Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  “I will not yield! Always my counsel is passed over to this so-called superior judgment! I have born this indignation all these years, always to be passed over! I will not desert my brothers and sisters in their final hour, not while I breathe!”

  “If you have any honour, you will do this!” the Master of Lore shouted in return.

  “No! I will have no more of this! Wisdom? I call it the delusions of the elderly! I denounce Aerluin, for She is of no use to me! I curse Her! Now, cease your doddering here and dry up inside your chamber, old man, till your end comes, for it shall be my blood upon these stones! Be gone before I slay you myself!”

  Greil’s face grew dark, and his deep brown eyes faded to black. He thrust a gnarled hand high over his head and spoke arcane words of power. Tey’ur had anticipated this possible action and moved to react but felt himself lifted from the ground with a great gust of wind, completely immobile against the air pressure. The Master of Arcane Lore spoke in a haunting voice which penetrated the sounds of battle below them. “I warned you, fool. Now you have incurred the wrath of the divine. Be gone from this land, and do not return! I bind you to this fate!” Greil’s other hand weaved intricately through the air and then slammed upon the breastplate over Tey’ur’s heart, shattering the metal completely into tiny shards. Tey’ur screamed out in agony as bits of metal pierced through his chest. Greil’s hand flashed in fluid movements, rapidly tracing glyphs over the warrior’s exposed flesh and uttered the final sealing lexis. Tey’ur growled and writhed in anger as the red hot glyphs seared his skin. “You are banished from the Halls! Now meet your fate below!” Greil shouted and thrust Tey’ur over the brink with a blast of wind.

  Tumbling from the high wall Tey’ur howled out in fury. He collided with the earth harshly and his mind flashed black briefly, bones snapping asunder. He stood up groggily and turned his face, hot in wrath, to the high wall where Greil stood. There was a look of triumph upon the old magi’s face. A sudden urge swept over him as a great wave. It was compelling him, driving him from where he stood. It took all of his determination and will to stand still and resist the compulsion to leave. Tey’ur felt his resolve slipping. Soon he would be unable to resist turning from his beloved home. The banished Warmaster raised a hand in defiance.

  “I am not a traitor to these Halls, despite your seal! Hear me, old fool! You cannot strip my honour so easily from me! I will leave, and you shall have this misguided rabble to command and their deaths shall be upon your head! I will begin anew; there will be a force that will shake these lands and live up to the ideals of the true Order. I curse all of you, and may Aerluin descend to the darkest pits!” Tey’ur was screaming out at the end of his tirade, his voice hoarse and broken. The die was cast, for he had invoked the Dark Lady’s name profanely, which utterance carried the harsh penalty of death. Not one had survived after completing such an oath.

  From the tumult, an enemy warrior suddenly rushed forward upon the banished Master, her war cry high and shrill. Tey’ur whirled about and shattered the sword with a savage fist as it cut through the air. The shards from the sword blew apart, one piece slicing through the skin of Tey’ur’s face. The dumbfounded enemy hesitated and watched helpless as Tey’ur, roaring as a lion, pounded her body with three terrible successive blows. She fell to the ground lifeless. Screaming out in fury, his body coursing with adrenaline, the grizzled veteran slammed a defiant fist harshly into the walls of the Order. His heart rocked with pain as the glyph stung him for disobedience to the seal. The stone gave way to the blow, splintering and cracking for many feet in spidery threads. He released his hand from the wall, and collapsed to a knee, breathing harshly as his chest burned. With a final glance upward, Tey’ur - banished of the Order of the Open Hand - turned and began to fight a path through blood and fire to freedom.

  The wind blew his grey hair lazily around his reminiscent eyes. The pain still echoed within his heart, after all these years. His hand went to the ancient glyph markings upon his chest. Slowly he undid the catches on his leather vest and spread his shirt apart. The seal of the ancients. It was a mark he carried like an unseen burden. Indeed, it was unseen, for he had shown it to no one except Menhol after receiving a vicious wound years ago. His friend still maintained that trust. So many emotions now ran through his mind.

