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The climb to the surface had taken
little time. Workers were hastily completing the chamber that
she had willed them to create. She observed their progress, and
made her way to another nest. There she was confronted by a host
of the little creatures. Some of the creatures were metal-clad,
while others wore foul-smelling skins and hides from even lesser
creatures that lived on this fetid island.
All of the little things
were hostile. She could feel their anxiety, fear and hatred as
they made their way down from the top of her children's home.
The water of life sizzled on the ground beneath her and
guardians silently found their way to her side. She explained
the reason for her arrival and told them to pull their forces
back. Secluding herself in the depths of a dark crevice, she
waited for the little things to come into her lair.
Things with sharp metal
sticks, things with large metal heads on wooden sticks, things
with sticks and strings that shot smaller sticks, and things
with little glowing balls, crystals and rods made their way into
her lair. At the front, clad in the shells of her children
banded together with metal, was a little creature far too
familiar. She knew this little thing from the cries of her
children who stood born of her daughter, the daughter who once
ruled this land. This little creature's stick with a string
glowed the same color as the water of life, and it smelled as
her children did after they were dead. She could tell that the
smell was not from the metal shells draped over the creature's
body. There was something else.
Her children raged in the
darkness, begging to be loosed upon this horde, and as their
anger grew so did hers toward the one little thing. The
insignificant speck that had somehow killed her daughter and
ended the life of so many more of her children was finally
before her. She would have revenge against this creature for her
children; she would crush the life from this little thing. She
willed her children forward, knowing full well that a great many
would perish on the pointed sticks, but she would see the
invaders driven from her home.
Her children led the
charge and the little things pulled tightly about the creature
she knew. The skin-wearers began to beat wooden objects
furiously. The sounds shook her children's shells and caused
them discomfort. She drove those feelings from her children's
minds and renewed their strength. Skin-wearers toppled and fell
in heaps of life-fluid as her children's hands tore through
their flesh. Hide-wearers formed a wall about the creature clad
in shell-in-metal. She stormed at them and spewed forth her
venom.
Hide did little to protect
their flesh and it melted away before her. The familiar creature
wearing shell-in-metal produced a liquid from a hide sack. It
smelled like her eldest children, only dead. She watched the
little thing coat a wooden stick with the liquid and place it on
the string of its glowing stick. All around, her children tore
into the flesh of the creatures that had come to destroy her
home and slay them all. She stood over the little one wearing
shell-in-metal and prepared another blast of her venom.
The little creature loosed
the stick coated in the scent of death and it struck her above
the eye. It stung, but little else, and her venom dropped over
the little thing. It fell to one knee and was pulled away by
metal-clad creatures and hide-clad creatures.
Now the little creatures
fled. She recalled her children and tended to their wounds, as
the little creatures ran through the tunnels of her home. She
had won the day. Soon she would win this land. She would drive
the little creatures into the water of life and consume them.
The halls were silent, save for
the sound of their footfalls. Rytheran glanced at his companion
and delved within his memory. To recall the glory that they had
once commanded, he was forced to concentrate. It was
difficult to do while seeing them both as they were
now—desiccated corpses with nary a remnant of flesh, covered
in ruined clothing that had once designated them as scholars and
officials of their race. As he focused, the glamour wove about
him and repaired centuries of decay. Flesh covered his bones,
moth-eaten and timeworn robes were made whole, and his vibrant
eyes returned to fill his empty sockets.
"Love, I would keep
you in that form for the further eternity could I accept it as
reality, but we both know truth beyond lies, and I would ask you
to not cause this undue pain. Let our memories be just that, so
that our tortured souls are not carved deeper still with the
cold blade of time." Aerfalle brushed a lock of glamorous
hair away from Rytheran's brow and the image faded, returning
his features to a grim visage.
"For so many
millennia, my love, that blade has etched into my being."
Rytheran paused as they separated. "Why now? We searched
for so long while the Servant walked. Why not call to us then?
So many of the Firstborn scattered across the deserts and lost
in the war against the dark spawn.
