Angela MacDonald's Blog, page 3

High Moors/ chapter 3/ Facing the Dark – book 2 of Emperors and Exiles

Ivan

Chapter Three                          .

Highmoors

The sunrise was stunning over the high moors.  Mist rose off the river below and blended with the fog that poured slowly down from the hill to the north.  Ivan sat on the hillside watching the sun lift over the horizon.  Its light turned clouds to pink and gold.

He could hear the call of the White Geese as they prepared to launch upward to continue their migration north to the tundra fields that spread out at the feet of the Grava Mountains. Snow melt would create lakes and ponds that offered the perfect landscape for the birds of the north.  Spring had truly come to Ezeer.

TyKale stirred in his fur cloak and stretched.  Ivan let the Purtan wake up at his own speed today.  They had been running hard and today they had to cross a dangerous river; he wanted to cross it well rested.

Somewhere off to the south a Snow Fox started yipping, announcing that she had crawled out of her den.  She called her kits out to see the sky for the first time.

TyKale knelt beside the small fire and blew on the embers.  His breath alone made the embers burn up and flames curl around the bottom of the tea pot.  He poured himself a cup, then added more water before he joined Ivan on the hill.  He wrapped his fur cloak about him and held his cup, looking out to the sunrise.

Ivan glanced over and again was reminded of his friend, Shannon.  He wished for the quiet man’s counsel and wisdom.  Ivan wished for the chance to tell Shannon he still loved him like a brother and comrade, and that no matter what hell might have done to him, Ivan didn’t care. He sighed heavily and sipped his own little cup of tea.

“You know,” Tykale said, “when I sleep, I dream… I remember things.  I dream that I am home, that my mind is clear; then I wake and it vanishes.”  He sighed a little.  “Sometimes I wonder if that’s not better.  Maybe I shouldn’t know who I am.”

“A man is who is he by his actions, not by the name he was given as a ball of trembling flesh and gasping breath.  Purtans change their names at times because of that very thing.  You are surely not the man you where when that gate opened and maybe that’s the point; that if you knew, you would be so homesick you would not be here in mind.”

TyKale nodded.  “I was trying to figure out how long I had been in Ezeer… at least four years I think.  The first while is a little blurry. I think all the years had shut down a lot of the energy in my brain.  It could be longer, maybe a decade.  Maybe that is why I can’t seem to learn the language.  My brain is just a little… damaged.”

“Or maybe the gods woke you slowly so the shock did not hurt you too much. Shannon spoke with the whisper you use, you know.  Most of the time, anyway, but with friends he would drop it now and then. You don’t have to use it with me.”

“You’re a king, Ivan; of course I do.” He shrugged. “Besides, if I spoke without it, my voice might leave an energy signature that could be followed.  I would not want something so silly to get you found.”  He took a sip of tea.  “Does it bother you?”

“It just reminds me of Shannon and I worry for him.  He was in very bad shape when we parted.  I pray for him to the gods of Ezeer and try to send love beyond into the God of Purt to reflect back to Shannon, to just let him know he has a friend in the world.”

“I would like very much to meet a man you respect so much,” TyKale said.

“You will,” Ivan said.  “I am certain he will let you go to Norwood and it’d give me a reason to as well.  I would like very much to see the past.  I can only imagine the glory of his city with all the lights still glowing and the magics of Purt still alive.”

“Purt has fallen dark?”

“For a very long time,” Ivan said.  They watched a flock of Stone Cranes fly past them at their eye level, following the river below to their own nesting grounds.

“Shannon is a very dark name.  If you say it as Shan ha non, it means inconsolable grief.”

“I know.” Ivan got up to refill his little cup.

“If the city glows, then he is the true line of Norwood and given the keys by the Emperor.  How is that if the Emperor is lost?”

“Shannon was Tyredelle Von Armond before…”

“Before what?”

Ivan was very slow to sit back down, deciding if he wanted to tell the young Purtan what had happened.

“I don’t know the whole story, but his family, his wife and children, were all butchered before him and when they didn’t break him, they sent him to hell.  He’s not a mortal man anymore and I don’t think he ever can be.”

“Tyredelle,” TyKale whispered the name.  A great sadness crossed his face and he bowed his head.

“What?” Ivan asked.

“Sometimes it seems I can hear echoes of the past, but when I turn to listen, it is gone.  I don’t know why, but just saying that name makes me very sad.” He looked out at the land of Ezeer.  “We should get moving soon.”

They collected the small camp up and put the fire out.  Ivan set the sod back in that they had cut away for it, making the fire pit all but vanish.  They headed west, over the hills and toward the River Nanutuk.  It was a rough river at all times, but this time of year it would be raging.  They could hear it long before they reached it.  Mist rose up from the crashing waters.

Reaching the brink of a hill, they looked down at what they needed to cross.  It looked like an endless in-rushing tide.  It roared down the gorge it had long cut; boulders and deep stone walls contained it, but barely.  They were not the only ones there, either.

Down near the water, a small camp of Ezeerens had set up, likely wondering how they were going to cross the raging river.

“That’s…,” TyKale shook his head, not even sure he knew the right word to do it justice.

“Nanutuk,” Ivan said.  “It translates into Wild Woman or something like that. Untameable Female Power maybe is better.”

“I would not like to know a woman named such,” TyKale said.  “I think I like more peaceful sorts.”

Ivan chuckled and dropped a hand on TyKale’s shoulder.

“You might change your mind if you did.  A woman so wild hides such power in her heart, not on her face.  A river is more free to express itself openly.  All the best are houses of such glory.  Come, let us join them.”

They reached the camp just as the meal was being passed out and without a hesitation Ivan and TyKale were given a share.

Dur’ Rak met them with a smile and gave Ivan a strong embrace.

“How did you beat us here?” Ivan asked surprised.

“We know the way here well enough,” Dur Rak replied. “There is a small gold mine we have just up river a little.  The bridge has been cut, though,” he gestured to the stone pillars that should have had the twisted rope bridges that were used all over Ezeer.  “Not the time of year to try and cross at all, but without the bridge, we aren’t sure what direction to go.  There is a bridge further north, but to the south there is a place where the river can be forded; several days either way.”

“Perhaps we can think of something,” Ivan said, trying to get his mind and heart to accept he was speaking to his grandson.  He looked to the pillars as the meal of bread stuffed with meat and roots was complimented with a mug of ale a young man handed him.  He and TyKale walked to the pillar.

“The rope has been cut,” TyKale said.

“Hmm…. the churchmen, I would guess.  No Ezeeren would do such a thing.  Lives get lost running such bridges over rivers like this.”

“How do we cross then?”

“It will take us days to get to another place and that might also be cut off.”

“We don’t have days if we plan to make it in time for the festival.”

“No.  We don’t, and others behind us have even less time.”

TyKale knelt down and put his hand to the ground and closed his eyes.  He was still for a long moment, his meal forgotten in his hand.  He rose slowly with a slight scowl.

“I can build a bridge.  It will take me a day at least to set up and it will certainly leave an energy mark, but it will get the men over.”

“How much magic?”

“Not… too much of a mark. I think I can use the river to hide much of it, but I will need a day to rest after it’s built.”

“Do it,” Ivan nodded.  Turning to his grandson, he said, “TyKale will build us a bridge. We cross here.”

“He can?  How?”

“I’m not certain, but if he says he can, I trust he can.”

TyKale ate the meal he had been given, then gracefully ran through a set of training forms to settle his energy and prepare his mind. He sank down to sit cross-legged beside the stone pillar.

Ivan stood and watched the young man who did not move at all.

“He is in a trance, I take it,” Dur’ Rak said  as he joined Ivan with a skin of mead.  Ivan took a swig and passed it back.

“Yes.”

“You watch him very closely.”

“He reminds me of a friend.  Had I watched that Purtan and his magics more closely, perhaps much of the pain he endured would have been preventable.”

“You know many Purtans?”

“Not many,” Ivan said.  “Just one really, but as he is the King of Norwood, I think he qualifies as being rather remarkable.”

“You know the King of Norwood?” Dur’ Rak asked shocked.  “The Shadow King?  You know him?”

“Shannon,” Ivan said.  “Yes.” Ivan looked over at the younger man.  “No soul alive is of greater honor and strength.”

“And our young wizard reminds you of him?” Dur Rak asked doubtfully.

“Greatly.  The more I see him, the more so.  Does he not seem so to you?  You risked lives to find him and bring him in from the storm.”

“The seeress commanded it.  She sent us to find him when he first appeared and demanded he be treated with all honor due a great wizard, but all he has done for us is light fires and bring down Gerome’s men on us.”

“He fought in the battle, Dur’ Rak,” Ivan said.  “He was half the magic there.”

“The man who came… with the staff – who was he?  We thought he was the magic of the battle.”

“He is Tharadon Lords, King of Awens and my adopted brother.  He was half and TyKale the other.  Whoever that young man was in another life, he is indeed a powerful wizard.”

Ivan stayed and kept watch until TyKale rose just after dark, looking very tired.

“It’s almost ready,” he said and stumbled to the fire.  He sank down and sagged forward, dozing off almost at once.  Ivan woke him to offer him tea and another meat bread roll late that evening.  TyKale ate and drank, then lay over and fell asleep.  Ivan gathered him up and moved him to the bed he had made for the wizard and covered him.

“You should not be doing that,” Dur Rak said when Ivan returned to the fire.  “The boy might well be a wizard, but you are King of Ezeer.  Have one of us do it if it’s your will it be done.”

Ivan folded his arms over his chest and noticed the young storyteller who had stood at his fire in the yard of his hut not so long ago.  He had a scar across his left cheek that went down to his neck.  It was still mending and swollen, proving the young man had fought and nearly died.

“Gerome, the Black Heart hunts the true Emperor of Purt.  He sends demons, warlocks of all dark powers. He torments him through the torn and burned fragments of the bond once blessed between them.

“I have seen the Prince of Purt lift his hand to turn aside warp storms, bring stars down from heaven, and stand in defiance of the masters of hell, and I have seen him lift a child who has fallen and carry him on his shoulders.  I have seen him starve so that others might eat, I have seen him kneel beside a peasant woman and cover her with his own blanket that she might sleep better. If Tyredelle Von Armond, the Unbreakable, can pause to put up with a stupid gladiator from Dacan so he doesn’t end up dead, it is the least I can do to care for one of his people who clearly has been sent here by the gods.  Humility is not a weakness; it is a strength and true humility comes by choice.”

“Von Armond is dead,” one of the men said.

“Perhaps he is,” Ivan said, “but I have seen him none-the- less, and fought beside him and starved at the fire next to him, shivered in the cold and crossed the lands of Brackin with him.  I tell you, Norwood’s king is Shannon and Shannon is Tyredelle… or was before Gerome took him to hell.”

They stood quietly for awhile before Ivan turned away to find sleep beside TyKale, as both guard and friend. He really had nothing more to say to them and he was tired.

He was one of the first awake in the morning and built the fire up, started tea and waited. TyKale joined him looking a little tired. He took the offered tea and smiled weakly.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Ivan asked.

“No,” TyKale replied. “Dreams…” he shrugged.  He sipped the tea and let the last of his sleep fade before he went back to the riverbank.  Today he stood, settled his feet and closed his eyes.  With the slightest gesture of his hands, he began to shape and shift energy in his mind.

At first nothing seemed to happen. Then the ground sort of shivered.  The Ezeerens gathered to watch and the young storyteller pointed it out first.  The very boulders in the river were lifting, sort of stretching like soft clay.  Evenly spaced across the river span, pillars of stone began to lift upward.  It was slow work, but they all stood transfixed in awe.

As the pillars began to reach the height of the steep banks, they began to lean toward each other. Power burned like deep molten lava inside the depth of the stone and the more they moved and flexed the stronger, bolder and more visible those lines were.

When the reaching stones met, the lines flared and the building sped up.  Stones began to thicken, arches settled and walls of solid rock along the edges of the newly forming bridge-top lifted up, not just blocky and solid, but gracefully matching the pillars that held the bridge above the torrent of water.  Out from the ends, stone lifted up through the sod and created sections of road, binding the solid stone of the bridge deeper into the land so even over time erosion would not separate bridge and land.

TyKale lowered his hands and collapsed to his knees. Ivan was there at once offering support.

“I need to lie down,” TyKale said.  Ivan helped him back to the bed and covered him.  TyKale was already asleep.  Ivan walked back to the bridge and watched the glowing line of fire begin to cool and turn dark, but the lines themselves remained there, visible as if carved into place.

Ivan looked to Dur’ Rak, who stood in awe.

“I’d let that cool overnight,” Ivan said, “but thanks to our Purtan wizard, we can cross now and for a thousand years or more to come.”

“I never… he ….how…” Dur’ Rak stared, still in disbelief of what he had seen.

Ivan put his hand his grandson’s shoulder. “Never underestimate a Purtan.”

The camp was empty. The men had left just before dawn, letting Ivan stay with TyKale.  As Ivan made a small meal for the two of them from supplies that were left, he watched the river roar and rush under the great bridge of Nanunuk.  It was beautiful.  The stone was flawless, smooth and sculpted.

Not only were the lines from the magic still visible, there were images of all the bears of Ezeer, snow cranes and white geese, mukluks and the village of Kennar next to its silt field river. It looked as if some dwarven master had spent a hundred years to carve it all in with the faintest lines, just enough to see when the sunlight hit it just so.

TyKale slept all day and was still asleep when another group of men arrived just after dark. They were men Ivan had never seen before, but clearly his people.

They seemed to be from a village farther north and had not been at the battle of Kennar.  They greeted Ivan and joined him unaware he was the king.

“So that’s the seeress’ boy?” one asked as he turned a goose on the fire.

“TyKale,” Ivan said.  “He just built the bridge,” he gestured.  “Needed a day to rest, so I stayed while the others ran ahead.”

The men were suitably impressed, but they were hungry and sat down to talk of home, hope, and food.  Ivan listened to them and enjoyed the pointless chatter.

The men who had arrived went to bed early and took off before dawn again while TyKale slept on.  He woke with the sun and joined Ivan to get a cup of tea.

“Feel better?”

“Rested,” TyKale said simply.

They cleared the site as best they could before taking to the bridge.  They crossed the solid stone.

“You didn’t have to make it pretty,” Ivan said

“I didn’t exactly.  When you touch the earth of a place like that, it is hard to master fully.  It wants to express itself in the things of that place.  Only a master can make stone flow smooth.  It was all I could do to try to keep the demands of the architect of a strong bridge in my mind.  It did the rest.  You could say the stone took energies out of the air and expressed them though the images in my mind that matched.  If you ever go to Purt and you see the smooth walls, you will understand the utter command of mind and magic the masters of old held.  To control your mind that clearly is impressive enough, but to do it while holding such power is beyond anything of this age.”

“Thank you.  I am fairly certain Ezeer has nothing so grand; a true display of the friendship between Ezeer and Purt.  There is a certain power to it being out here.”

“I hope it helps.”

They paused near midday for Ivan to dig edible roots and TyKale to get in a quick nap to help his further recovery from the great expenditure of energy used in creating the bridge.  He was still asleep when he felt the scan and the magic building up.  Rolling up, he shook off sleep.

“Ivan?” he called out as he got to his feet and felt the magic.  He ran from where he had napped.  Over the rise of the hill he saw Ivan with several other Ezeerens.  They were all on their knees and clearly in pain before a woman.

He knew at once she was a blood wizard, a sorcerer, and   hinted at the magics of a necromancer. Tykale gathered his own power as he raced down, just as Ivan collapsed forward fighting to not transform into the golden bear despite his pain.

If she forced Ivan to reveal his true power, she could feed on that instead of just his flesh.  TyKale slammed power at her to knock her off balance and shatter her focus as he ran.  She stumbled and turned her eyes on him.  He hardened his shields as he neared.  Her power slammed into him, driving the air out of his lungs, but he didn’t miss a step and came into a defensive stance before her, in between her and Ivan.

Tykale reached into the vault and felt a sword in his hand.  He didn’t even think about it.  She was going to have to fight him both in magic and physically.

She was, without a doubt, Awens and power.  She sneered at him.

“Stay out of his,” she told him in Awens.  “Step down and I will be merciful.”

He shook his head at her and answered with a blast of power which cracked down at her as lightning, nearly shattering her shields, forcing her back.  He didn’t let up and hammered on her, blast after blast, as he came at her.  He’d drive a sword into her if he couldn’t break her magics.

She yelled spells at him as she waved a wand, desperately weaving her magic before her shields were broken.   But it was of no use, as TyKale shattered her shields. His magics came at her as an explosion of fire that TyKale had to shield himself from.  He could smell that his hair was singed and his face felt a little hot, but he didn’t let up.

Her next magic was a little more powerful as the air tore and a demon rushed him.

It sank its claws into the shield and ripped at them.   The weight of the demon was suffocating and nearly dropped him to a knee.  His magic felt weighted down, as if he was trying to lift a weight too heavy with his arms pinned down.

Gasping for air, Tykale reached deeper inside than he even had dared with the bridge building.  There inside his chest he found his deeper reserve and drew it up until he was certain he had enough. Then, as he began to see spots from lack of air, he unleashed it as a burst of strength, freeing his arms.  The demon was hurled away, but TyKale was on it; magic engulfed the demon, drawing it into TyKale’s grip.  The tables had turned and the demon was caught, snared by the magics that seethed around TyKale like vines of light and lightning.  TyKale forced the demon down at his feet, stepped over it and drove his sword into it, pumping golden power into it.  The demon screamed and thrashed for a moment before it imploded into shards of black crystal and smoke.

TyKale lifted his eyes to the woman who stood with both shock and fear on her face.  She took a step back. Tykale moved to rush her, to cut her down. She stumbled away and vanished into a portal just as his sword met her.  He staggered and nearly fell, but his sword had blood on it.

He turned, allowing his magics to settle and calm.  He reached a hand down to Ivan, who took it shakily, his nose bleeding and eyes bloodshot.

Ivan put TyKale’s hand to his forehead in a massive gesture of respect and gratitude.  He got up, still shivering from the magic used on him.

“Who was she?” TyKale asked.

“A vile woman,” Ivan said, “sent by Gerome to kill me.  Thank you.”

TyKale looked to the other men. “Are they alright?”

Ivan moved to them and helped them up to their feet.  They bowed to TyKale.  He nodded to them with concern.

“We should move from here,” Ivan said.  “Where did you get a sword?”

TyKale looked at it.

“I… from a vault maybe.”

“Well, keep it.”

TyKale nodded; he had already planned to keep it and the blood on the tip would allow him to find out whom he had just fought.

They left as a group to get away from the battle site.

***********

TyKale wiped the blood off the tip of the sword with his fingertips and water.  He smoothed the flakes, which were melting with the water, between his fingers like he would any object belonging to someone in order to find them in a game of hide-and seek.  He set the magics free.

Closing his eyes he saw her.  He saw that he had cut her upper abdomen, but not deep enough to be fatal and she had pulled on magics to heal it well enough. He could read her, know her, see things about her that only the touch of blood allowed. He used it all, burning it up to nothing and flicked away the vile touch of it.  He looked to Ivan.

“Kaullie Lords,” he said her name.  “Mother of Tharadon.  She is an evil woman, Ivan.  A very powerful and evil woman and she will come again, but will not be taken so easily.”

“Theo’s mother?  No wonder he ran away,” Ivan muttered.  “Did you hurt her?”

“Another step and I’d have killed her, but she is alive.”

“We deal with our own king first, then we deal with her.  If I have to hunt her to the depths of Purt, I will.”

“She has been dethroned,” TyKale said.  “Her power base is shuddering as if she was tied into her very fortresses. Some sorcerers do that, but at the risk of losing a great deal if they lose their strongholds.”

“Good; maybe Theo has her on the run.”

“Maybe, or maybe she is desperate and hunting you as part of a deal.  The blood of Ish’Haven is no small prize.”

“She recognized you,” Ivan said seriously.  “I saw it in her eyes.  She knew you and was scared.”

“How could she?  Maybe she just thought she did.”

“Maybe you look like your family enough that she saw it.  Or maybe she recognized the magic you used.  Either way, she was scared of you.”

“Good,” TyKale grinned. “I hope she doesn’t sleep tonight.”

“To TyKale!” one of the men exclaimed, lifting his mead flask. “Wizard of Ezeer!  Gods bless him.”

TyKale laughed. “Ivan! I understood that!”

Ivan laughed and lifted his own skin. “To TyKale, my little brother.”

They drank and relaxed as they shared the meal.  None of them wanted to go to sleep and none of them did.  They stayed up till dawn telling jokes and doing anything to forget how close to death they had come. They debated staying together, but to hide the energy of all of them heading toward Immerish, it was wiser to stay in small companies.

“To Immerish,” they nodded to each other and set off.  Ivan and Tykale gave them a head start, then followed at a walk.

“You alright?” Ivan asked.

“I’m good, Ivan… just worried about what she might try to do next.  I need to think how to build up shields for you and for me.”

They left the higher fields of Ezeer and reached the Vales that were the ancient beds of glaciers, long melted away.  Ivan had looked forward to reaching this area of Ezeer, as here trade was always active, fires always cooked meats and the river beds were lush and full of life, but when they got there his memory proved to be only that… a memory. The land had been conquered. Ivan stood looking at it sadly.

Where once there had been stretches of wet lands, silt fields and endless bounty of edibles, plants and creatures, there was now turned-over fields.  The water had been drained and forced to follow a straight cut channel that ran directly down the center of the valley, spanned by stone bridges and flanked by roads and homes.

Ivan remembered fishing in the waters here and now there were only muddy fields and ugly rows of stone houses.  All birds, all the fish…, all the life that had once flourished here had been stripped away.

TyKale put his hand on Ivan’s back, seeing the pained expression.

“One thing at a time,” TyKale said.  “A little paint and it won’t be so bad.”

“It takes centuries to make a healthy wetland.  Look what he did to it.  No crop grown here will compare to the bounty that once thrived by the grace of the land and the gods.  Why?  Why would you strip away the natural wealth to replace it with burdensome labour and not nearly as much food to be gained.”

“Why would a man beat a beautiful woman down?  To prove he owns her, Ivan,” TyKale said.  “Every person here was born here.  This is the Ezeer they know.  This is the face of their mother.  You can’t just tell them it’s ugly.  Teach them to see with new eyes and find the true Ezeer.  You are their father; show them a better way.”

Ivan drew a deep breath and nodded.  “You’re right,” he said.  “And I for one would like a bath, so down to the village we go.”

They walked down from the hills and across a muddy field to the road that took them past a number of horrid little homes and to the larger village itself.  They found a single-story tavern that they entered, kicking mud off their boots.  The place stank of smoke, sweat and long-unwashed bodies.  Nearly every chair was taken by the saddest looking group of Ezeerens Ivan had ever seen.

They were all shaved with their hair chopped short, wearing worn and flimsy cotton fabrics that were stained, layered, and falling apart.  As they entered, the two of them in furs and leather, Tykale and Ivan certainly stood out.  It was clear none of the others were travelers but were locals by the looks they received.

TyKale shifted, a little uneasy as every eye turned to them.

“We are going to be remembered,” he said to Ivan.

“Can you sing?”

“Uhh… yeah, I guess.”

“Good. We’ll be performers headed to Immerish for the festival.  Just smile and trust me,” he said with a jolly chuckle and walked into the place as if he owned it.

“Brothers,” he nodded to a man who looked like he might spit at Ivan for looking so like a heretic.  “Two meals and baths, ale,” he said to the man who controlled the food and beverage at the back of the room.  He dug for coins and swore under his breath at his lack.

TyKale stepped up and spun a silver coin on the counter top.

“Tell him to buy the house a round,” TyKale said.

“A round for the house,” Ivan cheered.  The tavern keeper snatched up the coin to study it carefully, then nodded.

“Aye,” he offered a wary smile.  “Welcome in, strangers.”

The crowd cheered up at once.  A keg was tapped and the drinks started to pour.  Ivan greeted the men and shook their hands as he leaned back on the counter next to TyKale.

“Stay close to me,” Ivan said in Purtan.  “I don’t want them to think they can rob you.”

“I had the same thought,” Tykale forced a smile.  “But I need a bath, Ivan, and so do you.”

“These stinking furs,” Ivan said to the man pouring ale.  “You have a bath house about?  Decent clothes?  Our costumes grow too warm with the turn in the weather.”

“Aye. Bath in the back,” the man nodded toward a door in the back of the building.  “Clothes I can get fetched while you bath up.”

“Save us some ale, brothers,” Ivan laughed as they moved to the back door.

The bath was a single large pool of tepid water that made TyKale pause on the idea of a bath at all.  Ivan, on the other hand, stripped down and got in, grabbed up a worn bar of soap and scrubbed.

“Ivan,” TyKale said doubtful, “I can’t bathe in that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… filthy.”

“It’s better than sweat and fleas.”

TyKale muttered and threw his hand out: the water boiled with power, started to steam, and Ivan scrambled out in startled concern. The water settled clear as glass and steaming with warmth.

“You can’t just throw magic about, Kale,” Ivan objected.  “They will find us that way.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Tykale said, peeling off his clothes.  “I need a bath and I am not swimming in a soup of Ezeeren skin flakes and sweat; thank you, no.”

Ivan shook his head and climbed back in with a sigh of relief at the heat of the water.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he said.

They bathed and soaked until clothes were brought.  They were better quality than most of the clothes in the room beyond, but the same style and fabrics.  They changed and tied up their hair in tight braids that they tucked under their vests.  The furs and old clothes were bundled and packed out.

The room was getting rowdy and everyone was relaxing. Tykale paid for another keg and for the baths, clothes, and a meal.  They ate and then slipped out with the tavern just getting into the second keg.

“It’s nice to be clean,” Ivan said.

“Very,” TyKale agreed as he put his furs on over his clean clothes to ward off the chill the night promised.

“So you boys headed to the festival?” a man asked them with a mug in hand.

“Aye, indeed,” Ivan said with a laugh.  “You going to make it to Immerish as well?”

“No; time to plant, but we’ll drink up a bit here on the day.”

“What role do you play?” another man called to them.  “Why not share with us on your way.”

Ivan spread his arms and laughed    “It is I who paid for the ale and now I must also sing the songs?” he laughed.  “Truly you are my brothers.”  He held up a hand and suddenly took a very serious expression. “Have you heard of Ivan Ushard?” he asked them.

“No,” several said.

