The Marenon Chronicles Collection

Chapter Twenty-Seven





Julian hadn’t fully expected to be running into Mudavé when Garland had convinced him to help retrieve Silas and the others, but the thought of finally getting the chance to reconcile with Kaden and perhaps even getting his hands on another medallion was good incentive to keep going. He hoped they weren’t simply walking into a death trap, however.

There was one overarching suspicion that drew Julian to the filthy city. That suspicion was Ward Holden. Having disappeared without any notion of where he went, and after overhearing the conversation he had with Spencer and Maroke, there was only one place that made any sense for Holden to be. Mudavé. If he were there, Julian would confront him and seek justice. Holden’s actions against the Dunarians must not continue.

He also hoped to figure out what sort of army the Stühocs were amassing and who they might be getting ready to attack. There was a lot left open from the conversation he had overheard in Farlaweer and he intended to find out what it had been about.

He held the Nestorian mask in his hands and rubbed the wooden edge with his fingertips as he trailed behind the group of travelers. The mask was flat until the bridge of the nose where it then protruded into what looked to be a place for a large nose. The top had holes cut out for the eyes, and slits on the nose for easier breathing. Julian wondered why the creatures wore the things, but all of them did. Neither he, nor any person that he knew of, had ever seen a Nestorian without their famous masks. Perhaps Garland had seen them, since he was the one that brought the clothes and masks in the first place.

All of the group seemed as weary as Julian felt. It had been an exhausting week with little sleep, and so much had happened that it was difficult for Julian to keep up. There would be a lot of changes with the Dunarians in the days to come. The whole situation felt so fragile. Anything could go wrong at any moment. That is why it was imperative for Holden to be confronted soon. He couldn’t be allowed to take control at Jekyll Rock.

Julian thought of those that he cared about – or at least one. Nalani. It took much convincing to make her stay behind. He hadn’t wanted her involved with this one in case they did decide to move into Mudavé. His instincts had proven correct and she was now safe within the castle walls. She had not been pleased with the result of their argument, but Julian was glad to know that she wasn’t angry with him. Before he left, she kissed him gently on the cheek and said that when he got back he had no obligation other than to spend the next few days resting. Julian agreed to do so, both of them knowing he would never actually make good on the agreement. There was simply too much to get done. Their hopes of marriage would have to be put on hold as well. With the revelation of a possibly hostile council, there would be no time for love, no time to do anything but fight for the future of the Dunarian cause. However, he hoped that when the Holden situation was resolved and the council was back on its feet, the two of them would finally be married. He longed for days of peace.

The group traveled for just under an hour when the front of the line came to an abrupt stop. None of them spoke as they observed the city from a distance. Smoke billowed with the scent of fire, which flowed through crevices throughout the city. The gray rocks all around were the same color of the mountains they had been traveling through the entire morning. The sun behind the clouds cast a red hue over the entire city, adding to the smoke and ash making it look as though the city were on fire.

There were some buildings scattered around, but most of the structures were built within the rocks. There seemed to be no vegetation to speak of which wasn’t surprising. It was a land only the Stühocs could inhabit. A jagged wall surrounded the massive city, probably to keep out aggressors. Small living quarters dotted the city, each of them dwarfed by the towering fortress at the city’s center. The stronghold itself was a small mountain, the inside carved into a maze of corridors, hallways and rooms for the city’s most esteemed. The fortress isn’t totally unlike Jekyll Rock, Julian thought.

Military leaders, perhaps even Maroke resided within that fortress. The Stühoc King Anithistor was rumored to have only visited it. Anithistor himself resided elsewhere in a secret location. Every bit of the refuge had been hand carved to fit the needs, not the comfort, of its residents. Along the outside of the fortress looped various paths, all of them leading to the mountain’s plateau. From Julian’s perspective it looked as if the whole mountaintop had simply been sheared off to create a flat viewing deck over the entire city. However, it was so vast that it could hold more than a thousand soldiers comfortably. It was a marvel to gaze upon, but because the Stühocs were the occupants of this marvel, it deserved nothing less than to be destroyed.

