Emerald Fire

by Kathryn Blade

  Torg motioned toward the opening as he turned to look at the company of men following Loriann. “They stay here, we go there. Only your man can enter with us.”

  Kaegan gave a nod then turned to Ebin. “Stay here, you are in charge of the men. Make camp and post sentries. If we do not return within a day ride hard until you make it through the grove.”

  “Sveth and Drom will stay. Anansi always are close by.” The daervethi leader ducked through the cavernous opening. Loriann and Kaegan dismounted and left the horses in the care of the men left behind then followed close in Torg’s heels.

  The entrance to the cavern was ample. Torg traversed the passage with ease, occasionally allowing Kaegan and Loriann to catch up.

  In several locations, water dripped from the domed ceiling. Water pooled on the rocky floor before draining down the descending pathway. Strange sounds echoed through the passage, the source unknown.

  After a half hour’s walk, they detected a flickering light in the distance. A thriving community beneath the earth opened before them. Passages led in many directions. Both male and female daerveth walked along the paths. Some worked to complete jobs necessary for the daervethi people’s survival.

  “We go here.” A massive finger pointed to a passage on the right. “Modr wants to meet you.” Their guide trudged through the passageway until it opened into an expansive, naturally formed chamber that served as a throne room.

  A throne carved from black obsidian rose from the stone floor. Mammoth tusks formed the backrest. Both Kaegan and Loriann smiled, eyes dancing as she looked at two mammoth tusk chandeliers hanging from the craggy ceiling.

  A daerveth of even more impressive physical stature than Torg sat on the throne. Wooly red hair covered his chest, arms, and legs. A braid hung down the center of his back. Bushy brows nearly obscured piercing blue eyes. “You are Loriann Astus and Kaegan Vaith. The prophecy has spoken of your arrival here. I am Modr, leader of the daerveth.”

  The couple bowed, uncertain of the exact homage to pay the leader. “Your grace,” Loriann said in greeting.

  “Psshh! I am no grace,” Modr replied, “I lead because they chose me. When one comes before me that can take my place I will become as the others. I do not rule. I am a guide and I protect my people.”

  “Thank you for allowing us to enter here,” Kaegan responded. “Your hospitality humbles us.”

  “We should not waste words, Kaegan Vaith. Rumors of war have come on the wings of the githok. You ask for our help to defeat King Cedric. Why should we help you?”

  “King Cedric would kill all who stand in his path. If he is unsuccessful, Willem Jarin will hire assassins to come here. The assassins will kill your women and children, then they will come for you and your men. I would not die at the hand of an assassin, but my child did. I would not wish that fate upon any living thing,” Loriann replied.

  “Hrmm,” the rumbling sound of perception came from Modr’s chest. He gave a nod, then leaned forward to rest his chin in one hand. “You have known great pain, yet you survive, Loriann Astus. My men and the githok tell me you have bridled fire, ice, and other forces we do not understand. The githok know more than we do of the outside world. Our allies are strong here. You would be our ally?”

  “The Duke of Waelcombe is king of the southern holds. He and his men will be your ally. My friends and I will be your ally. We must band together to fight King Cedric and Willem Jarin,” she pronounced.

  Modr threw his venerable head back as a rumbling roar of laughter burst from his lips. The sound echoed in the throne room before traveling into other passageways and rooms. “Then we will be your ally. When will we know if the war has begun?”

  “Send githok to travel with us. One can return to tell you of the war. Now we must prepare and gather more allies.” A smile curved Loriann’s lips as she bowed to Modr. Kaegan followed suit, his hand closing tightly over her own. “Then we defeat King Cedric, Willem Jarin, the king’s guard and every assassin or cutthroat that has joined him.”

  “And defeat them we shall,” Modr and Torg replied in unison.

  Modr continued as he spoke of the daerveth’s love of battle. “Our people have not seen battle in many years. They grow hungry for bloodshed.”

  Loriann and Kaegan emerged from the underground cavern. Torg followed close behind them, the stone club carried across one shoulder.

  Ebin looked up, hopeful that their journey had not been in vain. “Did you do it? Are they going to join us?” Hope filled his voice.

