by Dan Gillis
“Ebyn. Gaeth. We leave within the hour. Is the tower readied?” She kept her veil lowered for the lesser men. The monk was the only one alive who had seen her face, her new eyes. She would see to him soon enough.
“Guild mistress.” It was Ebyn who spoke. The Ignitor held a slight advantage of ability over the Cerephor which Nuril presumed was infuriating to the lesser of the two. “The tower stands ready to send us off. All the paths are clear and ready for a smooth exit.” He kept his head bowed and would do so until commanded otherwise. They all would.
“I’ll make that judgment myself at the rendezvous. You two will leave first with the escort and assemble for combat at the specified location. Proceed according to what we discussed and break away from the escort when you can. I will meet you at the rendezvous point. Make sure all is readied for immediate departure when I arrive. That will be all.” They bowed their heads low and moved out of the room. Nuril went over to the window that she frequently gazed from. Something inside told her that this trip would not go as planned. All of her preparations could not help when it included confronting the man she desperately hated.
***
Night had fallen and all was still on the roadside. The slender moon shed a fuzzy light upon the land through the clouded heavens. The canopy now extended over the whole waggon bed, sheltering all from the weather. It was too damp to set a fire and the heavens continued to drizzle upon the land. The group rested in silence and huddled under blankets seeking in vain for warmth. Shien sniffed softly and watched as Firah huddled beside Zyr. It was an odd feeling, and he really couldn’t decide how he felt. It was partially curiosity and something else … what was that feeling? Jealousy. It was impossible, and yet he had become so used to reading other people’s emotion that he had forgotten to recognize his own. He had enjoyed his association with the young girl, finding himself taking pleasure in their banter and private moments. Somehow, he was growing enamored with her, to the degree that he despised himself for almost leaving her to those despicable demon spawn in the city. He felt grateful now that he had endangered himself to help her. It was a blessed ray of warmth across his chilled mind that she was here with him now. The attraction was strange in some ways, and yet not so in others. He had found that she was not much younger than he, about five years. These days, that was not such an issue.
He watched as she shifted her weight against the monk, who sat in silent meditation. How he wished … he turned his eyes away. It would not do to go on like this. Shien didn’t even know how she felt about him. He suddenly reeled from thoughts long dormant. He had completely surrendered the passion for his family’s heirlooms for whimsical fantasy. The weapons were reality. He cast a second gaze around the waggon bed; all were asleep or resting. The young man’s eyes lingered upon her once again and then moved to big Tohm who snored lightly under a patchy covering. He briefly wondered why the healer had not taken liberty to cure the large man’s severe burns, which were scabbing and mending slowly under the body’s normal processes. Shien stopped himself. He had become distracted again; how things had changed!
He slowly pulled his pack near and untied the straps to the pack. With some trepidation he pushed the material down to expose the two slender forms. Each was wrapped neatly in intricate, delicately thin fabric. The material felt smooth under his fingertips, like the texture of silk. He slowly unfolded the character-embroidered cloth. He felt strangely connected to the symbols. He knew what each symbol represented but together they weaved a strange pattern. He traced his finger over the threads from which they were formed. They were a puzzle to be solved. He took a few minutes perusing both pieces of fabric. Both were fashioned from the same material but the characters differed greatly. He would put serious thought toward that enigma.
He hefted the first slender weapon.
Kuros.
The ornate hilt of the long-bladed rapier was plainly inscribed in his native writ. The counterguard wound round the hilt and tang, a brazen serpent contorting upon itself. Upon sliding the scabbard from the hilt, Shien discovered the metal glowing with a red luster. The blade seemed to shimmer hotly though it felt cool to the touch. He felt uneasy as he grasped the hilt, his fingers clenched as if in fear from the serpent’s venom. The vibrant hue struck the chords of a woman’s voice which sang gently from the recesses of his mind. It came in the form of a song which was sung to him every night as a child. The words slowly formed upon his lips, in harmony with thoughts which sung low in an ancient and noble tongue …
Born from the searing fires of the deep,
The heart of Kuros.
