Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 3 - Honor and Blood by Fel ©

by James Galloway (aka Fel)

  Tarrin brought it down and laid it on the ground. It wasn't moving. He knelt by the body and raised the visor, and found a face that he remembered, a face not eaten with maggots. The restoration of the soul had brought with it a restoration of the body as well, and he now looked exactly as he had on the day he died. But there was no soul in that body, he could tell. Where Jegojah's soul had somehow managed to remain affixed to the body, Faalken's had not. He reached out with his senses and felt it, felt the presence of Death Herself disappearing into the nether, and along with Her was the soul of Faalken Strongsword, Knight of Karas and beloved friend. Taking him home, where he was supposed to go from the beginning, delivering him to the Hammer Hall of Karas, the spiritual realm of the God of Sulasia, the God of Law.

  Tarrin looked down at the peaceful face of Faalken, and he began to weep. He had had no idea what was going to happen, but some part of him was hoping that Faalken's spirit would have remained a while, remained long enough for them to talk, for Tarrin to apologize for getting him killed, stayed long enough to absolve Tarrin for his part in Faalken's death. But he had not. And what was worse, Tarrin looked down at that cheeky face and desperately missed his friend, feeling him die all over again.

  A restored Jegojah knelt beside Tarrin, his undead, taut face sober, the light filling its eye sockets now white instead of red. "Freed us, ye did, Were-cat," he said quietly. "No amount of thanks can Jegojah give, aside from this. This man was a valiant warrior, and it is right to grieve his death. But he moves on to a better place, a place of rest, where he can finally gain the rewards he so richly deserves. Know that he never blamed you for his own death. That death was his choice, and there were no regrets. Dishonor not that memory. Remember him always as he was, a great man deserving of your eternal respect."

  For no earthly reason he could explain, that did make Tarrin feel a great deal better. And the Doomwalker was right. Faalken had died protecting Dolanna. It was a choice, a conscious choice, and it was something that he had accepted without remorse or regret. Faalken was a hero, a hero in every sense of the word, a man of bravery and intelligence, a man of warmth and compassion, a man who Tarrin had called friend. He was a man who deserved every honor that could be bestowed upon him, and he would not belittle that choice, that death, with his own tortured self-blame.

  Wiping the tears from his eyes, Tarrin looked down at the restored body of Faalken Strongsword, Knight of Karas, and silently rejoiced. No matter what torments he had suffered within the bounds of that crystalline prison, he was now free. He was free to return to the realm beyond, to return to his so tremendously deserved rest.

  Faalken was free. And that was what mattered most to Tarrin at the moment.

  "Goodbye, my friend," Tarrin whispered, crossing Faalken's arms over his chest, and laying his sword atop him and his shield over the sword, in the death pose of all Knights. To always have his sword in hand and shield at the ready, to be eternally vigilent and ready to serve.

  Tarrin stepped back and raised his paws, as the ghostly radiance of Magelight surrounded them. Tarrin wove together a massive weave of Earth, causing a magnificent marble crypt to grow up around the body of his friend, raising him up onto a slab of pure quartz and encased within that beautiful shining stone, clean and white and pristine. It took the form of a hammer, the symbol of Karas, with Faalken's body resting in what was the hammerhead of the building's construction. He then wove spells of Warding into the stone, powerful Wards that would make the tomb all but impervious to any attempt to break into it, forever protecting Faalken's body from another such attempt to use him in so callous and hideous a fashion. Into the side of the building, Tarrin etched in this message:

  Resting place of Faalken Strongsword, Knight of Karas, and one of the greatest heroes ever to set foot in this world. May the memory of his sacrifice live on as long as the world draws breath, a world he died to save.

  Now, he was certain that Faalken would be eternally safe, and would rest in peace.

  Sighing, feeling a whirlwind of emotions racing through him, Tarrin and the restored Jegojah stared on at that crypt in complete silence, stared on in quiet reverence, honoring the man for which it had been created.

  Honoring a hero.

  To: Title EoF

  Chapter 18

  It was late. The sun had gone down long before, and was replaced by the dim, infusing light of the Skybands and the moons. Most of the ancient city was bathed in that soft, gentle light, except for one small area, in a clearing about a longspan from the arena, where a large campfire cast harsh, flickering red and yellow light against the buildings surrounding that little square. There were no tents or other structures around the fire to show a campsite, only two rather unusual beings sitting on opposite sides of the fire, sitting on fallen building stones. One of them was an unnaturally tall Were-cat, the other an obviously undead being garbed in shimmering silvered armor. Not hours before, the two of them had been the most bitter of enemies. But time and events had changed that, not a mean feat given the Were-cat's mighty temper and long memory, changed their relationship into something not really friendship, but something that extended a certain amount of trust in both directions. Both knew that the other was no longer any threat, and that allowed them to coexist peacefully.

