The Marenon Chronicles Collection

Chapter Thirty





The group rushed up one of the circular paths, winding around the mountain. Silas was thankful to have regained some of his strength since the crash with Skarret, but he still did not feel quite up to the task of reaching the top. He hoped that Coffman and Lorcan would be there soon to fly them out of this nightmare.

The pain in his chest stabbed at him repeatedly with every step he took, and the cut on his shoulder was throbbing. He was sure that he had broken at least two ribs in the crash, and his sword wound from days before was slightly split open again causing small trickles of blood to drip down his arm. Up they ran, the group moving faster and faster without rest. It was imperative that they make it to the top of the fortress in as little time as possible. If Lorcan and Coffman made it to the plateau before the rest of them, the sarians would be exposed and vulnerable. Silas couldn’t bear to think of what might happen if his group made it to the top and Lorcan and Coffman were shot down. They would be left without any chance of escape.

Silas fell behind the others as the pain in his chest continued to deal one crushing blow after another. Without warning, his feet gave out below him and he tumbled to the ground. The staff rolled to the side closest to the mountain wall, but Silas found himself rolling uncontrollably to the ledge. He could hear the cries of the others as they tried to reach him. His skin scraped against the rock as he reached out trying to grab anything to stop himself from falling. If he were to fall over the edge the drop of a thousand feet would surely destroy him. Seemingly out of nowhere, he felt a hand grab his arm as his legs dangled off the side path and over the cliff.

The moment seemed to go in slow motion and in that split second, thoughts of his former life and his brief life in Marenon burst through into consciousness. Hanging from the side of the fortress he could see out over all of Marenon and the sun broke through the clouds as if it was the first time it had been birthed into Mudavé. He looked below at the fields past the outer walls of the city and saw himself astride a white horse, leading thousands of troops into battle against the Stühocs, with Inga and others at his side. Thousands were following him willingly as if they would go into the depths of this demonic hell for him. In this glorious scene, in the middle of the brutal, vicious fight was a man, dressed in white robes staring into Silas’ eyes. Like a dove he opened his arms and flew from the battle to be within inches of Silas’ face. It was an old man. The light that followed him blurred his features, but his presence felt more familiar than anyone he had ever known before.

“Silas,” the man said.

He spoke as though the two had known each other for many years. All Silas could say was, “Why me?”

“Because you were chosen,” the man said. “Today is your first test as the Meshulan. Do not be afraid. You are here for a purpose.”

“What about the others?”

“The others will follow you if you keep on the right path. Stray but a little and all could be lost.”

“How will I know what is right?”

“You will always know what is right,” the man answered.

And almost as quickly as he had come, the man began to fade away.

“Don’t leave!” Silas shouted.

“Follow the right path.”

“I need you,” Silas said, a hot tear rolled down the side of his face.

“You will know the path to take.” Then he was gone.

As the man in white vanished, so did the battle below him like a fog that disappears without a trace. Silas slowly regained his wits, hearing shouts from above him as his companions pulled him upward. Alric had grabbed his wrist just before Silas went over the edge, saving him from a most gruesome end.

“Are you all right?” Alric asked.

The rest now surrounded Silas. “Did you see that?”

“Of course I saw it, I pulled you up, you git!”

“No,” Silas said. “The man. He was floating! He was right in front of my face.”

Alric gave the others a curious look and shook his head. “We gotta get out of here, Silas. I think the fumes are getting to you.” Alric pulled Silas up hoisting his arm around his shoulders. Inga handed Silas his staff, which he used to support himself with in the other arm.

“We’re almost to the top,” Kaden called out.

Indeed they were close to the top when all of a sudden they heard a loud horn sound in the distance. It sounded like a war horn. Then to the east they heard another one blare out, then another. Bells from below were clanging and the sounds of the horns were blaring louder and louder. They had been discovered.

“We haven’t got much time,” Garland yelled. “Come on!” The others ran up to the top with Silas hobbling along side Alric and Kaden bringing up the rear.

On the plateau of the fortress Silas saw that they were essentially on top of a circular platform with a large pillar in the center. The pillar had to be more than a hundred feet tall, casting a long shadow across the center.

“They’re not here!” Inga yelled.

Alric pulled Silas along and finally sat him against the pillar. Silas was relieved to finally have a chance to sit down. It felt as though his ribs were stabbing his vital organs, his breathing more labored. Alric held him at arm’s length.