  He had never let himself relive the past so vividly. Always he would throw himself into a project or distraction, whenever he would feel the past creeping back like a Hyrlacian savage. Perhaps that is why Corbin felt that his leadership was misguided. He would often seek any vain pursuit to cleanse his memory of blood. His noble intentions were a weak façade, covering the sufferings of an aging remembrance. How he had wasted his years away. Truly, Aerluin had withdrawn her blessings as he had withdrawn from her. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the warrior began to weep. He tried to enforce the old disciplines, but the feelings were coming hard and tumultuous. The past was so near the surface and after reliving the moments upon the wall he could not refrain.

  “Mother, have I been forgotten?” he cried out in despair to the night sky, to the land. She was said to reside within the earth. His fingers gripped the cold hard dirt in desperation, as if to somehow strengthen the petition. “Please, I have suffered for so long … will I ever find peace? Please, have mercy …” His voice came ragged, as he felt his cold demeanour slip away. He felt as a newborn, pleading in need to a giving mother.

  Suddenly, within his heart he felt a strange warmth. Growing slowly at first, it was so profound that Tey’ur stopped his lamentations and gasped in astonishment. Something was stirring within his body. There were only feelings and impressions, yet they were as real as the dirt beneath his hands. They seemed to speak, and he fought to decipher the meaning.

  Tey’ur …

  The old Master searched within himself for the strength to understand the subtle whispers. They were like a melody settling into a haunting echo within his soul. They flowed and ebbed within an ancient and mysterious chord and seemed to form into words easily understood.

  The time for needless mourning is past

  Your faith has returned to me at last

  You may rest your mind upon this night

  As you are always kept within my sight

  You were preserved to live on until

  Your duty to me you could fulfill

  An infesting evil has long escaped my view

  Finding its source is my task for you

  Faith, courage, and honour my son

  Your final battle has yet to come

  I release you from the seal of old

  Unseat this dark servant and his hold

  Tey’ur felt a slight tingling sensation even as he took the words to heart. Suddenly, his whole body felt charged with a strange energy, pure and invigorating. It was strange because he had not felt it in so long. He looked down upon his chest; the moonlight shone a pale hue across the smooth, unetched skin. Tey’ur felt the area where the glyph had resided only moments ago, next to the birthright token of House H’vail over his heart. He looked to the heavens and leaned back upon the ground.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked softly.

  The response came even quieter, fading until it was nearly indecipherable. The old Lord grasped to catch every failing word.

  Be strong and true to the old ideal

  Let your heart be open again to feel

  The one you hunt is in my care and aid

  He is one of the Stalwart who has strayed

  Bring him to where the boundaries fade

  Where unity of the Dark Ones is made

  Past the shadows which writhe and consume

  He will find comfort in the embrace of the Womb

  The thoughts faded and the whispers ceased.

  Within his mind, the Master of Arms sensed the urgency of the call. A great swelling filled his heart - it was a renewal of life and sense of purpose. Time was precious and he needed to act soon. Arising more swiftly than he had in ages, he sc
anned the land eagerly. He needed to find Tohm fast. He steeled his resolve and breathed in the night air. He had not felt so alive in years, even decades. He found the prey’s tracks and thanked Llian for the heaven’s light. Quietly and swiftly, he sped off into the night.

  “There. Do you sense it? Feel the song within the weave. That is Her song. She sings it even now though there is no ear that could discern it. Only now, in the peaceable moments, is it possible. Do you feel Her sorrow? Do not forbid your tears; they are justly meted. Her agony, it is as a mother crying out for her lost babe.”

  Meryn - Imbertor: Master of Deep, Dark, and Rift

  Refinement of the Root

  Tohming the Beast

  TOHM FELT LIKE he was one with the stars upon the hill. They were dazzlingly bright and surrounded him like a mystical blanket. He lay within the astral cradle of Llian. In the absence of the moon’s brilliance they shared a comforting warmth he had scarcely felt before.

