Chapter 12: Flight of the Interceptors

The Annals of Ghalensa: The Power to Remake

Chapter 12: Flight of the Interceptors

         The vacant black light of the monstrous orb saturated the throne room with its subdued and heavy hues. Rezkelion was locked trance-like with his hands on the orb, immersing himself in its power. He had caressed it for nearly an hour, grinning at times, laughing at others, sometimes even scowling in anger, probably against the High Lord and Ring of Elders back in Ghalensa, and for how he and his lineage had been so maltreated. But most of the time, as he worked the orb, he just stared with resolute determination. Rith-Grinnor watched, patiently biding his time at his lord’s side. He stood ready to assist Rezkelion in whatever way he needed.

         The task was monumental, to open the sealed archgates of his ancestors, the “Paths of the Ancients” they were called, though Rezkelion detested that name. By way of the Archgates they could instantly travel to within ten miles of every Bower in Aralon. Already they were using the Archgate of Vestuvia, activated by the powerful ring worn by Rezkelion, the Ambition of Keethon Siah. Rezkelion had defected by that ring. His very own ancestor, Deth-Nazgohl, was the primary maker and keeper of the Archgate system. Nazgohl, son of Deth-Synar himself, was the Fourth Linsire of Rezkelion, six generations removed. With the defeat of Synar, Nazgohl offered his services as a scholar in the field of magnevics to amend for the crimes of his sire. By that way, he sought to change the maghren from within. But when he realized they would have none of his ideas, he prepared his lineage, by way of the ring, to lead the maghren back to supremacy.

         The ring meant everything. It had been forged and empowered to preserve the ambition for the maghren to once again rule all Urlana. His people had been so misguided by their insistence on maintaining a strict Order of Magnhemistry that they had ignored the things of true power, such as the Archgates. It seemed as if they wanted to lose the ancient knowledge and lose their identity as the people of Maghra, home of the original Keethon Siah, the One Tree. Rezkelion would restore the maghren to true supremacy on this forsaken world, as it should be in every realm and on every world wherever the dispersed maghren lived. Perhaps by mastering the Archgates he could even find his way back to Maghra, or to others of his race in other realms or on other worlds. Grinnor was excited about the possibilities and wanted to be there for every minute of it.

         The maghren had always rejected the Deth lineage, claiming it had been tainted by the disease of Keethon Siah. Yet he had seen nothing but the greatest allegiance to Keethon Siah and a proper reverence and respect for the power of the Tree from the Deth lineage. It was the Deth lineage that had made all the great discoveries of power since their arrival in Urlana.

         Deth-Nazgohl was one such giant, having been an ingenious thinker and inventor. He discovered the ability to travel in Olrhom and invented the Archgates for the maghren to use to instantly travel to any part of Aralon where they desired. By this they could have ruled and overseen the jennah. The maghren chose, instead, to close the Archgates after they established the Order of Magnhemistry, leaving the jennah to develop on their own.

         It was a treacherous neglect of the power they had. The jennah, spawned by the work of another great thinker, Deth-Cortheon, were supposed to be the servants and helpers of the maghren. Their rebellion had gone unchecked ages ago. They were so out of control now that their mere existence was a threat to the continued existence of the maghren. They needed to be annihilated or subdued, and Rezkelion was the one to do it. Life would become great for the maghren once again, and they would rule as Synar had. Grinnor expected he would have a great position of importance next to Deth-Rezkelion, and for that he served.

         The door whooshed open even as Rezkelion made a loud rasping sigh and backed away from the orb in exasperation. He had failed to make the connection. Travel through Olrhom would have to wait for another dawn. Deth-Sorenna entered with Derv-Jethecular in tow. The shiny black dervijn looked menacing.

         “What news.” He demanded as he walked over to his throne and sat.

         “The scrawks are ready, brother. We can ride tonight,” she said, slightly bowing.

         Rezkelion stared into his zoid. “You have done well, sister. Very well. I commend you for your excellence and contribution to our lineage. History will know you as a pillar of the great maghren restoration to the supremacy of Urlana.”

         Sorenna stood tall and proud. She was valuable, but she would never stand in Grinnor’s position. He would make sure of that.

         “You will lead my armies into many great battles of victory against the jennah.” Rezkelion said. “But you must always be ready to seek out and find key leaders of the jennah, key opponents, to annihilate them before they can summon power against our just cause.”

         “We are the deadliest force ever assembled, brother. We shall prevail.”

         Though he hated to admit it, she wasn’t exaggerating. The dervijn were the most formidable warriors he had ever seen, and loyal. Having a flying force of dervijn on the backs of scrawks, formidable fighters themselves, commanded by several maghren officers, herself at the top, formed a fighting unit more lethal than anything ever assembled in all history. This shock unit would make it a quick war. With Sorenna’s sudden strikes deep into the heart of Aralon, and the hordes of wörlics ready to descend upon the unsuspecting jennah, they should have the whole of Aralon in less than a thirdspan.

