“Here, climb up here,” he gestured to Krusima. “Lead us to the temple.”
The human god scowled, but obediently climbed up onto the window ledge, then hesitantly stepped out on to the difficult-to-see bridge, a narrow span without rails or protection.
“It truly works; perhaps you’re not as unreliable as the other gods say you are,” he joked.
The tower shuddered again.
“Everyone get on the bridge as quickly as possible,” Morph directed, “and walk carefully.”
Stuart jumped up, then helped Lark climb up onto the bridge. Gates went next, then Woven.
“Help me,” Wren grunted, before she started to click and speak in the language of the Skyes, while lifting one of the creatures up onto the bridge.
Kestrel stooped and also picked up one of the surprisingly heavy creatures, then pushed it onto the bridge, as the other members of the troop started to cautiously walk away from the tower, on their furtive journey to the temple they hoped to invade.
Five minutes later, the last of the Skyes were on the black energy bridge. Stillwater hovered in the air outside of the window. “Come along Kestrel friend and Wren,” he urged.
The tower reverberated with a sharp cracking sound, and shuddered precipitously.
“Hurry!” the imp urged.
Kestrel and Wren jumped up on the ledge together, then Kestrel motioned for Wren to step out in front onto the dark, black bridge, and then he stepped on behind her. For Kestrel, who had been raised in the elven culture of climbing and traveling among trees branches, the prospect of walking at a height along a narrow bridge at night was only mildly intimidating. Wren had been raised with much less integration into elven culture and customs, and so she stood staring at the distant lights ahead. The dark Skyes were invisible in night, and the rest of the travelers were out of sight as well.
“This looks like a challenge,” she mumbled as the two of them stood together.
“Let’s start moving,” Kestrel suggested, and he took the lead as they stepped out onto the three foot wide path.
“I’ll follow you,” Wren said, “but don’t go too fast.”
They began to walk along, when they heard another loud crack, one that wasn’t a single sound. It began as a crack, then turned into a grinding sound that became a rumble. A gray, billowing cloud of dust roiled upward with dramatic speed, and the tower began to shudder, then start to tip and tumble in the direction of Kestrel and Wren.
“Come on! Run!” Kestrel shouted. He reached back and grabbed his cousin’s hand, then began to pull her away from the tilting tower as quickly as she could follow.
“Slow down, Kestrel!” she called, as they began to plunge forward into the darkness.
A piece of roofing tile flew past them, and the billowing dust from the demolition below rose up to engulf them. A shower of pebbles rained upon them, but they continued to run away from the tower. Large chunks of masonry struck the magical power of the bridge and produced bright flashes of light that were smothered by the clouds of dust.
“Kestrel!” Wren screamed, as Kestrel felt her hand wrenched away from his.
He spun around and began to swing his staff outward, to offer the girl something to grab hold of, only to see to his horror that she was already teetering over the edge of the bridge and beginning to plunge downwards. He felt his arm muscles strain as he altered the course of his staff and sent it downward towards Wren.
Her feet fell off the bridge, and she started to disappear, just as his staff reached her. Her right hand grasped the wooden pole as the small hooks built into the end of the weapon snagged the material in her sleeve.
“Hold on!” Kestrel shouted, just before he felt her full weight come to bear on the staff, and nearly wrench it out of his hands. He fell flat on the surface of the bridge, feeling stones fly and strike him liberally. Wren was completely below the bridge, and to his horror, Kestrel realized that he was sliding off the narrow surface, unable to stop himself from following her down into the unseen depths.
And then he felt hands on his shoulder, securing him in place. “You’ll be okay now,” Morph told him, as the god adjusted his position and reached over to lift up the desperate Wren and return her to the bridge.
“Oh my God!” Wren cried as her feet touched the bridge surface. The last of the rubble from the tower had passed beyond them as the ruins collapsed down to the ground, and they stood amid the chocking dust.
