The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith

by Douglas Van Dyke

  CHAPTER 30 “We Should Kill Their Healer First…”

  Montanya walked beside Sondra through the field of debris. “Doesn’t Cassyli seem to be anxious about something? He keeps looking behind us.”

  The acolyte of Ganden was slow to respond. When she raised her eyes from the debris-filled field, she offered an apology. “I’m sorry, I’ve been too distracted with this.” She waved a hand outwards to indicate the wreckage.

  Montanya nodded, her normal scowl displaced by genuine sympathy for Sondra’s feelings. The red-haired youth again glanced over at Cassyli. The elf was once again scanning the surrounding trees, rather than the scattered remnants of the ship. He seemed to be guarding against some perceived threat. Not far from him, Lindon searched the ground for any sign of the stones. When Montanya turned the other direction, she could not see Cat on the other side. Since the half-elf was so good at blending in with her surroundings, Montanya did not worry.

  Sondra spoke, “It is an odd, empty feeling inside of me. I see pieces of what was once the grandest thing I had ever known. I feel like I am walking through the cemetery of lost hopes and dreams.”

  Montanya knew the depth of Sondra’s feelings for the vessel, having seen and felt the emotions of her past through Trestan’s miracle. “I think I was once in that place myself.”

  Sondra glanced up at the younger woman. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember my memories? After the taxmen and officials took everything, I broke into my home to see or salvage what I could. I walked through empty halls and felt overwhelmed with the loss of my future. I was hurt by my recollections of the past: the bed my parents used to share, my emptied room, a nick on the dining room table from my carelessness with a knife. All my thoughts were how everything I’d come to love was lost. I thought I had cried all my tears at my parents’ funeral, but more came when I grieved for the loss represented inside that mansion.”

  Sondra reached over and briefly squeezed Montanya’s shoulder. “That is indeed how I feel. This is the grave of my future-that-should-have-been.”

  The two walked together through more pieces of debris. The acolyte of Ganden sighed. “I can feel Ganden’s holy relics ahead. That is where I will find what remains of the inner sanctum and my former teachers. I do not want to go there and be witness, but I have to. I have to discover what lies there, reclaim the items, and report everything back to the church in Orlaun. I do not envy my duty, but I must fulfill it.”

  Sondra continued to talk as Montanya raised her head to glance around at their surroundings again. She was surprised to see Cassyli, with spear and shield in hand, running towards them. Montanya, having finally found the balance between her mind, body and soul, began to sense a real threat nearby. She drew from the power of her Chi, and let her senses direct her.

  There, in the shadows, the cutting edge of an arrowhead poised for a kill.

  Montanya was not the target; it aimed at Sondra. The acolyte of Ganden walked unaware that death had prepared an ambush. Montanya had no time to warn the woman. The bowstring released, shooting that sharp edge towards its victim.

  “…you can even move fast enough to catch an arrow out of the air.”

  All of Montanya’s concentration focused on the path of the arrow. Her eyes followed the point as it approached. Her arm shot upward with a speed she had never before achieved. Her fingers snapped like a crocodile’s jaw as it came within reach.

  Sondra heard the arrow fletching as it whistled towards her back. There was no time to react before the sound of the arrow thudded into flesh. Dumbfounded, the acolyte stumbled to the side and turned to look behind her.

  She saw Montanya standing with one arm raised. The chiaso’s eyes were wide with shock. Montanya barely managed to speak in a surprised gasp.

  “I caught it.”

  Sondra spotted the arrow in Montanya’s grasp. As soon as the younger woman relaxed her grip, the blood dripping down the shaft made the truth apparent. The arrow impaled the palm of her hand.

  * * * * *

  Action broke out across the field. The elf warrior Foyren stepped from the trees, raising his bow for another shot. Revwar stood up nearby, moving his hands in arcane gestures. Montanya and Sondra sought cover and found few options. The chiaso tucked her wounded hand close to her body. Cassyli backed up yet stayed in the open, hoping to attract his brother’s attention. The scout called out in their language, though his words to his sibling proved useless. Lindon was the only one that did not move away from the assailants. The minstrel sang words granting speed to his running as he moved to flank around the enemy.