         “What of Valorda?” Rezkelion asked.

         “Your Admonishers have succeeded in securing the reluctant cooperation of King Calindred,” she said. “Though reluctant it may be, he is eager for the ‘Ancients’ to help in subduing his hated enemies in the Realm of Boravia. We can fly tonight.”

         “Excellent. Let the Vales do the heavy fighting. Intervene only enough to make them succeed. We will take Boravia, seize power in Valorda, and in three dawns we shall have three provinces, three of the nine bowers of Aralon, and three of the four I need to shut down Ghalensa. After that I shall breach The Void and unleash our little wörlic fiends upon the unsuspecting jennah.”

         Another door whooshed open and two maghren entered bearing trays laden with mugs of ale. Rezkelion shot a knowing glance at Grinnor.

         “Sir,” Grinnor nodded, “I presumed a celebration of the prime flight of the Interceptors would be in good order, and even doubly now with the great news from Valorda.”

         Rezkelion waved them forward and took the first mug. Grinnor had ordered his servants to bring from the finest stock of caranine ale. As the mugs went around, all waited for Rezkelion’s salute.

         “To the flight of the Interceptors, and to the commencement of the restoration of maghren supremacy in Aralon and beyond.”

         “Yuhss’yhori,” came the traditional, unified response, and all drank heartily.

*      *      *

         The crisp air of dawn glowed under the light of the setting moon, Tor, and the brilliant rising of the green sun, Synar. It was especially dark green upon first rising, and larger than normal. Lorzh-Keshamin had never seen the spectacle they called the sun until Rezkelion asked him to play the part of an Admonisher. This was now his ninth sunrise and the most spectacular by far. He could hardly pull his lens covered eyes away from the sight. He wondered if it looked any different without the protective disks. Even so, this was not the horizon to be watching. He had sent a dispatch pigeon from this very site on the previous dawn telling Sorenna of the pact with Calindred. The Interceptors, he’d been told, would be coming from the horizon of setting, somewhere from up under where Tor now sagged pale blue in the sky.

         King Calindred stood with him high atop the battlement of the palace. Keshamin felt quite uncomfortable at this height. Give him the glowing corridors of his home in the roots of the Tree. That’s what he preferred. No special shimmering suit, no lenses, no heights, no jennah cities, just the peaceful glow of a cool misty lair.

         But there was work to do first. As an Admonisher of the Ancients he was sent to convince Valorda, Covant by its provincial name, that the Ancients were returning to restore magnhemistry to order and that any who opposed would be their enemies. Those who cooperated would be given authority and responsibility in the new order.

         King Calindred Pen-Ather was a proud jen, one who did not like seeing his authority over his kingdom diminished. But he was too proud to give it all up, and so he agreed to join forces with the Ancients to subdue Rykor and Brugundia with the promise that he would retain governing authority over Covant and Rykor in cooperation with the Ancients. Nothing of the sort would happen. He would be dead before the war with Rykor and Brugundia was over. A peg in the grander scheme of restoring the maghren to supremacy in Aralon.

         Five dawns ago, Calindred issued an edict throughout his kingdom telling his people of the presence of Admonishers in Verutheon, pardoning all magnhemists in hiding, and urging them to journey to at Bar Erban, the Amber Bower, for a meeting with the Admonishers. That meeting and the slaughter of the Valordan magnhemists would happen in two dawns. The war would already be one dawn old. Everything was going perfectly.

         Out on the horizon under Tor he could now see the faint specks of a flock approaching. He pointed them out to Calindred, who could not see a thing. Maghren sight was superior. The specks grew and so did the flock. It was a swarm. Thousands of them. They moved like scrawks, he was sure.

         “The Otherworlders are coming. They have entered this realm. The time of action is upon us.” Keshamin put his best effort into using a pleasing voice, avoiding his raspy lisps as much as possible. “Let us descend to the courtyard to greet the great commander, Deth-Sorenna, and hear her instructions.”

         Calindred looked sullen, a jen not in control of his own destiny. He turned toward the landing and began descending the long spiral stair. There was a reluctance in each step, a weariness with being told what to do at every turn. Keshamin needed Calindred to have his heart in the alliance. His was not the demeanor of one committed to the task ahead. A gloomy King couldn’t lead troops to victory in battle. He needed something to spark the King. Perhaps he would have to come up with another incentive, another prize for the victor.

         Just as they left the base of the tower, the unmistakable flaps of descending scrawks greeted them in the courtyard. Again the timing was perfect. A portent to our success, Keshamin thought. Sorenna, Derv-Jethecular, and two others were just touching down.

         Calindred froze. He was looking at Jethecular and his mount. “What are these things?” He asked.

         “This, Pen-Ather, is the promised army from the Otherworld. The Interceptors are here to restore magnhemistry to order. Those who resist must be destroyed. You would have done well to listen to what your magnhemists taught you from the Writings instead of driving them into exile.”

         Calindred stood speechless. Keshamin knew how much Calindred hated being called Pen-Ather, a surname with no title, and he used it to great effect.

