Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga)

by Robert Day

  It would not be long now, he told himself patiently. His master would soon be free to set foot on Kil’Tar, and then there would be no stopping the Demon hosts from crushing its occupants like ants.

  With his laughter echoing through the caverns, Hammagor could only imagine what powers would fuel him in the not too distant future, but more than anything, he thirsted for the soul of the Kay'taari.

  Despite the four Kiroba who shadowed her every move, Kitara felt more alone and vulnerable than she had ever felt as she walked along one of the many corridors in the great house she was prisoner within. Few rooms were accessible for her, the only ones being the bathrooms, the gardens and the library. It was the library to which she strode now, as had been her daily practice for the last twenty days. Although not large, the library offered a wide variety of knowledge, but it was the histories Kitara was searching for, particularly the growth of the nations and the wars that had been fought. She found nothing on Dragons or the Kay'taari whom Ka'Varel had spoken of.

  She felt a twinge of sadness at the memory of Ka'Varel, for surely the old scholar was now dead after the wound Hagar had inflicted upon him. She also held fears for Andrak and Tyrun, but could only pray they had survived.

  The library was a large double- level room accessible by a large spiral staircase in the center of the room. Steel railings ran along the opening for safety, for the drop was at least twenty feet to the floor below. Wooden book- cases ran back to back in rows. Books filled the lower shelves while parchments and scrolls were piled on the upper shelves. Small stools provided access to the higher shelves, and each row was labeled with the topic of the books along that row, such as 'Music, or 'Economy'.

  This day, however, she was surprised when she entered the quiet library to find Hagar waiting there, seated at the table she usually used, off in one of the corners. Several books and scrolls still remained from the previous day. The librarian, a mute, frail man with wispy grey hair who usually left when Kitara arrived, was nowhere to be seen.

  Kitara started off towards the staircase, not bothering to look at Hagar after the initial contact, but the Dak'marian rose quickly, tossing aside a scroll case he had been flipping from hand to hand. He was at her side quickly, keeping pace as she turned again and headed towards the side of the room, between a narrow row of shelves, forcing Hagar to let her pass first. The other Kiroba settled beside the door, confident she could go nowhere as all windows were locked and barred, and the only door into the library was the one they guarded.

  “What? Still no words for your husband?” The young Dak'marians mocking voice always seemed to grate on Kitara's nerves, partly because it was soft and sonorous, and also because of his brashness. She opened her mouth to speak, to spit the denials and warnings she had voiced each time he had made such advances towards her, but the words died on her lips. She knew her words spurred him on even more, and would not give him the pleasure of seeing her frustration.

  “I see you no longer deny this. We will be married, Princess, believe me. It is only a matter of time before we leave for Sha'kar.”

  “Why do we wait, then?” asked Kitara bitterly. She knew any relenting on her part would only make Hagar think she was trying to glean information, but she was beginning to realize the young Kiroba was always eager to show off, which might result in leaked information if she could coax him the right way.

  Hagar's pause made her regard him askance, barely in time to see his face set in a worried frown, but it changed when he noticed she was watching him, and the smile returned in force.

  “The High Lady Lotecia is waiting for something, but be sure the day will come when we leave, and you will be mine as has been promised.”

  “Then despite all your bravado and cockiness, you are nothing more than an Ashar'an servant.” It was a daring statement, for she did not know if indeed this High Lady Lotecia was Ashar'an, but through several things she had seen and heard, she had deduced Lotecia was somebody important, and not only as the Ruler of a merchant house in Cartyl. She saw by the sudden anger and rage on Hagar's face she had assumed right, and he grasped her by the shoulder and spun her. She expected a blow, but lifted her head proudly, which might have been why his hand rose, but did not fall.

  “Servant I am not, especially to the Ashar'an witch!” he spat, though his voice was low and hissing, as if he did not want to be overheard. “You have been promised to me, and not even she can change that.” There was a desperate note in his voice, as if some inner fears clashed with his words, but his eyes remained firm, and his smile returned, as mocking as ever. He began to shake his head, as if realizing what she was trying to do to him.