  They hadn't spoken since Tarrin left Jegojah at Faalken's tomb. In reality, he didn't really know what to say. The Doomwalker--if that was still what it was--had been his most hated enemy when he woke up. And now...now he was not. The vicious battle between them didn't inspire any hatred in Tarrin, nor did any of its past actions, for some reason. Yes, Jegojah had killed Faalken, had tried to murder his sister, and had been continually harassing him for years, but that was only because it had no other choice. The ki'zadun had captured Jegojah's soul, and that meant that he had to obey them. The alternative was utter annihilation, or, in the most recent case, being given to a Demon. From what he'd learned of Demons from Shiika and others, utter annihilation would probably be the more attractive alternative. He could look at Jegojah and remember everything that had happened between them, but it was almost like it had been someone else doing it. Tarrin had suffered enough rages to know how that felt, to feel like there was another person inside him controlling his actions, and he transplanted that sense to the undead warrior. In his eyes, Jegojah was without blame, and it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.

  But he was still a stranger, and Tarrin found that he feared Jegojah purely on those feral lines. But that was a fear that he had learned to at least partially subdue, for limited amounts of time, so he found that he could tolerate his presence. So long as he stayed where Tarrin could see him and kept his distance.

  Tarrin wasn't sure why the undead warrior was still here. He was free now, free to do whatever he wanted, and from the looks of it, he certainly had something in mind. He had retrieved that nasty magical sword that had put cuts on Tarrin that still hadn't healed. But instead of saying his farewells and leaving, he remained. Sitting on the other side of the campfire, content with the silence. He had no reason to stay, so why was he still here?

  "It grows late," Jegojah finally said, looking up at the sky. "This land, it is not safe to wander after dark, yes. Where is the Faerie?"

  "She'll be along," he replied. "Why are you still here?"

  "Jegojah has plans, but nothing that can't wait a day or two, no," he replied. He drew that wicked sword of his and looked at the blade, the glowing white eyes caressing its length. "Jegojah will see ye safely out of the ruins, yes, and well on the way. Then Jegojah will leave ye, and attend to matters. Yes."

  "What matters?"

  He looked up at Tarrin, a rather vicious smile on his leathery face. "Revenge," he said calmly. "For five hundred years, Jegojah has suffered under the heel of the ki'zadun. When Death, she came for us, Jegojah pleaded for the chance to strike back, avenge Jegojah against the tormenters. Death denied Jegojah, but Pygas did not." Pygas. That was a name Tarrin didn't often hear. Pygas was a minor
godling, a demigod, whose sphere was revenge. "Pygas granted Jegojah a year and a day, yes, a year and a day to hunt down and destroy Kravon. Kravon, and his band of Wizards that helped enslave Jegojah. Suffer, they will, for forcing Jegojah to do their evil. Yes."

  That answered a few questions. Tarrin had been wondering how Jegojah had remained behind when Faalken had moved on. If Jegojah had been granted time to get back at the ki'zadun, then it made sense things the way things happened as they did. It explained why his armor had changed. He was no longer a Doomwalker, but he was still an undead force. Only free-willed, and with vengeance on his mind. Tarrin very nearly pitied Kravon. If Jegojah still had his Doomwalker powers, there was nowhere that the Wizard could hide from him, and no way to keep him at bay. Once Jegojah caught up to him, he'd use that evil weapon of his to bleed the Wizard dry, and he'd probably take his own sweet time about it. Revenge was best when it was slow revenge, to make the victim fully understand and appreciate why he was dying.

  "Just stab him a few times for me," Tarrin said grimly. "Kravon owes me quite alot of blood."

  "Jegojah will, Were-cat, yes. Jegojah will bleed the cursed Wizard just for ye. Yes." The undead warrior looked at him. "Jegojah knows that ye do not blame Jegojah, but Jegojah still offers apologies. Much hardship, Jegojah has caused ye. It is not something Jegojah wanted himself."

  "I know," he replied quietly. "You weren't to blame."

