Scions of Nexus

by Gregory Mattix

  Are they still searching for me? Taren glanced to the east, and his heart fell. Oh, gods, Elyas!

  The garrisoned army camp appeared to have been completely overrun and destroyed. He couldn’t see much detail from that distance, but some tents had been knocked down and others burned, their blue-and-white pennants trampled into the mud. Nebaran troops labored to add bodies to a heaping pyre already stacked high and sending a greasy column of smoke into the sky.

  Nebaran forces were also hard at work fortifying the eastern edge of Ammon Nor. Even with all the activity, not more than a few hundred enemy soldiers could have been in the area. Taren had sensed many thousands more surging into the town during their escape.

  “What of the rest of the army?” he wondered aloud. “No signs of the Ketanian forces, either. Surely, they can’t have been destroyed so swiftly.”

  “Routed in the night, driven farther north and east,” Creel said. “They’ll likely meet up with the king’s forces at some point and try to retake the city. If the Nebaran commander is worth a shite, and I reckon he is after this cunning attack, he’ll have sent the bulk of his forces in pursuit to harry them and prevent them from organizing any effective resistance.”

  “Damn it. My cousin just enlisted yesterday.” Chances were that if Elyas hadn’t had his throat cut in the night, he would have survived, skilled fighter as he was.

  Creel grunted. “Sorry to hear that. If he made it through the night, he’s likely with the others, regrouping in order to retake Ammon Nor.”

  “What do we do now?” Kennitt asked.

  The group exchanged glances. Creel shrugged.

  “I had thought to make for Llantry, before all of this happened,” Taren said.

  “That’s several weeks’ walk from here,” Creel replied. “You’re likely to encounter further skirmishes along the way, with the course of last night’s battle. You can consider that all hostile territory now unless you manage to somehow get behind friendly lines.”

  “What if we head north? Through these ruins and those hills.” Taren pointed past the expanse of ruins dotting the bluffs, which stretched into a thin haze for as far as the eye could see.

  “That’s one possibility though that way is difficult. Assuming we find a safe path through the ruins, the Downs of Atur are a wild land, home to many monsters. A wiser course would be to head west, through the woods, then cut back to the road to Ryedale. From there, it should be safe to head north.”

  “But that will add weeks to my trip… Plus, I already came that way.” The image of the Inquisition burning Yethri alive came raging into his mind despite his attempts to suppress it.

  Creel regarded him intently. “Ryedale is in enemy hands?”

  “The Inquisition had seized the town. There were… burnings.” He shuddered and tried not to think of Yethri’s screams, the sight of her copper hair and green dress catching fire. “My cousin and I barely escaped alive.”

  “Bastards.” Creel put a hand on Taren’s shoulder sympathetically, sensing his loss.

  Taren thought of the broken bodies of Tellast, Glurk, and their ilk, and a sickly smile spread on his face. “They got paid back in full. I made sure of it.”

  Creel’s eyes widened at his intensity, and he nodded slowly.

  “How about we go with Taren to Llantry?” Ferret asked Creel hopefully.

  “You can go where you will, lass,” Creel replied absently, apparently not noticing the way Ferret’s face fell.

  Kennitt cleared his throat. “Wherever you all decide to go, best make it quick.” An edge of tension filled the ranger’s voice. He was pressed up tightly behind a pillar and waved at them to get down.

  Taren crept up behind a fallen column, Ferret right beside him, and peered over. A group of Nebaran soldiers were making their way up the path toward the ruins.

  “How many?” Creel asked, as if he already knew what they saw.

  “I count a score,” Kennitt replied.

  Taren looked around to see if they could make it to the forest to the west, but the hills were barren and the steep slopes covered with loose scree. Even if they somehow managed to keep their footing, the lack of cover would make it easy for the Nebarans to pick them off with their crossbows. To the east of their current position was a steep drop-off to rough terrain below.

  “Looks like we go north,” Taren and Ferret said in unison.

  They both looked at each other, surprised, and the girl giggled. Despite the grim situation, Taren smiled wanly at her infectious laugh, the first laughter he’d heard in what seemed days.

