by Matt Heppe
“Are you Cam?” Yevin asked.
“I am. What may I call you?”
“I’m Inquisitor Yevin.”
“Did you find anything?” Cam asked as he rested his javelin on his shoulder.
“There are more of them, Cam,” Ayja said. “I think Seline became one.”
“I suspect the whole family did,” Yevin said.
“Forsvar save us,” Cam said, shaking his head.
“Why not the children?” Ayja asked. “Why were they killed?”
“We don’t know. Too many questions. We have to find who is behind it all,” Yevin said. “I’m going back to town. My lance should have arrived by now. I’ll bring them back up tomorrow.” He paused a moment and glanced around the property. “You should come down as well. It isn’t safe up here.”
“We might just do that,” Cam said.
“Don’t dally.” Yevin put his heels to his horse and rode down the valley trail.
Ayja let out a sigh as he departed. “What do we do?”
“We leave.”
“Leave?”
“I’ve spent the past fifteen years keeping you safe. Now, with these creatures and the inquisitors about, I don’t think it is safe.”
Ayja glanced around the yard. It was the only home she had ever known. “When do you want to leave?” she asked, not sure she could imagine leaving. “Where will we go? How will we start over again?”
“We’ll leave tomorrow at dawn. I don’t want to cross the north ridge at night. Especially with these creatures around.”
“Where will we go?”
Cam paused a moment. “Landomere.”
Ayja’s heart lurched in her chest. “Landomere? Truly?”
Cam nodded. “You have family there. They’ll hide you.”
“You think my grandparents are alive?”
“Your mother wasn’t much older than twenty when you were born. Her parents couldn’t be that old.”
Leaving her home just to hide in another Saladoran village was not something Ayja wanted to do. She had friends here. It was the middle of nowhere, but it was home. To leave for Landomere—that was something different. Her mother’s homeland. Family. She smiled despite her anxiety.
“Can we make it so far? It’s a long way.”
“I made it here with you as a baby. I think we can make it back.”
“I wish we could say goodbye.”
Cam shook his head. “We’ll let the animals free, but I’ll burn the house down. I want everyone to think us dead. I want them to think the creatures have come for us.”
“You’re going to burn our house down?”
He shrugged. “You can do it if you want.”
“But… it’s my home.”
“It has to be this way. Pack your bags.” He glanced up. “The sun is setting. I want to be indoors well before full dark. We’ll take Gef the Mule, but even so, don’t pack heavy. He’s an old mule. Cam frowned. “I wish we could sell the other animals. I’d like to take some more money with us.”
Ayja grinned. “I have money.”
“What? From selling your clay pots?”
“They’re not pots. They’re earthenware, and they’re pieces of art partially crafted by elementar magic. And no that’s not all the money I have. I have gold.”
“Gold?” His face clouded. “Where did you get gold?”
Ayja grinned. “I’m an elementar, Cam. I can feel the gold in the streambed. I’ve been collecting it for years.”
He laughed. “How much do you have?”
“Over the past few years I’ve made five ingots as large as my thumb.” She couldn’t help but grin as she revealed her long kept secret.
“That’s my girl,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t forget to pack it! Now go inside and close all the shutters before you pack. I’ll check on the animals.”
Ayja entered the house and put her spear against the wall. All of their other weapons and armor had been put away. Cam had clearly known about the inquisitor and had hidden away their illegal arms.
She went down into the basement to find her stash of gold. Cam would like to see it she was certain. She went to the stone wall and found the right place. Putting her hand on the stone, she glanced into the aether and touched the strands of magic. Focusing her will on the stone, she caused it to shift. Loose now, she pulled it from the wall and took a small pouch from the concealed crevasse.
When she put the stone back, she didn’t bother sealing the compartment. She’d never use it again. Hefting the gold in her hand, she jogged back up the stairs. The light was definitely fading outside, and she hadn’t yet closed the shutters. She went to a window at the back of the house and heard a loud scream. A terrible, inhuman scream, and it was close—somewhere out the front of the house.
Ayja dropped her gold and dashed out the front door. Another cry.
“Cam!” Ayja shouted. She sprinted for the barn. Cam shouted and something crashed. Terrified sheep ran from the barn. She had to dodge them as she ran through the door.
Her friend, Nedden, lay dead on the floor. Cam’s javelin though his chest. His pale skin and tortured face told her that he was one of them. Gef the Mule almost bowled her over as it ran from the barn.
Then she saw Cam, pinned to the floor by another of the creatures. This one wore only shreds of clothing, and its flesh had wasted away so that it was almost a skeleton.
Cam had the creature by the throat, holding it back as its slavering jaws snapped, trying to get to his neck. The monster’s hands clawed at Cam’s face, drawing blood in long gashes.
“No!” Ayja screamed. She leapt at the creature and seized it from behind. As she touched it her vision flashed and the world was shrouded in silver light. Power rushed through her body. She threw it from Cam.
The creature hit a stall and fell to the floor before bouncing back to its feet. It screamed a shrill cry and launched itself at her. Ayja met it half way, her hands grasping its neck. She drove the beast backwards, pinning it against a wooden pillar.
