I sing your name, O my love, in everlasting song.
You write my name, O my love, on the seashore sand,
And when waves will carry you to where you belong,
I alone shall fade away in the misty land.
I alone shall fade away in the misty land.
And tomorrow, when the rain
Will carry softly my name along,
Only your name shall remain
In everlasting song.
Only your name shall remain
In everlasting song.
They rode while there was light, then climbed the easternmost slopes of the Mayorian Chain and set up camp in a small nook hidden from prying eyes. Ahiram spoke with Sheheluth, then told his friends he needed to train with his weapons and left them for the rest of the night.
“Won’t you need our help?” asked Noraldeen.
Ahiram shook his head. “I need to train alone. There are a few things I still need to learn to control.”
They were exhausted and quickly fell asleep. Banimelek took the first watch, and Ahiram had still not returned when Noraldeen took the last watch of the night. She regarded the stars lacing the night sky like joyful children dancing in the heavens. She was delighted to be with her friends and the man she wanted to be with. Another song came to her from her childhood.
Up where the lilies shine in the starry night,
Where the moon embraces the snow peaks tenderly,
A bench, a lonely bench, where you used to hold me
With eyes shining brighter than the lilies of the stars.
I walked by the lilies, the lilies of the stars,
Walked by our bench where you comforted me.
Two children holding lilies stole so tenderly,
the bench of starry lilies where we so loved to sit.
O fleeting lilies, happy days so long past,
Come back to me, O please do come back.
And bring, won’t you? The love of my heart
On the starry bench beneath our peaceful skies.
Behind the bench, a quiet cabin with an open door.
Inside, a candle on an empty table wiped clean.
All those long gone who will not be.
I sat on that bench and waited for you,
Waited like a river that longs for the sea.
Nothing came to me except the dead leaves;
Tears of the forlorn tree.
Shadows of the faithful departed.
O fleeting lilies, happy days so long past,
Come back to me, O please do come back.
And bring, won’t you? The love of my heart
To the starry bench beneath our peaceful skies.
Now I walk alone, the bench is no more.
Pray tell where are the children who sat after me?
They are gone like a forest in winter,
In snow, and shadow, and mist,
Beyond the river and the years.
Fleeting like the wings of migrants,
They slowly drift, the years do not return
Alone, the bench, the lonely cabin, and mist.
O fleeting lilies, happy days so long past,
Come back to me, O please do come back.
And bring, won’t you? The love of my heart
To the starry bench beneath our peaceful skies.
Noraldeen thought of Ahiram, and she smiled contentedly. At least no one can take these days from me.
When dawn came, Ahiram returned. Quietly working side by side, he helped Noraldeen start a small fire and then woke up the others. After a frugal breakfast, while their friends readied the horses, Ahiram took Noraldeen aside and walked with her until they reached a clearing by a weatherworn boulder, in clear view of the snow-covered peaks.
“We are going into battle,” he said quietly, purposefully. “I don’t know if we will survive what we are about to face, so just in case I don’t, I want to thank you for all you have done for me. Not just now, but all through the six years we’ve lived together, trained together, and learned everything together. You’ve always been there for me. That gives me courage.” He fixed his gaze on her. “There is one thing I want you to do for me.”
“What is it Ahiram?” she asked with tenderness. In the morning dawn, she looked like an ethereal maiden, filled with light, pure, beyond mortal reach.
“Stand down,” he said in a guarded tone, for he knew he was asking her to betray the code of the Silent. “Do not …” his voice faltered under the strain of emotion, “do not expose yourself to danger. Please.”
“Ahiram,” she said, deeply touched, “you are going to face the greatest danger and you are asking me to stand down?”
“It’s not the same thing,” protested Ahiram strongly. Though his temper flared, he was controlled and resolute. “I have no choice. No one else can fight this monster.”
“And if you did have a choice. If it were I who had to fight instead of you,” she replied with her usual disarming smile, “What would you do?”
