The Pinnacle Of Empire (Book 6), page 25
part #6 of Neuyokkasinian Arc Of Empire Seroes Series
“You will catch them, several in fact. I must have specimens to evaluate, dissect, and determine what use they may be to me. I’ve no time to develop more of my own now.”
Morphenius started backing up. “How does you thinks we’z going to catch one?” Xthilleon’s sinister smirk warned the oaf not to press the issue.
*
Some days later, Xthilleon called for Morphenius, who’d been avoiding him. Though reluctant, the servant approached the sorcerer, hat in hand. “What must I do for you, master?”
“Go into Varnakak or canvas the farms nearby. Purchase a woodcutter’s cart and horse,” the sorcerer said. He tossed the oaf a small leather coin pouch. “Nothing new or fancy, the most basic, and weather worn like you. The cart must have high walls.”
The wizard’s somber face warned the oaf not to question the order. Morphenius bowed and, putting his moldy hat back on his head, he rushed out of the tower, much relieved to be away from it and his master. When he returned, Xthilleon instructed him how to dress in woodcutter’s rags and what to pack on the cart after installing a false bottom. The two set out for the forest just inside the mountains to the right of the Abysmal Pass. Riding along on the cart, Morphenius became agitated. He glanced left and right at the woods. They grew closer to the partly overgrown trail, seeming to hover over the cart and men. He flicked the reigns. The horse whinnied and flicked his tail but seemed reluctant to move faster.
“I think the horse is scared to go on deeper into these woods,” Morphenius said.
“You mean you are scared to go on, don’t you?”
“No master, but the horse is scared. He must knows danger is close by.”
“Well now, that’s just what we’re hoping for.”
“You wants them giant bugs to come at us?”
“Precisely, why else would we be dressed in these filthy rags and riding in this termite fodder?”
Morphenius flicked the reigns again but the horse stopped. It refused to go further.
“Get off the cart, take that ax, and chop down a tree,” Xthilleon said in a hushed tone.
Morphenius watched the sorcerer scanning the forest, looking for what he hoped they wouldn’t see. Pine scent and the cool woodland couldn’t dispel his fear. The oaf climbed down from the rickety, creaking cart and, with ax in hand, selected a tree not too large, and began chopping. The sound reverberated through the timberland, sending chills through the oaf. Each chop was a crisis for the oaf, fighting with himself to keep quiet, and yet he knew he had to chop down the tree. Xthilleon needed the telltale chopping noise to draw his victims. Morphenius hesitated after each chop, then scanned the forest for any sign of movement. The tree shook when the last wood cracked with a death-groan. The sacrifice toppled over, crashing through the forest limbs to a resounding, final thud. Hastily, Morphenius moved along the tree trunk, frantically chopping off limbs, knowing the trees death gasps were heard deep in the forest.
A sudden hum behind him caught his attention. Before he could turn to the source, a towering flinik swooped down. Morphenius felt the monstrous spines of the mantis arms dig into his back and chest, locking him in an inescapable grip. Warm blood seeped down his back and chest beneath his tunic. Shock then pain, and he began to feel faint.
A flash of blue sparked past him, striking the flinik. The creature shivered from the wizard-fire and froze for a second before collapsing. Its grip on Morphenius relaxed; the oaf was able to free himself. He stumble backward from the shivering eight foot tall monster. His heart raced as he stared at the beast until a coil of rope hit him on the shoulder and broke his concentration.
“Tie it up; truss him up tight. He mustn’t escape,” Xthilleon said from his hiding place behind a tree by the cart.
Shaking and fumbling from the experience, Morphenius grabbed the rope and began tying up the flinik.
“Load the beast on the cart,” Xthilleon whispered. “There’s a false bottom, stuff it in there under the limbs so other ones won’t see it.”
“I can’t lift this beat by myself,” Morphenius protested. He strained to lift the unconscious flinik by the shoulders.
Xthilleon cast a spell, and the creature rose unaided. The bloody assistant pushed the floating creature into the cart. As he stuffed limbs in the cart to hide the creature’s protruding feet, the wizard and oaf froze. Both heard another, louder humming. “They’re coming!” Morphenius blurted out.
