Lord Moshat grew angry. Throwing his cloak over his shoulder, he brought the staff up over his head, then down upon a large piece of smoky quartz that lay at his feet. The vibration, as it struck, echoed within the fragile layers so that it split into pieces. Leaning down, he prized a piece of it up. Holding it high, he turned it, first this way, then that way, so that the sun’s rays caught, then held, within the prism it created.
The watchers fell silent as the shafts of light spun against each other, creating a vortex of colors that intertwined, then separated, only to meet again in a never-ending dance.
Lord Moshat’s voice rang out in the clear air as he addressed the ones he had summoned from the high places.
“Watch!” He turned the crystal slowly so that the colors slowed, were distinct. He moved the crystal a little faster. The colors rolled toward one another, melding slightly at the edges.
“Do you forget? Have you all grown so complacent that you forgot the struggle that brought you to your place of watching? Have the turnings taught you nothing. Well?” He placed the stone carefully upon the ground, at the same time his gaze raking the circle of watchers. One by one, the bowed heads raised as each watcher placed his staff before him. When all the staffs were placed in front of their owners, they formed a circle, and Lord Moshat nodded. They had all voted as one, without any dissent. The elder let out his breath, relieved.
From the four corners to the center, they would lend their strength and their wisdom to help the companions.
Knowing that there was one more thing to be done, Lord Moshat took his leave.
There must be Three. Always. There must be Three.
23
Orith shifted so that the Old One could lean on him more comfortably. The shadows outside were lengthening, the shafts of light moving slowly across the rocks that concealed them.
“Shhhh.” Orith leaned forward to peer out, the shrill whistling of the forest warriors a telling thing. Danger approached. Feeling helpless, he leaned back as the sounds of battle reached him. Knowing that Nickolous was safe within the caverns deep below offered little comfort as he held the Old One to him. Too late, they realized the foolishness of staying behind, for if they were discovered.
§ § § § § §
Lithe and deadly, the feral creatures attacked in packs, worrying their quarry with darting attacks, moving swiftly in, then out, as Jerome’s warriors struck out blindly, their deadly blows missing their mark with irritating frequency. As one was struck down another took its place to weary the warriors so that an opening might be found.
However, the warriors of the forest stood their ground, neither defeating nor winning, the barrier holding, keeping the passageway to the three fallen warriors impenetrable. Finally, a trilling cry was heard, and the invaders turned back, their master calling them. The warriors watched as the last of them slunk into the forest, leaving their wounded to find their way or not, as best they could.
§ § § § § §
Orith leaned back, relieved as the shadows passed over their hidden place, the silence welcoming as he let his breath out slowly, then easing himself forward, listened. Someone approached; the soft tread of their footsteps heard even though they stepped carefully over the dry twigs and leaves while the Old One clutched him; her sharp nails digging painfully into his side as she pulled herself forward, just as the footsteps stopped and someone softly called their names.
§ § § § § §
“The sentries return, my Lord.”
“Prepare them. We must intercept them in the cavern, before they reach the chamber.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Even as he spoke, Lord Nhon moved toward the darkened passageway. Knowing that the others would soon follow, he went to prepare himself. He knew that it would take the companions awhile to find their way to the center where the Flame was imprisoned. He also knew he had to stop them before they entered the cavern, for even without the other two, the Old One and Orith, he could not risk that they might get past him. As he began the long descent into the depths that held his prisoner, he extracted a large silver medallion from his robe. It had been a gift, given to him many turnings ago. Within its center, a blood-red stone lay nestled.
Chanting an ancient incantation given him from those who dwelt below in the shadow worlds, he caressed the stone, peering into its depths. The light from the torches positioned on the walls behind him glinted against the stones surface, reaching the heart that was deep within.
Lord Nhon threw back his head, laughing.
The stone wept.
§ § § § § §
Nickolous felt the pull of the stone even as the Fallen awakened it from its eternal sleep. He leaned against the damp wall for support, his head spinning as he fought the images racing through his mind.
“Nickolous?”
“Something calls to me. Something ancient.”
“What is it, what do you see?” Gabriel leaned close, the feeling of danger prickling along his spine. Chera and Liege, sensing this, positioned themselves beside Nickolous while Jerome felt the hair on the back of his neck rising as the first cold draft of air hit him.
“Listen.” The big warrior leaned forward as the smell of something putrid reached them, the cold draft causing Nickolous to shiver as he held the staff in front of him. It glowed softly in the semidarkness and then flared brilliant white as the first form leapt toward them, only to fall, lifeless, to the earthen floor. Then the others came and the air was filled with shrieking forms as the companions defended themselves. Jerome pushed one away only to fend off another as Nickolous held the staff out in front of him, unsure of how to awaken its powers.
He need not have worried. Even as he drew it back toward him, the words came unbidden. As he swung it in an arc, the blue-white particles that drifted out from it landed carelessly here and there, where they glowed like tiny coals set free from a burning log that has rolled from its place within the circle of the fire.
