She dumped her armful into his lap, and he yelped at the impacts. Some of those would leave bruises.
“Your lesson, Raimie,” Ferin said, a strange mix of fear, anger, and mischief in her eyes. “I expect you to be able to recite their contents the next time I see you.”
She departed just as abruptly as she’d arrived. Raimie gaped at the massive amount of bound knowledge around him. Even with skimming, it would take hours to get through it all.
“You must have really aggravated that woman. I’ve never seen her storm off so quickly,” Eledis said as he lifted the tent flap.
He took in the cluttered contents of the tent.
“And I see she left you some reading material. How nice.”
Raimie laughed.
“Nice. That’s one way to put it.”
He gathered the books in his lap and set them beside the others on the ground. Eledis silently watched him shift into a more comfortable position. He waited until Raimie was settled before he began his interrogation.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“I was stupid enough to trust someone I didn’t know, and he took advantage of that trust,” Raimie flushed at the admission while glancing at the tent flaps.
“So it was an assassination attempt?” Eledis asked.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Raimie shook his head, again checking the entrance. “More a poor attempt at revenge. Where’s dad?”
“Aramar came by while you were sleeping. He stuck around until exhaustion took hold. I’ve no doubt he’ll return when he wakes again,” Eledis pushed through his grandson’s distraction with uncharacteristic patience and returned to the important question. “Who was it, Raimie?”
“It was that trainee I faced during the Allanovian Council’s first trial,” Raimie paused, searching his memory. “Um… Dath, I think his name was.”
Eledis clasped his knees, groaning as he stood.
“Thank you. I’ll take care of this.”
“Eledis!” Raimie said sharply. “I…”
The words died out. He was going to ask his grandfather to grant reprieve to his attacker. After all, Dath’d had reasonable grievances against Raimie and his revenge narrative had failed. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve let it go, but he’d already spared Dath’s life once during the trials. The Zrelnach had taken that mercy and spit it in his face. No, sometimes even the young and useful had to pay for their crimes.
“Make it quick,” Raimie told Eledis, leveling his piercing blue eyes at his grandfather. “I don’t want him to suffer.”
Eledis regarded his grandson for the longest moment.
“Understood, and Raimie? Please keep yourself out of life-threatening situations for a while. I don’t know how much more stress your father can take.”
Raimie collapsed into the pillows and sheets. He’d essentially ordered someone’s death. He’d thought he’d feel terrible or guilt-ridden, but instead, it felt… just, right. He hadn’t done it for revenge or even for himself. After meeting Alouin and seeing how upset the god was by his death, Raimie knew that, for some reason, he had to stay alive because to do otherwise was to doom the world to chaos and suffering. Dath had threatened his survival and therefore, the well-being and happiness of countless other men and women. He needed to be held accountable.
Chela slunk into the tent carrying a large pitcher.
“I brought more water for you if you’re still thirsty,” she explained as she picked her way around books to set the pitcher next to the bowl on the table. “You also have a wash basin if you need it, and it looks as though someone has brought you something to occupy your mind. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Raimie chuckled nervously.
“May I please have a mirror? I’d love to check out my roguish new scar.”
“Scar?” Chela asked with confusion.
“From where my attacker sliced me open,” Raimie said, placing fingers on his cheek. “I guess he’d decided I wasn’t ugly enough…”
He trailed off as his fingers encountered perfectly smooth skin and tore away the sleeve covering his left shoulder. Staring at it in disbelief, he traced over the perfect skin where stitches should be closing the wound from Dath’s throwing knife.
He threw his legs over the side of the cot, staggering momentarily from the rapid change in elevation when he stood. Chela was on him in an instant, attempting to push him back down to the cot.
“What are you doing? You need to rest,” she said as she struggled to keep him from moving.
“I need to speak to Kheled. Now.”
Raimie swept past her, emerging into bright sunshine. The mists had retreated, allowing the sun’s rays to caress the human and Esela soldiers that huddled in the swamp below. To one side of the tent entrance, a heavily armed and armored, rugged human peeled an apple, his eyes constantly roving over the passing people.
Chela burst through the tent behind him and tugged on his arm to try to pull him back inside.
Raimie was drawing stares. With only one tent erected in the entire encampment and the disappearance of their leader, rumors must have spread like wildfire. Now, he emerged perfectly hale and healthy, wearing only simple clothing. Of course he garnered attention.
All of those eyes, he couldn’t stand their weight. He let Chela guide him back into the tent.
That didn’t mean he was giving up.
“Where are my things?” he asked, brushing off her hold on his arm.
“I don’t know! I’m sure I can find them, but you need to lie down and rest.”
“You may have noticed the attempt on my life? If there’s an assassin after me, I would much rather be armed when I face him. Also, I haven’t felt this well since this whole damn fiasco began months ago, and I’ve been asleep for two days. I most certainly do not need to lie down and rest,” Raimie growled, getting in her face.
She took a step back, and behind him, Dim giggled.
“Please get my things,” he said through gritted teeth.
“O-of course,” she stammered while retreating.
