5

 

 

 

A tiny figure, a horse and rider, passed along a shrouded background, unseen by most, laboring long. After coming to a sharp incline, and finally overcoming it, it pressed on. After the relative shelter the coastline offered and the ocean waters afforded, the rain felt icy and permeated the rider’s clothing. He dared not draw the strength of the land into himself, nor had he for a significant amount of time now.

   He knew things the others did not know, and now it all became clearer—the voice, the storm, the vision, and many other things. They all fit together now, and he understood, or at least he dared to hope that he did. As his eyes sought to pierce the gloom, he held no fear in his heart, for he knew well the place he traveled through. He knew its ins and outs, its hiding places, its glens and dales although to most it appeared a featureless, flat, obscure place.

   As he rode deeper into the lands, the thick mud turned hard, slush at first, and then it became unforgiving miles of snow and ice. He moved beneath the encompassing veil, then suddenly vaulted into a pale, lucid pool. He stopped, staring in wonder, remaining fixed for some time, before he continued on.

   His thoughts scattered almost as surely as the wind drew him on. He did not think of much but the voice and finding its source. It clawed at the edges of his consciousness. As it gnawed, growing ever more persistent, he turned away from it. Another stood at the corners of his thoughts now, searching for him as readily as he sought to retreat.

   Angrily, he spurred his mount on, at a pace faster than he knew he should. The echoes along the paths of his mind rasped and whined, demanding acknowledgment. He returned nothing to their master. His mind was closed, protected by his will. The other bent to subtle tricks and played for senses that were not so easily dulled; all it wanted was a sound, a direction. Even a single sigh would suffice.

   Hands fell to ears, though it was to no avail. The noise was only meant as an irritation, but it also nullified secondary thought and saddened. To see the forces of nature wrested so fully could sicken even the stalwart of heart. No reply was offered, for to do so would reveal much more than the sender wished. A shudder of relief passed as the shadow regained its search, confident that nothing remained unseen.

   The figure of horse and rider paused a second time. A flicker of elation came as a soft word carried forth, and now the rider dismounted, turning a discerning eye outward. A dim outline, a trace of a shadow within a shadow, scarcely perceptible, revealed itself, and only an astute observer could have known what it was. It was toward this form that the rider proceeded.

   Teren did not know how many long hours had preceded his discovery, or how many followed, only that all lay in obscurity behind him. For now, he stood at the foot of a great and vast embankment. He turned back to face the trail, footfalls in deep mounds of snow that ran in a fairly straight line to this point, following it, until it faded into obscurity. In so doing, he seemed to come full circle as the path behind him had. He waited patiently now, no longer in a rush for that which must come.

Captain Brodst shivered unconsciously as he huddled in a shallow recess. He had not eaten for days and the hunger in his belly was growing ravenous. Water, fresh or stale, was one thing he did not lack. It ran in plentiful trickles all around him, coming from the great stream that lay ahead beyond an outcropping of rock, just out of his sight. He waited for death that would not come and in the disarray of his mind, he thought he would welcome it more than the task that was ahead for him.

   He was caught in a perpetual cycle of concealment and pursuit. The shadows of night were his favorite companion. In it, he had no difficulty distinguishing his surroundings. He knew them well. A door, solid, belted, and barred, was just beyond the great pool, which was filled by a constant flow from the stream above. Rope ladders reached up to the sky from either side of the falls. A small door of stone lay perpendicular to his hole, near the second ladder. Nothing had passed through or along since his arrival.

   Captain Brodst noted the rapid approach of night, and he welcomed it. His back and legs were stiff and cramped. He needed to stretch the agony from them. From his tiny hollow, he watched the second sign of night pass. A contingent of guards changed places, making their way up and down the rope ladder in pairs. He watched those passing until he counted a full twenty-four, twelve shifting in either direction. His eyes fell upon the door, watching as it swung open, knowing it would only do so when the entire company stood at the ready.

   He began to stir and uncoil, blending the sound of his movements in with the sound of heavy boots upon rigid stone. Afterwards, he waited, marking the time with the footfalls. Three more came and went singly; this he knew even though he couldn’t see them because of a jutting of stone that blocked his sight. Evening was now here.