Before they could descend on Morphenius, Xthilleon shot wizard-fire again. Two more flinik toppled from the sky. Morphenius trussed up and stuffed them into the cart’s belly.
The wizard stood watch. “We must get out of here before any more of these things come. Many more will be coming now.”
“Yes,” the assistant mumbled, jerking his head side to side, imagining he heard others. He beat the sorcerer scrambling up on the cart. With reigns in hand, he was ready to turn the cart around for a hasty retreat.
There was a crashing sound coming from the forest floor nearby. The horse’s ears flicked up and rotated back toward the sound. Its tail swished and it whinnied. Another limb cracked closer, with a harsh sound rushing toward them. Morphenius cracked the whip. The horse strained to start the cart moving with its heavy load. They heard humming from close behind them. Just as the cart started to roll back down the slope, both oaf and wizard looked back to see two more flinik descending through the trees. A large foodoo with floppy mane was leaping across the woodland floor towards them. Its roar reverberated through the forest.
Xthilleon snatched the whip and lashed the horse, which was already galloping with all his muscles taut under soaking sweat. The cart’s four foot, wooden wheels seemed to amplify the crunching of rock and wood under them. Xthilleon shot wizard-fire at the approaching flinik, who turned away. The foodoo stopped but roared defiance. The creaking cart escaped the forest as the three stunned captives were regaining consciousness. They struggled with their binding ropes as the cart reached the dark tower.
Xthilleon stripped off the foul woodcutter robes, casting them in the dirt. “Get the flinik into the cellar. Burn those clothes when you’re finished and those you have on as well.”
Morphenius sniffed his grimy shirt, giving the wizard a puzzled look but nodded acknowledgement. He struggled to slide the thrashing fliniks, one at a time, off the cart into a wheelbarrow that groaned under each heavy load. The oaf managed to get all three into the cellar before nightfall, lugging the last flinik down the cellar stairs to the now dungeon and torture chamber. As he brought down the last victim, he noted Xthilleon had already tied the first flinik down on a stone table. The wizard was dissecting the green-blooded carcass. The ghastly look on the dead creature’s face surprised even the oaf.
“I never seen a bug change how his face looks,” the oaf said, shuffling the last of the flinik in a dank, musty storeroom.
“I keep telling you, you stupid creature, these are not normal bugs as you call them. These things are more intelligent than you are.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t find anything in this flinik that’s so very different from other insects aside from the unique size.” Xthilleon pulled his slimy hands out of the mushy guts and exhaled. He turned and leaned against the table. He shook his head and, jerking the knots restraining the dead flinik on the table, he knocked the mutilated carcass off to a crumpled heap on the floor. “Clean this mess up. Take it outside and burn it.”
Morphenius looked at the dead flinik, shuffled over by the table, and picked up part of the carcass. He flung it over his shoulder, nodded, and shuffled toward the stairs.
“Look at them,” Xthilleon said.
Morphenius looked over at the remaining two flinik in the shadowy storeroom corner where they stared at the dissected creature, then at Xthilleon and then looked to each other.
“They know what I did to it. They look at me with those big, cold eyes, but I can feel the hatred. They’re communicating somehow, I just can’t discover how they do it.”
Morphenius looked down at the green blood dripping into a puddle by his foot. “You say they knows what you done?”
“Did, what I did, you stupid oaf. They know. They’re communicating with each other and, I suspect, with others of their kind. I must know how they communicate and how far away it can reach. Get rid of that mess and get back here. I need your help with the next one. I must keep it alive to see how the brain works.”
“Alive?” Morphenius shivered. He glanced at the remainder of the mutilated carcass on the floor then back at the sorcerer, fearing Xthilleon would see him sympathizing with the dead flinik.
“Hurry up, fool! I’ve no time to waste with your chatter.”
* * *
In his cave home high above the Abysmal Pass, Tenamektrin, high lord of the flinik, felt a terrible pain. As Xthilleon cut open the carapace along the back of the second flinik, a thousand flinik’s across the mountain chain felt the excruciating pain. They saw the image one of their own was suffering at the hands of the remorseless sorcerer. Rage swelled in all flinik as the pain dissipated with the death of the long suffering captive. The third flinik in the tower cellar beamed ‘Kill this wizard’ through its telepathic chain to all its kind, before it, too, was tortured to death by the wizard to understand what the ‘insects’ were capable of.
