Embers of an Age

by Tim Marquitz

  Nearby, Falen raised his arm above his head and took the choice out of her hands. The club swung down and collided with one of the guard’s head. There was a muffled crack, like a stone dropped from the city walls, and the man crumpled to the ground.

  The closest soldier looked to the sound and Ellora tightened her grip and did what she must. She thrust the dagger at his back, but he spun away to draw his sword, changing the angle of her attack. The dagger sunk into the soft flesh of his throat. His half-drawn sword slid back into the scabbard as he gurgled blood and clutched at the protruding knife.

  “Hey,” one of the other guards shouted. He turned his back on Mikil and raced toward the family. The other turned and followed. The orphans started after.

  Falen snatched the sword from the mad he knocked unconscious and moved to meet the other two, blocking their path to his family. Thelis leapt onto the back of the guard Ellora has stabbed and rode him to the ground, punching wildly at his head.

  The first of the guards swung at Falen. The blow was parried, but Ellora saw the strain in Falen’s arm. He shook and nearly stumbled at the impact. The guard saw it, too. He pressed the attack, driving Falen back.

  The second guard joined the other when he cried out and dropped to a knee. Brandon stood behind him with a smile, holding his sword up. Blood dripped from the tip. The soldier turned and was buried under a hail of blows, swords and clubs and daggers, stabbing, slashing, and pounding him without mercy.

  Still bound, Malya herded her children from the fight, Falen and the guard clashing in what was clearly a losing battle for the princess’ husband. Ellora grabbed a rock from the rubble and hurled it at the guard. It bounced off his armored cuirass and he growled, determined to kill Falen. He raised his sword high and then feinted, drawing Falen’s guard away, before changing the angle of the swing. The guard’s sword flew at Falen’s unprotected side and Ellora looked away.

  The meaty chunk of a butcher’s shop sounded in her ears and she waited to hear the wails of Malya and her children. They didn’t come. Another thump rang out and Ellora looked back to the battle.

  The guard lay face down with a short sword protruding from his armpit. A broadsword wavered in his armored back. Mikil and Falen stood over the body with relieved smiles brightening their lips. Falen stood in a weary slump.

  Ellora let out a loud gasp, releasing the breath she had not known she held. They had done it. One of the orphans cut the princess free as all the boys cheered the victory, Argos and Kylle the loudest.

  “Shhh,” Malya told them as she went to Falen. They went silent immediately. “Thank you all for saving us, but we must be quiet. There may well be more of Olenn’s men around.”

  Ellora shook her head. “The prince is gathering an army to go after Arrin.”

  Malya sighed, wrapping her arm about her husband’s waist. “Then we must gather the rest of the people and take them to Pathrale.”

  Falen shook his head. “We must get you and the boys to safety first.” Malya’s eyes narrowed, but he husband cut her off before she could speak. “Olenn has the people convinced he’s a hero and to prove otherwise would take more time than we have to spare. We must return to Pathrale, now. We can gather a force from there and secure our people after.”

  “But I cannot leave—”

  Falen silenced her once more, and Ellora watched as Falen convinced Malya that to stay in Lathah was to risk the lives of her children and her people. Olenn would not treat them well if he learned of the family’s escape.

  “We must go,” Falen told his wife.

  “Don’t worry, Arrin will kill Olenn,” Ellora said, hoping to ease the princess’ mind, before caging her errant tongue.

  Malya only looked at her and nodded, her chin sinking the tiniest sliver lower. Ellora berated herself. Olenn was still the princess’ brother, for all his cruelty. No matter how things turned out, Malya’s heart would suffer.

  With Malya finally giving in, the ragtag group of orphans and royalty returned to the caverns hidden beyond the Crown. The Tumult had blown past, but it made trudging through the ankle-deep water only slightly more bearable.

  Once they managed to reach Pathrale, Falen assured Malya they could convince the warlord to take the fight to her brother and rescue Camron, and Arrin if they could. Seeking the Pathra was their best choice. The princess agreed but walked on in silence. Ellora could see the sorrow etched upon her features, the glimmer of tears held tight within her eyes. Ellora could only feel sorry for the princess for the choices she was forced to make.