   The captain slipped into the pool, closely timing it with the slam of the door as it shut the final time until morning, and though water had been his nemesis throughout the day, that was no longer true. The water in the pool was deep and vast, and most importantly, warm. He wondered why the water was warm, since the stream it fell from was so cold, but he welcomed it without complaint.

   Although the warmth felt good to him, he did not delay long. He rinsed the grime and the smell from his clothes and his body, taking great care not to delay. He had seen moving shapes down below, and he did not want to find out what they were. He quickly rinsed the water from his clothes, twisting and turning them until they were as dry as he could make them.

   He waited for a shift of feet at the door, and then emerged from the pool, quickly dressing. The air was cool but his skin still held the warmth. He would not shiver until much later, at least not uncontrollably. A scratching noise mixed with a heavy rasping caught his ear, and he stood still, stiff and wary. He leaned into a crevice in the rock and waited. Time passed, and the night drew on. He knew a moon was out although he could not see it. Later, his internal alarm quieted, and he became calm, waiting once more for the day.

A day spent in waiting did not sit well with any members of the group. Xith had bags of trinkets to sort through and organize, but he was the exception. Many discouraged eyes and hearts sat idle, whiling away the time with meaningless chatter. Adrina had waked at long last, but with an irritable temperament that made most around her wish she would return to slumber. Amir was the only one who listened to her though he knew not why. Even the city as a whole was quiet this day, which was not unusual. It was a day of leisure but not for merriment.

   Noman grinned as he watched Xith lose his count for the second time and begin again. He busied himself watching those passing by on the street below the window even though they were few. His mind had not stopped, but it had slowed. There was something gnawing at his consciousness, but he didn’t know what it was.

   Outside, the sun reached the high point in the sky; inside, a silence fell. Dinner was being served. Xith moved to the hall to relieve himself and to take a short walk, but something called for him to linger, and not to go, and so he was quick to return. He ate the food absently and then he joined Noman by the window.

   Adrina did not let eating interrupt her storytelling, and as Amir still listened intently, she continued. Her dream had been frightful and all too real. She spoke of faces and voices, but most vivid was the image of a boy who spoke to her and bade her to follow him through his dreams. She had not wanted to follow, but at his insistence she had.

   Hours passed, and towards evening most joined the innkeeper in his hall for the seventh-day feast, which was a very gracious one. Roasted fowl, goose, hen, and wild meat, were served, along with an abundance of fruits and vegetables that were taken from the inn’s storm stock. The inn was full, so the innkeeper did not mind, for there was still time to replenish them before the snows set in.

   After the meal, singing followed, and spirits were raised. The innkeeper was delighted as the newcomers joined in the festivities, singing a simple chorus that they knew the words to well. As it turned out, it was a very popular song in these parts. It wasn’t until much later that they discovered that they had only recently met the songwriter: the wandering minstrel named Kelar.

   Upstairs, Xith gave Noman a puzzled look, still not comprehending why Noman had allowed Adrina to go downstairs with the others. Noman let Xith wonder. He would, perhaps, offer him an explanation later; for now he would let him sulk. The meal they consumed was not as grand as the one the others had, but it sufficed.

   A door closing behind them startled them, but they relaxed when they saw it was only Amir. He had returned early. His heart was not in singing this night, but he could still hear the voices from below. Amir joined Xith and Noman by the window, which Noman had returned to despite the darkness. Noman nodded to Amir; he had expected him to return before the others.

   “Dark, isn’t it?” whispered Noman.

   Xith didn’t reply. He didn’t think the question had been directed at him. Amir was slow to respond but a “yes” did pass his lips.

   “It is as veiled as the window to your soul, perhaps,” added Noman. Noman closed his mind for a moment and with a flicker of thought, made easy by many long years of practice, he created a shadow, loosing it upon Amir. Amir did not react at all and the first blow caught him numbly, sending rage through his mind.

   His sword was not close at hand and he had to struggle and tumble his way across the room, dodging blow after blow that only narrowly missed him. He took refuge beside a bed in the far corner of the room, searching frantically for the sheath that held his blade. He could not find it.

