“He came of his own free will,” said Aaliyah. “And he came as a gesture of friendship and kindness. We would not have made it here without him.”
A crackling sound as if from a thousand camp fires filled their ears. They jumped up to see the bodies of the Vrykol turning hard and gray. Thousands of tiny cracks formed and they began splintering like glass, then turned to dust. The ground shook and rumbled. The earth around Pali's body exploded and hundreds of thin roots shot skyward then draped over him. Before Gewey could move, the roots pulled the body into the earth. Gewey fell to the ground, digging feverishly with his bare hands. Aaliyah stood back, staring in wonder at the spectacle. Soon, Gewey began pounding his fist in the dirt and screaming with rage.
“What is this?” Gewey's voice was met with silence. Slowly he rose to his feet.
Aaliyah gasped and grabbed his arm, pointing a few feet away. “Look.”
A soft ball of light hovered just above the ground, expanding until it took the form of a man. Its features were hazy and unrecognizable. Its feet didn't touch the earth, and its arms were held wide.
“Who are you?” Gewey demanded.
At first there was nothing. The specter was silent and still. Then nine more figures appeared just behind it.
“We are the first born.” The voice was distant and echoed as if within a great cavern. “We thank you for our freedom.”
“I don't understand,” said Gewey.
“The creatures which we were forced to become are now gone,” it said. “We are free. And here, we are safe.”
“You mean you are the Vrykol?” asked Aaliyah.
“Yes, we were,” it replied. “Our spirits were enslaved by the evil that holds the power of the Gods. The spirits of the first born turned into abomination and darkness.”
“I think I understand,” said Gewey. “You are the spirits of Felsafell's people. That's what he meant at the Chamber when he said he had to free his kin.”
At the mention of Felsafell, their light grew brighter. “Yes. He is the last of us that walks with the living. It is good to know he has not forgotten us.”
“What of Pali?” asked Aaliyah. “What of his spirit?”
“He is safe with us,” it replied. “This place is special. The Gods created it and gave it life. Now that you have driven out the sickness that poisoned it, it can begin to heal. Your friend will stay here with us until the path to heaven is no longer barred by the one who seeks to destroy you. Only when he falls, will the spirits of the dead be led to paradise. Only through his destruction can the world, once again, be set to rights.” Their lights began to fade.
“Wait, please!” Gewey implored. But they faded completely.
Aaliyah took Gewey's hand. “They are gone, and we should leave as well. If what the Vrykol said is true, fifty men await-” She cried out as a pain shot through her shoulder, where a tiny black dart had silently struck. She pulled it free and threw it to the ground.
On the other side of the clearing, a black cloak vanished down the trail, harsh laughter trailing behind. Gewey tore off after it, but just as he reached the path he heard Aaliyah moan. He turned just as she fell to her knees, her hand grasping at her wound. He rushed back to her side.
“Poison?” he asked.
She nodded, wincing.
Gewey pulled her hand away and touched the wound. It had already closed and was no larger than a pin prick. He reach into her body with the flow, seeking to expel the poison, but was forced back.
“I don't understand,” said Gewey.
Aaliyah closed her eyes and breathed deep. For a full minute she knelt motionless. “Mandrista,” she said weakly, opening her eyes. “I have been poisoned with sap from the mandrista tree. I cannot be cured using the powers of the earth and spirit alone.”
“What can we do?” asked Gewey, desperation seeping into his voice.
“I must return to the ship,” she replied. “I have the means to extract it there.”
“Do we have time?” asked Gewey, squeezing her hand tightly.
“The poison is slow.” She struggle to her feet. “Three days. We may make it if we hurry.”
Gewey's thoughts turned to the Soufis. He needed to deal with them quickly. “Wait here. I'll take care of the Soufis myself.”