Burning through the lands which weep,
The wrath of Kuros.
Thy fury bright with terrible might,
The will of Kuros.
The child will weep upon the breast.
The cold dark thy fury will contest.
Rage and Sorrow fuel passion bright
The fires of Kuros.
The melody paused and Shien’s mind was caught up in a thousand threads of thought. The simple rhyme now laboured his mind; years of memory sought for understanding in that singular moment. He had no inclination what it could mean. Yet his heart was burning within, swallowing up the chill of the evening rain.
He picked up the next weapon which was as unique as the first. It too was masterfully crafted, the metal taking on a pale hue, whiter than the purest ivory steel.
Isil.
The blade gleamed as a pallid spike, almost transparent in appearance. The hilt and guard formed strong rigid patterns, which suggested firmness and instilled a sense of trust. He felt safe as he held it to his body, letting the cool steel brush across his cheek. The haunting melody continued to flow through his mind. He could not stop the next verse from forming, this time his voice sung low in accord with the unseen woman who sang softly as she stroked his hair.
Tempered and still are thy strains,
The song of Isil.
Thy steady reprieve for all remains,
The mercy of Isil.
Evil’s thunder is torn asunder,
The justice of Isil.
The child shelters under thy care,
As evil throes in awful despair.
Compassion stays the perilous plunder,
The aegis of Isil.
Shien paused as the haunting melody ceased. What was the next verse? It was there upon the distant climbs of his mind. He struggled silently to retrieve the chords. It was essential to hear them now. He cursed himself for his childhood inattention. Perhaps, he always passed into sleep at this point of the lullaby? It was infuriating to be so close to a clue which would lend understanding to the weapons’ purpose.
The soft voice he heard was his mother’s servant, Yyriha. He barely recalled his mother. He remembered that it was Yyriha who had raised him and schooled him in the formal arts, who taught him fencing and warfare. She had taught him how to live, to respect all nature, and his place in the royal courts. At night she lay next to him, providing warmth. She had been adept and wise, and ever so gentle; and yet, firm and immovable in training and many a scar had been caused by her unyielding hand. It was customary for the first servant to instruct in all areas of learning, while the arts of war and fencing fell to the father. Shien had no recollection of a father and thus learned those skills in private from Yyriha. He also remembered that she often came to practice with bruises that were not caused from his weak attacks.
It was during his youth that Yyriha had made an escape from his native lands, with him at her side. She continued to care for him along their endless trek, till her death upon the fell marches of the Wastelands. Shien had found his way to the outskirts of Kenhar, living off the land as he had learned to do in his sojourn. Men had found him as he passed an outpost along the Serpentor March at Dryke. Life had passed so quickly since then and yet Yyriha’s teachings remained so strong within him. Her last words of counsel were etched into his soul. Reclaim what was lost, retrieve Isil and Kuros, and revive the Spirit
of Vyn-shi. Was it fate that permitted him to hear of their existence and brought the swords to him? Perhaps it was her will beyond the grave driving the winds which carried him down many rivers. Either way, her will was achieved and now he felt useless. How could he forget that last verse?
“That was nice singing, Shien.” Firah whispered to him from across the waggon bed. Shien glanced over at her, and lowered the sacred weapons to his side.
She suddenly felt pangs of guilt. “Oh … I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t have interrupted you.” She looked away into the dark night and sighed.
“Please … don’t concern yourself with that. I’m not offended," he spoke in low tones. "Actually, I wouldn’t mind talking right now. I need a break … there’s so much to think about, I feel my head will burst.” There was something in his voice, like calling across a wide expanse. He ran a hand through his hair, something she noted he did when he was under certain duress. She moved apart from Zyr and sidled softly over to him, blanket in tow. Firah saw his eyes watching her as she moved toward him. What was he thinking about?
