by Tim Marquitz
Arrin ignored her and turned to Kirah. “Take your people and go with the commander. I promised your father to see you safely home, and I would keep my word.”
Kirah shook her head, the fur of her mane dancing wild. “No. Show us how to use the relics. We would fight alongside you.”
“No, sister, we cannot,” Waeri shouted. “Lathah is lost. Our people will need every warrior to defend Pathrale against the Grol horde once they are done here. This is a losing battle.”
“You must all flee,” Zalee growled, moving between them. “There is more at stake than just Lathah or Pathrale. The whole of Ahreele stands to be lost if we hesitate here.”
Arrin spun on her. “The Grol take Ahreele and you as well.” The collar at his neck cast off a brilliant green, its heat warming his throat. “I care not for your war save for the suffering it has brought upon those I care for. I came only to see my family away from here, my people safe, but that has been cast to the wind by the machinations of fools.” He stepped in close to the Sha’ree, meeting her glaring pink gaze. Despite his fury, tears ran free from his eyes. “It is enough that I must give up hope for my unknown child that lives somewhere in the chaos below, but I will not surrender its mother to the cruel mercies of the Grol, as well.” He spit. “Do as you will, Sha’ree, but my stand is here.”
Zalee stood her ground. Her stare bore into Arrin’s skull, but he would not be moved. After a tense moment, she gave him an acquiescent nod and gestured toward the bodies of the royal guard as she drew back a few paces. “I will not disguise our need for one such as you, Arrin Urrael. The path ahead requires a warrior of great skill to win through and time is against us. We need your sword. If you would but agree to help, I would see to it myself that the princess and her family are carried from this place, as far away as Ah Uto Ree, if necessary, so as to assure you of their safety. I give you the word of my people.”
Arrin looked out over the burning walls of his homeland, the smoke whirling before his eyes, the vicious growls of the Grol thick in his ears. No matter how hard he tried, he could see no hope in what he intended. His child was gone from the world amidst the fall of Lathah and there would be no peace for his guilt and shame. He had failed, once more. All that he loved was gone. He had only the sour memories of what once was to sustain him. They were but weak embers against the blizzard of despair that wailed in his heart.
Despite it all, there was a single coal that simmered inside him. Its burning heat spoke its fury amidst the sorrow, pleading to be set loose upon the world to salve the ruin of his love. He looked out at the Grol army once more as it ran through the streets of his beloved city. He knew somewhere in its wake was his child, either dead by fire, or tooth and claw, but dead nevertheless. He would never know his offspring, would never be given the closure of commending its body to the ground, to know its name so that he might honor its memory in truth.
He had given his life to the dream that he would one day hold his child in his arms and now that dream was naught but ash, its memory bitter in his mouth. For all that Olenn had kept him from it was the Grol that buried the last vestiges of his hope. All that remained of his child was Malya. If he could do nothing else with his life, he would be certain she survived.
His vision blurred by tears, he turned to face the Sha’ree. “See the princess and her family, Maltis and Barold, along with the Pathran emissaries, to safety in Pathrale and my sword is yours. I will hold the Grol for as long as is feasible to give you more time, and then follow behind, on my word.”
Zalee bowed deep. “Then we are agreed, Arrin Urrael.” She turned to the Pathra. “If we are to be free, we must go now.”
Kirah shook her head. “I would stay.” She looked to Waeri. “Take our people home, brother. I will follow soon.”
Waeri growled but moved to embrace his sister. “You are a fool, Kirah, but you are our father’s fool, and I would expect no less of you. It would serve me better to wish a mountain to stand aside than to convince you of the folly of what you choose. Come home to us, sister.” He broke away and went to stand alongside the Sha’ree.
Arrin went to the Pathra and pulled a pair of bracers from within the bag that held them. He gave his thanks to the warriors and bid them farewell. “We will seek you out soon, Waeri, your sister and I.”
