Dormael laughed. He laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes, and he thought that maybe he even started to cry a bit. After everything that had happened to him today; the fear, the torture, the betrayals, Bethany’s kidnapping, their flight through the tunnels, and now this fight with Gods-knew-what creatures, Allen had wrestled that thing to the ground and killed it for insulting him.
It was just too much. The laughter grew slightly maniacal, and before Dormael knew it, he was crying. He cried so deeply that he forgot where he was. He fell to his knees and put his face in his hands, letting the storm of emotions that had built in him all day flow from him like a raging river. His shoulders shook and he snorted the mucus back from his running nose, and still he cried.
He felt Allen crouch beside him, and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. His brother didn’t say anything for a minute or two; he just squeezed Dormael’s shoulder and let him rinse his sorrow out of his body. When Dormael was finally able to speak again, he took a deep breath and looked around before he spoke.
“Everything is gone, Allen. Victus has betrayed us, and the Sevenlands may soon fall apart. We’re being chased by everything that we can possibly imagine and even some that are beyond the wildest imagination. Bethany is caught up in this somehow, and I can’t help but think that the Mekai might have been right about her – that she plays some role in this whole thing that we don’t know about yet. I cannot abide the thought of her falling into the hands of any of our foes. I would burn myself alive before I would allow her to come to harm. But I’ve already failed her once, and I fear I shall do it again. What is to become of us? We can’t go home, we can’t stay in the Conclave, and we can’t escape. There is nowhere safe, not anymore.”
Allen sighed and looked around at the chamber. Steam was beginning to fill the room from the hood that Dormael had destroyed, and though it didn’t spread to the entire chamber, it had begun to drift over the walkway they were sitting upon. He looked back at his brother and stared him in the eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke.
“Everything is not gone, Dormael. Just because we’ve been betrayed, lied to, and attacked doesn’t mean that all is lost. We still have the armlet, and we still have those documents that the Mekai gave us. He knew that he was going to die soon, brother. He knew that if he stayed here in Ishamael, it would most likely mean his death at Victus’s hands one way or another. He chose to stand and fight. Gods be damned if we’re going to choose to do anything different.
“You’ve got a little girl out there, regardless of what her role in this game is, that loves you. She needs your protection, and I know that you’ll do your best to give it to her. And you cannot blame yourself for what happened to her earlier tonight. It wasn’t your fault. What’s more – she’s fine. You can’t control everything, brother. All you can do is your best.
“Now get up. We’ve got to get moving.”
Dormael looked across at Allen for a moment, then wiped his face and rose to his feet. The brothers were silent as they gathered up their gear. Dormael took a few calming breaths as they started walking down the bridge, searching out the glyphs that would lead them back out into the night.
They didn’t notice the pair of burning eyes that silently witnessed their departure.
****
Part III
Seeking a Path
Chapter Twenty Three
Tamasis
It was unseasonably warm the day after the flight through the tunnels. Dormael awoke to sunlight twinkling down through the branches of the low, stunted tree he’d made his bedroll under the night before. The smells of Sweetpenny tea and tobacco smoke drifted to his nose, and though he wanted to climb from his blankets and partake, his sore body protested even the slightest movement and he elected to stay abed just a few minutes longer.
He and Allen had emerged from the tunnels to find D’Jenn and Shawna waiting for them, horses and pack train in tow, against the express agreement they’d made to keep Bethany and the armlet safe. Dormael, however, didn’t begrudge D’Jenn the decision. It had probably been hard for him to stay where he was instead of rushing back into the sewers to help with the fight. Dormael knew that if it had been he who had to wait, his impatience would have gotten the better of him, and he’d have been turning back as soon as he knew Bethany was out, if he’d even have left in the first place.
