Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga)

by Robert Day

  Janantar's reversed right Al'katar descended through the feinted parry, coming underneath his arm as he twisted away and backwards, inside the arc of the descending chop, and the sword tip snaked backwards with a pulling motion of his arm, catching the student in the middle of the chest, hard and fast that not even the padding could entirely dampen, and realizing he was ‘dead’, the student dropped to the ground.

  Which left only the fourth student, who swept in with a rising thrust. Expecting Janantar to parry with his left Al'katar, Andrak gaped as Janantar swept a foot around to strike the student's hands, knocking the thrust aside but not before the tip grazed across his side, the blunted tip still tearing through his shirt as he raised both of his weapons overhead, crossed over at mid blade.

  Which intercepted the larger blade of Solantholas, who now stood behind Janantar. Andrak gave a start. ‘I did not even see him move!’ Three paces was all he had to cross, but one moment he was standing watching, the next he was attacking.

  Caught, Janantar could not finish off the student, whose fleeting disadvantage closed as he gathered himself, saved by the Elf King's intervention. Or at least that is how it seemed as Janantar dived to the side, cart-wheeling on knuckles as he clutched his weapons. The student made to follow, not risking a thrust at the moving figure, instead waiting for Janantar to reach his feet, off balance and vulnerable.

  But if Janantar's cartwheel looked an evasion, it was really a fighting withdrawal as his right foot rose, catching the student beneath the chin with a crack that made even Ashaella wince at Andrak's side. The student dropped like a stone, unconscious even before his head hit the ground hard.

  Which left only Solantholas. The Elf King did not attack as Janantar turned expectantly, but stood at the ready, left foot and shoulder forward, sword held double handed out from the body, hilt low and angled away. Waiting.

  The stand off lasted only moments, however, as both moved, meeting with a flurry of clacking blades.

  If Janantar had any advantage from the two weapons, it was taken away by the Elf King's superior reach. Always seeking to close, Janantar was foiled by Solantholas, whose sure, graceful movements kept him eternally at bay.

  Which was how it lasted for several moments, a spinning, twisting flurry of stabs, blocks, kicks and sweeps. If a weapon struck, neither gave any indication, though many seemed to strike close enough to touch clothing, but never any further, thwarted by parry or turn or twist.

  Suddenly a plain clothed Elf darted into the low roofed hall, bare feet slapping at the floor a mark of his obvious concern as he ran straight to where Janantar and Solantholas sparred. Ashaella gave a start forward, then continued as both Janantar and Solantholas parted, their weapons freezing as if they had never been raised, obviously realizing that for such a messenger to interrupt, it had to be of some importance, though how they knew he was there, Andrak could only wonder.

  He trailed Ashaella as the messenger, a young man, began to speak hurriedly but softly to Solantholas. Whatever he said, Andrak could not follow, catching only 'hurry' and 'Kalandar', but by the ashen faces of Solantholas and Janantar, it was obviously bad news, and probably concerning the scouts. Ashaella looked as if she was about to faint.

  Solantholas and Janantar were out of the hall in seconds, with Andrak and Ashaella following hurriedly, trying to keep up. The messenger was left standing wide eyed in the middle of the hall, while concerned students rose quickly and, assisting the recently wounded, left, knowing the training was at an end.

  Where they ended up, Andrak recognized as the Halls of Saraya, where the Elvin healers worked and dwelled. Though Elves were naturally resistant to such things, sickness and injuries were still a common occurrence, even if not in the high numbers Andrak would have expected.

  Into a large room they followed Solantholas and Janantar, finding it containing only three beds at the rear wall. A faint odor of rose and garlic lingered in the air, while torches burned brightly on movable metal frames, giving the air a warm, clinging feel.

