26. SONG OF THE LARK

Nyomae’s memory of her time spent in Abernost seemed to be from another life, in another time. Her last visit had been fifty years prior to the battle on the Gormadon Plain. She had come to consult Idraman on routine matters concerning the Order. Draegelan’s decree prohibiting Imaari from studying the divided set of scrolls still stood. Therefore, Nyomae was not permitted to read those housed in the libraries, or question Idraman on his own work unless all were present. But back then, they had felt no immediate threat. Their studies seemed more of an academic pursuit as none predicted the return of the dark forces could happen so soon.

Nyomae looked out of the arched window. How had they missed the early signs of the gathering storm? Had they been so entrenched in their arcane research they had neglected to keep an eye on the real world? At first, reports of shrouls and the odd droog had been dismissed as the tall tales of the superstitious folk at the borders. Perhaps the long centuries of peace following Ormoroth’s defeat had made life too comfortable, and they had become complacent.

Nyomae’s eyes wandered to the low hills outside Abernost. The Ul-dalak had been patient. Not all Ormoroth’s commanders had perished at Talaghir. Perhaps anticipating the outcome, he had sent many north to escape Dorlan’s wrath. The warlocks had retreated to their strongholds concealed by the great ice sheets of Nordruuk. And in their cold, bleak halls they had planned for the day they would return and avenge Ormoroth. They had outsmarted the Imaari, slowly increasing the number of raids, slowly revealing their hand to tempt Sylvena to seek the relic she believed would aid their salvation. They had yet to show their faces on the battlefields of the recent conflict, but a warlock’s kruul had entered Archonholm. And Nyomae was convinced more than one was active. Uluriel was powerful, but could she command the Draedalak alone at Gormadon? And her hold over one as strong as Mordram could not have been maintained for so long without aid. But this did not explain the warlocks’ absence from the battles to date. Surely, they would already be massing on the borders of Farrand had they led the Ruuk.

Nyomae’s heart sank. Did they strive in their ice-bound lands to bring back Ormoroth? If successful, the Five Realms would inevitably fall regardless of Nyomae’s efforts. Their only hope lay in defeating the Ul-dalak, then by some means thwarting the warlocks’ effort to free their Master. If the realms had any chance of resisting, she had to solve the secrets within the Maiden’s Cypher. But the risks could not be clearer. The Elorym had misused that power causing their own downfall, and Draegelan had deemed it too dangerous to wield, deciding instead to bury his discovery. But he had left a path to this knowledge, perhaps fearing a time when no other way lay open. And Nyomae believed that time was nigh. She had to unlock Draegelan’s second safeguard.

Nyomae massaged her temples. The distinctive scrawl of his hand drew her tired eyes across the page. Draegelan’s prose was poetic, and not the dry, scholastic style favored by the Imaari. Nyomae smiled to herself. Before the years she lived under the shadow, she had been very much a serious scholar caring little for the poets of the day. But her time wandering the lands in her confusion had opened her eyes to things that would previously have gone unseen. Had her imposed exile enhanced her mind?

Nyomae sat back and let Draegelan’s words flow through her. The words changed into his mellow voice in her head. She watched captivated as the green grasslands took shape beneath a vast, blue sky. The Maidens sang. Tears filled her eyes as she marveled at their voices and the purity of their hearts. In the blue expanse, a shape emerged. Nyomae smiled as the Maiden’s created the first skylark. Not blessed with the beauty of other birds gracing the skies, the gray, unassuming bird was gifted with a song to bring joy to the hearts of those who would follow. Nyomae sighed as the skylark first warbled its long, melodious song, hovering above meadows bursting with the wildflowers sown by the Maidens’ hands.

But alas, the songbird’s life was not to be one of tranquility. It was the skylark who first sensed the disharmony despoiling the Maidens’ Song. When they finally heeded her warning of the Evil One’s purpose, they bestowed upon her a most vital role. The lark was taught another song, not for the skies, but for those in times of need. Nyomae tilted her head. Another melody emerged as if an echo.

She understood. The second answer was not a word: it was the lark’s secret song. Nyomae retreated and sat back. She had the key. Now came the dilemma. Should she enter Aber’s Verse and read the second line? Nyomae had no choice. She closed her eyes and recalled the songbird’s melody. Her vision blurred as the harmony merged with Aber’s words. Before her eyes, the line faded, then reappeared in a different form — a form revealing the location and key to the Elorym’s vault.

The clash of swords outside brought her to her feet. But the contest in the corridor was not a close match. Metal tore at flesh and the brief conflict was over. Nyomae faced the door as it burst open. Six Nordleng barged in.

Nyomae held her ground. ‘You’ll need more than six swords to kill me!’

Their leader threw back his hood. He grinned, baring yellowing teeth through a thick, black beard. The Nordleng struggled with the common tongue, but the threat was obvious. ‘We’re not here to kill you, witch. We’re here to take you on a long journey.’

Nyomae slowed her breathing. ‘Then you still failed to bring enough men.’ She entered the Song while turning to meet the eyes of each of the six. The Nordleng appeared frozen as she found their Verses in turn. All bar the leader was no older than thirty summers, making it easy to find their Maidens’ Name. The leader’s Verse had protection from the Ul-dalak, requiring a different tactic. For now, she focused on the five. It would take a great deal of her strength to undo their existence by reciting their names, strength she needed for the months ahead. No. There was an easier way. Nyomae grinned to herself as she imagined the outcome. She circled her hands, conjuring up images of her would-be captors as young boys. She watched their motionless faces. They would see a blur as her arms moved, already casting doubt in their minds.

Nyomae removed the last twenty-five years of their Verses — a simple task for one so strong against those so weak. She stayed in the Song, turning back to the leader. His expression had changed. He existed in a different time to his underlings. He appeared to have guessed her action and would be ready when she returned to his time. Nyomae decided on an old Imaari trick she had learned from her early days in the Order. It was simple, but effective, and hopefully one the Nordleng had not previously seen. She quickly found what she needed.

Nyomae stepped out of the Song. The five Nordleng dropped their swords, stared at the strange witch-woman, then ran from the room like the frightened children they had become. The leader scoffed and raised his sword. ‘You’ll need to try harder—’ She unleashed the lightning bolt from the recent storm, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. It worked. The dazed leader staggered back as the light burst through the windows. Nyomae lunged and snatched the sword from his loosened grip. Without a second thought, she grasped the handle and ran him through. She did not kill by choice, but the Nordleng had offered no quarter to any of his victims, so Nyomae reasoned he deserved the same.

She let the sword drop and strolled from the room. Outside, she found the bodies of three library attendants. There would be more victims of these brutal servants of the Ul-dalak, but thankfully their objective had been to kidnap Nyomae and not to slaughter the people of Abernost. The five she had sent back to their childhood cowered in the corner as two guards approached.

‘Let them be.’ Nyomae raised her hand. ‘Have pity. They are but innocent children now in adult bodies. With care, they can be educated and trained to do tasks about the library or sent to work on the farms.’ She stood over the huddle of confused Nordleng. ‘Perhaps they can do something to atone for their actions. Thankfully, they will have no memory of them. But be wary, many in these parts will.’