The symbol of transference was carved into a wooden altar that the Zard had made out of a long dead cypress trunk. The area had been cleared, and all other preparations made.
Torches set on tall poles in the circle around the makeshift altar were lit as darkness overtook the marshlands. The myriad sounds, from creatures both large and small, that Eopeck heard out in this horrible place, never ceased to amaze him. He wasn’t afraid, though. The Choska demon was circling in the sky, guarding the illuminated circle from any creatures that might be drawn in by the light. The Zard had warned him of snappers big enough to swallow a man whole. After all the recent battles, and the bodies that found their way into the river, the beasts lusted for man flesh. They had grown to enormous sizes feeding on the corpses. The light, and the scent of man, would surely draw them. The Choska, though, was far more deadly than any snapper. At least that’s what Eopeck told himself.
The Zardess that shaved Queen Shaella’s head escorted her, naked and glistening wet, into the circle of flames. Even hairless, the sight of her made Eopeck’s loins burn. Her full breasts and the perfect curve of her hip were undeniable to his eyes. It was no wonder Kraw’s host had loved this woman when he was alive. She was so captivating that he had to fight to keep his mind on the task at hand.
A glance at the moon told him that it was time. Another Zardess joined the first, and they led Shaella over to the cypress altar. Eopeck strode out of the circle to the cage that held the heavily beaten elf and his foolish monk companion. With a grin full of malice he jabbed his dagger into the elf’s arm and squeezed dark blue blood into a fluted silver goblet.
“You will pay for this,” Corva whispered through his broken teeth. “I swear it.”
“I may pay for it, elf,” Eopeck snarled back through his dark, pointed beard. “But it won’t be this night.”
***
King Mikahl saw the Choska circling over the ring of torches and had no choice but to land the bright horse a good distance away. The pegasus, due to its magical flaming nature, glowed brightly, making a stealthy approach at night virtually impossible. Ironspike’s own pale bluish glow was a little easier to hide. He had learned a trick from Phen, of all people. A long, thick, velvet sock slipped over the blade kept it from being seen while it was drawn, at least until he grew angry. Then, the white-hot blaze of the razored steel responding to his mood would burn the concealing material away. He wasn’t angry at the moment. He was too busy trying to creep up on the circle of torches. Through Ironspike’s magical symphony, he shielded himself and camouflaged his movements as best as possible. He wished he had Phen’s ring, or at least someone with him to draw the attention of all the Zard lingering out beyond the reach of the torchlight.
As if the gods were granting his wish, a monstrous splash came from the far side of the ceremony grounds. Instantly, the Zard and the Choska began moving that way. Seeing his chance, Mikahl ran in a half crouch toward the torchlit area. A block-shaped structure cast the only available shadow for him to hide behind. When he got closer he saw that the structure was an elevated crate-like cage with two men huddled inside. A wheelless horse wagon is what Mikahl decided it was, and now he saw it had pontoons lashed to the frame. The prisoners were kept off the marsh floor, above the water, so that the snakes and other crawly things wouldn’t devour them before they served their purpose. They were surely sacrifices, just as the bald woman lying on the altar was. There was another huge splash, followed by a demonic roar, and the hissing speech of several Zard-men came from across the way. The noise continued as whatever had come too close to the light was violently subdued. Mikahl used the moment to get right under the cart. The quiet rasp of a short repeating prayer came to his ears.
“Can you hear me?” Mikahl whispered. He noticed that one of the men in the cage was intently watching the red-robed priest and his strange ceremony. The other was a monk. The woman on the altar drank from a silver goblet, and now the priest was moving the glowing staff back and forth over her body while chanting. A symbol on the wooden altar was glowing where its shallowly-carved groove had been filled with blue liquid. Mikahl’s voice almost made the man yell out, it startled him so much.
“Are you injured?” Mikahl asked quickly.
“Very,” the startled prisoner answered, glancing at the monk curiously.
The monk’s prayer was so simple. “Come save us, Lord, save us so we can find Telgra.” Over and over again he kept repeating the mantra. Corva looked at Mikahl sadly. “Too injured to fight, or even walk away from here.”
