The Gates of Golorath

by R. M Garino

  Ba’ril and Darien pulled ahead, while Nessah and Denuelle took defensive positions to either side of the bridge. A sensation tickled the edge of Arielle’s awareness as she entered the diminutive clearing, and she slowed. She tapped Gwen’s shoulder. Without question her companion matched her speed, and glanced her way. Arielle pointed two fingers at the foliage on both sides and made a fist. Nessah and Denuelle saw the gesture, and repeated it to Ba’ril and Darien. Gwen held a raised fist behind her for Caradoc to see as he rounded the curve.

  Everyone stopped in place, their hands dropping to their weapons.

  We’re spread too thin. Gwen’s voice sounded in Arielle’s mind. Pull together. The telepathic message had the same effect on all members; each stepped closer to their partner with slow, deliberate movements.

  Watch the trees, Arielle sent, following her own advice. She stretched out her sin’del, spreading her awareness, and letting her energies mingle and mix with the fall foliage.

  The crinkle of a bowstring being drawn against leather was muted, but she was prepared for it.

  “Bows!” she cried out, and threw herself to the ground.

  “Drop!” Ba’ril shouted even before she moved.

  Two flights of arrows shot from the leaves, buzzing the air in their wake, but they were already moving. Dropping to their knees within seconds of each other, they ducked low and drew their weapons.

  Hold for the second volley, Ba’ril sent. Mark their passage.

  Arielle felt his determination.

  The second volley followed before the first had struck the opposite trees. With her senses still extended, she felt the snipers stir the energies around them a fraction as they moved.

  To arms! she shouted telepathically, sending the approximate locations.

  Four figures leapt from the trees, two to each side, swords drawn and shields raised. The tattoos and piercings spoke their ranking and their intent. The Elc’atar Guard was upon them.

  In pairs, they chose their opponents and moved to engage them. Arielle and Gwen charged in tandem, Arielle swinging high and Gwen moving to the side and swinging low. Deidra, the Elc’atar they confronted, stopped Gwen’s attack with a flick of her wrist, and brought her shield around to catch the brunt of Arielle’s strike. Her foot struck out, catching Arielle just above her left knee. With the same motion, she swung her shield around and struck Gwen in the shoulder. Arielle danced to the side, the lower half of her leg going numb from the strike. Gwen spun with the impact, and brought her sword up to parry. She pushed onward, holding the sword with one hand.

  Deidra slid around the thrust and grabbed Gwen’s wrist. She slammed her knee into Gwen’s sternum. Arielle was moving before her friend crumbled. The Elc’atar faced her, her shield held at the ready.

  Arielle feinted with a lunge. As soon as her opponent shifted to counter, Arielle dropped low and to her right. She hit the ground and rolled over her shoulder. She swung her sword as she came to her feet, and felt the tip of the steel bite into the soft, unprotected flesh behind the woman’s knee. Hamstrung, the Elc’atar fell, her leg unable to support her weight.

  Arielle followed through, swinging the pommel of her sword into the woman’s temple. She ducked, and the blow glanced against the side of her head. With her good leg, the Elc’atar propelled herself upward, slamming into Arielle with her shield braced against her shoulder. The air left Arielle’s lungs in a rush as she was lifted off the ground and forcefully thrown back down.

  She felt the wind in her ears as she flew backward. Her head struck the earth. The world swum, and she blinked in rapid succession to force her vision to focus. The blurred image of the woman appeared above her, looming with ill intent. The figure bent close, hefting her shield. She raised her arm and swung the wooden defense downward.

  Arielle passed out just after the impact.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Something to Write

  Home About

  The blinding pain was the first thing Arielle became aware of. It radiated out from the back of her head, as if it wanted to push through her brow. The ache in her chest followed, a slow throb that demanded acknowledgment. Her lower leg begged for attention, but it was dull and persistent, rather than sharp and impatient like the rest.