Dirty, claw-like hands tried to peel her hands away, but her arms coursed with strength. The world shrank around her, her silver vision turning into a tunnel, through which she could only see the monster’s snarling face.
Ayja slammed the creature’s head against the pillar. It tried to writhe free, but her hands held it fast. She slammed it again, and its head rolled as if stunned. It struggled less.
She pulled it away from the pillar, and then, screaming her own rage, she drove its head into the pillar again. There was a terrible crunch as the monster’s skull cracked. Again, she pulled it away, ready to split its skull open with another strike.
“Ayja!” a voice called behind her. “Stop, Ayja!” It was a voice she knew. Arms grasped hers. “It’s dead. You can stop.” She shouted and threw the monster to the ground.
Cam’s arms were around her, holding her close. “You killed it.”
He turned her around and his eyes widened in shock and fear.
“Your eyes,” he said.
Chapter Ten
“It seems the Great Death was as bad here as it was in the Empire,” Telea said. “I see signs of it still.” For four days she had endured a difficult ride west along the mountains of the South Teren. The poorly maintained road twisted and turned with the ridges and hills pushing into the flatlands. They had ridden more than a day before reaching the first inhabited hamlet. They’d passed two long abandoned villages before it. Now, closer to the city, large villages and towns came more frequently and the population grew much larger, but still, many houses stood empty.
“The Great Death? We called it the Wasting here,” Greylin said. His companions, the other Saladoran soldier and their armed servant, rode just ahead of them. “It ended fourteen years ago, or thereabout. I was just a young one then.”
“Do you know why it ended?”
“What? You don’t?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Hmm… then again, how would you? Akinos…you know Akinos?�
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“I know the legends of him.”
“He wasn’t a legend. He had the Orb of Creation for over five hundred years. He’s the one who caused the Wasting.”
“Why did he do it?”
“The way I heard it, he was trying to conquer the world. He used the Wasting to weaken everyone, so they’d be easier to fight. It almost worked. King Boradin rode out and fought Akinos in a big battle at King’s Crossing. The king was mortally wounded, but his Champion, Nidon, killed Akinos. He’s the one who ended the Wasting.”
“I heard it told that a Landomeri woman shot Akinos with an arrow,” the servant said over his shoulder. “Hadde the Landomeri.”
“Shows what you know, shit-for-brains,” Greylin said. “What woman’s going to kill Akinos the Betrayer? It was Nidon that did it. He took up Forsvar and killed old Akinos.” Greylin shook his head, apparently bemoaning the stupidity of his servant.
“Is that who holds Forsvar now?” Telea asked. “Champion Nidon?”
“The story goes that Nidon tried to take the throne himself, but Queen Ilana had him killed.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “That part’s not so certain. There’s some folks who don’t have a lot of love for the queen.”
By his manner, Telea got the impression that Greylin was numbered amongst them. “And where’s the Orb of Creation?”
“When Akinos died, a varcolac named Cragor took it and ran off to Rigaria. He’s trapped up there now.”
“Trapped?”
“Champion Nidon—before he was killed—led an army to invade Rigaria, but they couldn’t get through the passes. They built a dam and some forts to keep the Rigarians penned up.”
“But what about the Orb of Creation? Doesn’t anyone want to do anything about it?”
Greylin chuckled. “Who? Queen Ilana? She won’t risk it. She just wants to keep herself on the throne.”
Telea let her eyes wander across the countryside. Things were worse than she’d imagined. She’d thought the Belenese embassy would enter Sal-Oras as long-lost friends and that their plight would be met with the receptive ears of a powerful elementar-king. Instead, a ruthless queen who would never relinquish Forsvar the Godshield was hunting elementars. To make matters worse, the Orb of Creation was held by a hostile warlord in an unassailable land.
And she was alone. Just a lowly healer’s apprentice. What chance did she have? Telea took a deep breath. The first step was to convince the Duke of the South Teren of the importance of her cause.
The three Saladorans had treated her well enough over the past few days. They were curious of Belen and had many strange ideas about the Empire. When Greylin, the man-at-arms she had first met, drank too much one night and made advances on her, she sang the Song of Peace and calmed him. The others, so taken with her song, asked her to sing for them, and so she passed much of the journey singing. The Saladorans, she learned, knew nothing of the power of song, making it that much easier to use her magic to keep them well disposed towards her.
Strictly speaking, using her song on the men in such a manner went against her vows, but she had little choice. Telea had been around soldiers enough to know what would happen after several days of travel with just one woman among three men. She felt no guilt at all using her magic to keep herself safe from them.
Around noon on the seventh day since she had arrived in Salador, Telea caught her first glimpse of Del-Oras. The fortress city seemingly clung to a sheer cliff face. The more she looked, the more she was convinced that the city hadn’t been built—it had simply been carved into the mountain. It was as strong a city as she’d ever seen.
Closer to the city there were many manor houses surrounded by lush farm fields. A half-mile from the city the manors disappeared, and there were only fields reaching towards the walls. Telea’s father had taught her enough of military operations to know that the city’s builders had done it on purpose so that archers and siege machines on the walls might have open lines of sight.
