He moved quickly. It was necessary;
he would soon be missed, and he could not bear the strain that
it would put on his mother. He decided to go after the start of
Alba'rel's cycle, slipping through the portal under an assault
of acidic clouds and frosty air.
Asheron had not yet stirred, and
every day the color drained out of his face a little more.
Borelean's mother dressed the wound every few hours, yet each
new dressing revealed that the old one was horribly stained. The
wound simply would not knit. When his mother slept, Borelean had
tried to heal Asheron's wound using what little life magic he
had been taught. It was to no avail. Asheron was dying, and
Dereth with him.
Rithwic was silent, save for the
peddlers who mostly wept and wondered when Gaerlan's forces
would return. Worse, they pondered where this Harbinger would
rise, what it was, and how they would stand against it.
Gaerlan had proven to be
unstoppable. His armies had swept across Osteth into the
civilized towns and laid siege without effort. Now they held
nearly every city across Dereth in an ever-tightening grasp. For
every elemental that fell to the blades of the Isparians,
another would rise, followed by its brethren. Gaerlan had proven
that he was immune to the barriers Nuhmudira had created to
shield the Isparians from the Empyrean, so even the sanctity and
safety of being within one's home had become unsure.
In mansions maintained by the
richest and most powerful nobles, panicked voices rose to
question Gaerlan's intent. “Is he bringing back the
Hopeslayer?”“Is it Bael'Zharon?”“The master Lady
Aerfalle speaks of?” All these questions and so few answers.
In a time before, his mother had stood by the side of many of
these men and women and brought down a Shadow Spire outside
Cragstone. Those days were now forgotten. Some muttered now that
High Queen Elysa Strathelar was a corrupt noble who had secured
her position through her friendship with Asheron. Regicide was
never far from their minds. Borelean was young, but he was
quickly losing his innocence about the world and the people who
would one day be his subjects.
During his mother's council
meetings, he had listened to the councilors and watched the
proceedings through a crack in the door. He knew that his mother
was the strongest-willed person on this world, and though at
times she was overprotective of him, her first duty was the
safety of her people. Now, however, she knew that they faced a
foe against whom they had no hope--none without Asheron. The
Isparians truly were fledglings on this world. The magic at
Gaerlan and Asheron's command was advanced far beyond anything
any of them understood. That is, any except Martine.
Borelean remembered when
Bael'Zharon had first come to Dereth, how his mother had warned
him that she was going to face grave danger and that he needed
to be brave for her. He had not understood what she'd meant,
until now.
He passed the beleaguered Lugian
Emissary speaking to a passer-by. “Have you heard anything
about Linvak Tukal? Timaru?” the gray giant asked in a deep
gruff voice. The passer-by shook her head and moved on into the
night.
Borelean stopped and looked at
the Lugian as the first drop of rain fell from the sky.
“Linvak Tukal? Are you worried that your home is in danger
too?” he asked.
The gray giant kneeled to speak
to him. “Of course I am, little boy. Whoever this man is, he
will not stop with your race. He does not mean to stop with any
of us. He will fight until we are all gone.” The Lugian
managed a smile and stood upright once more. Borelean gazed up
at the hulking mass of the Lugian for a long moment, then
sprinted toward the portal as the rain intensified.
The tunnels were easy to
navigate. He wasn't the only child among those who milled
within, so he easily made his way through the crowd without
being noticed. He followed the passage upward and looked in on
the throne room where Martine sat. Creeping silently across the
floor and past the two slumbering forms outside, he pulled
himself through a window and looked at the man.
“Why did you try to kill Uncle
Asheron?” he asked without fear.
The man's head, devoid of skin,
twisted unnaturally as the masked face seemed to regard him.
“He's not dead. Not yet. You
can make things right.”
Borelean's words were met with
silence.
“It is not possible!”
Gaerlan fumed. “I followed the rituals perfectly as they were
laid out in the book! How could she have been freed? There is no
way. . .”
His ice blue eyes looked out
over the horizon. Below him, off at a great distance, he could
see the Crater Lake. “Vermin! Freeing a murderer, a seeker of
Falatacot ways! A Blood Witch! You are not worthy!” He gripped
the hilt at his waist and let out a low growl. “Soon
Iasparailaun, soon.”
He tapped the hilt and turned
toward the tower. Wind rushed over the edge of the battlements
and coalesced into a tangible being.
“Master. We are
prepared.”The voice slipped into his
mind. Concentrating for a long moment, he saw what his army saw.
Each stood ready for the final assault.
Although he still commanded the
forces of the elements, the Harbinger could not be summoned
without a physical form to contain its power. Undoubtedly the
small minds of these Isparians were oblivious to his failing,
and the occupation of Osteth would crush their wills and secure
his victory. Nevertheless, he needed to act quickly. The vermin
must not be given any chance to take advantage of this setback.
