“And where is your home?” he pondered out loud. At the mention of the word ‘home’ the butterfly shot away so fast he couldn’t follow it with his eyes as it disappeared.
Arwhon bent to gaze down on Shiri again, agonised at what had been done to her. She couldn’t be dead. It must not be. As he stood, wracked with anguish, Vehrin’del’s voice spoke inside his head.
“Arwhon, where is Sihron’del?”
He focussed his thoughts, hoping she would hear.
“I need to speak to the oldest Wise One. As soon as possible. Sihron’del’s life hangs in the balance.”
Nothing, for over five precious minutes then the voice of Mahlin’del, the eldest of the Wise Ones, spoke inside his head.
“What is your need, Arwhon?”
“Sihron’del has been out of her body for over three hours. What can I do?”
“Try forcing Power through the stone on her lips. You may be able to wash her life essence through it and back into her body using a wave of Power. It’s all I know to try.”
“Thank you Mahlin’del. I have to be quiet now as I concentrate.”
The presences left his head and he was all alone in the sorrowful room.
Arwhon reached up to release poor Shiri’s lifeless body from the cruel rack. She was cold but a quick look around found him a cloak behind the remains of the screen. Covering her, he stood by her head on her left side and placing his left hand on her forehead and his right hand over her heart as she had taught him, trying to ignore the gaping holes where her nipples used to be and the ugly hole which was once her perfect nose. Arwhon leaned forward and placing his lips on the obsidian stone, directly above hers, started slowly building the amount of Power inside himself but he could not channel it through the stone.
He made a mental plea to whomever or whatever was inside him to help with the process and after a few moments felt a trickle of his Power pass through his lips and into the stone. Not enough, it had to go through the stone. He sucked more Power into himself and started to feel the throb of dangerously high levels of energy but something was starting to work. The Power now flowed down through the stone and into Sihron’del, hopefully dragging her life essence with it but there was still no response from her. Arwhon exerted greater concentration, straining and his own lips warmed as he felt the first tingle of Firemagic. The air about him was swirling with streamers of silver as he pushed even harder before finally feeling a timorous flutter under his right hand. The start of a breath? He changed position and felt for the energy flow of life in Sihron’del’s body. It was very faint but it was there.
He knew the next step. Shiri had shown him.
Harmonise with the flow from head to heart and add Power to it. Slowly. He did, tiny increments at a time and the breathing grew a little deeper and the heart beat a little stronger. A flutter from Shiri’s heart. Too fast, slow the Power down to a trickle, feed the energy in incrementally. A groan escaped Shiri’s lips and her eyelids fluttered open. Arwhon nearly cried out when he saw what they had done to her. Her once beautiful amethyst eyes, bloodied, burnt and ravaged. He drew breath and spoke quietly.
“Shiri, it’s me, Arwhon. I’ve come to take you home. Can you understand?”
She nodded and groaned again. Her heart was beating strongly and she was breathing well but what could he do to help her? The realisation hit him like a runaway horse. He had heard Shiri recite the healing spell a hundred times as she loaded healing into the pearls of Kuiran’s healing belt. He could recite the healing spell, as long as the headache which accompanied his attempt at spell recital did not floor him. Arwhon concentrated, thinking hard, addressing whatever or whoever was within his mind, in the strongest possible terms.
‘I’m going to sing a healing spell. You can help but please do not block me. This is very important. If you refuse me, I’ll never forgive or forget.’
He began singing the healing spell as he held Power against Shiri’s body. She turned her head toward him as he sang, unable to see but aware he was trying a spell she recognised. It was not an easy spell but Arwhon had heard it a hundred times before. It had to work but it didn’t, it was an Earthmagic spell. A headache started to build as Arwhon doggedly continued on but the fire sprites once more appeared to him and danced, pointing at Shiri. Use Firemagic they seemed to be saying. He tried but nothing happened. The fire sprites started ducking and weaving through the air at great speed, too fast to see but as he watched, the flame of their passage lingered in his residual vision and Arwhon could make out words formed by their gyrations. He mouthed those words, having nothing to lose. A rush of Firemagic left him and he watched in amazement as the raw wounds across Shiri’s body healed almost instantly. Parts that had been removed didn’t grow back but what was left was healthy tissue and almost immediately, Shiri sat up.
