by Tim Marquitz
Despite the need, Uthul still wondered at the risk of opening the minds of the younger races to the power of the O’hra. History had shown the Sha’ree how careless, how cruel, they could be, but his people had agreed it was their only option to keep the plague from decimating them once more. They had seen the darkness that came and closed the eyes of many of their kindred when they’d always believed themselves immortal. Fear of that darkness now directed the politics of the Sha’ree and forced their hand. They had become like the younger races, destined to die, never to feel the touch of their goddess, never again to hear her voice that rippled through the fonts. Worse still, were the Sha’ree to pass from this world, there would be no one to stir Ree from her slumber. She too would drift into the blackness of the void and be swallowed within her memories. What would come of the world then?
A chill started at the nape of Uthul’s neck and wormed its way down his spine. He could not think of such horrors; he would not. The Lathahn and his followers must succeed, and Uthul must ensure such.
He thought of his people and the glories of Ah Uto Ree as he opened the bag of O’hra he’d taken from the dead Grol. His breath fluttered in his lungs while he stared at the tools he now knew was nothing more than a poison they’d once so willingly embraced. If he were to make it home in time to ready the relic-wielders for their trial, he would need to embrace the magic once more. One last Succor inside his pouch to stem the virulence, Uthul believed he could use the power of the O’hra and reach his homeland before the plague resurfaced to its contagion point. It was a risk he would have to take.
Uthul donned a number of the O’hra before he could hesitate. Their power quickened his pulse as the magical tools drove their tendrils into his flesh and filled him with the holy blood of the goddess. He roared as the energy he’d been so long without flooded through him. The pressure welled inside and he felt the warm stream of tears on his cheeks, the magic almost overwhelming. His breath clutched at his lungs.
When at last he could breathe, he gathered his things and hooked the bag to his waist once more. The climb to his perch had been torturous, but he relished the journey back down, eager to feel the O’hra spurring his body on. He glanced at the ruined city once more and charted his path. Though he felt a measure of guilt at leaving the people of Lathah in the hands of the Grol, there was no time to free them from their captivity. His mission would serve their needs if he were swift.
His course plotted, he wound his way down the mountain face and circled around to the south of the fallen city where he might avoid the beasts left behind and skirt the wreckage of Fhen as he made his way home. He prayed that Zalee had already returned, safe and whole with her charges.
Chapter Ten
To avoid further encounters with Yviri forces that might bring the whole of the nation down upon them, Zalee led the group through the shadowed fringes of the Dead Lands. The choice set the travelers on edge, night having fallen before they reached its gnarled tree line.
Arrin watched as the Sha’ree forged ahead, keeping her distance from the gathered O’hra the group carried. She’d said little since their departure from Lathah, driving forward with a dogged pace. Arrin had taken up a position at the rear to keep an eye on the group. None, save perhaps Jerul, had experienced forced marches such as this. Arrin knew the O’hra would keep their bodies going, but he worried for their spirits. Traveling in the darkened forest could rend the courage of even the bravest warrior.
He looked to Cael now and again as the night stretched on to see that the boy seemed to handle the journey well. He strode beside his uncle with a protective mask etched across his features, his hand clutched tight about the small bag that held his golden rod. The Velen looked far less confident, as he had the entirety of their travels. He started at every noise and plucked at the hem of his sleeve as they ran. His pace slowed and sped at random, the rest of the group adjusting to stay together.
Jerul ran at the Velen’s back, occasionally speaking words of encouragement and setting a supportive hand on Domor’s shoulder as if to press him forward. Kirah hung close to Arrin’s side and held her silence. Arrin was grateful they’d not encountered any of the creatures that lurked within the forest. He’d heard them growling and moving about in the distance, but they’d given the travelers fair space, perhaps sensing the concentration of magic in their midst. Whatever the reason, he was glad to see the flickers of dim light through the thinning canopy that signaled their departure from the woods.
Zalee burst through the tree line and disappeared for a moment, those ahead doing the same until Arrin pressed through the crowded shrubs and stepped out into the gloomy light of dawn. The group came to a stop, the sudden shift of terrain breathtaking in its bleakness.