“Everyone,” Garland said turning to the group. “It’s time to put on your masks and act your part. Remember, I will do all the talking.”

“What if they aren’t open for business?” Alric asked. “I would hate to be Stühoc lunch because we came on a holiday.”

“Just follow my lead,” Garland said as he put on his mask. The others followed suit.

As they began to walk, Julian stepped next to Silas. “Are you up for this?” he asked.

Through the mask it was impossible to read any sort of facial reaction, but Silas’ words spoke louder than any expression.

“I suppose you think I’m not?”

“That’s not what I was saying at all,” Julian responded. “You’ve been face to face with Maroke before and there is a strong possibility that it will happen again today.” Julian held out a hand to slow Silas from the others until the two of them were following out of earshot.

“I don’t think anyone else knows this but me so I’m telling you,” Julian said. “The staff you carry is the staff of Uriah. When I was looking for a way to steal the medallion from the Anwyns I came across texts about this staff. It wields a lot more power than anyone really knows.”

“Yeah?”

“The staff of Uriah turns into any weapon that the holder needs it to be. If your enemy is at a long distance then perhaps it will become a bow and arrow. If your opponent is coming at you with a sword, it may become a sword. At first, the staff controls what it becomes until it has been with the holder for some time. After a while, the wielder will always know what weapon he needs. It’s as if the staff is the trainer.”

“Yeah, Alric’s already told me that,” Silas said. “It’d be pretty nice for anyone to have. I wouldn’t sell it if I were Alric.”

“It’s no use to him, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the staff of Uriah only works for a person born in Marenon. To any of us Humans born on Earth, it is nothing more than a really good stick to prop ourselves up with. To you, if you are who we think you are, it’s the best weapon a person could ask for. I’m quite jealous to tell you the truth.” Julian gave him half a smile.

Silas didn’t know what to say. Would the weapon work for him? He had felt the staff shake with some sort of energy, an electrical current perhaps, when he had touched it for the first time, but nothing more than that. Whether Julian realized it or not, he had just presented Silas with a test. If the staff did not work as a weapon when he needed it, then all this talk about the Meshulan would be false. Everything his grandfather had told him would have been a misunderstanding. That is unless Julian was lying to him, but what reason could he have for doing that?

“You two, catch up!” Garland shouted from the front. “We’re almost there.”

He was indeed correct. They had moved close to the outer walls of the city. It looked much larger than it had from their previous distance. The jagged, smoky mountains surrounded Mudavé, and if the group had not known where they were going, they would have never found the city – or worse, found it by accident and come face to face with the Stühocs unexpectedly.

The group of five quickened their pace, trying to keep up with Garland. Silas did everything he could to keep up and was beginning to feel strengthened. Perhaps it was the sight of Mudavé that gave him a rush of adrenaline. Within his bones he felt a mixture of confidence and all-out fear. He held tight to the staff that he carried. If what Julian had told him was accurate then there was a great possibility that this weapon would be everything he needed. He knew that fighting was not the mission here. The mission was to get to Kaden and get out. He feared it would not be that simple, however.

As they continued walking toward the outer walls of Mudavé, they began to hear horns blowing, a warning call to all the city of their arrival. All in the group hoped that it was a routine sounding, but most doubted it. There were no visitors to Mudavé. One either had business with the Stühocs or they came by accident. In either case, that person would more than likely be killed. That is, unless that person was Nestorian. The wall towered above them and a large stone gate sat directly in front of them. Julian watched the top of the wall and saw several Stühoc soldiers peering over the side, eagerly waiting for what they hoped would be a grueling conflict between the Nestorians and the Stühoc guards walking out to meet them.

There were ten in all. Silas had never seen any Stühocs other than Maroke and the Leapers he had commanded on Earth. He was astounded to see how Human-like these other Stühocs looked to be. They had the general build of men, and their facial features were the same as any Human’s. That is where the similarities stopped, however. Their hair was thick and their eyes black. Their skin was mostly gray and the armor they wore was a black, scaly substance. The features of several of their faces were unnaturally deformed. Scars swiped from their cheeks down their necks, perhaps from a battle or fight. Several of them bore tattoos of sorts, their meanings incomprehensible. The one that seemed to be the leader of the group stood tall in the middle, his armor the thickest of the bunch.