“I feel much better but I can’t see. What have they done to me Arwhon?”
“Don’t worry Shiri, Martine and the Dark Mage are both dead. Whatever has been done to you can be fixed. I promise. You have my word on it. I want you to trust me. Martine has tortured your body but your mind is still your own. Try to keep your thoughts on more pleasant times. Rancid is outside, he’s missed you so much, as did I. Also outside is Krissi, who followed the drakon when you were taken. She returned to Belvedere to lead me to you. The war is over and I’m taking you home. First though, I have to get you washed and into your armour.”
Arwhon helped Shiri off the rack and wrapped the robe around her as he cast about for her armour. It wasn’t there. Just then an anxious voice burst into his head. Vehrin’del.
“Does Shiri live? Have you managed to transfer her life back into her? Talk to me Arhon’dal.”
Arwhon paused for a moment, one hand on Shiri in reassurance and thought back at Vehrin’del.
“Shiri lives but is somewhat damaged. Her mind is fine and I managed a spell of Firemagic to heal her. I’ll bring her back to the Darkwood immediately.”
Arwhon felt the palpable relief through the bond as Vehrin’del left his mind. He led Shiri out of the room and along the passageways until they could climb upward once more. He cradled Shiri’s once broken hand in his left one to guide her, while his right hand held his sword out in front of them. On the ground floor there were many servants and other people running around in great agitation. He let Shiri go for a moment and stopped one by grabbing an arm. The servant recoiled, cowering from the intense young man with the strange green eyes.
“Where is the Chamberlain?”
“In the Throne room, let me go please. I haven’t done anything!”
Arwhon led Shiri on, her arm supported in the crook of his elbow. Shortly they walked through the large doors of the Throne room, Arwhon guiding Shiri, dressed in her cloak. He was confronted by a guard with a drawn sword. Arwhon could have killed him easily but he didn’t have to. A familiar voice ordered.
“Let him pass.”
The Chamberlain stood in front of the throne gazing at the wizened body sitting on it, dry and mummified.
“I hoped there would be something you could do to help Debrishar but never in my wildest dreams did I believe you could defeat the Dark Mage and Martine both.”
“The war mongering must stop Agmar. There’s no need for it.”
The thrumming in Arwhon’s head started again. Not painful now but associated with something he had come to realise was a shadowy presence within himself, incomplete but wise beyond years. Now more familiar with it, he was unhurried, waiting as the idea formed, before again speaking to Agmar.
“Can you administer this country for a couple of months? The Barsoomi Princess would make a good Queen for you. She’s smart and brave and an alliance with Barsoom is guaranteed. She’d likely see a marriage to one of your better nobles as a fortuitous match. What think you Agmar? Is that a good plan? Would it work?”
The wily old Chamberlain regarded Arwhon speculatively for a moment or two before replying.
“No wonder Martine was so in
trigued by you. Yes, it’s an excellent plan and of course the Barsoomi heir will need an experienced Chamberlain, such as myself, to help her rule.”
Arwhon nodded in agreement, the Ring confirming the Truth of the Chamberlain’s words while the fact he dearly loved Debrishar shone through all of his speech.
“For the first order of your Regency I need to find a bath for Shiri and some clothes for her, also her green armour. Then we must leave, I have to get her home. Oh, by the way, I was forced to deal with a villainous fair-haired woman in the dungeons. She will trouble no one again.”
The Chamberlain shivered and quickly showed Arwhon the way to Martine’s apartments via the concealed door behind the throne. There, Arwhon chose some soft comfortable clothes for Shiri to wear under her green armour which he found in an adjoining apartment. The bathing area wasn’t far away and hot water was immediately brought to fill a bath. Arwhon bathed Shiri tenderly and dried her gently before helping her ease her battered body into the clothing and her familiar armour.