The Pathra each embraced Kirah as they passed, the Sha’ree urging them to hurry. Moments later, they were gone, following in the path of Malya and the commander. Only Arrin and Kirah stood amidst the bodies that littered the courtyard, Lord Xilth having succumbed to his wound and gone silent.
Arrin handed the bracers to Kirah. “There is little time to teach you their use, but what comes naturally should be sufficient for our needs.”
He watched as she slid them onto her wrists, the metal seeming to shrink so that they fit her snug. Her eyes went wide, Arrin understanding her awe as the tendrils of the Sha’ree magic burrowed inside her to make the bracers one with her flesh. She wobbled and threatened to fall as Arrin grasped her arm to keep her standing. After a moment, he felt her strengthen and released his hold.
She looked at him with wonder on her face. He could see the wound at her cheek knitting itself together. She seemed not to notice, her eyes having dropped to look upon the glow of the bronze bracers.
“I feel as though the sun burns within my veins.”
Arrin watched her, remembering the moment he first donned the collar. “You will grow accustomed to it soon enough.”
“I would have it linger,” she said, her eyes drifting up to meet his, a broad smile gracing her lips.
“For all the magic’s glory, Kirah, it is but a tool. It will not keep those you love from harm or keep the demons from your dreams. Mark these words, if you would remember nothing else.”
Arrin glanced back to the city below, the Grol eating at it from within. “We have but a short while to prepare. Pay heed so that we might both be true to our pledges.”
The sounds of battle echoing through the blood-stained streets, the cries of the dying thick on the fetid breeze, Arrin did what he could to ready Kirah for what was to come. He feared it would not be enough.
For all his courage, he felt the weight of his promise upon his shoulders. He had sworn to defend Ahreele, giving his life to the Sha’ree, and to return Kirah safely home to the arms of her father, but as the masses of Grol made their way through the fallen city, he knew no certainty.
Dread had cast its shadow over him and he felt its chill. He drew his sword and loosed a scream at the gathered Grol that battered at the gates to the Crown. If death had chosen this day for him to die, Arrin swore it would cost the beasts dearly.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The roar of the ocean long lost to the haze of the desert sand, Braelyn came upon the source of the flickering light that had lured her into the golden depths. Even when night had blanketed the sky in darkness, there had been a glimmer of illumination that drew her on until dawn had lighted her beacon once more. For all its willingness to be found, it had not been an easy journey.
The serpent-beast had been only the start of the terror that had followed her along her desperate path. Where once thick rivulets of sweat soaked her clothing as fully as the ocean had at her arrival, she stood now as dry as the unidentifiable bones that littered the sand. Not even the cool whispers of her blade could ease the sweltering heat that clung to her in lecherous embrace, its touch sparing no part of her flesh, no matter how sacred.
Her protective cloak had been torn away, leaving her head exposed, and dragged into the depths of the earth by a creature she could not even begin to describe, its deformities so bizarre as to defy the clarity of words.
Dozens of others, more closely related to the serpent, had struck at her as she trudged across the desert terrain, bursting from the ground with little warning, each determined to end her life. She battled through, drawing blood on each, leaving only one dead in the sand behind her despite her effort.
Though none had be
en so fortunate to sink tooth or spine into her flesh, they had still taken their toll upon her. As she closed upon the glimmer of reflected light, she could no longer do so much as lift the heft of her blade. Its point left a wavering trail in the sand behind her, its hilt held in her hand solely by the long strip of cloth that wound its way around her wrist and hand, tying the sword in place.
Her mind a haze of dust and melted thought, it took her several moments to realize she no longer walked upon the shifting sands of the desert, the quiet crunch of broken glass beneath her heels. She glanced down to see the land had transformed from soft gold to a crystalline blackness that cracked under her weight.