  “Yes, dear Ebin, the daerveth will join us,” Loriann replied as a loud shriek came from overhead. She glanced skyward, rewarded with a glimpse of the wide, leathery wings of several githok propelling them across the sky. “And we have companions for the journey home. Torg, Sveth, Drom...until we meet again on the battlefield.”

  The daervethi trio raised their clubs aloft, clenched fists pounding their hairy chests as their screams of joy reached the sky. “We will see you safely through Walgue Grove,” Torg pronounced with a chuckle. “Anansi are as unpredictable as a blushing bride.”

  Their travels out of the forsaken land passed without incident. The men were eager to reach the safety of Waelcombe Keep after the sights and threats of the daerveth’s land.

  ***

  Chapter 11

  Twisted Fates

  Willem Jarin lay alone in the bed he had once shared with his wife. She had taken to a separate bedchamber after losing their child. Dreams of the events that unfolded that night often troubled his sleep. The twin moons rose high in the midnight sky, twin beams of silver light falling through the windows onto the bed where he lay. Thoughts of revenge often came to his mind, but fear of what new torment Loriann Astus would heap upon him held further action at bay.

  At last, his eyes drooped, sleep beckoning, pulling him deeper in its grasp. A tendril of something foreign danced through his head, jarring him awake. He glanced about the chamber in alarm. He realized his worst fears as the shimmering apparition of Loriann Astus leaned over the bed, emerald eyes flaming.

  She did not speak but her words echoed in his mind. “You have paid the piper, but our war is yet to begin, Willem Jarin. Perhaps you should consider the options.”

  He leapt from bed, grabbing a dagger left lying on the bedside table, slashing wildly at the apparition. “Leave! Leave me in peace!” his screams brought the servants running, knocking at the bedchamber door, asking if all was well.

  “Tsk, tsk! You cannot harm me,” she taunted. “but one day soon, we will do battle, just you and I. Make your choice wisely, Grand Meister. Ice or Fire.”

  The shimmering apparition disappeared before help could arrive. The servants unlocked the door, entering hesitantly to see to the wellbeing of Grand Meister Jarin.

  He stood just to one side of the bed, eyes gleaming with madness, dagger slashing wildly at the air. He refused to sleep for the rest of the night.

  For two weeks Loriann visited nightly. Her visits disturbed Willem’s sleep. She taunted him, always protected by the glimmer, until his sanity slipped away.

  Rumors swirled in the kingdom of Grand Meister Jarin’s madness. Word spread to Waelcombe Keep. The news confirmed they successfully set the first step of their plan in motion.

  ***

  Petyr

  Wailedge Manor sat on a hill overlooking the capital of the Olde World. The white granite walls were in great contrast to the sordid activities taking place within its walls. The house of ill repute catered to the city’s more elite residents including members of the royal court, wealthy residents, or wealthy visitors to the city.

  Petyr Reimfred had patronized Wailedge Manor since his appointment as Grand Seneschal in King Cedric’s court. He lingered in the hot baths, sipping wine as he luxuriated under the expert ministrations of a young male courtesan. Rumors spread about the Grand Seneschal’s predilections. No one dared repeat in public what people whispered in the dark.

  The bath ended as the courtesan escorted Pety
r to a private chamber before pampering the venerable man with scented oils generously rubbed into his skin from head to toe. The courtesan provided a red silk robe for the Grand Seneschal to retire in. He lay among the silk and satin pillows of the canopied bed, blissfully contented after the day of amusement.

  The courtesan provided a delicately carved ivory pipe filled with teziorel. A taper held to the pipe’s bowl lit the fragrant herb as Petyr puffed gently, eyes partially open he basked in the dipsomania it induced. The imported rare herb came from exotic lands. The prized herb was expensive and appreciated for its inebriating effect. A low, sultry laugh burst from Petyr’s lips as he sank deeper into the spicy haze. The courtesan departed, leaving the Grand Seneschal to sleep in the private chamber. It was a ritual repeated several times each week.

  An auroral form appeared in the chamber near the bed. Loriann became visible as the shifting ripples of the glimmer stabilized near the bed. “Petyr, you must wake up,” she murmured.