“You’re not dying are you? I can’t put myself through all this just to see you die, you know.”

Sweat dripped from Silas’ brow as he shook his head. “I just need to rest,” he said.

The others peered over the edge to keep a watch on the path. Below them, with the sound of horns and thunder, hundreds, perhaps thousands of Stühocs charged up the side of the mountain in pursuit of the counterfeit Nestorians.

“All I can say is that Lorcan and Coffman better get here soon,” Garland said, “or we’ll not be long for this world either.”

*****

Julian cried out when Holden’s blade sliced through the meat of his shoulder splattering blood against the wall behind him. Julian had been temporarily distracted when the horns sounded and the bells began to ring. He knew they had been discovered.

“Do you hear that?” Holden said, with a hand to his ear. “That is the sound of your end. Soon you and your comrades will be killed and there will be nothing to distract me from completing my goal.”

Julian held his sword up and winced at the throbbing pain in his shoulder. The cut felt deep. He was finished with Holden. Listening to his words was poison to the ears. With a cry of rage, Julian used his uninjured arm to crash his sword against his opponent’s. Holden seemed to be taken by surprise at the sudden burst of energy that Julian displayed.

Julian attacked with one blow after another, leaving Holden barely able to keep his balance while he tried to deflect his opponent’s sword. Julian’s anger burned in his eyes like a madman and Holden began to lose strength as the sparring continued. Julian slashed over and over, again and again until finally the end of his blade caught the hilt of Holden’s sword and sent it flying to the other side of the room.

Holden fell backward onto his side, groping for the sword that was much too far out of his reach. He had been defeated. Julian’s eyes widened at his newfound position.

Holden swallowed hard. “Don’t be a fool, Julian. You know you need me alive.”

“I don’t need you,” Julian said, his words as cold as frost. “You are lower than scum, Holden. You would kill innocent people for the sake of power.”

“Are you going to kill me like you killed your brother?”

Julian had not been ready for the stinging words. The accusations coming from the venomous snake angered him deeply. He clenched his jaw, his veins protruding.

“What happened to my brother was his own fault.”

“Of course it was,” Holden said. “He deserved it.”

“I don’t need you alive,” Julian said. “You said so yourself as you stood there, so pious. All I need is the key around your neck and the medallion in your pocket.”

“You don’t know how to use the key.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

Julian raised his sword.

Holden held out a hand and his chin began to tremble.

“I’ve seen the map, Holden. Marenon’s Map is in the castle, below Jekyll rock and I’ve seen it.” A grin formed at the corner of his mouth.

“Julian, please.”

Julian considered his words for a moment, realizing that Holden had dropped his pretentious demeanor and was now begging for his life. He truly was lower than scum and he now faced the prospect of dying that way. There was nothing left of the man but genuine fear.

With one quick motion, Julian thrust his sword forward and shoved it through Holden’s heart. There was no sound but for the man’s last feeble, wheezing attempt to breathe, then his eyes glazed and Ward Holden was no more.

Julian hurried to yank the key from Holden’s neck and pulled the red-jeweled medallion from his cloak. Why did Holden carry it with him? Surely Maroke would not have trusted him with such an object. Knowing Holden, he had probably stolen it and was planning something else entirely; perhaps even to turn against the Stühocs. There was no way to know now.

Julian raced out of the room and through the corridors, a strong hand held tightly against his bleeding shoulder. He had no fear of running into Stühocs, for most of them were responding to the raised alarm. Finally he made his way to where he had left the others overseeing the field of slaves. He instantly noticed the horde of Stühocs traveling up the mountainside with a determined viciousness. He now realized that his friend’s only move was to go up the mountain. He felt a small amount of guilt, knowing that he had abandoned them for the short time, but the decision had been worth it.

The sharp cry of the sarians soaring overhead toward the top of the fortress made him look up and notice Eden among those flying. He pulled out his sarian call from the chain around his neck and blew. The bird instantly recognized its master’s call and dipped toward the resonating sound to where Julian stood waiting.

“There’s a good girl,” Julian said, mounting the large beast. “Take me to the top, Eden, go!”

*****

Silas could hear the screams and chants of the Stühocs charging to the top of the mountain and Alric had brought the group’s attention to multiple pathways, at least seven of them all around. And there was still no sarian in sight. What could be taking them so long? He stood and leaned against the pillar where the others had come to join him at the center, not wanting to be near the edge when the Stühocs eventually made their way to the top.