“Now, Ivan, he is an Ezeeren.  Born on the moor, he decided he hated farming,” Ivan said, “and he set for Dacan.” Ivan told a grand story of how the hero Ivan had arrived in Dacan, not speaking the language and coinless, but how he had come to achieve the rank of gladiator and held more gold in his hand than most men do in a lifetime.  The men applauded and cheered, and Tykale bought another keg.

“And you, master Purtan,” the owner asked him, “what do you have to offer?”

Tykale could feel tensions that were being hidden under the ale and the laughing, but he could not quite locate it and that meant magic.  He needed to ease their worries and make them friends.

He hopped up on the closest table and held his hands out.  They slowly grew quiet for him.  He drew a breath and began to sing in Norwood.  Within a single line the men were silent and caught up in his singing as he spun out the magic of his empathy, building a sense of trust and familiarity towards him. Once that was in the air, he began to offer out a sense of powerful hope and light within their hearts.  He focused on the glory of the sunrise over the moors, praying his song would work.  At the end of it, they all stood staring at him with tears in many eyes and awe on their faces.  Even Ivan had tears in his eyes.  He wiped his cheeks and began to applause.  The tavern exploded in cheers, table pounding and feet stomping.

Tykale took an offered mug and held it up.  “Here’s to Ezeer!  The land of the midnight sun where the men and the women are as wild and untamed as the rivers!”

The toast was met with roaring approval and everyone drank.  The cheer was spread and many songs were sung as people around the room took turns starting one after another.  Ivan threw in several from around the world, all of them of women and various fun things to do with them.

It was very late when they left the tavern, knowing they would never get sleep.

“That was a powerful thing you did, Kale,” Ivan said as they walked.

“It’s very illegal to do that unless you have a bard guild badge and all that.  It’s absolutely a bad idea for an empath as powerful as I am to do that.”

“So you did use magic then?”

“They needed to trust us.  I am sure Armond will forgive me.” His smile faded and he was quiet.

“What is it?” Ivan asked, once they were out of the village and back into the wilds along the top of the hill between vales.

“My father sang that song.  He used to sing to us in the garden.  I remember him, I just…  The song woke the memory.  I know I had siblings, but… I don’t know, Ivan, it’s just been a long day and too much ale, I think.”

Ivan put a hand on Kale’s back.  “I will get you home; we will unravel this riddle.”

“Thanks, Ivan,” he said.

“Shall we run?” Ivan asked.

“No,” he laughed.  “I have had more ale than is wise to run with in my belly.  I might have minor healing ability, but I am not able to purge fast enough to run just yet. Give a man a few hours.”

Back Together /chapter nine – Into Norwood – Emperors and Exiles trilogy book 1

 

 

Shannon

Chapter Nine                          .

Back Together

There was no doubt that Jamie was not well. He was as pale as Oirion had ever seen him.  He sat in a chair bathed in the sunlight that poured in though great windows. He wore a plain white wrap that belted around the waist.  His long curls were tamed with a fresh bath and likely some sort of conditioner that only a Purtan court would have. His head was bowed, his hands limp in his lap.  He looked to be a thousand years old. Feeble was the word that came to Oirion’s mind. Oirion wasn’t even sure how to approach him.

Oirion had been further healed and purified by a very skilled woman.  Even with that, he could not forget the touch of Shannon on him.

Oirion had slept, had bathed, and now wore a very fine robe.  It was a soft blue hue with incredible silver embroidery on it.  He never wore robes as an adult unless saying a mass and that was rare at best.  It felt odd to be dressing as a prince here… or anywhere.  Still he had grown up in robes and wore them well, but oddly, it made him feel uneasily exposed.

He chose the chair closest to Jamie and sat carefully, not sure if Jamie was asleep or not.  Jamie’s hand twitched, but he didn’t look up.

“They said a healer was going to see about your ribs,” Jamie said softly, his voice so weary it hurt to hear him talk.  “They do an alright job?”

“Yes.  She was very skilled.  How are you feeling?” Oirion leaned back in the chair and smoothed the length of robe over his knees.

Jamie slowly lifted his head to look at Oirion.  The fact he had been crying was very obvious in his swollen red eyes.

“I thought you were dead,” he said as explanation.  “I made some mistakes.”

“I didn’t ask about that.  I asked if you were okay, if you were going to be okay.”

Jamie shrugged a little. “I don’t think my lungs will ever heal fully.”  He pulled open his blouse to show his chest and a scar that looked like a morbid star clawed and burned into his skin.  Oirion noticed the horrid scar less and the fact the healer’s hands trembled and struggled with the simple task of closing his robe again.  “That will never go away.”  He let the fabric fall closed, not bothering to make it neat.  “Why did they help either of us?”

Oirion folded his hands in his lap. “Because I am the Line of Von Valreen.  They didn’t want me to just die.”

Jamie almost smiled. “I want to believe you, that it was that simple, but I’m not stupid, Oirion.”

Oirion smiled faintly. “No, it’s not that simple, but that’s the core of it.  I just want to know you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m alive.  I possess my own soul as of yet, but that’s about all I have.  I don’t think I am even a priest anymore and while I can still feel you, I don’t think I will ever be able to draw on your priesthood again.” His head bowed as if with the very weight of it. “Something has changed.  The bond is altered.”  He gripped his hands in his lap.  “I made mistakes, bad choices… I am so sorry.”

“Hmm.  I’ll worry about that later, maybe; right now I’m just glad you’re alive.  The rest can be fixed, healed, or dealt with.”

Jamie lifted his eyes to his partner.  “You’re a good man, Oirion.”

Oirion smiled.  “If you say so.”

They sat together in the sun, saying nothing.  Both of them had a great deal on their minds and neither wanted to talk about any of it.

They were both sitting there when Gallus entered, wearing the robes of a cardinal, looking rather impressive in the scarlet and gold. He was clean-shaven, his hair combed smooth and long, his Purtan bloodline suddenly very evident.  It all gave him a handsome strength he did not have with the beard and weighted robes he had worn before.

He took a chair and pulled it over to join the two other men. “Well, I just got done talking to the Regent.”

“About?’  Oirion asked.

“The demon rings in Brosten.  He is going to talk to the King about it.  He thinks it is serious enough to warrant the King’s direct involvement.  How are you two doing?”

“Fine,” Oirion said, trying not to rub at his arm.  It burned from the deal he had made, as if Gallus’s presence aggravated it.  He kept his hands folded to hide the mark that ran past his thumb under the wrist of his robe.

“It seems that we are likely to be staying here.  From what I gather, the idea is that we will live here in Ammen-Rah.  I will go and talk to the arch-cardinal here and see how I will fit in with the Church here.  Its sort of exciting to think the Church here is as it was before Gerome.

“I think they plan to have Jamie teach at the university and Oirion…” he shrugged.  “I think they expect you to do whatever you damn well please.”

Jamie chuckled.  “He normally does.”

“I was thinking, though, we might consider having a place together.  I just think it would be a good idea, for now at least.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Jamie said.  They all sat together with nothing more to say, soaking up the light of the sun as it crept across the fine polished wooden floor.  The beam of light had traveled across the floor and up the far wall when the King of Norwood entered the room.

He was truly a stunning man.  He was unmistakable, if you knew it to be him, but he did not seem to be the man whose likeness hung on church walls the world over.  He looked so like the images of the saint the church claimed him to be yet there was a vast dark power to him, a sense of cold strength that was instantly intimidating.  He wore a robe of dark green, so dark it seemed to shift into black.  He wore not a single piece of jewelry and his hair was bound back as if he was ready to go to war at any moment.

Oirion and Gallus both got to their feet as he silently crossed the room.  Oirion struggled with memories that flooded him and emotions that swung from love to hate and back again.  He stood rooted in place as the tall Purtan walked to Jamie.  The blonde man tried to get up, but the King motioned him to stay put and offered him a book, opened to a page.  Jamie took it in shaky hands and looked at the page before him.

“Do you know what that is?” the king asked in the Purtan Whisper that made his voice quiet and hid all magic and energetic signature.  In the age of the empire past, all royal people were expected to always talk thus as a show of humble wisdom and compassion for the less powerful.

“It’s a Demonic Ring,” Jamie said, glancing up from the page and back to it.  “I’m not sure, I don’t know enough about it, but it could be what was in Brosten.”  He looked up to the king.  “That’s what you wanted to know, right?”

“I had planned to let you recover, but if that is what you saw in Brosten, we will have to go there,” he said to Jamie, looking him over as if deciding how many aids Jamie would need.

“Why?”  Oirion asked.  “What is it?”

Shannon slowly looked over at Oirion with a cool calm that was as a cold and unmoving as a glacier.

He turned without an answer and headed for the door with a grace that seemed unnatural.

“I hate that man,” Oirion grumbled.

“Oirion!”  Gallus objected.  “Do you know who you are talking to?”

“Perfectly,” Oirion growled.

“It is possibly a Gatherance Ring.  They are used to draw the blood of the Great Ones into a single pool.  When enough is gathered, it can be poured into a single soul.  If it works, if the soul can endure it, he becomes a god and those in his ring become arch-angels or the equivalent,” Jamie said softly.  “It’s bad, Oirion.  Really bad.”

“And?”  Oirion asked.  “Why do you think it a good idea for you to go investigate now?” He called out as the King reached the door to leave them.

Shannon stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at him. “Because, Oirion, this is very bad.  I suspect those being used are the bloodlines of the angels and if that is the case, it would possibly give the would-be-god access to the Wells of Purt.  This is very old magic, back to the War of Old!  This was – is – Razzan!”

“Very bad?  Gerome is very bad.” Oirion challenged him back.

“We are going to Brosten,” the King said.

“You want to fight Reapers?”  Oirion demanded.  “They are out there.”

“I can protect you well enough.  In fact they might not even be able to read you any more.  Energy has changed and they do not chase faces.”

“I do not want to travel with you.  I’ll stay here.”

Gallus and Jamie exchanged a look that was curious as to what they had missed.  The two men clearly knew each other and were used to arguing.

“You have no choice and you know that,” Shannon said.

“Oh, yes I do!”

“You might try to test that, but Jamie has no choice and I am taking him with me.  You get too far from him and he will likely die of a heart attack.”

“You cannot make him travel right now.”

“I am rather certain he would risk his life to save the souls of every one alive right now.  Like it or not, Oirion, your partner is one the smartest men in the world right now.  His help in needed.”

“He is sick!”

“It’s alright, Oirion,” Jamie said.  “He’s right; I want to fix this.  If I can help, I will.”

Oirion threw his hands up as he snarled in exasperation.

“I am going as well, then.”  Gallus said.  “I know Brosten better than anyone and I know the sites and the way to find any new ones.”

Shannon looked at the priest. “I cannot promise to protect you,” he said.

Gallus smiled with truly amused smile.  “It’s flattering to think you assume any power I could not handle on my own would bother with me when you  are right there?  Why catch glass beads when there are diamonds in the same bowl?  Besides, I think Jamie could use me,” he added seriously.  “He will be very vulnerable for awhile.  I do not think he should be without a priest.”

Shannon looked at the man as if measuring his intent.  Gallus did not look away from the ice-blue eyes, but met them.

“Very well,” Shannon said softly. “Do not prove to be as bothersome as Oirion; he is all my patience can endure.”

“I have better things to do with my energy then argue with you, of all people in the world,” Gallus said seriously.  “When do we leave?”

“In a few hours,” Shannon said and left them.

“How in the hell do you know Shannon?” Jamie asked Oirion once the man was gone.

“Misfortune,” Oirion dropped into the chair with a scowl.  “Bad luck; maybe God has a morbid sense of humor.”  He grumbled under his breath.

“You just stood there and argued with the King of Norwood…. are you insane?”  Jamie asked.  “Do you have any idea what he is?”

Oirion gave his partner a sharp look.

“No, Jamie.  I thought he was a farm hand.”

“I am curious,” Gallus said. “Why does the King of Norwood, Prince of Crouse, allow you to argue with him?”  He truly sounded curious and amazed.  “And why do you call him Shannon?”

Oirion looked at the man before him.

“Does it matter?”  He asked, angry at the whole thing.  He could not even recall the number of times he had been asked why he got away with such things.  He still had no real answer for it.  There was so much involved with the memories he had just regained and a lot to think about. Shannon never had to put up with Oirion and yet he had from the start.  Why?  He had no idea.

“Yes, I sort of think it does,” Jamie said.

Oirion looked at his partner, torn over how to answer that and the truth of his burning arm.  He knew more about Shannon than any soul alive, except maybe Gerome, he reminded himself.  He couldn’t help but shiver at the thought.

“I am Oirion Von Valreen,” he mocked, “for whatever the hell that’s worth.”

“Apparently its worth a lot,” Gallus said.  “Not just anybody gets to argue with the Prince of Purt.”

It was less than an hour when they were led from the hall where they sat.  Three men came in and lifted Jamie, chair and all, to carry him down the hallway to a small locked room. Shannon waited, dressed in black leather, chin to toe.  His hair was bound back in a braid, changing his appearance from cool to cold.  He waited for them at a wooden door.  He looked them over, almost as if he was going to say something, but changed his mind and simply opened the door to the dark beyond. He motioned to them to go through.  Oirion almost snarled, but when the other two hesitated, he went first.

He stopped at the threshold and looked at Shannon, wanting to say something, but there was nothing that came to mind.  He turned and stepped over the dark line.  There was a moment of no air, of cold, and pressure.  Then he was in a small wooden room with no windows and two small doors.  A single lamp hung from the ceiling.  Gallus was a step behind him, followed by Jamie and Shannon.

Shannon shut the door they had come through and opened the one across the room.  Jamie staggered a step to a chair that was set there, waiting for him. It was all he could do to get to it before he collapsed.

“Shield him,” Shannon said to Oirion.  Oirion didn’t even ask, but snarled at himself for not doing it sooner; he knew better.  He shielded himself and Jamie as tightly and completely as any shield he could hope to build right then.

The chair Jamie had dropped into was buily with wheels, two larger ones on the side with a smaller one in the back.  Gallus knew it at once and unlocked the wheels and took the grips of the chair.

“I got him,” Gallus said.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said, truly upset and troubled by his condition.

“You will recover quickly, if not deeply.  I need you on your feet,” Shannon said.

Jamie nodded, his head in his hands. “If I can gain redemption, I will do whatever I need to do to attain it.”

Gallus patted his shoulder before taking hold of the chair and pushing it forward. Shannon nodded and moved toward the door and opened it.  He held it for the others to pass through into a narrow hallway.  The smell of food and smoke met them. Shannon stopped Oirion in the door as he moved to follow Gallus and Jamie.

“Keep your head, Oirion,” he said softly before following Oirion through the door and into the hallway that led to the stairs and the tavern below.  Gallus paused at the foot of the stairs and measured the room a moment before he chose a table and pushed Jamie up to it.  Oirion followed him, not certain why, but not about to make a scene.  Without a word Shannon took a seat as well.

“It is funny to think really how many friends I have had in my life that at some point I have snuck into bars in such a chair.” Gallus chuckled and waved to a staff member.  The man walked over drying his hands on a worn out towel.  “A pitcher of something dark and thick; mugs for my friends,” he said with a gesture of his hand.

“Aye,” the man said and walked away.

“Do we have time for this?” Oirion asked, not certain why they had stopped here.

“I was thinking,” Gallus said.  “Magic is magic and if the trouble is as bad as it would seem, then they are watching for someone of enough power to cause trouble to show up.  Now if I was watching for such, the last place I would look would be right under the portal used to get them into the area.  You would watch the doors and track the paths of those leaving, not those staying.”  He looked to Shannon as if for conformation. Shannon was watching something else across the room, though, and seemed to pay no attention to them at all.

“Shannon,” Oirion insisted, “where are we and why?”

“Babic,” Shannon said, not looking over at Oirion.  “It’s an easy way beyond the Barrier of Norwood.” He glanced at Oirion and switched languages to that of the land inside the Barrier Shield where they had once traveled together; no one here was about to understand his words.  “Gallus is right; it’s why we didn’t go to Brosten.  There are a lot of dark magics and powerful things here in this tavern as well as in all of Brosten that confuse the sort of scans he’s talking about.  We are being watched though.”

“By?” Oirion asked.

“I haven’t located him yet, but he tagged onto Jamie as soon as we entered the hallway.  He’s close, in the city, but is using the same magics and confusion we are using to stay hidden.  Stay close to your partner and keep him shielded.”

“Why would anyone have a tag on him?” Oirion asked, not comfortable saying his partner’s name, letting him know they were talking about him.  For whatever reason, Shannon didn’t want the other two to understand and Oirion had to respect that.  He hated to admit it, but he trusted Shannon to do nothing without good reason.

“Likely the same reason he had an abyssal leach in his soul, Oirion.  Stay close to him and tonight sometime you and Gallus need to do some healing and purification prayers with him.  Just… don’t do it when I am in the room.”

“You think I’m stupid?” Oirion demanded at that. Shannon should know him well enough to know he was aware that such an act would be very straining on Shannon and his magics.

Shannon lifted an eyebrow at him.  Startling Oirion more than anything, Shannon suddenly smiled.

“No, Oirion, you are many things, but you are not stupid.” He shook his head, got up from the table and left them as if he was headed out the back to the privy.

“What was that about?” Jamie asked.

“He is paranoid about being found out,” Oirion said.  He shook his head.  “He is worried about your ability to go unnoticed.”

“I’ll be on my feet by morning,” Jamie promised.  “I might be a little slow, but I won’t be in this damn chair long.”

“Good,” Oirion said as the pitcher was brought to the table.  “The sooner you’re up, the better.”

Jamie nodded.

Babic was a large city just south of the border of Norwood in the kingdom of Forli.  Ancient as any city could be in Purt, it was built on the ruins of the past and bore the magics and the marks of a place that old.  It was also set on top of several ancient magics that not even the Church could wipe away.  For that reason it had become a sort of hiding place for the magics that had been outlawed and put under such tight control of the last few centuries. It was a dark side of the way Purt had once been.  The city was deemed unsavory by the church and the crown of Forli allowed it to be almost a city state under the direction of three governors.

The city was left alone for the most part because of the poverty, it’s nearness to Norwood, and the fact that the church could never hope to control it. Oirion stood at the window of the inn room they had taken for the night and watched the street below through the filth that was coated on the glass for so long that he could barely see at all.  He didn’t like the city and he didn’t like being hunted, having Jamie hunted, or being anywhere with Shannon.

Worse though, he was bothered by the fact Shannon was not back yet. He wanted to be rid of the memories of the past, of the friends he had lost, of the wars he had fought… of Shannon.  He could not get past the ache of loss for the company he had once traveled so far with.  He knew without a doubt that Shannon would have ordered their minds blocked as well and for the same reasons.  It wasn’t done for any reason other than their own safety.  If Gerome had known for certain they were allies of Shannon, it would have been very bad.

“If you’re not going to shield your thoughts from me, you might try to at least make them coherent enough I can respond,” Shannon said over Oirion’s shoulder so softly it was almost a whisper, but not quite.  Oirion hated him.  The man… no, the demon had snuck up behind him on purpose!  He aimed the thought at Shannon as clearly as forcefully as possible.

“You get that?” Oirion asked as sweetly as he could. Shannon didn’t step back, but actually put a hand on Oirion’s shoulder.  Oirion felt it like the roll of thunder, exciting and terrifying.  He knew his own reaction was due to the relationship of magics they had been forced to share and that Shannon was a vampire, among other things.  The touch held more; Shannon was causing Oirion’s shields and energy to shift in a way they never could alone. Like yellow blending with blue to make green, both Shannon and Oirion were affected so neither could be seen as themselves by any scan seeking them. His own instincts were blurred in the hum of the magic of the city and he knew it.

“Hold onto that as long as you can, Oirion.  It will make this easier on both of us,” Shannon breathed, almost as if he didn’t want to say it.  He stayed a moment longer and then was gone, leaving Oirion feeling suddenly exposed and cold as if he had just had a blanket pulled away and left exposed to a chilly room.

He turned and watched Shannon pick up a pack and staff he had left at the doorway.  Oirion caught the glint of light off of Gallus’s eyes from the bunk where he supposedly slept. He felt a little uncomfortable thinking the priest had watched the exchange between Shannon and himself.  Gallus had to have seen how very close Shannon had stood and the fact Oirion had not objected.  It felt as if something very intimate and private had been exposed.

“You have a plan?” Oirion asked Shannon out loud, not taking care to let the others sleep now.

“I have train tickets and we leave soon,” Shannon said as he tossed a small pack to Oirion and set the staff against the side of the bunk.  “Help Jamie get dressed while I order you something to eat.  The kitchen should be up by now.”

Oirion watched him go, trying not to grumble about fate as he turned to Jamie.  He hated to wake him, but a train was not going to wait.  He sat down on the bedside.

“Jamie,” he said softly, “you need to wake up.”

“I was dreaming,” Jamie said sleepily.  He chuckled a little. “For a moment we were home and all the last 11 were years nothing but a dream.”

“Where is home?” Oirion asked.

Jamie pushed back the blanket with a heavy sigh. “It’s a small cabin in the woods, far up a mountain slope, hidden by magic and stone, and smelling of herbs and leather soap.” He gasped in pain as Oirion helped him up, but he kept moving.

Oirion pulled the clothes out of the pack Shannon had thrown to him and helped Jamie change out of the robe into something finer and softer, but far more sturdy.  It also came with a long hooded cloak that was stunning in its own way.  It was a dark thick grey wool with stitched design on all the edges, set with small beads here and there.  It looked plain at a glance, but the closer one got, the finer it was.  Oirion draped it around Jamie’s shoulders.  Jamie caught his breath with relief.

“Oh, wow,” Jamie whispered, “that’s impressive.”

“What?” Oirion asked.

“I don’t know what sort of magic is in it, but there is something powerful.  I can feel it.” He took hold of the staff and stood upright.  He looked at Oirion a moment as the room slowly began to grow lighter with the coming morning. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Not much; a lot on my mind.  I’ll sleep on the train. Ready?”

Jamie nodded.

“I’m awake,” Gallus said, rolling up from the bed.  He rubbed his eyes as he grabbed up his own cloak and boots.  “I’ll be right behind you; go on down.”

Oirion let Gallus get ready while he walked down the flight of stairs with Jamie to the tavern below where the food was being brought out to the tables. Shannon looked Jamie over and nodded as the man sat.

“Better,” he said.

“Yes,” Jamie agreed.  “Thank you.”

“On the road you must be a Lord,” Shannon said.  “Let us help you through the next few weeks.  It is the best cover we can get.”

Jamie nodded, but said nothing more.  He allowed Shannon to dish him up the breakfast of flat bread and soft eggs.  Jamie started to eat before Oirion and Gallus did. Shannon took nothing, but sipped a small cup of tea.  No one said anything as they ate and they said very little as they walked slowly to the train station.

Once the trains of Purt had run to nearly every city and allowed people and goods to get from coast to coast in a matter of a day, not the several months it now took. Only a few trains still ran at all and they were sadly run-down.  Where once the trains had rushed along in silence, with running water and heat or cooling for all, they now groaned and creaked, clanked and rattled down the tracks. The very magic needed to keep them running at the speeds they were designed for were long made illegal outside the priesthood, and the skill to work those magics lost but for a few books that survived in forgotten attics and workshops.

To make matters worse, there was now a harsh division between the races.  A slow-growing hatred had been build up for those of Purtan decent.  All problems were blamed on them and so to be Purtan was a good way to be treated very poorly.

The weather had spun into a blast of winter with bitter wind rushing at the train from across the Forli plains.  This little train was worse than many, but at least it wasn’t too crowded.  Here noone wanted to deal with anyone and they were all left alone to huddle together in their booth.  Their breath steamed in the air as the train rushed along.  Jamie curled up as best he could and fell asleep against the wall.  Oirion stared out the window with his mind swirling over everything he had forgotten and had lost, but wasn’t sure he recalled clearly.  Dreams became real and the lines blurred.  He hated Shannon.

Gallus had closed his eyes and slipped into prayer with his prayer beads in his fingers.

Oirion dreamed of a train ride.  The train rushed in near silence.  The warm hum of the car’s well-balanced magics in tune with the earth and the stars was like a lullaby in his head.  He was comfortable with the sunshine coming in through the window on him.  The world was good.  He opened his eyes as a presence joined him in the compartment.  In the doorway stood his apprentice, Annwa. She smiled as she leaned against the door frame.

“You looked peaceful; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Just soaking in the sun,” he said.  He looked out the window as the ripe fields rushed past.  They were almost there and the city would soon come into view.  He sat up and smoothed his long robes as his apprentice joined him and took a seat across from him.  She was trying to hide how excited she was, but was having a hard time doing so.  She had never been invited to an imperial court before and to be there for the wedding of an emperor was something impressive and rare indeed.

“You are very calm about being back in the city.  It’s been awhile since you were in Ulam Bac,” she said.

“Hmm, several hundred years, I should think.  The Empire of Purt is very stable, my dear, the magics as old as many races.  I do not think much will have changed.”

She laughed a little, but her smile fell away at once when her fellow apprentice rushed into the cabin, white as a ghost and tear-streaked.  She fell to Oirion’s knees trying to catch her breath.  He could feel the magics on her of the seers.  Whatever she wept of, it had been a vision and he didn’t even need to ask.  He could feel it in her, like the cool power of the darkest stretches of space. He gave her time to recover, smoothing her hair until she could talk.  She lifted her eyes to him, shaking her head.

“It is doomed,” she said and started to cry again.  “Pride and jealousy will kill one son and make the other damned to hell.  I cannot go, I will not go.  I will not bless this marriage when the Emperor’s heart is of possessive lust, not of love and partnership.”  She held her face in her hands and began to sob.  Oirion lifted her face and offered her his own calm soothing energy.  Her fear was real, words failed her and he knew it.  The reality of her magics and the politics of the world did not always work well together.

“I want you to breathe deeply,” he told her warmly.  “Put your thoughts in order.  Scattered fears accomplish nothing.  Break it down into something I can hold.  Then try again.  However, it is not the place of a young girl to challenge the Emperor in his actions.  I will take your vision; I will hold it and I will bear the weight of it.  I can go before him and make demands and say thing you could never get away with.  I am your master and you must trust me.  Recall, my dear child, that all vision is simply an option for the future: not all of it and not even absolute.  Think what is coming and how you can change it, for you have already set much in motion just saying what you have to me.  Your influence on the moment and on the future is as great or small as you wish; you just must learn how to apply what you have.  Use the right tools, don’t try to push the boulder over with your hands, find leverage.”