As high lord, Tenamektrin was overwhelmed by the massive telepathic waves shooting through all the fliniks. A few exceptional creatures had mastered not only rudimentary communication but to read the thoughts of humans. Tenamektrin was one such flinik, as was one of the three killed by Xthilleon in his frustrated attempt to discover their capabilities. Not suspecting such intelligence, Xthilleon had failed to block his thoughts. The dying flinik had perceived the wizard’s most primal obsession, kill Saxthor. This the flinik passed to Tenamektrin, who began searching the thoughts of men. He discovered Saxthor was the wizard’s and Senoshesvasian monster’s arch nemesis. Tenamektrin found that this Emperor Saxthor was setting out with an army for Shinnadda just at the tip of the Senoshesvasian Mountains to the north.
Tenamektrin flew from his mountain home to the Powterosian fortress at the Abysmal Pass. With two attendants just out of arrow range, they settled down by the riverbank. The flinik king searched the fortress for one with whom he could communicate.
*
At the Powterosian fortress, astonished troops rushed to the battlements at the alarm. They fired arrows at the winged insects. The flinik first flew up and caught the falling arrows then landed back on the riverbank, tossing the arrows in the water. Again, the flinik stood watching the fortress.
“What do you suppose they want?” a guard on the watchtower asked another. “They made it clear. They’re out of range and able to dodge or catch the arrows. They’re not afraid of us.”
“They ain’t attacking either,” the second guard responded as the fortress commander came up by them.
“What’s this all about?” the commander asked.
The guards pointed to the three flinik standing on the riverbank, watching the fortress.
“Cripes!”
“What’re they doing, sir? What’d you suppose they want?” a watchman asked.
“I’ve been here ten years and I’ve never seen a flinik come out of those mountains. They want something. Hold your fire!” the commander shouted. He waved his arms at the nervous troops, chattering among themselves and looking to the commander for direction.
“How should we know what they want?” one of the guards asked. “We can’t talk to bugs and bugs can’t talk, least ways, I don’t think they can talk.”
“Ask the wizard to join us here on the ramparts. Maybe he can make sense of it,” the commander said.
* * *
14: Battle for Mendenow
;
Flight of the Imperial Family
Former Governor Lord Hedrak stood at the window of the governor’s palace, watching the citizens scrambling in the streets of Mendenow City. They searched for supplies and means of transportation. Others lashed horses, datangs, oxen, anything that could pull the over laden carriages and farm carts streaming out of the city, heading north and east. A sudden loud crash across the street from his palace made him jump. Three hooligans had thrown something through a shop window and were rushing in to loot the contents. He turned to the Senoshesvasian general standing behind him.
“Chaos, absolute chaos, I thought my people would welcome this opportunity to throw out the Neuyokkasinian usurper. They should support me, heir to the old Engwan dynasty, as king of Mendenow. Instead they tear up my edicts and scribble insults on the very walls of my palace,” Hedrak lamented.
The Senoshesvasian general maintained his frozen stance. “Your lordship is too lenient. You should arrest the resistance leaders. String them up at the city gates to squash this desertion. In Senoshesvas, we tolerate no opposition. We behead instigators.”
“Behead… I don’t think I want to go that far.”
“Your lordship will have no subjects soon.”
“Highness. As king, you refer to me as highness or majesty. A ruler can’t kill his subjects and rule long. I can’t deplete my inadequate treasury fighting my own people.”
The foreign general spat in an elegant, elfin-carved trash receptacle and grinned at the Hedrak. His gold tooth gleamed like a metal on his tunic. Hedrak felt nauseous and turned back to the window. “Mendenow is now a Senoshesvasian province. You’re not a king and never will be.”
“But Emperor Nindax promised to support me as king of independent Mendenow!”
“He changed his mind. Why should he expend troops and funds to make a traitor a king?”
Shocked, Hedrak wilted and mumbled, “I’ve been used, haven’t I? This was all an elaborate scheme to get Senoshesvasian troops on Powterosian territory without a fight. What a fool I am.”