“You cannot do this alone,” she protested. “I-”
“No,” he said, fiercely. “Pali has died, and I'll not watch you die, too.” Fury burned in his eyes. “We'll see how brave the Soufis are when I blast them apart, and then bury their bodies in their precious desert.” Before she could argue Gewey tore off across the clearing and down the path. He covered the distance in only a few minutes, his legs fueled by the flow of both air and earth. The brush that lay in front of the entrance had already been pushed aside, and he could make out the figures of men twenty yards away. He slid to a halt a foot beyond the path, his blade tight in his hand. But he had no intention of cutting his way through fifty men.
The Soufis were lined up in two loose rows. They were wrapped in thick tan robes and their heads were covered by white turbans. The men in the front row, held long, curved blades, while those in the rear carried lengthy black bows. The Vrykol stood front and center, his hood thrown back, revealing his elf features.
“Did your elf mistress enjoy my gift?” asked the Vrykol, laughing.
“Laugh if you want,” said Gewey. His eyes narrowed and his legs parted. “But if I were you, I'd be running.”
The Vrykol smiled. “Excellent advice. But, we'll meet again, Gewey Stedding. Or should I call you, Darshan?” With that he turned and disappeared behind the Soufis lines.
The moment he was out of sight, the Soufis bowmen notched their arrows and fired. Gewey raised his hand and a blast of wind sent the arrows falling harmlessly to the ground. The Soufis took a step back, looking confused, and murmuring with doubt and fear. Before they could decide on their actions, Gewey let loose a great ball of flame into the heart of the lines. Twenty men fell instantly, while several others rolled screaming in the sand trying to put themselves out. This was enough to send the rest scattering. But Gewey was in no mood to be merciful. He sent another flame streaking across the ground. The sand crackled and popped as the flames surrounded the remaining Soufis. He tightened the circle forcing them together. A few tried to run through the fire, but were roasted alive before they reached the other side.
“Die!” Gewey roared, and closed the circle.
Cries of pain and desperate pleas for mercy, went unheard, as the Soufis burned. The flames grew hotter and taller, until they reached fifty feet in the air. The voices of the Soufis were silent. Only the roar of Gewey’s anger could be heard.
As he allowed the flames to subside, Gewey scanned the area for the Vrykol, but he was already gone. The burned stumps of the Soufis dotted the sands, and the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh fill the air. A great circle of pale, green glass had replaced the desert sand. It glittered in the sun, with contrasted beauty to the carnage. He turned and ran back to Aaliyah. When he reached the clearing, she had already dressed her wound and sheathed her knife. Her face turned grim when she saw Gewey.
“They are gone?” she asked.
Gewey relaxed his muscles and nodded. “Yes. They’re all....gone.” He took her hand and led her from the clearing.
The image of the flames still remained in his mind, and as they approached the entrance to the Oasis he halted. Gewey didn't want her to see what he had done. He almost held her back as she moved past him and stepped onto the sands. For a moment she stood silently surveying the carnage. Timidly, he followed her out.
“All gone, indeed,” she remarked.
“I was just....” Gewey paused. “I was just so angry.”
“The wrath of a God is truly not to be taken lightly.” She turned to him and smiled. Her face was awash with pity and understanding. “But you did what had to be done.”
“I know,” said Gewey. “This is not the first time I've killed. It’s just I never
imagined unleashing such power.” He held up the medallion around his neck and examined it. “Only the Gods know what I can do when I learn to use this. I fear that it may be too much power for me to control.”
“I doubt it,” said Aaliyah. “The one you must vanquish wields more power than you can imagine. You will need this, and more.” She glanced one more time at the smoldering corpses. “We must go. My time grows short.”
With that they headed off in the direction of the shore, in hopes that they would make it in time to save Aaliyah's life. Gewey swore an oath to kill the Vrykol who poisoned her. He would teach it to fear death.
Chapter 16
Frost covered the bleak landscape as Lee and Jacob rose from their tent, shivering and rubbing their arms. The bitter cold of the far north was nothing even a Hazrian Lord could ignore. Fires already burned around the camp and the scent of bacon wafted on the frigid air. Darius was already up. Something uncharacteristic for the fat merchant. He was kneeling down by a fire, cradling a cup of hot coffee in his gloved hands. Lee and Jacob joined him.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Darius. “It seems foolish to me.”