“You silly, you haven’t even got a blanket.” She felt his hands and withdrew hers sharply. “They are like ice!” she hissed. Without an invitation she threw the blanket around him and moved against his side, adjusting the cover over their legs and bodies. She slid down slightly and wrapped her small arms around his torso, trying to transfer some warmth to him. What was he thinking, the Gnarel-brain? He could have caught a serious chill and fever. What use would he be then after that? His body shifted slightly beneath her arms. She looked up at him and smiled. It felt good to be here, next to him sharing his warmth. Her heart began to pound as she felt his arm lower over her shoulder. She placed her head against his abdomen, which felt reassuring and firm. He released a long breath as she felt the tension slip away. Many moments passed between them, paced by the gentle patter of rainfall upon the protecting shelter above. His voice broke the silence.
"Where do you come from, Firah? I mean, how did you come to meet Tohm and Zyr?" His voice still sounded distant to her and she felt her old guards going up. She had pushed others away for so long. Except for Tohm, she could not name a friend. Oh, she had tried when she was younger to reach out to the other children. She couldn't explain to them what made her different. Her mannerisms were all wrong and uncivilized. By the time Tohm had schooled her in the rudimentary norms of conduct, the damage was done. She was never accepted. Ever teased and bullied she slowly laced the emotional and physical scars into a stoic bulwark. It was then that she chose the woods for her home and ultimately thievery for survival. Tohm had long pleaded, chided and at times threatened to end her retreat. His will wasn't strong enough to break her defences.
She had made it clear at twelve years old that if he treasured their friendship he would know to stop his meddling. 'You are not my parent. I care little what you think is best for me!' She remembered his face as the words came as swords and knives thrusting out from behind her toughened shell. A terrible wound she inflicted with a sickening sense of relief. She didn't do it because she knew he could handle her pain. She did it because she wanted to … because she could. His look was one she could never describe or forget.
Now, here was a man whose relationship with her was still in its infancy. He sought to push past those careful boundaries she had erected. A tremendous struggle began within her heart. A desperate conflict between fear and trust waged as she closed her eyes and held to his body. After a few moments the battle was over. She took a deep breath and plunged into the unknown.
"Well, we're from Lenhir. Except Zyr, I don't know about him. Tohm found me as a little girl, maybe four years old. He says I was like a stray cat, wild and untempered. I have dreams sometimes … I dream I'm surrounded by strange creatures or animals. They walk in shadows on all legs … I don't fear them … in fact I ..." Her mind suddenly detected what she had felt for some time. She turned her head around toward him. "Shien?" His eyes were closed and his breath was coming in slow, steady cadence. Firah slowly turned her head and lay it back where it had been. The hardened sphere around her heart had broken and peeled away like flowers petals from the bud. Now, as the fleeting sun, her resolve gave way to darkness. The fading glimmers of hope illuminated the perfect, impenetrable sphere which refolded around her heart. Shien slept on unknowingly.
Tohm’s eyes snapped open. Danger was approaching from the west, from deep within the trees. He moved his head slightly and read the shifting smells upon the wind. The airstreams reeked from a foul bestial odor; the scent was closing fast. That wasn’t all. He sensed their foul essence. He looked to the young kit who nuzzled the new one. His mind was racing, ‘She must be protected … she is vulnerable!’ He sprung up from the waggon bed and crouched lightly to determine any other danger in the area. Tohm seized hold of the kit’s coat and leapt from the waggon, landing carefully in the wet grass. He heard a startled yell behind him. Let them fend for themselves; he had to protect the young one. It was engrained deeper than any instinct or habituation. Both the master and the wolf were chasing. He could outrun them easily … yet they needed to hide. The scent was getting closer. Blood was spilling; their bodies were being torn apart. Yet still they closed.
Tohm leapt high over a massive tree which had been unearthed. He listened to the faint cries of the young one in his grasp. She was flailing at him, but the young were often like that. He hunkered low beneath the tree, but held her fast in a knotted grip. The master landed lightly in front of them. His face was stern and he approached slowly.