  "The foul Soultrap," he spat. "It corrupts the soul. Virtue, Jegojah once had, yes. Virtue and honor, but the damned Soultrap blackened Jegojah's soul, made him enjoy doing harm and spreading misery. This quest for revenge, it is as much a chance to right wrongs, yes, as it is a chance to bleed Kravon. Jegojah will avenge lost honor." He sheathed that ugly sword of his and looked at Tarrin unwaveringly. "Lucky, you were, to pull Faalken from the Soultrap before his honor was lost, yes. The Soultrap is ten times worse than any Succubus' seductive smile."

  Tarrin snorted, then chuckled. "I know a Succubus. Believe me, that's a pretty good example. And it makes me understand exactly how you felt." Tarrin still remembered Shiika's strange power to enslave the will. If the Soultrap was anything like that, then he fully understood and appreciated the horror that Jegojah must have endured, the horror of having something invade his very soul and twist it to its own ends.

  "Ye know a Succubus?" Jegojah asked curiously.

  "Well, from what I've seen, she's not an ordinary Succubus. Not even an ordinary Demon. She's no sweet maiden, but she's nothing like the Demon's I've heard about in stories. Maybe it's a front, but maybe it's not. Maybe even Demons can have goodness in them."

  "A nice Demon?" Jegojah said, then he cackled. "That would cause the universe to explode, yes."

  "Maybe," Tarrin acceded with a wry smile. "She's not gentle or kind or anything like that, but she's definitely lacking that fundamental evil that I've heard is in Demonkind."

  "How do ye know?"

  "I'm not sure," he replied. "But I do."

  "Tell Jegojah of this Demon," he asked.

  Nodding, Tarrin started more or less at the beginning, and recanted a good deal of his struggle against Shiika. He left out some of the more intimate or embarassing parts, but he related a pretty much well factual accounting of the events of Dala Yar Arak. He also explained what happened when Shiika kissed him. "It did this to me," he said, motioning at himself. "It seems that a Succubus' kiss drains the life force out of people, and in a way, it ages. She couldn't kill me with her draining kiss, but it made me age. It took a while for my body to catch up, though," he remembered.

  "Jegojah wondered how ye came to grow," he cackled. "Jegojah should have asked, yes. Shocked Jegojah, it did, in every sense of the word. Such power, never had Jegojah expected it, no."

  "I noticed that," Tarrin said, not a little bit of satisfaction of the memory of Jegojah's shocked face washing over him. It was a very sweet memory, even if he no longer considered the Doomwalker an enemy. "Anyway, after that, I got pretty much well angry. So I decided to kill the Emperor, pin the Succubus in place, and then go looking for the Book of Ages while I had her indisposed."

  Jegojah cackled loudly, stamping his boots on the ground. "Jegojah knew he liked ye, Were-cat," he said with a wide grin. "Ye really did in the Emperor of Arak?"

  Tarrin nodded, but his expression was somber. "Him and a few hundred innocent bystanders. I'm not very proud of that." He shook it off. "Anyway, while the Succubus was trying to dig herself out of the rubble, I invaded her palace and found the Book."

  "Do ye have it now?"

  Tarrin nodded. "I can't show it to you, so don't ask. If I bring it out, its presence will tell everyone exactly where I am."

  "Then don't," Jegojah said quickly. "Danger, Jegojah will not bring it to you, no. What happened next?"

  "That's pretty much it," he replied. "Me and Sarraya fled Dala Yar Arak with the book, with about half the Empire of Arak hot on our heels. We're trying to get back to the West now."

  "What of the Selani and the others?"

  "They left by ship," he replied.

  "Good. Jegojah feared ye and the Faerie were the only survivors. Their safety, it is important to Jegojah, yes."

  "Why?"

  "Their safety, Jegojah threatened, yes. Jegojah carries burden enough knowing Jegojah brought Faalken low. Jegojah wishes not for any more suffereing, no."

  That ratcheted up Jegojah's standing in Tarrin's mind by several notches. "If you don't mind, where are you from? Originally."

  "Jegojah comes from Shacè," he replied. "Jegojah was born in the year 768, some fifteen hundred years ago by our calendar, yes. Jegojah died in battle during the War of Seven Swords."

  That was a war between Sulasia and Shacè. "What was it like back then?"

  "Much different," he replied. "Almost everyone could use magic, yes. Children were forbidden to learn magic, but most adults knew at least a cantrip or two."

  "Why were children forbidden to learn magic?" Tarrin asked curiously.