The glyphs had led them to a secret exit from the sewers, obviously newer than the surrounding construction, which led to a hidden cave about a league to the west of Ishamael. Whoever had brought their horses and gear to the cave entrance had been gone when Allen and Dormael had emerged, and Dormael hadn’t asked D’Jenn about who it had been. The Mekai had said that he or she could be trusted, and that was all that mattered. They’d mounted up and put as much distance between themselves and the city as they’d dared in the night, only stopping in a small copse of trees and vegetation when the sun pushed orange light over the Runemian Mountains. They’d slept almost immediately.
“Are you going to rise anytime this season, coz?” D’Jenn’s voice called from the campfire. Dormael only grunted in response and tried to roll over and pull the blanket over his face, but to no avail. He was fully awake, now, and no amount of procrastination would help him get back to sleep. He sighed and tossed back his blanket, then rose and stretched, working the soreness from his tired muscles.
Allen was already seated next to D’Jenn on the ground, sipping some tea from his own tankard, and Dormael reached into his packs and pulled his own battered metal cup from them, giving it to D’Jenn who ladled him out a healthy portion of the Sweetpenny tea. Dormael sat next to his brother and inhaled deeply before taking a long pull from the cup.
“Where’s Shawna and Bethany?” he asked, as he swallowed the warm tea.
“Doing girlish things out by a nearby stream,” Allen replied, gazing down into his own tankard.
“So,” D’Jenn said, “we didn’t get a chance to talk about what happened last night. What were those things? How did you escape them?”
“I truly have no idea,” Dormael admitted, “I’ve never seen nor heard of their like before. They looked…twisted, somehow. I’m almost sure that one of them was a child, or had been at one time. Their bodies were…I don’t know…stretched. Almost like a shirt that’s too small, but you put on anyway.”
“They smelled, too,” Allen added, “They had a graveyard stench about them, like a body left in the sun after a battle.”
D’Jenn sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t like this, Dormael. First, Inera shows up out of nowhere and summons up that…thing that you described.”
“The Taker?”
“Yes. One day you’ll have to tell me how it is you knew something about it. Then, we’re chased through the sewers by things that we’ve never seen before, who had obviously been tracking us – it’s the only explanation – that smelled like dead bodies. We know that there’s a Vilth out there, and that he’s made apprentices; the late Jureus being one, and Inera being another. He must be close behind us.”
“Do you think so?” Dormael asked.
D’Jenn nodded, “Unless it was Inera who summoned those things and sent them after you. Something makes me doubt that, though. Did you notice the clothing that those creatures were wearing?”
“No,” Allen said, shaking his head, “we were a little busy with killing them.”
D’Jenn smiled despite the dark topic of conversation, “Well, I did. They were woolens, tattered with use, and dirty, but not in the style of Runemians or residents of Ishamael. They weren’t city clothes, if you catch my meaning.”
“I don’t,” Dormael said, “What are you saying?”
“They were farming clothes, Dormael. Simple and rugged, meant for hard use, and in a newer style, too – the style of Soirus-Gamerit.”
“But why would creatures like that wear Gamerit farming clothes?” Allen asked.
“Unless…unless they’d once been Gamerit farmers,” Dormael said, D’Jenn�
�s meaning sinking in. Allen narrowed his eyes at his brother, and shook his head.
“I don’t know, D’Jenn,” Allen said, “It seems a little shaky to me.”
“Why, exactly?” D’Jenn argued, “We don’t know much about Vilthinum, but what we do know suggests that they can hold power over the dead, somehow. In past accounts of Vilth activity, there were reports that one Necromancer killed and enslaved an entire village.”
“Disturbing thought,” Dormael put in.
“Aye,” D’Jenn continued, “We’ve also learned that Inera had the ability to summon up creatures from somewhere – perhaps the Six Hells, even. We don’t know. But it only stands to reason that her master, whoever he is, would have that same ability and more. If he killed and enslaved Gamerits, twisted their bodies somehow, and sent them after us it could only mean that he’s here, somewhere. In the Sevenlands – and probably not far behind us, either.”