She calmed and nodded.  Closing her eyes she stayed on her knees, not about to just get up and let it go.  She applied his advice at once.  Slowly she began to speak.

“Should it come to pass as it has been shown to me, the last son of Armond sits on the throne.  Poisoned by pride and angry, he shall be the force behind the fall of the Empire.  Loyal servants shall become assassins; sons shall be let die, cast to hell.  Blessed child will be torn down, forced upon his knees for his father’s crimes.  Purt will fall at the hands of demons put in the hearts of the holy by the Emperor’s word.  The Holy Pontiff will watch his own blood run and be helpless to stop the darkness.  Purt will fall. Angels shall die and the albatross will fall from the sky.” She looked up into his Oirion’s eyes, calm and certain.  “The jealous desire of a man to own a woman but not to love her soul will set the world to war.  The demons circle now and will slip into his heart and turn him against what he loves most.”

Oirion felt a little ill and worried, but one thing at a time.

“Now child, think how you can change that, shift it, aid the world against it.  Open your heart to the universe and allow that power to come to you.”

She nodded and rose to her feet.

“Now, go wash your face, change your clothes; the city is here and we shall be there very soon.”

She left him alone with Annwa again.  Annwa looked to him with her cheer gone.

“You think she is right?” Annwa asked.

“True love will drive a man to risk his all for that which he loves, but when the love demands love back, it is not true.  If I do not find Tyrell to be in possession of true love, I shall object to his marriage.  You two will be there as my apprentices and your futures will be affected by this greatly.  You can take what I have taught you and stay there even should I go.  You will be free to become great and powerful, but if you stand up to him, it will not be met well.  Tyrell is a rash young man with a terrible temper.”

“I wish to have you always as my master,” she said.  She was no child and knew fully well he would not always be there.  He would leave them to live a life without the stain of defying the Emperor.

“You have enough to be your own master now.  You do not need me.”

Oirion knew it would not go well; he knew it so much he was there at once standing before the emperor.  Tyrell’s smile had gone from his face.  He stood before Oirion, stiff and eyes flashing with power.  Oirion felt his own heart harden against the man.  The rash temper and the childish show of power was enough to confirm the fears of the young seeress.

“Have you lost your mind?” Tyrell demanded.  “You are a guest here and you stand here to tell me that you do not approve of my choice?”

“I approve of your choice fine; I do not approve of you,” Oirion said with a harsh tone. Tyrell’s face flushed and his nostrils flared in his rage.  Oirion continued, “Your show of childish rage even now proves my point.  You are not ready for marriage.  You deny your advisors, you sweep around like you fancy yourself a god, and you think no laws of right or wrong apply to you.  I am unimpressed!”

“I am your Emperor!” Tyrell yelled, losing all self-control.  “How dare you talk so to me?” Power flushed and flashed out from him, whispering about the folds of his robes like lightning in the clouds.  “I have ruled this Empire for two thousand years and you think I do not have the wisdom to choose a wife?”

“This temper!” Oirion pointed to the floor before the Emperor, feeling his own anger rising.  “This attitude you hold will be the death of your sons!  You will tear this Empire down in your fits of rage!  You will shatter your wife and hand us to demons!”

“You go too far, Oirion!” the Emperor roared as lightning crackled and snaked across the ceiling.  “You are under arrest for treason!”

“You can’t arrest me!” Oirion snapped back.  “I have immunity so granted by your father!” He jerked his arm free of the hands of the invisible guards who were always present.  “Don’t touch me!”

“Get out!” Tyrell roared at him.  “Get out of my house, get out of my city and get out of this kingdom!  Go back to your tower and do not leave it!”

Oirion saw it, knew it and his heart broke.  He knew what was coming, the utter pain, the destruction of the empire, as dream and reality blurred and gave him all insight.

“You are a fool, Tyrell; you do not know what you have done.” He lifted his hand and opened a portal.  He would leave and leave now.  Back to his tower he would go and seek a magic to try and save the empire. Letting the power go, he opened his eyes to the rattle of the train and the ache of cold toes. Trying to move, pain exploded in his back and made him gasp.

Shannon opened his eyes from across the small space and looked at the man on the facing bench.  Outside it was dark, but a small candle lantern hung over their heads, swinging a little in the motion of the train.

Oirion felt caught between reality and dream.  He felt almost as if the train ride here was the dream, not the life he had in the dream that was fading away.  All of his life, Oirion had dealt with nightmares and dreams so vivid he woke confused and feeling displaced.  It was far worse when he was young.  It had gotten so bad Jamie had been forced to do a great deal of work on him to help his energies root to the earth after many of the dreams.

“How did you do it?”  Oirion asked.

Shannon didn’t react at all for a moment. “Do what exactly?” he asked.

“Make us forget, get me to the healer… I remember getting off the ship in Bonne Ev Erran.  Then I was in Krent.  How did you do it?”

“I gave the order to protect you at all costs.   I had no part in the details.”

“You have men that powerful under you?”

“Many.” Shannon closed his eyes again, as if he was going to go back into a trance.

“Then why have you left Norwood and why force me to go with you?”

“There are some things only I can do.  I do not leave Norwood without good cause.  Bad things tend to happen when I do,” he added.

“You’ve had warning something was very wrong, haven’t you.”  It was more a statement than a question.  Oirion’s comment was enough for Shannon to open his eyes and look at him again.

“Whispers and a few vanished operatives,” he said.  “You need to learn to listen to yourself, Oirion.  Sometimes those dreams you have are the energies talking to you.”

“That’s really something coming from a man who does not sleep for fear of his own dreams.”

Shannon almost smiled; the corner of his mouth twitched, but it went no further. “Careful, Oirion, I might forget to shield you against my dreams.   Then I won’t be the only one who does not sleep for fear of my nightmares.”

Oirion shook his head and leaned back into the cushion of the bench seat in an attempt to ease his pain.

“Don’t flatter yourself quite so much, Shannon.  My dreams are not of you,” he said turning it into a bitter joke.

“What do you dream of then, Oirion?”

Oirion fought down the shifting emotions that were always linked with dealing with Shannon.  Once his life had been so simple and he had felt he was doing a good thing, solid in his religion and self.  Then he had met Shannon and everything had begun to crumble.

“What do you know of Master Oirion… the man I was named after?” Oirion asked.

Shannon rubbed his hands together pulling the tight black leather smoother.

“Master Oirion was a friend of the house of Krent, advisor to the King Tyvallor and Godfather to Princess Elleshara.”  He sighed a little as if it was a difficult topic.  “He was a young man when Tyrone was emperor.  Years later when Tyrell was emperor, Master Oirion managed to so anger Tyrell that he was sent out of the palace the day of the wedding to the Elleshara.   Master Oirion was a very old man when the Empire fell and many think he was an early target, as he seemed to vanish from one moment to another.”

“What of his apprentice, Annwa?” Oirion asked.

“I do not know the details,” Shannon said.

“She had an affair with the Prince, TyHarren, Tyrell’s cousin. Tyrell banished her from Purt and denounced the unborn child.  Rumor is that Captain Elliot Sailor is her grandson,” Jamie said sleepily.  “Elliot is a famous pirate who is said to be quite a powerful wizard and in serious opposition to Gerome. He is on the list of Enemies of Purt… he and his son, David.”

Jamie made himself sit up a little, clearly still tired, but unable to sleep. He held his chest as he coughed a little.

“Really?” Oirion said, a little surprised and irritated.  He looked at Shannon with a hint of cold anger over-riding everything else.  “You didn’t know Dave’s grandmother was Annwa, huh?”

Shannon lifted an eyebrow at Jamie, either very impressed or quite annoyed.

“Was I not supposed to know that?”  Jamie asked, a little confused at the reaction both men had.  “I thought I was here because I can answer random questions.”

“Don’t you think you have sinned against me enough?” Oirion asked Shannon coldly.  “You going to add lies to it?”

“I have never lied to you, Oirion,” Shannon said.

“You didn’t know Annwa was related to Dave?”

“No,” he said.  “I was told she was a servant woman of no matter and never given a name.  Emmery did not even know his mother’s real name.  I might have suspected, but had no details.”

“You know the son of… that means…,” Jamie sat up suddenly breathless and excited.  If he was following their conversation right, he had just realized that it meant that the Line of Armond was not dead.

“Do not finish that,” Shannon warned Jamie.  “Oirion, you need to not talk… ever.”

Oirion grunted and shifted again. “You know I really hate you,” Oirion said sweetly.

“You keep saying it,” Shannon said as calm as ever and closed his eyes, slipping back into a trance.

“You do know who he is, right?” Jamie eventually asked Oirion, who was glaring out the window.  Oirion looked over at his partner.  Jamie looked much better, but it was hard to tell in the near darkness of the cabin.

“Yes, Jamie, I know who he is,” Oirion said firmly, tired of being asked that question.

“Really?  You know the truth of what happened to Saint Tyredelle?”

“I know,” Oirion said softly, almost seeking forgiveness of his partner for knowing as well as he did.

“I don’t understand, Oirion,” Jamie said softly, trying not to wake Gallus or rouse Shannon, either.  “I know because it was explained to me in Norwood, but how do you?  How can you sit there and talk to him like he is an annoying governor you’re forced to play politics with?”

Oirion shifted to turn from the window toward his partner.  He drew in a slow deep breath and tried to think how to explain it in a rapid manner that would not make his own tangled emotions boil up or leave words out in the open that demons might be listening for and could track.

“He was on the same ship that I was and we got blown off course and into a very unpleasant reality.  We were forced to work together for the sake of others and…” he had flashes of it, the boat, the demon, the magics, and the pain… he swallowed it down and forced his heart and breath to steady.  “Everything that has been wrong with me since has been because of my instinct to protect my company.  I acted without thinking and put myself in a very bad place.  I don’t want to… I don’t think I can talk about it more than that right now.  Most of it was blocked and I only remembered it all in the last few days… so can you just trust me that I know who he is better than anyone I can image.  It wasn’t explained; I saw it, I…” he shook his head and looked away.

“There is no reason he has to put up with you,” Jamie whispered.  “He is loved and feared in Norwood.  Feared Oirion; he isolates himself for a reason and it keeps men alive.  You push him and he can kill you.”

Oirion actually smiled.  “Keep in mind, Jamie, he is a vampire and if you travel with him you will be forced to turn a blind eye when he holds the soul of a man in his hands and draws his very life out.  Now you think how I was a decade ago and imagine for a moment how hard that would have been for me.”

“He always gets permission.  It’s in his own laws.”

“Permission under a lure is little more than raping a drunk girl,” Oirion whispered as Gallus shifted.  “Make no mistake… Shannon is very good at what he does and will kill without remorse, but he does nothing without good reason.  He didn’t kill me then; he won’t kill me now.  He let you into Norwood then and he saved you now.  He did not do that just to lose you.  You’re an asset to him and he will do what must be done to keep that asset on his side.”

Jamie studied Oirion’s eyes a moment, then nodded.  He could hear the tremor that came and went in Oirion’s tone, he could see the strain, felt the emotional nightmare Oirion was dealing with, and knew he had gotten all he was going to without turning it into a fight.  He had to be glad he gotten any answer at all.

“You and I are a powerful partnership when we are in good form, but right now we hardly know each other anymore.  We are broken and battered old men.  I can’t imagine we are worth that sort of attention right now.”

Oirion reached over and put his hand on Jamie knee in an earnest show of sincerity. “We are not useful as warriors, Jamie.  He has a million great warriors, but you are a lore master who rivals Shannon himself and between the two of you, few riddles will go unsolved…. and I… well, I have a bad temper and a lot of power when I get really upset. Shannon knows just how to put me into places where I seem to prove Gerome’s fear of wizard priests to be well founded.”

“You rarely use any true wizardry,” Jamie said, a little confused.

“It does not mean I can’t or that I haven’t.  I was taught early that to draw too much attention is a bad thing; it has kept me alive far beyond wise for Gerome.   I have no doubt if Shannon has roped me into being his side-kick, he is about to deliver a blow to the would-be Emperor of Purt and I’m going to get all the credit.  He is forcing my hand.  Just keep that in mind.”

Jamie nodded and bowed his head a moment.

“You should get some sleep, Oirion.”

“You’re right,” Oirion nodded and pulled his coat tighter about him, settling into the bench to try to sleep.  He knew he wouldn’t, but he didn’t want to talk about Shannon any more.

The Seeress / chapter 5 of Into Norwood, book 1 of the Emperors and Exiles Trilogy

Chapter Five                              .

The Seeress

Ivan watched the young woman in the group as she combed out and neatly braided the hair of one of the men.  He wasn’t sure what exact role she played, but she seemed to be both a warrior and a camp woman.  Maybe she was the daughter of one of the men or the widow of one who was no longer.  She seemed to be taking care of everyone, but no one more than another.

Ezeeren women did not tend to follow the rules of other races, but were free to go wherever they wanted with whomever they wanted.  Because of that or despite it, Ezeeren men tended to treat their lovers very well and keep them close.

“The seeress would see you,” a warrior said from the side.  Ivan looked up at him a moment in debate if he was going to get up or not.  The man was one of the older and more scarred of the men, with a heavy sword across his back as well as a chain mace on his hip.  Ivan got to his feet slowly and crossed his yard to the hut.

His home no longer even smelled like his own.  The smell of oils, other bodies, and smoke had invaded and changed his home into a stranger’s abode.  He tried to hold in his anger at the intrusion and wondered if this was how The Great Mother felt when spring came to her feet.

Inside, the old woman sat at the table with Kennar.  Several others stood around, including TyKale.  The young Purtan gave Ivan a wary smile, but stayed in his place to the side.  The old woman had a flat gold dish that Ivan knew at once to be a Skye Bowl.  He had not seen one in a very long time.  The work that had to go into such a bowl was very difficult and demanding, from the spells woven into the brass and gold, to the bone lining inside it.  The sight of it with a surface of oil swirling over the water basin made his heart almost stop.

He could feel the magics of the bowl like a swirling spring breeze brushing against his face and in his beard.  He could almost hear a whisper in it, but he just couldn’t quite catch it.  The words stirred in his heart like a whispered warning.  He was reminded at once of Shannon and how a simple look, a motion, a shift of his stance was a warning that something dark was about and that was how it felt, and yet it was distant, building, but not looking for him at all.

“Humans have come to the village,” the woman whispered.  “Sent by the Church, they seek us out.” She drew her hand over the surface of the bowl, making it mist and swirl under her influence.  “I seek the passage, the manner to save the people of the village.  I seek…” she muttered under her breath, “and another.”  She spoke to the magics, to the gods, to the power of Ezeer.  “Another,” she whispered again, “and time and again I see the end…,” she looked up at Ivan with her blind eyes as if she could see him as well any might, “unless… you are added to our company.  When I see you with us, everything changes.  Come back to the village.  Walk us home.  That is all I ask.”

Ivan felt sick.  This was not what he wanted.  His will hardened and he tensed against it.  The warning whispered at him again, but he had nothing to say about it.  If she was truly a seer, she should be able to avoid the war.  He felt far more certain she was up to something and it was not about saving the village. He would not be played by the woman who pretended to be one of his lost children.

“I most certainly will not,” he said.  “You intrude into my peace, you conjure magics and you masquerade as one you are not.  I will not go!”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’ve scanned,” TyKale said softly in Purtan to Ivan.  “I’m not sure if this is what she’s talking about, but there are men headed toward the village.  I didn’t dare look too close.  I didn’t want to be felt.”

“I will not be played or moved by the words of a woman who makes claims I do not believe.”  Ivan held his ground despite Tykale’s confirmation of the danger.

“You know it to be true!” she said firmly, her temper beginning to show.  “You will go with us or the blood of the Line of the Bear is on your hands!”

“Do not …” his own temper flared and his voice rose in a near shout.

“I am Nahairh;” she interrupted, roaring back at him.  “daughter of Ish’Haven and you will walk with us to the village of my kin!  I will see no more of my family lost because of your denial of what must be done!” She slammed her fists to the table as she stood. The bowl on the table flared in a flash of fire and mist swirled up and about her in sudden display of her power.

The name of his daughter brought Ivan up short like a blow to the gut.  He had not heard that name in a very long time and for a moment he saw the child he had lost, the little girl with her golden hair, laughing and braiding flowers into his beard.  His heart shattered, all fight drained from him.  All strength seemed to vanish and he shook his head.  For a moment he was broken and sobbing on the cell floor of one of Gerome’s prisons.  His grief at the loss of his children, wife and the betrayal by his father, brother and sons had left Ivan broken.

He had been arrested once, beaten, questioned and tested, but in his heart the man he had been was dead and no more.  He had no idea how long he had been there before he escaped.  He had become Ivan the Gladiator, ever seeking death and failing to find it.  Memories seemed to be as real as if he was watching them play out before him, the emotions as real as they had been in those moments.

“Fine, I will go,” he said softly.  Maybe the woman thought she was his daughter, maybe she carried a part of the little girl’s soul, but he could not believe her to be truly his.  It didn’t matter.   She had won; he would go.  He turned from the gathering of men in the hut he had built to return to his place on the ground with the sheep.  He would walk with them, help them get past whatever search they were about to go through and then he’d return to the High Moors and find a new place to hide.

Ivan dropped down next to Via and turned his back to the fire.  He felt sick, felt like weeping and yet had no energy to do so.  He didn’t want to go back, he didn’t want to replay this game.  He didn’t think he could do this without his friends.  There was no way to find them, no way to call them to his aid, and no way they would even know him.  He was alone.

He sat alone, letting time pass and wishing the night to never end.  He didn’t want to go; people were going to die for this and he knew it.

It was with clear unhappiness that Kennar walked over to Ivan.  He cleared his throat. “She said I must take your advice on the travel home.  What do you think of it?”

Ivan lifted his eyes to the man who claimed to be his son from a drunken night of grief with a woman Ivan could not even recall.

“I do not know you or your village or what would bring the men to your village.  Are you farmers?  Are you shepherds? Do you travel in trade?”

“A small few of us will at times trade with the cities, but never openly.  We do not farm and we do not keep flocks.  We live as the men of old with our life given us by the gods… from the land and the wild herds.  It is a small village with just under a thousand adults there.”

Ivan watched the fire with a weariness that stemmed from his broken heart.  He sighed heavily.  He had to shift his mind back into that of a commander of the men of Ezeer and it was hard work.  He had left all this; they had disobeyed him and for it his world and his people had been crushed and ripped apart.

“We will take the sheep, make ourselves into shepherds.  We will hunt and bring in meat to seem a hunting party as well.”

“It will take us weeks to get home,” Kennar objected.  “It will be too late by then.”

Ivan looked up at him again, lifting his eyes from the fire he watched.

“That is my advice; take it or leave it.  If your old woman so wishes my company, that is how she gets it.”

Kennar struggled with it, but nodded and walked away.  Ivan let his eyes fall and his mind to wander away into thoughts of long ago.

There was little to be said.  Ivan walked alone, did not join the men at the fire at night and ate only what was handed to him by the young woman of the company.  TyKale came and sat with him sometimes, but neither of them spoke.  They just sat as two outsiders in a tight-knit group.

His sheep were a bit confused when he led them out of the high hills they called home with all the strange men about them.  They followed him, trusting his presence, nibbling on the bits of moss and grasses that were exposed as snow melted away.

They wandered down out of the great rolling hills that separated the Upper Moor and the Highlands.  Wild little rivers rushed down gorges cut by thousands of spring melts. The narrow gorges had to be jumped or long miles taken around.  A few had little rope bridges, but the sheep could not walk along the thick knotted ropes.

Via and Ivan kept his herd together as the warriors followed along.  A few tried to help, but most just trailed behind, worried for their homes and not understanding why the shepherd was coming with them, making them take so much longer.  Ivan avoided the seer and the leader, Kennar.  The idea they might be his children made his stomach sick.  Even the chance that the old woman with her scars of torture might be his stunning little blond daughter, Nahairh, was enough to make him fall to his knees weeping for having left her to suffer alone.

He knew they were nearing the village as he saw little clay pits along the river, peat cuts, a burial mound and other subtle details that spoke of people in the area.  When he caught a whiff of smoke, he slowed his herd.  He stopped where he was, his stomach sick, knotted up and his heart in debate with his mind.  Something deep and secret seemed to whisper at him warning him of danger ahead, but there was no turning back.

“We are almost there.”  Kennar said, walking up to him.

Ivan nodded.  “Drop your weapons,” he said softly.

“What?  No!”  Kennar objected.

Ivan looked over at him. “If you do not, I will not go any further.  I will not watch another village be butchered.  Hide the weapons; slip them under a peat cut or something.”

Kennar was ready to stand in a struggle of will, but Ivan was not about to change his mind.  He was ready to leave; he would not argue, he would not stay; he would take his sheep and leave.

Ivan turned, a whistle on his lips.

“Wait.” Kenner said.

Ivan looked back to the man who was so old he was lucky to be walking.  For a moment Ivan felt his cursed immortality and wondered if it was truly a curse or a blessing that his gods had laid on him when he had shaved his head and walked away.  There was no doubt Kennar was worthy of respect; he had to, at very least, be several centuries old.  Ivan had lost track how long ago war had come here, how long ago he had lost everything.  Centuries, years, days, they were all the same.  Numb and drunken, drowning in prize fights, time had blurred.  He had seen the man twice in his dreams after he returned to Ezeer.  He had just never considered the meaning of it.  It was a true mark of heritage: sons always knew their fathers and fathers always saw their sons in dreams.  The same could be said of all children, but rarely mothers to sons, or daughters to fathers.

“I have a wife, children, grandchildren in the village.  Do you understand what you are asking me to do?  Weaponless we are defenseless.”

“And you think I don’t know that?”  Ivan asked.

Kennar almost growled, but walked back to his men to order them to hide their weapons.  Ivan whistled to Via and began to move the herd again.  They would walk the sheep in, letting the unskilled “herders” trail along behind as if the herd needed no guides at this point.  He walked along ahead of them with Via bringing them up in the rear.  It was only a few hills more before the village came into view.

It stood on the far side of a river.  Wooden bridges made of many segments spanned the shallow wide water way, its wandering fingers, and its flood flats.  He could see the sod mounds that made up the roofs of the homes of the villagers.  In a few places smoke slipped out to spiral upward into the blue sky of the Ezeeren spring.

Ivan led his herd along, hoping they would follow him across the bridges, not through the mud.  They would never have seen such a river.  He set foot on the bridge knowing there were men watching him, guards of the army of clerics using magics to hide.  He could feel them as surely as if he could see them.

He walked along whistling to himself, playing bumbling giant.  He glanced back once to see the other men coming over the last hill, scattered out, trailing along, a few talking together, but as easy as if strolling on any fine spring day.

He was more than halfway across the second bridge when men appeared out of nowhere, their magics dropping away.

Ivan made himself jump and then forced a laugh.

“Now that’s a trick,” he said, reaching out to poke one of the clerics.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, blocking Ivan’s curious poke.

“I’m Ivan.”  He grinned.  “Who are you?”

“I am Captain Lennen,” the man said with an arrogant tilt of his head.  Ivan wanted to rip the man’s head off.  “I am here to see to the matter of a rumor of magics in this village.”

“Magics?”  Ivan asked as if afraid.  “Is there a demon in the hills?”  He looked back fearfully.  “You will hunt it down, won’t you?”  He stepped in close as if trying to be sheltered by the far smaller man.  Ivan towered over the human.  He was a good four feet taller and as heavy as three of them put together.  His size alone could provoke a fight, but if he came across as a big clumsy cow, it would be seen as a hindrance, not a threat.  Lennen pushed him back with a look of contempt.

“Rumor is it is in your people.”

Ivan looked as baffled as he could. “What do you mean?”

“Search him for weapons.” Lennen ordered.  Several men stepped up to do so.  Ivan allowed them to look at him.  All he had was a small knife for work and another for meals.  They were almost disappointed.  They had to wave him through.  Ivan whistled and led his bunching up herd across the river on toward the village.  He prayed the others had all left their weapons and that no trouble would happen yet.  He had to be in the village if there was any hope to defend the children if it did go bad and he could not just run.  He had not considered TyKale, he realised, and almost felt a little ill.  He prayed the young Purtan thought of something quickly, as his presence was nothing that could be explained without magic.

As he neared, he knew more men were there, hidden in the magics and illusions the captain had worn.  An entire army was there; they had the village surrounded.  This was serious.  Ivan prayed someone would welcome him and did not treat him as an outsider; it could all fall apart at that point.  His sheep saw the walls of the village and picked up speed, a few passing him up, bleating at the thought of no more travel.  Several children ran out to look at the sound.  A few women left their homes to stand on their steps and look at the man who was bringing a herd to their village.

Ivan lifted a hand in greeting as if he knew someone.  Several little children waved back and came running to look at the sheep.  A woman in a green dress called several young people about her, issuing orders and sending them out to gather up the flock.  They jogged out in various directions, working calmly to gather the animals all together without scattering them.  The same woman walked calmly toward Ivan.  She was drying her hands on an apron she wore.  He guessed her to be a healer of some sort or one of the women who dyed the fabrics they had.

She was an older woman, but good-looking.  Her hair was caught up in the bun of a widow and she wore the charms and beads of a midwife and healer.  She was very likely to be Kennar’s daughter or some such relative.  She reached him and as easily as if she knew him, she embraced him.

He returned it, feeling very uncomfortable being so close to someone.

“The children will see to the sheep,” she said as if they might be over heard.

“Of course,” he said with a smile, letting her go.  “Fine day for a walk.”  He glanced up.

“Yes.”  She smiled.

Ivan was joined by another woman, far younger and likely one of the prettiest women he had seen in a very long time.  She hesitated, then stepped up and hugged him as if he was far more than just a friend.  He had no real choice but to put his arms around her.

“Tarkara,” the older women said as if in warning.

“I told you he would come back,” Tarkara told the older women.

“Not now,” she warned and moved to meet the other men.

“Come on.” Tarkara took Ivan’s hand and led him from the open space where river flats and village met.  She guided him thought the village to the far side.  She had her heavy drape door already open, letting spring breathe into the hut.  She led him inside.  It had been so long since he had been in Ezeer, he was not sure what rules still held.  Their ways had been so crushed, it was uncertain how he was supposed to take things.

He expected it to be a house of a family, perhaps her parents or even her husband and children, but it was clearly the home of one.  She was also not the mother type by her decorations.  She had all the trappings of a hunter: ropes, furs, snow lines and all the other tools a good trapper would need, except her spears were hidden as were any other weapons she might have.