It had to take some discipline to keep the fields open. The Imperial City had strong walls surrounding it, but over the centuries people living outside the city had built homes right against the wall. It was well known that there were many secret entrances carved through the walls and into the city. It was fortunate that in recent years no army had managed to get close enough for it to matter.
The narrow road they followed joined a broad, straight road running to the city gates. Numerous wagons headed both to, and away from, Del-Oras. She’d studied maps of Salador before their journey. She knew this to be the road to Sal-Oras, the capital of the Kingdom of Salador and home of the elementar kings.
Would it be different there? Would they listen to me?
A young voice spoke nearby, drawing Telea’s attention to a heavily laden cart heading toward the city. A young boy rode high on the piled goods. He was pointing at her and speaking to an older man driving the cart. The man furrowed his brows as he looked at Telea. He said something to the boy as the wagon rolled on.
Telea and her escorts rode past the cart, with the boy staring at her all the while. “What did he say?” Telea asked. “What language was that?”
“He was asking about your dark skin and braided hair. He said your hair looks like a hundred snakes.”
“Is my skin color truly so strange here? Do my braids look so odd?”
“I’ve seen peasants with skin like leather from years in the sun, but I’ve never seen dark skin like yours. The same with your hair. I’ve seen braided hair before but only one or two braids. Never an entire head of braids.
“Never?”
He shook his head. She’d seen other travelers on the road staring at her, but she’d only thought they recognized her as a foreigner. It only made her feel even more isolated knowing that everyone here would stare at her, thinking her foreign and different. She would never be able to blend in.
“And the language he spoke?”
“Just common speak.”
“The commoners don’t speak in the Language of Song as Saladoran nobles?”
“High Saladoran. Noble speak. You’ll pick up the common in a little time.”
“You speak High Saladoran because you’re a knight?”
He chuckled. “I’m no knight. Just a man-at-arms. I’m speaking above my station. It’s tolerated amongst men-at-arms. No peasant would speak it.” He paused, looking her up and down, before taking off his cloak and offering it to her.
Telea waved it off. “It is a warm day,” she said.
“No, not for warmth. Your foreign clothes will draw too much attention here. You will cause a stir in the city. Put the hood up.”
Telea took the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. Belen had such a diverse population that she never took particular note of how someone was attired. Of course clothes showed a person’s station, and maybe where they were from, but people came from so many places that foreigners were a common sight. Salador was clearly not the same.
They approached the main gate to the city. A lake, clearly man made, protected the walls of the city like a wide moat. From the moat, channels spread out into the surrounding fields, irrigating them. It was no wonder the crops were so lush and plentiful.
Wagons and carts stood in a long queue, waiting for entry into the city. Telea and the two men-at-arms rode past the waiting wagons until they reached a guard at the massive city gates.
Greylin saluted an armored man at the gate. “I’m Greylin, Captain,” he said. “I sent my man ahead with word that I was bringing someone to see the duke.” He nodded in Telea’s direction. “He’ll wish to speak with her I’m certain.”
“I saw your man,” the guard said. He stared at Telea. “Where are you from?”
“She’s Rigarian,” Greylin said before Telea could speak. “She has news for the duke.”
Telea frowned at Greylin, not understanding why he had lied about her origins.
“Rigarian?” The gate captain’s eyes widened in sur
prise. “Do they all look like her?”
“Yes,” Telea said, some of her anger slipping through. “We do.” Whatever reason Greylin had for hiding her identity, she’d go along with it.
“Very well,” the captain said. “Head up to the palace.” Greylin saluted again and they entered the city.
“Rigarian?” Telea said after they’d ridden a short distance.
“If I said that you were from Belen, we might never reach the duke. Every person in the city would want to speak with you. It would cause quite a stir. You saw how excited people became in the villages we passed through.”
The streets of Del-Oras were incredibly steep. It wasn’t long before they had to abandon their horses at a stable and Telea and her two escorts were forced to climb the rest of the way on foot. As she had thought before, the upper reaches of the city were carved into the stone of the mountain. Del-Oras was an impressive citadel, one that any enemy would be hard-pressed to capture.
They passed several guard posts and gate houses. Greylin and his companion, although not knights, were clearly well known and allowed admission with little delay. Finally, after climbing to the highest reaches of the city, Telea was left alone sitting on a stone bench in a narrow garden overlooking the city and plains below. Her escorts disappeared through double doors and entered the mountain. Two stoic guards stood by the doors, but neither paid her any attention.
Telea walked to the railing and looked down into the city. It was a dizzying height, reminding her of the Great Salador Pass. However, if she fell this time it wouldn’t be into a barren gorge, but onto the domed roof of some building hundreds of paces below. I’d be just as dead though.
“My lady?”
Telea gave a start at the sudden voice behind her. She turned to see a young woman in an off-white dress with embroidered black hammers over her heart. The dress’s sleeves were long, going all the way to her wrists. The collar was high and the hem low, displaying the same modesty Telea had seen in the clothing of other women, except for those she had seen working the fields in rural villages. The girl wore a cap and a half-veil as well.