“This is not about me,” he said. “This is about—”
“What?” she cut in. “What is it about, Ahiram?”
He lowered his gaze and bit his lower lip. He was shaken and upset. “See this boulder?” he said after a while. “See how worn out and gray it is? Now, do you see the snow on the summit of those mountains? How brisk and beautiful it glitters under the rays of the sun? This old boulder would rejoice if it could turn to dust and lie on the mountaintops to protect the falling snow. And the snow, high on these mountains, looks up to the sun, the blue of the sky, wanting to soar in the glory of the day. This is how things are meant to be,” he added, looking at Noraldeen. “It is the fate of a slave to die for a princess, not—”
“Not the other way around,” she completed. “Yet, my sweet Ahiram, has it occurred to you that the pure white snow, when spring comes, melts with joy at the thought of the life it will nourish? The snow might look to the sun and the sky with longing, but it knows that its fate is not to fly with the eagles, but to nourish the land so that we may celebrate new life.” She pointed to an old nest Ahiram had not noticed on the boulder. “Life on old boulders, like this one.”
“Noraldeen, please.” said Ahiram choking under the emotions. “I don’t know what I would do if something should happen to you.”
“You would go on, Ahiram,” she asserted. “You will carry this fight to its end. You would carry me in your heart, and should anything happen to me, know that I will never leave you. I will always be with you. No matter what happens, I want you to know that what I choose to do, I choose to do it freely. So you see, my Ahiram, you would give your life for me, and I would do the same for you. In this, at least, we are together.”
Ahiram grabbed Noraldeen and held her tightly against him. She held him closely and felt him tremble. She knew he was sobbing.
Soon after they returned to camp, they were all on their way to the Fortress of Hardeen. If any of their friends noticed how solemn Ahiram was, they did not ask any questions; none were needed. This was the last leg of their journey, the last moments before the dreaded confrontation. Now, their thoughts turned toward the battle, toward those who would be waiting for them. Would they find anyone alive when they reached Hardeen, or would the urkuun and his legions have devoured the land? Would they find their beloveds alive, or worse, turned into sylveeds, into unrecognizable foes whom they would have to battle? And beyond all this, beyond their personal worries, would Ahiram be able to defeat the powerful urkuun? Even though they did not have answers to these questions, they rode forward, hoping against hope that they would live to see another day, another glorious sunrise.
Dusk fell on the plain of Iliand, bringing with it heavy clouds that tossed and turned in a dark sky like insomniac sailors before the onset of a storm. The western tip of the plain was deserted, save for a fitful wind that darted here and there as if a pack of mad skunks were ferreting the charred ground for who-knows-what. Wafts of decay and decomposition traverse
d the military camp of Lord Orgond, leading soldiers to believe that ghosts wrapped in the smell of death had come to torment them.
The trenches were complete and the camp was in order. Uziguzi stood with sentinels peering over the plain toward the edge of the western forest, beyond which lay the lands of the Empyrean. He was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Gaëla and her forces. This respite has allowed the men of Orgond to rest and prepare. But they are not battle-ready, not like the Empyreans. What is keeping the princess, I wonder?
A sentry signaled an archer standing behind them and a fiery arrow flew overhead toward the plain below. Uziguzi followed the yellow streak and gave a start. A short distance outside the range of the arrow, four hooded figures waited while a fifth was on approach. Immediately, archers advanced, ready to let their arrows fly. The enigmatic figure drew near the camp and dropped its hood.
“It is a sylveed,” whispered one of the sentinels.
“Find out what it wants,” directed Uziguzi.
A short moment later, Uziguzi informed Lord Orgond that the urkuun had sent an emissary for a parley. After consulting Masters Xurgon and Habael, he sent a small delegation to find out more.
“Most likely a trap,” surmised Uziguzi while they waited for the exchange to end. Down below on the plain, Captain Enryl, his herald bearer, and three other captains stood facing the sylveed.
“It looks like they are done,” Master Habael pointed out.
