Eye of Darkness (Part Twelve)

 

After brewing and consuming a pot of camp stew for the evening meal, the three lay down among the stones and fell asleep, one after the other. Dunwolf was first, dropping easily and immediately into slumber. After a bit, Thron eased down and nodded off, sitting back against one of the stone uprights. The longest awake was Belmok, who lay stretched out, arm behind his head, looking up at the stars and thinking of all that the Ivra had told him that day. Eventually, some time after midnight, he fell asleep. Far to the north, the Norkult Mountains marched in a dark line from east to west.

 

In the cold early morning hours Dunwolf said his farewells.

“I shall return here,” said the wizard. “When you are done, come to this place, and I will take you back. Leren can find me wherever I am and guide me to you. If, however, anything prevents him … I will come here every full moon for a year.” He looked grave. “I can come no oftener. There are eyes over there in the North that I would rather not draw in this direction if I can help it.”

“A two-hundred-and-fifty-mile bite out of a return journey would certainly be worth a few weeks wait,” said Belmok. “Even if it is in this barren waste.”

“It’s not so bad,” Thron interrupted. “I’ve bivouacked in worse places. You might not have noticed it, Master Schoolman, but there are partridges and grouse calling here, and I saw signs of rabbits when I went out into the scrub this morning to piss.” He snorted in satisfaction. “It’d be like a hunting weekend for your lordship.”

“If we’re not being pursued by an angry horde of Ogres,” Belmok retorted.

“In which case, leave a mark, if you can, on these rocks, showing which way you went,” said the wizard seriously, patting the trilith. “And now we must start our separate journeys. Wellolellenlerenwol! I am leaving!”

There was again the distant chiming, like a haunting on the edge of hearing. A glittering cloud, golden this time like dust motes sparkling in the bright morning sun, gathered itself, and then the shining figure stood among them.

“This one is here,” the Ivra announced. It bowed slightly to the wizard, its wild hair floating and swaying with the movement. “This one offers thanks to the one wizard Dunwolf human for his … hmm … utility. This one owes obligation.”

“Gratefully acknowledged,” the old man said. He looked at the Morgs. “My friends, may Mog guide your steps.” He tapped the stones, uttered the incantation, and stepped through the doorway. There was a flash, and he was gone.

Leren turned attention to the Morgs.

“Let us depart now. Speed is of necessity at this point in this one’s analysis,” the Ivra said. The figure was thinning out of their sight again even as it spoke. “This one shall … hmmm … disband oneself, for greater saving of energy, and to gain wider sight. Though these lands seem empty, there are sometimes … hm … scouting bands Ogron that pass through. This one advises no making of much sound, no fire, no …”

“You don’t have to tell me about covert movements,” snapped Thron. He pointed at Belmok. “And don’t think I’ll let this one put us in more danger.”

“That is well,” said Leren distantly. “If Ogron draw near, this one shall gather and draw the protection around the Morg males.” The voice was just a whisper on the wind now, the body tiny sparkles here Thron grunted assent, and after being sure and there in the air. “Head for the tallest peak, and this one shall embody to the Morg males once more at sunset. But know that this one is with you, and that this one watches.” The Ivra’s voice ceased, and then, for all intents and purposes, soldier and scholar stood alone.

Belmok shrugged his pack into a more comfortable position and looked sidelong at Thron.

“Shall we be going, Lieutenant?” Without waiting for an answer, he started striding forward, head high, swinging his iron-shod walking staff.

After making sure Belmok was actually headed in the right direction, Thron grunted assent and followed in his wake, nothing loath to let the tall Morg, in his pride, bear the brunt of trailblazing through the scrubby brush that lay, mile on mile, between them and their destination.

Notes

The picture accompanying this section was a rather crude pencil drawing I did back in the 1980's. It wasn't illustrating anything, particularly, and was entitled 'Bald Morg Giving Instructions'. I colorized it with a computer program later, and when the name 'Belmok' came into the elderly King Thron's memories, I suddenly found the picture and the name attached to one another, first as the scholarly Korm's teacher and then as the companion of Thron when they went on this adventure in their younger days. So the Belmok of this story is not quite so decrepit as in this picture.