  “Aye, so we do.” Creel frowned at the northern path through the ruins.

  “Are you feeling well enough to travel, Taren?” Mira crouched beside him, glancing at the anxious-looking Nebarans making their way closer to the ruins.

  “I’d better be, for if not, this will be a short journey.” Taren recovered his pack, as did the others.

  Kennitt made a sharp gesture, and Whisper flew from the arch and headed north, soaring over the ruins. “She’ll alert us to danger ahead,” the ranger said. He started up the path, and the rest followed.

  Taren and Mira trailed the ranger with Ferret closely behind, and Creel brought up the rear. The path dipped down into a saddle spanning a gully then climbed higher onto another bluff. The remains of more buildings were scattered across half a dozen or more bluffs overlooking the Downs to the north and Ammon Nor and the Black Channel to the south. They climbed the trail and passed between a pair of headless humanoid statues, weathered by the elements.

  Taren slowed, glancing back to see the Nebarans had just gained the hilltop where they’d spent the night. The troops were poking around the area they had rested. One soldier pointed out something on the ground, and a moment later, heads swiveled in their direction. Taren hurriedly ducked out of sight behind one of the statues before following the others.

  “They found something back there, so I expect they won’t turn back,” Taren said, glancing at Creel.

  The warrior’s face hardened. “Damn it. Hopefully, we can find a path out of here and lose them in the process.”

  A broad, flat promenade stretched out before them, large enough that most of Swanford could have fit within the space. Paving stones were dislodged in places by roots and saplings that had broken through, while tufts of grass poked out here and there. Smaller ruined buildings lined the promenade, which culminated at a huge building, which must have once been a great hall of some type. Taren could easily imagine a bustling market filling the promenade in the city’s prime.

  As they approached, the great hall’s columns soared overhead, twenty paces high, where a carved frieze showed figures hunting, farming, carousing, and the like. The entablature peaked where a roof had once stood but collapsed long ago, leaving shattered tiles littering the expanse of the building.

  Taren paused to study the frieze overhead. “Who built all this?” he wondered aloud. “The elves?”

  “This predates the elves, even,” Creel replied. “The race that called themselves the Elder Ones had a settlement here in ancient times. All of Easilon once was theirs, but over the ages, elves and dwarves came to live here, then later humans. Ammon Nor was a center of enlightenment for them. This, here, is the skeleton of the true Ammon Nor.”

  “The Elder Race!” Taren said excitedly. “A friend gave me a tome about them, but I’m not able to read much of it. The words seem similar to Elvish but different. I need to find someone who can translate the passages in the original language.” His earlier hopes at having a reprieve from the road had been somewhat dashed when he found he was unable to read long portions of the book. He ran a hand over the weathered marble of one of the fluted columns, trying to imagine the culture that once called the place home.

  “Aye. They were pushed back to the ends of the earth and eventually departed the lands.” Creel looked saddened by that.

  “Do you know how—”

  He shook his head. “Nay, I’ve not that knowledg
e.”

  “How do you know so much about this place?”

  “I’ve traveled the lands quite extensively. But come, we mustn’t tarry longer.”

  Already, the others were nearing the far end of the great hall. Taren could see archways leading in two different directions ahead. He and Creel increased their stride to catch up.

  Kennitt was scouting down the path to the right. It led back outside to the narrow span of an arched bridge, still mostly standing after untold centuries although it appeared to have crumbled partially in the center. The archway to the left opened to an adjoining corridor, its roof mostly intact. The shadowy passage was long, with slanting beams of sunlight piercing the gloom at intervals from windows and holes in the roof. The corridor seemed somehow ominous in the eerie silence of the dead city.

  “The bridge is out,” Kennitt called back. He had cautiously edged up the span a short distance to study the damage but was shaking his head as he moved back onto solid ground. “Big chunk missing right out of the middle. I reckon a few of us might be able to leap it”—he glanced pointedly at Mira—“but I don’t trust the stones at the edges not to give way. The good news is Whisper hasn’t spied any danger around us, save for the pursuing soldiers.”