  A ball of fire rushed out from Revwar’s hands. Cassyli quick-stepped to the side with his turtle shell shield raised, yet the blast of flames exploded close enough to send him sprawling.

  Sondra was diving behind a rock draped with torn fabric when she heard another arrow whistle past. She yelped as she felt a sting across one leg. She realized the archer was targeting her, and it terrified the disciple. Once safe behind the rock, Sondra looked for Montanya.

  “Montanya?”

  “I’m here!”

  The voice came from a muddy depression, several long steps away. Sondra reached into her healing satchel as she called out, “I can’t reach you without exposing myself to those arrows. You must remove that arrow yourself, then drink this!”

  Sondra withdrew a clay vial firmly sealed by a stopper. She threw it to Montanya. The chiaso had to release her staff from her good hand to catch it.

  Once Montanya had it, she ducked back into the depression. The youth considered her injured hand, disturbed by the thought of trying to pull the arrow out. How could she manage the pain? She could not delay, so she propped the arrow shaft against a rock. The first step was to break one end of the arrow, then pull it through the other side. Montanya raised her good hand to strike fast at the shaft.

  She howled in pain the moment her strike snapped the sharp end. With tears in her eyes, she grabbed the fletched side firmly. It was done quickly, yet agonizingly. Montanya nearly blacked out while letting a stream of curses forth. With trembling hands, she popped the stopper off the vial and drank the healing potion. Finally the pain ebbed. Her hand was whole again, though it took longer to stop her limbs from shaking.

  While Montanya had been occupied, Sondra had likewise dealt with her own wound. The acolyte of Ganden exerted a minor amount of energy to seal the tear on her calf.

  * * * * *

  Trestan wanted to kill Savannah, but he knew he couldn’t. The dagger she’d generously slipped into his hands would likely bounce off her protective miracles. Even worse, he would be abandoning the tenets of Abriana forever. Savannah knew it. She sought only to tempt him. His brown eyes locked with her cold, blue orbs in a moment of hesitation. He then acted in the only way he could.

  He dropped the dagger, bringing up his other hand to shove Savannah away from their uncomfortable embrace. He could not bring a weapon to bear on her for fear of losing the goddess that guided his life. The best thing to do was make some room for himself.

  The former blacksmith was strong, but Savannah grabbed on to his armor and refused to let go. She seemed to want something else from him that required her to be close. She clung to him, clawing her way up his arm. Trestan tried to squirm free, unsure if he could even risk hitting her with his gauntlets. Savannah barked an arcane command. The magical words triggered a magical item borrowed from the mentalist.

  Trestan continued to try shoving the woman away, fearing whatever trick she had planned. In his efforts, he almost didn’t sense the presence pushing into his thoughts. She was trying to enter his mind through the use of a spell similar to his empathy miracle. Trestan formed a wall in his mind. Savannah’s will formed a hot ember that was only partly shut out by the wall.

  As their bodies struggled, their minds waged a mental war.

  It occurred to Trestan that Savannah could do no real harm to his mind. The faithful of Abriana were well-versed with this
mind link, yet this abbess of DeLaris needed to use a magic item to instigate contact. Anything she tried to do to him would drain her will faster than his own. The abbess’ spell felt similar to his empathic link. Trestan could tell it was not designed to harm him, but rather gather memories and information. It then occurred to him there were many questions of his own that might have answers inside her memories.

  Trestan let Savannah’s will pass by. Yet he surprised Savannah by his resourcefulness as he shaped his own will and sped into her mind along the connection. Even as the abbess searched his mind, he began probing hers.

  Their bodies froze in struggle, as their eyes locked in a duel of minds.

  * * * * *

  Revwar shoved Foyren forward. “Go after that healer. You can’t hit her from here.”