"We had thought Amauxi
fallen during the second sending. Had His Eternal Splendor seen
so far into the future to hide him even then? And what of the
sacrifices made while the outlanders did our bidding without
coaxing? Had he foreseen the end of the fourth sending at their
hand?
"Had he expected that this
horde, with the guidance of the last child of the Yalain, would
succeed?" Rytheran asked as they resumed their walk down
the ancient hallway. "They are whelps, barely capable
of channeling the art."
"All, that is, but
one." Aerfalle smirked. "She stirs the things that
sleep, and I can sense your elation growing. You think her
singing will stir the Old Ones."
"'Tis true. I hold
hope still that their voices will rise again. But as the dark
spawn grow more powerful, loosed from their deepest trenches to
walk the world again, I fear for Killiakta. The singer knows
little of what she does, and what knowledge we have of the
entity of energy and his delving only yields supposition that
one of the K—"
"No…the sendings
cannot be this close." Aerfalle placed her hand on a door,
crafted millennia before, and it opened without sound.
The chamber beyond housed
an eclectic assembly not seen since the fourth sending, when the
decision was made to join the battle against the Uvriliim and
Paanuvriliim. Amauxi, one of the first Filinuvekta, was seated
between representatives from the Latzimestal and the Sand Kings.
Their conversation was civil, nearly hushed. Amauxi stood as the
Lord and Dark Lady entered the hall.
"Eons have not washed
away your grace and beauty, Aerfalle, nor have they dimmed your
presence, Lord Rytheran." Amauxi bowed. As one, the
assembled collection of Undead stood and greeted the pair.
Aerfalle and Rytheran nodded in unison, and took their places on
thrones that had been prepared for their arrival. Amauxi stepped
next to the center of the gathered Undead.
"For millennia I have
stood watch, and kept secret the resting place of the King. Now
he begs me come to all and begin discourse. The outlanders draw
too near failure, and this incursion of the Olthoi is one he had
not foreseen. The heavens are confused and muddled, and singers
whose voices have long been silenced are raised in a chorale
that nothing hears. The last child of Yalain is paralyzed, and
our eyes upon him have gone blind. Beloved Killiakta draws
nearer to destruction than she has ever been before.
"Ours is an ignoble
task, that beckons we send an emissary to impart a gift to the
outlander horde. As it is His will, so it must be done."
Elysa's face was pale. Her
breathing was still shallow and her eyes had not opened since
the attack. She lived, but no amount of magic would wake her
from this cold sleep. Aun Hareltah had tried all he knew to wake
the Queen, but still she lay, silent and cold. Antius brushed a
stray lock of honey-colored hair from her brow and gently kissed
her forehead.
"Come back to me, my
love." He gently touched a hand to her cheek and smiled.
A week had passed since
the assault. At night, Antius would stay by her side with
Borelean, telling Elysa of the day's exploits. It mattered
little if she heard them, they each needed to see her, and every
once and again they swore they saw some recognition on her face.
The boy was showing remarkable resilience and control by holding
his sorrow within. Antius saw this as a blessing and a curse.
The boy had attempted to find Asheron only once. It ended in
failure as the spell to reach Asheron's Sanctum failed…as
though the Sanctum were no longer there.
Everything was bleak. The
festival season had come to Dereth, but there was little to
celebrate. The Olthoi had been driven back from the majority of
the countryside, but the earth still trembled and the Ancient
Queen was still out there somewhere.
During the day, Antius joined
Lord Kresovus, scouring the countryside with Balor. The
assailant's scent had gone dry after the second day of
searching, but Balor was as stubborn as his master. He insisted
that he had found the trail time and again, only to lose it on
the wind. Nuhmudira worked to find the would-be assassin through
mystical means, while Celdiseth, Fadsahil and Ciandra tried to
formulate some manner of cure. For the moment, Antius was forced
to believe that Nuhmudira was truly not responsible for the
assault, as this was fell magic that none of them understood.
But his bones still grew chilled when she was about.