“I hope I am,” Morph said playfully. “Now we know we won’t be seen with all this dust to hide us. Come along and catch up; it won’t take you long,” he informed them, then disappeared once more into the cloud.
“Well,” Kestrel said, “it’ll be easier on the rest of the trip, I’m sure,” he said as he turned to start walking forward.
“You better make that a promise!” Wren told him, and they began trotting carefully forward until they reached the end of the parade of Skyes. Minutes later they emerged from the dust that swirled in the air in the aftermath of the tower’s collapse, and saw the long distance they had to travel to reach the lights of the temple at the end of the bridge.
“It’ll take all night,” Wren exclaimed.
They could faintly see the backs of the others as they walked, and Stillwater came floating back to join them. “I do not think the humans like this bridge, but their god is speaking to them roughly, and they move on,” he told the two elves. He floated up and down the length of the procession, and also dropped down closer to the ground to observe any Viathin activity below.
“There are no signs that anyone is watching or following us on the ground,” the imp reported three hours after they had left the tower. The temple was visibly closer, and Wren began to express belief that they would actually reach their goal intact and alive.
An hour later, Morph sent Stillwater ahead to scout out their arrival at the temple, to make sure there would be no guards waiting to ambush the group. Kestrel and Wren cautiously moved forward among the group, carefully passing others on the narrow beam as they approached the walls of the temple, so that the two warrior elves could be in the forefront of any confrontation that might break out.
“It’s good to see you lad,” Stuart said as they passed him. “When we get back to Uniontown we’ll sit down and drink all night long to tell these stories to the other lads in the Duke’s guard, and no matter how drunk we make them, they won’t believe a fraction of our tale,” he grinned.
“Not stories about magical bridges that are miles long,” Gates agreed.
“And we do want you to come back to Uniontown with us,” Lark added emphatically. “I want you on our side with us.”
“What was that about?” Wren whispered moments later when she and Kestrel moved on past the humans and then past the gnome.
“Lark says her father needs extra fighters to help him survive the civil war in Uniontown, and she wants me to help,” he replied.
“Is that all she wants?” Wren asked with a knowing inflection in her tone.
“Of course,” Kestrel snapped. “She’s just a child, you know,” he told Wren.
“A child who’s only a couple of years younger than you and me, you mean,” Wren corrected him.
Kestrel said no more, knowing that Wren was right.
Stillwater returned a moment later, sparing him the need to respond.
“There is no sign of trouble ahead,” the imp told the two gods, as Kestrel and Wren listened closely.
“Is the roof flat?” Krusima asked.
“There is a gable, and a closed door,” Stillwater answered.
“Morph, you go ahead with your boy and secure the door; the rest of us will come along,” Krusima said peremptorily.
Morph appeared ready to protest against Krusima’s command, but Kestrel stepped forward abruptly, driven by a shove in the back from Wren. Momentarily distracted by the movement, Morph looked at Kestrel, then spoke.
“We’ll go do the tough work,” Morph shot back, beckoning to Ke
strel. “You bring your folks along as quickly as you can.”
Krusima scowled once again, as Kestrel and Morph moved past the others. Morph began to sprint, and Kestrel ran behind, catching up with his father when they reached the end of the bridge. They faced a short climb up an angled gable roof to reach a large, dark window, one that was shuttered closed.
“I’ll run up and open the window, so that you can come up and stand guard while I see what’s inside,” Morph directed, then he sprinted noiselessly up the slate roof without awaiting an answer. Kestrel watched in the dim light as the god’s fingers shook the frame of the shutter so rapidly that its latch vibrated open, and then Morph’s figure was gone from view.
Kestrel scampered up the steep slope, then dove into the window. The roof had been slick, and he knew that others would need help to climb it. He rose to his feet and looked around inside the temple, marveling that once again the small band from the Inner Seas had managed to reach another extraordinary milestone on their journey.