  She rolled to her side. The movement caused her meager midday meal to roll in her stomach, and she heaved its contents into the dirt.

  “Moving’s not the best thing for you, greenie,” a voice said from somewhere outside the haze of pain.

  Arielle drew her legs toward her middle, and pulled her sin’del close around her. She fought for control, and the world eased its incessant spin. She lay in a fetal position, pushing the pain away.

  After a moment, she shifted and rolled onto her knees.

  “Not one for sound advice, I take it,” the voice said. She was grabbed by the shoulder, and hefted her to her feet.

  “Good,” the voice said. “I like the stubborn ones.”

  Arielle stumbled and bumped into the woman. Squinting, she pressed a hand against the speaker for support, and drew a deep breath.

  Her hand was slapped away.

  “Don’t get too friendly, darling,” Deidra said. “I don’t take graduates to bed, and I don’t offer free feels, either.”

  Arielle blushed as she blinked her eyes open.

  “You’re a pretty one, though, so I might make an exception.”

  Moving her head was painful, but she forced herself to face Deidra. It was the Elc’atar she had fought. Incongruently, a small smile played upon the edges of the woman’s mouth as she blew a kiss. Arielle’s color deepened.

  “About time you got up, Rhen’val,” another said. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

  Arielle winced as she moved to see the new speaker. The captured members of her squad knelt on the ground in a line, their hands on top of their heads and their ankles crossed behind them. Three Elc’atar stood ranged around them, keeping an arrogant guard.

  Calum, the male who had spoken, gestured toward her friends. His hand, she noticed, never left the hilt of his sword. Arielle walked over to the group, the guard she had fought keeping pace several steps behind her. Trying not to let her pain show, Arielle knelt beside Caradoc, who was last in the line. Each captive showed signs of their defeat: several bloody, and all dirty and bruised. Denuelle and Darien were missing.

  “The Twelfth,” Calum said. “The supposed pride of House Fel’Mekrin. Kneeling broken and beaten less than half a mile from their destination, and now woefully behind schedule. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “Two of our members crossed the bridge,” Ba’ril said, a touch of vanity tinting his voice, although his swollen lips made it difficult to understand him.

  “True. Two did cross, but five were left behind.”

  “We accomplished the mission,” Gwen said. Her chin was lifted, her face smug in defiance of the bruises that marred her cheek.

  “You left the greater part of your force behind to hold a smaller number,” another said. There was no mistaking the disdain in his tone.

  “We were seven graduates facing four Elc’atar Guards, Ian,” Caradoc said. “I would not call that a smaller number.”

  The four Elc’atar chuckled in appreciation of the comment.

  “At least they knew they didn’t stand a chance,” Ian said.

  “Nevertheless,” the leader, Calum said and the laughter ceased, “the greater part of your force was left behind. That will count against you. The greater number should have crossed the gorge.”

  “They did fight well,” Deidra lifted Arielle’s ponytail and waved at her peers with it. “This one hamstrung me before I took her out of the fight, and her companion almost took my head off before I could heal.”

  Arielle glanced down the line at Gwen, who winked at her.

  “That is true,” Calum said. “Not many graduates are able to so much as scratch one of us. That was well done. Top marks for that, Rhen’val and Fe
l’Mekrin.” He pointed to each in turn. A glow of pride suffused Gwen’s sin’del at the compliment, and Arielle felt a similar reaction swell within her.

  “There might be hope for you all yet,” Shona, the other female slapped Arielle and Gwen on the back of their heads.

  The leader stretched out his energy field to his cohort as he telepathically communicated with them. A shrug of a shoulder, or the movement of a head answered his query.

  “So be it,” he said. “On your feet Twelfth! Double time back to the barracks. Move! Move! Move!”

  They scrambled to their feet as best as they were able, and ran toward the bridge that was denied them moments before.