  “Very clever, my sweet. I cannot wait to get you to Sha'kar. You will be the envy of many of my opposition.”

  Kitara was going to say only until she had a chance to drive a dagger through his heart, but she was interrupted as a shallow chime rang through the room. This Kitara had not heard before, and Hagar seemed to be startled by it momentarily before he began to move away, but he halted briefly to take her hand. She struggled against his grip, but could not pull away as he raised it to his lips and kissed her hand.

  “Until next we meet, my love.” He was gone then, his dark cloak swirling around him, and his light footfalls echoed softly through the room, before the loud clang of the heavy door closing signaled his exit. Fighting back tears of rage and hatred, Kitara dropped to the floor, her back pressed hard against a bookshelf, and her face buried in her hands as she cursed her predicament. She felt like a sheep among a pack of wolves that had just eaten: sooner or later, one or all of them would get hungry.

  Tears did come then, and did not leave for some time.

  The green expanse of Lloreander settled before Andrak like an ocean. It was a pure vision to Andrak, unspoilt and serene, as if it possessed a magic of its own. He felt suddenly heartened, the growing fears he had felt during the past days fading in his mind, but not enough for him to forget the urgency and importance of speed, so he was not afforded much time to take in the splendors of the Elvin land from their vantage as Janantar pressed forward.

  There was no visible boundary to the Elvin lands as they descended onto the undulating plains, but after a time, the grass and foliage seemed to grow greener and lusher. There were no navigable tracks or paths, but Janantar led him unerringly towards the sheer wall of brown and green still some distance away, looking like an impenetrable wall.

  Larger plants and smaller trees lined the greater density of the forest, and it seemed to Andrak the heat of the late summer day seemed to decrease as the green canopy shielded them. There were few glimpses of wildlife among the branches and bushes, as small birds or other woodland creatures flitted away from the two at the last moment, as if waiting to catch a glimpse before retreating.

  By the time the two were passing among the larger boles of the great forest, Andrak was fully infused with the calm spirit of the forest. He jogged beside the silent Elf with a mixture of awe and incredulity on his face, and even the aches and pains of the journey so far, including his leg, faded as if he were slowly being healed by the forest's touch.

  Janantar continued to wind through the forest, his feet alighting easily on the oft-slick ground, while his eyes scanned around him. Of a concern for Andrak was the worried frown the Elf wore, the first time he had seen him concerned about anything, and he would not have expected it in his own homeland.

  Finally, the Elf came to a halt with an outstretched arm for Andrak to do the same. He was not even breathing heavily from the morning's run, where Andrak had been on the verge of asking for a halt anyhow, despite the added strength he seemed to draw from the forest. He knew the Elf had not stopped for a rest, however, as his slender hand went to the hilt of his Longsword. He dropped to one knee with his eyes scanning the dark trees and bushes around him. Andrak dropped warily to a crouch also, his hand going to the cool hilt of his own sword.

  “We should have come across a sentry post by now,” warned Janan
tar in barely a whisper, not relenting with his scan. “I have not seen or heard any of my kin, which is disconcerting. Even the woodland creatures have been acting strangely, almost warily.” The Elf paused then, as if he did not want to share his next words with Andrak, but he relented and turned to the Prince.

  “And we are being watched!”

  The concern in the Elf's voice was enough to make Andrak clutch his sword tightly and scan around them also. He wanted to ask how many or from where, but Janantar rose suddenly and turned towards the north.

  “There is an outpost not far from here. We will make for that.” There was faded hope in the Elf's words, as if he feared the outpost would not be there. He unslung his bow and nocked an arrow, and there was an air of alertness about him as they jogged, which Andrak tried to emulate.

  The outpost was a league distant, and it took some time for the wary runners to reach it, though even Andrak did not notice the concealed outpost until Janantar drew short and pointed it out for him. It was a wooden platform twenty feet above the leafy ground below, surrounded by a low wall and railing.