"I love you," he said
as he took Elysa's hand into his. He looked to the fireplace and
noticed the embers there, sparks popping from a small pocket of
water in the wood. He saw life in that red glow, and he refused
to let that fire die.
"Where are you,
Asheron?" he asked of no one.
Antius' reverie was abruptly
broken by the shuffle of leather boots moving hurriedly. The
sound of metal-clad boots followed behind. The doors burst open
as he turned toward the hall. His left hand still held Elysa's
gently, but his right now gripped his sword hilt, relaxing only
when he saw the intruders were Hendac and Jenavere. He let
Elysa's hand drop back to her side and walked to them. Two royal
guards stood behind the pair.
"Sorry Lord Antius, they
pushed by us too quickly," one guard apologized.
"They are friends, and are
welcome here," Antius replied. He dismissed the guards and
brought Hendac and Jenavere into the room. Hendac made his way
to Elysa's bedside and fell to one knee, while Jenavere took a
rolled sheet of paper to the table near the balustrade.
"If she saw you doing that,
Hendac, she'd cuss you and likely give you a swift kick."
Antius managed a weak smile, and the mute man smiled in return
as he glanced back and got to his feet.
"Antius, no time for talk.
We've found her." Jenavere was pointing to the scroll, a
crudely drawn map showing the borders of the Lost Wish
Mountains. "We tracked a small encampment of Gotrok Lugians
through the mountains. We were forced to slow our pace to match
theirs, or risk being seen. After a day of no movement, Hendac
and I followed the ridge here." She pointed to an area of
the mountains that Antius barely recalled. "Along this
ridge, we saw a marked increase in Renegade activity, but we
also found something else." Antius glanced back to Hendac,
who happily pointed at his nose.
"Hendac smelled it
first—a hive, a big hive. We looked for the entrance and found
only a pocket of acrid air that seeped from within the bowels of
the earth, north of the mountains. We couldn't find a way
in…but that is where she is roosting. I know it." She
poked her finger at a spot on scroll.
"How deep?" Antius
asked. Hendac sat in the chair beside Elysa's bed.
"Hard to say,"
Jenavere replied, looking at Antius' face. "How long has it
been since you've slept?"
"Long enough. How many
Olthoi?" Antius responded.
"Thousands, I'm sure of
that. And she's breeding...quickly," Jenavere stated
plainly.
Antius nodded and called for a
guard. The door opened and a guard walked into the room.
"Assemble the council. We have the location of the Queen's
lair." The guard nodded and left the room.
"The council, Antius?"
Jenavere protested. "They'll discuss this into the ground
before anything is done, and then it will be too late."
"No, Jenavere. The council
is very different now."
"Different? The only ones
that were ever worth their lot were Elysa and Celdiseth. The
rest be damned. Scholars and fools! Nuhmudira was one of the
Zaikhal scholars that refused to provide us with the munitions
necessary to crush the remaining Olthoi hives. We know how that
ended. I'm sure you've heard about the colony of humans beneath
the Catacombs where Elysa slew the first queen. They're not to
be trusted," Jenavere continued.
"I don't trust them,
Jenavere, but they're all we have…Nuhmudira included.
Nuhmudira is arguably the most powerful of us. She very well
might be our only hope. I wish I could convey to you how much it
pains me to say that," Antius conceded blandly as he
returned to the table. "We can't do this alone. We need all
the help we can muster, and if that means that we need to deal
with those we cannot trust to ensure the safety of this world
and our way of life, so be it. I will not go back to a slave
pit."
"Nor will I."
Nuhmudira opened the door, flanked by a guard. "The others
are coming post-haste. What news do you have for us, Antius?"
Jenavere looked to Hendac. He
knelt and kissed Elysa's hand. Jenavere took a step toward
Antius and whispered, "We'll be around, Antius…but we
won't fight with her." She smiled and clasped the man in a
brief embrace. Hendac approached Antius and clapped him on the
back. Then the two pushed past Nuhmudira into the hallway.
Nuhmudira waited until they
disappeared into the darkness and then asked, "What was
that all about?"
"They found the
Queen."
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