  The pain in Arielle’s head, chest, and leg flared with each step she took, but she was filled with an intense pride. They had accomplished their mission, though at a terrible cost. At least two of their members had completed the course. And, she had wounded an Elc’atar on her first encounter.

  Finally, she had something that she would not be embarrassed to write home about.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Making a Statement

  The silent white rooms of the infirmary greeted Angus when he awoke. The soul lights came to life as he opened his eyes, and brightened as he began to move. He had no memory of coming here, no memory of leaving the Rock. Not a good sign. He had a nagging suspicion that he’d done something embarrassing. It would not be the first time he’d have to do a walk of shame.

  He threw off the covers.

  Naked.

  He sat on the bed, wondering where they’d stored his clothes. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been on the Rock. His clothes were more than likely on the fire.

  Angus wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and hoping that it was not too windy a day, attempted to leave.

  “Hold, Kal’Parev,” the orderly called as Angus walked through the large doorway into the vestibule. A number of smaller rooms radiated off of one central space, each with oversized passages to allow the orderlies carrying patients space to maneuver. Like everything else associated with the Areth’kon, the design of the room tended toward efficiency.

  “Ah, Bicca,” Angus called to the speaker. “Glad to see you.”

  “Get back to bed,” Bicca said. He had covered the intervening space in a remarkably short amount of time.

  “Thanks for the hospitality, but really I must be going.”

  Angus tried to leave, but the orderly stopped him.

  “Back to bed,” he said. He spun Angus around as he spoke. “I’m not in any mood for your antics today, and you’re not in any shape to argue.”

  “You’re probably right,” Angus said. “Nevertheless, I am still leaving.”

  “Really? What about clothes? You planning on walking across the quad in a blanket?”

  “If need be,” Angus said with a smile. “I was hoping for a bit of courtesy, but wishes are like assholes.”

  Angus’ grin did nothing to soften Bicca’s mood. If anything, it made it worse, and the façade of ill-used propriety fell away.

  “Get back to bed, now!” he said with a shove to reinforce his command. “That’s an order.”

  Angus stumbled a few feet, and braced himself against the doorframe with his shoulder. Damn, but he was not in any condition for this. The room tilted with violent dips as he moved, and he closed his eyes to settle himself.

  “If I didn’t know better,” Angus said as he pushed himself away from the doorway, “I’d think you were trying to keep me here.”

  “Stop wasting my time. I have actual work that requires my attention.”

  “My apologies,” Angus said. He affected a small bow as best he could while wrapped in the blanket. “Be about your business. I will trouble you no more.”

  Bicca regarded him, his folded his arms across his chest, and after a moment, raised an eyebrow.

  “Please, please, don’t let me interfere. I won’t hear of it.”

  An outer door opened at the far end of the space, casting a quick blast of cold air into the room. Bicca whipped his head around, and focused his attention on the intruder.

  Thomlin was smirking as he pulled down the cowl of his cloak.

  “Look at this,” he said, throwing his arms wide. “You’re up and about.” He dropped his arms, and cocked his head to the side as he took in the blanket wrapped around Angus. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “I was just leaving,” Angus said.

  “In a blanket?” Thomlin said. “I must admit it does make a statement. I’m not sure what though. Maybe a desperate cry for attention?”

  “How long?”

  “You’ve been unconscious for four days, cousin. Beat your previous record by a day.”

  “Enough!” Bicca said. Pointing at Thomlin, he said, “You. Leave now. I’ll not deal with two Kal’Parevs at once, especially not the two of you if I can help it.”

  “You get yourself back into bed,” he said to Angus.

  “Thomlin,” Angus said, “do you mind if I impose upon you?”

  “Of course not. I’m at your service.”

  “I seem to have left my aggression with my clothes,” Angus said. “Would you mind beating this fellow for me. I’ll repay you later when I return to my cell.”

  “Why, of course not,” Thomlin said. Turning toward Bicca, he rolled his shoulders and bent his neck to either side. “It’s no trouble at all.”