“Nestorians,” the leader spat, his voice deep and strained as though he spent every day yelling. The sound sent chills up Silas’ spine. “You’re early. My master doesn’t like it when his clients are not on schedule.”

“Forgive our intrusion,” Garland said, barely above a whisper. “It is of a matter that simply cannot wait.”

The Stühoc sniffed then scowled. “That’s what I expected you to say. That’s what you always say.”

“And you always let us through to your master,” Garland retorted bravely.

“I have a mind not to,” the guard answered back. “If it wasn’t dishonoring to my master I would rip you to pieces where you stand.”

“A notion I hope you will never indulge,” Garland said.

Again the Stühoc guard spat on the ground and motioned for the other guards to surround the ‘Nestorians’.

An escort? Silas wondered if this was normal, but he wasn’t about to ask. Maybe it was to keep the other Stühocs away, fully knowing that the guests would be mauled if they were not given protection.

As a group they marched past the gated entrance in silence. The announcement of their arrival had brought out all kinds of curious Stühocs peering out from behind corners and from windows in their huts and shanties. Silas had to grip the staff tighter to keep from shaking. They were in now and there was no turning back. Whatever decision they could have made to avoid this predicament was now lost to them.

As he looked from side to side, Silas was stunned to noticed how distinctly different each Stühoc appeared. Many had gaunt faces and sharp bones, but their structures varied. Their clothing was of various styles, yet still dull, lacking any vibrancy in color. Silas had always imagined that they spent their time dressed for battle and outfitted with armor. While that still may be their philosophy, what struck him so deeply was how Human they seemed to be. Obviously their skin tones and deep black eyes were quite different and they all carried a strong sulfuric smell about them, perhaps a gift from the land in which they abided. What kept them from being Human, it seemed, more than outward appearances, were the looks they gave the newcomers. Seething scowls were etched on every face as though murder was on their minds. Silas felt as though he was being chopped up and boiled in a stew in the imaginations of each of them. He shuddered at the thought.

They marched toward the fortress that towered above the city. The pits in their stomachs grew and fear gripped each of them. The fake Nestorians grew rigid as they reached the fortress gate, all of them knowing the most significant part of their travel was just beginning. They wished, as Silas did, that they were somewhere else. How in the world would Kaden have survived this environment for even a week? Surely his spirit would be broken by now. Silas could feel the weight of hatred and loathing all around him even though the Stühocs believed him to be a simple Nestorian trader. He couldn’t imagine what sort of environment Mudavé would be without the disguise.

After the guard did some talking with another, the gate to the fortress opened slowly inward. It was large and heavy, meant to delay any sort of siege that would come against it, should the outer wall ever be breached. The lead guard motioned for the group to follow. They traveled through a dead courtyard, made of the same gray stone as the mountain stronghold above it. Few statues lined the wall, many of them depicting war with figures missing limbs and looks of fear on their faces. They finally came to a large stairway that led to the interior of the fortress and climbed steadily until they were settled in an entrance hall lit by torches and fireplaces throughout. The rough floor along with the soot covered walls made for a less than appealing place to be by any standards. The Stühocs seemingly cared nothing of comfort. All they desired was their own power over the rest of Marenon.

Once they came to the middle of the square entrance hall, the guard turned to Garland.

“Wait here,” he said. “I will fetch my master for you. I am sure he will be most displeased that you are here this early.”

“Please tell your master that we are sorry for any inconvenience,” Garland said.

The guard frowned and spat on the ground once again. “Lord Maroke cares nothing for the apologies of anyone, much less Nestorian scum.”

The guard turned and walked away spitting and muttering to himself. Each of the five looked at the other, their eyes wide. Maroke? This was not what they had intended. Now they were to face the second in command over all of Mudavé.

Silas couldn’t help but feel that his plan to save Kaden may not have been wise after all.