“Can you fight when you are healthy?” Mikahl asked. “Are you trained?”
Beyond them in the firelight, the priest carried on like a madman.
“I’m trained,” Corva answered. “But my friend is just a holy man from Salaya.”
“I’m going to touch you with my blade. Don’t be alarmed. It will heal you, hopefully enough to flee. Mikahl took a deep breath, trying to think. “Follow the shadow of this cage. Keep on going. The marsh is shallow enough for a long way. I have to get that staff away from that priest.”
“Come on then,” Corva said, shaking Dostin out of his prayer. “Be ready to run, my friend.”
“When I draw this cover from my blade, I will be revealed, so move quickly,” Mikahl told them.
With a flourish he pulled the sock off of Ironspike. Its soft blue glow filled the immediate area and startled away a fifteen-foot snapper that had crept up out of the high grass. Immediately Mikahl touched the flat of the blade to Dostin’s hand. Magic pulsed into the monk. Almost instantly he was alert and rubbing at his arms with unabashed awe on his face.
Hissing shouts erupted from nearby.
“Now you,” Mikahl said. “Hurry.”
“I’ll take the priest,” Corva said as he touched Ironspike. “You go for the staff.”
The power of the pulse that shot into this one was so violent it even jolted Mikahl. The high king stood stunned for a moment from the shock. He suddenly realized that Corva wasn’t human.
“Elven blood, elven magic,” Corva explained simply.
Mikahl cut through the wrist-thick wooden poles as if they were butter.
“Run, Dostin,” Corva urged. He started toward the wide-eyed priest at a dead run, narrowly ducking a spear thrown by a Zard-man as he went.
Mikahl didn’t wait around either. He charged toward the priest as well. His only concern at the moment was the staff. Even as a hot scarlet ray streaked out of it at him, he ran full speed toward it. The magical shield Ironspike provided absorbed the brunt of the blast. Mikahl didn’t even miss a step.
Eopeck was so close to finishing the ceremony that the intrusion cut off the final words of his prayer. Had he not recognized Ironspike’s glow he might have finished instead of turning, but he was wise enough to know that the High King couldn’t be disregarded. He sent a sizzling kinetic blast at Mikahl and swept the staff like a club at the charging elf. The impact of the spectral orb on the elf’s skull caused the most unexpected thing to happen. The powerful crystal orb exploded, shattering into several pieces. Eopeck, in his sudden realization of terror, cried out the last words of his prayer as the power of the orb dissipated into the night. The staff fell from Eopeck’s grasp; the elf’s momentum carried his unconscious weight to Eopeck and both went tumbling over the wooden altar. Three bodies went flailing in a tangle right out of the torchlit circle.
Mikahl caught the staff in his left hand before it even hit the muddy ground. He whirled back toward the Zard-men pursuing him and swung Ironspike wildly. The Zard nearest him fell in two bloody pieces and the one behind it decided to launch his pike instead of getting into the range of Mikahl’s blade. It missed.
Beyond the Zard, Mikahl saw the damnedest thing. The chubby, balding monk had taken up one of the cage poles and was clobbering a trio of Zard swordsmen. Chunks of meat and scale flew everywhere as the staff-like weapon spun and struck true again and again. A fist-sized black eye caved in, and then a clatter of teeth sp
rayed out with a mist of blood.
So much for the monk being incapable, Mikahl thought.
A woman’s cry, a scream full of sheer terror, from behind him caused Mikahl’s attention to turn. He whirled around just in time to see the red-robed priest being dragged out of the torchlight by a huge snapper. The look in the man’s eyes and his pain-filled yells brought a smile to Mikahl’s face.
From not very far away in the darkness a demon’s howl split the night. The sound was accompanied by a woman’s gasping and gurgling. Mikahl knew it was the Choska demon. He charged over to defend the unconscious elf. He knew the sound of the demon well. A Choska had killed Grrr in the Evermore Forest. The same Choska had later killed Vaegon in the Battle of Xwarda. It had nearly killed Mikahl, too.