Dark and massive mountains rose up in the horizon. Their jagged peaks jutted into the sky and cast a pall of blackness over the land.
“We’re not going there, are we?” Domor asked, his long, thin finger pointing to the mountain range.
Zalee shook her head. “No, that is the seat of Hespayr. We have no business there. From here, we will skirt the line of the Dead Lands all the way to Ah Uto Ree. We will be amongst my people soon.”
Cael grinned and even Domor appeared to relax. He pulled his eyes from the oppressive mountains and cast them across the dark soil of Hespayr. The Velen adjusted his robes and breathed a loud sigh. “Then let us be on our way.” He moved up alongside Zalee. “Will there be wine?”
The Sha’ree glanced expressionless at the Velen and stared for a moment before nodding.
“It calms him,” Jerul added, a broad smile on his lips.
Cael chuckled loudly and Kirah shook her head, but even she couldn’t hide her amusement. Arrin grinned at the boy, his humor contagious.
“It was an honest question,” Domor told Cael, frustration framing his features. “Our supplies were lost on our way to Nurin.”
“There will be wine, Velen, and food, and soft beds, if you’ll only get to enjoy their comfort for a short while.” The wisp of a smile seemed to play across Zalee’s lipless mouth. She turned away and waved them on. “Let us hurry and find Domor his wine lest our world end and he remain sober.”
Arrin watched as the group started up, shifting to a run as the Sha’ree darted away. An uncomfortable grin still stretching his cheeks, Arrin nudged the Pathra forward and followed after.
The dark soil crunched beneath their boots as they left the moist dirt of the Dead Lands behind. Even with the O’hra working to quiet their passage, their footfalls could be heard rising up through the morning air. Arrin cringed at each step, the cluster of them sounding as one long, drawn out crackle that seemed to hover about them as they raced across Hespayr. The noise reached into the Dead Lands, provoking answering calls from the tangled darkness. Kirah caught Arrin’s eyes and motioned toward the woods. He nodded his acknowledgment. Faint movements in the trees told him something traveled parallel along their path within the shadowed forest.
He looked to the group and saw that Cael and Domor were oblivious to the sound, but Zalee cast furtive glances over her shoulder when their eyes weren’t on her. Jerul also kept his sights on the trees, one hand on the hilt of a sword at all times. As they ran along, the flitters in the woods growing more aggressive, the warrior urged his blood-companion forward with subtle encouragement of the fine wines that lay ahead. It kept the Velen at his pace.
They ran for hours across the black earth, the mountains looming over their left shoulder the entire way. Arrin had grown accustomed to the grinding crunch of their heels and the rustles in the trees, so it took a moment for him to realize the creatures of the Dead Lands had gone silent; not a branch stirred. He looked to the woods, ahead and behind, seeing nothing in their shadows.
“Wait,” he called, his sword drawn into his hand. Kirah dropped into a crouch at his side.
A crack like thunder broke all around them, the blackened soil flung into the air to cascade overtop. The ground rumbled beneath. Arri
n covered his eyes to shield against the raining stones and heard Zalee shriek. He looked to see her flying towards the group, a shambling wall of stone standing before them where there had been nothing but open space a moment before. He reached out and grabbed ahold of her shoulders as she neared and let her momentum spin them around, setting her on her feet at the end of the revolution. She nodded in thanks, the left side of her face swollen and already showing signs of bruising discoloring its natural green.
Domor screamed and stumbled back, Cael and Jerul following after. Arrin looked past them to the see the creatures that had sprung from the earth to ambush them. His breath caught in his lungs. They were Ruhr; nearly a dozen of them.
Little larger than a Lathahn male, their bodies were made entirely of pliable stone, which shifted and bent as easily as flesh, allowing the creatures to move and act as any other mobile being. They charged forward with a speed belying their stone forms.
“Cael, Domor, get behind me,” Arrin yelled as he leapt to meet the advance. He willed his collar to life and felt its strength imbue his limbs, and hoped it was enough. Though he’d bested a Hull once, the larger, slower child of the Ruhr, it had been alone and slowed by its mass and dull wit. The Ruhr before them were swift and intelligent and held the advantage in numbers.