   Amir was forced to face the creature that was formed in his own image, a shadow of himself. Many long days had passed since he had last practiced, and he had not been stretching his muscles properly. He fixed his blank eyes upon Noman, knowing a grin lay upon his face. With clenched fists he faced his opponent, who was not restricted in the way that he was.

   The air shifted and Amir lunged low to the floor, just as the swish of a long blade sought to reach him. Caught in an unfair situation, Amir freed his only weapon, his mind. He still had speed and skill unmatched by most though his shadow also had these. His one true advantage was that it did not know what he thought now, and if he turned to the irrational solution, he might find victory.

   Rage had been his first thought, and so he let it lead him on. It built and burned within him. He brought foot and fist to play, dodging, jabbing, and punching. The shadow’s blade was almost always only a heartbeat away. He followed the patterns of its movement, shifting in and out of its path. He heard each exhaling and inhaling of breath, his and those around him. The image in the center of his mind was himself, and this was what he must defeat.

   He was shocked as the vision took on another form. He saw two. He had never fought two before. How could he win? He did not even have a sword to defend himself with. Amir stumbled over a chair, immediately kicking it out of his way. Pain stung him as he ducked and smashed into a table. His rage carried him on, and he picked it up and cast it across the room, where it fell to the floor in tattered shards.

   “Out!” he bellowed at Xith and Noman, who stood silently watching, “Out!” Amir warily circled the room. He picked up a leg from the table only after a long pause. He sized up the foes on either side of him now. The shape of one was obscured and hazy in the window of his mind. While one had sword and shield, the other wielded razor sharp talons.

   Noman waited at the door, watching intently, and he only offered Amir his sword after much consideration. “Go!” yelled Amir as the blade touched his palm. In that instant, he became a new man. His oafish blundering subsided, and his thoughts cleared. The wavering at the edges of his mind was now gone also. He stalked with skill, and guarded with expertise.

   He turned to face the two, who were himself, and just before he launched himself at them, he smiled. The smile would have been short-lived if he had understood the true gravity of the situation. Because he did not, it lingered long upon his countenance. He successfully repelled a combined assault—a claw barely fingering the outline of his brow, and a trickle of blood beginning to flow.

   Amir cast it off as sweat, which also poured down his face. He moved the hilt of his sword into his other palm, wiping the sweat from the former before switching it back. He defended with both hands upon the handle, cutting left before sweeping upward right. He watched the images shift in his mind, feeling the movements of feet and hands.

   He played upon the weaker, the first, sending wave after wave of assault against it, only blocking against the second. He had decided that he must defeat one before the other, or else he would fail. He had never before failed a lesson. He did not think Noman would have unleashed two against him if he did not have a chance, and so he struggled on.

   Frenzied attacks followed as he was pressed into the corner. A second blow caught him and its sting was icy cold upon him. He felt a shiver run up and down his spine, and the pain was real. A clawed hand lifted from his back as he sank to the floor, but it would take more than that to wrest the sword from his hand.

   He lashed out wildly, laboring to move, and as he did so his edge connected. His heart jumped with glee. One was down, and now only one remained. He spun from the corner, bringing his blade full around. He was again too late in his reaction. A sting touched his shoulder, and his left arm fell limp at his side.

   Pain woke his numbed senses, and it was then he realized that there were yet two shapes moving against him. A cry sought to come from his lips, but he stifled it. Again and again he tried to scream, but in vain. He turned his concentration on the image that was blurred in his thoughts. He launched full against it, neglecting the other, and oddly the other attacked no more.

   Amir clenched his teeth against the turmoil building within. With only one arm, his weapon was still poised, and yet moved swiftly. His determination was such that it overpowered the numbness of his senses, and finally the creature’s true form was revealed to him. Its grip on him was gone. The spell was lifted.

   He bargained for a close attack and pushed it this time to the corner, just as the door flew open. Xith and Noman entered, their faces ashen. “Out!” growled Amir, “This fight is mine!” He sliced out with his blade, catching its tip in the wall. It marked a deep two-foot long gouge. The creature turned and sought to flee from the corner, racing quickly towards Xith and Noman.