Almost too weary to lift her chin, she forced her head upright. Where the desert had once filled her sight, it was now a field of black glass that stretched into the distant horizon. The whistle of the desert wind, the only sound she’d heard for miles back besides her panted breaths and the whisper of the sand under her feet, had been replaced by an eerie creak. Like a frozen lake, the obsidian crystal moaned under its own weight, tiny cries of its suffering calling out to her.
Nowhere but forward to go, a sentence of death at her back, Braelyn continued without pause. She made an effort to keep her sword from dragging along the crystalline floor as she pushed on, forcing her feet to move ahead one step at a time.
Though she had no sense of time and knew not how long she traveled over the glass, the obsidian desert only became a different kind of torture as the heat was reflected upward to bake her from both top and bottom. She willed her feet forward, each step more arduous than the last until the came to a muddled realization.
She stood in shadow.
She raised her eyes only to find the once unfathomable distance that had sprawled out before her to have been cut short to little more than a couple of horse lengths. A wall of black glass towered before her. It rose up over a hundred feet into the bright morning sky. Its walls ran hundreds of feet in each direction, and at the building’s center loomed a massive portal flanked by obsidian columns, its archway set at close to thrice Braelyn’s height. The smooth perfection of its crystalline exterior was unmarred by either beast or the wearing hand of time.
Just beyond the great building was the source of the eerie glow that had drawn her on during the dark night. A great, bubbling lake of greenish fluid churned and frothed, whispered sparks flickering above its surface. It seemed to go on forever, a hazy blur of steam obscuring the length of it. The scent of it filled her nose, its odor bitter and sharp. She could taste a hint of something metallic in it, a subtle film coating her throat. Her skin prickled as she examined the lake as though a murky breeze had washed over her and had left behind a gritty residue, but the air was still. She didn’t like the feeling.
Her body too taxed to move with any real purpose, she shuffled forward as quickly as she was able. Little more than a dry husk, drained of nearly all her fluid, she reveled in the coolness of the shade that settled over her. Chills prickled her skin and she felt almost cold with the addition of her sword’s energy, but she could not bring herself to sheath the blade. It felt too much like home.
As she neared the gaping entryway, she muscled her sword up and held it out before her unsure of what she might encounter in the dim light beyond. She had no confidence she could ward off an attack should it come, her hand blurring the tip of her sword in its spasms, but she would not go to the earth without resistance. She felt relieved when she slipped inside, finding nothing waiting there to test her resolve.
The air inside the great obsidian construct was even colder than that outside in its shadow. Braelyn could see each breath as she exhaled, the adjustment tying her stomach in knots. Her sight wavered as she pushed forward into the chamber that opened up before her. Other than the gentle glow that seemed to emanate from the crystalline substance itself, the whole of the building was cast in a shade of black.
Crafted entirely of the obsidian stone, the walls, floor, and arched ceiling of the small room ran seamless, no color or feature marring the singularly dark creation. Only the lighter shapes of open portals running at the compass points broke up the overwhelming shimmer of blackness. Nothing to mark the paths from each other, Braelyn went left and strode through the thick-walled archway into the next chamber. Her eyes went wide at what awaited her. She knew then the purpose of the dark construct.
It was a mausoleum.
Unlike the entry chamber, this room rose up to the full height she had seen outside. The walls to the roof were lined ten high with deep-set alcoves, each with a rounded platform at their base, which jutted about a foot into the room. The dark canvass of the walls were broken up by the mass of bodies that stood rigid in nearly every alcove, each dressed in luxurious silver robes whose material seemed to shimmer in the dim light.
Braelyn drew closer for a better look.
Though open to the air, the beings in the alcove showed no obvious signs of deterioration despite their flesh being a pale yellowish-green. She could scent no decay nor see any rot upon the fine material of the robes. Their angular faces were almost abstract in design, large, closed eyes running almost perpendicular above the tiny dot of a nose. The straight line of their mouth was nearly smooth, with no lips to speak of. All were dressed in the same robes, only the slightly sharper features and the gentle swell of breasts gave any indication as to the gender of the deceased.