  The elf warrior took a hard look at the wizard for a moment. Revwar was reminded that Jentan’s hold could be a fragile thing, especially when the mentalist was not around. The wizard rephrased his request. He recalled Jentan’s knowledge of what would appeal to this warrior. “Go get the human priest that defiled this wood! Stop her before she can get to her divine artifacts and threaten the domain of Laedelious!”

  Those words struck a chord within Foyren’s prejudices. He ran forward with his kittane in one hand and his bow in another, ready to use either.

  Revwar was preparing to use a spell to finish off the dazed elf scout escorting the companions. Something sharp nicked the base of his neck before bouncing past. It ruined his concentration and sapped the energy of the spell. On reflex, he jumped to the side, avoiding a second thrown dagger.

  The wizard changed spells. Grabbing an item from a pouch, he snapped it apart while intoning a few words of the arcane. A stationary shield barrier formed on the ground in the direction of the attack. Revwar turned to find that he had erected it without a moment to spare.

  The minstrel from Orlaun had circled behind him. Since Lindon’s daggers had not done the trick, the minstrel brought a flute to his lips for a different attack. A wave of music rushed out from the instrument with gale force. Saplings swayed and larger trees’ branches bent as the force of the wind hit them. The effect was that a wall of storm-tossed debris hammered the wizard’s shield.

  Revwar actually smiled at this challenge, since he had a similar spell in his repertoire. The wizard went through another arcane ritual, sending his own wall of wind back at the minstrel. The two forces of nature collided with unbridled fury between them. Branches and discarded junk from the wreckage swirled in a maelstrom. Debris flung outward to rain about the two combatants. Revwar fared better, hidden behind his force wall. The air became choked with particles of dust as a small tornado formed between the winds.

  Lindon knew he was on the losing end of this match. As soon as his breath started to falter, he ducked behind a solid oak. Revwar dismissed his casting after the minstrel found cover. The noise of the winds died down into a clattering of objects falling to the ground.

  * * * * *

  Montanya flexed her newly healed hand. It felt as strong as ever. The youth grabbed her quarterstaff as she chanced a peek out of the depression.

  Her chiaso senses perceived a threat even before the sound of something airborne reached her ears. She snapped the staff around one side. Instead of catching an enemy, it blocked the airborne set of bolos aimed for her head. The bolos wrapped around the staff instead.

  There was barely time to react as Kemora charged at her. The halfling led her attack with the poisoned stiletto. Montanya arched her body out of the harm’s way. The tip barely missed contact with flesh.

  Montanya used the staff to shove the halfling away. It had become unwieldy due to the weight of the swinging bolos on one end. The chiaso jumped away from the smaller woman but only got a temporary reprieve. The halfling’s sword cut at her, leaving a nick in the staff as she parried.

  Montanya spun the staff in what seemed like a defensive pattern. In reality, she was loosening the bolos from their tangle. When Kemora came again, Montanya mimicked a strike to buy more time. When the rogue backed away from the attack, the chiaso finally had the untangled bolos in her hand. She threw them back at Kemora ineffectively.

  The rogue wouldn’t slow down. Montanya’s real swing missed as the halfling ducked impossibly low. Kemora had an unobstructed shot at the tall human’s legs. The stiletto shot forward.

  Somehow Montanya’s legs jumped up out of view. The poisoned tip only struck the end of the staff as Montanya used it to vault away.

  When she landed she assumed a guard position, as did the halfling. After that initial attack they paused to evaluate their next strategy. The two females, pursuer and pursued, stared at each other in silence. They were hundreds of miles from their first alley fight. Neither would have really cared if a king’s ransom would have been between them for the taking. They were focused on each other. Kemora was determined to end the pursuit once and for all. Montanya still sought to find some way of redemption from her life of fearing and hating rogues…and she hoped that in facing this one she would find it.

  * * * * *

  Sondra also looked up from her hiding spot to see a foe coming after her. The cleric had no armor except her cloth vestments. Her only weapon was a mace in which she had received moderate training, yet had never seen real use.