  The sounds of splashing footsteps echoed through the canyon. Even the boys were quiet, but she could see the wonder in their wide stares. The clouds were slowly clearing, tiny glimmers of light shining down upon them as they walked. Without the rain spilling atop them, they could see the massive walls of the Fortress Mountains climbing up into the sky. It was majestic. Even Malya took a moment to gawk.

  Ellora sighed as she imagined the whole of Lathah could well fit within the massive space. They could have been spared the Grol indignities and traveled to Pathrale to join forces with the cat people. It was a sickening realization as to the value of human life in the prince’s world.

  Her cheeks warmed at the thought. The prince had condemned his people to death and now they thanked him for it when he scampered back after the battle was over. She growled, the boys looking over at the sound.

  Ellora knew it was wrong, but she hoped Olenn found Arrin. If Ree was just, the warrior would serve the prince the justice he deserved.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The desert was everything Arrin had feared, and more. Their early encounter with the worm had been nothing compared to what followed. On more than one occasion, he considered listening to the whimpered pleas of the Velen and turning tail before they ran across something that could not be beaten. He dashed that thought against the wall of his skull and soldiered on. The only opportunity to escape death lay before them at the mausoleum. Without the O’hra, all of Ahreele would be laid to waste. Weighed against that, the relatively few deaths they tolled now were nothing more than drops in the ocean however callous it might seem.

  The thought tasted bitter, but it was a soldier’s duty to carry on and win the war. For all his years of exile, he still saw himself a soldier. It had been his everything until Malya came along, and that discipline kept him alive in the wilderness, the power of the collar aside. The task ahead was just one more battle he needed to win. Orders had been given and the soldiers marched.

  He heard the voices of the Velen at his back. They were subdued, fearful of what might be drawn to the sound, but still they whispered on. There was no silencing them. The Yviri warriors hung close to their blood-companions, but the rest of the group had drifted away out of fear for their lives. Cael stuck close to Arrin and mimicked his silence. Arrin gave him reassuring grins as they walked, doing what he could to bolster the boy’s will when it seemed to flag. They had been through much during their journey and Arrin believed Cael was growing weary of it. It had simply been too much to cope with.

  Kirah also hung close, and Arrin found his attention wandering when she brushed against him. It was as though he was a young man again. He longed for peace so he might explore opportunities he had long denied because of his infatuation with Malya.

  The name sunk into his stomach like a stone. It triggered a wave of sorrowful memories that circled around and back around, rousing a bout of animosity and disgust. So much wasted time, and to lose everything…his child.

  His thoughts drifted into the darkness and Arrin sped his pace, pulling away from Cael and Kirah. A storm of emotions whirled inside his head and he fought to push them aside. He cursed himself for his weakness, questioning why he never returned to Lathah and claimed his child, why he never found the courage to confront Olenn and learn the truth about Malya when there had still been some life left inside his heart. Now it hung cold and withered, kept alive by anger and the power of the O’hra.


  Arrin’s feet sunk into the sand and he could feel Kirah’s concerned stare on his back, but he didn’t slow. He’d been better off alone in the wilderness, ignorant of the true pain that awaited him. His breath huffing out of him in forceful waves, he spied the glimmer of the great lake Braelyn had told them about. She had stopped a ways ahead and seemed to be waiting for him. As he drew closer, he felt the peppering tingles of pure magical essence. So far away, it amazed him how much of the power seeped into the air. He wondered how it felt up close and worried it might well be too much to bear for the Velen. Though their magical sensitivities were less than the Sha’ree, and likely even less than his own due to the O’hra, he knew they could feel the lake’s energy. He heard their voices stutter, their conversation derailed just moments after he had sensed the lake.

  Arrin didn’t stop or acknowledge he noticed. He continued on toward Braelyn, wondering what it was she stared at so intently. A short distance behind her, he saw her spin about, eyes wide. He felt the vibration an instant later. There was no time to call out.

  The ground came alive. Like a wave sent by the Tumult, the sand rose up and rolled toward them. Arrin saw the first of the creatures as he ran to intercept them.