Mikahl saw that the wound on the elf’s head wasn’t fatal. He had the staff that Hyden Hawk asked him to get, and the fargin priest was nothing but snapper scat now.
He glanced at the monk. The man seemed to be enjoying the damage he was doing to the skeeks. The monk’s tongue was poking out of his mouth in stern concentration as he pounded and jabbed and cracked away at the now leery Zard-men ringed around him.
Satisfied that he’d accomplished what he had to do, Mikahl unleashed a thunder clap from Ironspike’s blade. It was so loud that it sent the Zard, the snappers, and even the Choska demon fleeing into the night like startled curs. Even the monk bolted into the swamp away from terrifying sound.
Chapter 12
Even after three days of comfortable, semi-quiet traveling, the elven girl still couldn’t remember her name. Try as she might she just couldn’t remember anything about herself. It just wasn’t there.
Any unease she’d felt traveling with Phen and Oarly was evaporated by the pair’s antics and generosity. She’d learned that Oarly’s bitter attitude was more sarcastic jesting than actual ill will. Phen, she could tell, was smart and very humble. Even if she had no personal memory, she still knew how rare it was to have ridden and spoken with a dragon. The fact that he had snuck onboard a Zard ship using an ancient elven ring to help save a princess amazed her. She had to needle the details out of Phen and endure Oarly’s constant jibes, but she managed to hear most of the story. As they rode upstream in the crowded riverboat cabin Oarly told her about Phen’s next great journey to find the mysterious Leif Repline fountain.
“Leif Repline,” she said excitedly, not knowing how she knew the translation. “…means life replenish. Maybe if I go with you, the fountain will restore my memory.”
“Aye, it just may,” Phen agreed. Any reason to spend more time with the beautiful elven maiden was fine with him. Besides that, he told himself, she was probably right. The fountain would very likely restore her memory.
Noticing Phen’s attraction to the elf, Oarly had pulled the boy aside one day and gave him a friendly warning.
“Don’t let your thing get hard over her now, lad,” Oarly said, as deadpanned as he could manage. “It might break off. Then you'll be in a real fix.”
Since then, Phen had tried to keep his thoughts about the elf from drifting too far. Oarly’s little warning, though, only made it all the harder to avoid thinking of her in that context. Phen still hadn’t figured out if Oarly had been jesting or not. Either way, there was too much at stake to be taking chances. He found himself trying to associate her sweet scent, and the golden glint of the sunlight on her hair, with something repulsive, like the smell of the serpent, or visions of a half-naked Oarly fighting the iron skeletons in the cave. Spike was no help in the matter. The lyna cat spent more time with the elven girl than he did with Phen. She knew all the right places to scratch his ears, and did so fondly.
“So I can go on this journey with you?” she asked carefully. “I’ll not be a bother.”
“Can you do anything?” Oarly asked. “We won’t be riding in carriages, or traveling in boats. The Giant Mountains are as harsh as it gets, especially since winter is moving in. We won’t be riding much, either. Can you hunt, or wield a sword? Can you handle the rough of the wild?”
“I’m an excellent archer,” she blurted out defensively. Then she giggled happily, realizing that she just remembered something about herself.
Oarly’s winking nod assured her that he had planned the tricky questions all along.
Phen’s smirk showed plainly that he thought Oarly was full of it. “Yes, you can come along,” Phen answered her question. “But we need a name for you. Since our Master Dwarf is so smart, let’s see if he can drag you into blurting out your name.”
“I’ll do it too, lad,” Oarly boasted. “Just you wait and see.”
“I almost had it,” she said with an exasperated huff. “I can’t stand this not knowing.”
“Just make up a name for now,” Oarly suggested. “What do you want your name to be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a contemplative frown. Her feral yellow eyes made her look angry as she thought about it.
“How about Karee?” Phen asked. “That was my mother’s name. At least that was the name the ladies at the orphanage told me.”
“Karee,” she sounded it out, tasting the way it felt on her lips. A smile spread across her face. “Karee it is.”
“Bah!” Oarly exclaimed. “That’s about as elven as Oarly Shardsworth.”