There was a striking unity to the presentation of the bodies. She glanced down the line to see that each wore a silvered collar about their neck, a thin metal harness that ran in straps crisscrossed over the chests and ending in a belt that encircled their waists, and bracers of the same bronze material at their wrists and ankles. Engraved along the entirety of the metal apparel were symbols she knew not, which were raised slightly above the metal surfaces.
Also housed alongside each, set in a clasp to the left of the body, was a silvered spear and a long, thin blade propped to their right. Every pommel was set with a round, iridescent stone at its tip.
Braelyn examined the alcove closely and could see no obvious attempt at defense. She unwound the wrap from her hand and sheathed her sword, casting a glance about the room. Her breath cold in her lungs, she reached out and ran her finger along the hilt of one of the dead being’s swords. The tip of her finger tingled at its touch and she could feel the gentle warmth that emanated from the metal, though no pain accompanied it.
Encouraged, she grasped the hilt and pulled the blade to her. Only silence greeted her pilferage.
She turned the unexpectedly light sword over in her hand and once more felt the subtle prickle of energy as she clasped her fingers tight about the hilt. The stone at the pommel glimmered to life at her grip, a greenish hue flickering in its depths. The glow seemed to infuse the symbols drawn down its length, each lighting up in turn.
Intense surges of power, stopping just short of painful, traveled down the length of her arm where it seemed to settle in her chest and radiate from there throughout the rest of her body. She felt her weariness retreat at its touch, a sudden feeling of vigor overcoming her that chased at the tail of her aches and pains.
She glanced at the hand that wielded the blade and saw the sun-tortured skin beginning to heal, the raised blisters draining and sinking back into the flesh, the reddened skin paling to its normal shade. She felt the bloody cracks at her lips knitting together and ran her tongue over them, the skin soft and supple after but a few minutes.
The hunger and thirst in her belly had calmed and she felt oddly sated despite how long it had been since she had last consumed either food or drink. Though she knew not the why of it, Braelyn celebrated the feeling, only then realizing how close she’d come to death before she’d picked up the blade.
She felt renewed and clutched tighter to the strange sword, fearful of letting it go lest the wonder of its touch fade with its release. The murderous desert surrounding her, this was not the place for weakness.
Her body regenerated and her spirit drifting
amongst the clouds, she explored the great halls of the dead. The touch of a single sword restoring her flesh and drive, she wondered what other wonders she might find within its hallowed chambers.
An alien world awaited her outside and Braelyn was determined she would not face it unprepared.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hard on the heels of Zalee, the clustered Pathran emissaries all about, Cael felt lost. They had caught up to the watch commander and the princess and had run to her home to find her family. The boys’ eyes were as wide as the moon as they were led outside, their voices raised in excited chatter. Cael could see the wonder on their faces. Oblivious to the worry that weighed heavy upon their mother, it was as if they’d started off on a grand adventure.
Cael understood how they felt, but he’d seen too much to share in their excitement. With the howls and cries of the Grol reverberating through the city, he wanted only to be gone. He moved closer to the princess’ children, forcing a smile for their sake.
With an angry shout that rivaled the beasts, the princess tore her arm free from the commander’s hold. “I know what’s expected of me, commander.” She called her husband and children to her. “I can find my way to the tunnels without your lead.”
Maltis bowed as the princess spun on her heels and ushered her family before her, men of the guard carrying her senseless father carefully in their arms. Despite her anger, the commander stayed close, Barold right beside her, as well. Zalee kept a measure of distance, her pink eyes in constant motion. Her head swiveled to look everywhere. The Pathra surrounded the party at the rear, their weapons at the ready.
The insistent Grol noises spurred the group on and they moved quickly, the princess leading them back to the courtyard they had only recently left. It was empty save for the corpses of those killed by the Lathahn warrior. The princess chastised her children’s as they gawked and steered them into the Great Hall, her husband at her side, a short blade ready in his hand. The men who carried her father came close behind.