Raimie paced the tight confines of the tent while he waited. When Chela didn’t immediately return, he distractedly snatched a book off the top of one of the piles and skimmed it while he walked. Once he was finished with that one, he retrieved another.
At some point, he found himself lying on the cot, sufficiently calmed to cease pacing. He’d made it through one tall stack of fourteen books, each dealing with different aspects of tactics, strategy, and warfare. Concepts of troop distribution, properly equipping an army, and how to read a battlefield danced in his head. His brain strained under the influx of too much new information. Maybe he would follow Chela’s advice and take a nap.
He tented his current lesson over his face in an attempt to block out the streaming sunlight. Even with the artificial darkness, Raimie couldn’t get his mind to stop racing. Recently, he’d used sleeping potions to calm the circling thoughts. How did he normally get to sleep without their help? He closed his eyes, relaxed, and breathed evenly, waiting for his stream of consciousness…
* * *
…to drop into a dream state.
Except this wasn’t a dream state, was it? Hesitantly, Raimie sat up and took a good look at the place his mind had visited nearly every night since finding Shadowsteal.
He was in the exact center of a deep well whose walls rose a half mile up before reaching the surface. It was an exact replica of the one he and mama had…
For an instant, water closed over his head, and he couldn’t breathe. Shuddering, he forced his lungs to fill, fighting the conviction that he was about to drown. The illusory water vanished, and he resumed his inspection.
Above, a small patch of gray illuminated the gloom within. The pit’s floor and walls were composed of swirling blackness which, once it had caught the eye, refused to let go. Perfectly smooth and slick, they posed an impossible challenge for any who wished to reach the opening overhead.
/> Raimie supposed that he shouldn’t worry about that challenge until his legs were free. Strapped to the floor, he wouldn’t be walking or climbing anytime soon.
“Hello Raimie,” a small voice said.
A rush of happy memories flashed through his head at the sound of the voice that was as familiar as his own.
“Heya Nylion!”
The restraints binding his legs and feet snapped away as if they’d never existed. Raimie sprang to his feet and whooped. He stretched and ran in a tight circle around the site where he’d played captive for over nine years. Finishing his cycle, he faced the stranger who was, in fact, no stranger at all. Nylion patiently waited for him to calm with arms crossed.
“I knew I wasn’t making you up!” Raimie triumphantly exclaimed as he jabbed a finger into the hood. “You’re real!”
“Of course I am,” Nylion said irritably. “What would make you think otherwise?”
“Everyone insisting that I never had a genuine friend had me convinced for a while.”
Raimie raised a hand to push the hood back, but Nylion snatched his wrist and held it stationary.
“Not yet,” he firmly stated, squeezing tight.
Raimie held up his other hand to calm his friend.
“Sorry, you’re… not how I remember,” he said, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes.
“Memory is a funny thing,” Nylion told Raimie. “It is rarely accurate.”
He released the captive hand.
“Well, never mind that!” Raimie happily chortled. “I’m free! What now?”
“Now, we figure out how to escape this chasm while you go back to dealing with the problems of the real world,” Nylion told him, pointing up to the gray above. “The only difference is that I will be able to help us if reality becomes too overwhelming as I did before the spell took hold.”
Raimie looked up the shaft contemplatively.
“Exactly how are we supposed to climb a ridiculously high, sheer wall?” he asked, thinking out loud.
He didn’t doubt the feat was possible. After all, what was the point of a spell such as the one they’d been caught in if not to break it, but it sure looked improbable from here. He approached the wall and rested a hand against it. It slightly sunk into the black, and he immediately jerked back from the unpleasant sensation arching from the swirling blackness to his hand.
“I think I figured it out, and it’s not going to be fun,” he told Nylion.
His friend repeated the same exercise with the same results.
“I agree with your deduction and assessment. Alone, neither of us could scale these walls. Together, we might have a chance.”
Raimie cast a questioning glance at Nylion.
“You have an idea?”
“I do,” Nylion nodded, “and you are not going to like it.”
* * *
Raimie woke from his nap with a snort. Someone had lifted the book off of his face, Chela most likely. The female healer fitfully dozed cross-legged on the ground with her head and arms sprawled across his chest. The bright sunlight had retreated which meant that either the mists had returned or night had fallen. His pack and growing collection of weapons rested between the piles of books.
Raimie gingerly slipped out from beneath Chela, replacing his torso with a pillow under her head. He quickly and quietly dressed in his un-dyed Zrelnach armor and armed himself. As the last sheath was buckled into place, an immense sense of relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized how vulnerable he’d felt lying in a cot with nary a weapon and only a single guard to stand watch.
Stealing a glance over at said guard illuminated by firelight, Raimie drew one of his knives. He sliced through the canvas opposite the tent flaps and emerged into a mostly quiet camp. Men and women, both Esela and human, lounged around fires, slept in bedrolls, or leisurely strolled between the two.
After one sharp glance directed his way, Raimie snatched an untended cloak from where it dried by a fire and pulled it around his shoulders. He tugged the hood low over his face. A hooded individual would draw attention, but it wouldn’t draw nearly as much as his own, easily recognizable face.