  He gazed around and became almost disorientated. Such was the powerful impressions of the heavens.

  Tohm had run all night. The beast had elected to escape from the larger and more capable opponent. Tey’ur was an accomplished hunter and harrowed up Tohm’s way so effectively that he was utterly fatigued. It was not that Tey’ur was as swift as Tohm upon the ground, rather it was the smell of the warrior that filled his nostrils incessantly. The sensation was strange, always waiting for it, anticipating in fear. He would move to safety only to find the need to move again. He had never even seen the warrior since the initial encounter; it was the scent that hunted him. That scent had completely consumed Tohm’s thoughts. The hunt was exhausting, mentally and physically. He sat crouched, his scarred head dropping down from his vigil of the heavens. Through all of the events of the past few days, there was something unusual which had taken place. He looked to the tattered clothes which hung in strips off his massive frame. He peered past the fabric and set his eyes upon his body. All the physical exertions had caused him to slim considerably. He could see muscles where extra girth had once been. He was changing outside and within. How much more could he endure before the inevitable end?

  “Tohm, the hunt is over,” Tey’ur’s voice called out of the darkness.

  Instantly, Tohm sprang upward, growling.

  Tey’ur shouted out gruffly in response to the challenge. “Hold! We both have urgent business to attend to. I need your help … Mother and my people need you.”

  From deep within Tohm felt a strange sensation, like a calming wind across his sea of anger. The source was unknown, yet he felt the harsh tension inside slowly ebb as his whole body was filled with peaceful warmth. He slowly fell to his knees, his body drained of tension and fatigue. He felt rejuvenated, the beast almost purring in contentment. His full intellect open and free like a butterfly's first emergence from the cocoon.

  Tey’ur approached slowly and placed a hand gently upon the kneeling man’s shoulder. “Mother has claimed our lives. Her will is ours now, and we go where She directs.”

  Tohm looked up at the towering warrior. The starlight shed light upon his face which was kind and gentle and his aura felt void of offense. The beast complied within and accepted the new companion. It felt the sense of purpose. Tohm’s rational self rejoiced within as the two parts of his mind became a tenuous whole.

  “I will go where She calls,” Tohm whispered quietly. Tey’ur clapped him firmly in support and clasping the other’s arm, pulled the large man to his feet. They stood in the embrace of brothers for a brief moment. A quiet understanding passed between them, the forging of a fragile thread of trust. “If only I could calm the anger … it's almost more than I can bear.”

  Tey'ur pulled away from his grasp and studied the man carefully. Tohm's head was bowed in sorrow. In the light of the stars Tey'ur could see the anguish written upon the features of his newest and strangest ally. He placed a hand on the large man's shoulder.

  “You shall find respite my friend. I am no Ashori, but I can see that Mother has touched your heart as well as mine. Stalwart She has named us, and She has tasked us with finding the others. Together we must bring them to Her for a purpose she has not revealed. Indeed, Her whispers have awoken a strange memory inside that until now I could not decipher. To think of all the secrets I passed over unwittingly, through all my years of guarding this land.” Tey'ur stretched his hand out toward the western hills where they gave way to gentle rolling plains. From their place atop the hill they could see the land in hues of gray, luminous from the starlight.

  Tey'ur spoke again, his voice firm and resolute. “Not far from here may lay the key to the end your suffering. Be warned, however, I have no foreknowledge of what could happen. You will have to live with what will be. Do you understand?” Tohm nodded his head.

  “This peace I feel now is only a mask. Upon any encounter I would lose sense of myself. I will not live this way. I will accept whatever ill comes, if it means to have control again.” Tohm's brow was set with the steadiest expression. Tey'ur nodded silently. He considered the peace he felt and how he had been wrong, so wrong about Zyr. All those years carrying the burden of his supposed betrayal. Now, he understood what it meant to be called by Mother and leave all other concerns behind. He had left the White Guard so easily in pursuit of the peace he longed for. Now, he would serve all her creatures, even those he deemed vile and unworthy. He thought of the letter he had delivered to Shien. There was little he could do now; the die was cast. The past was irrelevant; what mattered was gathering the Stalwart. It would start with Tohm.