Shiri was tiring but Arwhon carefully sat her on a seat to rest and wait for a short while so he could also bathe after his long travels and recent spell dealing. It was when he pulled his chainmail off that he found a hole burned through the underlying padding, directly over his heart. Beneath it, the little flat plate Chalc’s Teacher had given him. The same plate which Shiri had stitched into a pocket in his undershirt. It now glowed with a light of its own. Arwhon took it out and opened it, rereading the lines now inscribed on it in light, before closing the plate and tucking it back into the pocket. Shiri had been correct and her astuteness had probably saved his life and indirectly, hers.
Arwhon lowered himself into the now rapidly cooling bath, sword handy, and quickly washed himself down and rinsed before stepping out to dry himself and don his clothes and protective armoury. Leading Shiri again, Arwhon observed that dressed in her armour and helm, Shiri’s disfigurements were no longer obvious. Remarkably too, after all she had endured, she seemed almost cheerful. From Martine’s apartment, Arwhon led Shiri back into the Throne room where he found trays of food laid out for them.
Three Debrishar Army Captains stood to attention as he entered from behind the Throne with Sihron’del in tow. He was wary of them and released Shiri’s arm in case he needed to protect them both.
“How can I help you gentlemen?” he enquired.
One spoke after referring to the other two.
“I believe I speak for the Army. The Chamberlain summoned us. We are told you slew the Dark Mage and afterward Martine immediately aged and died.”
Arwhon pointed to the mummy, still remaining upright on the throne.
“There’s your Empress Martine. She has finally reached her hundred plus years, albeit suddenly. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“Give us a little guidance as to what is happening in the world, so we may know how to proceed in our duties,” their spokesperson requested.
Arwhon took a moment to sit Shiri at the table, remove her helm and place her healed but abbreviated fingers among the foods she might gather more easily. His tender ministrations done, he turned back to the Captains.
“The war is over. There is no more Dominion. Belvedere was freed when I left it and King Daveed of the Barsoom was hopefully taking Graswyn. Debrishar can be a free country now and the Dominion can sink into history. Conflict and troublemaking have no rightful place in anyone’s lives. I’ve discussed arrangements for a new Queen of Debrishar, the Barsoomi Princess, with the Chamberlain and he is in agreement with me. She would be ideal for this country and I would like you gentlemen to participate in keeping the peace in Debrishar until she mounts the Throne and hopefully, for long after that.”
At this, Arwhon saw in the Captain’s faces a dropping away of uncertainty, approval its replacement. He was about to turn back to Shiri when he remembered something and spoke again.
“Only one other thing of importance. Get those brave soldiers down from those damn stakes and give them a decent burial. They never deserved to die. I was the one who received their surrender in Tarkent and sent them home. Their trust has been betrayed. Is that acceptable to you all?”
All three clattered to attention and saluted in unison.
“Yes Sir.”
The Ring on Arwhon’s finger did not warn him of lies or duplicity from the three Captains and he breathed easier knowing that Agmar had some good men to back up his stewardship of Debrishar. At least until Arwhon could set wheels in motion to install the Barsoomi Princess as their Queen.
“Good. Now would one of you send someone to find a small tent for me? Shiri and I must leave soon and we’ll need one for our journey home. By the way, don’t let anyone near the gryffon, she may be hungry.”
The Captains left and half an hour later, after the meal, so did Arwhon and Shiri. Rancid was so delighted to see Shiri it was a shame she couldn’t see him and Arwhon felt deep heartache as he helped Shiri mount and collect up the reins of the mule. Shiri was amazingly stoic about being blind and maimed and Arwhon knew if the positions were reversed he would most likely be crazed by now. His admiration was boundless. She truly was a M’Herindar Princess.
As they rode down the Imperial Way, the dead soldiers’ bodies were already being cut down and taken away and Arwhon was relieved Shiri did not have to see this further example of Mans’ inhumanity to Man as they passed by.