One example had already been made, and as long as the wreckage
smoldered, etched in their memory, he had an advantage over the
Isparians. Still, the Harbinger was coming. Unless he stopped
it, it would consume everything.
He still had time. Not much, but
enough.
“The Lugians delivered the
armor to us as promised. But when the storehouses were raided,
we lost every last piece. We have had very little luck
ascertaining the whereabouts of anything that was taken.”
Ciandra paused and looked across
the room, then swallowed hard before she continued.
“We also lost the amulets, all
of them. We sent citizens to collect them, but all that have
been retrieved are ruined. High Queen Elysa has been more than
helpful, her Royal Guard have assisted us at every turn.
“Asheron came to us a few
months ago. . .” Ciandra stopped short as her guest lifted a
quizzical brow, a lattice of wrinkles joining together in a
spider web across her forehead.
Ciandra cleared her throat, then
continued. “His assistance proved invaluable in much of our
research. We have created a new kind of device, as instructed,
that will allow weapons and wands to bite deeper against a
chosen entity. Thus far we have only succeeded in altering the
focus to deal with the elemental menace, but we continue our
research to increase the spectrum of creatures that such items
will affect.”
Her guest reached forward and
collected a ceramic mug from the table. Carefully, Ciandra
lifted the teapot and filled the mug.
“We have also made great
strides in tinkering as well. Everything has continued to fall
into place.” Ciandra paused. “Nuhmudira?”
Her guest sipped the tea gently.
“How did you escape?”
“There are more important
things to attend to than the how of my escape.” Nuhmudira
smiled, and placed the mug on the table with a gentle clink.
“Please tell me more. . .”
Ciandra obliged as the night
slowly gave way to the dawn.
Antius drank from his waterskin.
Timaru was fast becoming a second home to him, though
Lytelthorpe was only a few portal trips away. He had been upon
Marae Lassel since the High Queen had asked that he watch the
comings and goings from Martine's Holding some months before,
and he had come to appreciate the free spirit of Timaru. He
stayed with the Aun Tumeroks from time to time and listened to
the wisdom imparted by Aun Hareltah. He had found them to be an
intricate people with a rich heritage far more in tune with the
spirits of the world than the Isparians'.
News of recent events on Dereth
had reached Aun Hareltah and had disturbed the quiet of the
Timaru Xuta. The disquiet was grave enough to call the Shamans
from their drumming circles. As Antius watched the discussion
being held in the lodge, he wondered what could possibly be so
important as to call them from the Menhir Rings. After a few
hours, Hareltah emerged from the tent and walked in a slow gait
toward Antius.
“The Spirits within the world
weep, but their tears are drying quickly,” Aun Hareltah said.
A look of concern passed over the elder's face. “Our duty is
to protect Palenqual from Wharu, Ispar Antiusnua, yet the
spirits of the land have spoken to us. You will be needed soon
by your Xuta. There is a great force coming, one that will lead
to the eradication of all that lives and dies. Even Wharu's
children cannot face down this thing.”
Antius looked at the Elder
quizzically, then nodded. Magic had fluctuated and not for the
better. Everything had changed in the wink of an eye, and though
it was possible to adapt, it was nevertheless something that had
not been expected.
“Before your people came among
us, one like you, but touched by Atua Ngamaru, spoke of a
powerful Pale One who had not left with the others. He called
that one Asheron. You must seek him. He is needed for this world
to survive.” The Elder placed his hand upon Antius' shoulder
and bowed his head gently. Antius repeated the gesture,
pondering what Hareltah had said. As the Elder turned back to
the tent, Antius withdrew a sapphire orb from his pouch and
muttered the words that would take him to High Queen Elysa's
castle.
He arrived to find the castle in
utter ruin.
“The same happened in Yanshi.”
A voice called behind him. A man in the yellow and red robes of
the royal guard stood at attention, looking at him as though he
knew him.
“Antius Blackmoor, yes?”
Antius nodded. “The High Queen has a new request of you.
Please follow me.”
The fever tugged at him again.
Elysa pressed the cloth against his burning brow and spoke to
him as she had for nearly two months now.
“Do you remember when you told
me that you had made a difficult decision, Asheron?” She
smiled as she dipped the cloth into the basin. “I know what
you meant, and I'll be damned if you made that choice just to
leave us. So you need to fight. We need you. Gaerlan is growing
stronger by the day.”
A tiny voice sounded from behind
her, distant, almost unreal.
“Mother. . .” She turned and
saw Borelean.
In one fluid motion, her left
hand grasped the bow as her right hand slipped an arrow from
beneath Asheron's bed. She had nocked and aimed the arrow by the
time she was standing. Her eyes were fixed on the eyeholes of
the mask of the man standing behind her son. Beneath them, she
could see a glint of white, of something not quite human, not
quite Virindi. A chill ran down her spine. It was Martine.
“Hello, Elysa.”
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