  Foyren Wessail charged her hiding spot. The elf warrior had lost one eyebrow to a jagged scar in his past. His belt bore several beads and carvings as decorations. These were all accolades to his service as a warrior and steward of the forest. The necklace of bones sported specimens from dangerous game animals, including the ferocious wrelcat. Trophies came easily to this hunter. The elf shouldered his strung bow, favoring to meet Sondra in battle with his sharpened kittane.

  The acolyte uttered a brief prayer with wide eyes. Foyren saw the air shimmer around her as she used a miracle to place some protection around her body.

  His first attack launched straightforward and easy. Sondra had to block it. Mace collided with war club, and Sondra found herself knocked backward by his strength. He quickened as he switched directions for his next attack. Sondra was forced to block again, and once again proved weaker against his powerful swing.

  She got the impression he was measuring her reflexes. The warrior toyed with her until he could get an opening he liked. She tried to take a shot at him, hoping to put him on the defensive. Her mace never connected. His left forearm blocked her weapon arm as he brought his kittane around.

  Even with her protective energies, the force of the kittane hitting her side forced the air out of her lungs. On instinct, she barely avoided a follow up attack as she stumbled away. She gasped for air as she heard him coming for her relatively unprotected back. Nearly blind with pain, she somehow sidestepped his next swing.

  She turned to face him as he cocked back the war club for another blow. Raising her mace before his eyes, she gasped a quick prayer. Light enveloped her weapon, glaring against his vision. He stepped back in caution, weighing this new threat.

  It was only a temporary light-inducing miracle. Sondra’s trick proved simple and fast enough that she could cast it quickly. It faded as quickly as it appeared, and Sondra turned to run. She had no idea where to go, but with ribs burning she headed for a clump of trees. The woman had no doubt he would catch her, but she needed room to think of a plan.

  Her escape path proved faulty. A small drop-off hid just within those trees. She saw more debris scattered on the field below, but nothing offered a strategy for the elf warrior behind her.

  She turned to react to his swing. The kittane smacked the mace out of her hand.

  Behind him, she saw the elf scout Cassyli calling out in their native tongue. She could not know his words were calling on his brother to stop. It did not seem to matter, for Cassyli was too far away to block the next swing of the kittane.

  The end of the angled club, sharpened to a tip, pierced through Sondra’s miracles on the other side of her ribs. She saw the sky as she tum
bled backwards…then pain swept her into oblivion.

  * * * * *

  Cat could deny the gravestone which dominated her vision. The chiseled stone appeared more real to her than the woods beyond. Trestan was gone. With his passing, she lost the light in her heart. In the void of his absence, she saw how much he had meant to her. Her heart and her body endured physical sickness as her emotions threatened to drag her over a cliff.

  Time passed unmarked as Cat indulged down a path of recollections. She held close every precious moment spent with him, and replayed them lest those events fade in the march of time. She recalled his strong yet gentle hands massaging her back. She remembered showing him new foreign dishes in the Orlaun marketplace. The warmth felt when he had healed her from the brink of death still lingered in every thought. Cat could still feel Trestan entwined within her soul.

  It is a terrible thing to lose one’s soulmate when one’s own years counted so young. Cat wished he could have shared her longevity…she wanted to grow old alongside someone. It had always caused her to hold back in their relationship. Now he was gone, and all the things she should have done for him or said to him were now robbed of opportunity.

  A significance dawned on Cat. For all the pain his passing caused, she didn’t regret having him as her love. Part of the pain for his passing was eased by elvish beliefs in the natural life and death cycles of all beings. Yet, the pain that remained was in the missed opportunities in life. She mourned the way she had tried to guard her heart against his passing and how it lessened the joys they could have had together. She held back, and now she regretted it.

  She feared loving him for the inevitable pain it would cause her if she lost him. Now that he was gone, her pain arose from not giving all her heart into their relationship. Time had interceded all too soon as she had feared, and yet she found herself realizing she was blessed for the moments they did share.