  A dozen red and glassy eyes the size of bird eggs clustered on a black head that looked a cross between a spider and a wolf. Spiny hair sprouted from its skull in random tufts, glistening wet and dark. A wide maw split the creature’s face in half, filled with jagged shards of teeth that hooked inward at the tips. It ran forward on eight legs, skipping its sleek body across the ground with ease, yellowed claws slicing through the sand.

  Many of the Yviri warriors screamed out, “Cruwarg!” in unison as they pointed at the advancing creatures.

  Arrin had no idea if the word was a curse in the Yviri tongue or the name of the things that attacked them, but it stuck as he ran to join the approaching fight.

  There were easily over a hundred of the creatures. Arrin came up behind the closest and cleaved the legs from one side of its body. It loosed a wet scream that seemed to bubble inside its throat. The rest of the Cruwarg responded in kind as the thing fell to the sand, using its remaining legs to spin around in an effort to bite Arrin. He jumped away as it skittered forward and snapped, hooked teeth biting air just inches away. Its nest of eyes glared. Surprised at its ferocity, Arrin drove his sword under its chin, angling the blade into its skull. The creature stiffened and died without a sound. What remained of its legs curled beneath its body and it appeared to deflate, drawing in on itself. It sunk lifeless the moment Arrin pulled his sword loose.

  He looked up from the shriveled corpse just in time to see the wave of Cruwarg crash into the line of Yvir. The screams of the wounded and dying joined with those of the Velen’s terror. Kirah shoved Cael aside and raced at the backs of the Cruwargs. Arrin ran to join her.

  She reached around one of the beasts and raked its eyes with her blade. Crimson fluid spewed across the sand as spasms wracked its body. She finished it off by burying her sword in its head, kicking the dead Cruwarg into its companions.

  The Yvir fought on. Their jagged swords rained down upon the creatures but their lack of technique and reliance on brute force left many open to attack. The Cruwargs raked at the warriors with razored claws, tearing deep gouges in the thighs and groins of the Yvir. Many of the soldiers dropped only to meet their end buried beneath the gnashing jaws and hooked fangs. The screams went on.

  Arrin severed the head of one of the Cruwarg and cleaved yet another in half as he fought to save as many lives as he could. Though the Yvir fielded an easy two thousand fighters, the size of the Cruwargs made it impossible to put that advantage to use. Low to the ground, the creatures found cover in their victims, limiting the ability of those behind the first rank to strike. A bitter sickness rose up in Arrin’s throat as he hacked yet another of the things apart. He cast his gaze across the sands to find the rest of the empowered fighters.

  He spied Braelyn and Jerul battling to his left, working their way toward Arrin and Kirah. Braelyn moved like a serpent, darting in to strike and pulling back to do it again, leaving withered husks curling in her wake. Jerul, like the rest of his people, lumbered through and sent dripping pieces of Cruwarg flying through the air with every powerful blow. He went at them as though chopping wood.

  A hundred piercing agonies brought Arrin’s focus back. He stumbled and looked to see one of the Cruwarg had slipped past in his distraction and sunk its teeth into his leg. The wound burned as though on fire. He cleaved the creature’s head off, biting down as the impact jarred the fangs hooked inside the meat of his calf.

  Another came at him and he pinned it to the sand, his sword driven down through its skull. He pulled it free as yet another Cruwarg skittered toward him. Arrin pivoted to strike and felt his leg give way. He dropped to the sand, eyes blurred by pain. Trying to blink it away, he spied the mass of red eyes just before the fetid stench of the Cruwarg’s breath struck him. He rolled onto his back and raised his sword to defend but the creature never reached him.

  A silver streak whipped past and the Cruwarg fell away in two pieces, its snapping jaws biting instinctively at the dirt where it landed. Its back end curled and twitched a few feet from the rest of its body.

  Jerul stood over him, hand extended to help him up. Arrin wiped at his eyes and took the Yvir’s offer.

  “They’re turning! Watch out!” Cael screamed.