Dormael nodded, “Inera would have had to report back to him after our encounter. She probably took something of mine from the scene – blood, or clothing, or something I’d had in a pocket. There’s no way they could have tracked us without something with our…essence…on it.”
“It only took a few hours for those things to show up,” Allen said, “We rescued you earlier in the day, and by that night the creatures had found us.”
“Depending on how fast they can move, their master could be close behind us. Very close,” D’Jenn said, taking a sip from his tea. Everyone grew quiet at the thought, and Dormael looked reflexively back in the direction of Ishamael. The city was a mass of blurred buildings spilling from the riverbank in the distance. It was only a few hours ride from where they sat now, over rolling grassland lying dead with the winter.
That nowhere near far enough.
“We’ve got to get moving,” Dormael said, standing and quaffing the last of his tea.
“I agree,” D’Jenn said, still seated, “But first we need a plan.”
“What’s to plan?” Allen asked, “The Mekai said to head towards Orm, so that’s where we go.”
“There are a few things to consider, first,” D’Jenn said, raising a finger, “We all know that we won’t have much time until Victus makes his move. Maybe a few weeks, maybe until Spring’s Eve at the latest, I believe. Our disappearance will cause him to move his timeline up more likely than not. He’d have to realize that we left under the express command of the Mekai without consulting him, which is the normal procedure for such things. He’ll know that his plot has been somewhat uncovered. If he succeeds, then we’ll be outlaws.”
“Death coins will be issued…” Dormael said, echoing the Mekai’s words from the night before.
D’Jenn nodded, “Once that happens, we’ll be hunted everywhere we go. The Conclave has a long reach, as we all know. The good thing is that we know their tactics; but the bad thing is that their tactics are well proven to work. There won’t be much we can do to escape detection.”
“Hunted by the Conclave,” Allen said, shuddering.
“Aye,” Dormael said, “Plus, they’ll be able to move their agents around faster than we can move. A Warlock can just change forms and reach a town or city ahead of us. We have to carry horses, and we’ll move slower because of the non-gifted people in our group – no offense, Allen.”
“None taken.”
“The only good thing about this whole situation is that I seriously doubt anyone other than the Mekai will know our destination, or our plans. He wouldn’t have shared it with anyone,” D’Jenn said.
“Then what we need to do is to hire a riverboat to take us upstream,” Dormael said, “Jerrantis lies north on the river Ishamael, and we can resupply there. If I remember correctly, Orm sits in the extreme north of Farra-Jerra, near the Gathan Boundary. We may even be able to take the river most of the way to the ancient temple. It is the fastest way, and right now we need to get as far as we can, before we’re all coined for traitors.”
“I doubt there’s a riverboat captain in the entire Sevenlands that will take us all the way to Orm. It’s cursed,” Allen said, shaking his head.
“Good point,” Dormael sighed.
“There’s also the problem about concealing our trail,” D’Jenn said, “Even before Victus makes his move, he may have a few agents out searching for us. I say we move overland and into the plains when we reach Jerrantis. The only things out there are high grasses, old ruins, and the odd farming village that barely receives news from the rest of the tribelands.”
“Seems a sound plan to me,” Allen agreed.
“Then let’s get moving,” Dormael said, “I don’t feel very comfortable with the thought of that Vilth being somewhere so close behind us.”
Allen and D’Jenn nodded, and together the three of them began breaking camp.
The land around the city of Ishamael was mostly gentle, sloping grasslands. The river meandered through it, wide and strong, flowing with the snowmelt from the Gathan Mountains that was its origin. The riverbanks were dotted with a multitude of small trading villages this close to the capital, but D’Jenn thought it would be best to strike north for a bit and get out of sight from the city, and Dormael agreed with him. It wouldn’t do to be seen so close to the city, buying passage north along the river.