The screaming died away in a soft sigh, so quickly was the creature consumed, leaving only a tiny pile of ash in its wake. No one noticed the first, or the second, or even the third as it perished alongside its fellows, so hard was the battle being fought, the battle cries ringing throughout the cavern carried deep into the depths where few—two-legged, or four-, had ever trod.
“Chera, to your left!” The words were shouted as Gabriel flung off another creature.
Nickolous swung the staff around as the sparks hit their mark, and still they came. Even with the aid of the staff, they were on the verge of being overwhelmed.
Leaning down, Nickolous drew the staff in a circle, his thoughts reaching Jerome, the big warrior fighting to reach his side. Calling the wolves and Timothy to him, they turned back to back to meet the enemy, only to see them disperse as suddenly as they had appeared, the distant call of their master fading into the sudden silence, the only sound now that of their own ragged breathing.
§ § § § § §
Orith shoved the Old One back, his body covering hers protectively as the stones guarding their hidden place were removed. As the last one was rolled away, he shielded his eyes against the bright light that streamed in through the opening.
“Lord Moshat!” Orith pulled himself up as the elder knelt down to help the Old One.
“The others? The council?” Orith asked; too surprised to say anything more, for he knew the Ancient laws well.
“There comes a time when there can be no differences between us, for it is one of our own who brings this danger to the forest clans. This is an ancient evil; awakened by one who risks all for the power he hopes to gain through the suffering of others. There had to be an awakening within the circle. This is it. Come.” The elder stood at the opening of the cavern, where the others had entered, it seemed, but a few moments past.
§ § § § § §
<
br /> “They come, my Lord.” The creature bowed low before its master. Lord Nhon nodded. He was not surprised at their failure to stop the companions from entering the sacred place; yet, he had hoped. He shrugged; it did not matter. There was still the stone to call upon. It could not refuse him, for it was bound by the ancient calling of the before time to obey him.
“Tell the sentinels that guard the lower levels to be alert. Has there been any sign of the woman?” Lord Nhon asked as he fastened the heavy woolen cloak about his shoulders, placing the hood over his head so that his features were hidden from prying eyes.
“None, my Lord,” the creature replied.
“Be watchful, and remain guarded at all times. Now go.” Lord Nhon dismissed the guard with a curt nod and returned to his work. There were certain places he was forbidden to go, and the knowing was festering within him. He drew himself up, his eyes glinting as he went to the opening and peered into the bright light. Somewhere beneath him, he knew the companions moved toward the Flame, while A-Sharoon waited above. He could feel her presence. Knew she was close. Angry, he turned aside. He would seek her out later. Right now, he had to deal with the others, and if that meant destroying another entranceway to the “Beneath, “ then so be it. Calling the others to him, he disappeared into the darkened depths that beckoned.
A-Sharoon watched Lord Nhon go. He sensed her, she could feel it, but she knew he would not find her. As much as she loathed the forest dwellers, she loathed him more. As the last of the feral beings followed him back into the cavern, she stepped out into the open and, guarding herself against the bright light, followed.
§ § § § § §
Nickolous let his breath out slowly, relieved that they were gone.
“There will be more where they came from,” Jerome said as he turned one of the creature’s over, checking for signs of life. There were none. Straightening up, he fastened the club to his side, looping a long, thin strap about his wrist so that he could swing up and out more easily should the need arise. Nodding, Nickolous drew the staff to him, partially concealing it beneath his cloak, then, motioning the others to follow; he started down the winding corridor.
“Well, which way do we go from here?” They were standing at a place where the cavern branched off into a maze of connecting tunnels. Each one they peered down seemed darker than the rest, with no indication of it ever ending. Nickolous looked at the bracelet; it was glowing an iridescent hue that was comforting. “We go that way,” he said, pointing down a long length of corridor that seeped wetness from a hundred places.
The smell was nearly overwhelming as they made their way slowly along; the way before them slippery with things that had been there since the before time. Moving carefully, they began the slow descent into the deepest part of the cavern, Chera and Gabriel flanking Nicko-lous while Liege and Timothy stayed a little behind, their ears straining for anything untoward. Jerome moved ahead of them, the luminescent light from the staff shadowing everything in front of him so that his senses were heightened as he concentrated on even the most innocent of sounds that wafted toward them.
The farther they went, the colder it became; the chill creeping upward until even Jerome felt it. The big warrior stopped suddenly, tilting his head to one side, listening. The far-off sound of rocks tumbling down upon one another, echoing through the partial darkness, reached him as he turned in the direction from which they had came. He turned to face the others. Motioning to the wolves and Timothy, he moved quietly into battle position as the sounds grew louder. Whoever, whatever, it was, was not bothering to cover its approach.
“Hold!” The voice pierced the darkness as Jerome hefted his war club effortlessly, readying himself.
“Lord Moshat?” The big warrior slowly lowered his weapon, shocked into speechlessness as Lord Moshat, followed by Orith and the Old One, came into view, obviously weary from their hurried journey.
Nickolous moved ahead of the others, relieved that they were all together again, for deep within, he knew that they should never have separated. He had sensed almost as soon as they had left them in their hiding place, protected by the living rock, that their power was in being united.