Garland kept looking at Silas and he couldn’t determine what the old man was thinking. Of course Silas felt at fault for all that was happening, but it wasn’t over yet. Lorcan and Coffman would be there, right?

“I’m sorry,” Silas said looking to each of them. “We shouldn’t have come here. Because of me you are all in danger.”

“You cannot blame yourself, Silas,” Garland said. “You were right to come here and we were right to follow.”

“I for one am glad you came, whatever the outcome,” Kaden added.

“I will remind you, we’re not dead yet,” Alric said. “Coffman and Lorcan are on their way. I can handle a few Stühocs at a time.”

We’re going to have to, Silas thought.

“Look!” Alric shouted as he pointed upward at the shadowy figure soaring through the sky. At first everyone thought it was the sarians, but at a second glance, the blood drained from their faces as dread overtook them.

“What is that?” Silas said

“It’s Maroke,” Garland said. “He’s riding a dragon!”

“It’s the sarian’s nemesis,” Alric said, not taking his eyes away from the beast.

Maroke practically stood upon the saddle astride the monstrosity. The dragon was at least three times the size of an average sarian and was completely black with thick, sharp scales along its entire body. It let out a screech followed by a stream of fire.

Maroke flew around the entire plateau, rallying his Stühocs to push forward. His face revealed a maniacal bloodlust for battle, however small the fight would be.

Within moments of spotting Maroke in the sky, the first wave of Stühocs tore their way to the top, led by a group of Leapers.

“Here they come!” yelled Kaden.

All of them stood ready with their weapons held high. Silas looked at his feeble staff hoping it would manifest itself as Julian said it would. Kaden looked at Silas and pointed.

“Remember what I told you about how Stühocs fight?”

Silas racked his brain until he remembered what Kaden had told him back on Earth about the hordes of Stühocs whose power came only in large numbers.

“Meant to overrun,” Silas nodded.

Silas quickly glanced to his left and noticed Inga standing, focused in her position, a green orb of light surrounding her body.

“Inga!” Alric yelled. “Do it!”

Everyone watched Inga with confused looks until the burst of light sprang from her outstretched arms shooting toward the first surge of Stühocs. The light hit a group of Leapers with an explosion causing more than fifteen of them to fly in the air and over the side. The stench of seared flesh filled the air as she again sent the green light into the attacking horde. She did it again and again until finally the pathway began to collapse causing hundreds of Stühocs to fall to their crushing deaths.

Garland looked over at Inga who began focusing on the next path.

“How many paths are there?” he said.

“Seven at least,” Kaden answered.

He looked to Alric next. “Can she keep doing that?”

“Not forever, and don’t bother her, she’s transfixed!”

Another flash exploded from Inga’s arms for the next path. She blasted away until it too created a barrier to the plateau. Only five left, Silas thought.

“Come on,” Silas said, struggling to his feet and motioning to the others. “We need to form a perimeter around Inga so she can keep blasting these paths.” Silas pointed at Alric and Kaden. “You two, control the path to the east! Grandpa, come with me to the west!

All of them heeded, but the Stühocs were beginning to flood in from all sides. As Inga focused on the third path, and the others defended theirs, it left two clear paths that immediately began filling with Stühocs.

Alric and Kaden charged through a group of Stühoc regulars and Leapers, hacking and wailing, blood splattering in all directions as they cried out in fury. Stühoc regulars flooded through by the hundreds. Garland and Silas ran toward their designated side when the massive black dragon landed only feet in front of them. Garland and Silas both fell backward at the sudden surprise. The dragon roared its cry of rage and swung its tail around, hammering Silas in the already throbbing ribs, flinging him to the ground. His vision went white as the pain spun through his body like a hurricane. Then he felt nothing. He tried to open his eyes, and perhaps they were open, but there was no sight. Was he dead? Was it that easy? Was it that simple to just die? This death was so unlike the first. He hoped and pleaded in his mind for strength to keep going. He couldn’t die yet.

No. He was not dead. Although he could no longer move his body, he noticed that he could hear perfectly. He knew his grandfather was ready, sword in hand. No person or Stühoc could combat his grandfather when he held a sword, but a dragon was something else entirely.

“Garland Ainsley,” he could hear Maroke speaking from the top of his dragon. “I never thought you would be so foolish to bring the one and only Meshulan into my territory.”

“He’s not yours!” Garland shouted. “He never will be!”