  Besides the Elf king and Janantar, there were five others surrounding the beds. One was Clovinius, Janantar and Ashaella's father, though the Druid did not acknowledge them, so intent was he on studying some figure lying on one of the beds. Three others wore pale rose colored robes, elderly looking Elves with their hair braided and twisted around their heads, secured with wreaths of laurels. The three surrounded the right most bed, and were moving around hurriedly, attending to the figure lying on the bed. Another figure, Sylvor, the Elvin War leader, spoke in hushed tones with Solantholas.

  Torn and bloodied clothing lay beside discarded weapons and armor around the beds, thrown off in obvious haste. As a sinking feeling tugged at him, Andrak slowed to look at the figure on the bed to the left, the one Clovinius had been studying. The old Druid looked up with tear rimmed eyes and embraced Ashaella, who clung to him both comforting and seeking support.

  The Elf on the bed looked asleep, ivory skin smooth as if at ease, though Andrak knew he was dead. A thin white blanket covered him, smeared with streaks and pools of dark crimson that could only be blood. His hands were clasped at his chest, where there was no visible rise and fall of breath.

  The middle bed's sheet was spotless, though completely covering some form beneath it, also unmoving. A stray lock of sun gold hair leaked out from beneath the sheet. A little ashamedly, Andrak was relieved the dead Elf was not Kalandar.

  The third Elf was not, either, though it took a little maneuvering on his behalf to see this, with the three healers swarming over him no, her, attending to what looked to be only two or three small wounds. Andrak guessed this meant Shadowspawn, because even if the wounds had been deep arrow or spear wounds, even the spells and herbs of the healers would have proven enough to treat the young woman, who was still alive, writhing against leather bonds securing her to the bed frame. She looked asleep, though her comely face was twisted in pain or horror.

  A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he would have been embarrassed under other circumstances, but when he looked up at Janantar and saw the Elf's ashen features, he felt nothing but fear and apprehension.

  “Kalandar?”

  Janantar gave his father and Ashaella a wary glance and ushered Andrak off to the side. Behind, Solantholas and Sylvor also withdrew, and were talking hurriedly as they left the room.

  “From what the healers could get out of the woman before she lost consciousness, and the other two before they died,” the tightness at Janantar's eyes and the slight trembling of his voice was indication enough of the anger and worry that filled Janantar, “we know the scouts were ambushed by Shadowspawn near the Glade.”

  Even having assumed such, the weight of the announcement only heightened Andrak's feeling of dread. He had pondered for the last two days what chances there were of the Glade containing one of these Portals. The possibility was high considering the discovery of the one Shadowspawn already, but from what Ka'Varel had spoken of, he had expected the numbers to be limited. For there to have been so many as to wipe out a whole group of armed Elvin scouts, it was likely this Portal had been opened for some time now, which made him wonder why it had taken so long to become aware of their presence.

  “We do not know about Kalandar. The injured could not tell us more than a few things. The 'Vile Fever' had each of them to varying degrees, and it was not only their bodies being slowly consumed.” Janantar had first hand experience at this disease, after his own run in with the demon. “We can only hope more have survived and are returning to Lloreander.”

  Yet Andrak knew the possibility of this was slim. If any others were in shape enough to make it back to Lloreander, they would have done so before these others, unless they had been pursued away from the Elf city. “Will Solantholas attack?”

  Janantar nodded, his eyes suddenly fiery at the prospect of revenge. “With all we have got, I should think. We cannot leave such a threat so close to our doors, plus the possibility of survivors or hostages must move us
to action. There will probably be a meeting called soon to let the people know.”

  Andrak nodded, and silence followed as the two turned to watch the healers finishing their ministrations on the female Elf, who was now lying motionless as were the others, yet her face retained color, suggesting she was still alive. With luck, she would live, it seemed.

  But thinking about the possibilities of the days to come, Andrak wondered if she would not be luckier to have shared the fate of her two other companions.

  Chapter 22

  The mist like screen dissipated from before the Demon, the human's visage that had filled its milky depths fading with it. Hammagor's grim visage was fixed with concentration from the brief meeting.

  Ashar'an? That the Demon’s ancient allies were still alive where the Kay’taari were not, surprised the Demon, considering the events of the War of Ascension.

