeriath. It had to be. Few of the lesser fairies could be tolerated, their behavior so erratic. And most lesser fairies would not tolerate the slow, boring company of races not their own. She had since learned the name of the Carrier of the Book of Life: Mia. She looked at her enemy hard, studied her. Studied her movements. Studied her mannerisms. Laughed lightly at Mia's lack of horsemanship. She studied the aura of Saa, visible through the Stracombe, which surrounded her nemesis, noting it to be much thicker than that around her companion wizard. It couldn't be Finnegaff, that wretched has-been wizard. The magnitude of the aura indicated the girl to be much more powerful than her companion. Eringaff knew that it could not be so. She stood watching for hours, studying, ridiculing, criticizing, awaiting a recognizable landmark. Soon they crossed a familiar river. She smiled in a most sinister manner; not that she had another at her disposal, then left, destined for her chamber, where she would summon her general. She would then put her evil plan into effect. The Stracombe went dark when she exited the musty room.
Her chamber was well lit with many sizes of candles of varying shapes. The strong, intimidating stone gargoyles glistened black on their eternal perches about the room. Two of her servants were prone on the cold, polished, black with gray veined marble floor, two Slagg women, who had delivered Eringaff's evening meal. She dismissed them with a harsh command. "Tell the General I require audience with him." The two women sprang to their feet. They ran out the doorway to abide their queen's order. Eringaff sat reclined next to her supper and nibbled on a piece of meat the size of her fist, burnt to a crisp with a bloody, raw middle, as was her preference. She watched the door for her General, who promptly appeared. He strode in, saluted, right hand to chest and dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
"Yes, dark sorceress? I am anxious to serve!"
"You have no choice but to serve!" She spat a half-chewed mass of meat at him. It struck him on the top of the head then fell to the floor. He did not move. "General Mordak, your platoon has failed. The Stracombe has lied to me."
"Is not the Stracombe unable to lie?" Only too late did he realize his mistake in pointing out this well-known fact. He felt lightheaded with fear for his error.
"THE STRACOMBE LIED TO ME, YOU INCOMPETENT SWINE!!!" Eringaff threw the piece of meat she held at the darkhound, striking him on the chest. Her remaining dinner hit the floor. Dishes shattered and glasses broke as she capsized the entire table on which they were set. She took up Maraska pon Durk and turned her back on him, then strode to the window that overlooked the vast wastelands of Slagg, hair flying to her left side in the cold wind that blew in through the window from the north. Face reddened with twisted rage, she stood tall as she looked across the barrenness of her domain. All things within sight and beyond were turning black with the coming of night. Her staff firmly planted to the floor, she placed the other hand against the side of the window. Her hard, fast breathing hissed between clenched teeth as one hand clawed at the stone wall, repeatedly closing grip as if to remove a handful of the stubborn rock from the window frame. There she stood as she calmed down, much to the General's relief, for he had witnessed many times very painful punishment, even death, for lesser acts of insubordination than the one he had just committed. And she did feel like killing him then, had a most creative means to go about killing him slowly, yet knew he had not yet a competent replacement for himself. Not since she had changed his advisors into snakes, which she believed that in itself to be his design. She did in fact suspect he had arranged their irreversible change so that there would be no replacement for him, thinking she would have to spare him. The thought of her first in command committing such a blasphemy against her iced her to the depths of her pitch-black soul. His time would come. Oh, yes, it would come. Of this she was certain. But for now, she needed him alive. She curbed her blood lust, would sate it another time. She felt great pride at the ability she displayed for this self-restraint.
She spoke through clenched teeth, her voice shaking with rage. "They are at the North Steel River at this moment. In three day's time they will be at the Centaurian fortress of Blackmane's Point. You will take the swiftest of your armies and meet them there. And it is there you will get the Book of Life and return it to me immediately. I will send a Shadowrought to aid you. Go. You and your army shall depart now."
General Mordak did not have to be told twice. With a strong salute and bow, he pivoted in a military fashion, then strode out the opened door.
"Close the door, you moron!" The cruel queen yelled after him. He scampered back to the door and pulled it shut.
The shadowrought were the epitome of destruction. They were enslaved beings, captured by Essaa from another world. They were at no one's direction, having no mind of their own. They could be defeated, though not easily, yet could not be destroyed. They were not of Saa or Essaa, and thus it was unknown to all what they were capable of if left unchecked. Eringaff settled back in her chair to finish her meal, a slab of meat she picked from the floor. A knock beckoned upon her door. On her permission, her scribe humbly entered, his duty in part being to request audience for pre-screened visitors to the throne.
"Yes, Mobbliss?" she looked at the scribe.
He bowed as he spoke. "Begging her highness' pardon, great queen. A certain darkhound who would be called Krobbah requests audience. He claims to have acquired information on the Book of Life."
She was in need of a bit of amusement. "Bring him!" she commanded. The scribe exited the chamber and returned promptly with a darkhound commoner, who never would, never could be a soldier. He had not even enough sense to feel fear. And fear he should. Indeed, he should.
"Speak, dog!"
"Great queen, I have found the Book of Life for you! It is traveling south on the Plains of Rhammahadra and is now four days out from Elfwood." He held his hat in his hands in front of his stomach. "I have run for two days to tell you, great queen! Do I get a reward?" The greedy darkhound looked ridiculously stupid as he teetered back and forth. He was ridiculously stupid, she observed. Weren't they all.
"The information you give me is valuable, lowly dog. You shall have your reward. I am placing you in charge of the seventh alpha squad as their Captain. That shall be more than enough rewar
d. Now you can serve me better. Be off, Captain Krobbah!" The darkhound left without the scribe, expecting a reward of a different color, certainly not this.
"Coward! You shall have your reward!" She laughed long and hard. "Mobbliss. Keep one of yours up with this new Captain and report to me what befalls him. And I want details!"
"As you command, dark sorceress!" He saluted, leaving the room in the manner required of him.
The seventh alpha squad was an elite force of highly trained darkhounds and Slagg men, the dark sorceress' pride, her personal guard. Captain Krobbah took immediate charge of alpha seven. The next day while on a field training exercise, the captain of the squad was mysteriously lost in the woods. His body was never found. Not that anyone actually looked for it.