He hugged the Old One to him.
“We don’t have much time.” Lord Moshat grasped Nickolous’s arm in greeting, his grasp firm. Nodding to the others, he turned his attention now on those crowded about him, his gaze missing nothing as he noted how weary they all looked and how hard this journey must be.
“For now, the old laws will be put aside. The dark ones begin to gather from the nether realms to assist Lord Nhon in his evil.” Lord Moshat brushed the dampness from his brow; the hurried journey from Skye to where he was now had made him realize that he, too, was growing tired. He turned to Jerome.
“Use the old ways of speaking to one another from this point on.” Lord Moshat turned to face the rest of the companions; his blue eyes piercing, his brow furrowed as he listened, even as he spoke, for anything, anyone, that might be close by. He drew his staff to him, drawing comfort from its presence, the power that emanated silently from it flowing through him, renewing him.
“Chera, Gabriel, you must draw from the memories given you by your ancestors. What was gifted to the elders, to the warriors of the forest, and to the watchers beneath as their birthright, is also yours by remembrance.” He drew the staff in front of them, the pale blue light washing over them, bathing them with its soft light.
Timothy shook his head as the color washed over him, the words coming to his mind unbidden, unspoken. He looked at the others in disbelief. He was sharing his thoughts in the ancient way, a way that had been lost to his kind for untold turnings. He drew himself up proudly, his weapon clutched tightly to him. Like the others, he stood, ready for whatever was to come.
The elder was speaking again, the words in the ancient language of the Old Ones.
Nickolous nodded, understanding. What was once forgotten had been reborn. He looked at the Old One and Orith. He understood this much at least; within all breathing things, there was a memory of the beginning, which most had forgotten, their memories buried deep within to resurface as dreams and visions except to a few.
He turned his gaze on the elder; old beyond reckoning by human standards; older even then Jerome’s race of beings. He touched the staff to his forehead, momentarily lost in his own thoughts. Drawing in a deep breath, he went inside himself, something he had never done at will before, and he saw where the Flame was hidden; felt its anguish, heard the soft sighing of the wind, knew the little earth dwellers waited with stalwart heart for help to come. Looking up he saw the others, watching, waiting for him.
Lord Moshat said nothing; there was no need for words. The Ancients had seen…had known. The weariness swept from him as he stood gazing at those gathered about him—knowing that the turnings he had lived were nothing more than a preparation as he centered himself, preparing himself for the battle to come. He looked at Nicko-lous—at the others—
§ § § § § §
Lord Nhon moved silently from corridor to corridor, his gaze searching as, ahead of him, things scurried from crevice to crevice, seeking out the hidden and destroying them. Lord Nhon waited impatiently for them to finish. As each corridor was swept clean, something darker was left behind to guard against intrusion. Lord Nhon leaned against a moss-encrusted wall, unmindful of the foul odors emanating from it—unmindful of the fact that behind the wall stood another; hidden from prying eyes, white hands clenched tightly around a silver pendent that in turn held its own secrets within.
“Lord Nhon?”
“What is it, what have you found?” He turned toward the speaker.
“The elder, he is with them.”
Lord Nhon drew in his breath sharply. He had not expected this. Interference in the lower realms was expressly forbidden. He let his breath out slowly. There was no sense in worrying a
bout it now, for there was much to do. If his former mentor had called the others to him, they still would not interfere directly, and he had grown powerful enough that he personally need not worry. He looked around him, his gaze sweeping the cavernous room—at the dark feral things that milled about him, unmindful, unless given a purpose. Drawing his cloak tightly about him, he went forward.
No, he thought to himself as he turned down the next long corridor—he need not worry.
As for the rest? Let them look to themselves.
§ § § § § §
Black eyes glittering darkly, A-Sharoon waited in the darkness, her nails digging painfully into the palms of her hands as she restrained herself. Now was the not the time to reveal herself or her intentions. She would wait; would see what the forest dwellers did. As much as she despised the one who now walked away, she would not jeopardize herself. As she stepped out into the opened corridor, yellowed fangs snapped at her, catching her cloak in powerful jaws, then relaxed as words, whispered low and soft, soothed it. Panting, it lay down, its narrowed eyes following her as she moved out of sight.
§ § § § § §
“Careful, the way from here grows dangerous,” Jerome cautioned as he placed a hand on Nickolous’s shoulder. They were standing on a narrow ledge looking down. Holding his staff out in front of him, Nickolous watched as it glowed blue-white; its light dispersing the shadows that danced in front of it. He drew in his breath sharply. It was a long way to the bottom.
Easing himself backward, he leaned against the jagged rock that protruded outward from the wall, exhaling slowly. Then, taking a deep breath, he leaned forward again. Never one for heights, he pushed back the fear that gnawed at him and, holding the staff in front of him, leaned over the edge once more, his eyes seeking a way down.
Lord Moshat watched as Nickolous fought down his fear, doing what needed to be done. He himself could have easily found the narrow set of stairs that would take them down, and he would, should Nickolous fail. He drew in his breath and held it as he watched him fight his fear to help the rest of them.
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