  Yet, the Sorcerer’s admittance of at least two existing Kay’taari angered the Demon almost to the point of blind rage. Although the Sorcerer having one as a slave was in a little way humorous, the second who roamed free could prove dangerous. His minions had yet to catch up with this Kay’taari, his aura having disappeared some time back, but it was unlikely the Kay’taari was dead, perhaps shielding himself to avoid detection and death, though he had never heard of such a talent being employed by the Dragon people in the past.

  Dragon people! Even more than Elves, Demons loathed the Dragons, creatures of mighty and pure spirit, just as the demons were creations of the Unlife. The Demon knew they still existed, though it was impossible to make an exact calculation on how many there were.

  Yet Hammagor knew his plans were still moving into place as he had expected, albeit slower than he would have liked. Only two Nexus Gates were as yet functional, his and the one at the Elvin glade, but the Sorcerer had told him the one in Sha’kar should be operational in as little as a few weeks.

  A sudden feeling caught the Demon’s attention, and with a little effort he concentrated on the mind contact he had felt, realizing it as one of his Soul Seekers reporting in. The words formed in his mind, as clear as if the Faceless one had been before him, though rage soon had him boiling with rage. He tore free from the mind link, probably killing the unwary Soul Seeker, but anger seethed within him, and if he had not been alone in the chamber, he soon would have. Fire and lightning scorched the walls and shook the great cavern as he vented rage, while his whip came to hand and he flailed about, lashing the walls and floor. The impulse to seek some of his own kind to feast upon he quelled with surprising self control, for although angry, Hammagor knew he could not afford any losses at this stage of his plans.

  After his anger subsided and he returned to his throne, mindless of the scorched walls and rent walls where his whip had struck, he contemplated this new change of events. That the Elves knew of their presence now was undoubted, which meant others would know within a matter of days, maybe less if the Elves had rediscovered magical means of communication. He could not prevent such an outcome, but he could make sure the Elves paid dearly for their discovery.

  His grim smile would have sent even the bravest of his companions fleeing with the hunger it held. How he had longed to wipe out the Elves since his re-appearance on this world, but practicality had dictated otherwise. Now, he doubted even his master, Sett, would frown upon such retribution upon the miserable Elvin people.

  He smiled even more as he felt another tugging of a mind link, and considered repeating the backlash that killed the last bearer of ill tidings. Instead, he joined the link.

  “I come!” Those were his only words before breaking off the contact, this time with less force. No doubt the Soul Seeker would be bemused, but Hammagor would settle things when he reached the Elvin forest. First he would have to let his generals know he was leaving and make sure they continued with his plans while he was gone, but after only a short time, he was soaring northward, riding magical energies created through dark arts, high and fast beyond any visual limits, the eager anticipation of Elvin flesh fuelling his hunger. Already he knew he was stronger than all of the other greater Demons who had opted to remain behind, not risking the dangerous crossing through the still forming Portals, and Elf blood was always much better than that of humans. Perhaps if his plans came to fruition, he could replace his master as the second most powerful member of demon kind.

  Hagar paced outside the hall, anger barely held in check at the temerity of these people who once again kept him from their council, he who would one day be Lord of the Seven Bastions, Imperial Commander of Dak’mar. How he seethed, wondering what plans were being made without him, and what he could do about it.

  Nothing? It was simple truth, for despite his powers and his associates, these Ashar’an left no doubt as to who was in charge. It did not help matters that Myrtti was a long time associate of these people and was reluctant to let Hagar know even a fraction of what happened in those meetings where he was not admitted.

  Yet it did not take his presence for Hagar to piece together what he thought was happening behind his back. He knew these Ashar’an were few in number, though they represented some force that threatened to some day take over the Realms, and it was in everybody’s best interest to join with them or be crushed. As to who or what this force was, or from where they came, Hagar could not even begin to speculate. Elves and Dwarves had lived their peaceful lives without such desires for takeover for many generations, while even the Sable Elves and the Barbarians of the North were so few in number that any thoughts of wiping out the armies of the Realms were ridiculous.