“I'm sure,” Lee replied. He grabbed the tin kettle from the spit and poured himself a cup. “If what I hear is true, we will gain passage north if we join the army. All new recruits are brought to Kratis for training and deployment. And that's where we need to go.”
“I haven't asked you your true business,” said Darius. “And I won't. But you seek the palace of the Reborn King, it would seem. If you do this, you will be caught, and you will die. You don't want to know the stories I've heard about what they do to spies.”
“I can imagine,” Lee said, soberly. The thought of his son suffering torture caused his stomach to knot. “Still, we must try.”
“Well, if I cannot dissuade you,” said Darius, “at least allow me to help you.” He reached in his coat and pulled out a piece of folded parchment. “It's a letter of endorsement stating that you have been in my service for the past five years. I am known in these parts, so it will pass scrutiny.”
Lee took it, and smiled gratefully. “Yes. This will certainly help.”
They ate, and then packed their gear. Fennio and three others awaited them by the road. Lee knew it was a risk to travel with the others. Should their cover story be questioned, any of them could say that Lee and Jacob had only just joined the caravan. If that happened, the endorsement letter would be a liability. Darius was there as well, holding five small purses.
“Alright, lads,” said Darius. “Don't you ever say I'm not a fair man.” He handed out the purses to the men. The jingle of coins sounded as they bounced them up and down. “Don't you go counting it just yet. You've been paid already, so wait until I'm gone to complain about how little is there.”
“Thank you for all your help,” said Lee. He shook Darius’ hand firmly and smiled.
Darius laugh heartily. “And thank you for saving my life.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Now go. I have a business to run, and wine to drink.” He spun on his heels and strode back to his tent.
The recruiting station was three miles away, at the Whiterun Pass garrison, just south of the city proper. It only took them an hour to arrive, but the town could be seen from more than a mile away. Tall buildings of burgundy stone rose from behind thick granite walls. Lee was impressed. Cities and towns this far north were little more than trading posts for the most part. In fact, Hazrah was by far the largest city north of the Razor Edge Mountains, and it was small compared to Baltria or Althetas. Clearly, Angrääl had been hard at work.
The garrison was impressive as well. It resembled an ancient fortress, similar to those in paintings he had on his walls back in Sharpstone. The twenty-foot curtain walls were smooth and seamless, as if carved from a single block, stretching out two- hundred feet, left to right. In the center, an arched iron gatehouse door, covered in vicious spikes, was closed shut. At the corners of the wall, round towers loomed another twenty feet, with dozens of arrow slits looking outward, and capped with a domed turret manned by three watches. Atop each turret dome, the now familiar banner of Angrääl flapped in the strong north wind. The walls were patrolled by at least two dozen archers and pike-men.
Just outside the gatehouse door, someone had set up a long table. Two soldiers stood at both ends, and a slightly built man in a red linen suit and thick wool coat, sat taking information from four new recruits. Lee, Jacob and the others filed in behind them. Each recruit was told to wait a few feet away from the table after their information had been taken.
When it was Lee's turn, he handed the recruiter the letter. The man examined it for a moment, then sighed.
“More sell-swords,” he muttered. “Do you have any military experience?”
“No, sir,” Lee replied. “But my nephew and I are both good with a blade. We're from—”
“I don't care where you're from.” He glanced up, then shook his head. “I'm sure you are both eager to join up, so we'll make this quick.”
The man took their names, (the false ones, naturally), and wrote down what skills they listed. After he finished, he had them sign a large parchment and instructed them to wait with the others. After the rest joined them, they huddled together trying to fight off the cold. For hours they just sat there as dozens of men came to join. By late afternoon their numbers had swelled to nearly one-hundred. No offer of food or drink had been made, so Lee and Jacob shared what little they had with Fennio and the rest of Darius' former guards, who had clearly not thought to bring anything for themselves.
An hour before sundown, the recruiter stood and announced that anyone else who wished to join must return tomorrow. The two guards picked up the table and followed the man into the gatehouse. The sun was nearly gone, and the air began to turn even colder. It wasn't long before the new recruits became restless, and disgruntled whispers could be heard.