  “Looks as if we go this way.” Creel started walking down the lefthand corridor.

  Taren glanced over his shoulder and froze, thinking he saw motion near the entrance of the great hall, a couple hundred paces away. Someone abruptly grabbed his arm and yanked him aside, nearly sending him sprawling. An instant later, a black-feathered crossbow bolt whizzed past where he’d been standing, splintering when it struck the wall.

  “We’ve got company.” Kennitt had his own bow in hand and was shooing the others down the shadowy passage. He remained behind to cover them.

  Mira helped Taren regain his balance with a steadying hand.

  “Thanks. I didn’t even see that coming,” he said.

  Mira urged him down the passageway, merely bobbing her head in acknowledgment.

  Taren glimpsed Nebaran soldiers spilling into the great hall before they were lost to sight. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the long, covered passageway. At Mira’s urging, they picked up their pace, but the shadowy way was treacherous, with chunks of stone having fallen from the crumbling ceiling. Ferret stumbled over a piece of rubble and would have fallen, had Creel not caught her arm to steady her. The thrum of Kennitt’s bowstring came from behind them, followed by his curse and the sound of a quarrel splintering against stone.

  “Keep moving!” the ranger shouted. His bow thrummed a few more times in rapid succession.

  Taren marveled at how gracefully Mira could move. She seemed tireless, nearly floating down the corridor, while he was puffing and stumbling over rubble and cracks in the uneven floor, feeling as graceful as a drunken ox beside the monk.

  A large crack in the floor loomed ahead, illuminated from beneath. Taren leaped over it, realizing as he passed over the fissure that nothing was below—open air yawned through the gap. Had he fallen through, he would’ve dropped into a chasm.

  This must be another bridge, leading to an adjoining bluff.

  Creel and Ferret were nearing the end of the corridor, which must have been nearly the length of the promenade. A sun-drenched room lay ahead, surrounded by walls and arching windows.

  “Watch out!” Kennitt cried out when Taren and Mira were about twenty paces from the end of the covered bridge.

  A harsh voice bellowed orders to halt in a thick Nebaran accent, his words echoing loudly in the corridor. Crossbow bolts whizzed through the air, one passing within a foot of Taren. It glanced off the wall and spun away.

  He glanced over his shoulder to find Kennitt sprinting full speed after them. Half a dozen soldiers had reached the mouth of the tunnel. A couple were reloading crossbows, but the others were lining up shots.

  Something struck Taren hard in the shin, and he was suddenly falling forward. Mira snatched at his arm, but not even she could save him from his own foolishness in not watching his path. He managed to twist as he fell, landing painfully on his shoulder rather than his face. He skidded a short distance and lay there stunned a moment, his shin blazing as if he’d been chopped down with an axe. Shards of crumbled marble had torn the sleeve of his tunic and gouged his arm and shoulder.

  Groaning in pain, Taren sat up in time to see Kennitt spin and drop to one knee, smoothly turning his bow sideways. He rapidly fired off an arrow, which struck a Nebaran in the throat. The ranger threw himself flat as several more bolts streaked past him.

  Mira crouched over Taren protectively as he struggled to get back up. The monk’s hand suddenly shot out as swiftly as a striking snake. His jaw dropped when he saw a black-fletched quarrel in her hand. She tossed it aside with distaste and gripped his arm, helping him back to his feet.

  Kennitt got up to one knee again and loosed another arrow at a different foe. Without even waiting to see his arrow strike its target in the belly, he rose and resumed chasing after the others.

  Then Taren was running again, limping and gritting his teeth, Mira hauling on his arm. Up ahead, Creel and Ferret seemed to be searching the room at the end of the tunnel. Moments later, Taren and Mira joined the others, only to find they had reached a dead end. They were in a rotunda, remarkably well preserved compared to the other ruins. The room was about twenty paces in diameter, with a vaulted cathedral ceiling soaring out of sight high above. Tall arched windows surrounded the entire space although the glass, if it ever had any, had long since been broken out. Taren leaned out one of the windows and saw the rotunda was built on an island of stone, dropping off in a sheer cliff plunging down into a deep gorge, its bottom barely visible. He hurriedly stepped back as vertigo assailed him.