He looked around. The room was a long narrow one, dark with a glimmer of light at the opposite end. Morph was out of sight, but a noise outside the window made him turn to look. The rest of the party was arriving at the end of the magic bridge. Kestrel leaned out the window as Gates came up the angled roof first, and he helped pull the man into the attic chamber. Lark came next, and Kestrel helped pull her up as well, conscious of the feel of her hands in his as he lifted her to the window.
“Kestrel, come down and help us lift the Skyes,” Wren called hoarsely as she stood at the foot of the gable, a Skye pressed partway up the rood.
In response, Kestrel reached down with his staff and hooked the end around one of the legs of the creature, then pulled it upwards, and worked with Gates to lift it into the attic. They repeated the maneuver several times, Kestrel’s arms tiring, until the entire cadre of the natives were inside the temple, clicking and clacking among themselves. Krusima entered the room without assistance, just as Morph returned.
“There is a hallway, and a set of stairs, and then a balcony that circles around and looks down on the ceremonial hall of the temple,” the elven god explained. “There are several guards there right now.”
Woven climbed up, helped as Kestrel extended his staff to provide assistance, and then Wren came in, and Stillwater hovered just outside the window.
“I think I know that place you speak of,” Krusima said.
“It’s the spot where they stole my powers,” Morph said in an emotional voice.
“I know the place you speak of too; it’s where I was robbed as well,” Krusima answered. “I’ll go see it and be back.” He moved down the hall, and he and Morph exited together.
“What do the rest of us do?” Lark asked.
“We wait for the gods,” Wren said, “same as we always do, except for Kestrel, who makes them wait for him,” she laughed softly.
Kestrel grinned in the dark, while Wren began to translate for the Skyes, telling them of the gods’ plans.
The group remained in the dark attic hallway for several minutes, as the air grew stuffy within, then the door opened suddenly, making all the occupants raise their weapons hastily, as dim light and a fresh breeze entered around the shadows of the two returning gods.
“We have a plan,” Krusima said. “It will be dangerous for all, but moreso for some,” he looked at Kestrel and Wren. “We overheard the guards talking, and there is to be a ritual sacrifice of some of the local natives as a ceremony to honor Ashcrayss; it will begin soon.
“We need two types of distractions to allow Morph and I to get close to Ashcrayss,” he continued. “We want some of your natives to be down on the ground floor.”
“They are immune to control by the Viathins because of the water you put on them, correct?” Morph asked.
“That’s right,” Kestrel agreed.
“The Viathins will become concerned when they find they cannot control these natives, and so there will be confusion and distraction taking place,” Krusima explained. “Then, we want Kestrel and Wren to begin to attack the Viathins from up here, in the balcony, to draw guards away from Ashcrayss.
“They will counterattack, and you will face danger,” he acknowledged. “But we will then come out of hiding near the throne, and make contact with Ashcrayss. Morph will use the powers his boy has given him to force the terrible god to restore our powers to us, and then we will find the way to return to our own land.”
Wren and Kestrel’s eyes met. “Will our positions be defensible?” Kestrel asked.
“Not for long,” Morph admitted. “We will have to act fast if we’re going to protect you. But we will try our best.”
“We’ll do our part, and we’ll count on your help,” Wren said.
“Let us help to ambush any attackers against the elves,” Stuart spoke up.
“The elves are better equipped to fight and escape than you are,” Krusima said bluntly. “Perhaps the gnome could help you distract the counterattack though,” he mused, as he looked at Woven.
“I certainly will help these humans,” Woven agreed, having understood the words of the god, if not the words of the humans.
“Follow us,” Morph said, stepping out of the attic hall. The others began to troop after him, and the two gods led the way for the various parties to be covertly located where they were needed. The humans and Woven were first shown to a shadowy alcove in the upper floors of the temple.
“From here you can see which way an attack will go towards our archers, and you can distract the Viathins, then flee back there,” Krusima instructed Stuart and the others, as he pointed at the passageway in the back of the alcove.
The front of the alcove looked across a large open area, one that had a circular, narrow track, a balcony and walkway of sorts. From that walkway, one could see down to the floor of the temple chamber that was far below.