  He placed his fingers to his mouth and whistled a sharp and high note. Calista came bounding vigorously up to the waiting men. She nuzzled Tey’ur’s hair anxiously. She likely had felt the call as well and deep in her eyes was a determination to carry her large friend and master to any end. Tey’ur breathed in the night air and turned to Tohm, his face set in a rigid pall. “I ride hard west. Can you keep the pace?” He raised an eyebrow as the last words came.

  Snorting gruffly, Tohm flexed his fingers and smiled, the first Tey’ur saw from him in a long time. “As long as She desires.” In demonstration, Tohm sprang from the spot and bounded hard upon the earth, bits of frost and mud kicked up behind his loping body.

  Tey’ur nodded cordially to the swift form as it disappeared into the shadow of the valley below. He mounted Calista with one motion and paused. Placing a hand over the smooth skin where the seal had been, he suddenly understood. He had found new purpose in serving perhaps the lowliest of men. Somehow, if it cost him his very life, he would live to see that man regain his humanity and dignity. He swore it silently upon the barren hill, and the creatures of the night affirmed the oath. Spurring Calista into motion, they dashed with swiftness from the rise, to whatever end lay beyond.

  * * *

  The time for chanting had almost come as the Defilers gathered slowly around the small alter. The young man, gagged and bound, lay still upon the cool black stone. His eyes were as red coals, glazed and transparent. Within his small hands lay a black pendant which seemed to defy any torch light that was cast upon it. Within the grove of trees, far from men and their meddling, the sacred night for Ahtol had come. The dark Ashori knew it was only a matter of time before their brothers and sisters in the remaining parts of the land would join them. For now, it was their time.

  Slowly, the chant rose toward the dark heavens, as the stars glimmered in remorse.

  “To truly master the mind, one must be steeled in purpose. Such is the power of conviction. There is no room for doubt or the wavering of will. A strong mind drives purposeful action. In times of great tribulation, only those who can find their centre will act. Your will and actions must be as one, as the Deepstone is with Mother Aerluin.”

  Greil - Cerephor: Master of Arcane Lore, Mind and Void

  The Initiates Invocation

  The Servant and Scepter

  THE WAGGON BUMPED far too often for Firah’s tastes. The forest road had turned out to be som
e sort of animal trail, with all kinds of vegetation constantly reaching down and entangling the small group. Frequently, the trail had to be cleared of debris and dead wood. It was hardly a well-trodden path, which led to the uncomfortable shaking, rolling and crashing of the waggon on the forest floor. The waggon would have been abandoned long ago except that the provisions provided by the White Guard would require thrice their number to transport. Those provisions would be invaluable as they would be out of civilized contact for quite some time. All this did nothing to ease the young girl’s aching backside. It brought a painful memory back to mind, and strangely it made her think fondly of Tohm.

  Then again, the memory might have been awakened by the occasional familiar chirp which resonated through the forest air. She could have been mistaken, but Firah was certain they were Thrushtal calls. The little busy-bodies might be hiding their sooty, fiery-swatched bodies from her sight, but Firah knew their true colours. They had sabotaged her punctuality back in Lenhir and her backside suffered at Tohm’s hand as a result. Yet, the strange journey since had only served to draw her closer to her truest friend. She offered a silent plea on his behalf. She missed his annoying but affectionate candour. She wondered if she would ever see him again. Would he ever be the same?

  Another tormenting thump pulled her from sentiment to the edge of desperation. She rose off her bruised seat and leaned over the side of the waggon, grimacing at the teeming foliage.

  Walking by herself would only lead to difficult trail blazing through near impassible paths. For as the underbrush was pushed down by the cart, it thrust or whipped stubbornly upward after the cart passed, rising several feet tall. There was no room to pass on the sides either, as the forest grew denser within a few feet of the path.