  “There’s no way out,” Creel said grimly. “Best take what cover you can and prepare for a fight.” He had his sword in hand.

  The only feature inside the rotunda was a large cube of onyx at the exact center, standing as tall as Taren, with small neat glyphs inscribed along the outer edges. The cube seemed to tug at his vision, appearing to absorb the sunlight that struck it, a stark void in the midst of the white marble of the ruins. In contrast to the rest of the crumbling stonework, the onyx cube seemed as well preserved as if the stonemason had just set aside his tools after completing his final stroke.

  Taren ducked behind the cube with Ferret as more quarrels flew past them. The young woman had drawn a short sword although her hand was trembling. She flinched when Taren squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, but then she smiled wanly and seemed to regain a bit of her confidence.

  Creel was peering around the opposite edge of the cube, waiting for their enemies to get closer. He leaned back with a curse, and a quarrel struck the stone and splintered right before his face.

  “Oh, no,” Taren said when he peered around the opposite corner and saw that Kennitt was still in the tunnel.

  The old ranger was obviously hurt, limping and struggling along, his pursuers closing fast. He’s never going to make it.

  He closed his eyes, slipping into his second sight. Before he could try to summon his magic, Mira placed a reassuring hand on Taren’s arm, breaking his concentration.

  “Wait here—I must aid Kennitt.” She lunged forward as if shot from a crossbow herself and was gone.

  ***

  Mira lowered her head and sprinted back into the tunnel. Ahead, Kennitt was panting harshly, limping as he slowly struggled to reach the others. From his gait, he appeared to have twisted an ankle. The full contingent of Nebarans were in the tunnel now, most of them laying down cover fire with their crossbows. Two had fallen, and one was wounded and down from Kennitt’s gut shot. Half a dozen soldiers spread out along either wall, cautiously advancing with swords in hand while keeping a clear lane of fire down the center of the tunnel for the crossbowmen.

  “Go back, Mira!” Kennitt called.

  She ignored the ranger’s pleas. Sensing rather than seeing an approaching quarr
el, she reacted instantly by suddenly shifting sideways just as she was about to take another stride. The quarrel streaked past her, snagging the leg of her breeches, and impacted loudly against stone somewhere behind her.

  Grimacing, Kennitt turned and smoothly loosed another arrow in a fluid motion. The arrow struck the nearest of the approaching swordsmen in the ribs. The Nebaran clutched at the feathered shaft and stumbled backward, only to fall through the crevice in the floor and disappear with a scream.

  Kennitt himself was jolted backward with a cry. He fell heavily onto his side, and Mira gasped when she saw a bolt embedded in his chest. The ranger strained to get up but fell back after a moment.

  Then Mira was at his side, sliding down beside him, the broken shards of stone tearing into her shins and knees through her breeches, but she barely noticed. Faster than the eye could follow, her hands lashed out, and she batted aside a pair of quarrels that would have struck both her and Kennitt.

  Blood bubbled from Kennitt’s mouth. “Go, Mira! Leave me.” His words were faint, and he coughed up blood.

  Mira fought to calm her mind, breathing deeply and stilling the rage and sorrow. She grasped the ranger and tried to lift him. Something stung her forearm, and she snatched her arm back. A crossbow bolt had carved a bloody furrow across her skin. Again, she grasped Kennitt to try to lift him, but she saw the bolt was lodged deep in his chest and knew deep down that her efforts would be futile.

  With a cry, the five remaining Nebaran swordsmen charged toward her and Kennitt. Someone roared a challenge behind her, and Creel plowed into the soldiers. His longsword lay about with quick, brutal cuts, and a pair of fighters fell in seconds. The other three leaped back, spreading out and moving to surround him.

  Kennitt’s hand grasped Mira’s, and he coughed violently, a thick gout of blood spewing down his chin. “Save yourself and the lad,” he whispered. “Fulfill your destiny.”