The single room hut was simply built, even more so than Ivan’s.  It smelled of soap, furs and the damp of the outdoors.  She had pulled out the fire bowl and much of the furnishings had been removed to be cleaned for spring.  He sank to the floor as she moved to the back to pour a tincture of some cold brew or other.

She had just handed Ivan the cup when Kennar leaned into the hut, not entering.

“You cannot be in here,”  Kennar said to Ivan.

Ivan started at once to get up.  He was not certain what he had missed, but he was sure the man knew more than Ivan did about this young woman and her actions.

“You said…” she started to object.

“No, Tarkara,” he said firmly.  “You are my grandchild and you will listen to me.”

Ivan set the cup down carefully.  He rose as best he could in the low hut and ducked out past Kenner.

“I will not be with a man I find stupid and slow,” she said with anger over some old argument.

“You will also not bring Ivan into your hut to insult him.  I told you, if you wanted to live as a man, then so be it.  Do not play games with me, child.”

“What did I miss?”  Ivan asked as he and Kennar walked away from the hut.

“Tarkara has denied the offers of every man who is an option.  She wants the rights of an adult, but plays games.  She told me that one day a man would come into the village and she would choose him.”

“She guesses or she knows?’  Ivan asked.

“She said she knew it.”

“Maybe she is right,”  Ivan said.  “Just wrong about when and who.”

“She invites you in, offering her home and herself to you, but you need to understand she is my grandchild.  You cannot be the man she chooses.”  He glanced about and changed the subject.  “They have the village surrounded,” he said softly.  “We have no weapons and are all but trapped.”

“They will turn away.  We have nothing worth a fight.”

“They have killed villages for nothing but amusement.”

Ivan grunted.  “You fear humans when your men can fight trolls?  Keep your men calm and keep them playing shepherds and it will pass.”

“What if it does not?” Kennar asked, stopping Ivan in the middle of the village center.

Ivan faced him.  “As long as your men do nothing stupid, it will not come to that.”

“If it does?” Kennar demanded.  “You ready to take the blood on your head?”

“If it does…”  Ivan said a bit low and cold, “I will drown the idiot who picked a fight in the blood of the dead.”

“You think you will survive this?” Kennar laughed bitterly.  “There are several thousand to a few dozen unarmed men, the rest are out on other tasks and we have no way to fight.”

Ivan scowled at the man.  How could he in one moment seem to understand who Ivan was, and then talk to him so disrespectfully.

TyKale walked up to them a bit tense, chewing his lip.

“Something is wrong,” he said softly in Norwood.  He looked up to Ivan.  “Some sort of scan was triggered when you crossed the river.  I think they just realized.”

“What?”  Ivan asked.

“You set off something very old.  I’d guess it’s a scan for the bloodlines of the old lords.  I felt the same thing in Spizen… just trust me.  This is about to get bad.”

“What did he say?” Kennar said.

Ivan ran a hand over his head.  “You certain it was me?” he asked TyKale.

The young Purtan nodded.  “If it’s any help, I think it’s so old they have no idea what it means yet.  They will, though, once word of it gets back to Purt.”

“Where is the seer?”  Ivan asked as calmly as he could.

Kennar slowly led the way to a hut near the center of the village.  Inside it was very simple with a very small fire bowl and clean earth floors to help the blind woman not burn herself .  She sat across from the door.

“What have you done?” Ivan asked her, barely able to even speak with the rage building in his chest and the need to pretend everything was alright.

She didn’t move. “He is coming,” she said softly, “just as he promised.”  She bowed her head.

Ivan turned from her, furious, stepping back outside.  He closed his eyes, feeling betrayed and all too much like he felt so long ago when he learned his orders had not been honored.  It had cost him everything.  He wanted to punch something, to tear something apart.  He wanted to run away and yet he just stood there.  He could not do this alone.  He cried out in his mind to any Power that might hear that he needed an ally, aid, support.  Alone he could not hope to save the people here.

He could feel the breeze on his skin, in his hair and stirring in his clothes.  He could smell spring and hear the laughter of little children.  He didn’t want war.  There was something stunningly calm about the moment.

He opened his eyes when the sounds of children became sounds of birds and the air changed, growing warmer and filled with a very different smell.  He stood on the slope of a low round mountain looking out at a great grass land, hills rolled away with a gentleness that the highlands of Ezeer did not have.  Spring had come to these hills already.  Mud showed through the receding snow and ice clung to the banks of a little stream.  Small bits of green and little yellow buttercups of some sort were starting to grow where the sun had warmed the earth.

He turned and saw a tent that looked like it was an octagon shape, with straight sides that rose up to a central peak.  The fabric was heavy, the edges of each panel brocade with golden lines that formed circles and images of animals.

The tent opened to show a man who Ivan was not sure if he knew or not.  The man was a tall strong warrior.  He wore a long green tunic over brown leather.  A belt of gold links wound several times about his waist and gold beads held his hair at the temples.  He stood looking at Ivan as if the last thing he would have thought was to see Ivan standing outside his tent.

Ivan took a step and was back in the very different hills of Ezeer, but the man remained.  The blond warrior looked around, seeing the village as Ivan seemed to have seen his hillside dwelling.

“Who are you?” the man asked without using his mouth.

“Ish‘Haven,” Ivan thought the name as his own for the first time since he had escaped Ezeer so long ago.  “Who are you?”

“Tharadon Lords,” the man thought back.  “Why did you bring me here?” He looked from the domed huts back to Ivan.

“I need help.” Ivan’s mind rushed with the battle he feared was about to happen.   He could not put it simply into words without hours of discussion and he had no idea how to explain all the many details to this man.  He didn’t even know what the man was.  Was he an angel?  Was he a phantom?  Was he a great wizard from some other place?  Was he a god?

The man got a very stunned look on his face. “Ivan?” he asked out loud.  As he spoke, Ivan saw the man flicker a moment, as if the power to manifest was used to make the voice.

“Do you know me?” Ivan asked back.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but looked instead to the hills about the little village.

“I am too far away; I don’t know if I can help you,” he said quickly, but as he spoke, he faded out, his voice fading as well.  Ivan stood looking at the space where the man had been standing.

“Who are you talking to?”

Ivan looked down to a child who stared up at him with the same eyes his own sons had once watched at him with.

“I…”  Ivan didn’t know what to say.  He wasn’t sure.

“I can lay magics about the edges of the village,” TyKale said, “but I will need a reason to move about the camp’s edge.  We do not want them to know we know they plan to attack.”

Ivan looked at the young man.  “How did you get passed the guards?”

TyKale smiled.  “Magic,” he said with a sparkle in his eyes.  For some reason, the humor and lift of the young man’s eyebrow suddenly reminded Ivan of Shannon very much.  He wished the quiet king of Norwood to be there with him now.  How very different this battle would be.

“Tag with the children,” Ivan said softly to him.   “Hide and seek, perhaps.”  He looked back to the little child.  “Can you find some other children and play hide and seek with TyKale?”  he asked.

The child smiled and nodded.  He took TyKale’s hand and led him away.  Ivan looked back to the village.

It was small, crude, lacking most everything a good village would have.  These men lived as if they were nomadic shepherds indeed.  Perhaps they did have other villages to move to.  Somehow he doubted that; the ground was too packed.  How did they not have the things that made being set in a single place worth it? They had so little here, just the huts, not even a central fire pit.

“Do you have meat cellars?” Ivan asked as Kennar joined him.

“Yes, of course,” Kennar said.

“One that is large enough to fit the non-combatants?”

“Yes.  It is under my hut.”

“Slowly start to get them into it.  A group in and out, leaving a few every time.  If you have to pull the food out do so…better yet, do.  Start to cook it.  Make it look like we are about to have a celebration for our return.”

“We have no weapons.”  Kennar whispered back at Ivan.  “What is the point?”

“Send several women with baskets to gather flowers or something.  The guards will not stop them; they will want us to think they have left.  Hide the weapons in the baskets and bring them in secretively.  Use the ugliest girls; the men will not want to follow them that way.  Pretty ones they might.”

Kennar nodded. “Alright.  What will we do?”

Ivan looked at the man who claimed to be his son. “I might not be able to save you, but I plan to kill as many of them as I can.  I have seen worse odds.  We have a few hours to get ready.  I expect they will attack just before dawn.  If you have musicians, have them play tonight.  We will want them to really think we are totally unaware of them.”

Kennar nodded. “You know nothing of the Prophesy of Dawn?”  he asked.

“No.”  Ivan said.  “What is that?”

Kennar grunted.  “Nothing.  I will go see to making ready.”

Ivan was left standing in the sun of the Ezeeren spring, not sure what he was going to do.  There was no point of worry or fear; what would be would be.

“Tharadon Lords,” he whispered the name.

“What?” the woman healer asked at his side.  “Who is that?”

“Crown Prince of Awens,” Ivan remembered, trying to recall how he knew that.  He must have learned it from Theo, the little Awens sorcerer with the heart of a giant, a friend Ivan wished some day he might see again.

“Why do you say his name?”

“Halfway around the world he stands on his own hills, in a spring just as ours, and as helpless to rule his people as we are.  He might still have his palaces, but he has no more power than we do.”  He looked back to the hills.  “Are these all your people?  Are there other villages such as this?  Those who try to hold to the old ways?”

“There are twelve villages,” she said softly.  “We started out as one.  The few who survived the last battles grouped up to guard the children.  As we grew in numbers, each of us made a new village.  This one is Kennar…” She looked over at Ivan,  “The First.”

“Is there any way to call to the others?”

“No,” she said.  “We are careful to make it so if one of us is found and taken down, the others will not be exposed.  I do not know how they found us at all.  Kennar believes it is the Purtan’s magic.

“Likely,” Ivan agreed, “but now it is something far more.”

The Barrier Chapter 5 of Revelations, book three of the Princes and Preists trilogy

World Map

CHAPTER FIVE                  .

The Barrier

The Albatross hit the next ship, jarring them sideways hard. The sound cracked as the hull threatened to crush, but they raced past. Kelly dove to catch Theo as he toppled sideways, hitting his head as he fell. She held the unconscious Theo tightly, protecting his body from the falling pumice the best that she could. His voice had pulled her out of the dark and brought her back to the world again; she would not leave him to lie on the deck, exposed to the rain of little black stones.

“Get him below deck,” Shannon yelled to her. Somehow, she heard his voice over the noise. Shannon turned from Kelly and moved to the ropes, ordering the sailors to hoist the sails. Suddenly, he sensed a small demon forming over Oirion. It was poised to strike the priest totally unaware. Kelly saw it as well, but was too far away to do anything about it, and she would not leave Theo alone. All she could do was watch as Shannon moved so swiftly that his image actually blurred, crossing the entire deck in three steps and a leap.

Grabbing Oirion, Shannon spun into a pivot, throwing the man aside. The attack that was aimed for Oirion caught Shannon across the back. The claws sliced through the leather and down through his skin. Shannon let go of Oirion, who spun with the momentum and came up on his feet in a stance, his battle experience taking over. Carrying through, Shannon whipped around to face the demon and retaliated with his own attack.

With a high kick, he hit the demon in what would have been the chest. The power in the kick shattered the demon instantly. It splintered in fragments of darkness that turned to smoke and was gone. Power shivered in the air where the attack had blown the demon apart. Oirion staggered and fell to his knees on the deck, still too weak to stand.

Shannon had the tears in his black leather mended before his foot even hit the deck. He hoped that he had been fast enough, that Riven and Oirion had not felt his blood power as anything independent from the demon’s.

Riven banished another demon as Oirion threw up a shield over the deck. The two priests both shouted the sanctifying prayer that would protect the vessel form further demonic attacks for awhile. Even in their condition, their magics held with a deep power far beyond what they would have hoped for. Even the pumice stones were slowed, dropping on the deck harmlessly.

As they reached open water, they could see the glowing red wall of liquefied stone and boiling gasses begin to pour over the city and spill into the harbor, igniting any ship unfortunate enough to be near the docks. Ships frantically tried to escape in all directions, creating absolute chaos within the harbor.

“Dear God, all those poor people,” the captain said as he raised his own power, filling the sails to their fullest. With a jerk that nearly threw them to the deck, they shot forward at a speed that the ship could barely sustain.

There was nothing left of the city, Kaava was certain of that. He had felt the power in Theo; the small quiet man hid so much. Kaava stood at the rail watching ash fall like snow onto the ocean. They had cut south, letting the current carry them once they were clear of the danger. He glanced over as Kelly joined him at the rail.

She still had green in her cheeks, but had been beaten the least. She was quiet, looking to the north where the island city burned; it had already begun to disappear into the wall of black smoke on the horizon. Many thousands had died to save them.

“I spoke to the healer. They will all recover. Riven is a bit surly and Dave might be blind in one eye, but we’re all here. We all made it.”

Kaava nodded. “You all made it out.” He looked over at her. “Theo?”

“It’s a magic drain. The healer doesn’t know for certain. It might have burned his cores in a way that would prevent him from using magic again.”

“He did it, you know… got Shannon through it, brought us to the harbor, managed to get in, and saved all of you. Such a shy little man to hold such power.”

“I think he just wants to be normal and fears his power. My God, Kaava, already drained, he buried half the city in lava in a just moments.” She shook her head. “I don’t know who he is really, but he’s no low level noble.”

“I don’t think he doubted he could do it, but the lives he took will haunt him. I do not envy such power,” Kaava had to agree.

They stood together looking out at the water until Ivan walked out, his arm still in a sling, his face white, his hair stirring in the wind a bit. He stood beside Kelly, looking out over the water.

“What will you do when you get home?” Ivan asked.

“I don’t know. You?”

“Go home,” he said, “build me a little hut over the Turtle River and watch the sun trace along the rim of the world.”

“Back to Ezeer?” she asked. “There is not much for gold there.”

“I think I will sing the songs of the dead and allow myself to grieve for my loss, and then try to do what I might have done if my sons yet lived. Maybe someday I’ll find another woman and have a new life.”

Kelly chuckled. “Just one, Ivan?”

He chuckled, but winced at the pain. “Ezeerens don’t marry as most other races. Love is like a river; it seems the same, but ever changes as souls meet and bend and grow. Only a fool defines the way a river will flow and dictates the rules of it. It is what it is.”

“Desert sands,” Kelly said with a distant look in her eyes.

“You going home?” he asked her.

“No, find a home maybe. Just for a few decades would be nice, I think. Plant a garden.” She looked over and smiled. “Tell stories of the day I met the great Ivan U’Shard.”

“A pity he died in a storm; swept overboard and drowned by the weight of his own jewelry.” He laughed his great laugh

“Not Ivan,” Kelly laughed. “He could walk on water.”

Oirion walked out, a bit shaky, but on his feet. He joined them at the rail. Leaning back on it, he twisted the ring on his finger.

“What about you, Oirion?” Ivan asked. “What will you do?”

“What will I do?” he asked.

“When we get home,” Ivan said.

“Get a haircut,” Oirion said, catching his hair out of his face. He got smiles for it, but his thoughts were far darker than that. He was troubled; they saw it and let him alone.

“How long until we reach the Barrier?” Oirion asked.

Just then, a burst of light exploded from the east, creating an eerie glow on the horizon. It was enough to catch the attention of everyone on deck. A moment later, a deafening boom shook the world, vibrating into the bones of everyone. The ocean became utterly flat and the wind ceased. The boom returned, echoing off the inside of the Barrier.

A horrified look fell upon Kelly’s face, but before she had a chance to speak, Riven could be heard roaring as he emerged from below.

“We need to shield the ship, now!” he yelled.

Shannon came charging up the steps right behind Riven, almost pushing him out of the way. He immediately began casting, raising a shield around the entire ship. At the same time, Kelly raised her hand toward the sails creating a gust of wind that rivaled the captain’s and Kaava’s combined.

The ship picked up speed again, barreling toward the western horizon which began to shimmer in places. Waters started to swirl in small whirlpools. They were approaching the Barrier.

Riven placed his feet firmly on the deck and threw his fists into the air. He cried out a Dwarven spell, sending earth magic directly into Shannon’s shield, aiding the man with all the power the dwarf had to offer. The shield itself seemed to crystallize and turn a dark gray.

Then it hit – the full force of what Theo had unleashed. A fluidized mass of turbulent gas and rock fragments came at them so fast that they could not have seen it coming. They had barely gotten the shield up in time. Even with the shield, the heat of the explosion made the air so hot that no one could even breathe. It crashed against the shield so hard that the ship was flung forward.

The island had exploded with a force that none of them could have predicted. No one anywhere near the massive island could have escaped. Millions were dead.

As they approached the Barrier at unimaginable speed, they spotted the other world outside the Barrier. The trade island of Kristy was a dark point on the water, the destination… if they could just get through the Barrier. Clouds began to gather out of nowhere; they were unnaturally created as a result of the Barrier. From this distance it did not appear to be a clear, thin wall, but rather a wall of power, storms, and shields.

Riven could feel Shannon desperately work to shift his shield, adjusting it to protect them from the force of the Barrier now. He attempted to shift in conjunction with Shannon, allowing his magic to flow into the modified shield. As they poured their energies out together in a cooperative spell, he couldn’t help but think of the man.

Riven wondered if what he had heard those months ago was really true. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. The weeks as a captive, locked in the dark, he had time to think and had been doing a lot of very serious thinking. Was Shannon the man who had murdered his family so horribly that men grew sick at the finding, or was he the Saint who wrote so many of the books Riven had studied? Was he King of Norwood – the Shadow King? Could Shannon be all those men at once?

Riven looked off through the shield. He could see a ship just on the far side of the barrier and wondered whose it was. Would they have more problems as soon as they were through?

They hit the storm all at once. It was not a light, gusting wind, but madness that rocked and rolled the ship. The heat of the explosion was gone; it had been replaced with blasts of freezing air and the normally calm waters had become a torrent.

Kelly moved at once to fight with the rigging. Oirion caught his breath and joined Shannon and Riven in shielding the ship. They all did their best to keep the ship together and the crushing power of the storm out. Ivan grabbed the helm with all his strength. He aimed for the island that he had spotted earlier, but that was now lost in the storm.

The waves turned on themselves, creating a hollow that the ship dropped abruptly into. Before they had even regained their balance, the ship rolled hard, and with a sideways blow, waves crashed over the deck. The suddenness of it staggered all but Dave, as he emerged from below. Many hit the deck hard. Others were washed up against the rail. Dave immediately cast a flurry of Ropes to save not only himself, but anyone on the deck within reach. Riven roared and caught on with his own rope of power. As fast as they were hit, the ship jerked to a stand-still. It creaked and groaned; they all heard the timbers below splinter and crack under the strain.

The storm was driven back and they were suddenly trapped in a ball of power. A green light swirled in a pillar on the deck. Shannon turned to face it as the entire crew fled in terror, some plunging themselves overboard. Everyone else dropped to the deck in dry heaves, sickened by the pure evil of it. Oirion’s ring of priesthood began to glow with a holy brightness. Despite the fact that Riven no longer wore his ring, his ring finger glowed nonetheless.

Out of the light stepped a demon; it appeared in the image of Shannon, but had glowing red eyes and robes of black. Smoke rolled off of his body, leaving the deck frozen at its touch. He smiled with pleasure and bowed, his eyes fixed on Shannon.

“Your Lordship, so nice to see you again,” he purred.

Shannon took a step back, sweating, his footing almost slipping on the wet deck.

The demon laughed at Shannon’s obvious fear and faltering step. The rest of them felt their guts wrench as they realized that Shannon was afraid.

“Oh, I have missed you, my love. Come home now so that we may resume our affair.”

Shannon looked for an exit. The demon laughed as his power crept outward toward Shannon. Shannon moved back to escape it, but it shot forward and caught him. It writhed up his legs and seemed to sink into him as much as touch him.

Clutching his hand to his chest, Shannon fell to a knee, out of breath and trying not to cry out. He was shaking; sweat ran down his face.

“Did you really think I would let Gerome catch you inside the Dome? My dear, you belong to me; I’ve been waiting for you to try and pass through. You walked right to me. You see? You do love me.”

Shannon looked up with tears on his cheeks. There was nothing he could say, no emotion that he hadn’t already screamed at that demon. Whatever he did would simply add to the thing’s pleasure.

“Come; let me see your hand. How did it turn out in this realm?”

Shannon’s hands were jerked out toward the demon. His gloves came off. They were utterly white, all except his left hand where two gold rings had melted from his last two fingers, the shimmering gold running down to his wrist. From the edge of the gold, blood was already flowing in a small but steady stream. It sparkled with power in this half-realm that the demon had created around them. The gold seemed almost to glow in the dark. The demon laughed.

“Now, isn’t that pretty.” His tone changed and he roared, “Denounce your God, Tyredelle!”

“Never!” Shannon yelled, sobs breaking free. “I defy you!”

Flames of green swept over Shannon. His scream had no sound and he fell forward, curled over by the sheer pain of it.

Somehow, Riven had gotten to his feet and he stepped between them.

“Ullalrish Vondrack Shneick susus Em Relldach!” He roared the banishment spell of the dwarves of old. It was written on the walls of the old city. His grandfather had made him learn it, just in case. A wave of warm air blew out in every direction, washing over his comrades. They all began to recover quickly, catching their breaths and staggering to their feet. The wave reflected back from the demon, however, and returned to Riven as a breath of blackness.

Shannon tried to get up, to save Riven, but he knew he could never do it alone; there was no way. This was the beast that had made Shannon what he was. Shannon was helpless before him. But, if he could just save the others from the demon…

Kaava had not been affected as badly as the others. He had already recovered, but his attack took more time to complete. He stood from where he knelt and threw up his hand. Out of his palm shot up a blue streak that swirled and spun out into a blue glowing form – not human, not orc, just power. Its wings flared out and it stepped down between the demon and Riven.

The demon snarled and became a giant black goblin, matching the size of the winged form. They rushed each other.

Riven collapsed and lay panting and blind on the deck. Shannon crawled toward him, looking for Oirion to help him get Riven clear. He barely had helped Riven to his feet when the Blue Summons was shredded in the demon’s claws. The monster roared with laughter and grabbed Shannon in his fist.

Shannon couldn’t scream; he would have if he had been able to. Flames wreathed up around him. The others were helpless to do anything. They had begun to recover from the nausea, but were still paralyzed with fear.

Shannon could feel his flesh starting to revert. It was burning away, reducing him once again to the demonic state. There was nothing he could do. He had lost. All that he could hope for now was that he would be worth so much to the demon that the others would be left alone.

Oirion panicked. He had failed and lost Jamie, and now he was about to fail and lose Shannon. He cast out with all the power he could muster, to try to pull Shannon back. It was an act of desperation. He could not allow the demon to take Shannon. Its desire to take Shannon was too supernaturally evil for Oirion to accept. It simply must not happen.

At that moment, something inside Oirion’s heart and soul slipped, and he felt his body falling back. Just before Oirion hit the deck, for a single instant he felt himself back on the river again… another man’s prayer filled his head, just as it had then. He felt the union of power from that moment. He felt the Link that had been created with Shannon, felt it in a way that he had not been aware of until this moment. The magic and desperation of his actions poured into that link, and for one horrible second he was hit with pain like he had never felt.

Fear and hopelessness blocked thought nearly to nothing; his body was in such pain that it went far beyond the ability of the body to feel. It was he who was in the demon’s grasp, his flesh burning away, the light fading as he was being pulled into hell. It passed almost as fast as it had hit him. Suddenly, there was complete calmness.

He was still in unimaginable pain, but he was also alive and coherent; he was momentarily stunned by it. Then he realized that he was no longer in control. He looked through his own eyes, but felt his body move on its own. He rose to his feet and opened up to a level of power that he had never before dared to touch. Lifting his arms, he surrendered himself fully and let the prayer for the Fire of Heaven explode in his heart. The power of Heaven filled him, and he released it as a prayer of banishment that he had never heard in his life, yet he knew it as if he had created it himself. It was not he who was in control of the prayer, the power, or the flesh.

The demon whirled from the delighted torture of its captive to look at the man on the deck, but was blinded by rays of Holy Light.

Then, horror and pain exploded in Oirion once again; he was crashing and felt the demon in his soul. The Light and the calm were gone, replaced with raging hell. Oirion screamed and jerked back. He felt as if his soul was ripped apart and that half of him was shredded beyond the pain of death. He hit the deck hard.

The banishment hit the demon even as Oirion fell. It screeched as it tried to crush Shannon with its final attack, but the demon was shredded to nothingness just as rays of sunlight melt away the shadows. The storm quickly crashed in on them as Shannon fell from the vanished grip of the demon. He hit the deck and did not get up.

Riven crawled over toward Oirion and Shannon. Oirion was struggling to get up. Then, before them, both Riven and Oirion saw it – a Vampire of more power than any they had seen before! All of Shannon’s shields were gone now and his power was surging out in echoes of the demons. Oirion shouted as he got up. Even as he moved, he began raising the power to kill. Not even Oirion realized how deeply he had been affected by the touch of Shannon’s soul against his own. Rage and pain roared in him. His world as a vampire hunter and a priest was all that he had to hold onto to keep sane. The link he moments ago felt with Shannon was still there, but now so deeply buried that he would no longer feel it or even remember it.

Ivan caught him and held the roaring Oirion back as Shannon grabbed Riven’s hand. Oirion screamed as he felt the vampire feed on Riven’s life. Riven cried out and collapsed, weeping, but did not pull away from Shannon. He didn’t even try to.

Finally, after a minute that seemed like an eternity, the ship shot out of the storm, through the Barrier, out under blue sky and into the blinding light of day. They all blinked and staggered as the ship slowed. Before they could regain their balance, a massive ship overcame the Albatross. It was so enormous it blocked the sun, dwarfing the ship they were on. It was a pirate ship; sleek, yet built to dominate. The black sails had the green tree of Norwood on them. The ship passed them so close that its outer rail hung over them.

Shannon jerked away from Riven and rolled up to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot and dilated, his mind intoxicated with the priestly energy he had taken from Riven. Right now, he was utterly a vampire…. and much more. Black smoke breathed out of his clothes and permeated the air around him. The blood on his exposed hand smoked crimson red; it only fell in drops now, but as each drop hit the deck it burst into flame.

Shannon moved to the rail. Holding his sides, broken and clearly in great pain, he lifted his eyes to Dave. Dave just stood there, stunned and staring at him. Shannon lifted a hand and caught a rope that was slung down to him. As the rope quickly retracted, he was jerked off the deck. Kaava ran and jumped; he grabbed the end of the rope as it ascended, leaving the deck and the others behind.