  "Because, Were-cat, magic in a child's hands is dangerous, yes," he replied. "The rule, it was originally set forth by the Priests, to prevent Wizard magic from tainting possible future priests, but it was a rule of common sense, yes, so it was obeyed."

  "The strictures concerning orders of magic," Tarrin remembered. "If a child learned Wizard's cantrips, he couldn't access any other order of magic from then on."

  "Exactly," Jegojah replied. "The origins of the War of Seven Swords, they are lost on Jegojah. All Jegojah knew was that he had an enemy to battle, yes. Jegojah commanded the Silver Knights, a great army, but Jegojah's army, it was no match for katzh-dashi and their High Sorcery, no. Jegojah died in the face of Sorcerer's Fire."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Jegojah holds not a grudge against the katzh-dashi," he said calmly. "War is conflict. Their orders, they were simply obeying them, as Jegojah was his own, yes. Much is lost to Jegojah after that, until Jegojah felt his soul being ripped from its eternal rest, pulled back from the Realms Beyond and placed into that thrice-damned Soultrap." Jegojah almost seemed to bristle. "Such began Jegojah's imprisonment. Used Jegojah, they did, for their dirty work. There were two before Kravon, but Kravon, he was the worst. The others did not torture Jegojah for fun, no. Kravon often summoned Jegojah just to torment Jegojah. Jegojah had no doubt that had Jegojah defeated ye in fair combat, still Kravon would have given Jegojah's soul to his pet Demon. May she suck the marrow from his bones," he spat.

  "She?" Tarrin asked curiously.

  "A marilith," Jegojah answered. "They are Demons of great power, yes. They are women with the lower body of snakes, and have six arms. But their appearance and powerful magic, they are not their main advantage, no. Marilith are the most cunning and intelligent of all Demonkind. Kravon, he summoned the marilith to help plan battles, something they do very well."

  "Battles?" Tarrin asked quickly. "What kind of battles?"

  Jegojah cackled. "Jegojah's soul was trapped in the Soultrap
, and Kravon often carried it around with him. What Kravon does not know is that Jegojah could hear what was going on, yes, hear through the Soultrap. Jegojah had been inside it for so long that Jegojah learned how to come close to the surface, close enough to hear through the prison walls. Jegojah knows many of Kravon's plans." He looked quickly at Tarrin. "Much anguish, Jegojah thinks it would cause, if all of Kravon's carefully laid plans were brought to ruin," he said with a speculative look. "Ye be a Weavespinner, a sui'kun. Know ye the art of distant communication?"

  "I do," he replied immediately.

  "Good. Ye can help Jegojah break the ki'zadun over his knee."

  "Any way I can," Tarrin said soberly.

  Listen very closely to this, kitten, the Goddess warned in his mind. Very, very closely.

  If anything, that told him that he'd better pay attention. Jegojah was about to say something very important.

  "Jegojah does not know all the details, but he knows enough. All the unsettled activity in the West, it is caused by the ki'zadun. Jegojah knows that they have incited Daltochan to invade Sulasia, that they have incited war between the Ungardt and the Tykarthians. This, they do, as a means to get ki'zadun forces to lay siege to Suld. They seek to destroy the Tower of Six Spires, raze it to the ground, yes. They think that if they can destroy the Tower, they can defeat ye and gain the Firestaff unopposed."

  "How do they plan to do that?"

  "It goes thusly," he said, standing up and coming over to Tarrin. He sat down on the block beside him, drew a dagger, then leaned down and quickly etched a rough map of the West in the sand before them. "Began, it did, some fifteen years ago, from what Jegojah remembers. In Shacè. The ki'zadun, they killed King Armond and caused civil war, turning Shacè into what it is now," he said spitefully. He was obviously a patriot to his kingdom. "This, they did, because Sulasia and Shacè have been solid allies for many many years. Their first move was to isolate Sulasia. After this, ki'zadun agents managed to infiltrate the courts of the kings of Daltochan and Draconia, and did it so well that both nations are but puppets to Kravon's seat. Kravon rules the central marches of the West, and their armies became his to command. After this, the ki'zadun lured into employ the Fae-da'kii, the Woodland kin that reject Fae-da'Nar, with promises of unlimited humans for feed and torment after the ki'zadun took over. Managed, they did, to secure the services of Quicklings, Harpies, Vampires, Lamias, Leucrotta, Penangallen, Dopplegangers, and many other fell creatures, and used them, they did, to crush all resistance from the Goblinoids and bring them under the Black Network's rule.