Enryl and his men walked back up to camp, and Enryl joined Lord Orgond and the others in his tent.
“The urkuun offers us peace if we submit to him.”
Lord Orgond gave a start. “He wants to turn us into sylveeds?”
Enryl shook his head. “No, he promises not to do us harm if we submit to him.”
“To whom is his offer directed?” asked Orgond.
“To you, Lord,” said Enryl.
“How long do we have to reply?”
“The emissaries are waiting for your answer, Sir.”
“I see,” replied the master of Amsheet, “he wants to concentrate his forces on the Empyreans. Sharr must be behind this.”
“I think there must be more to it than that,” added Uziguzi. “Your forces are limited, Lord Orgond, and with time the urkuun would have no trouble subduing Tanniin. There must be something else.”
Orgond saw that Enryl was troubled. “What is the matter, Captain?”
The young man drew a breath. “Lord Orgond, the envoy of the urkuun. The sylveed that spoke to me … he was … that was Awaniir, Sir.”
Orgond was startled. “The Lord of Hardeen?”
Enryl nodded.
“Did you recognize him?”
Enryl shook his head. “Right before he left, he whispered to me. He said, ‘I am Awaniir. Please kill me.’ I wanted to, but my hand would not move to my blade. I felt paralyzed. I betrayed him.”
Orgond went to Enryl and placed a reassuring hand on the young captain’s shoulder. “You were not ready for this, Enryl. No one is. However, once the urkuun’s scouts tire of waiting and then report to their master, I want you, I need you, to be ready to fight. You have heard what Lord Awaniir has asked of you. This he would ask of every soldier. Do not think, do not hesitate, and do not hold back. When the battle begins I will need you to lead and not look back. Understood?”
“How can we win against such evil?” Enryl was visibly shaken.
“One sylveed at a time,” replied Orgond, fixing his gaze on the soldier. He smiled. “Do not underestimate our forces, do not underestimate the Seer. But for you and me, our calling is to fight, and fight we will. We shall not surrender, and we shall not weaken. Understood?”
Enryl breathed more freely, as if he were rousing from a deep spell. “Yes, Sir,” he said with a loud voice, “To the glory of Tanniin and the honor of Amsheet!”
Lord Orgond grabbed his helmet. “Master Xurgon do you require anything of me?”
“No, Your Lordship. My dwarfish dwarfs have worked tirelessly and all soldiers are fittingly equipped with fitting military equipment.”
Orgond nodded. “To battle then. We will leave the victory to the holder of Layaleen.”
Ahiram waited until his friends had left before opening his bag of treasures as he called it. Sheheluth sat by his side and watched him intently. He took out his sword and felt it. Oddly enough, it was still. Ahiram thought that with the enemy being so close, his sword would be quivering strongly, but he felt nothing. It was as though the sword was just some inert, cold piece of metal. It also felt heavier than usual. He glanced at Sheheluth, was about to say something, but changed his mind and carefully emptied his bag on the ground in front of him.
“Wow,” she said, inhaling sharply. “So this is why I was getting these conflicting signals.”
“What signals?” he asked. “Sheheluth, there is no time for you to speak in riddles, or to yourself. Speak plainly.”
“These artifacts: the mask, belt, shoes, and wings give off a different signal than your sword and that other thing you have in your possession. Very different.”
“Do you see the signal now?” He showed her the sword.
She looked again at each of the objects. “No … I don’t.”
“As I thought,” he said.
“Thought what?”
“Don’t you see?” he snapped. “They’re cursed. They are all cursed.”
“You’re right, Ahiram,” she said after a short moment. “They have lost their power. You cannot use them to fight this monster.”
“They were fine yesterday. I spent the entire night training with them.”
“That’s not surprising,” explained Sheheluth. “Some curses are proximity curses. They trigger when you are close to their source. Ibromaliöm’s libre and the monster must somehow be connected.”
