Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [182]
Dartun had no real idea what a Realm Gate would look like, but this sounded encouraging. However, he tried not to become too excited by the prospect of it. And the army camped closer could well have stepped through it. Dartun was aware that something new had come to this island, and it was far from benevolent.
The coming of the ice really had brought a change upon the Boreal Archipelago.
Todi tossed him back the deyja, a small device that caused momentary invisibility.
Dartun was impressed by this youngster. Whilst he might be naive, he was always keen to undertake these risky little missions now and then.
Dartun turned to the others. “Prepare yourselves for an operation of stealth, using every device at our disposal. We head for the gate.”
But he couldn’t hide the normal sounds made by the sleds and the dogs, nor could anything but darkness hide the undead. Dawn was an hour or so away, the horizon not yet purpling as the Order of the Equinox sped across the flat ice toward the north. Sunrise and sunset were a sudden business this far north. The armed undead ran alongside them, an eerily regular patter to their footsteps, as if they had connected to some distant mind in unison. Dartun didn’t actually care what they were connected to, as long as they offered him some protection. Whether they were up to confronting this new race that was invading Tineag’l was another matter, but he had his relics, and he was still the most proficient cultist in the Archipelago. Years of acquiring knowledge wouldn’t be wasted.
He crouched, his knees pulled up to his face, riding on a smaller sled along with Verain, Todi and Tuung, the three most trustworthy of his cultists. They traveled at the very front of the group, although the deyja was in operation so they couldn’t be seen, only their trails in the snow.
It wasn’t long before he could discern the peregrine army in more detail. Setting eyes on them for the first time in this crepuscular hour, he thought the assembled creatures shunned light itself, creatures seeking darkness. Not the best omen.
Their sheer numbers were worrying, too. Dartun estimated several thousand judging from the extent of their camp. Rumel mingled with the newer race, their distinctive skin reflecting the glow of torches ranged in neat rows to an almost mathematical precision. Dartun focused his gaze on the gate itself, the object of his travel. Of his desire. That way lay his only hope of finding something to prolong his life once again.
The call of some instrument sounded over to the east.
Torches began to shift, clustering in a manner that suggested a disturbance had been spotted. And Dartun knew full well that he was the focus of this attention. He tapped Tuung on the shoulder, who pulled on the reins to halt the dogs. Dartun pushed himself upright, stepped out of the sled. He picked up a skjaldborg, a heavy brass box like a traveler’s chest, the same device he had designed for the Jamur forces decades ago. For a moment he headed forward as if to meet the oncoming ranks, even though he had his suspicions that they wouldn’t be coming in peace. Dartun placed the skjaldborg down with a grunt, arranged it in the snow to face toward the intruders. They were indeed gathering in force now, a mass of black soldiers under the fire of torches. Thousands of them. He opened the relic, took off his gloves, adjusted the tiny dials inside. Closed his eyes, sensing the most minor of movements inside. A difficult task to perform in any weather, let alone out here. As the technology clicked into place, he opened his eyes to see sparks of Dawnir power flicker across its open surface. He stepped back, closed the lid, then glanced up to both sides in turn.
Behind him, his order remained still, an expression of fear on their faces.
“Don’t worry.” He returned back to join them. “They won’t get past that for at least an hour.”
“Where did you set the limits?” Tuung said.
“I didn’t,” Dartun said, and from someone there came a gasp.
Dartun put on his gloves and waited.
The army approached at a rapid pace, flaunting no