“That is not for you to determine.”

“You’re right,” Garland said. “It is his decision.”

Maroke spat on the ground, disgusted at having to converse with the Human. “You will not survive this day, Garland Ainsley!”

The beast on which Maroke sat roared with ferociousness, clawing and snapping at its prey, forcing Garland to try and deflect with his ineffective sword.

Light began to show through into Silas’ eyes. As they opened, his vision slowly became clearer. He was on his side, and blood dripped from his mouth. The pain from his ribs had returned and he was now fully conscious, but he still could not move. On his side he could see the mortal battle happening between the Stühoc general astride his beast and the founder of the Dunarians. His head rolled slightly. He could see Inga in the distance protected in her magical sphere, daring the Stühocs to come anywhere near her. Within her green-bubbled shield stood Alric and Kaden, weapons dented and bloodied, crouching from the onslaught of Stühoc attacks. Silas’ eyes rested on the falling sun, a sun that was partially blocked by some mysterious bird flying in his direction. It was more than one bird. It was four of them. His eyes widened with recognition. Two of the sarians carried a harness. Lorcan and Coffman sat high on their two sarians. Silas watched motionless as one of the sarians dipped below the horizon out of sight and reappeared suddenly with another figure on its back. Julian!

Silas gathered every ounce of strength he had left to pull himself on all fours. His broken ribs dug into his inner flesh, and more blood spilled from his lips. The sarians came in with a collective shriek. While two of them gently placed Skarret on the ground near Alric, Kaden and Inga, the others tore through the mass of Stühocs surrounding them. The sarians used their large talons to grab the nearest Stühocs and throw them over the edge, as their riders, Coffman and Lorcan brandished their weapons to cut, slice and decapitate. Lorcan seemed to have been able to conjure up his bravery once again. Alric, Kaden and Inga began to fight more fiercely without the fear of being overrun. Many of the Stühocs began running back down the mountain, which caused an avalanche of Stühocs with hundreds falling to their deaths at once.

The sarians’ next target was Maroke’s dragon. They soared past the weary Garland and attacked the beast from all angles. Maroke’s only defense was to jump to the ground, away from the furious birds. Garland seized his opportunity and slashed at Maroke, knocking him off his feet. He rushed on top of the Stühoc leader and began beating him, smashing him in his face with his fists and the hilt of his sword. Maroke didn’t have the chance to get in one blow.

Silas looked in every direction for his staff until he spotted it, several feet away toward Garland and Maroke. He winced at the pain that drummed through his body as he crawled to the weapon. Once he reached it, he turned back to see his grandfather reaching for Maroke’s neck and tugging at something, ripping it free. Something small dangled from his grandfather’s hand. What was it? Silas squinted until he noticed the object. It was what had brought them to Marenon in the first place. Hanging from his grandfather’s grip was none other than the blue sapphire medallion of Canor for which they had both died.

Without warning Maroke reared back and kicked Garland in the gut pushing him off. He reached for his sword and swung around, taking advantage of Garland’s disorientation, and with a menacing grin on his face, he sliced the old man across the chest.

Silas tried to scream out but no sound would come. Garland jumped back and held his wound with his hand as he fell to the ground soundlessly.

Maroke marched over to Garland and raised his sword to finish him, when Silas finally found his voice.

“Stop!”

Maroke turned steadily and grinned an evil smile.

Slowly he walked toward Silas until he was only a few feet away.

“Child,” he said gently as if he were a father trying to coddle his hurt son. “Do you not see what these people have done to you?”

Silas put all his focus into breathing.

“They are warping you, telling you that you are meant to be this Meshulan! Perhaps you are. Only, do not let others dictate who you want to become. Perhaps you are meant to free the Stühocs,” he said. “Perhaps you are here to change our ways and make us better. We are sick, Silas! We need redemption as much, if not more than all of Marenon! Help us obtain it!”

Silas’ eyes fell on Garland. He could see the old man taking shallow breaths.

“You are beyond helping,” Silas said. “You would use me for your own purposes.”

“As would your grandfather,” Maroke said.

“I will never help you,” Silas repeated as his eyes narrowed in disgust.

“You are making the wrong choice,” Maroke said, his eyes getting darker.

“I’ve already made my choice,” he answered. “I am going to lead the Dunarians against your kind and rid Marenon of scum like you!”

“You are quite unwise,” Maroke said, eyes narrowing.