   Amir chased it with his blade, sinking it in repeatedly. The anger within him was hungry and it drove him on. He noticed for the first time a shimmer of light fall with each blow that he dealt the creature, and now it turned to greet him, licking its fangs and hissing evilly as it groped out with its talons.

   Reluctantly, Noman and Xith did as they were bidden and backed out the door, leaving Amir alone to the fight. In the hall behind them, others now joined. Adrina was the most visibly shaken. She tried to make her way into the room to stop the fight. “You don’t know what you do!” she cried.

   Amir marked her words with a series of desperate attacks. He had been the one to entice her to its darkness, and though he had only seen the world these last few days through dreams, he still blamed himself. He had let his guard down and had failed in the watch, but he was not the only one upon whom the spell played.

   He feinted back from a blow that would have struck him clean in the face. His blade met the outstretched arm well, and he severed it. Although it was a creature of magic, he still saw the image in his mind as he felled it. Holding his blade deftly, he swung, striking cleanly. He cleft the creature in half as it floundered in anguish. In a flash of searing white light, it blinked from existence, back to its master.

   Amir was tired and nearly spent, but he did not stop. He stood his ground firmly as he pointed the tip of his sword towards those in the hall. “There is one more among us. Step forth, and I will send you quickly back to your hole. But if you delay, I will make your pain great and make you linger while I destroy you piece by piece, this I promise you!”

   Only after Trailer lay dead on the floor by his own hand did Amir set aside his sword and succumb to fatigue. All his energy was spent. He was so tired that he wanted to close his eyes and drift off to a pleasant slumber. He wouldn’t let himself drift off though. Something told him not to, for he would not return from the place he went to. Noman turned to Amir with a heavy heart, tending his wounds with deep care.

   Xith procured an ointment from his bags and applied it to the wounds. He hoped it would slow the festering of the creature’s touch and perhaps even prevent it. The commotion had stirred all the residents of the inn and even the innkeeper himself. A body upon the floor was a very disquieting sight and was a sign of ill fortune on this special day.

   Newcomers to the scene assumed the fight had been between the two. The one lay still upon the floor, the color drained from his face, and the other cringed against the wall as his wounds were being mended. No one offered an explanation. They were all left to guess. A small sum of gold exchanged hands before the inn returned to normal.

   “Our plans are known,” Xith whispered to Noman.

   Noman nodded grimly.

“We can wait no more for Brother Teren’s return. We gave him until morning, no more. The storm still has not faded in its ferocity. We must try to fight it ourselves.” Father Jacob said those words in his mind yet not aloud. Others around him were thinking similar thoughts, but some understood better than most the need for speedy action.

   They had sought out the center of the storm once and had been cast back. They all understood that the eye was upon them now. The nighttime hours had not been wasted in idleness; many plans had been drawn, discussed, worked, and re-worked. Morning had found them without the warmth of a fire. No new logs were sent for. They had decided, and though the decision had come after a long strenuous debate, they were going to stick to it.

   Liyan explained in loose terms some of what he knew, but he did not reveal all. The key factor was that the enemy knew of their presence and that now they were prepared to resist, and nothing more. The members of the Brown were assembled beside Tsandra, and they were no longer afraid to free their will upon the land at its full.

   During the hours of twilight and first light, the struggle was born. The will of the masses was gathering, sending back a force of its own. It was vigorous in the manner in which it gained speed and strength, but it was steadfast in one point: it must remain unseen, growing from a distance, just as the rage they were enduring had. Their opponents had had time, where they had little; however, nothing would hold them back now.

   They still had one of two paths to follow. They could attack either the creators or the storm itself. They had not decided, and for now the simple fact that the choice lay ahead was enough. Seth acted best as the watcher. He moved and shifted his will across the sky in spurts, never delaying long in one place, but always watching and in this he proved to have abundant talent.

   Liyan was the mediator, the voice between Seth and Tsandra. His was a consciously chosen tedious task, for in this capacity he could also keep Valam, Jacob and the others informed. The waiting was the most difficult thing he had to endure. He abided well for a time, but he eventually grew impatient and shuttled between conscious thought and the link. He was mostly concerned about the possibility of failure, and if they failed, what their next choice was.