The Senoshesvasian general grinned, and again the gold tooth seemed larger than life. “If you’re lucky, and do as you’re told, and if Emperor Nindax is in a good mood, you might remain as governor, but of a Senoshesvasian province, not a Powterosian one. Now stop interrupting me; I’ve a campaign to arrange.”
Hedrak collapsed into his chair. His head sank into his hands.
“How much longer will it take for the legions to disembark and prepare for battle? I get constant complaints from my support people, those that are left, that your troops are terrorizing the countryside, confiscating anything the farms have left. You must have brought supplies for this campaign. Emperor Saxthor will have heard of my declaration of independence by now. He’ll be preparing to retake Mendenow soon.”
“Three legions landed so far. The last two legions should be ashore by noon tomorrow. Meanwhile, the troops ashore have nothing to do. Idle troops will have their fun.”
“Five legions!” Hedrak exclaimed. “Nindax promised ten legions. We shall never hold off Saxthor and his imperial army with five legions.”
“Perhaps the Powterosian legions will be needed elsewhere,” the general said. A sinister smirk spread over his face.
“Only five legions…Perhaps you should take your own advice and control your own troops.” Hedrak snapped.
The general’s grin disappeared, replaced by an ominous frown; his eyes narrowed. The door burst open and a bureaucrat, now acting as Hedrak’s aide, rushed in unannounced and without knocking.
“A fisherman reports sighting the southern imperial fleet rounding the point east of the city. They’ll be able to engage the Velstorbokkin fleet within an hour!”
“What madness is this?” The Senoshesvasian general asked. “You assured His Imperial Majesty the southern Powterosian fleet was far to the east at Zenobia.”
“I assure you, General, this is all a mistake. The fool fisherman is probably drunk and imagined some mirage as a fleet.”
“You’re the fool, Hedrak.” The general put on his helmet and headed for the door. “If this is the enemy fleet, you’ll answer to Nindax personally for the disaster.”
Hedrak and the bureaucrat followed the general from the palace to the lighthouse that stood at the left entrance to the harbor. They rushed up the tower stairs, knocking aside the keeper, lugging away his last possessions. At the top, they dashed out on the balcony, ringing the bowl of fuel for the nighttime flame and looked to the east. At least a hundred masts moved in unison over billowing sails that pushed the fleet sailing down on Mendenow and the Velstorbokkin fleet. The general knocked Hedrak out of his way, scrambling down the lighthouse stairs. Hedrak and the bureaucrat again followed, but the bureaucrat disappeared into the throng of people scurrying around the harbor. The general found a Senoshesvasian sailor helping a small boat ferry troops from the Velstorbokkin fleet off shore to the city harbor.
“Get out of the boat,” the general shouted to the troops, who appeared alarmed at the sweating general’s panic. The general grabbed the closest soldier by his tunic and jerked him out of the boat where he tumbled down on the planks of the boardwalk. The other soldiers scrambled out of the vessel. “Get to the admiral. The enemy fleet is rounding the point and will fall on his ships anytime now. Hurry!” He shoved the sailor into the boat.
The general turned and disappeared in the now chaotic masses along the waterfront as the first Powterosian triremes sailed into view beyond the entrance to the harbor. The sailor’s boat hadn’t even reached the Velstorbokkin admiral’s flagship. Hedrak saw the sailors and legionaries aboard the transports scurrying like ants. The wind blew east to west, favoring the imperial fleet as it bore down on the transports anchored to unload the invading troops. That was enough for Hedrak; he fled back to his palace. There he found the general in his makeshift headquarters, issuing orders to his subordinates.
“We must prepare now to defend the city,” the general told his commanders. “Get your troops back in their encampments and prepare for a Powterosian invasion. This fool Hedrak has failed Emperor Nindax. We’ve no way of knowing if that fleet carries troops or not. They’ve twice the ships we have. The enemy has caught us unprepared for an attack from the sea. The remaining troops on the transports will likely be lost. Either they will sink our fleet and our troops will drown, or that Velstorbokkin admiral will sail away to save his fleet.”