“Enough of this bloody nonsense,” yelled a stocky, dark-haired fellow, clad in thick, leather mail. “I did not come here to freeze and starve.” He strode off south.
There was a whistle and a thud, as an arrow pierced the back of the man’s neck. He fell to his knees, grasping desperately at the arrow, then crumpled to the ground, gurgling his last breaths.
“In case you were wondering, you are not permitted to leave.” A tall, lean man stepped from the gatehouse. He was wearing a shining metal breast plate with the broken scales of Angrääl etched in gold across it. His blond hair was cropped close, and even in the fading light his chiseled features and square jaw were evident. He was as broad as Lee in the shoulders and carried himself with supreme confidence. A thick, heavy broadsword hung from his belt and in his hands a short, curved bow. He dropped the bow to the ground and walked toward the men. “I am Captain Faris Lanmore. From the moment you signed your name, you were in the service of the Reborn King of Angrääl. And as you can see, we do not tolerate desertion.”
He strolled casually in front of the men. When he reached Lee he paused. “You have a hard look about you.” His eyes went to Jacob for a moment. “Is this your son?”
“No, sir,” replied Lee. “He is my nephew.”
Captain Lanmore nodded rubbing his chin. “Then that would make you....Barath. Yes, that’s the name you gave. I noticed you and your nephew as you approached. You claim to be a mere sell-sword, here to do some soldiering?”
“Yes, sir.” Lee tensed.
He pointed to Lee's sword. “That’s quite a weapon for a sell-sword. Let me see it.”
Lee unsheathed his weapon and handed it to the captain.
“Well-balanced,” Lanmore remarked approvingly. “Superbly crafted. A true master’s sword.” He looked up at Lee and smiled. “Is that what you are? A sword master perhaps? By the way you walk I doubt you're a mere sell-sword. I've been a soldier too long not to notice that.” He handed Lee back his sword.
Lee returned his sword to his scabbard and squared his shoulders.
“And you kn
ow when to be silent as well,” remarked Lanmore. “Good. Very good. Well, whatever you run from, you need not fear it here. The Reborn King will give you a new life. Would you like that?”
“Yes, sir,” Lee replied.
“I thought as much.” He turned his attention to the rest of the men. “That goes for everyone. Whoever you were before, whatever wrongs you have committed, they are, as of this moment, forgiven. The Reborn King grants you pardon. Together, we shall forge a new world in his name. We shall sweep aside the liars and oppressors.” His sword sang as he pulled it from his scabbard and stepped back. “But be warned. If one of you seeks to betray us, or fails in his duty, you will find the king’s justice to be harsh and final.” He turned to the gatehouse and whistled.
Ten men burst forth carrying sacks of food and blankets, and distributed them among the recruits. Soon fires were lit, and the scent of cooked meat permeated the air. Lee and Jacob gathered with Fennio and ate in silence.
“What do you think?” asked Fennio. “Sounds all a bit crazy to me. Not to mention that Captain Lanmore fellow shooting that poor chap.”
“If he hadn't, we'd still be sitting hungry and cold,” said Lee. “The point was to make an impression.”
“Exactly,” said a voice, just behind Lee. It was Lanmore.
Lee and the others leaped to their feet, and stood at attention.
“Come with me, Barath,” ordered Lanmore.
Captain Lanmore led Lee through the gatehouse door and into the fortress. The flagstone path led to the inner yard. A few soldiers were here and there, patrolling the area. The keep at the far end was a single story structure, with a gray slate roof. Barracks were built just below the curtain walls on either side, large enough to house two-hundred men each.
Halfway to the keep, Captain Lanmore halted and turned. “I've brought you here to see if my judgment has failed me.”
A large man, broader and taller than Lee, clad in black fur, leather boots, and carrying a long, two-handed sword, stalked out of the barracks and made his way beside Lanmore. His head was shaved and scarred, and his dark eyes fixed on Lee.
The Godling Chronicles (Shadow of the Gods, Book #3) Page 18