   Neither Captain Mikhal nor Danyel’ had delayed in their return to duties. Captain Mikhal returned to the affairs of the camp. As he was the leader, he had many things to attend to, chief among which was flood control and keeping the paths on the ridges open. The Seventh returned to his own, commanding a small detachment of scouts as they ventured north.

   Most were unaware that morning arrived because the light in the sky remained the same. The strain of exhaustion from the many hours of work began to show. In the interim, between the still of night and the fullness of day, a counterforce was constructed, and now they moved it across the sky. It gained force as it ran, flowing fluidly upon the winds.

   Seth guarded it as it moved, seeking out its course. His head swayed and bobbed. His eyes were tightly closed, but they saw many things. He floated beyond the clouds at the very edges of the air. Soaring upon the rivers and streams of the currents, Seth ran before their storm. He was its watchdog. And he waited.

   Tsandra guided the forces around her as they flowed from her followers. She channeled it upward, and the power nearly carried away her soul. Her center was at its very peak, but still they needed to give more, much, much more. She linked outward, moving her thoughts to those around her, allowing them to channel the power with her. She formed a link that became an interconnecting network spreading out from her in a great spiral, and the strength of will began to flow greater than ever before.

With wonder in her eyes, Calyin followed her escorts, two large figures outfitted in thick mail and heavy weaponry, down the long corridor. She had often considered what it looked like, what avenues or halls lay past the small stretch she knew. As she walked, she counted the footfalls, knowing each turn in advance without looking.

   As they drew away from the area she had been detained in, she began to note the crossings of the halls, always keeping a careful count in her mind. They walked at length without pausing until they came to a set of double doors where they halted. Only one of the guards proceeded through the door while the other remained with Calyin. There was a long wait before the other returned. When he did, it was clear that he was not pleased.

   The march continued on, and just when it seemed they would never stop again, they did. Since their last pause, they had climbed four flights of steep, narrow stairs and walked down many halls that seemed almost to be without end, weaving in an ever upward, and perhaps inward, direction. Calyin wasn’t exactly sure of her whereabouts although the air did seem fresher, not acrid, as it had been before.

   She was taken by surprise when the doors were opened before her to reveal a great chamber. Heels striking the polished floor sent vibrations resounding throughout the room. Calyin counted a full forty steps from door to center. During the time they crossed the room, her eyes had been busy. The sun shone in through high windows along the center of the ceiling. She thought it was beauty incarnate, an exhilarating sight after so long in a dimly lit place.

   The hall was plain and simple in comparison to the iridescence of the sun falling through thick prismatic panels. The only thing of note was the granite throne, chiseled from the rock of the room and placed midway just off their present path. The throne was empty. They stood before it, waiting.

   A door opened on the far side of the hall opposite the one they had entered. A woman with long, flowing ebony hair was ushered in without escort. A spark of hope caught Calyin for a moment, but it was soon to fade as the woman approached closer. Her hair was pulled up tight on one side, and her dress was of cloth conservatively designed. She crossed to the great chair but did not sit upon it.

   Almost immediately after the woman touched her hand upon the stone, a trumpet sounded and a large group began filing in. They were arraigned in shining mail with bronze over-plates formed at the joints. While they were equipped with no manner of weapon, they appeared a very effective defensive force. They held feathered helmets in gloved hands, slightly shifting them from side to side as they walked.

   A figure followed. He was without adornment, but Calyin knew in a glance that he was royalty. His gait was bold and led him straightforwardly to the chair although he did not sit. He waited.

   A second figure emerged from the door at the rear of the hall. He wore a gray robe. His entourage was large and did not seem altogether friendly. This group stopped at a mark a few paces to the right of Calyin. She counted eleven of them.

   Calyin watched as the minutes passed and new groups appeared and formed around her as if she watched some dance where she alone did not know the steps. Four lines now stood to her left, and the group to her right changed to five as she looked on. After a time she lost count of the footsteps and the number of persons present. And after a time, the room was full, save for a single seat, which was not yet unoccupied.