Kirah loosed her javelin and it clanged off the chest of the first Ruhr, crumpling the point and sending it careening into the woods. She drew her sword and moved off to flank the creatures.
Arrin ducked the first of the line, its stone arm whipping past overhead, and darted left to put its stone body between him the creature’s companions. Crouched at its side, Arrin uncoiled and lashed out. His sword struck the hip of the Ruhr. The steel shrieked as it sunk into the rocky hide, cut a gash little more than a few inches deep. The Ruhr stumbled slightly as Arrin pulled his blade free, but it gave no other reaction to being struck. Its featureless face turned toward Arrin as it swung its other arm.
Arrin leaned away and Zalee closed on the Ruhr, her silvered blade cleaving the creature’s arm off at the elbow. It tumbled away and kicked up a cloud of black dust as the Ruhr shifted to go after the Sha’ree. She drew it forward a step and Arrin buried his sword in the back of the Ruhr’s head. It reached for Zalee, dragging Arrin behind it, his boots digging into the dirt, and then tumbled forward. Its weight pulled Arrin’s sword free just as another of the stone beings came at him. He stumbled away to escape its attack.
A white and purple blur crashed into the Ruhr and knocked it aside. Off balance, it kicked up puffs of dust, stomping its feet, as it tried to right itself before toppling onto its side and rolling to its back. Jerul stood hunched before the line of Ruhr, his shoulder scraped and bleeding from the impact. He held his jagged swords out before him.
Kirah clashed with yet another of the creatures, her blade ringing against its arms and casting off sparks that showered her in a golden rain. Her speed kept her just out of reach of the Ruhr’s counterattack.
“We can’t fight them like this,” Arrin called out as he moved alongside the Yvir. He glanced about the barren field and saw nothing he could use to strengthen their position.
Zalee came to stand beside them, her finger pointing past the Ruhr that closed upon them. Arrin’s gaze followed and he saw more of the stone creatures rising up in the distance.
“They block the way to Ah Uto Ree,” Zalee said, disbelief in her trembling voice.
There was no time for Arrin to reply. Another of the Ruhr leapt forward and the travelers separated to make its approach difficult. They worked well together, each warrior versed in tactics and combat, but Arrin knew they fought a foe too powerful to overwhelm even with such skills. The Ruhr closest charged in to grab him, but he faked right and darted left. The creature fell for the feint and its stone fist struck empty air. He cast a furtive glance at the one that had fallen to see it still lay upon its back, struggling to rise.
Arrin was in the air without a thought.
The heels of his boots crashed into the upper back of the Ruhr. Its weight forward, the Ruhr went down without a fight, Arrin riding it the entire way. The creature crashed face first into the earth and Arrin leapt free, rolling to his feet and turning to face the remaining Ruhr. Seven still stood, those in the distance drawing closer. Those nearest were unrelenting. They raced forward again.
Arrin shifted to dodge a blow but there were two of the Ruhr before him. He sidestepped the first and moved directly into the path of the second. A stone fist slammed into his left shoulder. It was like running into a mountain. Pain flared, and then gratefully went numb, as he was knocked to the dirt, landing several yards from where he was struck. He crawled to his knees as Kirah engaged his opponents, his arm hanging limp at his side. There was no time to worry if it was broken. He jumped up and charged back into the fray just as Kirah was knocked away. A glancing blow caught her side and flung her into the trees. Arrin saw her roll and take control of her fall, confirming she was unharmed. He turned back to the battle.
Zalee and Jerul danced before the Ruhr, casting strikes of opportunity at the creature’s heads but the mass of them made it difficult. Jerul parried aside two attempts to strike him, but the third slipped past, Arrin still feet away.
The Yvir let out a strangled shout as he was struck in the chest. The downward force of the blow slammed Jerul’s back hard into the ground and the snap of shattered bones filled the air. He groaned and rolled limply to his side as he tried to catch his breath. Zalee stepped in and batted aside the follow up blow from the Ruhr, but her feet became entangled on Jerul and she stumbled into the line of the creatures. She was pulled into their midst.