  Arrin looked to see the mass of Cruwarg scurrying back in the direction where they first erupted from the sand. Some instinct had clearly told them the fight was lost and they scrambled to escape. He and Jerul stood right in their path. A dozen or more came straight at them. Arrin went to jump aside but his wounded leg would not hold his weight. He tumbled forward and landed on his knees in the sand. A bitter smell wafted to his nose and he connected it to the Cruwarg instantly. He lay over their den.

  Jerul reached down and dragged Arrin to his feet, but it was no simple task for the Yviri warrior. Powerful as Jerul was, Arrin had spent fifteen years under the influence of the collar, the magical essence reconfiguring his frame to meet the demands he put on it. He was no Velen to be tossed about. Jerul grunted at the unexpected weight as Arrin did his best to help. A moment later, he was on his feet but the mass of Cruwarg had closed the distance. Arrin turned and leveraged his weight on his good leg, cursing the lack of mobility the stance would provide. It would have to do. Jerul stood at his side, spread-legged and blade high. There was no time for lessons.

  The ranks of the Cruwarg engaged. Arrin swept the ground beneath them to slow the charge, dragging his sword through their faces on the return swing. Several shriveled and died but more followed after, climbing the dead backs of the first. Braelyn and Kirah and the rest of the Yvir chewed away at the rear of the mass as he and Jerul fought the front.

  Great sweeping blows kept the Yvir free of danger as Arrin piled corpses before them to slow the advance, picking away at those that clambered over their fallen brethren. His leg throbbed as he dug in to help his stability, but it held. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw a number of the Cruwarg burrowing into the sand. His first thought was they might come up from beneath him, but there was no time to worry about that now.

  The bodies were piled twenty deep before the first managed to slip past Arrin’s guard. It leapt over the corpses and came hurtling toward him. He raised his sword and met the creature with the point. Momentum impaled it. Blood and blackened pus gushed from its speared mouth. Arrin closed his eyes and turned away just as the wash of gore hit. Warm fluid splattered across his ear and cheek and ran unchecked down his neck.

  He opened his eyes to see a Cruwarg close its jaws on Jerul’s neck. Another clung to the warrior’s sword arm. Arrin flung the corpse on his sword away and struck at the creature at Jerul’s throat. He cut its body away just as the Yvir stumbled and fell to his back. A wave of creatures crested the morbid hill then and crashed over top of them just as Arrin reached out for Jerul.
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br />   Arrin’s vision went black, a swarm of biting Cruwarg blotting out all sight. He lashed out with panicked strokes, some inner voice seeping through his fear to remind him of his critique of Jerul’s form, but he went on heedless of the sad irony. The creatures bit and clawed, and he felt strips of his flesh and muscle ripped away under their assault. He collapsed beneath their fury. Pain lanced through his body, from too many wounds to keep account of. Still he fought on. Every stroke was a trial. He was losing the fight.

  Then they were gone.

  Arrin blinked his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness and looked up into the scarred face of Braelyn. Kirah stood at her side, her purple eyes wet with tears that streaked her spotted fur.

  “He lives,” Braelyn called out.

  He heard the shouts of the Yviri warriors nearby, and raised his head. Sharp pains ran through his neck and back, but he spied the warriors clearing a pile of the Cruwarg bodies. A pale form lay beneath.

  “Jerul?” he asked as he stared at the man’s limp arm.

  Cael appeared before him, blocking his vision. The golden rod was in his hand. “You will be fine,” he said as he set the cold steel of the O’hra against Arrin’s chest. The flutter of its power was instant, its essence sinking into his veins.

  Arrin let the relic wash his pain away, grunting as Kirah cut the Cruwarg’s jaw away from his leg. After a few moments, Cael hopped up and turned to Jerul. He set the rod against the warrior’s pale flesh. Jerul lay motionless. Arrin drew a deep breath. Jerul was dead.

  “Cael,” he said, his voice ragged from exertion, “There are other who need your help.”

  The young man pushed the rod harder against Jerul’s skin, but still nothing happened. He was too far gone for even the O’hra.

  Arrin sat up and looked once more to Jerul as Cael fluttered above. The warrior lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the sky. The normally bright purple of his veins were a sallow black against his pale skin. A handful of Cruwarg heads were still attached to his body, black blood oozing from the wounds.