“Karee is a beautiful name,” she said. “And I like it. From now on, call me Karee.”
“Lady Karee,” Phen corrected. Her mannerisms and intellect spoke of nobility. Phen saw it even if she and Oarly didn’t.
“No, Phen, just Karee for now,” she told him.
“The idea of the exercise was for her to decide what she wanted to be called, lad,” Oarly grumbled. “You challenged me to get her to reveal her name and then you ruined my plan.” He got to his feet and scowled through his hairy face. “I’m going out to get some air.”
“Thank the gods,” Phen joked. “You are a miserable companion when you are sober. I can’t believe there wasn’t a drop of drink to be found anywhere in Oktin when we stopped over.”
“That’s what happens when a few hundred dwarfs start building a palace.” Oarly looked back and grunted as he exited the cabin. He paused at the door and had to fight to suppress his smile. “Remember what I told ya, lad,” he warned. “Don’t let it break off now.”
“Break off?” Karee asked, looking at Phen with a curious expression.
“Nevermind him,” Phen sighed. He took a breath, trying to focus his mind on the feel of Master Sholt’s wand smacking across his knuckles in class.
“What’s wrong, Phen?” Karee asked. “You don’t look like you want me to go on your quest with you.”
“I’d rather you than Oarly, any day,” he laughed. “Of course you can come along, but since Dreen is so close to the Evermore forest, wouldn’t you rather go see your people?” Phen shrugged. “Surely someone is worried about you. Your mother and father, a friend. We might be long months in returning from the Leif Repline fountain.”
At the mention of her father, she felt hollow for a moment. For a fleeting instant she knew, but something swept in and filled that void before the memory could manifest itself into a true reflection of the past.
Phen noticed the sudden blank expression and the vacant, almost fearful look in Karee’s wild yellow eyes. He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. His touch, as cold and hard as it was, put a bright smile on her face. It must have been a contagious smile because he found himself grinning back at her stupidly. Spike broke the moment by leaping onto the bench where Oarly had been sitting.
Phen was as pleased as he was surprised when she didn’t let go of his hand and purposely used her free hand to scratch behind the prickly lyna’s ears.
“I would rather go back to my people knowing who I am,” she said absently, after a time. “I have a feeling that this is all happening to me for a reason.” She forgot Spike and put her other hand over Phen’s so that he now had both of her hands in his. He wished he could feel her touch m
ore specifically.
“I had a vision of you finding me.” She scrunched up her face, searching for an explanation. “I know that much in my heart, so I will follow the course I am on and see where it leads me.” She sighed and rolled her shoulders. “But, as you said, someone might be worried about me. I don’t even know that my family is from the Evermore Forest, but surely someone there would know of a missing elven woman. Is there a way I could get a written message to the elves when we get to Dreen?”
Phen didn’t think that the term elven woman described her very well. She appeared far too young to be considered a woman grown, but he understood the desire to be accepted by one’s peers. “Of course,” he told her. “We can send a rider or two to Vaegon’s Glade. They can leave your message there. Your people will find it.”
Again she felt the tremor of memory as Phen spoke. Vaegon—the name seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she didn’t know who he was, or why she recognized the name.
“Who is Vaegon?” she asked before the thought left her.
“He was a friend of Hyden Hawk and King Mikahl,” Phen said reverently. “The only elf who concerned himself with helping stop the demon wizard from using Xwarda’s powerful bedrock to destroy the world. Lord Gregory said it was because Hyden saved his life the year before last at the Summer’s Day festival, but both Hyden and Mikahl said that it was more than that. They think of Vaegon as a hero of the realm. He died fighting a Choska on the wall in Xwarda.”
The stirring in her mind continued, but never centered on anything. The idea that only one of her people would stand up against such an evil foe seemed to block out the rest of it. For a long time she chewed on her cheek and thought.
Phen found his adolescent mind wandering in the wrong direction again, so he busied his mind with the thoughts of the Leif Repline and of hopefully getting to see Hyden Hawk soon. Oarly broke the silence this time when he stormed into the little cabin. The dwarf seemed uplifted by his stint of the air above.
The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) Page 9