  A square Portal in the center of the platform was opened, and Janantar moved until he was directly beneath it. His face had firmed to a mask of worry as he moved, as if his worst fears had been confirmed. Andrak guessed by now the Elves from the outpost should have been greeting them. He signaled Andrak to wait where he was before moving to a nearby bole and clambered up it like a squirrel would, sure and fast, until he was able to swing across a vine to the platform. He disappeared, his footsteps silent on the wood above, and Andrak was beginning to worry when a rope ladder tumbled from the trapdoor. Climbing as quickly as he could, he made the platform and found the Elf kneeling before an enclosed alcove at the northern side of the platform.

  “Janantar, what...?”

  Where the Elf knelt, a dark stain lay against the worn wood, splattered like fallen liquid. Blood! The Elf ran his fingers over it tentatively, and then rose. His sword was out then, and his face was dark with rage. Andrak gave a small step backwards, but the Elf began to study their surroundings again.

  “We are in trouble!” The simple statement rocked Andrak. Whatever the Elf had discerned from the blood, such a revelation would not be lightly spoken unless it was truth. Andrak drew his own sword then, but his eyes remained locked on the Elf.

  “There are usually five Watchers here at all times, but they are gone. Vanished. Their clothing and food remain, untouched. The blood is all I have seen.” His eyes were studying the surrounding trees, especially the array of vines connecting the platform with the trees. “It doesn't make sense.”

  A cold fear gripped Andrak that he tried to suppress, but felt it eating away at him like a canker. He did not know much about the ways of the Elves, but he knew Janantar enough by now to know the Elf meant every word he said, probably even underestimated, as was his wont. “What do we do, then?” He was slowly backing away, whirling sharply at the silent forest, which now seemed to hold hidden dangers. “Do we make for Lloreander or wait? Surely someone will come sooner or later when word from the Post does not return.”

  Janantar was shaking his head ruefully, his alert eyes scanning the forest before him. “No, we wait here and see if it will come to us.” His emerald eyes were locked on the forest now, off to one side, and he gave a wry smile that flickered and disappeared almost instantly before his gaze turned back to Andrak. “Whoever killed these Elves is out there, watching us right now, and it will come again.”

  Andrak almost groaned at Janantar's ominous words and did not know he was holding his breath for a moment, but forced himself to take several deep breaths to calm himself. He still eyed the forest sharply, expecting at any moment the forest to come alive. He clutched his sword hilt until his knuckles were white. Reassuring? Fearful? Whatever it was, Janantar did not seem to have the same feelings: the Bladesinger did not even have his weapon drawn.

  Bladesinger. The Elf and he had spoken at considerable length during their travels, and Andrak had learned a great deal about Elvenkind he had not already known. Janantar had explained that Bladesingers and WindDancers were the historical warrior classes in Lloreander. Both were alike in that their forms required physical grace and strength, but Bladesinging relied more on movement than force and manipulation. He had also said the Wind Dancer form was now without master in Lloreander, as it was more difficult to learn and harder to teach. Plus, no master would teach these forms to a non- Elf.

  He followed Janantar's directions as the two desperately prepared, lighting lanterns on posts around the platform and setting bows to either side of the platform, nocked and lying ready to be drawn. Janantar also set several traps and pitfalls around the platform, both high and on the ground, so whatever approached them might give away their benefit of surprise.

  “Will this work?” Andrak asked, his back against the sheltered side of the platform. He could barely make out the Elf in his dark cloak, even with the light of the lanterns. Janantar had been silent for some time, and Andrak had spoken more to dispel tension than see if the Elf was awake, as he knew he would be.

  “It will work!” Janantar was seated, his forest brown cloak pulled around his slender form. His golden hair was covered with a dark veil of cloth, and the hilt of his sword, which he called an Al’katar, stuck out at his side. His voice was soft but sure, though he never seemed to look around.