  Bicca shifted his right foot back and raised a finger at Thomlin.

  “I have given you a direct order to exit the premises,” he said. “I will not repeat myself.”

  The door opened again and Hironata, Ossian, Enid, Ti’vol, and Demona entered. Angus tried to stand a little straighter at the arrival of his squad. His best was little more than a swaying hunch; he felt as if his head and shoulders weighed too much to hold up. Thomlin took advantage of the situation and slipped away. Bicca’s sin’del was ablaze with exasperation, and his glare was fixed on the newcomers.

  “Out!” he roared. “All of you out! Now!”

  “Hi Bicca,” Demona said with a wave, ignoring his outburst. Her blonde hair was plaited into an elaborate braid which matched Enid’s and Ti’vol’s.

  “Nice to see you today,” Enid said as she pushed her way through the press of bodies. Tilting her dark brown head so that her blue eyes showed, she asked, “How’s Remmy?”

  Bicca wore a scandalized expression, as if trying to comprehend why they wouldn’t obey a direct command. Behind him, Thomlin slipped back into the room.

  “Is he always this uptight?” Hironata said, as he edged his massive bulk closer to Angus.

  “Usually,” Thomlin said. He made no attempt to hide his smile at the orderly’s discomfort.

  “What’s this?” Ossian said, lifting a small flask filled with an amber liquid from the ready station in the center of the circular space.

  “Is this where they keep the psychotic patients?” Demona said. She cracked open a door that was supposed to be locked according to the signage.

  “Who’s Remmy?” Ti’vol said.

  “It’s none of your fecking business who Remmy is!” Bicca yelled, pointing to each of them in turn, slicing the air with his fingers. “Get out, all of you!”

  He pointed at Angus. “You as well.”

  Bicca stalked over and grabbed Angus by the shoulder. With a shove, he pushed him to the exit. Angus stumbled into Hironata, who caught him before he fell.

  “Nice blanket,” Hironata said as he helped Angus straighten.

  “Thanks. I’m trying to make a statement,” Angus said as he rearranged its folds.

  “What type of statement?”

  “I was thinking ‘desperate cry for attention’.”

  Hironata gestured his approval. “It’s working.”

  Within moments, Bicca bustled them out of the infirmary and into the night, barring the door behind them. Angus huddled against the bitter cold of the wind that sliced through the thin cover.

  “Get dressed,” Thomli
n said. He unslung his bag from his shoulders and threw it to Angus. They fell into formation, blocking him from view as he struggled into his clothes, propped up between Hironata and Ossian. There was a vast difference in their physique—Hironata was larger than Angus, whereas Ossian was slight and thin. There was also a tremendous contrast in their hair and coloring. Hironata’s hair was almost as black as a Fel’Mekrin’s, whereas Ossian’s dark blond hair had a reddish cast to it.

  “I think he’s getting better,” Enid said.

  “I’m fine,” Angus said.

  “Not you,” Demona said over her shoulder.

  “No surprise there,” Thomlin said, apparently aware of who the conversation was really about. “Bicca’s been mewing over him for days.”

  “I wouldn’t call it mewing,” Angus said, “but I’ve been asleep.”

  “They mean that lo’el pup in there,” Ti’vol said, peeking at Angus.

  “Lo’el pup?” Angus said as he belted his pants.

  Ti’vol nodded her head in thoughtful silence, her reddish braid swaying behind her. It was Ossian who answered.

  “Remmy,” he said, his dour expression seeming to find its way into his voice.

  Thomlin rolled his eyes when Ossian failed to elaborate, and took over for him.

  “Enid pulled it out of him the other day when we crashed the infirmary to see you,” he said, tossing Angus a shirt. “She batted her eyes at him or something.”

  “Did not,” Enid said. “I just asked.”

  Thomlin acted as if he did not hear her. “Seems his lo’el, Gascon, had pups. Remmy is the runt.”