   The dance had ended; however, Calyin still waited. The air that had until a short time ago been fresh and pleasant now reeked from the mass of bodies; there were too many for the room despite its size. Calyin soon grew weary of delays and her attention drifted back to the sunlight filtering from above.

   Her gaze and her attention were fixed elsewhere when the final figure entered and took his seat. She had not seen or noticed the soldiers come to attention upon his arrival. She did not notice the cushion placed upon his seat or the drink poured from a golden vessel into a jeweled goblet. A man approached her with the drink and kneeled before her, but she had not seen that either.

   “It is customary for the guest to drink. You must drink,” said the man in low tones. Calyin was slow to respond to the words, and she did not take the glass that was offered. She waved it away. “I wish nothing from a servant.”

   “I am no servant, my lady. I am Prince Sy’dan Entreatte, second son of the lost kingdom. Please do not affront me in front of my people.”

   “You call me a lady, yet you treated me no better than a common slave. What kind of a people are you? A simple gesture and all is forgotten? I do not think so.”

   “Please keep your voice down. Do not despoil my honor. Drink, it is customary. Please, I beg of you, and I must make pardons for your ill treatment. I did not know. I will see that the rogue that treated harshly one so fair will pay.”

   Calyin accepted the drink even though she knew the tongue that spoke softly to her was forked. She found no pleasure in its refreshment. Calyin looked contemptuously at the seated one. A chair was procured for her to sit upon though she refused. She bided her time. “What have you given me?” she asked, her voice weak.

   Prince Sy’dan took the goblet from her hand before it could fall to the stones of the floor. When the drink began to take hold, she staggered backwards, uneasy on her feet, but still refusing to sit.

   “I see you do not agree that we are gracious hosts. Have you ever been in the cells of your garrisons? They are not pleasant places, I can assure you. You were treated far better than I, far better than the High Lord of Shost. Yet now I welcome you to my hall and promise you that your lesson is learned. All things have a price and a penance.”

   Calyin started to speak her mind but held her tongue. Prince Sy’dan indicated his gratitude with a small bow and a smile. Ashwar did not let the silence hold in the room long before he broke it. “I welcome you, Princess Adrina Alder, into my home. I am Belajl Entreatte, High Lord of Shost, returned from the Dark Fire. In a moment the potion you drank will let you see true.”

   The name startled Calyin, causing her to look befuddled. She almost stated that she was Calyin Alder but again said nothing, turning her confused look to a smile. “What of my companion, where is she?”

   “The others are quite safe for now, I promise you. No harm will come to them if you cooperate.”

   “Others?” thought Calyin. She immediately wanted to ask to whom he referred. “What is it you wish of me?”

   “Your secret of course.”

   “Secret? I have no secrets.”

   “Do you know the bounty that rests on your head? Which is wholly redeemable whether you are alive or dead, I might add.”

   Calyin understood the “play your cards well” that was inferred. “Perhaps you should explain to me who it is that wants me and then I can tell you.”

   The High Lord considered her sincerity for a time before responding. “I honestly do not know it in full, save that it is a king from a far off place and he wants you. For the sum, I do not care what he does to you.”

   “If it is gold you want, I can offer you plenty.”

   “My dear, it is more than mere coins, I assure you. Do you not know the full of it yet?”

   Calyin puzzled on the word full; he had spoken it twice. Her head started to spin and suddenly she was dizzy. She was pushed into the chair beside her. She tried to focus but couldn’t. Everything was muddled. “I don’t feel well. May I rest?”

   “Soon, very soon. You will rest. Yes, I can promise you lots of rest. I did not cooperate for nothing. Tell me, princess, what do you know of this stranger and why did he journey to Imtal?”

   “I—I—don’t feel well. I must sleep—”

   “Walk her around, you fool! You have given her too much! Hurry, or it will be you that takes her place!”

   A soft voice whispered into Calyin’s ear. It sang pretty songs in a melodic tone, and its questions she answered. The sun was so beautiful coming through the window, so beautiful, thought Calyin. The voice promised to take her away if she would just pay attention and answer. She tried her best. She wanted to rest so very much. Darkness did eventually find and carry her off.