Energy began to course through his veins. His breathing came more deeply despite the pain. “As Meshulan, I will deliver Marenon from the fear of the Stühocs!”

Maroke tightened the grip on his sword and Silas hurriedly readied his staff, holding it like a sword.

Maroke let out a laugh. “You would attack me with your stick?”

Silas said nothing as he felt the wood begin to vibrate in his hands.

“So be it,” Maroke said. “If you will not willingly help us, then we will force you to help us, even if you are in pieces.”

Maroke charged forward and Silas gripped the staff as if it were a sword and swung it as hard as his strength would allow. He closed his eyes, and when the staff clashed against Maroke’s sword, he didn’t hear metal on wood, rather metal on metal, sparks flying with the smell of fire and smoke in the air.

Maroke could not hide his surprise at the transformation and neither could Silas, but he was not going to let the surprise get the best of him. He swung the shining, silver sword again and again pushing Maroke backward. He maneuvered in every direction just as Garland had taught him for all his young years. Maroke continued to move backward as Silas advanced with more intensity. Maroke must have realized he was getting too close to the edge for safety. They were now only feet from the edge of the precipice. Maroke tried to call for his dragon, but the sarians had outnumbered the beast and it had flown away, abandoning its master. Just at the edge, Silas stopped.

A confused look came across Maroke’s face as his attacker ceased fighting. Thoughts took Silas back to the moment when he first defeated his grandfather in training. That day he had learned to wait.

Maroke’s breath began to get heavier, his red eyes glaring in anticipation for Silas’ next move, but none came. The silence around them was deafening. In that moment it was as though no one was on top of the mountain but Silas and Maroke. Silas waited patiently, grimacing slightly at the pain in his ribs.

“What are you waiting for, Ainsley? Fight me!”

Silas didn’t move.

Finally, Maroke let out a heave of frustration and took a swipe at Silas’ head, sacrificing his footing in the process. Silas saw the move coming and ducked. As the blade swiped inches from his head he pointed his sword upward and shoved it through the ribcage of the Stühoc.

Maroke let out a deep cry and dropped his sword as Silas’ blade slipped through his body and out his back. Silas stood upright staring the Stühoc in the eyes. No words were needed. Silas’ defeat over the feared Stühoc was absolute. He lifted his leg and shoved Maroke off of his sword and over the edge of the plateau. Maroke fell without so much as a scream.

Silas dropped to his knees and his sword instantly turned back into shining, polished wood. He struggled to pull himself back up, leaning all of his weight on the staff as he hobbled toward his grandfather. In the distance he could see that most of the Stühocs were either on the run or were being dispatched one by one. The defeat of Maroke had shot a fear deep inside every one of them. Once he reached Garland he went to his knees again.

“Grandpa,” Silas said.

“Silas,” Garland’s voice was quiet and weak. Silas placed a hand on Garland’s injury, trying to stop the bleeding.

“It’s done, Silas.”

The words stung Silas’ chest worse than his broken ribs. He needed his grandfather. This was the second time in a week that his grandfather would die in his arms, except only this time it would be permanent. A painful tear crawled down Silas’ cheek at the thought.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Silas said.

“It’s my time,” Garland said. He lifted his hand to show Silas the medallion. “We finally got it, didn’t we?”

Silas smiled, more tears dropping. “We did, Grandpa. We did.”

The others had finally finished off the rest of the Stühocs that were left on the top of the plateau, and were now watching and waiting as Garland and Silas spoke their final words to one another. The Stühocs were scared for now, but they would be back.

“You must take it,” Garland said placing the medallion in Silas’ hand. “Kaden is still your man, Silas. He will direct you where you need to go from here. The Reckoning is running its course as planned.”

“The Reckoning can’t happen without you, Grandpa.”

“You’re wrong, Silas. The Reckoning is you. It has always been you that would carry out the mission.”

Silas’ tears fell freely. Why did it have to be this way?

“Remember what I have taught you,” Garland said.

“I will.”

“And Silas,” Garland said, his voice becoming more faint. “Find the Gatekeeper. He is the key to everything.”

“How do I find him?”

“You will find him.”

“How?” Silas’ grip on his grandfather’s hand became stronger while his grandfather’s weakened.

“You will find a way.”

Garland released his hold on Silas and closed his eyes. The only person that Silas had ever truly cared about in both of his lives was now dead. Garland Ainsley was gone forever.