Dormael found himself once again in the saddle, once again listening to Bethany tap the weight at the end of his braided goatee on his saddle horn. The feeling, however, was different. The companions were no longer at their ease, trusting that they had a safe place to go and a relatively easy journey to get there. That illusion had been shattered by Inera, the Red Swords, and Victus’s treachery. Instead, Allen rode just out of sight at the front of the group, scouting ahead. D’Jenn came behind him, with Shawna in the middle. Dormael rode at the back of the group, managing the train of pack horses and remounts.
Everyone had a wary look in their eyes, darting looks in every possible direction and moving carefully over rises and dips in the terrain. Allen was armed to the teeth – riding with his targe upon his arm and his spear tucked into his stirrups, other weapons sheathed around his body and tucked into places on his saddle. Shawna wore her leather battle kit – a studded leather scale cuirass, with lorica-style spaulders for her diminutive shoulders. She also wore steel bracers, and kept her swords sheathed behind her, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. She’d braided her red-golden hair down the center of her back, so that it didn’t get in the way. D’Jenn rode with his steel gauntlet upon his left hand, his other hand never too far from his morningstar. Dormael kept his own spear in his stirrup, as Allen did, ready to use. His Kai he held in check.
They rode down a little-used cart path that led northwest, hoping to reach a river crossing a few days’ journey down the path. The river wound through the valley in an irregular line, so D’Jenn felt sure that there would be a sizable riverbank village in the direction they were heading. The path was no more than cart tracks worn into the wet mud that meandered through the light green and brown grasses that carpeted the ground. The sun was shining in force today, and the sky was a clear, light blue. The grasslands stretched around them, fading into a blue haze along their western horizon, and the Runemian Mountains rose up behind them, their snow-capped tops diminished somewhat in the unseasonable heat.
On second thought, Dormael supposed it wasn’t so unseasonal after all. They’d started this journey just before the Winter Solstice, and Spring’s Eve was just around the corner. He’d stopped keeping up with the passage of time, and with everything that had been going on he hadn’t paid much attention. The Spring Equinox and the beginning of a new year would be coming soon, perhaps in just a couple of weeks.
The Spring Equinox always symbolized the beginning of a new year, and the tradition was that no one was to work during the celebration. It was actually two holidays in one: Spring’s Eve, called Winter’s End by some, and the Spring Equinox on the day after. Spring’s Eve was called the Day of Remembrance, and it was supposed to be reserved
for reflection, spending time with friends and family, and telling stories over food and drink. Spring’s Eve was usually a solemn occasion, beginning on the sunrise of the ninety-second day of winter, and ending at sunrise on the Equinox.
The Equinox, by comparison, was an uproarious celebration. It was called the Festival of Life, and celebrated the new life springing forth from the earth as winter’s hold was finally loosed from the land. There were traditional plantings held, huge celebrations throughout the land, and it was considered lucky to conceive during the Festival of Life. Dormael smiled as he thought of all the women who practically begged to be bedded during the Festival. He’d never fathered any children, of course, but that didn’t stop him from obliging any pretty girls that wanted to try their hand at motherhood. There were ways that the Blessed could keep from fathering children, and he was quite practiced at the art.
He sighed wistfully as he thought of their mission. He doubted they’d have much opportunity to partake in any celebrations of any kind for a long time. They’d celebrated the Festival of Frost back in Stormcoast in Alderak, but they’d ridden right through Imbolc as they’d left Mistfall on their way to Gamerittus. He hadn’t bedded a woman since Seylia back in Mistfall, and his attempt at Shawna had fallen flat during their stay at his family’s homestead. He didn’t think the girl even remembered their little encounter. He sighed again at the thought of how long it might be before he got any attention from the fairer sex at all; at least the kind of attention that wouldn’t come with mixed feelings and confusion afterward.
“What’s wrong, Dormael?” Shawna asked, looking at his expression. She’d dropped back beside him when he hadn’t been paying attention.
“Ah, nothing,” he said, trying to banish the thoughts of smiling, pretty women.
“Listen,” she said, her face scrunching up and an awkward emotion playing across her pretty features, “I never got a chance to talk to you about what happened.”
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 75