  The Grand Seneschal lay unmoving, head flung back, arms and legs sprawled upon the pillows. Another whisper came louder than the one before. “You must wake up, Grand Seneschal.”

  An icy spire grew from the bed, ripping through the silk coverlet, jutting upward between Petyr’s legs. The chill brought the man awake, jerking to a sitting position, glancing about drunkenly until his eyes fell upon Loriann’s form within the glimmer.

  “You! What are you doing here?” he cried as he moved away from the icy spire. “Guard!”

  “Petyr, dear sweet Petyr. I wish you had not called for help.”

  Petyr glanced about the room wildly, eyes wide, jowls quivering as he sought help from any avenue. “What do you want of me? I was not responsible for what happened to you in Riverpoint,” fear choked his voice.

  The smile vanished from Loriann’s face at the mention of the fateful events that had occurred in Riverpoint. A fiery tendril of rage grew at the thought of the painful loss there. The event snatched a mother’s joy from her. She fought with the catalyst for a moment. No emotion was visible on her face as the internal struggle continued. With great difficulty, she forced the rage into a hidden corner of her mind.

  “Deliver a message for me, dear Petyr.” The shimmering form of her body came closer to the bed. “Tell them, tell Cedric and Willem, that I am coming for them. They are not long for this world.”

  The pleasant haze left by the smoke of teziorel faded instantly as Loriann vanished from his sight. A cold fist of fear burrowed into the pit of Petyr’s stomach. He knew just how lucky he was to have escaped a face-to-face encounter with Loriann Astus. He feared vengeance was coming swiftly to them all.

  ***

  Waelcombe Keep

  The company’s horses pranced faster, heads bobbing rhythmically, as if showing their understanding of the triumphant return from Vahden. Loriann’s party saw the Duke’s new banners snapping briskly in the stiff breeze, a solitary crimson rose’s stem encircling the dagger’s blade on a solid ebony flag. Waelcombe Keep’s gates stood open, warmly beckoning for the tired travelers to enter. A cheer erupted from the men who had remained behind, fists pumping a passionate salute to the successful mission.

  Kaegan dismounted before handing the reins to an approaching squire, a wide smile greeting Loriann as his hands caught her about the waist to lift her to the ground. “My lady.”

  The new self-crowned king of all southern holds approached, resplendent in black linen breeches, a purple velvet waistcoat, and a white linen shirt. The crown adorning his head very much reflected the banner with the royal shield sitting atop the crown flanked by a gold dagger and a crimson rosebud.

  “Your grace.” Bows from all those standing accompanied the greeting.

  “Welcome! Thank you for your bravery and success in the mission to Vahden. A feast awaits you in the great hall.” King Derek led the way from the courtyard to the great hall.

  The hungry, proud men joined in the celebration. Servants served whole piglets surrounded by roast apples, lamb stew, deviled spiced eggs, pies, cakes, other delicacies. Wine and ale accompanied the meal. Loriann, Kaegan, and Ebin joined Derek at a table sitting on a raised dais at one end of the hall. They dined on similar fare while discussing the mission.

  “The daerveth have joined our cause,” Derek murmured, fingers absently rolling a grape back and forth. “I fear it may not be enough. King Cedric and Willem Jarin prepare their forces in the north.”

  “Should we be concerned?” Kaegan queried, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as he awaited Derek’s response.

  “Cedric has amassed a sizeable fortune, over two thousand men, and as many cutthroats as he can buy. They have size, munitions, and experience on their side.”

  “What can we do?” Ebin wondered aloud.

  “If I may interject, your grace.” Loriann ripped the flesh from a baked chicken leg with an almost feline delicacy. She paused while chewing the tender meat, waiting for Derek to respond.

  “Absolutely, Loriann! You have as much right to speak as any man in this court,” Derek replied.

  “There are potential allies to the south. We could approach them while your men prepare.” She sipped a mug of ale, nose wrinkling in distaste. She had never liked the bitter beverage.

  Derek’s brow furrowed, lips pursed as he considered Loriann’s plan. “The plan has merit, Lady Loriann. We shall speak more tomorrow.” He grinned broadly, “Let us feast tonight!”