“You wait here,” Krusima instructed the quartet assigned there, then led the way around the curving catwalk. “This will be your spot,” Krusima told Wren.
“Look down there,” he pointed at the floor below. As they looked, the keen elven eyes of Wren and Kestrel picked out the lurid details of the worship space. There was a large, luxurious throne at one end, golden in hue, and a pair of steps below it. Towards the center of the worship space there was an open fire pit, where flames burned, releasing a narrow, oily plume of smoke. In front of the fire pit was a large, flat table, on which rested a number of wicked-looking blades.
Two rows of pews ran along either side of the fire pit and table, and a large, ornate door was closed at the opposite end of the chamber from the throne. Torches burned atop stands that circled around the walls of the room, and a dozen Viathin guards stood at attention in pairs spread around the circular walls.
“Come along, Kestrel,” Krusima called as he began to move to the next spot.
“Wait!” Wren called softly.
The others turned in surprise.
“Tell me what the Skyes are supposed to do, so I can give them directions now, and send them on their way,” she told the gods.
“There,” Krusima pointed at the doors that sat at the opposite end of the oval room from the throne. “I want them to create a diversion there, the first diversion. Then when the guards start to react to it, you and Kestrel will start killing the guards that react, drawing attention further away from Ashcrayss. That’s when we will launch our ambush,” the god explained. “How soon can they be down there and ready to go, once the evil one is in place?”
Wren knelt and spoke to the Skyes, pausing as several of them approached the edge of the walkway and peered down at the floor below. They conversed with one another for several seconds, until interrupted by the sound of a deep-toned gong.
The doors opened and a dark light flooded into the room. The Viathin guards all knelt at their various stations, and then pure darkness moved into the room, a bulky absence of light that crossed the floor between the doors and the throne. It paused in fron
t of the throne, either shapeless, or simply too absolutely black for a shape to be discerned. Then, without a pause or transition, the blackness was replaced by Ashcrayss sitting on the throne.
The monster god of the monster race was smaller than when Kestrel had seen him as a dragon flying above the lake in the mountains. He did not appear to have the wings that had carried him through the air as he had attacked Kestrel so brutally. But he was still oversized, still covered in scales, still possessed of a snout filled with numerous teeth.
“We have to hurry,” Morph interrupted Kestrel’s mesmerized examination of the evil god below.
Kestrel looked up; Krusima was starting to walk away on the catwalk, while the Skyes were parading along behind one another going in the opposite direction. Kestrel looked at Wren, who was watching the Skyes, tears brimming in her eyes. He reached over to squeeze her arm.
“They know they’re going to die, but they’re willing to make the sacrifice. They told me thank you for being their friend, and bringing them to this great victory,” she turned her head to look into Kestrel’s eyes, her sentimentality catching him off-guard.
“Hurry along, Kestrel,” Morph urged from further along the catwalk.
“You take care – you’re not going to be a sacrifice,” Kestrel told his cousin as he impulsively hugged her tight. “I’ll see you when we’re done here, and we’ll go back home together.”
“I’ll count on it,” she said softly, forcing a smile.
Then Kestrel turned and ran down the catwalk to catch up with the gods.
“Stillwater,” he called softly.
“Yes, Kestrel friend?” the imp floated down to his shoulder.
“When the fighting starts, and things get dangerous, I want you to go protect Wren. Make sure nothing happens to her,” Kestrel ordered. “I can take care of myself, you know, but she may need help.”
“I will do as you say, my lord,” Stillwater answered. “I do not wish to see either of you harmed, nor any of the others in our party.”
Here Kestrel,” Krusima said as Kestrel walked up to the spot where the two gods stood at the gloomy darkness of the catwalk. “This is your spot. When things start breaking loose, you just kill every Viathin you can. Once we take our powers back from Ashcrayss and destroy him, there will be no further trouble.”
An Unexpected Deity (Book 7) Page 23