He passed from campfire to campfire, checking each for his friend. With their small band of men and women, it wouldn’t take very long to inspect every sleeping and gathering space, but he hoped that his search would end sooner rather than later. He’d like to return to the tent before his disappearance was detected.
At one point, he caught sight of a familiar figure moving between boxes and carts, but he lost track of his quarry before he could catch up.
Raimie gave up after an hour. He couldn’t find a single trace of Kheled anywhere, and Chela could awaken at any moment. He hastened to the tent, making sure to return the cloak he’d borrowed on his way back. He’d skim a few more books and take a sleeping potion from his pack to fast forward to morning. Maybe he’d have more luck in the light of day.
Once he’d reached the tent, he ducked through the slit he’d made in its wall.
“Chela tells me you’ve woken, and when I rush over the first free moment I have, you’ve snuck away. Are you inviting another attempt on your life?”
Raimie’s heart lurched to the back of his throat, and he made a small squeak. Spinning around quickly, he took in Kheled’s grim expression and immediately felt foolish.
“Alouin, Khel. You should be the next assassin! You scared me half to death,” he whispered breathlessly.
“My apologies. I’m only a little concerned that you’re wandering around camp by yourself after a near-successful attempt on your life.”
“I’m fine!” Raimie rolled his eyes. “And I’m happy to see you too.”
He picked his way to the cot’s side and cautiously took a seat, careful not to wake Chela. Kheled plopped to the ground nearby, leaning against the foot of the cot.
The cramped interior of the tent was now packed tight. If someone wished to join them, he or she would be out of luck.
Attempting to remedy the situation, Raimie straightened the books, arranging those whose contents he’d mostly assimilated into a neat pile beneath the side table and those still to be skimmed in two slightly smaller stacks between the cot and the tent wall. The new arrangement allowed for a clear walkway. Hopefully, all of the tripping hazards had been eliminated.
He’d avoided looking at his friend while he used the work to delay the conversation that needed to take place. Once again, words failed him. He was at a loss for how to start. He needn’t have worried as Kheled began for him.
“Please don’t do that again,” he tiredly pleaded.
“Do what again?” Raimie asked distractedly.
“Die,” Kheled answered, sounding puzzled. “Pass away, leave the world behind, bite the dust, breathe your last. Has no one explained what happened to you?”
“They didn’t need to. I already knew,” Raimie smiled at his friend’s tensed shoulders. “Seemed pretty obvious that something awful had happened from the way everyone’s treated me, and I remember the events that led to me waking here.”
“I see.”
With nothing else to fiddle with in the tent, Raimie rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of his face. He prepared to plunge straight into the depths of the issue eating at him but at the last minute, decided to take a subtler approach.
“Let’s discuss the magic I’ve recently come into,” he started, staring off at a distant point above his fingertips.
Kheled twisted around, sharply glancing at Chela’s sleeping form.
“You mean primeancy?”
“Don’t worry about her. I doubt she’s waking anytime soon.”
To prove his point, Raimie stuck a finger into Chela’s ear canal. She mumbled and shifted her head away from the annoyance.
“Why do you want to discuss this topic now?” Kheled asked suspiciously.
Raimie shrugged.
“I called on my magic as a last resort when Dath tried to kill me, but it end
ed up hindering more than helping me because I’ve no clue how to use it. I should sharpen every weapon at my disposal, including those of magic. Practice would be the best teacher, but I seriously doubt I’ll be left alone again anytime soon, and I don’t think it wise to reveal that I’m a primeancer until I’ve at least basic control of the magic. I thought discussing theory might help in the meantime.”
“Did you have a specific topic in mind?” Kheled asked. “Otherwise, we might be here a while.”
Raimie did, but he didn’t know if his friend would tell the truth when asked. He certainly knew that he wouldn’t if confronted with the very same question.
“What exactly can I do with this energy I tap into?”
He’d start broad and gradually narrow in, hoping he could draw what he wanted from Kheled if he eased into it.
“I can only give you a limited scope of your abilities because I only draw from Ele. I’ve no idea what you’ll be able to do with its opposite, Daevetch,” Kheled warned him.
“Ele and Daevetch? Are those the two primal forces’ names? And what are they exactly? Gods?”
It was harder to guide the conversation than Raimie had anticipated. With so many distracting topics to stray into, he found it difficult to stick with the subject that might lead to answers he wanted.
“Daevetch and Ele are the names we mortals gave them, but I don’t know if a universal force can actually have a name. Such labels are something we use to differentiate one another from the masses, after all.
“As to your other question, they aren’t necessarily gods although many choose to see them as such. They’re merely forces of nature, but what do I know?” Kheled trailed off uncertainly for a moment. “Creation, whom I trust only marginally, is my only source of information when it comes to the topic. Primeancers haven’t walked this world for centuries. So much knowledge has been destroyed…”
His friend looked so lost.
“You have me to help you now,” Raimie said, hesitantly patting his shoulder. “Maybe together we can see if your splinter has been honest with you.”
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 33