No one spotted the diminutive figure in the black cloak with the deep cowl, hidden in a shadowed doorway. It was smiling as it watched Arwhon and Shiri ride past.
11. The Ending of the Beginning.
Leaving Goristoum was a relief for Arwhon, he’d finally broken the Dominion and destroyed the Dark Mage, resulting in the death of Empress Martine. Against the odds, he’d also managed to rescue his one true love, Sihron’del, from the clutches of death. Although it was late in the afternoon, Arwhon had no desire to stay overnight in Debrishar, as the atmosphere in the palace was poisoned. He supposed it would clear in time once those loyal to the idea of a Dominion were ferreted out and dealt with by Agmar and his loyal Captains.
Now it was evening and their tent was pitched in a beautiful, natural clearing beside a small stream running through open woodland. Krissi was off hunting while Duran and Rancid grazed calmly among the trees. Stars started to twinkle in the sky as the last light of the sun faded in the west. Shiri sat quietly by the fire, hands held out to its warmth as Arwhon turned the spit holding the rabbit Krissi had brought them. Shiri had taken of her helm, exposing the mutilation to her face which Arwhon knew he must now grow accustomed to for a while, as the Darkwood was a few weeks ride away.
“I’m sorry to hurry you out of Goristoum,” Arwhon apologised. “Especially after all you’ve been through, but I thought we would all be better off away from the place.”
Shiri lifted her head to the sound of his voice, dark eye sockets staring blindly at him.
“I’m feeling exhausted, in spite of the Power you’ve supplied me with but I’m glad you took me away from there Arwhon, Goristoum smelt of death and I could not have remained there any longer.”
Arwhon was amazed at Shiri’s calmness in the face of all she’d suffered through but later, after they’d turned in, he was to find that the weeks of torture had left their mark. Within half an hour of curling up together in the little tent, Shiri awoke; flailing and screaming in the dark. His heart was torn as he attempted to comfort her, stroking her brow and speaking soft reassuring words. Eventually Shiri went back to sleep, only to wake again and again throughout the night. He tried to help her deal with the nightmares invading her sleep and toward morning she slowly improved but only a little. With the advent of daylight, greeted by birdsong, Shiri was much better, shrugging off the terror of the night and seeming much more like her old self.
Each day as they rode, Krissi bounding along with them, Arwhon described to Shiri the changes in the land they travelled through. The days were fine but the nights were arduous. Shiri was tir
ing because of the interruptions to her sleep. Each night she woke many times, screaming and Arwhon’s comforting lasted only until the next onslaught of terror. Power helped but could not replace the mental wellbeing of sleep and Shiri began to fade. It was hard to describe the fading but Arwhon reckoned in another two or three months, he would find only a wraith of the former Shiri. The trees eventually thinned and gradually disappeared to be replaced by grass on the Debrishar side of the border with Barsoom. Shiri raised her head and quested with her nose.
“I smell old burning,” she commented. “We must be near the Barsoomi Plains.”
Arwhon nodded then realised his error and replied.
“We are Shiri, although I can’t see the burnt part yet. Its here we turn to the north west and travel toward the border with The Broken Lands. I need to see the Barsoomi Queen on our way to the Darkwood.”
Arwhon turned Duran northwards, to find the border and the Barsoomi Royal encampment. Rancid followed Duran willingly. They eventually came across the depleted Green River camp and were greeted warmly by Green River Riders trotting out to meet them. It was only as the Riders drew close to them that they saw the disfigurement of Sihron’del’s features. What had been done to Sihron’del shocked the normally tough Barsoomi but they had tact enough to say nothing of it. The Riders led them back to the camp to be fed and get some rest.
Arwhon spent a day with the Green River Tribe, relating the good news and then the details of various encounters. Throughout he downplayed his own role and extolled the bravery of those who had given of themselves to the various conflicts. Too soon the day was over but that evening the Green River Seeress took Arwhon to one side and handed him a pouch of herbs.
“Make sure Sihron’del receives an infusion of these herbs each evening before you lie down to sleep. It will help.”
The Fall of Belvedere Page 35