Shannon turned his back on them; looking up, he used both hands to climb the rope. He was pulled up over the rail of the gigantic ship. “Glorious Sun” was the Purtan name on the side, the flagship of the King of Norwood. He looked down at the others as Kaava was pulled up by the same men.

Ivan let Oirion go. Oirion shoved the big man.

“Why did you do that? He fed on Riven! He’s a vampire!”

“He’s Shannon,” Ivan said, almost in tears.

Dave helped Riven roll over and sit up. The dwarf looked like he had aged fifty years. He was white-faced and shaky, his hair nearly all white and his eyes bloodshot.

“It’s alright, Oirion,” Riven said. “He did what he had to. It’s better that he did what he did, than lose control and go mad. I didn’t crawl over there not knowing what he was. I allowed it.”

“You… but, Riven, you’re a cleric.”

Riven looked at the other priest. “He saved our lives, over and over again. He refused to feed on our pain when he could have taken us.”

“He’s hunted by the pontiff and we got in the way!”

Riven stared at Oirion in shock. “Don’t talk to me, Oirion,” he said as he pushed himself up. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

The entire crew had gathered on deck, drawn by the commotion. They didn’t even ask what had happened; they simply attacked, fear-crazed at what they had just witnessed. Dave and Ivan shouted as the men charged, swift and armed. Oirion roared and threw at them a flare of fire. He had never cast such a spell and had no idea exactly how he had done it, but the three men leading the charge were instantly vaporized. Those directly behind them exploded into flames.

The spell took all the energy that Oirion had left. He fell to his knees and passed out as the others fought on. Theo stumbled onto the deck with the aid of the captain and shouted at what he saw. He waved his arms in a graceful move. The motion he used to cast his magic looked rather like a dance move. Out of his hands, a hail of blue arrows shot at the attackers. Just as the arrows found their targets with perfect accuracy, the ship jarred hard, crashing into boulders unseen off the point of the island of Kristy. The hull had been ripped open by the jagged rocks.

Kelly roared and charged into the remaining attackers from the side, swinging a stolen sword with extraordinary skill and power. She cut through them like nothing, ending the battle as quickly as it had started.

Dave was already headed toward the life boats and moved swiftly to get one off the tilting ship, even as the wind tore the rapidly disintegrating ship off the rocks and water began to flood the small hull.

“Ivan, grab Riven,” Kelly yelled as she hoisted up Oirion and carried him to the lifeboat. Ivan staggered. He tried to catch his balance and almost lost his stomach as the ship began to roll. He already had Riven under one arm. Dave grabbed a hold of Ivan to help him into the small lifeboat that was already heading toward the water with the ship leaning into it. Once again, they were forced to scramble from a sinking ship into a small lifeboat, but this time the mast and sails were coming down right on top of them; there was no way to avoid it as the ship rolled down toward them.

“Hurry!” Dave yelled, all but throwing Theo into the boat. They were not even all the way in as he cut the ropes, dropping them to the water. He and the captain grabbed oars and pulled hard. They seemed to move little, if at all, as the masts and sails came crashing down upon them.

One of the masts barely missed them, hitting not five feet away; it crushed into the water, soaking them all and creating a wave that nearly capsized the rowboat. The sails fell upon them, threatening to pull them under. The water boiled in turmoil as air escaped the ship’s compartments and water rushed into the hollow spaces of the ship.

Somehow, Dave and Captain Vandermeer got them turned just enough to survive the wave. Even with the sails pressing onto their heads, the two men pulled hard and kept rowing for all they were worth to get free of the wreckage, churning water, and jagged rocks. They had made it to the edge of the sinking sail successfully, but ropes and rigging got in the way.

They were raked over and tugged back and down by several ropes. Kelly cut at the ropes to free them, but Ivan was snagged by one and pulled overboard. He hit the water with a massive splash, sending panic into those who were conscious.

“Ivan!” Dave shouted.

The captain leapt from his seat and into the water with hardly a sound. Dave held his position, knowing that there was nothing more he could do at this point but keep the rowboat nearby and afloat. The waves crashed upon the rocky shore several times, before Ivan’s head broke the surface with an audible gasp for breath. He thrashed wildly in the water trying to stay afloat. Dave headed toward him.

The masts were completely submerged now as the ship capsized fully, revealing the keel and shattered hull for a short moment. Captain Vandermeer had saved Ivan; he had freed him from the entangling ropes, but at the cost of his own life. The suction of the ship had taken him down with it. Ivan grabbed onto the side of the lifeboat and hung on for his life.

Once free of the wreckage and turmoil of the ship and boulders, they turned the loaded boat toward a stretch of gently sloped beaches. Dave hung on his oars, exhausted. Off to the north, the black ship was just vanishing over the horizon. Ivan heaved a sigh. “I’m really going to miss all this,” he said sadly.

“Yes,” Kelly said. “It’s been nice to have comrades for a bit.”

“I’ll always be your comrade, Kelly,” Dave said, lifting his head.

She laughed a little. “That’s a nice thought.” She jumped over the side of the boat and ran the boat up the beach to the sand.

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Through the Barrier: Princes and Priests Book 1 (Novels of Shannon)

Jadda, chapter 3 of Revelations, book 3 of Princes and Priests

CHAPTER THREE                .

Jadda

The prison was unpleasant, Ivan decided, even by prison standards. The smell was worse than most, but then, most didn’t have the rotting corpses of the dead still locked in cuffs. He had no idea what had happened to the others. When the ship had pulled into harbor, the guards had come in with clubs and needles of drugs. He had blurry images of being dragged along, through hallways and down a flight of stairs. He had images of Kelly being stripped and beaten to her knees, her proud powerful body taken down to the floor with whips and clubs. He had Riven’s voice in his head roaring in helpless frustration, trying to get someone to hold on, to not surrender.

Ivan’s head itched, but he didn’t even twitch to scratch. He had been in one of Gerome’s hell holes before. Here he was again… bound in chains bolted to the floor. He had taken his own beating, but he had felt far worse in his lifetime. The weight of the chains was rubbing his shoulders raw, but he barely noticed. He could seek to escape; he could fight his way out as once he had. But he couldn’t leave, not without the others; alas, there was no way he could save them. How delighted Gerome would be to have Ivan on his knees… again.

His hands were so beaten that he couldn’t even see his knuckles through the swollen, purple mess. The cuffs squeezed painfully; far too small for his hands in the first place, but with the swelling added, they cut his skin and made him bleed.

Somewhere, not too far off, someone was being beaten. He could hear the cries, the sound of the clubs on a body. That one would die. That man had started out too vocal, wailing after just a few hits. Now the hits came too fast and the wailing began to cease.

It seemed a world away that he had sat and laughed at a campfire with friends, actually thinking that he might tell them who he was. In that moment he seemed to have been alive again, but here he was… maybe all of it was a joke. Maybe he had never left the pits at all and everything he had done was nothing but demonic illusions. Soon they would come and drown him in the very water of his sacred pools.

For a day, he had thought that the gods had acted and brought together such powers as could unite against the evil, putting an end to the dark spiral of demonic domination. If Gerome had Dave, it was over. Ivan had seen the Guardian bow to him and then salute Shannon. He was not stupid; he knew what that meant. It was over. The heirs of the Empire were lost.

He didn’t look up at the sound of footsteps, light and fast. He didn’t move as someone ran into the cell he was locked in. He was more aware of a bead of sweat that was running down his temple into the corner of his eye. He was thinking of the battle with the goblins and how they had all fought together. His mind spun away to that last battle – his men, his sons and brothers dead about him, betrayed. He remembered falling to his knees, pulling his hair out in grief and pain. Blood loss had stolen his freedom and nearly his life, but somehow he survived and was found. He awoke imprisoned in chains.

Ivan didn’t stir as a small form ducked behind him, panting for breath and cowering. He might have paid no heed to the small person but for the fact of the smell; sweet, like Salma almost, but hotter, muskier.

Heavy footsteps rushed past, a few slowed. The hiding one caught her breath, freezing like a rabbit about to be pounced on. Ivan didn’t move. The men moved on, allowing the person to catch a breath and sink to the floor with relief.

Ivan blinked away the grit and the lack of focus from his eyes. He hurt, Oh Gods, he hurt. He groaned a little, thinking of the many injuries he had taken on this trip. With all things considered, he had gone a long time with little pain for it all. Someone in the group must have had some sort of magic to block pain for him and the others.

Ivan wondered if it had been Theo. He had seen the man’s arm nearly ripped off, and he had dealt with the pain with shocking dignity. It had to have hurt like hell. Or was it Oirion? His mind went back to the figure that was behind him. The figure moved from behind him to the doorway. Ivan looked up, blinking a few times to be certain that he was seeing right.

The figure was a woman. She was fantastically curvy; not in an over-ripe way, but in a racial way. Her entire body was ripped with muscle and yet, unlike most races that had females so muscled, she held onto her femininity like a goddess might. That was not, however, the most shocking thing about her.

It was her hair, he thought. Red! Not just red hair like he had seen so often in his own race, but red like blood, red like a rooster’s head or a dragon’s scale. To further her shocking look, she had fine scales down her arms and legs, almost in a serpentine manner. He had to think they were fantastic tattoos. As she moved, he saw that under her long hair, the scales went down her spine as well.

He had to pause a moment, wondering how a woman was running around naked in these halls without some sign of abuse. She saw him looking at her and darted to him. She dropped to her knees, catching his face in her hands.

She tried to speak to him, but he didn’t know the language. Even if he had, he might not have heard her; he just looked at her cat-like green eyes. They were slit pupils. She looked back over her shoulder, then began to pull at his chains, trying to get them off.

“They are spelled,” he said, shaking his head. “Just run and hide, little thing; you cannot help me.”

“Help me,” she pleaded, copying him. It was almost as if she understood what he was saying, but had to hear it first. He looked to her little fine hands, pulling at the cuffs at his wrists. To his shock and with a great deal of pain, she got one to snap open. Blood rushed, making him gasp. “Help me,” she pleaded, starting to cry as footsteps were coming back.

She got the second cuff open just as the guards ran in. These were not the guards from below, but well-dressed, powerful men. They grabbed at her; she gripped Ivan’s chains, fighting to get him free.

She twisted and swiped at the nearest man; it was the same instantaneous motion that Ivan had seen Salma do before. Her claws slashed his face causing him to shout in pain. She kicked at them, her grip on the chains white-knuckled as they tried to drag her away.

“Help me!” she sobbed to Ivan. Her eyes locked on his face, desperate for help. She was hit with a rod; it sent enough power through her to make her whole body convulse. She was ripped off the chains and pulled aside.

Struggling not to be taken, she tried to fight, despite the shock that her body was still in. They had other plans, and she didn’t even have the advantage of having clothes to help fight them off. Ivan looked down to his released hands, to the chain that still bolted his middle to the floor. There was a ring that his leg chains ran through, but now it was just that one bolt that held him.

She snarled and roared at them, like a lion might. She kicked one in the chest, sending him staggering back. Ivan struggled to get his feet under him, to rise up. Squatting low, with his feet flat on the stone floor, he gathered his strength to stand up. The chain would not allow it, but, if he could reach the point where he was upright, he would be free.

He focused on the chain as it became taut. It held him bent, unable to make his legs straight. Forcing his hands to work, he gripped the chain; several of his shattered hand-bones slipped as he gripped it.

The pain made him gasp and shout, but he pulled. With the cuffs off and the magic laid in them not binding him, he reached inside himself for the strength that he knew he had, a strength that was hidden away – the true power of his bloodline….. something not even Gerome could take away. He had hid it so well that even when Gerome had stood over him all those years ago, Ivan had been thought of as nothing but just another Ezeeren. It all seemed a lifetime ago when he had been another man. Gerome had not known who Ivan was then, and Ivan would not let Gerome conquer him now. With the strength gained from the months with the friends, he reached for it.

His muscles strained and his skin shivered. He roared, this time not as a man. Power rushed as his roar ripped out of him. He watched as his arms rippled with power and his hands became as paws. His strength and size alone ripped the chain bolt right out of the floor, bits of stone still attached. Ivan had taken the form of the great golden grizzly, the representation of the King of Ezeer. Now in full bear form, he moved with unearthly swiftness.

One great swipe crushed the man standing with his pants down around his knees. He roared at them, rage and pain making the very air shiver. He attacked another, ripping his claws through the man’s chest. Half of the man’s torso was slashed away and splattered against the wall. The smell of blood and fresh meat filled the room. He leapt forward and sank his teeth into another and then flung him aside, entrails still hanging from Ivan’s now massive maw.

The woman slashed her way free from the stunned grip of the man who had hold of her as Ivan tore into the other men who had attacked her. She grabbed at Ivan’s golden fur, his clothes shredded away to nothing. Desperate, she crawled to his back and clung on.

He knew Gerome would feel this and know that he was here, in the city, right in his own cellars. It was time to go, and fast. He charged out the door, crushing anyone in his way. He had no idea how to get out, or what way to go, but he kept going. Leaving the guards and voices behind and out of sight, he changed tactics. He began to carefully slip through doors, leaving as little trail as he could.

His great paws passed silently over the stone floor. He wound through the labyrinth, into deeper halls. He had no idea how far he’d gone or how he had gotten there, but he could smell salt water. The ocean was not far.

He followed the smell until pain and size allowed him to go no farther. Lacking the ability to hold on any longer, he simply sank to the floor, the form of the bear fading away, leaving him naked, beaten, and just a man on the cold stone floor.

The little woman grabbed him, pulling him up, pleading with him to keep moving. Ivan crawled as much as walked beside her. She took him into the darkness as if she could see, making him drag his body through holes where she could pass without effort, but small enough that he had to force his body to gain even an inch. His skin was ripped and torn by such doorways until she let him collapse for a moment of rest. She had found some sort of floor drain that had a small updraft, but bars that had been broken off cut at his sides as he forced his way down into it. Encouraged by the little woman and the fresh air, he summoned up enough strength to make himself carry on despite the depth of the gashes he was inflicting on himself. Then he dropped, fell a few yards and hit cool water.

He found his feet and stood. He was afraid that he was going to fall over and drown in the knee-deep water. She was there, taking his hand and leading him along. She let him lie down just as soon as she got him out of the water and onto cool stone. It was so wonderful to just lie down. There was only a moment before he was unconscious.

***********

There was something about being in such a place that made Dave wonder… was fate somehow stacked against him? He had thought that they would be taken to Gerome, or one of his men, or killed. He didn’t think that he would be tossed into a rat hole, being dragged out only to be beaten. Something deep inside him was terrified that they might learn who he was. Hiding his magics, the magics that would tell Gerome at once who he was, was worth more than his life. He would die to hide the fact he was a blood-relation of Shannon.

He didn’t bother to try to move at all; it would just hurt too much and would gain him nothing. So he just lay on the floor, not moving. They had crossed mountains so high that there was no air to breathe, they had fought against zombies and goblins, they had crossed the grassland, the bog, and traveled the halls of Ulam Ar, and here he was lying in a cell with common thieves and murderers. He, son of Elliott Sailor, was beaten and lying on the floor of a cell. He’d rather have been washed overboard into the ocean, to drift into the dark depths when his strength ran out.

He wanted to reach out and slip away. He didn’t understand why they were beating him like they were; they asked nothing, they demanded nothing, just pounded on him. His thoughts slipped from the place where he now was; dreams brought relief for a moment as he stood in the twilight snow with Theo. In his dreams, however, Theo was not the thin little man that he appeared to be. He was the man that he was in the tent in Awens. They walked together, kindred, brothers. For a moment, he wasn’t alone. His dream ended abruptly as he was grabbed and jerked up.

He tried to get his feet under him, to take the strain off his shoulders and arms. He couldn’t tell how many of his tattoos they had burned off, but that was the way of burns. The pain spread out from the point of contact and lingered. It wasn’t too far to the place they used to torture people; he knew the way well enough. It wasn’t a question of being tortured or not…. it was “by what means it would be today.”

Dave was hauled up to a hardwood table, smooth and stained black from long use. Cuffs of painful metal snapped onto his wrists and pulled his body tight. He felt the choker that he wore slip and the thongs fall against his neck, cool and present. He wanted to grab hold. Where was Shannon? Why wasn’t he there yet?

Dave blinked and there, appearing out of the darkness, was the one he had been waiting to see. He knew that he would be here sooner or later.

It wasn’t Shannon; it was Gerome. The man was skinny, stripped of all youth, like a living skeleton. His eyes all but black pits, his hair long and white, perfectly kept, his holy robes hidden under a long black cloak. Around him darkness seethed, demons eager for blood and souls.

“Are you certain he was on the ship?”

“Yes,” another said, “he is David Sailor, the captain’s son. His tattoos confirmed it.”

“Was he traveling alone?” Gerome asked, walking closer.

“No, he had several with him. None of them as you described.”

“I see. Amazing that he made it this far.”

“He is very strong, your grace.”

Dave was terrified. If the demons about Gerome touched him, he would be known as being related to Shannon. Of all the things in the world, that would be the worst.

“You certainly didn’t leave much to him, did you? You know how I feel about a person’s face being beaten.”

“He fought with my men. He left them little choice.”

Dave watched the man who was supposed to be the holiest man alive walk up to the side of his table.

“I can make this end, David,” he said softly, with a tone that might be taken as compassion. “All you have to do is tell me where the others are.”

Now it had begun. Now, the truth was out. Dave rolled his head away, knowing that he had one hope. That last hope was to be killed before he was broken.

“I’ll make him talk,” a voice said, the grit and growl to it as cold as ice, identifying it all too well as a demon. Dave didn’t think he could cry at this point, but he felt the tears on his temple. He could possibly stand up to what men could do to his body, but what a demon could do to his mind and soul was another thing entirely.

“Your Grace,” a man said from another corner of the room, slightly out of breath. “She has escaped.”

“She has escaped?” Gerome asked.

“Yes, escaped.”

“Catch her,” he ordered simply.

“She has left the fortress.”

“How?” he demanded.

“From what we can tell, she summoned a bear.”

“A bear?”

“Ezeeren,” the demon snarled after a moment. “He is here.”

“A giant? Is there a giant?”

“Yes, Grace, he was brought in with this one. They chained him up in the orc cell.”

“Find him. He is worth far more than any sailor brat or my daughter.”

Dave lay still, not able to truly believe what had just happened. From another cell, another place, Ivan had just saved his soul. He couldn’t dare to think it. Surely, he would at least be drowned today; the guards had to get amusement somehow. He was pulled off and taken down the hall. He was taken past the cell that he had been kept in, to a larger common cell, and flung in. He staggered two steps before he hit the floor.

If he’d had the strength, he might have sobbed for relief. However, if they got hold of Ivan and broke him, as Shannon said, “all men can be broken,” Dave’s magics would be revealed and the guards would be back swiftly.

He flinched, despite himself, as someone scrambled over to him. His first day here, the beating he had gotten from cellmates had been worse than the beating from the guards. He had lost what clothes he had left and all of his dignity, along with most of his hair. At this point, that day was just a blur, with no real effects but to flinch away from those who came too close.

“Dave? Dave.”

He peeled his eyes open to try to see through the dark as he was rolled over to his side. He saw a familiar silhouette. Nearly a year of traveling with the group and the many midnight wake-ups, he knew exactly who it was. He used all his strength to reach up and touch Oirion’s chest.

“I lost my dagger,” Dave said, thinking that if he had it, Oirion could kill him. It would be so neat and clean. No pain, no broken soul, no demons to take him.

“Back off,” Oirion snarled at another who had moved in closer. He pulled Dave from the open center of the cell, back to the darkest corner where bits of straw had gathered up. “It’s alright, Dave,” he said, pulling Dave back against his chest. Oirion had him. He wasn’t alone now. The priest’s arms were like armor about Dave at that point. For once, he was able to drop off to sleep.

How long he slept, he didn’t know, but he felt far better for it.” Better” was far from alright, but at least he could think a bit more clearly. He dared to open his eyes and look down at the hands interlocked around him, holding him safe. In the dark, he could not be certain of hands, but he knew the ring. There was likely to be only one man wearing a ring down here.

“Oirion?” He dared to whisper the name.

Oirion stirred and let go. “Try not to move yet,” Oirion breathed in his ear. “It will disrupt the magic and leave evidence of it.”

Dave lay still, his friend a wall of warm support. When Oirion finally pushed him up, he tried to sit, but without a hand to his shoulder, he wouldn’t have been able to. He hurt inside and out. His mouth was so dry, he was surprised that his tongue was able to even work.

“He’s here,” Dave whispered. “Don’t say the name; don’t say the name,” he whispered, remembering once being a child and having Shannon hold him tight in his arms, whispering that in his ear. It was a memory that he didn’t understand and didn’t really want to.

“Dear God!” Oirion touched Dave’s face. “What did you say to piss them off that bad?”

“Nothing,” Dave half chuckled at that. He looked over at Oirion through the eye that he could see out of. Oirion wasn’t a lot better off than he was, but he at least had a face.

“You see the others?” Dave asked.

“No.”

“Ivan is still here… or, was. He escaped his cell; his distraction drew them off me.” Dave started to cry, thinking of Ivan laughing at the fire, his eyes dancing with humor. The big man would be caught and he would be broken.

Dave sank to the side the best his broken body would allow, folding over to the shelter of Oirion’s lap. Oirion put a hand on his shoulder.

“I know, Dave. I know.” Oirion put his head back against the wall. It was just a matter of time now.

***********

Ivan jerked awake. The sound of surf was loud and close, and there was nothing else to be heard. It took his eyes a moment to adjust before he saw in the faint, reflecting light, a large stone channel about him. Rolling up, despite the pain, he could see the opening to a gray world beyond. The ocean tides rolled up the channel, making the water wash back and forth, nearly rushing up over the walkway ledges that ran along both sides.

He was naked, alone, and in pain. Just as the last time he had run from Gerome, he had to always keep moving and salt water was his friend. He stumbled along the wall, one hand on it, keeping himself up. With the other hand, he held his sides that were cut, bleeding, leaving a trail that even a child could follow.

If he could just get outside, he could escape. As he stumbled, he made his mind work; he made himself say the words; he forced himself to summon up the bits of shattered soul and power that his God still had left. With the open end of the channel in sight, he felt the demonic scan hit him like a shove in the back. With a desperate shout, he ran forward, but stumbled and fell, tripping on his own feet. He hit the ground hard and lay there for a moment. The surf washed up the outside wall, splashing him with relief and hope. The demon was moving in and a gate was being built not far behind him, exactly where he had been standing a moment before. He reached the lip of the doorway and could see the ocean, the harbor full of ships, beyond.

The drop from the walkway to natural stone and freedom wasn’t far, but it was enough that it stole the breath out of him as he hit the raw rough boulder. The tide roared in, slammed against him and flooded back up the channel, disturbing the demon’s power for a brief moment. Squinting up at the sky, he let go of the rock he gripped. The ocean had given him just enough time and he used it. He leapt upward, breaking free of the water just as the gate ripped open behind him.

Beating his wings, he left the ground, aiming for the nearest flock of birds to hide in. He caught the air and veered for the docks. Circling into a flock of birds that dove and dipped for fisherman scraps, he looked back. He could see the mouth of the channel that poured out to the receding tide and the newly opened gate. Coming through the gate, was not only the demon in the form of a black shadow, but Gerome himself.

Ivan beat his wings harder. He doubted that he would blend in long, but for now, he had been saved again and had escaped by a hair’s-breath from the man who had hunted him for centuries. He knew that he would not be able to fly all day, and every time he touched the ground, the demon would be able to feel him. He’d have to hide on ships and hope that he was not eaten by the crew.

Right now he needed to just rest and try to breathe. There was a danger to what he was doing. The longer he stayed this way, the more like a bird he would think and move; eventually his mind would be lost. He had already tested that before and nearly didn’t get it back.

***********

Fate was funny. Kelly had proved to not be as fun as they had hoped, so here she was, locked in a hole in the ground with no light, no food but for the rats she caught, and no way out. She chuckled to herself a little as she scraped the rat hide with a bit of bone to begin the tanning of it.

They had raped her. They had had her raped by a half-mad orc – something rather like Kaava’s people, but different. Kaava had said that his people were the descendants of a war where the Elven souls had mastered the warped flesh, but what if there was another side and a race where the orc soul had won out? Likely. The guards had tried to use her as a test subject. Magics had been spun and put on her, forced through her to make that vile thing stick and stay. They gloated to find her womb had taken, but foolish little men, they forgot to check before they started. Safe and secure was a secret that she would hide to the end; a secret that would keep her sane and whole.

They could take away all trace of time from sky or sound, but within her, she knew the time. She could track it just fine. Her goddess had exiled her and driven her away, but in the end, when it was all said and done, her secret would be taken away to safety. She could kill those men, rip their souls out, and feed them to whatever demon came first.

She couldn’t even tell if her eyes were open or closed anymore, but she tried to hold them shut and thought of Dave, praying to his god that he was safe. She knew better; eventually she relented and simply held onto the hope that he would be killed before he was revealed and broken. She put her hand on her stomach. So long as the line of Von Armond lived, the gates of hell would hold. The houses of Kings would hold back darkness by breath alone.

She would sit in her dark hole and, when the time came, she would summon Shannon, pull him from whatever hell he might have been taken to, and hand him the secret. Then she would send him back to Norwood. She wished Shannon had never been so foolish as to have ever left the safety of his kingdom. The darkness, the isolation, the abuse here would not break her; she had been through far worse at the hands of her own goddess to be so easily felled.

“Do not ruin this child’s soul with thoughts of anger or revenge,” she told herself. “Save it for later. Be at peace, woman; give him foundations of holier things than this place.”

His Will chapter 2/ book 3 Princes and Priests

Travis

CHAPTER TWO                     .

His Will

The wind tugged Tavia’s hair for a moment and then it raced off in a column of heat that became a little whirlwind spinning across the hill. The charms and little bells that the children had tied into the little braids at her temples jingled. The shaman told the little ones that such charms chased away the evil energies; as a sign of affection, they shared such gifts. She curled one of the little braids back behind her ear. She watched her tea simmer, the heat of the fire and the motion of the water bringing out the energies and essence of the leaves and bits of herbs she had dropped in it.

She reached out as if to warm her hand in the steam of the tea, stirring the energies with a delicate motion of her hand. To her eyes, light swirled in the water, transforming it from mere water and plant oils to something so much more.