Of course! How did I not think of it before? Orwutt and Zurwott told me the Karangalatad, their account of the history of the world, speaks of the Ithyl Shimea as a hidden doorway to the Pit. The urkuun is a creature of the Pit, so they must share the same power. Ahiram sighed. “What am I supposed to do now? How can I hope to defeat the urkuun?”
“Wait for me, here,” said Sheheluth. “I need to … go somewhere.”
“What? I need you to help me figure how to lift this curse.”
“That is what I am about to do, but I need to speak to … never mind. Wait for me here. I’ll be back.”
Sheheluth ran down the hill, and as she rounded a corner, she vanished from view.
“A Silent must never heed whispers of self-doubt or bouts of despair, lest they lead him to a lonely demise without honor.”
–Book of Lamentation 11:6.
“Dying we die and rising we rise. It is to the second that our eyes must yearn and our strength must lead, for death is a muted, meaningless void without the hope that carries us to the everlasting flow of love.”
–Memoirs of Shalimar, the Poet.
Standing in the midst of his men, waiting for the battle to begin, Orgond looked like an unmovable rock, a fitting symbol for the resistance of Tanniin. A scout joined him and bowed.
“What of our northern border?” asked Orgond.
“No forces in view,” whispered the scout.
“Excellent. Continue to watch and report if you see any movement of Thermodonian forces.”
The sentry bowed and left and Lord Orgond breathed a sigh of relief. He had shared with Tanios alone the latest alliance between Bar-Tanic and Thermodon. The commander had immediately sent a shadow of four Silent to Orlan, and he thought, Whether the Silent manage to disrupt the attack, or whether the Thermodonians decide to turn on the Bartanickians, either would be welcome news. Assuming we survive the urkuun, we will then deal with the northern berserkers.
Without warning, the sylveeds attacked. They rose from the plain like a gray massless form. As they drew closer, the mass became a sea of soulless soldiers, two thousand strong. There were no banners, no drummers, no trumpets, and no shouts. Just a de
adly march of placid puppets that then turned into a trot, and the trot became a surge rising to kill and destroy.
Their forward charge leapt in the trenches with a blind, carefree style, as if they were happy to die, hoping to attain a promised bliss in the afterlife. Arrows from the entrenched camp flew in successive lethal waves, mowing down the attackers who fell the way broken dolls fall when dropped by a child; as still as a cemetery, listless like ancient ruins. “Hold your positions,” bellowed Lord Orgond, “Do not let them break the lines. Hold your positions.”
As the night wore on, the fighting became a bloody, messy chore with the sylveeds surging relentlessly and the soldiers hacking and hewing. The blood of the dead soaked the tired grass, turning the hill into a slide.
Then, abruptly, like puppets in the hands of a puppeteer, the sylveeds stopped. Turning their backs on the soldiers they retreated slowly, soundlessly, and became a gray mass once more before vanishing from view. Even though they made easy targets, none of the archers had the heart to shoot them in the back.
“He is taunting us,” said Lord Orgond. “He wants us to know that life is cheap and he is willing to throw it away recklessly. We will show him that every drop of blood is precious. Stand your ground, warriors of Tanniin. Do not lose heart.”
More than one hundred soldiers died, and more were wounded. The bodies of countless dead sylveeds littered the plain. Orgond knew this was an initial skirmish to assess their power and detect any weakness. They now know we are fighting without Empyrean forces.
“Tend to the wounded and move the dead to the back of the camp. Keep your formation and repair the trenches,” commanded Orgond.
As the night began to recede and a sickly light turned the plain into a field of ashen grass, the sylveeds came back, ten thousand strong this time. Orgond’s army was ready. Riders set the plain ablaze, crippling the sylveeds’ advance while archers rained more arrows. But the urkuun held sway over his forces so they could not be demoralized or scared. They kept coming, and Orgond’s army was barely able to hold them off when a freezing blast of wind lashed out from the fortress and sundered the army’s trenches.
Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2) Page 55