         “Even so, Pen-Ather, your willing cooperation has been noted, and you will have a great place in the rulership of Aralon. We need a strong jen like you to lead your people in this time of change. It will help in the transition and we will spare many lives.”

         Calindred’s voice gave the slightest hint of a quaver. “How many of these are there?”

         Sorenna, shimmering blue, leapt from her mount and started toward the King. “There are thousands upon thousands of these things,” she said. “This is but the core unit of an entire army. The rest are landing in your practice field just beyond the palace gates to set up camp.”

         She was now two feet from Calindred, and two feet taller, being rather tall, even, for a female maghren. Calindred looked up into the large, circular disks covering her eyes. As he nodded something clicked in him. He suddenly gained stature, confidence, and resolve. It was written on his face as he turned to review the menacing scrawks and the equally menacing dervijn riding them.

         “Very well,” he said. “If it is war you want with Boravia, then war you shall have. Do not underestimate them. They are not a weak foe. Very resourceful and especially elusive in the mountains. They have thousands of miles of tunnels throughout the mountains and some havens that could even be called underground cities.”

         “They are no match for us in open battle,” Sorenna said, “We shall chase them into their holes and seal them in, if that’s what they want.”

         Calindred’s face tightened as he took it in. He patted the hilt of his sword at his hip and said. “We are ready to march into Boravia tonight. We will cross the mountains at Shenigan pass and descend into the Cass Valley. On the morning of the second dawn we will be ready to storm Towe Springs. Once we take that, we can discuss our strategy from there. We’ll need to know where the larger part of the Boor army–”

         “Save your marching, King.” Sorenna waved her hand. “I’ve studied the maps. We’ll take the Cass River directly into Towe Springs.”

         “They’ll rip us apart from the banks. They have catapult batteries all along, tons of rock, and fire arrow units. We’ll have to row up current–”

         “There will be no catapults and only token resistance from fire arrows. Do you not think we have thought this through. You talk of a formidable foe, yet you know not the capability of my Interceptors.”

         Calindred did not lose his air of resolve, but waited for her explanation.

         “Tonight,” she said, “a detachment will fly ahead of us to utterly destroy every catapult battery and scatter the archers. They will not know what hit them, and they will flee in terror to their main encampment. We will follow them there and conduct a shock raid, enough to unnerve them. We will make it unmistakably clear that we mean to take at Bar Daloo.”

         “Yes,” Calindred said, “I see. You’ll draw the army down toward the Blue Bower while we row up the Cass to take Towe Springs. Once they know that my army is in Towe Springs, they must divide or wait for reinforcements.”

         Sorenna seemed pleased, “Almost, King. We do mean to take Daloo and cut off their use of the power of the Tree. Without the House of Warriors involved in defense of Boravia, it will fall easily.”

         “It’s a brilliant plan.”

         “Indeed,” she said, “but there’s more. Once you have secured Towe Springs, your second army in Rishing Cas will cross the border and march on Rishing Pointe.”

         “To protect my back at Towe Springs.”

         “Precisely,” she said, “so you can send a large force marching toward Daloo, while another detachment of Interceptors flies toward Towe Springs.”

         “To squeeze them in a vice and destroy the entire army.”

         Sorenna nodded.

         “But they have other armies. A large one at Kethel Mitredon, a fortified and walled city, and a garrison at Ikik, another fortified and walled city.”

         “We will make ourselves appear thin, overextended. They will counterattack, probably from Ikik. We will draw them toward Daloo, as if in retreat. You will set up a number of ambushes along the way, to weaken them. Once at Daloo, we will again enfold them in a vice. You at their back, and the Interceptors with the power of the Tree in their face.”

         “But do not underestimate them. I told you of their tunnels. They may counterattack from out of the very mountains themselves. They have marched entire armies under the cover of their tunnels to strike where we least expected it.”

         “My scrawks will patrol the air. No Boor unit will go undetected. We will attack them and seal their tunnels in rubble.”

         “It is a bold plan. We will get far. But at some point we will need to regroup lest we get thin.”

         “Nay. We will strike so fast and hard, we will win the war before they know it has started. You will see, King Calindred, you will see the might of the Ancients and a new order come to pass before your eyes. And you shall at last vanquish your long time enemy and rule the mountains of Rykor.”

         Keshamin seized the opportunity to interrupt. “There will be great success, but we must eat now and begin the preparations of the troops. I have arranged provisions for both your armies and all will be well fed before battle. Perhaps you can continue to discuss the detailed strategy in the King’s war room after we have taken food. There are excellent maps in there, Sorenna.”

         “What about my scrawks?” she asked.

         “I have arranged a herd of sheep for them,” Keshamin said.

         “A herd?” Calindred spun toward Keshamin.

         Sorenna clasped the king’s shoulder. “My scrawks are hungry creatures, Pen-Ather. Would you want them feeding on your army?”

 Next  "Chapter 13: Wares"