  Andrak rose in a crouch, shifting his own dark cloak around him to free his sword hilt, though his hand rested on it constantly now. He was beginning to feel cramps in his muscles, and he yawned frequently as sleep tried to overtake him. He rose to stretch himself, taking two long steps to loosen himself before turning back towards Janantar.

  “Yeah, well I wish it would hurry so we can get some sleep.” He gave another yawn, and he thought he saw Janantar squeeze a tight smile.

  Then everything happened at once.

  One moment, Janantar was seated, smiling at Andrak's quip, then he was up and gliding past Andrak, sword in hand as if it had already been there. He followed it, though it felt like time had slowed as the weapon arced past him and met something at his side with a distant clang. Continuing to turn, Andrak was freeing his weapon as he was pushed aside, sliding to the floor, but he saw a dark figure, like living shadow, standing with a dark blade meeting Janantar’s silvery weapon in a timeless pose. The figure was humanoid, and as tall as the elf, with a slender build. Darkness swirled around it like a cloak, obscuring its exact features.

  Then the two were moving and time sped up to the point where Andrak thought he was slowed. The two fought while he struggled to rise and bring his weapon to bear. Janantar, not as dark but shadowy in the lantern light, showed then what it was to be a Bladesinger. Every move seemed to be a dance rather than combat, the sword in his arms might as well have been a lover. His feet slid effortlessly over the deck as his slender form shifted from one stance to another, always before the shadow. For every move the Elf made, the shadow seemed to be just that.

  Andrak had risen, and meant to throw himself to Janantar's aid, but he knew he was no match for this shadow, and would more than likely be a hindrance than an aid. He darted away as the fight carried near, not daring to intervene, though his sword stayed high in case Janantar got into trouble.

  But the Elf was not to be outdone by this dark assailant. The Elf's blade met every twist and cut from the dark weapon, in a display that left Andrak awed. He had thought he had seen melee in its purest form in some of the fights at the Tournament over the years, from the likes of Javin the Darishi, Hagar and even the Blademaster from the Astral City, Nortas, but Janantar seemed on another tier entirely.

  The battle came to a climax after what seemed like an eternity but could only have been several moments, as the Dark form slumped after a pressing advance from the Elf. Janantar let out a muffled cry, but his Al’katar sliced though the Shadow with barely a sound as it slipped to the wooden floor. Andrak, suddenly freed to move, gave a hesitant step f
orward, gaping at the dark form that began to seep dark fluid onto the wooden flooring. Janantar staggered back, cursing as he wiped his blade on a cloth. He smiled weakly as Andrak turned to him, clutching at his side.

  “A shadow!” he whispered, though he did not seem to be breathing heavily from the encounter. “A Demon.” He added this for Andrak's puzzled frown, and the Prince rocked back at the news and took a step away from the creature.

  Demons! The weight of this revelation was like being told your worst nightmare was reality. He had heard Ka'Varel's words the night he appeared at the Palace, plus had spoken with him several times before the old man had been wounded and whisked away by Tyrun, but had not really thought the old man to have been wholly truthful. That there was a threat coming to Kil'Tar he believed, for he did not doubt the words of Valdieron regarding the Ashar'an Assassin's attack on him, but the idea of Demons returning to Kil’Tar was a little more than his practical mind was willing to accept at face value. Now, having seen a Demon in the flesh, he wished he had taken more heed of the old man's words and prophecies.

  He also gave brief thought to the efforts of Ka'Varel to get him to Lloreander. Where he had not believed the old man's motives to be prophecy based, he was here in the Elvin nation where twenty days ago he was going to turn aside to hunt for Kitara.

  “Will there be more?” he asked, suddenly fearing they were surrounded by these Shadows, and his sword came up cautiously. “Are we safe?”

  “You are safe for now, human!”

  Andrak spun, not as fast as the injured Janantar, but the Elf's sword did not come up as Andrak's did, and his face split into a wide smile as he limped to the side of the platform. Below, dark figures were barely visible in the faint torchlight, though he thought he spotted silvery hair and pale skin.