“You do that pretty well.”

She looked up at Elliott. The former captain looked rather fantastic, she thought. He was sun-wiped, his hair as wild as it could be and yet be clean. He wore bits of his former life with the colors of the southern clans. He had somehow united these clans under his command and persuaded them to join the battle with their northern cousins, the nomads. He had the feathers, ribbons, and trinkets of the northern clans as well, all of it joyfully layered up with an almost childlike delight in how crazy he looked. She couldn’t help but laugh at him a little.

“What is that, Captain?”

“I know what you’re doing.” He sank down to balance on his toes in the same way Travis was prone to when looking at something on the ground. “My wife used to make ‘spiced wine’ for the crew,” he almost laughed. “I couldn’t see her do it and I can’t see you do it, but I know what you’re doing. You a bit better at hiding it, though. I’m surprised Shannon didn’t catch you at it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said as calmly as she could.

“Yah, that’s what she said too. I’m far too sensitive to things to miss it, though.” He sat over on the ground, hooking one arm around his knee. “You do well for them,” he said, glancing at the group of children for whom the tea was being made. They were going about their chores of the day, hurried and anxious with the anticipation of having some hot tea when done.

“A cup of warm tea can help anyone. Children are often overlooked in war zones,” she said softly.

He brought his eyes from the children to Tavia. “How is Travis?”

She looked up at the former captain, not sure why he would care. “He amazes me at how well he is taking all of this.”

“I’m surprised at the gift that Shannon gave him.”

“His hearing? I’m still not sure how he did that.”

“Hearing is the simplest part of it. He gave much more – languages, understanding of terms and tones. He gave him a part of himself… and let me tell you, there’s not much of Shannon left to give.”

“Part of himself?”

“Within the vaults of all the wealth and power that Shannon holds, there is a small vial he keeps. It holds a tincture that he made before the war turned him into what he is now. I have seen it twice in my life, and I can feel its power in your son.” He smiled a little at some memory. “He used it on Dave, when Dave was about that age. Dave would have died without it. Shannon never really forgave me for the entire mess that forced him to use it. I disregarded his advice and nearly paid with the life of my son… it nearly cost all the family he has left. He is slow to trust me anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I let myself fall in love with a woman and so opened myself to a weakness. As Shannon had warned, she was hunted down and taken from me. Her escape from her people was one thing; she was a low priority in the grand scheme of things when she first came to my ship, but then Dave was born. When they learned she had a son, they moved in with a lot of power. The idea of her having a living son was an abomination to her people.”

Elliot was silent for a moment, then drew a deep breath and looked at Tavia, daring to trust her. “She was a priestess of an Elven cult and she was never supposed to have a son. She and her sisters were never supposed to lose their virginity.”

He paused, lost in his recollections, and then continued. “They came to kill Dave and me. My life was one thing; Dave’s was another. They did not count on who I was or that I would have Shannon as an ally. I called on Shannon for help. He was there almost at once. The gate he used was like none I have ever seen, but then much of what he does is unlike anything anyone has ever seen. I was a far greater wizard then, but they ruined me. They hit Dave as well. Shannon arrived after they had already taken her, but he came in time to snatch Dave from them. Shannon pulled that little vial out and poured precious drops of life into my son, healing his wounds and his mind before he turned to help me. He cooled my burns and shielded me from further attacks. I lost my wife, but, thanks to Shannon, they were driven from my ship. I am sure they think us dead. They left me so burned inside that I’m sure, without Shannon’s aid, I would have gone insane; certainly so if I’d lost Dave.” He shrugged. “I’m not certain, but I’m pretty sure that he hunted them down later.”

“Your wife was something special, I take it.”

“To me and to the world,” he said with love filling his eyes, even now. “She was a priestess. She had a lot of magics that she hid. I have seen you brush on a few of them. I almost find it hard to think you’re honestly a human.”

Tavia laughed. “I fail to be many things, I think, but human I am. That is the one thing I am still certain of.”

“Human or Elven, I see the priestess in you. You can deny it; I don’t ask you to confirm it… I just wanted you to know I see it, and it makes me worry.”

“Worry?” She asked after a moment of studying her tea. She looked up to Elliott; he stood, watching the children.

“I know how the world reacted to her son; I fear for yours. He has a whisper of a very ancient and powerful magic in him now.” He looked back to her. “But more, I think you did far more for Shannon and the others than they had any idea. You are so subtle and humble in your power that in the chaos of this place, it would be easy to miss. I know Shannon. He will not last much longer. He is struggling to stay sane as it is, and without your aid…”

She looked back to the tea. “It was he who left me here, not I who left him.”

“I know. That makes me worry even more.”

“Why?” she asked, looking up again.

“Shannon is… complicated in many ways. He works very hard to make things simple. He rules with utter power and a cold hand. He allows no weakness and surrounds himself with those that he can kill without a hesitation. He avoids anyone he might pause over. He does not walk in the parks or deal with the common man. I expected him to grab Dave, meet me, and simply find a way to gate us out of here. He is that way for good reason.”

“Shannon is what Shannon is. I expected about the same of him. I don’t know the relationship he has with you or Dave, but I know there is one. Dave went to great effort to hide it, for fear of the reaction of the priests, I think.”

Elliott laughed. “He’s my cousin,” Elliott said.

“You’re Purtan?” she asked, a bit shocked.

“Yes. Under the scars and the masks and magics, I’m Purtan. I tell people I am part human to help hide things, but I’m as Purtan as any can be, I guess. Whatever I was got burned up pretty good, though. All I have for magic is what I have mastered since. The cores I had are charred and would drive a man crazy if not for the tricks that Shannon has taught me.”

“He does not share that sort of thing. I don’t think you do, either. Why are you telling me these things?”

“I have to get back to them. I have to protect Dave and I have to help Shannon. If Dave is captured…” he shook his head. “I can’t tell you how bad that would be. If Shannon loses control and, god forbid, he hurt Dave and later learned it was him….. We can’t have that. But I can’t get out of here alone.”

“I know nothing of the shields or the way out. There’s no way we can catch up to them.”

“I do know a great deal and I can get us out of here, but I need your help and I really think you should go with me.”

“Why? As you said, I can do a great deal of good for these people. I would be content to make tea for the children.”

“I know you would…. that’s why I tell you things to make you understand what I’m asking you to be a part of. Not even my son knows who his mother was, or that he’s a pure half-blood: Purtan, Elven. He thinks his blood is far more blended then it is.”

Tavia got up, took the little almost-flat tea pot and began to pour tea into the little cups of the nomads. As if they were called, the children came running to happily take the cups from her. She smiled and moved to make another pot.

“Tavia,” he said softly as she sat down. “Just help me get my son home where I can protect him. Please.”

“I am not a warrior,” she said, crumbling herbs with her fingers into the cold water. “I have my own son to consider and I’m needed here. I went as far as I was asked to and did what I could. Obviously I wasn’t as valued as you think I should’ve been. You assume a great deal of what I am. Maybe I just make good tea.”

“I think you are mistaken. I think you were valued and that’s why he ran as far and fast from you as he could. He took the first chance he saw that you would be safe and used it. I think he valued you far too much in his own mind.”

She half-laughed and shook her head. “Oh, hardly! I’m not that young to think so foolishly, or to even wish such a thing.”

Elliott watched the fire for a bit, not saying anything, just looking troubled for awhile, and then finally spoke. “Do you know what happens to a healer who is tortured?”

“Their cores kick into work and heal them.”

“They draw on the energies of the earth and will heal and heal and heal. It’s a highly coveted prize of a Blood to control a healer who is strong enough to keep in constant distress, yet not die in the process. A Blood who possesses a healer who can fuel them both, even as half of the energy drawn in keeps the healer alive, is a powerful man. Consider what would happen to a healer in hell. There is no earth energy.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“The core will burn itself up, turn itself inside out and, if the soul and mind are strong enough, draw on the power of that realm. Can you imagine the horror? The pain?”

“No,” she said, “I can’t, and I don’t wish to.”

“Now imagine you go through such a torment, having just watched your wife and children be tortured and murdered by demons, and all of it due to your soul-bonded partner. Imagine all you know ripped away, your life, your name, your flesh. Escape that, come back and find yourself exiled, denied, and the bloodshed laid on you. Bit by bit, build yourself back into sanity, a sanity that allows you to steal back slivers of yourself; build up a means to stand on your own feet, to stand up to the man who did that to you. Choke your rage down, swallow the grief down and move. Whatever you do, don’t feel anything. If you risk it, you might lose grip on your rage and grief.”

He folded both arms around his knee. “That is Shannon…. once healer-priest; now, immortally in pain. Then this happens and he’s pushed so far… my God… what was he thinking exposing himself to the risks and demands he has endured for the group of you.” Elliott wiped his eyes. “What was he thinking, risking getting within a hundred miles of Oirion?” He looked up with the fear and distress clear in his eyes.

“Gerome has done evils to this world that I can’t, even for a moment, deny. I can’t heal such things. I make tea; that’s all I do.”

Elliott ran a hand though his hair, tugging through the tangles, struggling with what he needed to do to convince her.

“I am sorry, Elliott,” she said. “I have to worry about Travis first, and he can be given a chance to be a normal child here.”

“Not if Shannon falls,” Elliott said with startling force. He wiped his eyes again. He took a deep breath. “He is a vampire, betrayed by the Church.” He looked to her, expecting that to matter.

“I know,” she said softly.

“You know?”

She nodded mutely.

After a moment she continued, “In fact, I have guessed as to what his rank would have to be to have such power and control, but that does not change my obligations to Travis.”

“Why?” he appealed. “Every parent loves their child, but, Tavia, he can come. I can give you any life you want outside the Barrier.” He looked up as Travis put his little hand on his mother’s shoulder. She looked up to see his very serious and sad expression.

“There is nothing you can do,” Travis said. “If you gated to them, you would tell Gerome right where he is. We can never reach him on foot and if we interfere now, we will cost him what focus he has left,” he said

“Travis…” he appealed gently. “I know you’re a very smart child, but if Shannon doesn’t have help, he will fall.”

“Yes,” Travis said softly. “He will fall. Not you, not my mother, not even I can stop that.”

Elliott could not look away from the boy, nor could he accept that a child would say such a thing.

“How can you say that?”

“Because he will.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“Travis.” Tavia put a hand on her son to stop him from saying something more. He knelt by the fire, looking so innocent. He curled his long, coiling, blond hair behind his ears and reached his hands toward the fire.

“Many people deny what they are able to do,” Travis spoke. “They fear… they think… they stop their actions. Time and again, the powers about them put them right where they must be in order to gain what they need for the tasks of the soul, but they stop, they turn away, and they shrink down. The greater the task, the greater the soul, the harder it is. When great souls collide, great and terrible things happen. Time and again, souls are brought together, and each time, if they deny the ‘Will of Creation,’ it gets more forceful. And once again, now is the time. Souls are about to collide, and it will hurt.” He lifted his deep blue eyes to the man across the fire. “Creation cries for this to stop. Souls scream to heaven to make it end.”

Elliott watched as tears filled the child’s eyes.

“Do you believe that God hears him? That God cares?” Travis asked.

“I want to believe that, but I have seen too much.”

“Travis,” Tavia warned softly.

“He will go if he does not understand,” Travis whispered to his mother. “He is already packed.”

“I am going,” Elliott said. “I had hoped you would come with me.”

“If you go, he, you, and Dave will fall into Gerome’s hands and it will all be over.”

It was all the child could do to not start crying.

Elliott didn’t understand and didn’t want to. He wanted to go and not feel so helpless. He couldn’t stand to think of Shannon falling, or the pain that hell would inflict on Dave before the end. Tavia and Travis didn’t comprehend who Shannon was. There was no way they would abandon him if they did.

Elliott started to rise.

“Tyraphen,” Travis said desperately to stop him. Elliott stopped at the Purtan name, a name that he had never used in public at all. He looked at the child.

“I said he would fall; I did not say he was doomed. Please, stay here with us and help these people. The people of this land need you, and if you stay, the land will heal you.”

“Shannon has been left and abandoned too many times. I don’t know if he told you that name or not, but I’m still going. There’s nothing you can say to make me leave him to this alone. Just as I see now that there is nothing I can say to make you help him.”

Elliott got up, ready to leave. Travis jumped up and grabbed his wrist. Elliott turned to tell the child to let him go, but it was not a child he saw at all. Elliott turned to pull away, but he was not let go of. It was just a split moment. The one step took him out of the plains of the nomads, to a place so clear that he could see the very trees on the mountains that soared up to the brilliant blue sky. He could see the stars in the sky, even in the sunlight. The moons cast softness to the brightness of it all. The hills were alive to the brink of the snow fields, with little lilies coming to life against the cold end of winter.

“Look at me,” Travis said.

“No,” Elliott refused, terrified of what he might see behind him.

“Elliott,” the man’s voice said softly, “you continue to deny me?”

“This is a trick, either some spin of demonic magics or the trick of a woman angry at a man who set her aside.”

“No. No trick. Look at me.”

Elliott didn’t want to; he struggled for all that he was worth to not do it, but he had no choice. Compelled, he finally turned. Standing there, just as he appeared in every dream, on every wall, and in the very features of the line of his descendents, was Armond. Elliott could not deny it, even if he wanted to. He could hardly stay on his feet as he started to shake and cry.

“Why?” was all that he could choke out. “Why have you allowed all this?”

Armond shook his head. “No. I tried to stop it.”

“He was your son! He was your priest!” Elliott almost regretted his words when he saw the tears that they caused.

“I cannot explain, not even here, but you must trust me. Stay with me; help me. You do not know what even this will cost me.”

“If he will fall…”

“He must,” Armond said. “There is no other way that he will be desperate enough to allow for another soul to touch him. Oirion must come to understand the truth without a word spoken. Tharadon must face his fears and accept his place. David must become his own man. Many, many parts must fall into place, and if you are there, they will crumble, and it will all be for nothing. Please. This,” he gestured around, “this will set me so far back…” He looked around sadly before he looked back to Elliott. “I will need you to help me survive this childhood. I cannot help him until I have the power to do so, and no child can hold that.”

Elliott swallowed hard. “I won’t be able to talk of this, will I?”

“No.”

“Does Tavia know who you are?”

“Yes.”

“It’s said that those who see your face live to serve you.”

Armond smiled faintly. “I cannot make you more than you chose to be. If you choose to walk with me, it may serve the world well, but I do not ask it of you. I ask only that you try to trust me and that you do not go south.”

Elliott had to look away. He couldn’t stand to see the pain and grief in the face of the founder of his race. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself that Armond was not a god, he was just an angel. All Purtans knew that… silly; archangel was just another word for the same thing that others called gods. All good pirates knew that.

“Why don’t you just kill Gerome?”

“That will serve no purpose. He is, in fact, the last best defense we have against the emergent forces.”

“I don’t understand.” Elliott turned back, certainly not expecting that.

“I do not expect you to. I cannot explain it either. You must just trust me.”

There was a moment that felt as if the world dropped away. Smoke rose up, swirling out of the fire, and Travis swayed. His eyes rolled back as his body began to sink to the ground. Elliott caught the child as he fell. Tavia was right there, concern and fear on her face.

“Travis,” she touched his young face.

Elliott drew him up into his arms.

“Let’s lay him down. I think he is just tired.”

She looked at the captain a moment.

“Are you staying?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “At this point, I pretty much have to.”

Amazon prime

Through the Barrier, Against All Odds, and Revelations are now on Amazon prime.  Revelations is not the version that has the latest edits but my copy with all my notes is for the moment not in my hands.  As soon as I get it I will begin to edit and post here as I did with the first two.

Through the Barrier: Princes and Priests Book 1 (Novels of Shannon)

Amazon Prime

Through the Barrier is on Amazon Prime and on a special sale until Wednesday.  Against All Odds will be up by tonight and then Revelations will be my focus.    http://www.amazon.com/Through-Barrier...

The River – chapter 7 – Against All Odds

Tavia

CHAPTER SEVEN                             .

The River

The river didn’t stay kind long. It turned into rapids within the first few days on the water. As the river began to drop out of the highlands toward the south, it seemed to go from one roaring tangle of rocks and waves into another. Panic and doubt turned into battered bodies and weary muscles, but with Dave yelling orders and Riven at the front with his sharp Dwarven eyes and instincts working for Dave, no one was lost and they never once tipped the boats. The waves and spray of the river had them soaked the entire time. More than once the boat was so water-filled at the bottom of a run that they had to jump out to keep it from slowly sinking under them.

They went from one horrible set of rapids to the next and when they stopped, they sat with their heads hung low, feeling far worse and battered than ever before. Not even in the bog had they felt so tired, nor so cold and hungry even on the highest mountain. No one mentioned it, but they all noticed it.

At night they huddled close to small fires trying to dry out for the next day. Dave had to study the water before they went on, and they all had to make certain there were no eyes to see them once they started. They made unsettlingly little distance, but they were able to avoid the patrols and to hide well in the bushes along the river.

“That was fun,” Riven laughed, after one particularly terrifying run.

“You’re sick,” Oirion said, white-faced and shaky.

“Enjoy it, Oirion,” Riven chuckled, invigorated by the runs. He was Dwarven and loved the excitement – wild things, mountains, rivers, and winds. “It keeps the heart pumping.”

“I was thinking it was rather heart-stopping,” Kaava said, agreeing with Oirion, his claws sunk into the side of the boat.

They pulled the boats out of the current, toward the bank to find a place where the brush reached out over the bank and leaned into the water. The clouds were low and threatened to rain, but at least they were far enough south that there was no danger of snow.

Kaava was not sure if they were still in Elven territory. None of the Ulam Ar had been this far south since before they were warped. The land was unknown here, but the companions needed to rest after each run, and Riven wanted to go hunting for food. They needed to eat soon. They were all feeling hungry and tired for it.

Storms out of the north had been gusting south due to the effects of the battle magics, but at least they were not seeing bodies along the banks anymore.

Tying up to the bank, Riven lightly hopped out and ducked off into the trees, while the others set to hiding themselves and the boats from anyone who passed by. They were still working on that as several patrol boats slipped past full of elves; the patrol boats were silent and far faster in the water than the group of weary companions were.

The elves were looking for something. It was pure luck that the battered little group had decided to rest and was not on the river at that moment. As it was, they held as still as possible and prayed that the screen they had built was enough. Once the boats had past, they all let out the breath they were holding and half smiled at each other, but it was a bit too tense to be forgotten quickly.

“We have to stay more hidden,” Kelly breathed. “We are, apparently, still in Elven territory.” She lifted her eyes, actually speaking for once. They all knew she was still in pain and the color had not returned to her face. Often the strain of getting through the rapids tore open her wounds and set her to bleeding again. She never complained, but she did not move beyond what was utterly necessary anymore.

“I am so tired of this,” Ivan muttered. “I feel like a rat in a steppe hut.”

“We all do,” Kelly said. “None of us are used to being beggars at a ball, but we’ll get through if we just keep our heads. There will be fog tonight; we should move on then and conceal ourselves in the dark and mist.”

“What did you do before this nightmare?” Ivan asked her, desperate to talk about something and not think about elves. Kelly looked over at the big man.

“I killed people,” she said, without a hint of a smile or jest.

“There are a lot of ways to do that,” Ivan said, with heaviness to his voice. “So did I, but I doubt that we worked the same job.”

“I was a sailor,” Dave offered, to cover Kelly’s silence on the matter.

“We know that,” Ivan said, “and I’m an arena assassin, Oirion is a priest, and Riven is a cleric…. right?”

“Oirion isn’t just a priest; he is a Hunter,” Riven corrected. “There is a vast difference. A priest, who is just a priest, does weddings and guides the people in their search for God. Hunters and clerics protect the people so that they remain alive to continue their search. He hunts vampires on the border of Norwood

Ivan looked at Oirion. “You live in Norwood?”

“I live in Awens,” Oirion said. “I happen to work along the border of Norwood from Awens to Nae, on a circuit that a number of other partners also work.”

“So, you’re sort of used to all this,” Ivan said, glancing around, “the hunting, being hunted, the battle magics, the long nights, the warped places?”

“I hunt vampires and kill them. I deal very little with magic,” Oirion said. “Riven, however, is likely to be well in his element in this sort of world… just not accustomed to dealing with other people who require, or desire, his aid.”

Riven grunted. “Pretty much. It does bother me, though, that so much of the magics here, I am at a loss over. I didn’t properly read the grasslands… or the killer tree…” He scowled as things ran through his head. “I have been a cleric in the wilds for a long time, but have seen things here unlike anything I’ve heard of before.”

“But Shannon reads them,” Ivan said.

“Shannon was a cleric, too, and has lived far longer than I have,” Riven said.

“You would believe that?” Oirion asked Riven.

Riven looked to his fellow priest.

“Yes, Oirion, I do believe that… and I also believe he knows things that could destroy the Church to its very roots. And while he doesn’t like the current rule of the Church, he knows its heart is true and so says nothing, but is hunted for what he knows. Look around you. You and I are now on that list. We have seen priests side-by-side with zombies, and church armies massed to slaughter native people. That is not our God… not my God… and not what I gave my soul to be a part of.”

“Shannon might have been one once,” Oirion said, “but he isn’t now, and we both know it.”

“I don’t care,” Riven said. “I wish he was here. He has aided us through this madness and slowed his step to match ours.”

“I wonder what Theo did all day,” Dave said. “While I was out in the wind throwing ropes and watching the sky, what did he do?” He chuckled. “You think he wrote poetry like any good court monkey?”

“No,” Ivan said. “I don’t think Theo was a good monkey.”

“Why?” Oirion asked. “He certainly looks the part; reminds me of my brothers, actually.”

“Court monkeys walk with their noses in the air.” Ivan made the suitable face, jutting his nose up. “They huff and pout, like Cindie,” he offered, “but Theo flinches down, he looks away, he hides behind Dave so Shannon can’t see him… and then he runs into a battle wielding power that he shouldn’t even have and his eyes light up like a dwarven screamer.” He shook his head. “No, that one is no monkey.”

“What then?” Dave asked seriously.

No one said anything.

“Oirion?” Riven asked, to the man’s uneasy avoidance.

“What?”

“What do you think?”

“There is a dark presence in Awens,” he said softly. “A fellow sixth spoke to us briefly regarding his fears that it came from the queen. He and his partner were going to slip order to take a closer look; it had to be learned of. He mentioned that someone high in the court was using and enforcing black magics. We had felt it as well, but trusted that the Church would be dealing with it. I certainly don’t think any less of the trouble now. If anything I think it far worse then I might have ever believed before. If Theo was in that court and was known to possess a trace of sorceric power, he must have been an ill-guarded child in a very bad place. I cannot imagine that he would have been able to deal with that on his own.” He sighed heavily, “Much might have been blamed on him as a scape-goat. I expect he ran away and that was why. I know Shannon said he was in his 60’s, but I still find that hard to accept.”

“That’s depressing,” Dave muttered. “What about Tavia?” he asked. “I have no idea what she did.”

They all looked around at each other.

“I don’t think any of us do,” Ivan said. “She is a fine cook and does well with herbs… a midwife, perhaps.”

“She speaks at least three languages that I have heard,” Riven said.

“She isn’t afraid of Shannon,” Dave muttered.

“Are we certain Travis is really her son?” Oirion asked.

They all looked at him a bit shocked. He knew her best, they thought, and to ask that seemed odd.

“Well?” Oirion asked. “Travis is not human, and she is.”

“He’s not human?” Dave asked.

“No more than you are,” Oirion said. “What, a half-elven Purtan is my guess. Mother an elf, Dave?”

“Yes, she was,” Dave said slowly.

“Travis isn’t human, so unless Tavia has worn such illusions as to hide herself as human despite whatever race she truly is, she isn’t his mother.

“Not all illusions are skin deep,” Kelly said.

“How so?” Riven asked.

Kelly looked around them as they sat together huddled in the cold about the fire…..injured, beaten, and desperate to get their minds off of this place. She drew a deep breath.

“Two-thousand years before the birth of Tyredelle Von Armond, in the Great Deserts there ruled the Goddess Razz. She was both terrible and beautiful, just as the desert can be. Like the desert, she is also very jealous.

“In those days, her people were scattered; her priests were at odds with each other and bickered back and forth. The tribes of her kingdom were strewn about, cities were left deserted, sacrifices were not made, and she began to grow angry at her people. She stole their water away; she made the women fail to have babies for decades. She drove the sheep to scatter and flee their shepherds.

“With her people in such a spread-out condition, the elves began to move in. They slipped up through the jungle, they stole into mines and took great gems and crystals, they raided temples and palaces, they butchered the jungle tribes.

“In that jungle, there was a tribe that lived along the banks of the great river, farmers who dwelt in the flood plains. The elves came upon them and set to slaughtering them.

“An old man, who had come from the desert when he was young to marry the most beautiful woman of all the jungle tribes, heard the battle and knew that he was too old to fight it. He pulled out his weapons, his desert trinkets which he still kept sacred and safe, and gathered his young granddaughter into his arms. They fled the river and went up from the river’s plains and into the wilds, to get out of the area and away from the raiding elves.

“They waded through flooded groves, struggled through thick vegetation, crawled up rugged mountains, crossed raging river and eventually came out of the jungle. He had returned to the desert. The man was old, though, and the trip was long and very hard for him. Along the way, he taught his granddaughter everything he knew; he taught her the ways of the swords and the prayers to his Goddess. It was not long, however, until the desert heat stole his breath in a sandstorm and left the girl alone in the desert.”

Kelly paused to take a drink. They waited. “Somehow, she survived… but she was a young girl of the flood plains. She spent her days appealing to the Goddess Razz to let her find a new home, to be worthy of life, to be strong enough to live in the desert, to honor her grandfather.

“She was found, alright, and taken by raiders. She was so young yet as to not even have reached full womanhood, but old enough to know that she was not likely to be seen as a child. She was taken to a prince and thrown at his feet. Then, for the first time in her life, she learned that she was beautiful. The Prince wanted her.

“He had her bathed in scented water. He had her hair oiled and strung with beads. He dressed her in the finest of the clothes that his tent tribe had to offer, and he had her brought to his bed. Now, he was ugly. He was snarled with scars, wore tats on his face of the number of other tribes he had wiped out, and had one eye cast white by illness. She was not terrified then, but furious, like a chained cat. She would not be touched by such a thing. She took his own dagger and slashed him across the face before she fled.”