  The gathered ensemble of men pounded their fists on the thick oak table, feet stomping in unison, their throaty roar of approval filling the hall.

  Hours later, after the celebration had ended, Kaegan held Loriann’s hand enfolded within the warm grasp of his hand. They walked through the courtyard, enjoying the chill night air after the smoke-tinged warmth of the great hall. A githok perched on the spire of a nearby tower took to the air with powerful beats of leathery wings against the air. The raucous cry split the night’s still air.

  “I don’t know if I will ever become accustomed to those beasts,” he admitted, glancing skyward as several githok circled in the silvery light of the twin full moons.

  “They are different, aren’t they?” Loriann laughed softly at her husband’s reaction to the githok.

  Githoks were a strange featherless animal similar to birds. Their wingspan was as wide as the daerveth were tall. Greyish leathery hide covered their bodies. Large, luminous eyes saw great distances easily in daylight or dark. Their claws were long and curved, as much for grasping a perch as for grasping prey. Their beaks were short and curved with serrated teeth lining the interior of mandible and maxilla. The tip was razor sharp. Rumors spread it was tainted with poison. Mothers used stories of githok carrying naughty children away to encourage their children’s good behavior.

  Their stroll led them up the steps near the front gate then across the wall surrounding the keep. Sentries bowed as they passed, honoring the young couple. Standing on the southern wall, eyes taking in the moonlit horizon, Loriann sighed as she gazed at the beauty of the land.

  “What ails you, Loriann?”

  She glanced at Kaegan, smiled briefly, then stepped into the warm circle of his embrace. “Nothing ails me. I think of what is coming, the preparations we must make, and of those who will not live to see another day when this war begins.”

  “And that is why you differ from Cedric and Willem Jarin. You care for others.” His arms tightened about her briefly as his head lowered, lips pressing a kiss to the sweet silkiness of the ebony locks.

  “I have taken many lives. I fear there will be many more who die by my hand, Kaegan. I hope the gods will forgive me when this war ends.”

  “As do I, my lady. Let us leave the gloom of the night and find the warmth of our chamber.”

  They walked at an unhurried pace. Their steps traversed the length of the wall as they pushed thoughts of the coming war aside. There would be ample time to ponder on things related to the coming battle.

  ***


  Chapter 12

  The Journey South

  “Derek, I would ask that you allow Ebin to travel to Riverpoint to ask for their alliance. If it pleases you, I would ask that a small detachment of men join him.” Loriann waited for Derek’s response. She could not bear the thought of returning to Riverpoint.

  “Ebin, would you be willing to travel to Riverpoint?” Derek asked the young man.

  Ebin grinned broadly, bobbing his head as he spoke, “Yes! I’ll travel to Riverpoint, thank you!” He understood the assignment was a great honor and spoke of the trust and place he had gained at Waelcombe Keep. “I can depart immediately if it pleases you.”

  “Kaegan and I have discussed the need to gain support from Torgough Woods and Stratly Wilds. We will depart today,” Loriann added.

  “By the gods! Stratly Wilds? How will you convince those savages to join our cause?” Derek’s eyes widened as he spoke, brows drawing together at the thoughts of what lay in wait for the couple there.

  Kaegan chuckled, glancing at Loriann with a smile then back to Derek. “You must admit she’s convincing. Even the daerveth joined our cause.”

  “You’re right, Kaegan. A detachment of men will accompany you,” Derek confirmed. “Make sure you take those damnable githok with you, would you?”

  They ate the morning meal while exchanging companionable conversation. They prepared for the coming journeys. Ebin departed first, a broad smile brightening his face as he led the detachment from Waelcombe Keep. Kaegan and Loriann departed an hour later, githok circling overhead, much to the consternation of the men who accompanied them.

  The first river crossing came as they neared Elingrey Run directly to the south of Waelcombe Keep. The wide estuary churned with frothing water. Others knew they could not gauge the river’s depth. Mysterious whirlpools spawned on its surface to suck unfortunate victims beneath the surface, never to be heard from again.