  He suspected this force was from another continent, across the Ardaeth Ocean or from beyond the Great Eastern Desert. He dismissed fully the vague rumor that the force was Demonic creatures in league with the Ashar’an.

  If his mood was not the best this day, it was in part because he had spotted the Princess earlier, once again sojourning to the library where she seemed to find some solace. More marks on her smooth skin indicated the Ashar’an torturers were still trying to draw information from her. The first time Hagar had noticed these, he had demanded an audience with the Lady Lotecia, who had firmly reminded him he was a guest in her house, and that the Princess was promised to him only once she was no longer needed.

  The second time, Hagar had found two Ashar’an escorting a tired and bruised Princess back from the chambers where the sessions were held.

  Anger built through being looked upon as inferior to these Ashar’an, plus the shame of the first rebuttal, saw him drawing his weapon.

  “What have you done to her?”

  The two Ashar’an, tall and athletically built men with stern, expressionless faces, regarded Hagar as they would a wild dog, unconcerned by his bravado but cautious of the potential threat. They knew of this man’s reputation, and although they themselves were killers of the highest order, they were wary.

  “Only what has been ordered of us, Kiroba.” The scornful reply came with a sneer as both let Kitara loose, her balance lost momentarily as her half dazed consciousness tried to adapt to the freedom. Hagar reached to her for support, but even in her dazed state she threw off his hand with a muffled growl, or at least that is what Hagar took it to be, though he was too busy staring challengingly at the two Ashar’an. As leader of the Kiroba in Dak’mar, he was used to confrontation and stand off tactics, yet despite his knowledge and experience, he felt the two were no more put off by his dangerous attitude than the Elf back in Thorhus had been.

  Wondering if he had lost the knack, or whether he had been just trying it on the wrong people, he knew he would have to count his losses and call this one quits. The Princess offered him the opportunity to withdraw as she started to move away, grumbling that she could find her way if they were too busy trying to compare something or another. He was not sure what it was she said, but he was at her side in a flash, his sword returning to its sheath.

  “You shouldn’t be walking these halls alone in your state, my precious.” The look he gave o
ver his shoulder to the Ashar’an spoke of future meetings where the outcome would not be so uneventful, but he knew these two had won this round. Both offered him thin smiles, knowing what he knew, and they seemed unconcerned about any future meetings.

  Echoing footsteps turned Hagar’s attention to the present, and he turned to see the rat faced Commander of the guards, Kandar, striding intently down the expansive corridor. Hagar was not surprised the little soldier seemed displeased, because like him, he was not permitted to attend meetings such as these. Still, the rat faced Commander seemed to know more about the goings on inside the hall than Hagar did, which meant somebody must be feeding him the information. Though concerned about the possible leaking of information and the inherent danger it could bring, Hagar was more determined to use the Commander for his own purposes.

  “Are they not yet concluded?”

  After nodding greeting to the blunt man, Hagar shook his head with a frown. “No. Whatever it is they discuss, they seem not to be in a hurry.”

  Kandar grimaced also, though Hagar knew it was partly for show, because invariably the little man would find out something about what was being discussed. He suspected Kandar was part of the local spy network, which would explain why he held such a high ranking position within the militia. If such was the case, Hagar could not figure out whom it was the Commander was spying for. His position with Lotecia saw that in return for wealth and future standing, the authorities overlooked the increase of action on behalf of the Ashar’an.

  “What do you think they discuss?”

  At the question, Kandar shifted his brooding gaze from the door to Hagar, who looked away quickly so as not to let the spy commander see how intently he had been regarding him.

  “How should I know? You know I am not allowed into these meetings any more than you are.” Kandar’s face was guarded, and he eyed Hagar unblinkingly. There was a guarded bond between the two because of their similar circumstances, plus both knew the other was of considerable importance and worth, though trust friendship were words neither knew. “Why do you ask?”