Kelly took another sip of the rosehip tea they had made for the night. The others waited in silence. “He got on his horse and chased her down, he and his men. They caught her in the desert, and there, he pinned her down in front of his men and was about to slice her face, as she had done to him, but his son stepped in.

“Why destroy such a thing?’ he asked his father.’ Like a fine wine, let us share it. Would that not punish her more? And should she have rise to a child of it, what a stunning slave it might make.’”

Stalling, Kelly took sip of her cooling tea. She paused awhile as if she had forgotten her story or might go no further, but they all waited for her.

“She was forced to kneel in the sand while the prince stripped off his clothes. She still held her defiance. She glared at him in rage.

“Should you do so, it is as if it was Razz,’ she shouted at them. ‘This is Her body!’ Your punishment will be in accord.’” Kelly looked around at them letting the words sink in. “Of course, he was not afraid, but laughed at her and forced himself on her. He was followed by his men, his sons, and his brothers. They drug her home and hung her by her wrists in the yard.

“How does that relate to illusions?” Dave asked. Kelly didn’t look up, but started again as if she had been waiting for the question.

“Khara Hesha, High Priestess of Razz, was at war with the Elven horde and their gods. She knew that the elves were divided into Houses, and that many of them were at war with each other. She thought that she could turn the two strongest houses against one another, so she put herself into the role of being a mere guard.

There, in the dungeon prison she saw an Elven man whom she recognized as a minor prince of the other house. She meant to play him, to make him think that this house had betrayed his. She purposefully let him overhear false information that this house was secretly funding another rival house.

“Then, she let him escape. As she had hoped, the houses turned on each other and the war took a great step forward. Years later, far up the coast, she stood atop the cliffs, waiting to watch an Elven battle. Unexpectedly, she saw that same man sneaking along the cliff line, attempting to slip around behind the other army.

“He stopped, stunned to see her, yet she did nothing. He went on his way and disappeared down the other side. She watched the battle into the night and then settled down to make tea, waiting for dawn and the aftermath. He came back. He dared to enter her firelight and ask to sit with her.

“He told her of the war, of the elves, and offered to aid her for letting him go. He knew that he had escaped far too easily. She accepted.” Kelly took a sip of tea and held the cup in her hands, looking at it a long time. “He was skilled, he was stunning, and he was powerful in magics and war. He fought beside her, aided her, and used her armies against his enemies. Razz is a jealous Goddess and she warned her priestess to beware of such things… to not take the man. For years such warning held, but it eventually slipped her and she took the elf to be her lover. It was years later that he learned who she really was. He had thought here a mere member of the army, but had no idea it was she who ruled. His plans went from dark to vile, from heartless to torturous.

“He had set her up from the very beginning; he betrayed her. He had used her army to conquer smaller houses, capture their warriors as slaves, and had massed a great army of his own. He used her lands to stage his own war on the empire, but he needed one last thing to get what he desired, and she provided it.

“He drugged her and took her to the cliff top. There, he apologized to her, but then offered her pain up to his god, and made her watch as his army betrayed hers and wiped them out. Her tears bought him great power. She was left on the top of the cliff.

“In rage, her Goddess came, cold and bitter. She transformed her priestess into an elf; it was a true transformation, not an illusion. So, when the last of her own men came and found that the elves had betrayed them, there was but one left to punish. Punish her they did. They left her bound to a pole on the cliff top, so for the second time in her life she was left naked and beaten, raped and broken. She hung there, weeping for death, her army and her heart betrayed.

“Razz came to her and pointed out what her little love affair had cost. Khara spoke back, demanding to know why she was allowed to be drugged, why the Goddess allowed it to happen. Simply out of jealously? To teach her Daughter a lesson? The Goddess blamed it all on her priestess and to further punish her, she stripped away everything. She turned the priestess into a brutish creature, so hideous that she might never be loved, or touched again, by any but Razz.”

Kelly looked around at them. “This was not an illusion either, but another true transformation – different race, different energy, different voice. There are other cases of such, normally for great reason and the cost in power is so high, gods have fallen out of their divine state for the price. Such a transformation is a massive task. But, in the land of the humans of Malkoot, it is said that the witches there can change their race and form, even to become trees or boulders; that part of their rank, from beginner into the higher levels, requires a hundred years in another form. That is why the other races have never been able to kill them out. They become rocks or trees, and armies walk right past. Do not think that what you see defines who a person is.”

“Soul also transcends form,” Dave said. “Life to life, we can shift races. Race does not define the soul.”

“No,” Riven agreed, “but the habits and personality of the soul will choose a race that fits with them. It’s hard for the soul to stay within the form of a race that it’s not compatible with. It results in stillbirth, more often than not.”

“That is also to say that races should not mix,” Dave said. “I do not find conflict in myself over race. I am what I am.”

“Ah, yes,” Ivan said with a grin. “You are what you are, but, my friend, where else in this world would you feel that way but on the waters or in such a mixed group?”

“How many races do we have?” Riven asked, as if thinking about it for the first time. “We have a dwarf, an Ezeeren, a Purtan half-elf, an Awens, two humans, a sphinx, an Ulam Ar, and whatever Travis is… and human for Tavia, if that is what she is. You are human aren’t you, Oirion?”

“More or less; my grandfather is Purtan.”

“Don’t forget Shannon; he is as Purtan as Purtan gets,” Kelly said softly.

“That’s a pretty diverse group,” Ivan explained to Dave. “We are all exiles together, just as pirates are.”

“True, I guess,” Dave said, “but I have no intention of ever being anything else, so it doesn’t cause me any conflict.”

“It might, someday,” Kelly said. “Race can get in the way of many things.”

He shrugged. “Gods are like race, they can change life-to-life, and a life can change through a lot of ways, not just death.”

“Hmm,” Ivan grunted. “Depends on the god, I guess.”

***********

Crouching low, Riven pushed the boughs out of the way, to see what was before him. This was not good. Beyond a sweep of field, there was the last thing he had wanted to see. It was an Elven city – the red onion domes and spiraled towers, the golden spires, and the walls carved with the reliefs of trees. It was the same as any Elven design he had seen. The elements were a bit different here, but similar enough that it could have been a city anywhere in the world.

It was not just that he saw the city, but around it was an army encampment; patrols moved along the border of the camps and the walls showed signs of war. He was dangerously close. There was not going to be any game to snag here, and he did not trust his magics well enough to sneak in and steal something. They would have to move on quickly and try to get downriver and beyond the city. He turned to go back. Noticing the elf too late, his movement got him spotted and, even as he turned to escape, he had three elves on him with their bows pulled back and ready to shoot.

Riven put up his hands, as if in surrender, then he dropped as he shouted. Vapors swirled up and around him as he rolled hard to escape the area. Once clear, he ran for the river while the elves tried to banish the smoke.

As he ran, Riven grabbed up a boulder and flung a boulder into the river to make a splash before he dropped down on the bank, pulling all his skill into hiding himself as the elves ran up not far behind him.

They stopped at the river’s edge and used scans to try and find him in the water. One shot an arrow and then got a hand on his arm to stop him from shooting another. They split up; half went upstream, half went downstream. They went right past the boats and the dwarf, who was looking somewhat like a log washed up on the rather high bank. The elves did not seem to notice either, as they moved quickly and silently, searching for the escaped dwarf.

Once they had passed, Riven scurried back to the river just as it began to rain. He slid into the boat with his heart pounding.

“We are right at a city,” he said.

“What did it look like?” Kaava asked.

“Like an Elven city – big towers, onion domes, and …”

“Did it have evenly spaced towers? Or were they in groups?”

Taking a moment, Riven paused to think.

“There were two great towers near the north end of the city, as far as I could see, and there was a gate. It has taken war damage. The top of the gate appears to have been cut to outline the domes and three towers lined up just beyond the gate.”

Kaava snarled.

“What?” Ivan asked.

“It sounds like Xau-Sha. That means we are barely into the elven territory at all. I had hoped we came ashore farther down than this. We have a very long way to go.”

“The mist will rise soon,” Kelly said wearily. “It is best we put to the river now and use it to hide ourselves.

They all had to agree, even though none of them liked the idea of no food for another day.

***********

Theo didn’t realize how little he and Shannon spoke to each other until they were alone.  They went all day without a word and that evening Theo said nothing as he walked off to use the trees while Shannon set up camp.

He returned and found the camp set up with two tents, a fire going, and tea almost ready. Theo took a place on the tarp, legs folded, his warm robe and cloak wrapped around him. Digging in the pack, he pulled out his little book and pencils and, although he did not have the light to draw well, he made a quick sketch of a mandala that had been on his mind for most of the day.

He had once known a guard who taught him to draw mandalas to get his mind off his fears. That little game had given him a great boost in the idea and understanding of summons rings and demon wards. It was energy, of one sort or another, put on a surface to be seen and touched. The purpose of this mandala was to draw forth the energy that he wished to influence and, at the same time, to get rid of what he didn’t want. What Shannon had said, about a child being forced to use dark magic, was going through his head, making him rethink things from an outside angle.

He also had a lot to think about regarding the shields that he had not considered since childhood. The storms that continued to blow in made his thoughts even more scattered, spinning with the magics of his childhood.

As if the thought of it had manifested into reality, he was no longer in his own tent, but, instead, in the tent of the shaman of the plains. He was aware of himself still sketching at the fire, and it was as if he was dreaming of the shaman’s tent. He could hear the drums and smell the unusual fire and smoke. It was as if he was part of a ceremony that was happening right then, one that he had not experienced in the past.

Across from him sat Travis, little Travis, naked like the rest of them. They were all painted, but not in the bold, wild, dark colors of battle; these were blues and greens, drawn into the shapes of vines and spell-lines of healing power. Travis looked up at him and smiled.

Then Theo stood on the windswept hills of the plains, the battle having torn it apart. The drumming and song was an attempt to heal the damage. It was not their battlefield he stood on, but another. He could see the mountains to the west, not the east, and the land rolled more here.

The ruins of a castle smoldered on the hillside where a road had once run up toward a pass. He could see it; sheer, stone cliffs offering a way through to the north. There was a terrible, deep silence and an utter lack of people. He stood alone in the wind.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It is not an event.”

Theo turned to see a man who had suddenly appeared at his side. He was old, with long, white hair and his eyes were a pale blue, like a winter sky, and had no pupils to them at all. He wore a long robe, perhaps white at one time, perhaps a bishop’s robe. It was so travel-stained and worn that it was gray; the hem was soot-stained and muddy. The figure was nearly transparent, as if in-between two different realms.

“Who are you? Where is this?”

The old man smiled faintly.

“Oh, I do not say my name anymore. To the world, I am gone… and better it be thought as much. My castles are in ruins and my armies are shattered.” He smiled sadly. “As to where this is… it is the Sanctuary of one who allows me to be here. He is here as well, at times, but his mind fades. He will not be here much longer and as he goes, so too will my hiding place.”

“Who is he?”

“That is not something you need to know right now.” The translucent guide sighed as he watched the castle burn.

“So, you will tell me nothing? Why am I here then?”

“The shamans pray for you,” he said, with a little hint of a smile.

“Why?”

“They know what evil you will face. They have seen the shadow of the days to come, and so you are brought here. Come, someone would wish to meet you.” He led the way through the shattered field, to the ruined castle.

The walls were broken and crumbling, the floor blood-stained, the statues smashed. Gardens had been burnt, and wood still burned and smoldered. They entered a chamber where a man sat alone, bent in his chair, grief weighing him down.

“Ty?” the old man said softly. The one in the chair then stirred and lifted his head slowly, as if the mere effort was all he could summon up anymore. He had been weeping, tears dried to his face. His hair was disheveled, his beard nearly white, pressed outward from his head long bent. He wore his crown, tarnished and broken, but still on his brow.

Theo nearly choked. He knew at once who it was. He went across the floor and dropped to a knee before the Emperor of Purt.

“Who is this?” The old Emperor asked of the guide.

“It is Tharadon Lords…. Heir of Awens.”

The old man reached out and lifted Theo’s face.

“Tharadon Lords?” He whispered the name. “Purt still lives?”

Theo could not even think to talk. He was in the Sanctuary of the father of Shannon. What could he hope to say?

“My son?” Tyrell asked.

“As I have told you,” the guide said to the shadow of the soul of the Emperor Tyrell, putting a hand on Theo’s shoulder to interrupt his response, “your son yet fights for his soul. He has not given up.”

The aged Emperor looked up to the guide.

“I failed him. I betrayed his trust. It is my fault.”

“That is not a matter for now. Look upon the face of one who walks with your son even now.”

The man looked back to Theo. Theo wanted to cry for the pain in the man’s eyes; he wanted to ask where he was, how he still lived. He had so many questions, but could not manage to do more than breathe.

Tyrell rose from his little wooden chair and stood before Theo, shaky at first, but growing in strength.

“If there is yet hope, then I shall fight for it,” he said, his voice stronger. “As in the age before, the war pivoted on the hands of the King of Awens; so it may be again.”

Theo looked up from tears that were blurring his eyes to see the man transformed. He stood in stunning robes of red and gold, his crown almost glowed. He lifted his hands, holding a crown with his fingertips. “In the witness of Armond, in the presence of the souls that yet linger with me, I declare to the entire world and all the realms, that Tharadon Lords is to be King of all Awens with all the power and honor due him.” Before Theo could object, the man set the crown in his fingertips on Theo’s head. Theo was pulled to his feet by the guide, unable to look away from the Emperor.

Theo wanted to ask to speak, but couldn’t. He just stood, looking, the face burning into his memory. The Emperor touched his face.

“It is not much, but it is what I can give you. I wish I had more.”

“I walked away from Awens. It’s a war I can’t win.”

“Alone, no,” he agreed, “but right now, you are not alone. Now, the angels of Purt might aid you. Now, the Wells of Purt can be summoned up to your hands; now, you can open the gates to more kings and crown them in my name. For, you I make Regent in my absence.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Theo whispered, terrified of the power and of the chance Gerome would get hold of him. Was this not exactly what Gerome wanted? “Please.”

Tyrell laid his hand on Theo’s head.

“In my stead, for you cannot possibly do worse than I have done. I would pray to all holy, all good, and all gods to aid you, and so perhaps redeem my wrong and heal the damage done. Might my son forgive me for my weakness and see my repentance in your deeds. Blessed be you, King of Awens, Grand Lord of Purt.” He bowed, and Theo, once again, stood back on the battlefield with the guide, far from the castle. He was weeping, terrified of what had happened. He could hear the drums of the shaman and feel the pencil in his hand.

Theo wiped his eyes to look at the translucent figure that stood with him. He thought, for a split moment, that it might have been the same one who had brought him the gift of the egg. They had the same eyes and it seemed as if he knew him. Then the kind smile made the feeling slip away.

“Go quickly, Tharadon. Trust that you are king and that you hold every right to be honored and respected. Whatever power of Purt can reach you will be there to aid you. Shannon will defend you, but so too must you defend and guard him.”

Theo was back at the campfire, tears streaming down his face, the drums slowly fading out of his mind. He closed the book, his hand having gone still. Tucking it away, he curled up, glad that Shannon wasn’t in camp. He would fake sleep if the man got back before he truly was asleep. What a horrible dream. What an utter manifestation of his fears. He pulled the blanket up over his head.

Shannon watched him from the shadows. Nothing had seemed to happen. The delicate man had sat and sketched for hours, power radiating off the paper, to the point that Shannon had to shield it to prevent alerting the many powers that hovered far too close. Theo had begun to weep and then curled up without any word or sign of what had happened. Shannon had never spent much time with any of the Lords family, but if that was how they all acted, it was no wonder the joke of Purt had been that “crazy” was the true mark of the rightful king of Awens.

Shannon knew well before they got within sight of the city that it was under siege. They had to get past it. They looked out over the crushed vineyards from their vantage at the hilltop, toward the city; the river was somewhere on the far side. They could see everything from up here. The city was massive and stretched as far as one could see, with towers and walls towering up over the army that had gathered about its base. Still, being able to see it all didn’t help them get around it.

“Can we go around?” Theo asked.

“The others are here and they are dangerously close to the city. If we take the time to go around, we may risk losing track of them. Shannon stood with his hands on his hips. “It will be difficult for them to get past and if they are, by any chance, taken inside the city, they could either be sold as slaves and sent somewhere else or killed. We cannot see the far side and the river might run right against the walls allowing the elves inside the city to come and go. Our friends could be inside already.”

“You can’t tell?”

“Not without risking detection. There is a shield over the city that might let me know – once we are closer – if they have been taken inside, but I cannot be certain if they are there now or not.”

“Well, if they aren’t already in the city, the war will help the elves be distracted. What’s it about, do you know?”

“Power,” Shannon guessed. “War is always about power.”

“Well, I meant that if one side was with Gerome and the other wasn’t, we could give the ‘not’ side a bit of power and maybe make his life harder.”

“You enjoy pissing him off?” Shannon ased, speaking in an uncharacteristically casual manner for the first time, as he looked over at Theo.

“I suppose I do,” Theo admitted. “Get my jabs while I can. Don’t you?”

“No; I would rather he had no idea where I am at all. I hate it when he knows what country I’m in, let alone within a few hundred miles. It makes me very nervous.”

“I don’t think he knows I’m here, yet.”

“He knows I’m here,” Shannon said.

“Right, well, it was just an idea.”

“It has merit though. If there is an open battle, we can get in much closer.”

“Closer? I don’t want closer; I want our friends and to get away.”

“I guess we hide out for a day or two and see if they move south or west at all.”

Shannon stood watching the army a bit while Theo pulled out a canteen, wishing for wine over the stale tasting water.

“They are his,” Shannon said.

“What?” Theo asked, walking back to Shannon’s side. “They are Gerome’s?”

“There,” Shannon pointed. “Clerics, they just came in from patrol.”

“He has been known to play both sides. But at least we know who they are afraid of.”

Shannon nodded and turned away. “We all need to be out of this area as fast as possible. We cannot do what we did with the Nomads.”

As if to drive his point home, dark clouds began to roll over and block the sun, flickering with lightning of an unnatural sort.

***********

Nothing about the day had been good. One of the boats had hit a boulder, gouging a hole into the bottom of the hull. It was taking on a lot of water and everyone was blaming the other for it. They had no food and the rain had soaked everything. Making it all worse, as they argued with each other while fighting with the boats to get them up out of the river and onto the bank, one of the boat balked and hit Oirion hard, driving him under.

Kelly managed to get hold of him and hauled him up, but they lost hold of the boat. It swung around and hit the bank hard enough that the seams of its already damaged body were popped. It took all the strength they had left to keep the half-full boat from being drug away by the current.

Once on the bank, Oirion dropped down on the rocks, his legs still in the ice cold water. He held his head, spitting blood into the river as the others worked to get the boat up and out of sight.

Kaava took off to go hunting, while Kelly set to hiding the path up from the river. They had no idea where they were, but Elven patrols had begun to happen far more often, so they had no illusion of being free from the danger of being caught. Patrols would notice such an obvious mark as a broken boat on the bank.

“Get out of the water,” Kelly told Oirion, once she had reached the river’s edge. Oirion spit more blood and did not move.

“Oirion,” she pressed, “you’ll get sick. Get out of the water.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

She grabbed him and jerked him up out of the water, to his feet. He gasped in pain and grabbed his side where his ribs were snapped. It wasn’t his lips that were bleeding as she thought. He was white-faced and there was blood in his beard and on his nose. He coughed and spit up more.

“Damn!” she swore and pointed. “Camp, now.”

“There’s not much you can hope to do; we have no healers,” he said with a sad sort of acceptance.

“I said move!” she said to Oirion and pointed again. He trudged up the trail to where Ivan and Riven were arguing about how to fix the boat.

“We have a problem,” Kelly said. Neither one of them heard her as they argued about either repairing it as it was, or tearing it apart to fix it properly. She grabbed Ivan and jerked him around. He swung at her on instinct, but was quickly slammed down to the ground with a blast of power he had not felt before. She stood over the panting and stunned Ivan. The fighting stopped, and for the first time Kelly took charge of the exhausted company.

“I said we have a problem.”

“We have a hole in the boat, no food, and no repair tools. What could be worse?” Dave asked, while hanging their blankets up to drip in the rain.

“Oirion has a punctured lung; he’s dying,” she said.

Riven and Ivan fell silent, and Dave turned from the task he had to look at Oirion, who was sinking to the ground with a very white face.

Kaava ducked back into camp low and fast.

“Hunters in the forest. They are close.”

“Now what?” Dave asked, his voice thick with contempt at the impossible nature of the day’s events.

“Where?” Oirion asked, getting back up. Kaava pointed back up the way he had come. Oirion turned and ran in that direction. Dave moved to get hold of him, to stop him, but Kelly grabbed his arm.

“He’s got an injury that we can’t fix,” she said.

Ivan looked at them all for a split moment and, with a speed that startled them, moved and raced after Oirion.

Riven considered a moment, then motioned for the others to move in the opposite direction of Oirion and the patrol.

“Let’s hide until dark, see if the boat is found, and then we decide what to do. We all need the rest. We can’t stop Oirion and Ivan now, and they have bought us a chance. Don’t ruin it.”

*************

They never even saw Oirion coming and, while they might not have been a patrol, they were a threat to the others. He would kill as many as he could, to give the others a chance to get away. He ripped an elf off of his saddle, crushed his face with an elbow, and then turned and blasted another clear of his horse with a bolt of power. He was a Hunter and, for once, he was going to unleash the power he reserved only for vampires.

The elves, only then, began to move. He took out three more before Ivan got there and a fourth as Ivan reached his side. They moved and fought together at that point, and quickly eliminated the little group. As the horses scattered, Oirion leaned on his sword to cough up blood. He lifted his eyes to Ivan.

“What the hell are you doing?” Oirion demanded of Ivan, just as another group of elves appeared out of the trees, mounted on horses and armed with swords and bows. Oirion didn’t even bother to straighten at all. Ivan jerked his helm off and threw it aside before he charged the closest horse with a roar.

There was no escape and both men knew it. Ivan was out to just see how many he could take down before the end. Oirion joined his friend to see if he might allow Ivan a few more kills. They were both great fighters, but were far outnumbered, had had far too many days without food, and were chilled to the bone.  Even so, they took a stance together and moved to fight as if they had been brothers and had fought together all their lives.

The elves were not prepared nor trained for such skill and for one moment Ivan truly thought they might win, but then a dart struck his leg. The Elven fighters fell back at once. He looked down at the tasseled shaft a moment and then looked at Oirion, who had one in his arm. Oirion swore under his breath as he tried to look at Ivan, but his eyes were already rolling and he crumpled to the ground. Ivan dropped heavily to a knee as he felt his body begin to go numb.

“And that is how we deal with animals,” a high-ranking elf said. Darkness slowly overtook Ivan as the elves began to clean up the battle site.

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Forest Fires/ chapter 4- Against All Odds

CHAPTER FOUR                               .

Forest Fires

It was nearing dusk on the third day. They moved on slowly and carefully, picking a path that was as much hesitation as forward motion. It was getting darker and there were more movements around them, but Shannon didn’t stop. Salma hissed and looked upward for a place to escape. Shannon just nodded in reply and shifted the hold he had on the sword that he now carried out at all times. He just kept picking his way onward, not stopping for camp as usual. No one spoke a word. They could see Salma’s hair on end and that was enough to know that it was more than just zombies tonight.

Riven started to build a scan, but Shannon turned, pointed at him and shook his head. Riven dropped the scan, suddenly very fearful of what was out there. Shannon had never had that look on his face before, and if Shannon was tense, they were all lucky to even be alive.

The fight came right at Shannon. It shot out of the night at him. Shannon threw his fingers at the thing. It was slammed backward into a tree with a crushing noise and then slid down into the darkness. It was not a goblin, but faster, meaner, and more human-like in appearance. It did not come alone. There were several that charged Shannon at once. He had time to hit only the one with the blast from his hand before he was forced to bring up his sword for battle.

“What the hell is that?!” Theo yelped, his voice cracking a little.

“Trolls,” Salma shrieked. She swiped at the throat of one that had come from the side, rushing for Tavia and Travis.

Trolls swarmed out of the trees at them. Dave sent fire into his blade and attacked. A light flared up above them aiding their sight and making the trolls shy back a little. Ivan let out a horrible Ezeeren battle cry and Riven shouted a prayer of victory. The attack came so quickly they were separated and lost track of each other as they all fought with all they had.

A troll attacked Theo. He hit it in the face with the butt of his staff. The stone on the top began to glow faintly, but he didn’t notice as he struck again and again. Each time he hit, the stone grew brighter. The troll was stunned for a moment. Even so, the troll knocked Theo back and he tripped in the snow that lingered in the deep shadows. As the troll reached to grab him, he thrust the staff up to block the thing.

The claws on top of the staff snapped open, a bolt of light shot out hitting the creature in the chest. Theo watched as the thing crumbled into chunks of charcoal and ash. It collapsed straight down on him. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hardly think to even get up.

Theo!” Dave yelled at him.

Theo looked around suddenly, just in time to swing the staff at another charging troll. The staff hit the troll. The power that exploded off of it blew the troll backward out of the light and nearly made Theo’s hands go numb.

“I love this thing!” he shouted, as he used it to get up. He was on his feet just in time to see Tavia caught by a troll. She was flung aside by the large creature, separated from the others. She managed to keep hold of Travis, who screamed as he and his mother rolled in the underbrush.

Theo shouted and ran for them. Ducking past Dave, he swung the staff at the troll as hard as he could. The top of the staff cracked the troll in the side of the head. Blue fire engulfed the troll for one moment before it collapsed as ash. Tavia scrambled back toward the light with her son in her arms.

Theo caught her hand and pulled her up. Oirion was there in time to drive his sword into the chest of another troll. It convulsed, its eyes melting as it jerked itself free from the sword, but not from the magic that was burning it up from the inside out.

Travis broke free of his mother and ran to Theo. He clung to Theo’s legs, crying, desperate to hide there. Oirion yelled at Tavia as he was knocked back by an attack. Shannon somehow grabbed her and swung her out of another troll’s reach, before quickly chopping off its arm.

The trolls saw what they thought to be the weakest person, along with the child of the group. They turned to swarm at them. Oirion went from being right in the middle of the battle to standing alone, as the beasts darted at Theo and Travis. The staff wasn’t going to be enough. It killed everything it touched, but there were too many, and Theo couldn’t move with a child hanging on him.