Arrin shifted targets at the last instant, sickened by his choice, but Zalee needed him more. He leapt past the Ruhr that hovered over Jerul and slammed his sword through the skull of one that turned to assail the Sha’ree. His sword sunk in with a grinding scrape that rang in his ears. The Ruhr crumpled into his companions. Arrin saw several of the stone fists crash into Zalee as he struggled to pull his sword loose of its rocky sheath.
Before he could free it, a shadow flickered in his peripheral vision. He leaned away from the incoming fist, but it had come too quickly. Stone knuckles scraped across his cheek and jaw and spun him away with its force. His face struck the ground and he inhaled the dust of Hespayrin soil, its blackness invading his lungs. He coughed and rolled to his knees to see he’d landed beside Jerul. Kirah came to stand over him. The Ruhr that felled the Yvir loomed several feet away. Cael sat bare-chested on its shoulders, his tunic wrapped about the creature’s head as though it were reins, while Domor did his best to bring the Ruhr down with his Yviri sword. It clanged uselessly against the creature’s back.
Arrin clenched his teeth and felt the crunch of sand in his mouth. He looked back to Zalee. Two of the Ruhr had pulled her to her feet, each holding an arm out to her sides. She was covered in blood that seemed to run from everywhere. Her flesh was shaded in black and red, her head hanging limp at her chest. The Ruhr at her arms turned and started to drag her from the fight.
“Get her. I’ll protect the boy,” Kirah shouted.
Arrin wasted no time. He raced to stop them, but the remaining Ruhr blocked his path. His sword flickered like a serpent’s tongue, slicing shards of stone from the creatures but they crowded close and pressed. Grazing strikes knocked him about as he tried to catch his rhythm, sending spears of agony lancing through his body.
He heard the slap of stone against meat and heard muffled shouts behind him. Arrin leapt from the Ruhr to give him space and looked to the sound. Kirah clutched to a tree, her free hand at her head. Tendrils of blood trickled between her fingers. Cael lay on the ground yards from the Ruhr he’d been riding. The boy scrambled to his feet, seemingly unhurt. The Velen lay in the dirt, his eyes wide, terror carved across his obsidian face. Kirah shook her head and stumbled toward Domor.
Arrin was hit from behind before he could move. The sturdy blow crashed into his shoulder blades and sent h
im tumbling forward. As he fell, he saw Domor go limp beneath the stone fist of the Ruhr, Kirah too far away to protect him. Arrin hit the ground and popped to his feet, ignoring his battered body’s complaints. The creature plucked Domor up and turned toward the rest of its kind before the Pathra arrived to help. Arrin glanced to Jerul, who barely stirred, and then to Kirah. She raised her sword, but Arrin could see she had yet to recover from the blow to her head. Her legs wobbled as she walked. Cael stood frozen nearby, and Arrin knew the battle was lost.
“Cael! Kirah! Run!” he shouted. “Run for the trees.”
The boy hesitated as Arrin spun about and raced to Jerul’s side. He sheathed his sword and hefted the Yviri warrior with his good arm. Without ceremony, he slung him over his shoulder. Jerul groaned and spit warm blood down Arrin’s back, but he couldn’t stop to check on the man.
Heedless of Jerul’s discomfort, Arrin ran. He reached out and spun Cael about as he passed, shoving the boy into motion. “They’re lost,” he screeched. “Run!”
His words sunk in and Cael broke free, shooting toward the woods. Kirah got the message, as well, and followed on the boy’s heels. She moved a little slow at first, but seemed to gain her legs quickly. Once they were ahead, Arrin ran after. He could hear the scuff of the Ruhrs’ feet over his labored breaths as they followed behind, and dared a glance back. There were only two that gave chase. The shadows of the Dead Lands looming ahead, he had only a moment to ponder if he’d made the right choice before they broke past the tree line and slipped into the murky forest.
His failure wouldn’t just kill him and what was left of his companions; it would damn the whole of Ahreele.
Chapter Eleven
Uthul raced on the breeze. The sting of Ree’s magic stung his senses as he pushed the collective O’hra to their limits. He had flown across the open fields of Fhen, spending no time mourning the ruin of its capital city, Fhenahr, its wreckage little more than a blur that flickered past.