“Tohm, why did you leave the waggon?” He crouched down and stopped just short of the large warrior. The master was wise. He knew the boundaries.
“Danger comes.” Tohm lifted an arm toward the trees which lay westward. The master’s expression changed to one of exasperation. Tohm glared back at the master as the wolf gazed into the dark wood. At least the young had some sense. Why did the master not sense the obvious?
“I have told you, Tohm, the danger is far away from here. You mustn’t react so; it can lead us into real danger …” The master’s calm voice wavered slightly; he carried great burdens. Tohm was sorry to bring more hardship, but she needed to be safe.
“Tohm …” The kit spoke quietly, “are you sure that …”
“Get down!” Shien shouted out harshly. He dived beneath the large tree as he called out and at that very moment the wood was thrown into chaos. Firah gasped as large forms crashed through the brush, growling and panting from exhaustion. Surprise did not stay long as the travellers ducked into nearby cover. The creatures leapt and dashed through the trees, passing perilously close to the small concealed party. After several of the animal like forms thundered by, arrows smacked into the trees and thudded into the ground at their heels. The whinnying of horses was drowned out by a crunching clatter that penetrated through the wood.
“They overturned the waggon, and the ponies have bolted,” Zyr spoke just above the noise. The monk looked puzzled.
"Don't worry, Zyr, those boys will stick around. They never drift far from Tohm," Shien replied in an equally low tone. Firah watched him in the low light. She barely had a moment to consider what he was feeling before something else caught her eye.
More forms raced into the limited view, dancing through the shadows. All was dark and made it all but impossible to discern detail in the wood, but Shien could make out shadows moving toward them.
He watched the beast-like creatures leave the wood and halt in the ditch at the far side of the road. The sliver of a moon barely illuminated their steaming bodies. They were growling and gesturing to one another, and he watched as they set up a rudimentary defense behind the cart. He wasn’t absolutely sure, but he thought he saw one prepare a bow.
“They are Gnarel,” Zyr whispered to them. “Human warriors pursue them, though they appear to be equal in number. We need to stay down so not to be mistaken for targets in the dark.”
Firah tried to move even cl
oser to the soil, but found her tunic still firmly grasped by her old friend. She looked up into Tohm’s eyes. They were so alive and almost smoldered in the darkness. She wasn’t sure whether she should be more afraid of being so close to Tohm in his present state. He had done terrible things days earlier. He had simply lost control of who he was.
Footfall passed by, leaping the large trunk near their location.
All four remained deathly still.
The sound of crashing metal filled the air, as the pursuing forward-guard encountered the Gnarel riposte. Flashes of light peeked through the low brush as weapon met weapon. Cries of war were meshed with snarls of fury. It was a cacophony of rage. Human archers were sniping from behind the near trees and occasionally Gnarel arrows would skitter close by the party. Firah kept her head low to the ground, seeking some comfort from Mother, silently praying they would escape this terrible clash of warfare.
A terrible scream of agony pierced above the rest, and a howl of triumph followed slightly afterward. Zyr turned his face to the others. It was grave and full of hidden burdens. “That’s it. They will not survive a Gnarel counter-attack if we do nothing. We must help, even if we are complete strangers. Tohm you stay here and guard Firah.” The big man nodded slowly as Zyr started to fasten the long sleeves of his robe.
“Hold on Zyr,” Shien interjected. “Why should we risk our lives, there is no logic in this! On what grounds do you casually place our lives in harm’s way? You must answer that!” Shien was speaking loudly, but none of the near combatants would hear. They now fought for their very lives. The monk appeared anxious but took a moment before answering.
“I can’t help you, or even force you to understand. It’s something I must do, till I meet the end. It’s the duty of a promise, nothing more. Somehow, life would not be worth living if I did not heed that duty. Do as you wish but I leave now." As the magi prepared to move he spoke low without turning. "By the way, didn’t you leave something in the waggon?” Zyr crouched low and moved away slowly from their hidden refuge.