Theo was sure he was about to die and Travis with him. They were so close to help and yet, so far away. He might have given up and just died quickly, if not for the child that needed him. He felt himself scream as a troll caught his arm and nearly tore it off with his claws, but he didn’t hear his own voice over the roar of the fight. He almost dropped the staff, but held on as tightly as he could with the other hand.

Shannon leaped into the fight, slamming into the troll that was just about to grab Theo’s shoulder. The creature shattered into icy crystals, splintering, and throwing out a cloud of ice dust that was so cold it burned the other trolls caught in it. Shannon stood right next to Theo. Shannon’s sword blazed a crystal blue as the power he sent up the blade transformed it. The blade was wicked and glowed with magical energy that Theo hoped the priests didn’t know about. Theo was – again- awed by Shannon’s hidden power.

Shannon advanced, swinging the sword with inhuman speed and accuracy as he began moving on the trolls. The light from his blade streamed in tracers that flowed behind it. The devastating cutting edge sliced through whatever it touched, passing through the trolls as if they were nothing but air.

Arms, hands, heads and torsos were cut off, driving the trolls back. They had never seen him fight with that sword, or with such skill as this. Theo was truly awe-struck. He could not do anything but watch the man move. He had seen master fighters before, but never anything like that. He had even seen those who were said to have mastered the fighting style of old, but nothing compared to this.

Kelly stepped in. Her sword had become a brand of fire that burned as it cut, setting those she met on fire. Between blows, the runes down the blade glowed and sparked. Illuminating the fight with awesome power, the sword offered distraction to the trolls. For a moment, Theo was entranced by her blade as well.

“Theo! Move!” Shannon yelled. Theo’s surprise at Shannon’s fighting and Kelly’s sword instantly broke at the sound of Shannon yelling, and he acted quickly. He grabbed the boy and spun, trying to find a place away from the fighting. His arm exploded in pain and he almost blacked out.

Before he had a chance to get steady again, there was a howl. It was a long, shrieking, piercing sound that could be heard even over the roar of the battle. The trolls immediately broke off. They suddenly fell back vanishing as quickly as they had come.

“Anyone hurt?” Salma asked from the trees above.

“Where’s Riven?” Shannon asked, looking around.

“Injuries first,” Oirion said. He moved toward Theo, whose arm was clearly snapped, the bone sticking out through the skin. Theo almost gagged when he saw the tangle of flesh and bone that had once been his arm.

Shannon hesitated, swore under his breath, but came over to Theo. Theo looked up at him. The bleeding had already drained Theo’s face of color; the idea of how hard that would be for Shannon to deal with made him even whiter.

Shannon took Theo’s slender arm and hand. In one move that made Theo scream again, he jerked it back into place, twisting it until the bones lined up. Shannon used a thread of power to stitch the wounds and to brace the bones as he sent fire into the deep gashes, searing them closed. He had to stop the bleeding and the pain quickly, before it drove him over the edge. It was effective, painful, but fast.

It was all over before Theo made another sound, or before Oirion could object. Shannon then went to Kelly. Her leg was torn open across the thigh and bleeding. Without even asking, he used the same technique to mend her wound.

Three trolls were still moving on the ground, trying to get up. He walked over to them, stabbed their heads one at a time. They went limp, dead. Tavia pulled Travis against her, hiding the blood and injuries of the others from his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, very still, and very quiet.

“Spread out. Find the dwarf,” Shannon ordered. He needed to get out of the battle area quickly. He needed to get some distance between himself and both Oirion and Theo. He had to focus to keep himself from drawing on the power that he knew he might well need before too long.

“Maybe he’s dead,” Salma said.

“Kill a wizard priest?” Shannon asked sharply. “Not likely.” He would know. If such had been killed within a hundred miles he’d know, and she knew it.

They spread out and searched the immediate area, but could not find Riven. Shannon found his axe a few yards past the light of the flare. He could feel the energy of the flare that the dwarf had made. It was a Dwarven power, not a priesthood power. He wondered if Riven had any idea how powerful he was as a dwarf.

He found blood, Riven’s blood, splattered on a leaf. He needed it. He was dangerously drained and if he did not get energy before Oirion or the others came close, he might be driven over the edge. He knew what would happen, but he had no choice if he meant to stay and aid these people. Kneeling, he pulled his glove off and wiped his fingertips over the leaf. The blood smoked and absorbed into him. He closed his eyes as shivers of pleasure went through his body. His breath shuddered as he was sent into the high of blood. It was several minutes before he could pull his glove back on.

The high lasted for several moments, as the others searched the area. He was starting to crash and feel sick, as Oirion was walking up to where he knelt.

“You find anything?” Oirion asked. Shannon didn’t look up. Chances were that the blood high still showed in his face. He stood, feeling nauseated and ready to vomit. He put the back of his hand to his mouth.

“Just his axe,” he said, careful to shield even his voice. He moved past Oirion as fast as he could. He hid the fact that he was shaking and sick by strapping the axe to his back. He tried to swallow the tightness in the back of his throat. He could do this… it wasn’t that much blood. He could do this… he could swallow it. But fighting it with Oirion so close was a challenge in itself. It was not going well.

“Now what?” Theo asked, as the pain-killing herbs that Tavia had fed him began kicking in. He was feeling better although he did not look so well.

Shannon had to quickly step out of the group and out of the flare’s light. His stomach began to roll, and he lost it. He held onto a slender tree and kept himself from going to the ground. Unaided, he would have hit his knees. His body rejected the energy of another’s blood, and sent him into dry heaves. Not in over a thousand years had he lost it in front of anyone. Now, here he was, all but helpless, his eyes tearing over and his body trying to purge his soul.

No one spoke. When he was able to get control again and catch his breath, he could hear the silence. No one even moved. He covered his mouth and walked back to Kaava. He pulled the canteen from Kaava’s belt in silence. He took a mouthful, held it a moment, until his body recognized it as clean water and calmed itself. He spit it out before he took a drink.

“What’s the plan?” Theo asked again.

“We go get him,” Shannon said softly.

“Shannon,” Oirion said, “this group is not warriors, not even hunters. That’ll get us killed.”

Shannon looked at the priest. He felt sick and was not at all in the mood to fight with Oirion about anything. He would rather have them all just leave him alone anyway.

“Fine. Take them out. Whoever wants to go with ‘Father Oirion,’ do so. If any of us live, then we’ll meet at the edge of the forest.”

“Theo, come with me,” Oirion said. “You’re hurt and of little help to him.”

“I’m going with Oirion,” Ivan said. “He can’t fight through alone.”

“Sorry, Shannon,” Salma said, dropping down from the trees. “I am not staying in these woods longer than I have to.”

“Do what you will,” Shannon said, turning to the trail that was left by the trolls. Dave, Kelly and Kaava followed him. Tavia and Travis reluctantly watched them go, as they stood with Theo and Oirion.

The trail wasn’t that hard to follow, as the trolls made no attempt to hide it. They were far faster in the woods. By the time the sun rose, Shannon’s small company had not caught up yet. They had to stop and rest, eating a small meal before preparing to move on.

“Let me run ahead,” Kaava said. “I can locate the group, tell you what I find.”

Shannon nodded, although he didn’t need a scout. He could follow the trail of Riven’s energy and a child could follow the trail of broken branches and footprints that led through the forest. More than that, he knew where they were going.

He could taste the powers. He could feel the one that they would fight. There was a need for haste, for Riven’s sake, but he had no fear for himself. He had dealt with far worse, with a lot less.

Kaava rolled his shoulders. They came out with an audible pop. He rotated his hips and dropped down, looking suddenly very orcish – sort of hunched down and wide-shouldered. He dropped onto his fists and was gone, silent and fast.

“That’s bizarre,” Dave said with a shudder.

They had little time to waste. Dave knew that Shannon was taking their fears and using them. Dave was just too calm inside, and they were neither tired nor concerned for Oirion and the group with him. It was nice to have Shannon around if you were in hell.

For a moment, Dave almost said as much, but let it pass. The look his uncle had was not a good one.

The sun had set and it was quickly getting dark when Kaava met them on the path.

“Just ahead,” he whispered.

“What happened?” Dave asked.

“There’s a castle up there,” Kaava said. “They took him in there. It’s better to just see it.”

They followed Kaava up the trail to the edge of the trees. There was an open stretch that had once been a river, but was now dried. The wide rocky river bed went up to the castle wall where the great foundation stones indicated that the castle had once been submerged in the river, obviously in wetter decades.

There were lights coming on in the high windows, but there was no other outward sign of life.

It was a fortress constructed in an old style that was both tall and strong. There was one gate that they could see, but it had no visible guards. Shannon nodded to Dave and glanced up above the wall.

“Three,” he told his nephew, offering a little lesson on spotting demon wisps. Part of the lesson was where, and when, to look for them. Dave had been taught how to see them as a child, but now he was learning when to look.

“Any other way in?” Dave asked Kaava, feeling a little uneasy with that power he saw up there.

“Nothing you or I could use. Salma might have, but not us.”

“What do we do then?” Dave asked.

“Light the forest on fire,” Kelly offered. She looked at Dave and Kaava’s skeptical looks. “It’s a good tactic. It’s been used before and it worked. I’ve seen it.”

“That might work,” Shannon said softly, not needing the explanation. He looked over at her. “Can you do it?”

“With this, I think so.” She pattered her sword. “If not, the flint and steel can. It might take awhile, but yes.”

“She and I could do it. That would speed it up. And I won’t use flint and steel, but Orcan magics,” Kaava said with a smile. “It won’t take long. Just… let’s get a plan to meet some place,” he offered. “Down the old river, maybe?”

“No, everything chased out of the fire would go down the riverbed,” Kelly said. “What about if we met westward? We could just cut due west and out of this damned forest.”

“Cute,” Dave said, at the pun on the name.

“What’s on the far side of the castle?” Shannon asked Kaava.

“The river split to form an island fortress, so the other side looks a lot like this one. On the other side, however, a mountain rises up right up from the river. There is a stream that runs down to river, so the other side of the island has a deeper section of river.”

“How big is the stream?”

“About four feet wide and two deep.”

“Gravel or mud?”

“Solid stone as far as I could tell.”

“Go up that. We’ll meet someplace up there.”

“How big of a fire do you want?” Kelly asked.

“Fire is fire; burn the whole thing down if you want,” Shannon said.

She smiled a wicked little grin.

They moved back to the deeper shelter of the trees. While Kaava and Kelly headed eastward off the trail, Shannon and Dave circled west down to the river bank and waited in the dark. They crouched shoulder to shoulder under the forest boughs that rattled with dead leaves on a chilly night breeze and waited for the fires to start.

“What do you think about Oirion and Tavia?” Dave whispered, pulling his cloak tighter to keep warm. He wished he had on his fur poncho that the orcs had given him.

“They are both adults,” Shannon whispered back.

“Yeah, but he’s a priest,” Dave said. “He’s vowed.”

Shannon gave him a flat look. “That doesn’t impress me much,” Shannon shrugged. “If you make a vow on false pretenses, then you do not make a real vow. He was lied to, and he vowed to the lie and the idea behind the lie. The idea is a fantasy and the lies void his obligations.”

They sat for awhile longer, waiting.

“Are they alright? Can you tell?” Dave asked of the two who had slipped off into the dark.

“They are fine.”

“Shannon,” Dave said softly. “Do you know if my father ever made it to shore for certain? I mean, did he die in that grass.”

“He is fine.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“Then, where is he?”

“South and west.”

“He’s fine?”

Dave was quiet a bit before he had to ask again.

“You really wouldn’t mind if Oirion and Tavia were together?”

“I think you and the others put far too much on their relationship,” Shannon said.

“But…” Dave started again.

Shannon looked over at him flatly, telling him to be quiet and stay alert. David nodded and paid closer attention.

The fire to the east started not too much longer after that. The wind seemed to catch it just right so it grew and began to spread at once. It took to the dry leaves and slender branches. Soon, it roared up and across the canopy. Cries were heard from the castle and the gates swung open. Shannon drew his black cloak around himself, put the hood up over his head and got up. Dave followed as they walked out onto the gravel. They took one step at a time through the exposed darkness. The fire roared up and grew bigger and brighter with every minute. It lit the sky and gave enough light that, before long, they were hardly hidden at all. Yet, Shannon moved one step at a time. Dave realized it was not from mere eyes they were hiding, but the demons on the wall top. He followed close and just as slow.

There were men and orcs, goblins and trolls pouring out the castle to deal with the fire. Magic was used to try to smother it, but the wildness of the local energies countered the magic, making a sort of billowing effect that spread the fire even farther. It gusted back and forth until, with a blast of heat and a boom, it exploded out over the tree tops catching several thousand trees on fire at once.

Dave caught his breath and flinched back. He was surprised when Shannon flinched down and away from it. Shannon stood, catching his breath, his back to the fire. It was a moment before he turned and looked back to the gate.

Dave’s heart was in his throat as they climbed up the bank of the river to the foot of the wall. The gates stood open with creatures racing out. Shannon led the way right to the edge of the gate and waited. His eyes focused upward toward the gate top where the demonic guards remained perfectly still. He touched Dave’s arm softly in the way he had when Dave was young, to let him inside his shield. It was just enough for Dave to see what Shannon was doing and how he did it.

Dave watched as Shannon drew power up out of his core, a rare form of magic for Shannon. That was wizardry and it always made Shannon tired and irritable. He held it until it reached a higher level than Dave had ever seen. He watched as Shannon cast it, in one move, into a ward of glowing white power. He kept it hidden in his shield until the ward was fully set, then he let a hint of power escape his shields. The three wisps were on them at once. Shannon grabbed each with a rope of magic, snatching them out of the air. He pulled them toward him as he revealed the ward, shifting it to the skin of the shield. They hit the shield and the ward at the same time.

As the demons hit it, faster than they realized they had been caught, they were burned up. It was quick and left no mark. To Dave, it seemed that their energy had to have been absorbed by Shannon. It alerted no one at all to the fact that the three were attacked, let alone defeated. Dave knew he would never forget the ward he had seen, and if he had to, he would be able to repeat the spell, recalling every detail. That was the greatest gift Shannon gave him. It was the only way he, or his father, had mastered the powers they had with so little training.

“Stupidity,” Shannon whispered, as clouds began to move in quickly, brought in on a cold wind. Lightning cracked in it. Before long, they could hear thunder and in just a few more breaths, it was over them. The rain cut down, but it was going to take a lot more than a mere burst of rain to put the fire out. For one moment the fire seemed to fall back, but the rain did nothing but make smoke boil and roll off the forest. The rain became thick with ash, coating everything in streaking ashen mud. Lightning cracked, creating an instant of illumination. Dave could see that Shannon was already on the move, heading toward the gate. The power that was rushing and tangling in response to the conflicting energies wiped out all the spells around them, so even if someone scanned for them, they would remain invisible.

Dave darted after Shannon and then they were inside the gate.

The yard was a paved hundred-foot square with walls that rose up, towering above them, giving the yard a pit-like feeling. Windows, tall and narrow, ran up and down the walls. Most were dark holes with flickers of motion hinting of unknown creatures darting past. A few were lit, but they were so high that nothing in them was visible from the ground.

“Now where?’

Shannon didn’t even have to think about it. The smells of blood and pain in here were incredible. It seemed at every turn in this little adventure, he was being further and further tormented. He still had not even recovered from the intake of the mere drop of Riven’s blood that he had taken from the battle site. Now he was all but swimming in blood. He wasn’t sure what he had done to make God hate him so much, but it was days like this that he was sure that He did. The buzzing in his head was growing into a roaring thunder that never seemed to go away.

“Absolutely barbaric,” he half-snarled. His stomach rolled and his eyes began to burn. The leftover energies here were enough to destroy the place. He led the way in through a side door, sending a blast at the man that was just coming out. The man hit the back wall and slid down it, leaving a bloody smear on the wall. David was chilled at times, by both Shannon and how death was so casual to him. Shannon dealt it without so much as a flinch.

Inside, Shannon looked around and chose a hallway as if he knew the place and was just deciding which way would be fastest. Dave kept close as they went through the dark halls. The smell, the heat, and the taste of the air got worse as they went. It made Dave feel sick. He had to wonder what sort of effect this would have on a priest.

Shannon picked up his pace as they began to descend. He took stairs two at a time and ran down the hallway that was at the bottom. He hit a warded door, shattering it without even slowing down.

Dave ran after him, catching up just in time to see him drop a troll that had stood guard over the next door. There were three others already dead in the hall. Dave had seen Shannon fight before, but there was something different about how he was moving now. There was a sort of unguarded, swift efficiency to it. They entered a room that was unlike anything Dave had ever seen or imagined.

The place was full of gleaming tools upon tables, and shelves where there were jars of pickled body parts. There were several dead bodies hanging from hooks from the ceiling, cut up in different ways. There were charts on the wall of different races’ anatomy, and on the far wall were tables that stood slanted upward, like easels designed to hold captives. On one, was Riven.

He had been stripped of the upper half of his clothes, and stretched out by chains on his wrists and ankles.. He was bleeding from slashes across his hairy torso. A man holding a small bladed tool was standing over Riven, while several others stood watching. Shannon threw a blast at him. The man didn’t even stagger. He just crumpled to the ground, his body crushed.

“It’s about God-damn time!” Riven roared in Dwarven.

The other men in the room turned on Shannon.

“Get him out of here,” Shannon said to Dave. He pulled Riven’s axe from the back of his belt where he had been carrying it and tossed it to Dave. Dave circled around to get at Riven, who was already struggling to get free. With a Dwarven yell, he tore his fist through the cuff, ripping his hand, but setting it free. He punched the other cuff, shattering it.

Wrists free, he slid to the floor and sent a blast of power at the men who had gone to fight Shannon. The men caught on fire, but they quickly put out the flames that had momentarily engulfed them.

Echoes of footsteps could be heard as more enemies charged down the hallway toward the room and began to filter in through the doorway.

The cleric in Riven rushed up, and his training would prove to help them all. He swung his arms around, gathering the power of the blood and emotional stain in the room. He spun it around him, burning it with holy fire. White, roaring flames whirled around him, driving back his attackers and distracting them enough for Dave to focus his attack on a vampire that was moving swiftly toward Riven.

Dave lunged forward and leapt into the air, bringing his sword down with both hands, slashing into the vampire. The body dropped and slid a few feet, but the momentum of the head caused it to roll across the floor, coming to rest at Riven’s feet.

Dave swung his sword again, using it as he’d seen his father do once – to outline a shield, focusing and directing his magic despite the battle about him. A newly arrived vampire came straight at Dave and hurled an orb of crackling, black energy at him. The power of the attack hit the magical shield, but the shield held. The orb ricocheted off of it. The power hit the wall, causing slivers of rock to explode outward and shower over them.

Shannon and six others were locked in a battle of magic that exploded, rocked, and showered them all in sparks. The sheer release of power in the room was enough to make Dave nauseated and light-headed. He barely had time to pull the axe from his belt and toss it to Riven before he had to turn back to fight the men who were coming in.

“It’s a god-damn warren!” Dave yelled. His shield was hit again, even as his own blast of power hit his attacker, staggering him back. Riven roared and swung his axe, striking between his still cuffed feet. The axe sent out a blast of power that shattered the cuffs, setting him fully free.

“Go!” Shannon ordered. The two looked at each other and dove under the table between them and the door. They came up on the other side with a yell, raising shields that sent waves of power back at the men attacking them from the doorway. The men were forced back by the waves of power as Riven and Dave charged towards them. The men were dazed and easily decapitated as Riven and Dave each took a head off on the way out the door.

They were met in the hall by an abnormally large troll. He was screaming at them and very dramatically swinging a massive club. Dave yelled back at the troll, swung his sword around in the same melodramatic manner to distract the big fellow while he readied his own attack. He channeled magical energy into the swinging motion of his sword, creating a spiral of power and hurling it toward the troll. The energy hit the troll and exploded with power. The creature burst into flames, but it ran at them, not away from them. They both ran back into the room, needing enough space to swing their weapons to kill the giant troll as it charged toward them.

“Get out of here!” Shannon yelled this time.

“We’re trying!” Riven yelled back. A goblin lunged at him from the doorway, blocking the path of the fiery troll. Dave slammed into the goblin staggering it aside as he drove his sword into it. Riven quickly swung his axe, chopping the goblin’s head off. He ducked under the thing’s swinging arms and ran out the door. The headless body jerked around and stumbled back out into the hallway without its head. Dave followed them, surprised at how fast this stocky short-legged man could move.

In the hallway, the troll was still on fire and still swinging around his massive club, which was now a flaming tree trunk. The fiery spectacle was enough to keep other attackers at bay for a few moments as the creature attacked Dave and Riven with its final move. The troll charged forward with a death cry, using its last breath in a suicide attack. The fire from its spinning, flaming club created a fiery vortex.

Careful to avoid the fire, Riven attacked the troll. He charged forward at first, but then to the side. Leaping up to the wall and pushing off with a strong jump, Riven reached the head of the huge creature with his axe. The axe cut through its neck at the base of the skull, sending the head flying down at another target. The flaming skull, still screaming its death cry, shot into a smaller goblin, hitting it right in the gut and sending it flying backward.

Riven dispatched the rest of the attackers in the hall with incredible ease, allowing himself and Dave to make it out to the yard. They only had to backtrack twice, trying different routes as Dave retraced his way out.

They raced across the yard toward the gates. Halfway across the yard, now lit by the raging forest fire, the gates swung shut and closed with a boom.

Below them, there was a second boom that shook the whole place. They could hear and feel stones settle as the castle vibrated.

“Good God,” Dave breathed.

“Ah, hell,” Riven swore, as a small army turned to face them.

Dave swung his sword around to loosen his shoulders, then drove it back into its sheath, cursing in various languages and with such colorfulness as only a pirate could. He reached to the nearest River of Power and took it in his hands. As Shannon had taught him, he cleared his mind of everything. Forgetting about the dwarf and not thinking about his impending death at the hands of this army of soldiers and creatures, he focused on the task at hand. He drew the power through himself and told it what to do.

As the power began to build, he grit his teeth and held on even past the point when he felt like it was going to make him explode. With full concentration, he thrust his arms out with his palms toward the gate. He braced himself, but even so, the force of the massive energy blast drove him back so hard he almost fell.

The gates groaned but held. He redoubled his efforts and increased the blast wave to more than twice the size. The gate shuddered and began to vibrate. The goblins and trolls in the yard shrieked, cringing down. Their effort was for nothing as the gates exploded outward in a billion slivers of wood and magical energy. The fragments shot out with such force that they buried themselves in the cringing horde, both inside and outside the gate. Smoke from the forest fire rolled in and created a scene that added to their panic. The creatures fled and fell on each other in their confusion to get away. Dave slumped, exhausted and lightheaded.

“Damn,” Riven said, impressed. “That was… something!”

Dave drew his sword again, took a deep breath, and ran forward to meet the few that stayed to fight. They were almost to the gate when, out of nowhere, a man appeared. He sent chills into them both, as they slid to a stop. Riven toppled backward, landing heavily on the ground. The evil within the man who stood before them made the priest all but numb – like a rabbit under a lion’s paw. Riven’s stomach rolled and he was caught in dry heaves. Dave protectively stepped between the vampire and the priest.

The man was young, handsome, and dressed in red leather draped over with a black cloak. His eyes were red, almost as if they were bloodshot, but they glowed with an eerie radiance. He stood there, calmly waiting for them.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked in a sort of wicked accent. The voice almost whispered at them, telling them where he was from, but it was too old and too elusive. “How very brave and noble to try to protect the cleric.” He smiled, showing his cat-sharp canines. Both Riven and Dave seemed frozen. They couldn’t move. It was as if he was hypnotizing them in some way. The man walked right up to Dave, smiled, and then stepped around to Riven. He grabbed Riven’s beard and pulled the dwarf up to his feet.

He wiped his fingers in the cut that ran across Riven’s chest. The vampire’s eyes half closed as he tasted his fingertips, unable to hide his pleasure at the power in it. Riven tried to move, but he couldn’t. The vampire was breathing a little harder, and his eyes dilated. He was about to move again when, all of a sudden, he was hit with a blast that shot out from behind the two captivated men. The strength of the blast sent the vampire flying back.

In the air, the vampire caught himself and landed softly on his feet. His spell was broken, however, allowing the two men to move again.

“Shield tighter, Riven. Put your all into shields,” Shannon ordered as he came out of the doorway with a long solid stride. Riven obeyed, shaky and ill.

Without saying a word, the vampire attacked Shannon. The dwarf scrambled back, but it was unnecessary. Shannon threw another blast and the vampire was thrown back. The vampire’s attack went wide and hit a wall, exploding it and leaving a gaping hole. As Shannon reached him, they met with swords. Dave was impressed. He had never seen Shannon actually fight before. Not in a situation where he could just stand and watch like this, at least. Both Shannon and the vampire used power in every move. Whoever this vampire was, he was well trained.

They fought with swords, but also with unseen magical attacks that sent showers of sparks exploding on contact. Their shields lit up with explosions of light and color until they were in a nimbus of flashes and sparks of light. It ended suddenly when Shannon hit the man in the chest with a well placed kick, sending him flying back into the wall of the building behind him.

“Go!” Shannon ordered. “Now run!”

The two didn’t wait, running out through the destroyed gate.

Shannon went to the vampire who lay stunned. Shannon jerked off his left-hand glove. He had been bleeding inside the glove from the fiery magic he had been exposed to, and now he was going to use it. Standing over the vampire, Shannon flicked his hand, splattering blood on the face of the man who dared to attack Shannon’s company. It would be the fool’s last mistake.

The vampire lifted his eyes with defiance. He was young and stupid. This would-be master was nothing but a cull, one of the many that men like Oirion would hunt down and kill. Shannon had let the battle play out to allow Riven and Dave time enough to recover and get out. This man was as good as dead – attacking Shannon was death, but first Shannon had a use for him. He needed the vampire’s power, his castle, and he needed to throw the vampire’s zombies at Gerome’s priests who were after them. If he could catch Gerome at his own game, all the better. Shannon had time… he would break and own this man by sun up.

The vampire sneered. “I know who you are. You will not get away with this. You do not scare me, Von Armond. You’re a pathetic fool. You cannot hope to beat me. You, who would risk yourself for a group of peasants. Are you stupid or just sentimental?”

He had gotten up and was ready to attack again. Shannon grabbed him by the face. It took only a moment. The vampire’s eyes rolled as he struggled to breathe through his nose.

“Know me, do you?” Shannon asked. “Then you must know that I do not kill vampires quickly. This is going to be the longest night of your life.”